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Sep. 29th, 2011 10:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sozettaslowTitle: Currently unnamed; Chapter 2 (if anyone has any title ideas, I... need them. XD)
Series: The World Ends With You/Sherlock crossover
Genre: Gen-fic, ongoing
Rating: PG-13 for swearing
Summary: Sherlock's older brother was declared dead almost twenty years ago. Then he gets an invitation, for a trip to Shibuya.
“--the fuck do you think you’re doing?!”
“Neku, there’s really no need to shout.”
“You just shot two people! In broad daylight! Why wouldn’t there be a reason to shout?!”
“I didn’t say there wasn’t a reason. Just that there wasn’t a need. We’re not that far apart, and your shouting is just going to hurt your throat and my ears. Can’t have that, can we~?”
“...You are such a psychopath.”
“Please, dear, we’ve been over this. I’m a high functioning sociopath. Do keep up.”
Sherlock was slowly gaining consciousness, the words growing clearer with every moment. He kept his eyes shut, processing what he knew. He had been with John, at the statue with the boy- the one who had been talking a moment ago, it was the same voice- and then he’d been shot. He could only presume that he wasn’t dead, but what he heard next changed that assumption.
“You killed your little brother. What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Don’t be so dramatic. I have older brother rights.”
“You don’t get the right to kill your brothers!”
“How would you know, you’re an only child. Besides, Sherlock likes corpses. It’s fine.”
“Probably not his own!”
“With him, you really never know.”
“You are the worst older brother ever.”
“I’m fairly certain he hates Mycroft more, actually.”
True, Sherlock’s own corpse was not on any list things he was hoping to see immediately (and yes, he did dislike Mycroft more), but seeing as he was still functioning and capable of rational thought, other than the idea that he was dead, he didn’t have too much issue with it at the moment. He heard John move slightly near him, and Neku stepped back.
“They’re waking up.”
“Oh, Sherlock’s been awake for several minutes now. Rise and shine, little brother~”
Sherlock opened his eyes. His assumptions about the room appeared to be correct- it was spacious, with very little furniture, and a glass floor. Underneath the tiles appeared to be a chamber filled with water, including a great number of fish swimming around under their feet. He pulled himself up, eyes first falling on the redhead- irritated, frustrated, and very unsure of the situation- to the figure next to him.
He was looking up at 22 years, 4 months, and 24 days old Joshua Holmes. His almost platinum blonde hair fell in the same waves as his younger brother’s, and his frame was as lean and androgynous as it ever was. The only thing that had changed was his eyes- instead of a deep blue, they were now a harsh purple, shining entirely too brightly to be natural. Everything else was exactly the same.
He, literally, had not aged a day.
“Hello, Sherlock,” he said, playfully tilting his head to the side with one of his customary smirks.
“Joshua,” Sherlock replied, outwardly unfazed by... well, everything. John stood up behind him, moving over next to him and staring between the two. Apparently, he could see the family resemblance.
Joshua pushed his hair back- a familiar gesture, usually used as a distraction or, once he’d figured out that Sherlock knew it was a distraction, used as a red herring just to be a nuisance- violet eyes narrowed slightly as he surveyed the two in front of him. “Aw, look at you, all grown up~” he chimed with a giggle. Sherlock became 99.99% certain that this was actually Joshua. “You look so different.”
Sherlock didn’t react. “You don’t.”
Joshua’s smirk changed ever so slightly, but turned before Sherlock could identify. He was out of practice with reading Joshua; he’d have to be quicker. “One of the perks of being dead, I suppose,” he said casually, waving a hand, “Definitely one I like, though. Can you imagine me with wrinkles? Glad I get to avoid that.”
John stared at Joshua’s back, apparently stunned. Sherlock wasn’t at all surprised. “As vain as ever.”
Joshua waved a hand vaguely, back still turned. “Maybe in London it’s a crime to be well groomed- looking at you would suggest that, anyway- but this is Shibuya.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” John asked.
“Shibuya is the fashion district of Tokyo,” Sherlock explained, eyes never leaving Joshua’s back, searching for anything he could glean from his brother’s ever confident-and-or-cocky posture, “Suits you.”
“I thought so.” Joshua finally turned, expression merely one of amusement. Damn him. “But enough about me. I’m sure you’ve got some other questions, hm?”
Sherlock paused, but only for him- the entire thought process latest mere seconds. What he knew about this situation so far: his brother somehow still existed. Neither dead nor truly alive, if Joshua’s words were to be trusted. (Usually, Joshua never lied directly, just by being cryptic or leaving out important details, so that much information was probably reliable.) The state of ‘death’ was still in question. There was a possibility that it was in the metaphorical sense, though it wouldn’t explain Joshua’s apparent eternal youth. The possibility of some sort of afterlife would have to be considered. How annoying.
