Hell on the Throat (Sherlock) -FIN-

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

Sherlock let out a remarkably melodramatic sigh, his head tilting back to allow him to stare blankly at the ceiling. It was much the same as the rest of the small cell - painfully plain, completely uninteresting, and layered with shoddy paintwork that was broken only by the few hairline cracks scattered about the surface of the walls.

"Work it out. I don't really want to much more than you do, so I suggest we just murmur nothings until Martin lets us out. He tends to take silence as a cause for punishment, trust me."
The man scoffed, allowing his eyes to close slowly once again as he took a few steps in reverse, until his back hit the wall. He then proceeded to slide down until he was sitting on the ground, seemingly uncaring of how unclean it was bound to be. Sherlock certainly wasn't going to willingly sit on the same shabby bench as the man he was still undeniably pissed at.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?"
Holmes sent a sharp glare to Lestrade, his eyes opening and head snapping up at an almost comical speed. He managed to keep this up for a few moments, before both rolling his eyes and shaking his head as the man let out another, possibly unnecessary, sigh.
"You care too much, Lestrade. It really is exhausting."
Sherlock stretched his legs out before him, leaning heavily on the wall behind his back. He was extremely annoyed at having to spend his time locked in a cell with nothing worthwhile to do. There wasn't even anybody he could contact to get him out, as the person he usually assigned that task to was sitting opposite him.
"I'm fine," the consulting detective mumbled after a brief pause. It was true, because the sting of the punch had been drowned out by the force of a growing migraine. It was rather unfair that the mind of Sherlock Holmes disagreed with both increased noise and commotion, and also a complete lack of such. When surrounded with too much information, he was completely unable to cope with it all - yet similarly, when there was nothing but vacancy and quiet, his head felt the need to increase the intensity of what little there was. In short, cells made him violently highly sensitive.
"I hate this," Sherlock grumbled ridiculously petulantly.

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

Sherlock look at Lestrade with contempt , before sighing wearily. "You care too much, Lestrade. It really is exhausting," Sherlock said, leaning more heavily on the wall, his legs straight and making him form a sort of triangle with the wall.

"I know,"[/b] Lestrade said, because yeah. He exhausted himself with his idiotic tendency to care. Funny, that was usually Sherlock's line. Caring was good, and it was so much better than being cold, or unmoving, and yet… Caring was worse if you didn't want to feel.


"I'm fine," Sherlock finally mumbled, looking a bit pained to say so. "…I hate this," he added in a whine.

"Likewise," Lestrade said dully, not really interested in pandering to Sherlock's childish petulancy at the moment. He wondered if Martin was listening in. Probably not, he had better things to do. But still… "I'm sorry,"[/color] he commented, trying to sound as level as possible. It was surprisingly easy. "For punching you. That's all, though."

He looked at the younger man thoughtfully. He wondered why he even put up with the guy. The number of bad things Sherlock had done for Lestrade seemed to outweigh the good things, and yet… Was it the cases? Was he really that depressing that he'd make himself suffer for the "good of the world?" No, he wasn't that much of a wishful hero. Perhaps he was just a masochist. Yes, that was probably it. Because as much as the things Sherlock usually said bothered the hell out of him… he kind of enjoyed being with the man. It didn't make sense; it was contradictory.

Lestrade inwardly grimaced at the pathetic ways he put up with himself. "Now, I think I know a very good way to get us out of here in a few seconds, but you're not going to like it. It requires some acting and shows of affection." So yeah, maybe he did kind of think that he completely deserved to get Sherlock back like this.

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

As odd as it may sound, the blankness of the cell was beginning to tire him out. Sherlock tilted his head back, surrendering the job of keeping it upright to the wall behind him, rather than making the effort to use his neck.

Holmes was no longer trying particularly hard to ignore everything that the Detective Inspector was saying. He wasn't angry with the man - at least, not for the reason that Lestrade himself would assume. Sherlock was truthfully more infuriated with the fact that the man seemed disappointed in him for saying what he had. He was angered by the fact that Lestrade thought he was allowed to be like that.

"I'm sorry. For punching you. That's all, though."

The consulting detective snorted in laughter, before cringing visibly and shutting his eyes tight at the pressure in his head the action had caused. That hadn't been very wise of him at all.
"Don't trouble yourself about it." Sherlock commented simply, lifting a hand to his hair, which lay in wild array where the curls had been run through with his fingers time and again.

