Pacific Rim AU

[substituteskull]

"John Watson. It's been too long. Much too long."

That voice behind him is cringe-worthy but all John does is frown into his glass of ale and hope that by ignoring the man, he'll go away. Getting rid of Mycroft Holmes, however, is impossible. John sucks in a breath and turns on his stool, all tight lipped smiles and British hospitality. He even offers his hand, the right one, even though it still shakes from time to time. "Marshall Holmes. What are you doing here? Catching the match? Man U is winning."

The football game is, however, something John's not interested in. He'd just wanted to get away for a little while. Seeing Mycroft now brings back too much.

The Marshall does not take John's hand and instead makes a little humming noise in the back of his throat before he asks John if he might speak with him. In private. Outside. John complies. He has to, he still has respect for the man, even if he pretty much banished him from the Jaeger program. Not his fault, John reminds himself. Not Mycroft's fault at all.

"If this is about retaining me for ranger evaluation--"

But Mycroft cuts him off. "No, John. I'd like to bring you back into the program."

John understandably stiffens. "You know I can't do that. Who in their bloody right minds would want to Drift with me after--"

Mycroft holds up a hand and John's temper cools again. He'd apologize but military men have a problem with that sometimes. "Vatican Cameo won't respond properly to any of our other pilots. I'm sure you heard about what happened in Hawaii last week."

John nods.

"Good. I'll send a helicopter for you tomorrow and I'll see you in the Shatterdome bright and early."

John can't help but scowl. "Yes, fine, but who is going to--"

"Let me worry about that, John."

Comments

[noshit]

He's dragged into this because Mycroft is too lazy to do his own work, or that's what he likes to tell himself. Sherlock didn't agree to help at first, but he was promised more Kaiju parts next time they could get their hands on them... how could he pass that up? So Sherlock is handed a folder of information on a Jaeger pilot from years ago, one of two pilots that had driven the Vatican Cameo.

He works to find compatible drift partners for John Watson, getting a sizable list going by the time Mycroft announces that said man will be arriving soon. He'll meet them when the helicopter lands, umbrella in one hand as it's raining and he carries a sizable folder full of all the possibilities for John. He's also got an umbrella hanging on his arm for them to use as well. He does manage to be considerable at times.

Once John steps out and Sherlock has gotten a good look at him, he just turns to his brother and mutters a, "Not what I expected." Yes. Right with John there. Considerate and then rude all the span of a minute. That's Sherlock for you.

[substituteskull]

Charming. John is quick to size this new curly haired addition to his entorage up. Young, probably public school given the accent. He moves a little like Mycroft, although where the Marshall leans -- unable to stand up right on his own two feet sometimes despite being a very capable ranger in his day -- but John dismisses it out of turn. Instead, he forces a smile, one of amused aggravation, and shrugs. "I'm not what I expected either," he says, keeping his eyes on the other with the umbrella rather than on the building behind him.

God, when was the last time he was in a shatterdome?

Two years. Three? Three years ago, when Harry's alcoholism and rockstar fame got the best of her, when she chased the rabbit during a test of a new, cauterizing weapon to keep the Kaiju Blue from damaging the environment more than necessary.

Vatican Cameo had destroyed millions of pounds of equipment. And worse, ended the lives of twenty three engineers.

An accident, it was reported as. But it hadn't been an accident. John found out that Clara had been cheating on his sister and the Drift--

Well. Let's just say it was the last time John's Drifted. He'd hoped it might be the last time he'd ever Drift again.

He offers Sherlock his hand, though, ever polite. It's not shaking now. "John Watson. Nice to meet you...?"

[noshit]

No doubt Mycroft is sighing and rolling his eyes at his brother, but John doesn't respond terribly so no need to break up a fight. Yet. Some how Sherlock managed to always piss off everyone, it was the main reason his brother never tried to find a Drift partner, never went for his own Jaeger. Not that it mattered now, they didn't have any more Jaegers to just hand out. With so few left they had to be careful and Sherlock Holmes was anything but careful.

At the introduction from John, Sherlock merely looks down at his hand and offers him the umbrella he's already using, otherwise both hands are full and he can't shake the offered one anyway.

"Sherlock, and I know who you are John Watson. In fact I probably know more about you than most at this point." Even after only having had a day to collect suitable Drift partners for him. He opens up the other umbrella and shelters himself from the rain again, but his curls are already soaked, oh well. He does however shuffle the thick folder to both hands, working to keep a hold of the umbrella at the same time.

"I was tasked in compiling a list of possible candidates for you to be Drift compatible with. I'm sure Mycroft has kept you up to date?" Not bothering with formalities, Mycroft is his brother after all... even then he wouldn't care.

[substituteskull]

"Do you?" is John's response to the first statement. "Were you?" is the second. He is more or less unamused by this little scenario but he turns to follow the Marshall and Sherlock inside the bunker of the Hawaiian Shatterdome. This one is brand new. There's no paint peeling, no second coats to keep out the rust-- It's beautiful.

And from what he's gathered from the news, it probably will never be used to make Jaegers. Evidently the Mark Vs in Australia are the last on the manufacturing line. There's been talk about building a wall as a secondary defense and that's been taking all of the money.

Well, that and the fact that Kaiju seem to be showing up on a more and more frequent basis. Before this last attack, it was almost three months. Before that, it had been four and a half. And at the start, it was nearly six.

John doesn't speculate.

"Didn't the Marshall tell you that I'm not compatible with anyone? That was the problem." And why he washed out.