What he could get from the situation mostly came from Neku. He was hesitant around Joshua, understandably so but there was still a reason he was there. Obviously trusted him, Sherlock had no idea why, actually he had an idea and it was that something had happened to the redhead that had been very important and Joshua was involved somehow. He was here because he had no choice, probably by employment and even that might have been against his will. Whatever his job wasn’t, he wasn’t fond of it, but still took it seriously and the fact that Sherlock couldn’t tell exactly what his profession was was interesting. He was an artist, certainly, but not one that had made it yet, still working in the background and making little money but that wasn’t why he was here. Here, it was some kind of management, but even that didn’t seem quite right.
He could tell from Neku that whatever or whoever this man was, Joshua or otherwise, he was dangerous. Very much so, and with power. Joshua did like to get his hands dirty on some occasions, but it was much more likely that the power was some kind of position. With that in mind, he had only one question.
“What do you need my help with?” he asked.
Joshua smirked, tilting his head to the side. “Right to the chase, then? Still, your manners have gotten better. Usually you would have demanded to know that immediately.”
“Please get on with it,” Sherlock replied.
“Very well.” Joshua fixed the buttons on his sleeves before continuing. “Some of my people have gone... missing. No one very important yet, but I do like to take precautions. I have an idea, but I can’t really go chasing after it myself. There are some people who like to keep an eye on me, especially now.” Something had happened, maybe not within the past week or month but still fairly recent, that someone above him hadn’t approved of, then. Not surprising. “I would tell you, but that’s no fun, is it? Maybe I’ll give you a hint, but...”
Sherlock saw where this was going. “A game, then?”
Joshua’s smirk got even sharper, even more dangerous. Sherlock was starting to remember why he liked him as much as he had. “A game,” he replied.
It was amazing, what a single word could do. Neku immediately stiffened, his eyes got wider- apparently, he knew what that meant with Joshua. “Josh, don’t you dar--”
“Be quiet, Neku.” Joshua’s eyes flashed back at him, and the boy glared, silencing himself but hardly backing down. The fingers of his right hand, and only his right hand, dug into his palm.
When the blonde turned back to Sherlock, he was smiling in a way that was most certainly not genuine. “How does a week sound? Decent amount of time, to get everything solved. Think you can manage?”
“I don’t need a week.”
Joshua giggled again, pushing his hair away from his eyes. “Take the week, Sherlock. Trust me. You will need it.”
Sherlock frowned. He never needed a week to solve anything. Why should this be different? Still, it looked like he wasn’t going to get a choice. “Fine.”
His brother tossed him something, Sherlock catching it and holding it up. A pin, very much like the one he’d received before, but this was no prototype. “What is this?”
“A Player Pin. All Players have one,” Joshua replied, tone sweet and playful and like he was going to be so happy to watch someone burn, “I’ll take your entry fee now. Welcome to the Reaper’s Game, Sherlock.”
Series: The World Ends With You/Sherlock crossover
Genre: Gen-fic, ongoing
Rating: PG-13 for swearing
Summary: Sherlock's older brother was declared dead almost twenty years ago. Then he gets an invitation, for a trip to Shibuya.
“--the fuck do you think you’re doing?!”
“Neku, there’s really no need to shout.”
“You just shot two people! In broad daylight! Why wouldn’t there be a reason to shout?!”
“I didn’t say there wasn’t a reason. Just that there wasn’t a need. We’re not that far apart, and your shouting is just going to hurt your throat and my ears. Can’t have that, can we~?”
“...You are such a psychopath.”
“Please, dear, we’ve been over this. I’m a high functioning sociopath. Do keep up.”
Sherlock was slowly gaining consciousness, the words growing clearer with every moment. He kept his eyes shut, processing what he knew. He had been with John, at the statue with the boy- the one who had been talking a moment ago, it was the same voice- and then he’d been shot. He could only presume that he wasn’t dead, but what he heard next changed that assumption.
“You killed your little brother. What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Don’t be so dramatic. I have older brother rights.”
“You don’t get the right to kill your brothers!”
“How would you know, you’re an only child. Besides, Sherlock likes corpses. It’s fine.”
“Probably not his own!”
“With him, you really never know.”
“You are the worst older brother ever.”
“I’m fairly certain he hates Mycroft more, actually.”
True, Sherlock’s own corpse was not on any list things he was hoping to see immediately (and yes, he did dislike Mycroft more), but seeing as he was still functioning and capable of rational thought, other than the idea that he was dead, he didn’t have too much issue with it at the moment. He heard John move slightly near him, and Neku stepped back.
“They’re waking up.”
“Oh, Sherlock’s been awake for several minutes now. Rise and shine, little brother~”
Sherlock opened his eyes. His assumptions about the room appeared to be correct- it was spacious, with very little furniture, and a glass floor. Underneath the tiles appeared to be a chamber filled with water, including a great number of fish swimming around under their feet. He pulled himself up, eyes first falling on the redhead- irritated, frustrated, and very unsure of the situation- to the figure next to him.
He was looking up at 22 years, 4 months, and 24 days old Joshua Holmes. His almost platinum blonde hair fell in the same waves as his younger brother’s, and his frame was as lean and androgynous as it ever was. The only thing that had changed was his eyes- instead of a deep blue, they were now a harsh purple, shining entirely too brightly to be natural. Everything else was exactly the same.
