americas_son | (no subject)

"Well, we do want to give them time to replace what we take."

Sherlock's point is definitely an interesting one, though. Cal will have to contemplate it. At length.

"True, true. Nevertheless. I'd hate to disappoint my better half on that score, and if Tony is in his workshop when we get back it will take him approximately a microsecond to decide we should all get better acquainted."

"I guess we should let them be the ones who keep track of it," Cal concludes magnanimously. "It's their blood, after all. They should get to decide what happens to it."

Taking that choice away from them would be wrong.

"Why do I suspect you are not moved by a consideration for ethical principles?" he wonders. "Don't worry, Jarvis will keep track for the both of them."

"Because ethical principles are for humans?" Cal suggests.

"Speak for yourself. I quite like them. They're fun."

"Yeah, but you're weird," Cal says matter-of-factly.

"Really? I hadn't noticed."

"Yeah, I hate to break it to you." Cal gives him a dry look.

"- So what are you going to do once you're done here?"

"Go home. Kill Obadiah—it's turning into something of a hobby. If everything goes according to plan, I'll get my soul back and go home to be thoroughly domesticated by my very own Cal. Dreadful thought, isn't it?"

He doesn't, on the whole, seem to dread it very much.

Cal, on the other hand, looks disgusted.

"What do you want with a soul?"

"I don't now, particularly. I did beforehand. And it's more than worth it for the chance to finish the job."

Cal is not entirely convinced.

"There must be some way to get out of it," he says.

"To be perfectly honest with you, I don't care as much as I probably should. It seems to me I'll have just as much fun with my soul as I do without it, and a hell of an easier time convincing everyone I know not to kill me on sight."

"Yeah, 'cause they'd totally have a chance," Cal says dismissively. "Well, I think it sucks. You are way better without a soul."

He grins.

"Want to bet on that?"

"What, that you're better without a soul? I already know."

Cal, for once, isn't rising to the bait.

"I'll look you up when I've mine back and you won't even be able to tell the difference."

Cal takes a hard turn, spinning the steering wheel more sharply than necessary.

"I doubt it," he says flatly.

" - You know what, don't."

Thoughtfully: "No?"

"No." Cal's voice is still flat. His eyes are fixed on the road and his expression is blank in a way it hasn't been since before the change. "I'd rather just think about it like you died. Less depressing."

"All right."

"Good," Cal says. "Because basically it's the same difference."

Sherlock refrains from arguing the point.

"I don't care if you think so or not," Cal says, when the silence has gone long enough to make it obvious what Sherlock isn't saying. "You can't tell. You're too close. I can see the differences. You're not the same person any more than I'm the same as I was before."