James Moriarty (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hatesdeerstalkers) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
daybreakacademy2019-12-14 09:39 pm
hatesdeerstalkers) wrote in daybreakacademy2019-12-14 09:39 pm
Entry tags:
And you were afraid you'd step on cracks and tarnish their revere
Who: Moriarty and You!!
What: Recovery from nearly dying for real w/ the Galra event -
When: December 10th onward
Where: Infirmary, mostly
Warnings: There will mentions of arm regrowth in this post, probably? Also potential mentions about what happened during the Galra plot, so be warned :V
December 10th, Infirmary
[When he woke up again, all the chaos that had surrounded him before was gone.
Instead of a hard, cold floor and wall - he was resting on something much softer. A bed, probably - And while he hadn't been in here like this before, he still recognized the Infirmary when he saw it.
There was a lack of a certain sound - not a loud one, but one that should be constant. One like...oh, right.
He wasn't breathing. And the attempts to kickstart it again failed - as, most likely, his body was conserving what energy it could to keep him alive, though he felt miles better than he had when he'd finally been rescued.
Miles better was still 'pretty fucking terrible', though.
From there, it was just a quick check on his extremities. Still deathly pale, and missing his left arm - and a quick, shaky feel of his face told him that his glamour still wasn't up yet, so he still looked like a gray haired and blue eyed version of Sherlock, apparently. Which, honestly, had him wondering if James had eyes, because he was quite certain he didn't look like his greatest rival.
Still, there were other things to think about. Like the thirst that was plaguing him at the moment - which made sense, considering. He'd most likely been catatonic for a few days...maybe a week?
He hoped it wasn't years again.
So - taking a breath just to be able to speak - he spoke out in a rusty voice that sounded all too much like the vampire he could be mistaken for.]
....Hello? If anyone is there...could I get some water?
December 15th
[Three days later, he was doing much, much better. The magical transfusions were settling well with his body, though his glamour had yet to return to him - or his butterflies, for that matter. His threads still functioned, at least - but he had to concentrate hard to hear or feel anything through them.
No matter. It would all return in time, after all - and time was something he had in spades.
Sitting upright in bed, a little color having returned - and breathing naturally now - he worked on what seemed like notes for what he'd have to go over when he was able to return to teaching. He'd been assured there were professors who would step in for him, but...honestly, he didn't trust they'd be able to get across what he wanted correctly.
On his left side, his arm....Well. It was regrowing, at a rate that made him feel almost constantly itchy - and if one decided to stare at it for a bit, they could probably see it visibly regenerating, flesh and bone stretching and swelling a little at a time.
If someone approaches him, he'll look up - or not, as he's pretty absorbed into that notebook of his. Still, at least he's a lot livelier than when he first woke up.]
December 20th
[...Going into the infirmary today would greet you with a sight that might be a little disturbing - that being Moriarty with both hands....but his left is distinctly small and childlike while the other is a grown man's hand.
In the baby hand is a bunch of fabric, while he works with needle and thread in the other - making something that's....very small? It looks like it'll be well made whenever he's done with it, at least.
His glamor has finally returned, the much more familiar old, mustachioed man sliding back into place - with a brightness and warmth to him that he hasn't had in a while. His Butterflies still weren't back, but...
Every now and then, he stops - and holds up the item, muttering to himself about his handiwork before going back to it.]
Hopefully, I'll be able to finish this by christmas...though I suppose he wouldn't mind it being a bit after...? I should be released soon, so I'll also have to start on a few other things...
[Want to bother him? Go right ahead.]
What: Recovery from nearly dying for real w/ the Galra event -
When: December 10th onward
Where: Infirmary, mostly
Warnings: There will mentions of arm regrowth in this post, probably? Also potential mentions about what happened during the Galra plot, so be warned :V
December 10th, Infirmary
[When he woke up again, all the chaos that had surrounded him before was gone.
