americas_son | (no subject)

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."

"And to his own mind, at that. It makes me wonder where I might be hiding my own cherished illusions."

Well, he knows where he kept one of them, at any rate. It is no longer a concern.

"I just - I don't get it," Cal continues. "Even if he couldn't remember for some reason, he literally has his human self right in front of his face. He must be working really fucking hard to ignore that. He said he sees the differences, but he obviously doesn't."

He shrugs.

"It's simple enough. I could become exactly like him, if I wanted to. He refuses to acknowledge that he won't want to."

"Pretty much," Cal agrees. "And then he gets all offended when I tell him I don't wanna deal with it."

"Well, we can leave him in Tony's hands for now. Tony has extensive experience with my idiosyncrasies."

And being able to snuggle it better will keep him distracted from his own multitude of troubles. Really, it's the best solution for everyone.

"Sounds good to me. I'm not gonna kiss it and make it better."

That won't help anyone. Especially not Cal.

Sherlock smiles.

"No," he agrees.

Cal relaxes a little, smirking.

He watches Cal over his tea, making no effort to hide his own smirk.

Now that he's vented, Cal desperately wants a distraction. So.

Hope you weren't enjoying that tea, Sherlock, because now it's on the counter on account of having been taken away so Cal could kiss you.

Oh, he was certainly enjoying the tea.

He is enjoying the kisses more, particularly given the novelty of his new vantage. It's not often that Sherlock gets to be this much taller than someone he is kissing.

This isn't a bad time for a visitor, is it? Because there's a Stark Industries car coming up the driveway.

"There is a company car arriving," Jarvis mentions. "Would you like to meet it?"

"I," says Sherlock, "am busy."

But the mere fact of Jarvis asking means that Tony is busier. He sighs.

"Excuse me," he says to Cal, sliding off the counter and picking up his tea. "No doubt someone has come to inform us of the recent tragedy."

Ugh. Whoever it is has the worst timing ever. He scowls.

"I'll just wait here."

Well, he's not going to go with Sherlock. That would kind of defeat the purpose of the low profile he's been keeping. Mostly.

"Thanks," he says lightly, in half-conscious imitation of the other Sherlock, and gives Cal a quick kiss on his way out.

Outside, the car pulls up in front of the building. Virginia Potts takes a deep, slow breath and gets out.

No one wanted this job. No one wanted it so much that no one even seems to have remembered Tony and Sherlock existed until about an hour and a half ago. But Virginia wouldn't have let anyone else do it, anyway. She knows Tony a little, at least, and it's better coming from her than from some stranger.

She hopes.

The door unlocks audibly at her approach.

A moment later, Sherlock opens it.

Virginia is visibly exhausted, and looks about a decade older than she really is. She still manages to summon a polite, subdued smile.

"Hello, Tony - no, no, I'm sorry. Sherlock." She should have seen the difference immediately. "I'm Obadiah's personal assistant, Virginia. May I come in?"