Once inside completely, John lowers the umbrella and is nearly run over by a Kaiju organ transport trolly. He steps into Sherlock to avoid getting bumped and does apologize, but neither of them seem entirely happy about the matter.

[noshit]

"A problem I've solved." Sherlock assures him. Once they end up inside he'll get his umbrella put away, handing it off to his brother, because he can. He gets a look for it, but he doesn't have a chance to respond back as John bumps back into him. Sherlock instinctively reaches out to grab him, to steady himself and John as well.

He'll look annoyed by the contact, but doesn't push John away, instead his attention moves to the trolley going by, having seen what was on it. Ah, more for him to play with. Sherlock starts to follow after it when Mycroft clears his throat behind him.

"Where do you think you're going?" Sherlock stops, "Surely you'll show John around, won't you, Sherlock?" He doesn't even have to turn back to hear that shit eating smile that no doubt is on his brother's face. Sherlock turns about then, ignoring Mycroft. Fine. He'll play along, for now.

"Come along then." He sounds put upon and doesn't wait for John to respond, just heads off, expecting him to follow.

[substituteskull]

Oh and now I get a babysitter. John's thought patterns are not very nice for a few moments, but he says nothing. Much shorter than the average pilot, and by this point, probably older than most of them too, John doesn't fit in with these people. He never really thought he had to be honest but Harry had wanted so very badly to join the program and as siblings seem to be the best candidates for Drift Compatibility, she'd dragged him right to the Academy when it opened up.

John had excelled there. Found happiness there. His own career put aside, he didn't let the instructors break him or for a moment, even make him think about civilian life as a doctor. He didn't let the constant drills, the combat readiness training, or even his sister's deterioration get to him.

"I can probably show myself around," John says, trying to keep up with Sherlock and having to half run with him. The tremouring hand of his is slumped into his pocket as long legs stride his 'guide' well ahead of him.

He doesn't like him, he decides immediately. His opinion of the other is formed through this very brief interaction and sure, it might be a little premature, but John tends to be right about people.

Arrogance buys you nothing but cockiness and okay, you need some of that to get through life, sure. But this? This is something more.

"Listen--" Ugh, what an arse! "If you just point me to--"

Oh. John pauses in front of the launch room. He ought to follow Sherlock to the left but instead he moves off into the main hangar. There are three Jaegers housed here. He never fought alongside either of the others and they are all new, Mark-Vs. They don't draw his attention the way that she does, though. Standing here now reminds him of the first time he'd seen her. Vatican Cameo. Oh, he'd fallen in love so hard.

So hard.

[noshit]

John not liking him would not surprise Sherlock. Most people didn't, right from the get go. It was just something he expected and it probably factored into his typical behavior of spending the majority of his time alone, alone with Kaiju parts. Slicing them apart and getting inside them, trying to see everything he could under a microscope. The most human interaction he got beyond Mycroft nagging him constantly was the mousy Molly who came around sometimes, offering to help him with things. Probably the one person who involuntarily came around to be near Sherlock on their own accord.

But back to John. He hears him yes, ignores him, they're almost there and... wait not, he's lost him. Sherlock stops and turns back around, finding John gawking at the Mark-Vs. Coming up to stand beside him he'll take in the sight as well, as it really is amazing, before he looks down at him.

"... if you're done here, there is something I believe you'd rather see." Where he had been taking him originally. He turns then, continuing on.

"Come on, John." Stop staring at the Jaegers, at least those ones. Whether he follows him or not, Sherlock heads off to the left, down a bit and eventually stops, looking out at where the engineers are putting the finishing touches on a familiar 'face' John might recognize.

"She's had a few touch ups, reworked the plating and fixed any damage from your lost outing. Good as new." Sherlock says, eyes roaming over the impressive form of Vatican Cameo. Sherlock was actually quite invested in the Jaeger, having helped with some of the upgrades himself. A lot of his experiments and research on the Kaiju went into better preparing the Jaegers to defend against them, to fight better against what they could throw at them.

It was the reason he'd been rather unimpressed with his initial meeting of John Watson, one of the pilots of said Jaeger. He'd expected more. Though Sherlock was being quick to judge, like most were with him.

[substituteskull]

He's seen them in action on the television, seen them in parade lines, but never up close like this. It's beautiful. He can hear Sherlock's voice, drifting away, and John takes a breath and follows it slowly, eyes fixed on the red plated Jaeger before he has to tear his gaze away to avoid walking into walls. His throat feels too swollen to properly swallow so he ends up having to jog to keep up with the rapidly marching man supposedly showing him around the source of all of his wet dreams.

It's been two years and this still hurts so much. His hand has yet to shake, however, but John isn't really thinking about that. When he does fall back into step with Sherlock, it's just at the end of the last bay and he finds himself with his heart just about ready to fall out of his chest and to his feet.

Now, John had known that they were refurbishing the Vatican Cameo. Marshall Holmes even made mention of the thing being impossible to connect with anyone else -- which is ridiculous, the machines are compatible with any high functioning neural handshakes. He's positive that was just a ploy to get him back here.

But now, it's like being introduced to the love of his life from secondary school. The one that moved off to uni. The one that got away. He rubs his hand over his mouth and lets his fingers ball up into fists.

"You... You did a fantastic job. Really bloody brilliant. Can I-- Is the conn-pod still up there?" He just wants to look, all right?

