#wtsns

Sherlock was there. He was on time. He was...well, how else would one describe it?

Heart rate: seventy-six beats per minute. Light unsettlement of the stomach. Repeated, compulsive tapping of his index finger on the table.

Nervous.

The evidence pointed to nervous. But Sherlock needn't be nervous? He did everything right, didn't he? Angelo's. Window seat. For sentiment's sake. There was even a candle at the center of the table. Something about ambiance.

So, if he did everything right...why was he here alone?

Narrowing his eyes at the passerbys on the street, Sherlock replayed the events of the day, and it was through this rigorous examination of his demeanor (occupied, immersed) and John's demeanor (reserved, pristine) that Sherlock realized John was right all along.

Sherlock was, in fact, an idiot.

This time, however, it was because John wasn't actually in the room when Sherlock asked him to dinner. There was always something.

[ 📲 : John ] Angelo's. Come at once. SH

[ 📲 : John ] Heart

Damn, he sent that one prematurely.

Khan isn't exactly an expert when it comes to healthy sleep patterns. In fact, he hasn't had a good night's sleep in well over a decade by now, perhaps even longer than that.

And since unconsciousness does not equal sleep - it simply does not provide a healthy amount of rest to a struggling body - he excludes those times where he's been knocked out cold from his calculations.

The man in front of him - John Watson, as Khan has gotten to know by now - is a doctor, apparently. Working at Sickbay, treating patiens, doing research, whatever a doctor does nowadays. He's surely aware of what sleep deprivation can do to a body, especially a human one.

"That's unfortunate.", is what Khan says after a little while, watching the other with his bright stare while remaining seated on the cot - his back straight as usual, posture immaculate, lower arms resting on his own thighs. Patient, not in a hurry.

@wtsns: 🛁 (for sherlock !!!)

Though   he   had   been   keeping   his   discomfort   locked   down,   the   hiss   that   followed   after   John   pierced   his   skin   with   the   needle   in   order   to   stitch   up   a   wound   on   his   back   was   not   something   that   Sherlock   could   bite   down.   “For   crying   out   loud,   John,   I   know   you’re   upset   with   me,   but   perhaps   you   should   save   your   current   animosity   for   anything   other   than   injuring   me   further?   It   feels   like   you’re   trying   to   stab   me,   just   like   our   killer   did.”   

A    NONCHALANT    RAISE    OF    THE     BROWS.        a     sarcastic     little     smirk,       the     kind     that     would     more     often     than     not     cause     john     watson     to     roll     his     eyes.        ❛   tell     me     about     it.      i     learned     that     fact     hands     on.  ❜      sherlock     shot     the     other     a     glance,    head     tilting     ever     so     slightly.       he     sighed.        ❛   nevertheless . . . it     hasn’t     been     all     bad.  ❜     sarcasm   ---   what     he’d     meant     to     say     was     ‘  you’re     the     best     thing     that     ever     happened     to     me     and     i     wouldn’t     return     to     ‘ before ’     for     anything  ‘.  

“you  do  know  that  it  is  really  your  generation  that  has  messed  the  planet  up.”she  commented  ,  a  tone  lathered  in  fact  as  she  looked  at  her  father. “your  generation  decided  that  you  needed  to  farm  more  land  ,  deforest  lands  such  as  costa  rica  and  have  left  my  generation  with  the  fear  of  extinction  of  many  animals  and  our  own  planet  through  the  use  of  fossil  fuels  and  excessive  fishing  in  our  seas. .”rosie  watson  ,  PLANET  saver  although  there  was  a  real  point  to  this  all. “i  am  applaud  by  it  all  ,  so  no.  i  did  not  do  the  L A U N D R Y.   i  was  thinking  of  how  much  i  will  miss  the  poor  amazonian  animals  that  will eventually  die  out  in  the  next  ten  to  twenty  years.”

The London Sanctum was attacked, again. Why did it always start in London? He was starting to seriously consider maybe just living here and leaving New York to Wong. Oddly enough though, nothing about the attack was magical considering guns were involved and the place was robbed. The Sanctums new master who replaced the last one that died during the last attack decided they didn’t want to deal with this after getting shot and returned to Kamar-Taj. He really couldn’t blame them. 

Dealing with the police though? That he blamed on them. Thankfully since no one died they didn’t stay for long, just made Stephen file a report on everything that was missing, which Stephen lied out his ass about because how could he explain magical artifacts? Somehow going on about a pair of magical swords and magic tomes--well that didn’t set him up well for making sure they didn’t come back.

Stephen, at the end of a lengthy list of ‘normal things’ that were ‘stolen’ he showed the officers to the doors and stepped down a few stairs only to come to a stop at seeing another man standing a bit off to the side watching him. Heaving a sigh Stephen resisted the urge to pull on his hair and tilted his head to glance at the man.