Don't Panic (Sherlock/Casual)

[SEBASTIAN TIMOTHY MARTIN]

Lunch, books, papers, chemicals, coffee and a dash of hope.

These are the things that Professor Sebastian Martin carried with him toward the Chemistry lab of NYU.

Unfortunately, it was hard to carry all those things without toppling over your own feet. But he was handling it nicely, he thought. His luch was looped through his shoulder in a plastic bag, his papers stuffed miraculously tight in his messenger bag, another bag drapped over his other arm containing dry over the counter chemicals he'd bought for his experiments for the day, the books stacked in his arms, and his coffee resting in his barely free left hand. He had no idea how he'd open the door, but the hope was being carried clearly in his heart.

He had thought long and hard about trying to find a chemical explanation to his visions, perhaps do some tests on some rats (even though he abhorred animal testing), just to see if he could figure out how his brain ticked. Perhaps he might recreate the crash he was in that brought it all on 16 years ago, but for now the chemical tests would have to do. He thought about perhaps developing some sort of cure for himself, but thought against it later on, thinking that some psychological treatment might work better than the physical stuff.

He blundered down the walkway and entered the science building, pushing open the door with his back. He didn't know what he was doing really, he just had had a vision (not one of THE visions, but an idea) of multiple tests he could conduct that could explain why the accident triggered something in his brain. Was he born with this? Was it hereditary? James told him not to fret over it all the time. He never took Sebastian's visions seriously, and when he did, he always talked down to him and made him feel like shit.

God he was a masochist... But at least the sex was good. No, great.

He approached the Chemistry lab slowly, balancing his drink in his hand and reaching out for the handle, books still crowding his arms. Almost there, almost got it. He hoped no one was in here. He couldn't very well tell anyone what he was working on!

Ah, finally, the door clicked open. He stepped in and closed the door behind him, shuffling his feet and looking down, setting his coffee on a nearby table.

He was thankful he did, or else he'd have coffee burns all over his body.

Because at that moment, he looked up, and saw the most disturbing thing he'd ever seen.

He jumped, and everything he was holding flew up into the air nearly above his head as he lept ten feet (not much of an exaggeration) in the air from complete and utter shock.

There was a man hanging by the neck from the ceiling.

"Oh my God, Oh my God, OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD! OH MY FUCKING GOD!"

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

The 'dead man's' eyes flickered open.

It must have been a rather ghastly sight. With his skinny framework and noticeably pale skin, Sherlock assumed he must have looked rather... Dead. And extremely strange.
Morbidly so.

Of course, the entire scene must have been an obvious excuse for the professor's actions. And his language - terrible words he used. It was a university. And he had shouted them loud enough to disturb even the hanging man.
Who, presumably, should be dead.
Lifeless.

He was looking rather blue.

The detective's eyes widened noticeably as he noticed his arms seemed to have partially fallen asleep. As he raised them, in an obvious attempt to find something with which to haul himself up, he noted how heavy they felt. His shoulders were rather stiff, and all around difficult to move. Without a tremendous amount of effort, anyway.
Definitely not usable enough to participate in a shooting immediately after hanging.

Though he was aware that (despite the handy trick he had discovered), he was slowly choking to death, Holmes took the time to raise his left wrist, and clarify the time on his watch. It was all important, of course. Otherwise Sherlock would simply have to start the entire experiment again.
And he didn't feel like spending another hour hanging from the ceiling in a university chemistry lab.

Which he had been reliably informed would be empty for the day.

Bloody professors.

Distracted with matters of consequence, Sherlock's eyes began to dart around the lab. He must find a way to get down, simply put. There was always the chair he had leapt from to bring himself to that height. Though it was rather far away...
Stretching out eagerly with one foot, the hanging man's face seemed to hold an expression of pure determination. If he failed, he would be rather disappointed (and dead, of course, but that was unimportant). As he had always sworn to die in such a way as to truly baffle the police, and whomever happened to find him.