[noshit]

Sherlock doesn't speak, he just watches John. Takes in the way the other man reacts to seeing his Jaeger again after all this time. It's like watching two lovers meet, if one can be so dramatic. Every movement and look, the way John breathes even just speaks volumes.

Maybe he was wrong about John Watson. How could someone who loved Vatican Cameo as much as he obviously did be a disappointment? There was a passion there as John finally spoke, he could hear the want, the need to be inside her again and it was not unlike his own at times. Sherlock had never piloted a Jaeger, not a real one. Simulations and all that of course, he was excellent in that regard, but every time he got a small amount of time inside Vatican Cameo, making sure that everything was working properly, that any new implements were put in correct... he found himself not wanting to leave. There is a part of him now that wonders what it would be like to Drift with someone, someone like John Watson, who had been inside her and piloted her before.

It's an intimacy he's never had with anyone and the curiosity burns in Sherlock.

"It is, but you won't be able to have a look yet." He actually feels bad telling John this, "I'm sorry." He is, truly, for once he means it. It's not often Sherlock shows much emotion in this regard to anyone, beyond annoyance and frustration at how simple most people are.

"I'm to give you a proper look around and show you to where you'll be staying. Tomorrow you will be meeting your possible Drift partners. Then after that I believe Vatican Cameo should be fully ready for the both of you." Once he's found someone. A part of Sherlock hates to say that. He doesn't want anyone else inside her, John had a right sure, that's fine, he was her pilot, but as far as he was concerned no one else deserved to be inside her conn-pod, to touch anything.

He thinks this even after being the one to handpick the list of people John would go through to find his new Drift partner. Something Mycroft probably had him do just to spite him.

[substituteskull]

There's a notable sadness to John's current gaze as he adopts a more military posture and turns his head to look up at Sherlock. The sadness continues to his lips and he clears his throat. "Right, sure. Of course." He doesn't believe there's going to be any cockpit jockeying tomorrow. He doesn't believe there's going to be much of anything left for him to do except be a disappointment in everyone's eyes. Maybe they'll just have him on to try and correct whatever weird imprint the Vactican Cameo possesses that won't let her accept another Drift signature. That might be all right. Certainly better than mending broken bones or cuts or witnessing deaths gotten on this new wall idea the PDDC has.

He is much more controlled with himself as Sherlock shows him the mess and the officer's quarters, the lounge, the Kwoon Combat room, the K-Labs-- And finally, his bunk.

"A private room?"

Now he seems surprised.

"Well, thanks. Guess you lot must be worse off than I thought!" he says as a joke. Of course, Sherlock's outright emotionless severity makes him draw back a bit. He clears his throat. "Right, well thanks. Will you come round tomorrow or should I just meet up with you?"

[noshit]

The rest of things go on with boring familiarity, showing John the other areas of 'importance' that he'll be using during his time here. It's all boring and mundane until they get to the K-Labs, where he usually can be found, but John doesn't seem overly interested. If Sherlock were to pay more attention he'd probably realize that John was still let down from not being able to see Vatican Cameo up close and personal, but soon. Soon he would be able to.

Still Sherlock ushers them out once he realizes that John seems bored, if mostly just distracted. So then they're at John's bunk and he'll nod at the first question.

"Worse off, yes. Did Mycroft not tell you how bad things are here?" He's brows furrow at that, "And I will come collect you, not that I have far to go." Sherlock glances just over his own shoulder to his bunk nearby. Private of course. No one would share space with him, they'd tried, it had ended with a couple fist fights. Sherlock had a way of pissing people off, believe it or not. He does turn as if to leave, but then stops.

"What I said about you not being what I expected, I meant it." Sherlock starts, "I have heard much about you and Harry, how great a pilot you were. How much passion you had. The man I saw step off that helicopter looked passionless, looked like he had no interest in being here." Like he didn't care. That had not been what Sherlock had expected, so he had meant every word. He turns away now, heading to the door to his bunk, unlocking it and opening the door a bit.

"I hope you can prove me wrong." Not many could. But if John could bring the passion he'd seen in John's eyes the moment he saw Vatican Cameo... then maybe, just maybe something could be salvaged out of John Watson. And with that, Sherlock will go into his bunk, shutting and locking the door.

[substituteskull]

What a truly strange man, John thinks as he stares after Sherlock. He doesn't like how he gets looked at as if the other man knows him inside and out again. He really doesn't like that. It makes his skin itch a little. And that's what he thinks about as he sits at the small desk for the better part of two hours, just staring at a box of his things brought over from the Syndey Shatterdome, where he'd been last stationed.

There are pictures inside. Too many pictures. John's smiling in all of the ones he happens to be in and Harry is too, likely because there's a beer bottle in her hand in most of them. They have on their bomber jackets with the folded hands emblem on the back and the dove on the front. John touches them longingly.

He hasn't told her where he's going. She hadn't taken his call when he left either. She wouldn't approve. Or maybe she would have tagged along. But John can't-- Won't -- drift with her again. It's too much being in an alcoholic's mind.

He ends up sticking a few photos to his wall -- one with Chemo Alpha's and Coyote Tango's crew. He wonders, briefly, if he can catch up with Stacker and Tamsin again but the last time he heard, they were in Tokyo. No longer pilots, not after Onibaba's attack but--

It's just a shame that they lost contact. Sometimes John's glad he made a clean break. Sometimes it wounds him deeply.

He's up and ready by 05:00 and answers the door in the uniform provided for him. "Neurological testing first then?" he asks with a smirk. He doesn't have a Kwoon Combat Room work out suit. He doesn't even know if he can still fight after all this time. Even if he does enjoy a good boxing match.