Instead of a hard, cold floor and wall - he was resting on something much softer. A bed, probably - And while he hadn't been in here like this before, he still recognized the Infirmary when he saw it.
There was a lack of a certain sound - not a loud one, but one that should be constant. One like...oh, right.
He wasn't breathing. And the attempts to kickstart it again failed - as, most likely, his body was conserving what energy it could to keep him alive, though he felt miles better than he had when he'd finally been rescued.
Miles better was still 'pretty fucking terrible', though.
From there, it was just a quick check on his extremities. Still deathly pale, and missing his left arm - and a quick, shaky feel of his face told him that his glamour still wasn't up yet, so he still looked like a gray haired and blue eyed version of Sherlock, apparently. Which, honestly, had him wondering if James had eyes, because he was quite certain he didn't look like his greatest rival.
Still, there were other things to think about. Like the thirst that was plaguing him at the moment - which made sense, considering. He'd most likely been catatonic for a few days...maybe a week?
He hoped it wasn't years again.
So - taking a breath just to be able to speak - he spoke out in a rusty voice that sounded all too much like the vampire he could be mistaken for.]
....Hello? If anyone is there...could I get some water?
December 15th
[Three days later, he was doing much, much better. The magical transfusions were settling well with his body, though his glamour had yet to return to him - or his butterflies, for that matter. His threads still functioned, at least - but he had to concentrate hard to hear or feel anything through them.
No matter. It would all return in time, after all - and time was something he had in spades.
Sitting upright in bed, a little color having returned - and breathing naturally now - he worked on what seemed like notes for what he'd have to go over when he was able to return to teaching. He'd been assured there were professors who would step in for him, but...honestly, he didn't trust they'd be able to get across what he wanted correctly.
On his left side, his arm....Well. It was regrowing, at a rate that made him feel almost constantly itchy - and if one decided to stare at it for a bit, they could probably see it visibly regenerating, flesh and bone stretching and swelling a little at a time.
If someone approaches him, he'll look up - or not, as he's pretty absorbed into that notebook of his. Still, at least he's a lot livelier than when he first woke up.]
December 20th
[...Going into the infirmary today would greet you with a sight that might be a little disturbing - that being Moriarty with both hands....but his left is distinctly small and childlike while the other is a grown man's hand.
In the baby hand is a bunch of fabric, while he works with needle and thread in the other - making something that's....very small? It looks like it'll be well made whenever he's done with it, at least.
His glamor has finally returned, the much more familiar old, mustachioed man sliding back into place - with a brightness and warmth to him that he hasn't had in a while. His Butterflies still weren't back, but...
Every now and then, he stops - and holds up the item, muttering to himself about his handiwork before going back to it.]
Hopefully, I'll be able to finish this by christmas...though I suppose he wouldn't mind it being a bit after...? I should be released soon, so I'll also have to start on a few other things...
[Want to bother him? Go right ahead.]
no subject
Yes - I can hold off for another day... I doubt I need to once they realize I'm awake.
[Fingers ran through his hair, it's not quite the same as when he was mortal, but there's still the malaise feeling of 'muck' that comes from sleeping far too long while feeling poorly, only made worse by the proximity to the man he's linked with]
I... suspect this feeling in my arm is because yours is trying to grow back.
no subject
[That's small, quiet...and ultimately almost vulnerable. But there's a tremble that accompanies it that he would never normally let the undead detective see otherwise.]
...And...yes. It is, though it's extremely...extremely slow.
[He gives a small, mirthless laugh as he shifts his eyes towards the ceiling again.]
I suppose...I'll have to cancel my trip for january. Ah, well. ...These things happen.
no subject
But the circumstances left the other man in such a vulnerable position, and the fact they're linked so tightly]
a trip?
[Sherlock questions, as he fusses quietly, trying to make himself look less like he's been dragged through hell]
no subject
[He gives another sigh, clearly disappointed.]