Finally, after much more effort than he was originally willing to give, the tip of one converse touched the edge of the chair. And, with only the slight amount of contact made, he seemed to spring from the wood with such energy to rival an excited fawn.
The original intention was to grasp hold of the rope, and jump down, removing his head from it's grip. But unfortunately, the detective had not determined what state his arms would be in during his poor excuse of 'planning' beforehand.

He managed to slip his neck from the noose, but found his arms of no use at all. And, after hovering unusually for a moment in the air, fell peculiarly to the floor - somehow managing to tumble into a backward roll, and stand. Though swaying excessively, seemingly unharmed.
Throughout this, the chair had skidded across the room with a ringingly loud clatter, now laying overturned at the other side of the lab.

Sherlock Holmes was quite the oddity, at times. And this he proved, by promptly spitting out a single, golden pipe.

[SEBASTIAN TIMOTHY MARTIN]

Sebastian gave out a little yelp when the tall, "dead" man's eyes flickered open. Wasn't he supposed to be dead? HOW CAN HE NOT BE DEAD?!?!?! he shouted in his mind. Oh, God. His visions were becoming reality. This was actually happening! The dead were rising from their graves and coming for him! This was it! All his moping and sulking and saving lives couldn't make up for the fact that he was going to be dragged to hell by a hanged man!

Then the arms raised, and he gave out a small squeak, his back splayed out against the door of the lab. He couldn't move or speak, and the thought that the man might not be dead hadn't even crossed his mind. He had to be a zombie, had to be something supernatural spurrned from his visions. The visions didn't want him to figure out where they came from, didn't want him to cure himself. Now he was trapped in place.

Then, the most peculiar thing happened. The ghostly image raised his left wrist to check the time on his watch. Check the time? Why would a dead man need to know the time? To see how long he'd been dead? What was going on?! Sebastian looked all around the room, trying to discern if this was really a dream or not. It felt real, it looked real. Was the man really not dead?

Apparently not. The man's eyes were animated with life, and he didn't look so dead anymore. In determination, he stretched one leg out for a chair nearby. He was half tempted to help the man, but he couldn't move. And even if he could, the previously pressumed corpse looked far too determined to enlist his help.

Then, in a flurry of movement, the man's shoe touched the chair and he sprang from his bonds, hovering for a moment above the air and then rolling to his feet. The peculiar pipe popping from his mouth brought Sebastian back to reality, and he realized this wasn't a dream, and the man hadn't been dead at all.

But he was still thoroughly incredulous.

"What... the HELL was that?!"

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

"That?!" Sherlock was almost shouting, the determination fading from his face as he rocked precariously. He didn't dare to move his legs, in fear they would give way and send him sprawling to the floor.
"THAT was important. The entire experiment could have been ruined!" His voice was fairly wheezy, and the shouting made it difficult for Holmes to breathe for a few seconds. He paused, as if gathering as much momentum as possible before speaking again.
"Who are you anyway? The lab is supposed to be empty today!"

Professors.
The detective didn't much care for them - just as most of them seemed to not care for him. He had only corrected a few of them when he came to visit. And yes, of course the students had to be there when he said it. They couldn't be learning the typically wrong facts. But, apparently, they thought that was unsuitable.
For not the first time, he cursed having to live in a world of human stupidity - the only thing infinite besides knowledge. The whole human bloody race seemed to deem everything he did as unsuitable

Holmes stood up straighter (though still feared to move his legs), and rolled back his shoulders in some attempt to gain the full feeling back to his arms. Rolling the golden pipe between finger and thumb of his left hand, Sherlock was inwardly grateful that it had at least worked. Not a nasty trick played in order for him to 'accidentally' kill himself whilst working on a case. That wouldn't have been particularly good at all.
After placing it in his pocket, the tall man turned his attention to the Professor. His pale eyes darted around the area surrounding the man, and then the figure himself. They were sharp enough to pick out anything of use - if he didn't notice it, it wasn't worth knowing.

Professor. S. Martin, specialising in Chemistry and... Engineering. Born in Maine, led a painfully dull life, presumably. And... Yes, gay. Obviously.
But there is definitely something else. Something missing. Something odd...
Strangely so.