[noshit]

Sherlock shows up early enough, after making sure the candidates he'd picked for John were up and ready. Now they just needed said pilot.

His knock is answered promptly and at the little quip Sherlock fires back, "You're all up to date on tests and medical documents, otherwise we would be." Straight to business this one, at least right now. He just wants to get this over with. He wants to see who's going to be paired with John, who's going to be next to him when he drifts. Who'll be inside Vatican Cameo as well.

"We'll head to the combat room where you can warm up," As he starts to lead his charge, that's what Mycroft jokingly referred to him as, Sherlock glances at him curiously.

"I assume you ate?" Having a full stomach would be bad for this, but not eating at all would probably impede him, thinks the man who barely remembers to eat most days. Unlike the uniform that John wears, Sherlock wears black slacks and a deep purple dress shirt. Usually he's sitting in the lab, he doesn't see the need for any uniform as it is, no matter how hard they may try to make him wear one. His sleeves are rolled up, showing off interesting ink along both arms. Another thing his brother no doubt nags him for incessantly, he's worse than having a wife, honestly.

[substituteskull]

"Had eggs on toast, yes I ate," John says easily enough. He wonders about what the Kwoon Combat Room will be like. Is there a change in regime? Will there be an audience? How many people will he be pitted against? Oh god, he'll have to wear that awful tank top. It'd going to show the damage to his arm for certain but--

Well it means that everyone will completely disregard him. He has to do this. Ranger training doesn't disappear simply because of drift compatibility or lack there of. There has to be someone out there for him. Someone willing to share with him this intimate experience. Someone not afraid of the Jaeger baggage he'll bring with him.

He eyes Sherlock as they walk, first his arms, and then the back of the other man's neck. "I-- Err, well wouldn't have thought you the sort to get ink," he says, trying to be conversational. It sounds a little off putting. He doesn't mean it to be. "I mean-- Well you seem a bit proper."

And is that... Are those Raiju--

John isn't sure if he's impressed or if he feels sick. Luckily, they don't have long to go to hit the training center of the Shatterdome.

[noshit]

Good answer. Something light to give him the energy he'd need to fight, but not to work against him. Smart on his part.

Then John tries to initiate conversation and Sherlock just glances at him with a slight furrowed brows.

"Proper?" He asks, wanting John to clarify, but then he'll just keep talking anyway. "I tend to do what I want, not go by what I seem to be." He's not insulted, as John seems more interested than trying to slight him.

"One could say that about you, you hardly seem to be the sort to come back here." To get back into the whole Ranger deal. If anything it could very well work for John, keep people on their toes, if he ends up being more than he looks.

"You've a normal and disarming appearance, but I'm sure there is more to you, isn't there, John?" He eyes him almost inquisitively, but then looks away once they come to the Combat Room. There are only the people who were here to see if they were compatible with John, himself and Mycroft. His brother waves them in when he sees them and Sherlock brings John on over.

"Ah, here we are. Good, now warm up along with the others, we'll begin as soon as you're ready." The elder Holmes instructs. Sherlock merely stands beside his brother, watching everyone in the room, arms folded over his chest, fingers rapping against his left arm.

[substituteskull]

John salutes before heading into the co-ed locker rooms to change. He's not happy about the outfit at all, he'd rather have a good, old fashioned t-shirt. There's just no help for it, however, and the loose pants and tight undershirt as slipped into before he joins the others out on the floor.

By now, there's been enough talk of him that everyone is looking. There are men and women here, all younger and all taller than he is. He doesn't mind, Harry'd been taller too. He just feels it in his age, now, seeing how young the recruits are. How hungry they are. If the PPDC isn't manufacturing new Jaeger, their only hope at becoming pilots is to wait for another to die or wash out. And if they die...well, then they have to hope to god that the machine wasn't Oblivion material.

John goes through his warm ups with the rest, the heavy scarring on each side of his shoulder absolutely visible during the moves. He finds himself pretty limber after all and by the time the sparring starts, John is excited for it.

No one here will be drift compatible with him. If their brain waves match his, fine. But Sherlock's wrong. No one here will ever actually be able to drift with him. He knows it. He can feel it. It's just something an experienced pilot knows.

Even so, he goes through the motions. He attacks all of his opponents. None are even given a chance. Even the physically fit men, five plus years his junior and in better shape than he is can not win. John is aggressive. They're not expecting that sort of combat style from him, even if they've likely all studied the way the Vatican Cameo use to move in combat. They think Harry took the lead on the piloting. They couldn't be more wrong. And that's why they all fall. They all expect John to follow in their combat dance.

[noshit]

When John comes out with the others he can already see they've got him all wrong. Which can be beneficial for John to use against them, but even then, they've just got it all wrong.

He gets more aggravated as each person is taken down by John far too easily. No one even comes close to putting up any real fight. Not that this is a fight, but none of them can even get a hit on him. Well, the first person had, exactly one, probably only because John was getting warmed up. Or to give the others the impression they could take him on. For being older than all of them, some by a bit, and not nearly as fit as most of them, John easily held his ground.

By the end of it he's so easily done them all in Sherlock is all but seething.

"No! No no no! Wrong!" He finally speaks up as the last of them disappointingly head back to the group of candidates that are standing by watching. He marches up to John and looks down right frustrated.

