And you were afraid you'd step on cracks and tarnish their revere

[hatesdeerstalkers]

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.]

Comments

dec. 15

[escardos]

[ hope he wasn’t hoping to get anything done in the early morning though, because

—slam! ]

Professor!!!!

[ guess who has finally been allowed into moriarty’s room and is bursting there like an avalanche. ]

You’re alive!

10

[improbablenotimpossible]

[Sherlock was on a nearby cot, having been until now sleeping like the dead for the lack of a better term. Slowly, he stirs, a hand reaching to grip his left arm as an unbearable itch starts to set in, his eyes slowly fluttering open.

There's a parched, dry feeling in the back of his throat - he knew that he'll need blood soon, but will obtain some not long after. Slowly, he sits up, dusting off the cobwebs of his attic space, trying to make sense of just how long he's been out, eyes immediately darting over Moriarty, who still looked - and feel like he's on death's door.

More like something a cat killed and dropped off given his current condition. With a groan, and not seeing someone - did they step out for the moment? No matter, he pushes himself up, and fumbles his way to the sink, filling a glass before setting it next to Moriarty]

[hatesdeerstalkers]

[ -Ah. Yes.

How could he forget Flat was a person who existed, though he's a little surprised the boy's so...eager to see him. Still, he gives a tired smile in response.]

Despite all odds, yes! Though - should you really be using alive when talking about my condition?

[hatesdeerstalkers]

....Holmes...?

[The movement was what he noticed, first - his eyes could finally focus a bit more that in that day in the cells - but once he realized the vampire had set a glass of water beside him, he grabbed it and shakily brought it to his lips.

The cool liquid did help - but it was gone all too soon, and the thirst still remained.

That told him quite a lot.]

...You'll...need to get some blood soon. Can...feel it.

[His mind was still hazy - like the morning after one hell of a bender - but he still felt the embrace of death, true death, hovering nearby even as it's grip began to loosen on him.

God. How close had he come to dying in that place? And if he had, then...what would have happened to Sherlock?]

[improbablenotimpossible]

[He falls back onto his cot roughly, as though he expected it to be taller than it is. His slicked-back hair a tangled mess, and his alabaster skin almost ashen.]

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.

December 10th

[spelleton]

[ Ekkehardt sets down a glass of water within easy reach. He also has some strange tool in hand that radiates magic. It's covered in runic arrays. ]

Let me know when you're done drinking. I'd like to get this done sooner rather than later, and I'll need to explain the process so you can properly consent to it.

[ well THAT'S not ominous ]

[escardos]

Ahaha, you’re so right!

[ flat laughs, taking a seat at the edge of the bed. he’s still having a hard time processing his own emotions about the situation, so he prefers not to deal with them right now. ]

But you almost died for good, you know? So this is definitely more alive than how you were when we found you.

[hatesdeerstalkers]

[He stares at ekkhardt - before reaching for the glass, shakily and cautiously, eyeing the tool and runes.]

....It...shouldn't be long.

[He's so thirsty that it's pretty much gone in seconds - though it doesn't stop the thirst, meaning Sherlock's going to need some blood soon.]

....May I...Ask what that is?

[hatesdeerstalkers]

...Please. Don't hold off.

[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.

[hatesdeerstalkers]

[Well, he seems cheerful...though with Flat, it was hard to tell at times if it was Genuine or not. At the very least, he wasn't using magic to force a smile anymore.]

Hm...yes, I believe I was incredibly close to actually dying. They were taking large amounts of magic out of me...It'd be akin to repeatedly having your blood drawn for someone like you, I suppose.

[improbablenotimpossible]

[His eyes flickered at the tone, the sensation - this was something he wouldn't see - shouldn't be seeing normally.

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]

[spelleton]

It's a device that's essential for magical transfusion. Normally I wouldn't do this, but since your circumstances are so unusual, it's necessary for you to be brought up to full function again.

The basic explanation is that it serves as a bridge and a crucible. It converts my magic to something that can serve as a substitute for yours, replacing your reserves and allowing you to recover as you normally would.

[ He's bringing out a few more concerning-looking things in the meantime as he talks. Apparently this is quite a complicated piece of equipment. ]

[hatesdeerstalkers]

To a bi-annual speedrunning stream. They...raise money for charity and the like. ...and I'd gotten approved for a timeslot during...peak hours.

[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.

[hatesdeerstalkers]

Magical-? I'm...sorry, but that's something that exists?

[He's still pretty new, relatively speaking, to the ways of magic - and he's never had any reason to need it before. Hell, he'd had a surplus of magic, which his butterflies helped vent off.

He's looking more and more worried as the things continue to multiply in number.]

...Ah, but - How exactly will this go...? I mean, I trust your expertise, but...

[Is this what the first successful transfusion patient felt like??]