Sherlock found his inability to notice what made the man different rather infuriating. Having now gained complete use of his arms, he moved a hand to run through his tangled hair. But found himself freezing mid-way.
Reading the papers the man had dropped upon laying eyes on Sherlock within mere seconds, Holmes found it hard to believe the truth before his eyes.

No. Definitely not. He isn't...
Couldn't...
Is it even possible?

He knew it most definitely wasn't possible, rationally speaking. Or logically. But... It had to be the truth.
Unless the Professor was simply mentally unstable.
Insane.

However impossible, though, it must be the truth. And Sherlock knew he would simply get nowhere without accepting it.
However... odd.

Removing his hand from his head, Sherlock cleared his throat, wincing slightly. Rope was a rather harsh material to be suspended with for an hour.
"You'll have a difficult time finding a chemical explanation." Holmes chuckled lightly, pleased to hear that his naturally deep, English voice had returned to it's original tone.

[SEBASTIAN TIMOTHY MARTIN]

Hesitantly, Sebastian slowly began to bend down and pick the books he'd dropped up, eyes always flickering back up to the man to listen to what he was saying. From what he gathered, the man wasn't even supposed to be here. He'd never seen him before, and he didn't know of any new teachers throughout the building. An intern...? No, no, he seemed to command the area like it was his own. He had never seen the man before, but he'd racked his brain for a recalled name, and found it hiding amongst a pile of useless knowledge. He'd become a name around campus, insulting professors in front of students, correcting them when he wasn't even the one teaching.

Ah yes. Sherlock Holmes.

Sebastian rose cautiously with his books piled in his arms. That wasn't the only reputation he'd gained knowledge of for the man. James had talked about him. His mortal enemy he'd called him. His knowledge spanned the edge of the universe, James had said. He was the only person he had ever spoken of with regard, though he butted heads with him like all enemies do. He was a detective of some sort, and Sebastian had realized what he had been doing before was some sort of experiment. Interesting.

He best not tell this Holmes fellow of his... ahem... association with his boyfriend. At all. And he probably shouldn't tell James of his meeting with Sherlock either. He did not want to stick himself in the middle of a feud.

He rubbed the back of his neck, seeing the detective's eyes bearing deep into his own, and examining his person. He'd been warned of this by the other professors, whom this man despised, it seemed. He wondered why he even bothered coming to NYU in the first place. He then remembered, yes, it was for the experiments.

"You'll have a difficult time finding a chemical explanation."

Sebastian's thoughts stopped. The wheels and gears in his brain came crashing to a hault, and he held his breath. "I... I--I... I don't know what you're talking about!" he said with a nervous laugh. Good job at being inconspicuous Sebastian, he thought to himself.

He fumbled with the books in his arms. Could he be more obvious? Of course the man would figure it out. He felt like a complete idiot for even trying to hide it. He took a deep and harsh breath, walking over and setting the books on the table, taking his coffee cup (thankfully not all over the floor from his outburst) and drinking a sip with shaking hands. Well, a sip is not quite accurate. More like a gulp.

The liquid burned his throat, and he stared up at the taller man, his whole body shaking now. "You won't tell anyone will you?" he asked squeakily.

God he hoped not.

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

Holmes frowned at his feet, wondering whether they would be able to take him very far. Or even a few steps. The fact that he barely had any feeling in them was not very reassuring.
'Planning' was not a speciality of Sherlock's, and had been proven on numerous occasions. For example, he had not planned that the museum thief would turn out to be Irene Adler not some time ago. He hadn't planned to develop a rather unfortunate addiction after that one incident of drug use. And he also hadn't planned to find himself tangled within so many strange situations when moving to New York.
But he certainly hadn't planned what exactly he was going to do after hanging from the ceiling for an hour.

Placing the thought in some corner of his mind (or perhaps just removing it entirely), Sherlock distracted himself by responding to the Professor's plea. The original denial had been rather useless, considering that the man presumably knew who the detective was. But Holmes was glad to see that he wasn't at least as idiotic to continue it any farther.

