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Want? What I want is irrelevant. It always has been. If I'd gotten what I wanted at any point in the last year and a half of this time, we never would have had this conversation. [And what she meant by that, the bitterness bleeding into her tone, she was leaving unstated.] I do not deserve to be forgiven, or trusted. There are people here who refuse to accept the level of danger I can pose at times and associate themselves with me, despite what I've done under that influence. It's... foolish of them.

That stated... we're in the position we're in. Even if there's a simple cycle, I may be coming to you for assistance in other permutations. Simply strapping me to a chair in a dark room once in a while's only a temporary fix. She will get out eventually... So what I may need you for is more rigid experiments and brainstorming. There's herbs here with properties that might defy my world's sciences, after all. [Read: Magic plants.]

Not particular. What you want, is fuel. A spark that ignites actions. I wouldn't discard it so callously. So I've been told, I'm a man of considerable ego - but I would never sell myself that short. You ought to care to do the same.

I'm entirely certain you have qualities people find more than tolerable. It's precisely why they come speak with you.

Chairs are uncreative. Have you tried other methods?

[Ah, he was trying to convince her of what she should want. That made sense. It wasn't right, but it was... cute in a way.]

I haven't had access to people willing to keep me in check in my home world. It was complicated further by the fact that there was an alarmingly large number of episodes, with a great deal of unpredictability in some periods. It's been considerably more controlled here.

Do you have a better suggestion to ensure binding sticks?

[ and in that sentence, he's utterly curious. ]

Why? Why are the 'episodes' less here?

Sedation. Have you tried sedating yourself before the ordeal happens?

Traditional medicines haven't worked in the past, either to correct the brain chemistry or to simply knock myself out. I haven't tried here, but so far, only the unpredictable variety of episode has happened making it hard to self-medicate in time.

As for the 'why,' I have a theory. At home, I heard voices, had full blown conversations with entities that I am reasonably sure nobody else could see or hear. Normally, this isn't a good sign for a person's mental stability, and it still isn't here, but what's odd is that none of them have chimed in here. By now, they should have at least made a passing comment. There were seven of them, explicitly, and each viewed itself to be a demon. I know that my father's involved in this madness as well, and I have finally accepted the fact that he has no sway here. Whether he had a hand in my arrival is beside the point. I am outside of his reach here.

If those voices represented real demons, which isn't outside the realm of possibility for me, and he is no longer present, there's healthy odds he and they were exacerbating the problem, making matters much worse than they would be naturally.

Most curious, you mean to say your continuous state of disarray is rooted in brainwork? that there is a triggering mechanism to access that portion of your 'persona'? the brain is an organ and needless to say it is capable of being ... controlled.

Most curious. Are you certain these voices are not an abiding result of a much deeper rooted psychological problem? There is no shame in seeking asylum. You will have to bear with some reluctance, on my part. The supernatural is something I have taken the opportunity to disprove on more than one occasion. An acknowledgement, however, that my methods are in gross need of reconstruction as they cannot be dismissed so offhandedly in this world.

Whom is the 'he' speak of?

You've asked a mouthful, so we'll start with two points. On the chemicals, I agree, but I think I need more punch than Prozac and a shrink if you will. I'm trying to work with these local plants to see if they can cut through my brain chemistry and stop me from having these psychotic breaks.

As for this 'he,' I don't like talking about him much. However, the Doctor's vouched for you. Valefar is my father, an incubus with delusions of grandeur. I don't know much about him, other than that he claims to be a duke in hell, and the lord and patron of thieves. Claimed to have stolen the power of life and death from an archangel once. Whether or not that crap's true, I don't know.

However, I do know this. Bastard's brought me back from the dead five times. I know for a fact I died and didn't just hallucinate it. One time, I was in the states when I died, and came to life off the coast of Ireland.

I'm suggesting much more than 'modern' hormonal corrections. But your actions, the 'shifting' so to speak, it's triggered by psychotic breaks? Can you confirm that much.

I'm not entirely inclined to believe you, Ms. Grey. That seems a tad farfetched.

Pretty much seems to be a moment where I just go completely crazy and stay that way for about twenty-four hours or so, if that's what you mean.

As for the far-fetched, what's far-fetched? Me ending up in another place when I came back to life, or me dying and rising in the first place? Or do you mean the whole hell thing? My world had a lot of weird shit.

All of it. It seems like something fictitious, but alas I come from a world without monsters. Naturally, what is the realm of impossible is easier eliminated.

But most curious. Most curious indeed.

Different worlds, I'm guessing. Might be outright impossible in yours. There's some of these worlds that have stuff I've never even heard of. I'll promise you it's true one way or another.

Besides, how many people you know with horns and a tail that smell a little of brimstone?

