[ The silence presses in on Sherlock more than anything else - it's oppressive, smothering him and forcefully taking his breath away, making him pause without his permission. He's watching John so intently that everything else just drips away; the only important thing here is the man in front of him, and he's holding onto his clip board for dear life, like it might hold all of the answers, like it might explain the situation he's currently found himself in.
He tries for a smile but it's broken; he's almost forgotten how to do it, his muscles finding the movement strange. A genuine smile is different from a faked one, after all - and John will always get the real ones.
There's something that forces Sherlock to take the risks he's always been known for, so he takes a step forwards warily watching John all the while.
He wonders briefly why John refused to believe the lies Sherlock told him. It's sentiment, he knows that, he has it - a small part of it, lodged somewhere inconspicuous, waiting for the right moment to strike. John had always believed, and he's an idiot for it. But it's charming all the same, just to know that there's one person in the world that found the story of Richard Brooks to be a fake.
Sherlock is waiting. He's waiting for John to do the next move - because there are so many possibilities stretching between them that Sherlock is mentally preparing for them all.
He didn't think it would be this hard to think of words. Who knew coming back from the dead was such an awkward conversation starter? ]
no subject
He tries for a smile but it's broken; he's almost forgotten how to do it, his muscles finding the movement strange. A genuine smile is different from a faked one, after all - and John will always get the real ones.
There's something that forces Sherlock to take the risks he's always been known for, so he takes a step forwards warily watching John all the while.
He wonders briefly why John refused to believe the lies Sherlock told him. It's sentiment, he knows that, he has it - a small part of it, lodged somewhere inconspicuous, waiting for the right moment to strike. John had always believed, and he's an idiot for it. But it's charming all the same, just to know that there's one person in the world that found the story of Richard Brooks to be a fake.
Sherlock is waiting. He's waiting for John to do the next move - because there are so many possibilities stretching between them that Sherlock is mentally preparing for them all.
He didn't think it would be this hard to think of words. Who knew coming back from the dead was such an awkward conversation starter? ]
Good to know you still know my name.