"Now, I think I know a very good way to get us out of here in a few seconds, but you're not going to like it. It requires some acting and shows of affection."
The man's nose wrinkled at Lestrade's words. Despite however much he agreed with the assurance that he wasn't going to like it, the endurance of it was probably worth getting out of the bloody cell at last. And besides, he was a marvelous actor.

"And I know at least seven ways to get us out of here in a few seconds, but I doubt none of them you would approve of." Holmes responded, but opened his eyes again to fix the Detective Inspector with a stare.
"What is it?"

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

"Don't trouble yourself about it," Sherlock said, and Lestrade knew that was the best he was going to get from the younger man.

Now, Lestrade's little "plan" was more of a revenge sort of thing. Certainly it would work, but more so, it would piss Sherlock off. So when Sherlock asked, "What is it?" Lestrade decided he'd just show Sherlock exactly what it was and get it over with.

"Sherlock Holmes you sexy beast!"[/b] Gregory loudly yelled, in a breathless sort of tone, and his grin stretch his entire face. Oh, this was fun. "I'm sorry I doubted you!"[/b]

Right. If that didn't get Martin to unlock the door and run away very, very quickly, he wasn't quite sure what. He was sure Sherlock was going to get back at him for this later, but right now, it was just... plain... funny. He stifled a laugh with his palm and added quietly, "You have to make it look like you love me when he comes."[/b]

This was fucking hilarious. So maybe he was just a little hysterical and something about adrenaline rushes maybe factored into his weird behavior but hey, he never had fun anymore.

OOC: In honor of Sherlock is everyone's slut week.

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

Of course, Sherlock Holmes should have begun to worry as soon as somebody but he proclaimed that they had a 'plan'. It was never good to leave situations (and resolving them) to a lower form of intelligence. A lower form of intelligence who, currently, obviously did not very much like a particular consulting detective.
At least, that was the truth.
What Lestrade then decided to shout, however, was most certainly not.

"Sherlock Holmes you sexy beast! I'm sorry I doubted you!"

For a moment, the man wore an expression that both displayed him as more than a little startled, and unexpectedly concerned. Both of which (the latter in particular disappeared almost as soon as it had come), fortunately vanished within a moment.
"You have to make it look like you love me when he comes."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow in response, giving the Detective Inspector a disapproving look that was usually sent by the other man towards him. In fact, he was rather alarmingly good at mimicking it.
But then, Holmes always had prided himself on being quite the spectacular actor. He may as well prove it, being given the obvious chance.

It was with this thought that the consulting detective cast a glance toward the door in order to check whether or not it was opening, before taking a few steps toward the other man - ensuring he was completely up in his personal space - and fixed Lestrade with a sort-of 'come hither' look that would be described by some only as blatant 'eye-sex'.

"Oh, Greg, you're going to be very sorry you ever doubted me. I assure you that." He spoke with a voice purposefully an octave lower than usual (a feat that unless faced with would likely seem almost impossible, given his naturally low tone originally) - managing to successfully keep his amusement from both his words and expression.

OOC: Oh honey, it's not just the week.

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

For a half-second, Lestrade was sure that by the look of shock on Sherlock's face he'd actually succeeded in surprising the man for once. Twice, in one day! It was fantastic. Felt fantastic, anyway. Obviously the show of emotion disappeared quite quickly from the man's face, but just a moment was certainly enough for Lestrade to fell some satisfaction. He had no, however, expected Sherlock to play along--well, play along well.


Lestrade had long known two things: one, was that Sherlock was a disturbingly good actor, and that he often resorted to his disturbing method of fake crying which involved actual tears and the most pathetic voice in order to wrap people around his little finger. The other thing, was that Sherlock was a well known "sex symbol" in the yard. Because, really, who hadn't seen the man and thought at least once, Wow, he'd be a really fantastic shag. Lestrade wasn't denying it. He also knew several women (and perhaps a few men) had their eye on the guy, despite hating his personality. Looks really did seem to mean a lot, in passing (however any of these somewhat smitten women for the most part dropped their attraction to the guy quite quickly once they started regularly associating with him).

So yeah. Lestrade knew Sherlock was a good actor and disturbingly sexual despite never actually having sex, as far as he knew. But he was really kind of disturbing (in a good-ish way) when Sherlock turned his too real looking fake sex eyes on Lestrade himself.