I'm not quite sure what's en vogue for you modern folk anymore. But I shall take your statements as truth.

There is something the nanny has given me to cure odors. It is an aerosol can with the label of : 'fabreezy'. Perhaps it can aid your ailments.

Eh, it's not really that strong. The few times it really came up, people didn't find it offensive so much as a little unnerving. Just kind of what I have to deal with is all. Fabreeze'll just help the room.

Do all demons at your world smell like brimstone? How often are their demons?

Most I've ever met. It's kind of a ... thing about our hell to have a little bit of sulfur in the air. As for their numbers, I couldn't tell you. There's books that make claims, and my dad used to make a whole heap of them the few times I actually heard him talk, but I couldn't say for sure.

I will say that the one time I got a tour of the place on my own dime, there were a lot of freaking demons down there. More than I could count.

Heard him talk? Why would your father not speak to you?

Your words bear then implication that you've been to hell.

Not generally. Incubi aren't known for fatherly skill, and my dad didn't show up until after my mom was dead. After the first meeting I tried steering clear of him.

And yeah. Multiple times. Every time I died I went there so he could bring me back from the dead. Went there once on purpose. Had someone I needed to spring. It wasn't her time.

[Her opinion, mind you...]

Then perhaps it is not worth the respect you card for him, regardless of how many times he's brought you back from the dead.

How does that work? I was thinking of devising a chemical substance capable of restarting the heart.

[The reply doesn't come back for a minute or two. There's a lot of swearing, cursing, bellowing, railing and about twelve untyped messages that don't go through to Sherlock.

The word 'fuck,' 'son' and 'bitch' are featured prominently among the epithets. Some of it's directed at Sherlock, but the vast majority is directed at her father.]

[After she's calmed down...]

I apologize if you have gotten the impression I have anything but fear and loathing for that creature. Valefar is the worst piece of pond scum in my world. I personally hope he takes a long leap off of a short pier and is fed upon by carrion crawlers for the next thousand years before someone gets around to ending his miserable, wretched existence.

There is nothing to respect in him. He's just powerful.

As for 'how,' you sound like a man of science so I'll explain "He stole the power of life and death from Uriel" in semi-scientific terms. Valefar has access to something that traps a portion of my living essence. Whenever I die, he uses that, raw fleshly materials in hell and a copious amount of energy that he has access to in order to rebuild my body and re-implant that fragment of living essence within me. The process re-creates me, alive but unconscious, at which point he creates a breach in the barriers of time and space to deposit me in a location of his choosing, outside of the bounds of hell. I awaken from unconsciousness naturally with full memories of my former life.

I know this because the way I died the first time, there wasn't much left to resuscitate. Actually... I suppose that applies to a few of my deaths. So, it's not terribly unlike the bullshit they pull here. Just more demonic.

How power can reside upon one person is enough for respect, for some people.

You're saying resurrection by means of some sort of recreation? Most interesting. If he has been gifted such abilities why deposit you in a patternless manner every time death takes to you?

And it does beg a deeper inquiry. Why do you keep dying?

I don't really respect power for it's own sake, but some do. I just know to stay out of its way if possible.

It wasn't entirely patternless, but I've only managed to pick up hints as to why. Forgive me, but I consider that to be a somewhat private matter. I think I know what he's doing, and why he insists on putting me in places where I am likely to die. I would rather not speak about it, however.

[It wasn't exactly a pleasant subject to explain that she thought she might be some minor demon's 'pet project' for corrupting a useful tool for his later machinations. That, and she didn't exactly trust Sherlock that much, not to mention that it always sounded almost hopelessly paranoid beyond recognition whenever she had explained it, even to herself.]

[ and it's Sherlock who has absolutely no concept of diplomacy or tact who presses on his inquiry. ]

You've revealed yourself to be a demon who's powers are fueled by the softer passions. I am a grown man, whatever news your wish to deliver is within my realms of understanding. Discard with modesty. There is no point to it.

[Surprisingly, a lack of diplomacy was just about the only way to drag certain things out of her. Being friendly, giving her space, would never get these truths from her lips. She'd just avoid the topic perpetually.

Getting her pissed?]

Because the bastard was trying to corrupt me and turn me into a monster twenty-four seven so he could harvest whatever depraved spiritual crop and grow more powerful himself! I'm a fucking sacrifice to that sick pervert's whims!

Happy?!?

[ Samantha Grey you have an alarming amount of familial issues. S E R I O U S L Y. And this is coming from Holmes. Have you met his brother? His brother is naked Stephen Fry. ]

Your father had given into perversions over you? [ side eying that. ]

Not particularly. Why didn't you simply - stray from him?

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I'M PRETTY SURE THIS WAS A TEXT THREAD

it was. She wanted to shout at him. Back to text!

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