[....no, no, no, no,no. Lockdown. There had to be a way out, there had to be--he was about to say so, but really, he knew it was futile. Sherlock was trapped in there. His only hope was that he would indeed be able to kill it. Or run from it. Or something.
The alternative was too loathsome to think about.]
Do you realize what you've done!? What if it does kill you and you don't revive!?
[Probably not helping there, but his filter was at its limit, what with the nonsense transformations, the sad creature that very well might be Eurus, the whispers she'd spoken, this place in general--the floor continued its merry rippling as Mycroft felt he might very well be losing the plot. This had to be a dream.
Then I'll hardly need to worry about if you've kept the footage properly, will I?
[He sounds mildly impatient. Not because he doesn't feel guilty over making Mycroft watch this, but because he does and he's not good at expressing it. He is also aware that they're under a tight deadline, there can't be much longer before it begins.]
But I will. Amber was an anomalous piece of data, an outlying statistic, it's almost certain that people who intentionally or knowingly accept their death will return. A perverse punishment, perhaps.
[Making it so those who kill themselves can't stay dead, if that's what they want.]
[He hisses the words. Mycroft's not doing a very good job of hiding how appalled he is, how upsetting this is for him. Sherrinford hadn't been that long ago for him anyway. It sounded like Sherlock was being flippant about it all and that was irritating enough, and dangerous besides.]
It's not guaranteed. Nothing is guaranteed.
[It wasn't like he could look away, either, no matter how bad it got. The data would be valuable, and if this was Sherlock's last wish--
No, not exactly. But it's far easier to be blase about this, than it is to admit there's a possibility he might not return, or tell Mycroft how frightened he is that Moriarty might actually corrupt his mind once and for all. To lose all he is, his genius, that's horrific to him.]
Then I'm sure that you and John can spend many happy hours thoroughly abusing my memory should I not return.
[There's the bite of sarcastic impatience to his voice now.]
But for now, if you would be so kind, shut up and watch.
Sherlock, don't be--you realize what this would do to your friend if you don't return!?
[Subtext: Do you know what this will do to me if you don't return?
He looked intently at the screen, despite his stomach threatening to evacuate the meager contents he'd consumed--he was basically out of food--and he would indeed do his very best not to miss a thing.]
Precisely what happened to him the last time I didn't return, for two years, at least. He will find a new purpose, he will lean on Mary, and he will continue.
[He falls silent after that.
It's a fair wait, enough that he begins to believe nothing will happen, before everything goes nuts. Mycroft will obviously only be able to see up until the tablet explodes.]
He wants to say something, he wants to reassure him, but he can't find the words. He wants to tell Sherlock how proud he is of him, but the words die on his lips as he can't quite say it--if he says it, it brings a finality to the situation. He couldn't accept that this was the end, possibly--though a part of him wants to tell him about Redbeard, about Eurus...but no. He wasn't going to burden Sherlock with that knowledge, not right now.
He loses his nerve, right before it all goes nuts, and is about to say something stupidly sentimental, but then--
--madness.
That was--that looked like--that couldn't be her, it couldn't--]
SHERLOCK!
[--and then the other tablet exploded and the connection cut off. Breathing heavily, his eyes wide, his mouth dropping open, he frantically tries to reconnect, with no success.]
Sherlock!? Sherlock!
[It takes an hour before he gives up, stunned, and fearing the worst.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
The alternative was too loathsome to think about.]
Do you realize what you've done!? What if it does kill you and you don't revive!?
[Probably not helping there, but his filter was at its limit, what with the nonsense transformations, the sad creature that very well might be Eurus, the whispers she'd spoken, this place in general--the floor continued its merry rippling as Mycroft felt he might very well be losing the plot. This had to be a dream.
It needed to be a dream.]
cw: suicidal ideation
[He sounds mildly impatient. Not because he doesn't feel guilty over making Mycroft watch this, but because he does and he's not good at expressing it. He is also aware that they're under a tight deadline, there can't be much longer before it begins.]
But I will. Amber was an anomalous piece of data, an outlying statistic, it's almost certain that people who intentionally or knowingly accept their death will return. A perverse punishment, perhaps.
[Making it so those who kill themselves can't stay dead, if that's what they want.]
no subject
[He hisses the words. Mycroft's not doing a very good job of hiding how appalled he is, how upsetting this is for him. Sherrinford hadn't been that long ago for him anyway. It sounded like Sherlock was being flippant about it all and that was irritating enough, and dangerous besides.]
It's not guaranteed. Nothing is guaranteed.
[It wasn't like he could look away, either, no matter how bad it got. The data would be valuable, and if this was Sherlock's last wish--
--no, he had to think positive.
But how could he? How could he after all this!?]
no subject
No, not exactly. But it's far easier to be blase about this, than it is to admit there's a possibility he might not return, or tell Mycroft how frightened he is that Moriarty might actually corrupt his mind once and for all. To lose all he is, his genius, that's horrific to him.]
Then I'm sure that you and John can spend many happy hours thoroughly abusing my memory should I not return.
[There's the bite of sarcastic impatience to his voice now.]
But for now, if you would be so kind, shut up and watch.
no subject
Mycroft gripped the sides of his tablet.]
Sherlock, don't be--you realize what this would do to your friend if you don't return!?
[Subtext: Do you know what this will do to me if you don't return?
He looked intently at the screen, despite his stomach threatening to evacuate the meager contents he'd consumed--he was basically out of food--and he would indeed do his very best not to miss a thing.]
no subject
[He falls silent after that.
It's a fair wait, enough that he begins to believe nothing will happen, before everything goes nuts. Mycroft will obviously only be able to see up until the tablet explodes.]
no subject
He wants to say something, he wants to reassure him, but he can't find the words. He wants to tell Sherlock how proud he is of him, but the words die on his lips as he can't quite say it--if he says it, it brings a finality to the situation. He couldn't accept that this was the end, possibly--though a part of him wants to tell him about Redbeard, about Eurus...but no. He wasn't going to burden Sherlock with that knowledge, not right now.
He loses his nerve, right before it all goes nuts, and is about to say something stupidly sentimental, but then--
--madness.
That was--that looked like--that couldn't be her, it couldn't--]
SHERLOCK!
[--and then the other tablet exploded and the connection cut off. Breathing heavily, his eyes wide, his mouth dropping open, he frantically tries to reconnect, with no success.]
Sherlock!? Sherlock!
[It takes an hour before he gives up, stunned, and fearing the worst.]