"Oh, Greg, you're going to be very sorry you ever doubted me. I assure you that," Sherlock said in a voice somehow even lower than normal.

Lestrade gulped. Okay, he hadn't been expecting this, though Sherlock surprising him was far, far less rare than him surprising Sherlock. Well, having caused this strange act himself, he supposed he'd have to play along now wouldn't he? Perhaps if he could forget Sherlock's somehow incredibly dick-ness for a few seconds he could pretend their actually was an incredibly hot man coming on to him.

...Haha, no, that didn't work. Sherlock was too Sherlock. Oh well.

Martin chose to open the door with a somewhat disturbed look on his face and said, "I fucking hate you, Sir." Lestrade had no doubt Martin knew exactly what he was doing. Still, they didn't appear to be fighting anymore, so Martin just looked resigned and left with the door open.

"I assure you the feeling's mutual, sergeant,"[/b] Lestrade called after him far too cheerfully, then looked towards Sherlock."Well, that worked quickly. You should... stop looking like that now. It's scaring me shitless."[/b]

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

Despite the absurdity, Lestrade's plan did manage to work, and the door was open not long after Sherlock had declared a mildly (at least he had thought it was mild, until he had seen the other man's reaction) passionate response to the Detective Inspector's 'declaration'. But Holmes was beginning to have a little fun, and so he didn't immediately sweep out of the door in a strop as he would otherwise have done.

"Well, that worked quickly. You should... stop looking like that now. It's scaring me shitless."
The man had stated, after he and the infuriating sergeant who had locked them in the cell in the first place had let each other know of their mutual resentment. Though he would usually have simply raised a purely Sherlockian eyebrow at the man's words, the consulting detective instead sported a rather feral smile that, had it been on something so quaint as a baby deer, would manage to make even that look completely terrifying.

Holmes was confident in the fact that, if he truly wanted, he probably was able to 'scare Lestrade shitless' - as he had so eloquently phrased it. He supported the menacing smile with an expression that would usually be seen on some sort of lecherous maniac, though still managed to make it truly look as though he honestly wanted to shag the DI senseless.
"Looking at you like what?" Sherlock's voice was still lower than it usually was, maintaining constant eye contact with Lestrade as he shifted forward until they were far too closely standing to be socially acceptable.
He tilted his head to the left, gaze roaming over Lestrade before snapping back to fix his eyes again. He briefly wondered why he didn't do this much more often - it was awfully good fun. Sherlock leaned in to simply breathe the next words into the other man's ear.
"Really, Greg. I'm going to make you very sorry."

OOC: AHAHAHAHA. Sexy Sherlock writes himself, Gabs, honestly.

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

Sherlock smiled, and--shit, that was frightening! He just smiled. Like he knew something. Like he was quite pleased by Lestrade's declaration that Sherlock was giving him the creeps. Knowing Sherlock, he probably was. While the guy wasn't power hungry exactly, Lestrade knew well and first hand just how much Sherlock enjoyed being in control of those he wanted to be.

"Looking at you like what?" Sherlock asked, his voice still miraculously deep. The consulting detective actually moved closer - wow that as uncomfortable - and slowly leaned forward to breath the words, "Really, Greg. I'm going to make you very sorry." Lestrade tried not to shiver. Because if this weren't Sherlock, he was pretty sure he'd be in someone who was charming like this all the time's bed by now.

But it was Sherlock, and Greg took a step back and tried (and pretty much failed) to make his flustered face display some sort of expression resembling annoyed, and stuttered, "Sherlock, seriously, stop. I'm still fucking mad at you, you know that right?" It was probably much less convincing than he'd intended, seeing as he was a bit... wide eyes at Sherlock, at the moment.

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

Sherlock has long since gathered that tormenting Lestrade was surprisingly good fun - the man's reactions to the consulting detective's behaviour were enough to make Holmes almost fight to keep his composure - and thenceforth humbly swore to try to do so as often as possible.
He was positively ignoring the fact that he was angry at the Detective Inspector - which was as close to forgetting as Sherlock would probably get.

"Sherlock, seriously, stop. I'm still fucking mad at you, you know that right?"
If Holmes didn't have as much self control as he did, it was likely that he would be near to rolling around on the floor in laughter right then.

