Case File 006: text. petulant, petulant text. forward dated to the afternoon.

[sh-consulting.livejournal.com]

[Well someone is at home sulking up a storm.]

Considering the rash of port-outs over the last few weeks, as we have endlessly been reminded of, I am interested in collecting any hard data that you happen to have on them. Therefore, name, approximate date and time of port out, relationship with poster, etc. Please also include whether or not you, or the person ported, have had any extra dealings with the Porter.


I am taking cases again. My new office is here: [the address of his house]. Interesting cases only.


To those that were sending case inquiries to my colleague John Watson: it will be necessary to forward them directly to me for the foreseeable future.

Comments

action;

[hacktivist]

I see. [not exactly bothered by the sheetedness, flits over to hover right behind him, watching the computer as well.

Broaching awkward subjects has always been a special skill of Ghost's.]

10%, or 103 of the currently "inactive" - here defined as idle for approximately 45 days - comm users I have confirmed as returned to the City once. Of those, 15% returned twice, 3% returned three times, and another 3% returned four times.

[the fact that this meant a staggering 79% even of the once-returned comm users did not return again after their second departure at all was not mentioned... because it didn't have to be.] 75 days is the current mean I have calculated for a wait period in the City, outside of which 2 is the minimum and 274 is the maximum.

action;

[sh-consulting.livejournal.com]

[Sherlock paused, before letting his hands slip away from the computer as he leaned back in chair. He didn't look up.]

I see. And, as we both know, death seems to be no bar to their return.

[His voice was very low. He pulled a hand up and pressed his fingertips to his temple. The numbers were not exactly encouraging.]

But there has been a John Watson here before. A returning one wouldn't necessitate the same one, or a retrieval of memories.

action;

[hacktivist]

I am dead, Sherlock. I have been for years.

[it was a small sad certain statement of fact, and he floated off to one side, then reached to put a gloved hand on Sherlock's shoulder, his head lilting to one side, for a second supportive, and one with Sherlock's pain, or trying to be. He knew loss well enough.]

It is unfortunately a thing we cannot know. But -- he would not wish for you to mourn him too long.

action;

[sh-consulting.livejournal.com]

[Sherlock looked up at that first statement. 'I am dead' rather than 'I was dead'. He filed it away for later, though a small white note appeared about it behind Ghost's head.

As Ghost continued, Sherlock's expression darkened before he scoffed.]

Mourning. Mourning.

There is a difference between needing to know relevant information and being in mourning.

action;

[hacktivist]

[glancing away for a second as he evaluates this, then remarks] Yes.

There is also a difference between losing a companion to the Porter temporarily, and losing a companion to near certain death. I believe the situation is fairly unique and mourning would be logical.

[sh-consulting.livejournal.com]

[Sherlock levels a glare at ghost with all the force of a hurricane behind it, though only in his eyes.]

Most helpful. I assure you. [The tone is scathing.]

[hacktivist]

[The silence is palpable, and Ghost opens his hands as if offering something unseen] Do you believe in an afterlife, Sherlock?


[sh-consulting.livejournal.com]

[His glare has not abated, and with that comes the notes. last meal: banana. / boots: traces of gravel. rooftop?

When he speaks his voice is slow and deliberate.]

Are you actually attempting to have this conversation with me.

[hacktivist]

If you would prefer we interface on a facts-alone basis: I have none, only hypotheses. I know you're not interested in the currently unverifiable.

What would you prefer to discuss?

[sh-consulting.livejournal.com]

[The sulky sneer that traced up Sherlock's lips could wither blooms.]

Nothing.

[He moved suddenly, tying the sheet around his waist tightly so it wouldn't slip, trailing it behind him as he half-strode half-stalked over to the couch where his violin case was resting. Completely ignoring Ghost as if he wasn't there, he pulled the violin up to his shoulder and drew out the bow. A couple strokes of resin on the bow and he set it down to the strings.

Back to his guest, small, white notes suddenly appeared in the air, and Sherlock began to play.

It wasn't a song anyone had ever written. The notes appeared in the air only seconds before he played, his mind writing the song as he went.

A Minor. Slow, haunting, desolate.]

[hacktivist]

[Ghost lapsed to silence, retreating back to the familiar locked and murky fortress of his inner shell, mask typically blank as he floated over to sit against the computer desk. His glove brushed the wires as he drew a knee up and listened, going still and immovable.

Mourning indeed.

The only sounds he made were his ragged breaths, the only face in his mind's eye was Shana, all the different ways she smiled, and how much it hurt to let her go--how he'd never really forgiven her. The music woke all that pain up again and he had to grip the edge of the table as he fought it down.

Had to do something.]

Sherlock.

[sh-consulting.livejournal.com]

[The bow paused, a long drawn out note on the string before silence. He didn't look back, and he didn't say anything, but he waited.]

[hacktivist]

[he waited a second of his own, then thrust a hand through the computer screen--it made a standard beep and opened to a black screen with white and green text.

# find / \( -perm -4000 -***** /root/DEADONARRIVAL.txt '%#m %u %p\n' \) , \ \( -size +100M -***** /root/****.txt '%-10s %p\n' \) the pro - D.O.A. hhhhfuckedagain daniel - D.O.A. silenthillyways kyosuke - D.O.A. satisfiedsigner karkat - D.O.A. hatesturbation owen - D.O.A. allthatsweevil ted - D.O.A. notniteowl rory - D.O.A. yourentirelife johnny - D.O.A. filthyreality jan - D.O.A. so_saturnalian koltira - deadelfwalking gluttony - omnivorculus jean paul - D.O.A. hesafairylol rem saverem - D.O.A. - blergisploded luc - D.O.A. grand_eloquence penny - D.O.A. showhertheway piper - D.O.A. reformedrogue kon-el - D.O.A. iamnotthemom rimmer - D.O.A. ajrimmer_ssc lynda - D.O.A. hisforonehour gar - D.O.A. of_animalia snitter - D.O.A. drainy_brainy takaya - D.O.A. messiah_maybe |

On and on and on and Ghost never stopped staring straight ahead, seeking out little embers of hope on the Network and drawing them in to make a fire]

[sh-consulting.livejournal.com]

[Sherlock turned his head at the beep, watching Ghost for a moment before walking over to see the computer screen. He stopped, reading it from behind ghost as he worked, the violin at his side and the bow tapping his leg as he read.

After a long moment the bow came up, the wood side coming to rest on Ghost's shoulder.]

Enough. That's... enough.


Thank you.

[hacktivist]

[the physical contact seemed to take him away from the connection to the machine, he drew his hand away from it, and the computer switched off.]

Yes.

[trying to interpret and evaluate what the appropriate action now should be, weirdly calm] Would you like to be alone?

[sh-consulting.livejournal.com]

Yes.

[He walked back to the window. Raised the bow to the string. But he didn't play, not yet.]

But you may stay, if you wish.

[hacktivist]

An interesting emotional test... [it takes him a moment, but he slips down from the desk and then floats to the door, calling back] Goodbye, Mr. Holmes.

[sh-consulting.livejournal.com]

[And a sad, slow song followed him out.]