[Which is just another way of admitting that Sherlock's right. For better or worse, they've both decided to trust each other. John struggles his way up the stairs, trying not to look as heavy and clumsy on his feet as he feels. He could use a kip on the sofa instead of a chair in the kitchen, but sustenance comes before rest. If he lies down now, he's not going to get up for a while.]
You're leaving me here by myself? Not scared I'll snoop around your place?
[Although he wouldn't. Frankly he's too tired to be curious. Sherlock doesn't seem too worried about it either as he points out the way to the kitchen and then leaves in a dramatic swish of coat.
Shrugging to himself, John enters the cluttered living room and looks over the myriad of science paraphernalia, books and papers, and newspaper clippings littering every surface. It's a cozy space, a lot warmer than the bedsit John's currently staying in. Could be very nice if it weren't such a mess in here, he thinks to himself.
The kitchen turns out to be even worse than the living room, with beakers of mysterious liquid and tweezers and microscope slides. John's careful not to touch anything as he skirts around the piles on his way to the fridge. Inside are packs of blood, neatly stacked. Disturbing but not too unusual for the fridge of a vampire. The human hand on the second shelf however, is a little more unsettling.
John reaches gingerly for the can of soda sitting beside it, as if the fingers might come to life and grab for him. They don't but it's still creepy.]
Jesus Christ, what'm I doing here?
[Heaving a sigh, he pops open the can and takes a long drink before heading back to the living room and lowering himself into a chair that only happened to have a few newspapers and unnecessary cushions on it.
no subject
[Which is just another way of admitting that Sherlock's right. For better or worse, they've both decided to trust each other. John struggles his way up the stairs, trying not to look as heavy and clumsy on his feet as he feels. He could use a kip on the sofa instead of a chair in the kitchen, but sustenance comes before rest. If he lies down now, he's not going to get up for a while.]
You're leaving me here by myself? Not scared I'll snoop around your place?
[Although he wouldn't. Frankly he's too tired to be curious. Sherlock doesn't seem too worried about it either as he points out the way to the kitchen and then leaves in a dramatic swish of coat.
Shrugging to himself, John enters the cluttered living room and looks over the myriad of science paraphernalia, books and papers, and newspaper clippings littering every surface. It's a cozy space, a lot warmer than the bedsit John's currently staying in. Could be very nice if it weren't such a mess in here, he thinks to himself.
The kitchen turns out to be even worse than the living room, with beakers of mysterious liquid and tweezers and microscope slides. John's careful not to touch anything as he skirts around the piles on his way to the fridge. Inside are packs of blood, neatly stacked. Disturbing but not too unusual for the fridge of a vampire. The human hand on the second shelf however, is a little more unsettling.
John reaches gingerly for the can of soda sitting beside it, as if the fingers might come to life and grab for him. They don't but it's still creepy.]
Jesus Christ, what'm I doing here?
[Heaving a sigh, he pops open the can and takes a long drink before heading back to the living room and lowering himself into a chair that only happened to have a few newspapers and unnecessary cushions on it.
Hopefully Sherlock won't be too long.]