As it happened, the consulting detective decided, simply, to carry on. Sherlock briefly wondered what it was like to be on the receiving side of his attentions, but that thought was wiped away with another, secretly amused, glance at Lestrade's face.
The taller man somehow managed to manoeuvre his head, so that somehow he seemed to be looking up at the other man, rather than down as he had previously been doing.

"Well, I'm not going to say sorry," he responded somewhat petulantly, though his tone had stayed that sort of charmingly passionate that he had perfected completely. The feral smile had disappeared, replaced with something not unlike a pout. Sherlock allowed the man his distance, in a way, by only tilting his hips and leaning his torso and head forwards.
"Make me."

OOC: I may be wrong, but this could be getting out of hand.

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

Sherlock was Sherlock and kindly completely ignored Lestrade's somewhat worried warning, and turned in some impossible way that Sherlock had that made his body twist in ways that really weren't human. And somehow that was… sexual. For Christ's sake.

"Well, I'm not going to say sorry," leaning sensually - not, sexually - farther and closer away to Lestrade at the same time with a pout on his face that rivaled all pouts. "Make me."

Lestrade took another step back, and - shit, there's the wall. A rather disgusting wall it was too. Lestrade didn't fancy touching it, and so he could really only step a small amount back. How annoying.

He had no doubt Sherlock was just teasing him. Sherlock was not that kind of person. He wasn't … sexual. No, he was extremely sexual, but the very idea of Sherlock sleeping with anyone was nothing short of disturbing.

So… "I'm serious Sherlock, stop, or I will punch you again."[/b] Lestrade wished someone without such a… Sherlockian personality was in Sherlock's body. Because god, it was kind of hard not to just give in a kiss Sherlock already.

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

Lestrade's threat came much later than Sherlock had anticipated, and so it wasn't a surprise when the man said: "I'm serious Sherlock, stop, or I will punch you again."
Which wasn't entirely fair, as he hadn't even done anything to deserve the first one. Though the second one - well, he was pressuring the Detective Inspector with purpose, after all.

In an instant, Holmes seemed to sober. The unnatural expressions he had previously worn were gone from his face, and replaced with a blank sort of intent. In fact, his sudden burst of curiosity was only obvious from the tilt of his head.
The consulting detective narrowed his eyes as he ducked even closer.
"Go on, hit me. But hit me hard."

Even as he near-whispered the words, Holmes felt a certain rush of adrenaline that never failed to make itself present when the man was faced with a situation he did not know the outcome of. The unexpected was always a fascinating thing for Sherlock - and the fact that he was completely unaware of whether or not Lestrade was going to 'take up the offer', so to speak. In fact, he wouldn't particularly mind if Greg did hit him again - it was sort of worth it.

Without moving an inch, Holmes let a moment pass, and then took four breaths before speaking again - a minute twitch of his brow the only thing to display his slight confusion.
"Why does it bother you so much? What I said before."

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

"Go on, hit me. But hit me hard."

Gregory listened with surprise and Holmes whispered the words in a martyr-like fashion. And he looked... honest. Their bodies close, Holmes was tensed, ready for Gregory to actually take another swings at him. For a second, he wondered if Sherlock really had that little faith in his self control, but then remember the last ten minutes had probably destroyed any pre-existing trust. He cursed his slip in the impulse control he so greatly valued in himself.

But Gregory would not resort to violence twice in one day, even if he threatened it, and Sherlock, after a few deep, nearly shuddering breaths that pained Gregory to hear, said with legitimate confusion in his voice, ""Why does it bother you so much? What I said before."[/b]

It broke Greg's heart in a way, really. Holmes' naivety was predominantly a source of amusement for him, sometimes, but then it became... sad, really. Pure? No, that wasn't the right word. One did not associate the words pure and Sherlock Holmes. And yet, had it been someone else...

"Because," Gregory said, and suddenly he was exhausted, "Because that's not okay. I don't know how else to say it, but... it isn't, Sherlock. A life is a life is valuable, and suicide... it's the worst way to go. It breaks every definition of rightness there is."[/b]

His expression was close to pleading, wanting so badly for Sherlock to understand. How could he not, how?

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

It was curious, how the conversation ended up cycling back around to suicide. Suicidium, was the latin - derived from the term sui caedere. Or 'to kill oneself'. Something that translated naturally in Sherlock's public-school-taught head, and presented itself shamelessly for the man when Lestrade muttered his explanation.
Information. Sherlock was constantly over-run by it. Who would know that there were times when it was pointless?

