ironmonger | (no subject)

"If you are referring to the psychological effects, I can manage those too."

Pálinka and crying on Cal seem to be a winning formula, and if Cal gives up on him in disgust, he can cry by himself.

"It will be neither easy nor pleasant, but I can."

Obadiah pauses for a long moment.

Then he says,

"I think I've just figured out the problem here."

"Yes?"

"I'm prioritizing your humanity more than you are."

The irony levels might actually prove fatal.

He grins.

"Don't worry," he says cheerfully, "everyone does."

He just shakes his head.

"Really," Sherlock continues, "in terms of practical priorities, having analyzed the potential consequences, it is an exchange I am willing to make. I appreciate your consideration," and he really does, "but I believe it is worth it."

"I think I'll take my chances," he says dryly.

Quietly: "Why?"

"Because my way has less chance of going wrong than yours does," he says. "You're making any number of assumptions that aren't as valid as you think they are."

"We could try it," he suggests. "And if you are right, and I can't handle it, then I'll know. One disaster, I can survive without passing it on to Tony. I do know that much about myself." A slight smile. "I have considerable experience surviving disasters."

He won't pretend it's not tempting (though, oddly, not as tempting as it would have been a month ago).

But:

"No."

He shuts his eyes.

"Please?"

"No, Sherlock, now stop being ridiculous."

He takes his hand out of Sherlock's hair and brushes it irritably against his shirt.

"All right," he says softly, wrapping his arms around his stomach. "I'm sorry. I won't bother you about it again, but if you change your mind or think of another way I can help, I am at your service."

"I'll let you know," he says, in a tone that makes it abundantly clear that he won't.

As promised, Sherlock does not pursue the matter further. Nor will he. He nods, and—as he indicated earlier—that is that.

All right.

"How about another drink?" he suggests. His glass is long since empty.

"Shall I get you one?"

He's already halfway across the room by the end of the sentence—not hurrying, but moving with efficiency. Even lulled by scritches and then upset by having his offer of self-sacrifice rejected, Sherlock can move.

"Yes, thank you."

He laces his voice with a hint of dry affection, for Sherlock's benefit. It's habit more than anything else - he knows Sherlock will see right through such an effort to pacify.

He pours Obadiah another glass, just the same as the first one, and hands it to him.

Then he stands there for a moment, giving him a very thoughtful look.

"I wouldn't kill you for it," he says abruptly. "I would have when I said so but I wouldn't now. You should know that."

That said, he takes a seat, folding himself onto the couch at Obadiah's side, close enough that their shoulders touch again but not directly leaning on him.

Interesting.

He takes a slow, thoughtful sip of whiskey before answering.

"I'll keep that in mind."

He shrugs, settles a little closer, and doesn't say anything more on the subject.

(The effort to pacify hardly even registered; it did not occur to him, and still hasn't, that Obadiah might see any reason to do that. If he had thought about the affectionate tone at all, he would have concluded it was either an act of deliberate antagonism or one of those lies that are true despite themselves. Possibly both. Probably, given context, the former.

In his own way, though, by getting Obadiah that drink and not offering any argument or unsolicited analysis along with it, Sherlock is trying a similar thing in reverse.)

After a calculated moment, Obadiah slides his arm around Sherlock.

Sherlock is forgiven.

Sherlock leans into him with a fond smile. He does not feel obliged to point out that he knows the gesture is mainly a false one, the implicit forgiveness a matter of expedience and not sentiment; he is fairly sure they understand one another on that score already.

"Is there anything else you'd like to know while we're here?" he asks idly.