However, it's a technical speedrun...and I'd need both of my hands for it - yet, it will take...months at minimum to regrow...on my own power.
A pity, but...I'll survive.
no subject
His lips pursed at the remark, he'll be dealing with the odd sensation in his arm for a while then, and going one-handed will be a most singularly awkward experience for Moriarty.]
It was a close call.
no subject
[He asks it quietly, but ultimately gives a slow single shouldered shrug.]
I suppose it was...in either case.
[Yet, he still sounds...dull. Like it doesn't really matter.
Deep under everything, he's still...mostly apathetic. Oh, the teaching is helping - being near Holmes, feeling more like himself, helping and getting close to the students - it's all bringing life back to him, when he felt like he died so many years ago.
...But one doesn't just throw off a century's worth of apathy and aimlessness in a few months.]
no subject
His fingertips lifted up, an idle habit of a smoker, despite not having a cigarette on him.]
You, though the others were in both bad states mentally and physically, you were almost on the verge of death.
[Sherlock exhales, studying the face - one he hadn't truly seen in such a long time]
no subject
He was lucky in that he had a mind that could still work properly even into advanced age (or, perhaps, his regenerative abilities were just restoring any dead braincells), but certain things would deteriorate, even if he tried to hang onto them.
But, that was life.
He listens, watching the habit and the careful gaze, before shrugging again.]
I'm aware. In truth, I...believe I was the only one who...had been experimented on to such an...extent.
[A sigh.]
...I suppose....it's good I survived. ...We don't know...what would happen if one of us died, but...I assume we would both perish at...the same time.
no subject
[The irony was not lost on him, nor on Moriarty he suspects]
Thank god they didn't do this on any of the children - it would already be traumatizing enough.
uhhhh death talk / wish here btw
...Do you want to know something?
[He looks away, for just a moment.]
...When they drained my magic from me...it hurt. Not in...the normal way. Even bleeding out...never felt like that. I felt...like I was dying, Holmes. ...Actually dying, not - the 'deaths' I go through.
[He gives a shaky sigh, staring down at his hand.]
...And god help me, but I...wanted it. ...Even knowing that...I still had things to do...and that we were still in the midst of danger...
...Somewhere, I just....
[He lapses into silence, shaking his head - looking so very, very tired. When he next speaks, it's small - and quiet.]
...I wanted to rest.
no subject
But when he did, he didn't interrupt - as he straightens up slightly, his lips pursing into a thin line, weighing each syllable and their meaning. He remembered that dream, that Elysium field. As a vampire, sometimes he felt an urge just not to be... but good lord, in Moriarty's position, it would be much worse.
It was understandable why he'd thought that, would want that. The vampire gave a quiet nod of understanding, getting another glass of water for the other man before returning to his seat.
Sometimes there are no words to say, just listening and understanding is the important part.]
no subject
For once, he can't tell what the other man is thinking - what he thinks of that. After all, with their bond...it was the same as saying 'I want to die, and I'll take you with me.'
An ironic twist of what happened on those falls, so very long ago.
Eventually, he just drinks the water - and then, he gets treated by Ekkehardt, which had to shoo the other man out while they discussed personal things.
By the time Holmes comes in again, Moriarty is looking - and Feeling less like he'd been run over repeatedly, but he still isn't breathing and still very, very pale.]
...Hm. Holmes, could I ask you a question?
no subject
Again, he's left in his thoughts, what happened, what was said, what it meant, the implications. He knew what Moriarty's wish meant for his continual existence... and he can't blame him for that 'selfishness.'
The sensation of the transfusion was... odd, as though he was regaining a sense of vitality, a fullness as if he had fed heavily - until the brief pause as it hit Moriarty's spine, covering his mouth with his hand as he crumples.
Once he returns, he seems more put together if a touch strained - though there are noticeable puncture marks in his gloves]
Of course.
no subject
He sees the puncture marks, of course - that sort of level of pain would transfer, despite everything - but he decides not to mention it.