"It is my job to know what other people don't know. If everybody knew, it would not be of interest to me." The tall man spoke quickly, almost mumbling the words under his breath. Though it wasn't much of a response.
So, when casting his gaze back to the floor of the lab, Sherlock felt it suiting t at least reassure Professor Martin a little more of the safekeeping of his secret.
"No, I won't tell anyone." He doubted anybody would believe him if he was to share such a thing, anyway. Already deemed as mentally unstable during his first week in New York, spreading the theory that a Professor of New York University possessed a unique talent would not prove to be helpful. At all. In fact he was certain it would prove to be tremendously not so.

It became imminently obvious that Sherlock had disposed of the mental fact that he was most likely unable to keep balance if he was to walk. Moving slightly forward, with all obvious intention of reaching the other side of the lab, Sherlock progressed only slightly forward before stumbling over his own feet, and falling as gently as a tree would, hitting the ground with a low thud.
"Bugger." He complained into the floor.

[SEBASTIAN TIMOTHY MARTIN]

Sebastian was completely put off by the man's demeanor. He hated people who thought they were better than everyone else. Well, apart from James. James was... a bit different. Though he could sort of see the similarities between the two men. Maybe Holmes wouldn't be so bad...? Or at least tolerable. There was an likely chance that wouldn't be the case as well.

When he'd reassured him that his secret was safe, the professor breathed a sigh of relief. He smiled at the man shakily, thankful that the panic was subsiding. He did so hate to panic. "Thanks... That... That means a lot to me." He set his coffee cup down and rearranged the books on the table absent mindedly.

When the man began to move, Sebastian's eyes widened. By all acounts he shouldn't even attempt the gesture at all, as he'd nearly choked to death (he still had no idea how he'd managed not to die). So it came as no surprise when he stumbled and fell flat on his face. Being the caring and thoughtful person he was, Sebastian immediately rushed forward to help the man up.

"A-are you alright? You probably should sit down... Lost some feeling in your legs, right?" He gave a nervous laugh as he helped the man unsteadily to a sitting position. "I'm Sebastian, Sebastian Martin. Or Professor Martin. Whatever you like, really. Seb, Sebby, Bastian, whatever." He shrugged with a small smile. "You're Sherlock Holmes, right? What were you doing anyway? You could have gotten yourself killed!" God knows how he hated that...

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

Frowning at the Professor, Sherlock shuffled as far as he could away. Sebastian seemed somewhat overly helpful for Sherlock's liking - like a bloody Doctor. And Holmes usually took no effort to hide his detest for overly helpful Doctors.
Or help, for that matter.

Not bothering to ask how the man knew his name (in fact he was quite pleased to notice it had been passed around the university so much), Sherlock cleared his throat with another small wince, eyes darting around the lab. The detective already knew every square inch of the room by heart, but he was just keeping his mind busy as he ignored more than half of what the man was saying.
After nothing to keep his idle brain busy for an hour of exceptionally boring hanging-from-the-ceiling, the Professor seemed tremendously dull.

"... What were you doing anyway? You could have gotten yourself killed!"

Rolling his eyes, though still unable to suppress a self-satisfied smirk, Sherlock pulled the golden pipe from his pocket. He seemed rather pleased at the successfulness of his experiment, and even more so of the trick. Tossing it up and catching with one hand, he had seemed to lighten up considerably when presented with the opportunity to show off.

"I was testing a theory." Almost-grinning as he spoke, Sherlock didn't seem to address the Professor in particular, but simply the room. "And I could have, but I didn't. Because I was correct in the speculation."

[SEBASTIAN TIMOTHY MARTIN]

"And I could have, but I didn't. Because I was correct in the speculation."

"Well, death isn't something I like to fool around with, Mr. Holmes, er, Sherlock, I mean... Mr. Holmes. I guess you don't realize this, but my visions have more to do with death than anything else, and I don't like people messing about with their lives when I see so many dying all the time. You know?"

Sebastian had felt slightly rejected when the man moved away quickly. He was just trying to help, honestly. And now he looked like a fool, kneeling like a girl with his hand outstretched in kindness, the kindness having nowhere to go. He sighed, and lowered it, feeling a bit uncomfortable, but he couldn't leave now, really. He normally left when he saved a person's life (because lets be honest, the man would have hung there until he turned cold if Sebastian hadn't roused him), even if there hadn't been a vision involved at all.