"Because, because that's not okay. I don't know how else to say it, but... it isn't, Sherlock. A life is a life is valuable, and suicide... it's the worst way to go. It breaks every definition of rightness there is."
There was a definite weariness present in the Detective Inspector that had not been previously visible. Holmes reasoned that the man was probably just sick of him. In a sort of retaliation, the consulting detective did not give in.

"Rightness," Sherlock snorted, a humour in his tone that surprised even himself. "One is hardly going to consider morality when contemplating killing oneself, would you not agree? I'd say it was more an internal battle for a form of external power. For some people, it might even be the 'only choice or decision that they ever had'," the man spoke the last few words mockingly, his eyes drifting to the ceiling of the cell before snapping back to focus on Lestrade. He seemed to be completely oblivious to the fact that he was free to leave. After all, matters of greater importance were being discussed.

"Personally, the worst way to go would be some sort of mundane accident. Like being hit by a bus - something not unlikely in this city's traffic." Holmes muttered, "Not suicide. At least there is a sort of dignified romanticism in ending your own life."
He sniffed disdainfully, thoughts turning back to Lestrade's case, which had led them to the situation in the first place. "Well, dignified for some."
He wondered what it would take for Lestrade to take up Sherlock's request. If the man punched him, he would have something to focus on, at least.

[GREGORY LESTRADE]

"Rightness," Sherlock huffed, disdain lacing in a sick sort of humored laugh, "One is hardly going to consider morality when contemplating killing oneself, would you not agree? I'd say it was more an internal battle for a form of external power. For some people, it might even be the 'only choice or decision that they ever had'."

Sherlock was mocking again. Lestrade always hated it so much, when Sherlock made fun of the simply existence of human suffering. It belittled life, really. "Personally, the worst way to go would be some sort of mundane accident. Like being hit by a bus - something not unlikely in this city's traffic. Not suicide. At least there is a sort of dignified romanticism in ending your own life... Well, dignified for some."

It seemed almost as if Sherlock was looking to be hit, the bastard. And Lestrade had very little trouble imaging himself repeating the action without second thought. Yet his self-control, dragged down through logic, stoppered the urge.

"No, not dignified,"[/color] he forced himself to say, relatively levelly, "It's giving up. It's... selfish. So, so selfish. Can't you see that?" He shook his head, sighed, "I know you prefer to put yourself above everyone else's petty emotional states, but you have to understand that you are not the center of the universe. If you killed yourself... it'd be terrible for lots of people, honestly, and not just for your brain. For your... for you. It might hurt you to feel for others, Sherlock, but most people, I, can't help it. I recognize the addition of being alive. And it forces consideration."[/b]

[SHERLOCK HOLMES]

Sherlock's brief rant led to Lestrade retaliating with one of his own. Something which Holmes found himself lacking the energy to fully listen to. He caught snatches, though, of what the man was trying to say. And what he heard made the consulting detective's eyes narrow further.

"Selfish?" He asked, almost disbelievingly (if he were a lesser man, he may have gaped at the detective inspector for all the word surprised him). The taller man let out a breath of air that could be considered a half-formed laugh.
Finally seeming to realize how close to Lestrade that he had remained standing, Sherlock took a step back in order to glance over the man before him - just to check, to make sure, that he wasn't 'having him on'.

Lord knows that Lestrade managed to find enough ways to infuriate Holmes.

"I wouldn't say 'lots of people', Lestrade, really." Sherlock quirked an eyebrow, acknowledging the fact that their conversation seemed to be running in circles. "You seem to express the thought that it would distress you. I'll believe that to an extent, certainly. But then you're a reasonable man, and if you regarded the fact that I had killed myself as selfish, then surely it wouldn't take long before you had forgotten, and moved on. Other than you the only person who knows me enough to care," he hissed the word with a layer of heavy emphasis, as if the mere word make him want to retch, "Would be Mycroft. And he's a Holmes - I doubt the man would barely bat an eyelid before he worked to cover up the blemish of his little brother on his profile."

The consulting detective turned on his heel, straightening his back as he began to walk away from the detective inspector, yet still no closer to the door. And then, there was a quieter:
"There would have to be a reason for one to consider suicide as the only option, Lestrade. If dying is better or easier than the alternati- It is dignified in that respect."