Instead-]
If...you had an opportunity to rid yourself of a pain that has been with you for over a century, would you? Even if the surgery to be rid of it would be ...extensive, and require some time recovering?
[Because...this isn't just his choice anymore. Like it or not, anything that happened to him, sherlock would also feel - and while they were rivals, enemies...he deserved a say in this, too.
...He says it all without looking at the man, staring to the side. Both not to watch Sherlock's reaction...and to try to hide his own thoughts on the matter.]
no subject
He knew how awful that pain was when he touched Moriarty's back the first time, he blacked out. Spine injury recovery was... troublesome - he vaguely recalled from a previous case.]
Of course. Even being used to pain - not having it would be better.
[It'd be cruel to deny someone that. He could honestly say leaving someone in constant pain is not something he would sincerely wish on his worst enemy]
no subject
[He's silent again, for a bit...before finally turning his head to look at Sherlock - looking at him directly.
There's...trepidation in his eyes, but also...something else.]
...Apparently, most of my spine is gone - but the remnants that remain are being held in place by my magic, which is constantly attempting to regenerate the injury.
[He pauses.]
...But, it can't. There's nothing to regenerate, and it was a wound suffered before you turned - a wound right before I was on the precipice of life and death. I assume if I had been fully turned - if I hadn't been on that verge - it could have healed, but with just the echo...
[He shakes his head.]
So, most likely, the constant regeneration has been...exciting the nerves, so to speak. For over a century. That is - why it is so agonizing.
no subject
His - Moriarty's spine is gone.
If turned before, if turned after - he would've been an immortal human, or a vampire just like him. And their shared link just continues to grind away the nerves. His hands clasped together, making a 'v' over his face, making the motions of inhaling as it sinks in before exhaling]
Mother of God.
no subject
But, that reaction - was exactly what he'd feared when he told Sherlock what he'd learned.
He didn't want the man to feel guilty or responsible - whatever blame there was would be on whatever vampire decided to turn him. There's a harsh edge when he next speaks, a cold glint in his eyes.
James Moriarty, even after all these years, was a man who refused to be pitied.]
I want you to know that I don't blame you for it, Holmes - and that you are blameless in all of this. Whoever your Sire was, they are the one responsible for the suffering I've gone through all of these years.
I hold no grudge against you - and I am fine, due to having gotten used to it. The decision for the surgery has to be made unanimously between the two of us - and I refuse to have something like guilt be the only reason why you agreed to suffer the recovery period along with me.
no subject
The creeping thoughts snapped upon hearing it, like a hair across a sharp knife. Soon, he lowers his hands, shoulders rolling back.
Damnable fool, letting sentiment cloud his judgment - Sherlock chided himself]
It is admittedly a lot to take in and sort out.
[He started, eyes closing for a moment before sliding open again]
Thank you for telling me the honest truth. As for my consent, you will have it, not out of a sense of obligation -
[He raises a hand]
I believe there are practical benefits to the fact what echoes of my regeneration isn't focused entirely on what's left of your spine.
no subject
...I believe so, as well. Especially with us being so close to one another - my regeneration should be at the same exact speed as yours, if not a little slower.
And since it seems a good portion of my magic is focused on my spine...With it in a more 'healed' state, it may finally be able to stabilize and allow me to use some offensive magic as well as my illusionary ones.
no subject
Well, that would make you a real Math Wiz, would it not?
[It was just there]
no subject
Before he groans and tosses an extra pillow at Sherlock's head.]
You must be feeling better, otherwise you wouldn't make such awful puns!
[He frowns, his face an exact duplicate of Sherlock's whenever he's being sulky.]
no subject
What did his mum use to tell him? 'Your face will get stuck that way if you keep frowning like that'. Odd how that thought came to him.]
Usually, they're below me, but that one was just begging to be used.