He fiddled with his bag wordlessly, averting his eyes. The man was making him sound like an imbecile! Of course he could tell it had been an experiment. He seemed far more egotistical than he had originally assumed, and Sebastian was cursing himself for not preparing himself better for the onslaught of insults that were sure to come his way. After all, he knew he would have to meet the man someday, especially now that he lived in NYC. It was all talk before with James (Holmes was one of his favorite conversational subjects) but now this was the man, in the flesh, the man he'd thought to only exist in stories.

Sebastian took a good look at him now as he rambled on about what he had been planning to do as an experiment, hoping it would interest the inquisitive side of the detective. He was really processing Sherlock in his mind's eye, taking in all he could about him. He was incredibly attractive, in a strange, odd way. But he couldn't deny that there was a certain mysterious appeal to him. He had hawk-like features, and his eyes darted this way and that like a predator ready to pounce. Not unlike James, he might add. He wondered if James found Sherlock attractive as well, and that it was one of the reasons they continued to fuel the fire with each other, constantly egging each other on. Did James find Sherlock alluring, both physically and mentally? After all, it'd been made perfectly clear to Sebastian, day one, that James thought very little of his boyfriend's intelligence. The only person he ever talked about who could match wits with him had indeed been Sherlock Holmes. There had to be something there, then, something that further provoked James rather than just having a good time.

But who was he to judge? He was just an ignorant professor.

"So, um... You see my problem then... It's getting pretty ridiculous, and I just want to figure out why this happened to me. You seem smart, and you said you thought there wouldn't be a chemical explanation to it. Do you have any idea what's wrong with me?" He had steadily explained to the man his visions, when the started happening, and how they were affecting him. From his change in attitude after a vision, to how many times he had succeeded in saving people (he kept count), to the vision about his own death and how he prevented it, to so much more.

He just hoped he hadn't bored the man. He was all very scientific about it, trying to relate to the man's supposed love of knowledge. He smiled softly, hoping he'd shown the man his impressive love of the unknown and all he knew about it.

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow at the Professor's response, only half attempting to fight back a smirk. He obviously found Sebastian's words were rather amusing. Before classing it as tremendously cheesy, the detective almost retorted with the phrase: "It's my life, I can mess with it all I want."
Fortunately, though, he was able to bite that back.
Only just.

Tossing the thin pipe in a timely pattern, Sherlock may have seemed as though he was paying little (if not non at all) attention to the man. Though, really, he was plucking and linking as much information as possible. It was almost routine for Holmes to do this with anyone he met, and with Professor Martin's... uniqueness, proved to be much more intriguing than the man expected.
He seemed rather typical, simply put.

Sherlock seemed to carry some air of intelligence, and had a rather uncanny ability to cause people to feel rather dim-witted when around him. It was not one many people appreciated, and Holmes often found himself in the presence of the frustrating people who tried to kid themselves otherwise. Tried to prove that they were smarter than him. With quite humorous results, in the detective's opinion. Conveniently, Sebastian didn't seem to be one of those people. Or at least as far as he could tell. However, the Professor seemed to have a moderate level of intelligence, and after all must have, really, to be working at the University.

He continued to throw and catch the little object of gold, though converted his obvious attention to Sebastian, without attempting to make it seem as though he was doing otherwise. A sly smile broke his mysterious demeanor as Holmes noticed that the other man seemed to be analyzing him, almost.
Despite his intriguing ability, Sherlock found little interesting information on the Professor, or at least as his sharp eyes could see. Then again, after the man's next statements, the detective paid no more attention to his deductions.

"You seem smart..."
An understatement, in Holmes' opinion. He was not vain, but merely stating fact.

"... you said you thought there wouldn't be a chemical explanation to it."
Even a fool could work that out, the man thought. It seemed highly unlikely that there was to be one, and even Sherlock was pitiful enough to alert Sebastian before he wasted time.

"Do you have any idea what's wrong with me?"
There it was.
Do you have any idea?

