[ONLY A LITTLE. It's back to business now, though:]
You could have been about to post it. Either way, you don't have to show it to them, either-- you could also drop it in the presence of your tormentors and wait for them to stick their noses in. The temptation would be too great for at least one of them.
[A beat.]
Try writing about other natural things other than flowers. Storms, or water, maybe.
I suppose that would have fewer layers of subterfuge and wouldn't require me to artificially age the letter. I would just need to... figure out how I'd write a love letter to someone who doesn't exist.
[ If only Jon was still with him. He'd be able to write something convincing. ]
Do people really write about such things in relation to love? Someone writing about storms and water in a love letter truly sounds more like a saboteur hiding behind poetry.
[ Not that Mikotoba would know the content of his dreams or his childhood trauma, but Sherlock has trouble connecting that imagery with any feelings of love. ]
[Artificially aging the letter, too... he'd expect no less from a (S)Holmes.]
It's all metaphor, Holmes. Though sometimes the danger could indeed be part of the appeal. For example... hm...
[Dictating a fictional love letter is a little embarrassing, so there's a pause of a few moments while he thinks up what he's going to "write", then switches to text to communicate it.]
My heart will always reach for yours, my dear, whether you are at my side or an ocean apart. Even in the clouds of the gathering storm I only see the steely gray of your eyes looking into mine. You are always on my mind.
[................
Okay, that was MORE than a little embarrassing. Yujin pinches the bridge of his nose, grimacing at the flowery heartfelt nonsense he has just wrought, and finally speaks again.]
You don't need to be nearly as. Decorative. But there you have it.
[ There is a pause just as long if not longer than Mikotoba's. ]
Dear lord, I wasn't aware love letters could be so terrifying. If this is how my Watson writes, I misunderstood what kind of author he is striving to become.
[ He thought the ideal of love was supposed to be all sickening happy and soft, but dangerous? Storms? Oceans apart? No wonder love also brings so much murder. ]
Writing earnestly about myself or about someone who doesn't exist?
[ There are a few scratches of pencil on paper before he scratches it out. With space on the page to draft more ruinous sentences, it's spared from the fire. For now. ]
[ Which would be easier? Sherlock can't say given the state of his mind. He doesn't like what he's becoming. Maybe that's part of his struggle. He begins to tap the paper with his pencil. ]
I suppose another person would be easier, but if I am to be completely honest, I'm not sure I would recognize if I was ever attracted to someone. Until recently, I only had my mind for company. Everyone else either thought I was a nuisance or a freak. It became whether or not I could be of use to them as I grew older. Or something to break for one reason or another.
Love is... something I cannot fathom taking part in. All the evidence proves that I'm destined towards solitude, so why even entertain such an impossible notion?
[ Tap tap tap... tap. ]
John is a curious case. I don't get his limits, but surely even he will...
[Yujin listens patiently, uttering only a soft hum of acknowledgment as Sherlock explains his feelings. Or lack thereof, rather. He must be terribly lonely, with this sort of outlook on things...
The silence is punctuated by Sherlock's pen tapping on paper. Just as Yujin's about to offer up some words of wisdom, though? He hears Sherlock use a first name.]
[ His life has been very lonely. He lived with an imaginary friend for 15 years as his best friend and brother. ]
Yes, John Watson.
[ He says in a tone that suggests he's rolling his eyes at the question. Do keep up, Mikotoba. This shouldn't be new information. ]
He had every right to leave me behind in Edelweiss after I infiltrated deeper into its depths, but he stayed and continued to investigate the institute on his own accord. Then he went with me to New Orleans and even dressed up at my insistence to gather more information about the black opals. The sheriff took all his money in the process. Our luggage got thrown off the docks. We got shot at, went into gator infested waters, bore witness to the evidence of multiple horrific cultist activities.
[ Those last parts all happened within the same day. ]
And this is from a man who told me he objected to rows because his nerves were shaken. I hold no reservation that his willingness to accompany me through all that is nothing but an oddity.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
You could have been about to post it. Either way, you don't have to show it to them, either-- you could also drop it in the presence of your tormentors and wait for them to stick their noses in. The temptation would be too great for at least one of them.
[A beat.]
Try writing about other natural things other than flowers. Storms, or water, maybe.
no subject
[ If only Jon was still with him. He'd be able to write something convincing. ]
Do people really write about such things in relation to love? Someone writing about storms and water in a love letter truly sounds more like a saboteur hiding behind poetry.
[ Not that Mikotoba would know the content of his dreams or his childhood trauma, but Sherlock has trouble connecting that imagery with any feelings of love. ]
> text, and then back to audio
It's all metaphor, Holmes. Though sometimes the danger could indeed be part of the appeal. For example... hm...
[Dictating a fictional love letter is a little embarrassing, so there's a pause of a few moments while he thinks up what he's going to "write", then switches to text to communicate it.]
My heart will always reach for yours, my dear, whether you are at my side or an ocean apart. Even in the clouds of the gathering storm I only see the steely gray of your eyes looking into mine. You are always on my mind.
[................
Okay, that was MORE than a little embarrassing. Yujin pinches the bridge of his nose, grimacing at the flowery heartfelt nonsense he has just wrought, and finally speaks again.]
You don't need to be nearly as. Decorative. But there you have it.
no subject
Dear lord, I wasn't aware love letters could be so terrifying. If this is how my Watson writes, I misunderstood what kind of author he is striving to become.
[ He thought the ideal of love was supposed to be all sickening happy and soft, but dangerous? Storms? Oceans apart? No wonder love also brings so much murder. ]
no subject
[Yes it was.]
Let's forget about the metaphor. Why not just try to write something earnestly? That would only require plain, direct language.
no subject
Writing earnestly about myself or about someone who doesn't exist?
[ There are a few scratches of pencil on paper before he scratches it out. With space on the page to draft more ruinous sentences, it's spared from the fire. For now. ]
no subject
[A thoughtful pause. He adds, carefully:]
Was there anyone in your own world you were... interested in, at all? You could keep them in mind and change the details.
no subject
I suppose another person would be easier, but if I am to be completely honest, I'm not sure I would recognize if I was ever attracted to someone. Until recently, I only had my mind for company. Everyone else either thought I was a nuisance or a freak. It became whether or not I could be of use to them as I grew older. Or something to break for one reason or another.
Love is... something I cannot fathom taking part in. All the evidence proves that I'm destined towards solitude, so why even entertain such an impossible notion?
[ Tap tap tap... tap. ]
John is a curious case. I don't get his limits, but surely even he will...
no subject
The silence is punctuated by Sherlock's pen tapping on paper. Just as Yujin's about to offer up some words of wisdom, though? He hears Sherlock use a first name.]
John, hm?
[VERY INTERESTING!!11!!!11!]
no subject
Yes, John Watson.
[ He says in a tone that suggests he's rolling his eyes at the question. Do keep up, Mikotoba. This shouldn't be new information. ]
He had every right to leave me behind in Edelweiss after I infiltrated deeper into its depths, but he stayed and continued to investigate the institute on his own accord. Then he went with me to New Orleans and even dressed up at my insistence to gather more information about the black opals. The sheriff took all his money in the process. Our luggage got thrown off the docks. We got shot at, went into gator infested waters, bore witness to the evidence of multiple horrific cultist activities.
[ Those last parts all happened within the same day. ]
And this is from a man who told me he objected to rows because his nerves were shaken. I hold no reservation that his willingness to accompany me through all that is nothing but an oddity.