"There should have been one, John. There should be one here in this group that you're compatible with! I picked them!" He says this like it means something, which of course it does. "I made sure they would be right for you and yet it's like you didn't even try." He's beyond aggravated. He glares over at the candidates who are grumbling amongst themselves about Sherlock. They think he's overreacting, maybe he is, that he's taking this too personally.

[substituteskull]

Still trying to breathe, ten different opponents in a row certainly leave him with enough exercise to be panting -- take pity on him! -- John puts his hands on his hips and just smirks when Sherlock moves over into his space. "You just picked wrong, I guess." Oh, he can actually see the annoyance building up in the other man's incredibly pale, increasingly creepy eyes. The more he looks at Sherlock, the more he's transfixed by him.

And then it clicks.

"You know me. Better than I know myself. You picked these people because they're almost perfect for me. But not quite perfect. Are they?" Now who is showing insight, Sherlock? This man, nearly a decade older than Sherlock is, just so happens to be seeing Sherlock in a way no one else has.

Ever.

Except maybe Mycroft.

"So no. I'm not giving them a chance, all right? What about you? Someone in the mess this morning said you were off the charts at the Academy. So why are you a scientist and not a Ranger?" Yes. Yes, John's been checking up on you too. 'Researching.'

[noshit]

When John insists he's wrong he opens his mouth, as if he's going to say something, to argue back, but then John suggests something. He'd not even thought about it, not included it in his choices. It wasn't supposed to be an option after all.

"Is that all they said?" He asks, tone hard, eyes looking over John's head to those watching them now. There's murmuring and sounds people who want to tell John just why Sherlock isn't a Ranger, but Mycroft is still there as well. They don't want to get in trouble after all.

"It doesn't matter, this isn't about me, John, this is about you." Any other time he'd love the attention, but not this. After all it was about John finding someone he connected with, it wouldn't be him. He knew it already. It was a lost cause from the very start.

He's an utter twat, John, that's why he's not a Ranger. No one can stand him.

[substituteskull]

"I'm not saying that we're drift compatible but if you do the exercise, maybe you'll find out just why these recruits aren't right for me." John takes a step closer and pushes the rod against Sherlock's chest. "Or maybe you'll believe me when I say that even if someone is compatible, and I doubt it, they're not going to want to drift with me."

Damaged goods, Sherlock. That's all John Watson is. Don't you see his arm? That's a physical reminder of what happens when your partner and co-pilot can't keep up. When they become out of alignment with you for even a second.

John won't risk it again for anyone less than perfection.

"So fight me. You know the technique. You'll know it better after I get my four taps." He doesn't mean to be this cocky, but he's got adrenaline running through him. And not a hand tremour in sight. John leaves Sherlock with the stick and heads to the wall to pick up another before he turns to beckon the younger man on.

[noshit]

Listening to John he has to admit he has a point. Mycroft watches them both, mouth slightly open, smiling ever so. Ahh, look at this now. He didn't even have to do anything, they were 'drifting' towards each other with no help at all. Usually he'd have to give a push, but this was better than he'd expected.

When the rod is pressed against his chest he doesn't take it, not until John lets it go and goes to fetch another one for himself. Sherlock's not dressed for this, but so be it. He'll just slip off his shoes and move them off the mat, joining John back in the center.

"So sure it'll be you getting four taps?" He offers up. Sherlock may not have ever expected to be a Ranger, but he did keep up with training. It kept him busy, gave him something to do. Beyond his research. He takes a step forward, giving the rod a good twirl to warm himself up, then stops it mid spin, holding it ready, grip firm but not too tight. He wants to be able to move quickly, to defend against any move John gives him.

He's watched him through ten candidates, he thinks he can take him. He's sure he can.

In fact he's so sure he'll have a go at John first, not waiting for him to make the first move. He makes a swing for John's left shoulder, the one that had been injured as if trying to take advantage of a weakness, but he knows from watching him that it's not, so at the last second he fakes out, flipping the rod to have a go at the John's face. Of course if he doesn't block it he'll stop before hitting him, counting it as a tap.

[substituteskull]

The bo is raised before the tap can happen and John actually smiles up at it. It's not that he isn't taking this seriously-- He is. Sherlock is smug and arrogant and thinks he knows him? John wants to take him down so badly. He turns, pivoting on the ball of one foot, and draws the weapon towards the other like a kendo sword, only to find it blocked too.

Interesting. John's dark eyes glow blue for a moment at this distance, the lighting in the room perfect for illuminating their actual shade. He takes two steps back and rounds his opponent to the left.

It doesn't matter. They take turns making hits. And take turns blocking them. Sherlock gets a lucky hit in two seconds before John does and the crowd actually seems to inflate watching the pair. And why wouldn't they?

This display is exactly like the Watsons' training videos that they've spent the last week and a half watching and studying.

Sherlock and John move together. There's no denying it. "You feel it too, don't you?" he remarks, just circling now. He has no desire to strike out again.

[noshit]

The fact that Sherlock even makes a hit is a surprise to himself and probably the others. John and him had been blocking blows and having a go at each other for a while now, movement so fluid and quick that it was almost like they'd practiced it.

This was a fluke, it couldn't be happening.

He's so focused on it all, on John, that he's completely forgotten there are any others in the room even watching them. His attention is only for John. Sherlock circles with him, breathing through his nose, catching his breath, but at the words his eyes widen. He does, he feels it, he knows what this means, but that's what frightens him. That someone might be compatible with him. No, no that John Watson is one hundred percent compatible with him. No doubt.

