[location: Central]

[infinitelystranger]

First A. Then D, E, and G, in perfect fifths. Sooner or later, life does have to go on.

Sherlock Holmes raises the pitch pipe to his lips and blows D, E, and G, shrill and pronounced in the summer air. He prefers to tune those in relation to one another and to A, generally, not by the pipe, but it never hurts to check his strings against them.

He fusses minutely with the fine tuners, leaned against the wall. His case is at his feet. Though he expects only Extras' custom today, the look of the thing matters. To him, at least. Unlike most of the matters he deals in, there are no absolute truths in violin tuning: only the perfect fifth, one in relation to another. One may vary the tuning as much as one pleases, as long as one varies them all. Sometimes he experiments with a particular scordatura for a time; generally he tunes just a fraction brighter than G-D-A-E, though, for clarity of sound and because he doesn't expect company in harmony.

The truth is, as much as he likes to play his violin, he would rather be doing it somewhere else right now. Squirreled away indoors in the heart of one of these abandoned buildings, maybe, where he can practice in peace and pretend the city is empty until he gets tired or slinks off to Jeremy's for food, either/or. Saying hello to the other prisoners in Taxon is not his idea of fun just today.

But he generates all of his income busking. Besides, on some level he supposes he owes it to the others to make himself available, for questions or tirades or whatever else they see fit. So Sherlock keeps his odd hours, ignores his tablet (with exceptions), and keeps more than ever to himself: except on his usual odd-numbered afternoons and even-numbered evenings, where he sets up somewhere on the Taxon streets and plays his violin, to raucous and randomly-generated Extra applause.

[ooc: corresponding to dien's everybody come yell at jason post, here's my everybody come yell at sherlock post! fire away!]

Comments

[infinitelystranger]

Sherlock shrugs. Pessimism from Smecker, he understands--doesn't approve, necessarily, but understands. The man's been trapped here much longer than he has. It's easy to resign oneself in the face of that much futility. But from Selina Kyle--

"It took Henri Charrière the Papillon thirteen years to escape from the Devil's Island penal colony in French Guiana," he remarks. "You assume there's no way to fight back."

[threelivesdown]

"Okay, there are more obvious threats and mroe obvious ways to fight back. When the Sheriff took me in, I went with him with a smile on my damned face. Sherlock, I've been mind controlled before but this was even more horrifying than usual," Selina says with a wry expression.

She understands what you're saying, Sherlock. At least a little bit, "Find me devices, locks, bars and I'll open them for you."

[infinitelystranger]

He gives the slightest of smiles and ducks his head, as if their captors would be alerted by more, as if they can't watch every last sliver of every last thing they do, say, even think for all he knows--"I'll be in touch," he says lightly.

Then he shoulders his violin: "If you'll pardon me. This is my workday." The word workday is touched by the palest shade of sarcasm.

[threelivesdown]

Selina fiddles (ha) with her tablet for a few moments and it seems that she's happily paid Sherlock what she imagines he might make today and a bit more besides. It doesn't seem to bother her that she doesn't really have a job or a way of earning money.

"Of course," she says. Not caring too much about Sherlock's personal space she closes in to kiss him on the cheek, "As you will."

[infinitelystranger]

He's not exactly a stranger to being flirted with: not in his former life, and not in Taxon, really, either. Least of all from Selina Kyle. But this still comes as something of a surprise.

Sherlock blinks, barred from raising a reflexive hand to his cheek only by the fact that he hasn't got a free one at the moment. He looks less flustered than plainly startled, then at a brief loss. But after a moment's contemplation he doesn't blush, or scowl, or indeed anything so dramatic--in fact a mildly rueful expression just crosses his face. More proof that he's not quite the Sherlock of three, or two, or perhaps even one year ago.

So all he says is a polite, composed, "Thank you for the tip, Selina." And he sets back to playing.

[threelivesdown]

Oh Sherlock, this is barely worth mentioning. If Selina ever really flirts with you, this will not compare to the experience. That said, she does absorb his reaction to her gesture of affection, filing it away for later. You never know - it could come in handy.

"You're welcome. We've all got to eat."

She turns and starts to walk away but before she truly leaves, she comments over her shoulder, "You should visit sometime, Isis misses you."