It took little more than that to set Holmes into action. Snapping his gaze away from the Professor, Sherlock stared thoughtfully at his feet. Almost as if testing, he wiggled the left, then the right, before finally prodding his leg. Then, as if deciding that they were usable enough, positively leapt to his feet.
Though he didn't fall, the tall man did rock rather precariously at first, as he searched for balance.

Sherlock liked to think that he could solve any challenge, if presented with one. And, however impossible this seemed, after being asked he seemed extremely determined to see it through. After all, he had just solved the previous case he'd been working on.

"Why don't we find out?"

[SEBASTIAN TIMOTHY MARTIN]

Sebastian really wanted to help the man stand, but then he thought in a conscious effort to be considerate that Sherlock Holmes didn't need his help, ever. Of course that would be the case with a person like him, so he stood with him and backed off courteously, smiling awkwardly and fiddling with his hands, in his usual way.

"Why don't we find out?"

That perked up the Professor's ears quite a bit. Sherlock would help him? That seemed out of place for the detective, though now that he thought about it, he was a detective, and detectives liked to solve things. Especially Sherlock Holmes. Why, James had made a huge show once, explaining to him the man's obsession with crime solving. Was this considered a crime, to see the past and the future? He had broken several laws actually, so it didn't really matter to him. He hated criminals that just broke the law for fun, though. He was much better than that, using his quote un quote "criminal record" to save people's lives.

Sebastian blinked and his face lit up to show his interest. "So you'll help me then? I've actually done quite a bit of research on this subject, and I thought maybe it had a chemical explanation concerning the chemicals in the brain and how they function. I knew it would be hard to test, but I still had to try." As he spoke, he pulled his bag over his head and set it on the table, rifling through the papers and swiping a sip of coffee from his cup nearly simultaneously, as if he'd been juggling work with coffee all his life (which he had).

He pulled out a folder that included information he gathered from books he'd read at the library, and pulled a psychology textbook from the pile he'd carried in with him, turning to a page which was crammed with notes from that chapter. Yes, he'd done his homework.

"As you can see, I've sort of mapped out all the remotely possible ways my visions could have began to occur, though this is by no means an exhaustive list." There he went, rambling again. He realized his southern accent was starting to show, and quickly blushed to tone it down. The damn thing always showed up when it was not wanted.

He laid out on the table in a very precise manner his research, hoping he might at least impress the detective with his level of intelligence.

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

Remaining unnaturally quiet (though it was common behaviour for him), Sherlock stood stock still as his eyes darted over Sebastian's research. It was obvious to Holmes, that the Professor was all set on putting a hearty attempt into uncovering the truth behind his ability, and presumably would be excruciatingly so even to a 'normal' person. In fact, if Sherlock were any ordinary man, he might feel pity for Sebastian. As he doubted that any solution - if even one were to exist - would take any less than the utmost of dedication to find.
Fortunately, Sherlock Holmes knew he was most certainly capable of such a task.

When the man had finished talking (it was a rare occurrence for Holmes not to interrupt during another person's speech, so even he was rather surprised that he had waited so long to speak), Sherlock put forth the few strongest thoughts roaming throughout his head.

"I shall clarify a few things, but only once. I will also expect you to remember these, as they are the..." pausing, the detective waved a hand mindlessly as he searched for the correct term, "guidelines you will follow."
Obviously not needing confirmation of whether or not the Professor would, Holmes leapt back into his lecture.
"I will not be helping, but assisting you. My concentration will not be set entirely on this, should other matters of consequence occur that require my direct attention." Though it was normality for the detective to pace as he talked, Sherlock remained standing completely still. He seemed to be rather more aware that walking was a bad idea.
"Therefore, as I only took this case due to your offering - even if it may not have been a direct one - I will perhaps abandon it at some point. This may also occur if the investigation stretches farther than my interest does. You will not ask idiotic questions in my presence, nor will you let out word my assistance."

The entire speech was given in a flurry of words, all the while Holmes' eyes seemed to scan through the Professor's papers.
"The majority of this you will find unnecessary." He stated simply, a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. "I think that practical research will be of more use."