"I don't feel anything." He'll try to convince himself as he says it, brows furrowing. No, no this can't be true, it's just a fluke. No one was compatible with him, he's a freak, he's different and he knows this. Known it all his life, why would that change now? Mycroft can tell something is wrong, and looks slightly concerned. He'll give a cautionary 'Sherlock', warning his brother to behave. Not to make a scene.

This only has Sherlock stepping back, away from John, away from the one thing he's always wanted.

"I'll make a new list, you won't have to wait long." Sherlock says, voice tight, quick, and he turns away moving to Mycroft and shoving the rod at him and collects his shoes then heads out. Everyone just sort of stands there a bit perplexed at what just happened. Even Mycroft who looks between exasperated and shocked. Though really should he be? This was Sherlock after all.

If someone were to want to find him, he will be in his bunk, door locked and sitting on his bed, staring at the wall no doubt. Fingers steepled under his chin as he thinks. Thinks while staring off. He didn't leave John there because he was afraid of becoming a Ranger finally, of being able to pilot Vatican Cameo. No, it was because he was afraid, god afraid ha, of finally having something he wanted. Having a connection with someone who might not find him insane, someone who maybe could deal with him, but he knew that was too good to be true. It wouldn't last and it would be just like anything else. He was better off alone.

Alone he couldn't get hurt. Or so he tells himself. Still it doesn't stop him getting frustrated at himself and he'll ruffle his curls in anger, tossing his pillow across the small room.

[substituteskull]

"Put yourself at the top of that list!" John calls after, and then purses his lips when he realizes everyone is frowning and talking amongst themselves. Some of those talks aren't even remotely nice, however, and his anger flares out at them when he swings the bo staff towards the group and waits for their Marshall to dismiss them. Needless to say, he is unamused by the way this turned out, and the way that Mycroft is looking at him with such a cold calculative stare that it burns him to the core.

He's not a genius, he has no idea that this is exactly the reason he'd been brought back, to save a Marshall's brother from being utterly wasted in R & D. That he'd been misled. That he's being used right now. Right this very second. A pawn. It doesn't matter. It likely wouldn't matter even if he did know.

The conn-pod is so close. He can taste the plasma from the helmet. He can feel the neuro-spinal connector nodes. He can almost sense a drift. The way all of his hairs stand up on the back of his neck and his arms--

He wants this too badly now.

Using the staff now like a cane, he walks slowly towards Mycroft. The air he'd put on hasn't diminished. He stands up straight and as tall as his frame can muster. He's proud, even now.

"Why does everyone say that there's something wrong with him?" he asks. It's probably not that polite.

Mycroft, however, will answer truthfully. "Sherlock can see people for who they are at all times. It's...unnerving."

John arches an eyebrow. "Perception is one thing but--" He doesn't understand. Not yet at least. Not yet. "It doesn't matter. If you need me, I'll be... I don't know."

He does know, though. He's going to pound on Sherlock's door.

[noshit]

The pounding feels more like the headache he's given himself by thinking too damn hard about all of this. So he ignores it at first, still very much lost in his own thoughts. It's not until the pounding goes out of sync with the throbbing of his head that he realizes someone is at his door. If his glare could cut through metal John wouldn't have to worry about him coming to open the door, it would be sliced in half by now.

"Go away, Mycroft." He'll grumble loudly at the insistent pounding.

He doesn't want to deal with his brother, no doubt he's horribly disappointed in him. Ha, he should have seen it. All along this was Mycroft's plan wasn't it? How could he have been so blind?

[substituteskull]

"All right, he's gone," John says outside of Sherlock's door, sounding amused and like he's talking to a five year old. "I'm not entirely sure why you stormed off unless the thought of becoming a pilot doesn't interest you or scare you. From what I've seen, though, and I will admit, I'm judging you based on the twenty minutes I've known you, but I'd say you don't scare easily. Listen."

He touches a hand to the iron door as if trying to feel out it's heartbeat. He's a doctor, after all. A doctor half in love with robots and being as close to a soldier as the PPDC will allow their rangers to be.

"I need a co-pilot. You're the best their is. We're Drift Compatible. At least try a neural handshake with me. I'll try to keep my damage to myself."

[noshit]

Sherlock thinks about ignoring him too, just waiting till John went away, but the promise of something he wanted was right there and even though he was sure it would blow up in his face... he'll stand, move to the door and the sound of it unlocking greets John first, before Sherlock creaks it open, just enough to peek his head through.

"Did Mycroft put you up to this?" He squints at him a little, watching him, observing how he reacts. Any little tell that would give him away, twitch of an eye, nervous rapping of fingers, him glancing to the side in a lie... something anything. He wanted to catch it and decide for himself if this was really worth the trouble. Because it was just obvious there would be trouble, he was Sherlock Holmes after all.

[substituteskull]

"Why would Mycroft put me up to this?" John asks genuinely, eyebrows piqued. Maybe if he knew the two were brothers that would be different, or if he knew that he's only here to goad Sherlock into piloting, that would be different too. John simply wants to have the best.

Which makes him believe that Sherlock is upset with his choice. John doesn't blame him. He leans in against the door, hand to the curving metal, and does his best to look Sherlock in the eye. Hard to do when the other is not just taller than he is but actually standing up higher than John is.

"I'll do my best to keep my baggage out of shared headspace. I'm only asking for a chance to see if this works out. I need this second chance and you're my best bet."