[escardos]

[ it’s definitely an improvement, but also a step back from when moriarty had last spoken with him. dropping the cheerful façade would mean facing emotions he didn’t like, one new and one old but equally unwanted.

anger and fear, respectively. ]

Yeah, that’s what I thought! I feel it was a bit inefficient, how they did it, but I guess they’re not taking constructive criticism anymore. [ he chuckles, before returning to one of the most pressing questions in his mind. ] But what was the reason they cut your arm off? It couldn’t be to prevent you from escaping—if that was the case I’d have cut your legs off instead!

[spelleton]

I needed them for my work, so I had them made. [ Like it's the simplest thing in the world. ] The family I serve specializes in healing of all kinds. It's not a common thing, but they do exist.

The way this works is that I connect most of these to myself and one to you. The equipment takes care of the rest.

[ He begins to put the instrument together.

As he'd said, most of the equipment goes onto him; with methodical precision, he puts clasps around his own neck and wrists. He straps a strange metal device to his own chest, and then connects the crucible to it. The various glass and crystal indicators on it begin to light up with a steady crimson glow.

He connects one final piece of equipment to the patient's side of the crucible - something that looks for all the world like an innocuous metal bracelet. Heavy, but not particularly impressive.

He unclasps it. ]

Once you're ready to begin, please put the bracelet around your wrist and finish the connection. I'll take care of everything else.

[ His tone is a bit wry. ] I should warn you that my appearance will change during this process, so try not to be alarmed. It isn't a byproduct of using this - it's just my own personal circumstances. Nothing will happen to you.

[improbablenotimpossible]

[Speedrunning...? Strangely, he could see it - high skill requirement, good timing, and a good head for the underlying maths.

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.

[hatesdeerstalkers]

I told them about my regeneration - as well as testing some sort of acid on me - and they wished to confirm it.

[He gives a long-standing, tired sigh.]

They had me strapped down anyway, so it wasn't as if I could run. There were also a few deaths, before they thought to have someone check my magic levels and learn that I had an excess of it.

[hatesdeerstalkers]

....For the others? ...Or myself?

[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.]

[hatesdeerstalkers]

[He listens, staring at the metal bracelet, taking it all in...before he nods, quietly slipping it on without a fuss.]

I can hardly...complain about someone's appearance...changing, after all.

[He gives a weak smile, though it doesn't reach his eyes.]

...I am ready.

[improbablenotimpossible]

[What isn't said outright, can be inferred. He cannot imagine how the years wore on man. It's something he had long suspected - but found difficult to prove - that there is a difference in psychology between humans and vampires beyond hunting habits.

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]

[spelleton]

What you choose to do with your own appearance is your business. [ His own roundabout way of saying that he's not going to ask any inconvenient questions.

He goes still as the red glow in those instruments gets brighter, magic flowing down into the crucible, passing through and steadily feeding into Moriarty's body as it's transformed. He doesn't breathe, or twitch, and as the process goes on it's easy to see why that is.

Ekkehardt's glamour is consumed as he focuses, the illusion of flesh crumbling to reveal bone as he draws on his reserves. The glow in his eyes is as bright as ever.

The process takes a little over fifteen minutes. When he finally relaxes, easing the connection closed, Moriarty should be feeling much better.

As for Ekkehardt, he's going to just sit back in the chair for a minute. By his body language, it's something that's taken a bit out of him. ]

15

[bluespearmanofthewind]

[It has been a while since the rescue mission. All the chaos and the people participating in it - it was truly a troublesome event. He plans to rest a bit before continuing to get into a more serious stuff - but at the same time he is wondering what's happening with the prisoners he helps out.

just in time - he sees a familiar figure. Someone that resembles another person - and yes of course it is the old guy that Arthur was clinging to during the mission. He is rather intrigued by their relationships and obviously how he is doing, so he slowly approaches him.]

Sup! Ya okay now pops? I'm pretty sure you don't remember who I am but I was there during the rescue.

Glad to see ya back and kickin.

[escardos]

So torture worked even on you...

[ flat’s smile fades as he realizes this, his expression turning blank. he doesn’t wish to use magic to keep it up, out of respect towards his professor. he has never really felt anger before these past few days, so he doesn’t know how to express it yet. he doesn’t even notice the fact that his knuckles are white from gripping the bed sheets so hard.

there’s a long pause, and flat continues talking in a casual tone. ]

And here Mr. Ekkehardt didn’t let me speak with one of those Galra people. He killed them so quickly, that they definitely didn’t have a chance to think of what they did wrong! What kind of punishment is that?

[hatesdeerstalkers]

Hm? Oh no, I volunteered the information. I figured there was little sense in letting them bumble about and waste time.

[Just matter of factly, honestly. He sees the smile fade, but it's clear that flat is...angry.

In one sense, that was good - but considering flat's...everything, he's probably overwhelmed at the moment with it all.

So he reaches out with his good arm, putting a hand on the teen's shoulder.]

I assume it was due to everyone there being in danger - sometimes, you must take care of a threat before you ever get the chance to show them the error of their ways, Flat.