americas_son | (no subject)

Cal snorts a little, following after him.

Sherlock smiles to himself.

It is absolutely unfair how adorable Cal is. If only he were not a murderer. 'Soulless fiend' only works as an endearment when the person so named is willing to act otherwise.

Hey, Cal has earned his soulnessness. He deserves it. What's the point of having it if he's not going to use it?

He should talk to the other Sherlock about that.

Okay, no he shouldn't.

Sherlock doesn't bother turning on the light in the kitchen; neither of them needs it. He puts the kettle on and perches on the counter beside it, leaning back against the cupboards.

Cal sits on the kitchen table, feet resting on a chair.

If Sherlock wants a conversation, he can start it.

For a minute or so, he doesn't speak, just looks at Cal thoughtfully.

Then he says: "Do you mind if I ask what you argued about?"

Cal shrugs a little.

"He thinks he's still gonna be basically the same person after he gets his soul back."

You don't have to be Sherlock Holmes to find his casual tone unconvincing.

Sherlock considers this.

"Yes, I suppose he would think that. It's easy for him to discount the obvious difference."

"Thank you!" Cal exclaims, a cross between exasperated and relieved. "That's what I kept trying to tell him."

"And let me guess—he reacted by becoming incomprehensibly annoyed and then not killing anyone for dinner."

He can see the humour in it.

Cal pauses over that last.

"- I don't know, we split up."

His expression darkens into irritation, though, because now that Sherlock has pointed it out, it's obvious.

"I'm very predictable sometimes," he murmurs, reaching into the cupboard to his left to get out a mug just before the kettle clicks. "If it helps, he was not doing it to spite you."

"Sure, he wasn't," Cal mutters.

Now he's actively glad he killed the girl in the park.

"Oh, no."

He glances up from pouring his tea and looks at Cal very seriously.

"No, he was proving to himself that he could do it." A wry smile touches his face. "You have no idea the lengths to which I will go to assure myself I can do the impossible."

"It's not that hard not to kill someone."

Cal is not giving an inch.

"There just usually isn't any reason."

"It's not that." He shakes his head—considers—says as he sets the kettle down, "He was trying to be me."

"You are human."

It sounds kind of like an accusation.

"Precisely, yes."

"He is not human."

Just so everyone's clear.

"Has it occurred to you that he might be afraid?"

This earns an impatient no shit look.

"He should be afraid," Cal snaps. "They're gonna shove his soul back in and everything's gonna suck! I'd be fucking terrified."

Even just the thought is terrifying - echoing, ironically enough, the helplessness that had paralyzed him before. It makes him want to destroy anyone who might even consider it in passing.

"It hasn't occurred to him."

Sherlock knows that for a fact. He's exchanged a few words with his counterpart about the impending transition. The picture it builds in his mind is not a comfortable one.

"He is trying to convince himself that nothing important needs to change. In a sense it is true; I've no doubt the resulting Sherlock will be much more like him than like me."

"Well, he's in for a surprise, then."

Cal can't bring himself to have much sympathy. Not under the circumstances.

He shrugs; picks up his tea; breathes the steam.

"You're welcome to try to tell him differently. I would, if I thought he would listen."

"I did try," Cal points out. "He was all, 'Oh, it won't be that bad,' 'Oh, I won't care that much,' 'Oh, it won't actually change anything ever.'" The imitation of Sherlock's voice isn't bad; the English accent could use some work.

"You'd never know that his entire schtick is that he pays attention to shit."