[noshit]

John is so earnest to have Sherlock hear him out, it's a surprise his touch doesn't melt through the door. He will silently watch him, listen and finally... he steps back, opens the door for John and him to talk properly. It's an offer for him to come in, he doesn't need a damn audience listening in right now.

"It's not your baggage, I know about your baggage. I've heard about your sister and you, John." He had all he needed to know about John, thanks to Mycroft, what else he didn't know he could work out on his own.

[substituteskull]

"Then what? The probability that the first time out we get squashed?" John's pushing buttons even though he doesn't know a lick about Sherlock and it should probably stay that way. Once people get close -- not that they ever get close -- it all goes downhill from there. He can tell in one look if you've had sex, he knows what you had for breakfast by the way you fold your napkin--

John doesn't buy it. No one's like that. Sherlock's just...cold. Cut off. Distant. And that's probably what makes him ideal because there's only going to be John's baggage in that shared space between them. In each other's heads.

"I don't care what you might think you have to hide, Sherlock. Drifting unnerves people because co-pilots know everything. But I'm open. And it's all fine."

[noshit]

"I'm not afraid of what's out there, John." He's not. He's wanted to go out there, to get up close and personal with the Kaiju, to finally feel the inside workings of the Jaeger he'd had a personal touch in. It doesn't scare him to Drift with someone, he just doesn't think anyone can handle him. His mind is not an easy place to be in, he knows, he's there all the time.

Always running on all cylinders and top speed. Never giving him rest. He doesn't know if someone can handle that, but he wants them to. He wants John to.

"I've nothing to hide, but I have plenty to overwhelm you with, too much in fact. That is why I don't think this will work." His past, and sometimes present, is littered with drug abuse, while it's not alcohol like Harry, he's sure it will be a problem for John. Just seeing it in Sherlock's mind. Experiencing every overdose and every bad trip, going through that with him after dealing with similar things with his sister, he doubts this will end good.

"No one should want to be open with me." Beyond his charming personality everything in his mind could probably drive someone mad. Tons of abuse through his childhood, not from family mind you, though most of those outside of his immediate called him a freak, much like everyone else in his life currently, Mycroft not withstanding. Drugs were a way to try and escape his own mind, but he's sure it only locked him deeper inside it at times. He'd tried alcohol but didn't care for it, it only slowed him down, it didn't help him escape much.

He was a train wreck on the inside and he knew it, he knew from reading up on John that this was probably the worst thing possible for the other man. Yet still, his words sounding so good, so promising. He wanted to try, yet at the same time he didn't.

[substituteskull]

"How about you give me the courtesy to try," John says, holding his ground. He's found an in and all right, he might be acting selfish about this, but he needs it. He needs it. Everything has been depression, darkness, helping people here or there but mostly sitting in a dark pub listening to matches no one cares about and feeling excited whenever there's a new Kaiju attack.

He's about two seconds from wrapping his hands up in Sherlock's shirt and giving the scientist a good shake down. Jaeger pilots are rare. Jaeger pilots are vital. How else will humanity survive?

"No, how about you give the world the courtesey to try. If we end up bollocks up, fine. I'll find a new co-pilot somewhere, even if I have to wait. But we shouldn't have to wait. You'll need training-- For God's sake, Sherlock, I've been out of practice for years. I need the training too."

John backs down out of Sherlock's space and turns to leave. "Two hours, LOCCENT. We're going for our first Drift." You don't train to be a soldier, and then a Ranger, for most of your life not to be able to bark orders.

He's actually tingling as he strides down the hall. He can't believe he just did that. It felt fantastic.

[noshit]

Did... did John just guilt him into this? Or at least try to. It wouldn't have worked, but what did work was the other man's passion. When it flares up and he can really see it it's like drawing a moth to a flame. Sherlock can't help but want to get closer.

He wants to correct John in saying that he doesn't need any training. Sherlock has never stopped training, but John has already given him orders and is all but storming off. So he'll stand there a moment, letting it sink in. He shouldn't, he really shouldn't, but as the other Ranger had said, he needed to at least try.

So John may be surprised, or not really, to see Sherlock there two hours later, being suited up. His first time. All of this is his first time. John is his first Drift partner, though most Rangers didn't get the second chance to find another, most couldn't handle losing that connection with their first. Especially if they died. Lucky for John his hadn't.

"Fancy seeing you here." Sherlock drawls, trying to sound like this isn't the most exciting thing of his life right now. Enthusiasm, what's that?

[substituteskull]

Dressed in only his circuitry suit while the engineers buzz around him and Sherlock trying to get their battle armor into place, John glances over at his reluctant partner and just nods at him. He'll leave the elation to the actual Drift, where he won't be able to hide it anyhow. "Just try not to throw up," he prompts and is somewhat forcefully pushed forward a bit as the spinal clamps are pressed into and connected to the back of the drivesuit. The armor is a little more beat up than he remembers, it could use another gloss of white paint, but it will do. This is just for a test after all.

John accepts his helmet from one of the wayward technicians and nods at her before leading the way into the conn-pod. Relay gel slides between the helmet and the circuitry suit, making his skin chill almost immediately before the tingling subsides and he can reach for the harness. Right side.

Emotional control.

Sherlock will take the left. Logic.

They'll share the rest, move as one-- That is, if Sherlock's mind doesn't immediate reject him. He doesn't watch the other man strap himself in either. He might be tempted to give pointers and he wants to get away from that. They should learn this together. It's less traumatic that way. Maybe. John's probably making that up to combat the way his heart races.