He, literally, had not aged a day.
“Hello, Sherlock,” he said, playfully tilting his head to the side with one of his customary smirks.
“Joshua,” Sherlock replied, outwardly unfazed by... well, everything. John stood up behind him, moving over next to him and staring between the two. Apparently, he could see the family resemblance.
Joshua pushed his hair back- a familiar gesture, usually used as a distraction or, once he’d figured out that Sherlock knew it was a distraction, used as a red herring just to be a nuisance- violet eyes narrowed slightly as he surveyed the two in front of him. “Aw, look at you, all grown up~” he chimed with a giggle. Sherlock became 99.99% certain that this was actually Joshua. “You look so different.”
Sherlock didn’t react. “You don’t.”
Joshua’s smirk changed ever so slightly, but turned before Sherlock could identify. He was out of practice with reading Joshua; he’d have to be quicker. “One of the perks of being dead, I suppose,” he said casually, waving a hand, “Definitely one I like, though. Can you imagine me with wrinkles? Glad I get to avoid that.”
John stared at Joshua’s back, apparently stunned. Sherlock wasn’t at all surprised. “As vain as ever.”
Joshua waved a hand vaguely, back still turned. “Maybe in London it’s a crime to be well groomed- looking at you would suggest that, anyway- but this is Shibuya.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” John asked.
“Shibuya is the fashion district of Tokyo,” Sherlock explained, eyes never leaving Joshua’s back, searching for anything he could glean from his brother’s ever confident-and-or-cocky posture, “Suits you.”
“I thought so.” Joshua finally turned, expression merely one of amusement. Damn him. “But enough about me. I’m sure you’ve got some other questions, hm?”
Sherlock paused, but only for him- the entire thought process latest mere seconds. What he knew about this situation so far: his brother somehow still existed. Neither dead nor truly alive, if Joshua’s words were to be trusted. (Usually, Joshua never lied directly, just by being cryptic or leaving out important details, so that much information was probably reliable.) The state of ‘death’ was still in question. There was a possibility that it was in the metaphorical sense, though it wouldn’t explain Joshua’s apparent eternal youth. The possibility of some sort of afterlife would have to be considered. How annoying.
What he could get from the situation mostly came from Neku. He was hesitant around Joshua, understandably so but there was still a reason he was there. Obviously trusted him, Sherlock had no idea why, actually he had an idea and it was that something had happened to the redhead that had been very important and Joshua was involved somehow. He was here because he had no choice, probably by employment and even that might have been against his will. Whatever his job wasn’t, he wasn’t fond of it, but still took it seriously and the fact that Sherlock couldn’t tell exactly what his profession was was interesting. He was an artist, certainly, but not one that had made it yet, still working in the background and making little money but that wasn’t why he was here. Here, it was some kind of management, but even that didn’t seem quite right.
He could tell from Neku that whatever or whoever this man was, Joshua or otherwise, he was dangerous. Very much so, and with power. Joshua did like to get his hands dirty on some occasions, but it was much more likely that the power was some kind of position. With that in mind, he had only one question.
“What do you need my help with?” he asked.
Joshua smirked, tilting his head to the side. “Right to the chase, then? Still, your manners have gotten better. Usually you would have demanded to know that immediately.”
“Please get on with it,” Sherlock replied.
“Very well.” Joshua fixed the buttons on his sleeves before continuing. “Some of my people have gone... missing. No one very important yet, but I do like to take precautions. I have an idea, but I can’t really go chasing after it myself. There are some people who like to keep an eye on me, especially now.” Something had happened, maybe not within the past week or month but still fairly recent, that someone above him hadn’t approved of, then. Not surprising. “I would tell you, but that’s no fun, is it? Maybe I’ll give you a hint, but...”
Sherlock saw where this was going. “A game, then?”
Joshua’s smirk got even sharper, even more dangerous. Sherlock was starting to remember why he liked him as much as he had. “A game,” he replied.
It was amazing, what a single word could do. Neku immediately stiffened, his eyes got wider- apparently, he knew what that meant with Joshua. “Josh, don’t you dar--”
“Be quiet, Neku.” Joshua’s eyes flashed back at him, and the boy glared, silencing himself but hardly backing down. The fingers of his right hand, and only his right hand, dug into his palm.
When the blonde turned back to Sherlock, he was smiling in a way that was most certainly not genuine. “How does a week sound? Decent amount of time, to get everything solved. Think you can manage?”
“I don’t need a week.”
Joshua giggled again, pushing his hair away from his eyes. “Take the week, Sherlock. Trust me. You will need it.”
Sherlock frowned. He never needed a week to solve anything. Why should this be different? Still, it looked like he wasn’t going to get a choice. “Fine.”
His brother tossed him something, Sherlock catching it and holding it up. A pin, very much like the one he’d received before, but this was no prototype. “What is this?”
“A Player Pin. All Players have one,” Joshua replied, tone sweet and playful and like he was going to be so happy to watch someone burn, “I’ll take your entry fee now. Welcome to the Reaper’s Game, Sherlock.”