The AI counts them down from twenty and the men and women in the LOCCENT do the same, spouting numbers and figures as their biosigns are read back.

"Three. Two--"

The Drift hits like a punch. It takes his breath away.

[noshit]

"I'll be fine." Sherlock comments back, not hiding his annoyance with how long this was taking. Too long for him.

He can handle this. Just like the simulations. He can handle it. Still, it doesn't mean he won't take some cues from John, copying him but from the left side instead. Everything goes according to what he's practiced, but instead of pairing with an AI in a simulation there was another person beside him. John Watson, a man he barely knew in person, but had learned plenty about from the information his brother had given him.

This is real. Real. He thinks it, over and over. As the AI counts down, Sherlock finds himself glancing over at John, looking away only right before 'one' and then-

Everything comes at him all at once. Living John's life in mere seconds as their minds connect, as they become one. Flashes of memories that make him want to slow them down, to find out every little detail, but it's the memory of that day when he was injured that puts him back on course. He knows this, yes, don't linger on the memories, Sherlock. Don't chase the rabbit.

Still it's all much more than he'd imagined, nothing anyone could tell him about Drifting could ever prepare him for how this felt. It was a shock to the system to be sure, knocked the breath right out of him. Though thankfully everything comes out fine on his end, he only hoped John would fair similarly.

[substituteskull]

Silvery-blue memories form and convolesce, pushing in and out of each other, running together, touching. Embracing. Sherlock's life runs in front of him and through him, the young boy with the rat's nest curls almost blowing up his school, watching his father stoically walk out on them, his mother's inability to comfort a boy with too much intellect and a tacit degree of boredom bordering on the sociopathic. John isn't without his childhood flaws. Born Scottish, moved to London, he forced himself to change his accent early on. His sister did too. Small, always small, he'd been picked on mercilessly. Until he faught back.

No one picked on him after he knocked in a few heads.

Where Sherlock spend his late teens going over cases, John played rugby, went off to war. In their twenties, Sherlock took up drug use, the memory of the needle plunging heroine once more into his arm cut away by John surgically removing shrapnel from a little boy caught in military crossfire.

Sherlock might not linger on memories, but John certainly does. His sister. The alcoholism--

It hits him so hard in the face with the memory of what happened the last day they'd been in the Vatican Cameo. So many people had been hurt--

"Ah-- Ah, God!" he vocalizes, hand shaking in the control sphere.

[noshit]

Everything seems to be going well, going really much better than Sherlock expected. Maybe this was right, maybe John had been right to think they were really compatible. He'd have to thank Mycroft... okay no, that's going a bit too far.

It's almost too sudden when John shouts, as if he's hurt, or something has happened.

"John? John what's the matter?" Sherlock tries to talk to him, but it doesn't seem to work.

"John, whatever you're seeing it's not happening. It's just a memory!" Try to talk sense into him. Don't let John chase the rabbit.

"John!"

[substituteskull]

Luckily for the Drift -- or perhaps unluckily -- John isn't the only one that gets to experience this little memory in all of it's visual and audible glory. No, Sherlock is right there too. Right there, standing beside John in his Drivesuit and harnessed in next to his sister as she goes limp, passed out from too much alcohol. John's attempt to compensate ends up a huge mess. Sherlock knew the details, but he'd never got to experience them.

And now he does. Now he knows why John washed out. Now he can understand. For better or for worse, this is the damage John deals with. Not even his time in Afghanistan at work can compare to the mess he and his sister made.

The test comes to an abrupt end and their Drift immediately cuts off. Sherlock is left to pull out of his harness if he wants and John is just going to go limp in his, knees giving out for a moment before he comes too, breathing hard.

"Mycroft...is your...brother..."

Because yes. Most important conversation to have now.

"Explains a lot."

[noshit]

It's strange. One moment he's yelling at John, the next he's in the memory as well. Standing there as if he'd been there all along. He can't even speak as he watches it all happen, moving around to observe Harry and then his eyes lock onto John. John who is scared, frightened and tries so hard to control Vatican Cameo on his own, but there aren't many who can. No matter how valiantly they try.

It's all down hill from there, a beautiful mess of a memory that is so sharp in detail and sound, he's sure he could taste it too if there was anything to taste then.

But then they're back, back again in real time and Sherlock sucks in a breath not realizing he'd stopped breathing during it all. The Drift suddenly ending was more a slap in the face then being in John's memory had been by far. He blinks and looks down, quickly getting himself out of his harness to come try and get John out of his.

"Does it?" Sherlock isn't sure what would be acceptable conversation right now, not that he's ever cared about what is and isn't acceptable. He'll get John out of the harness and help him sit, no doubt he needs to right now, and joins him, pulling off his helmet.

"... not what I expected." He'll state, meaning the whole drifting thing in general. He's fairly certain they've not passed, by the way the Drift had suddenly cut off, before they could properly finish it.

[substituteskull]

With most Drifting occurring because of the connection to the machine, it doesn't surprise John to have it cut off like that. It usually happens that way, though there's a period of cooling between pilots when they can withdraw from shared headspace before the connection is severed. Having it done so abruptly-- Well that had been a manual cut. He has a slight headache from it, but they hadn't been completely synced in with an entire Jaeger. Small miracles. Small wonders.

Happy coincidences. No one has to deal with a nosebleed today!

John tilts his head against Sherlock's shoulder to alleviate the tension in his neck after the helmet is yanked off. The engineers and medical ought to be running in here any second now, John imagines, having no idea that Mycroft is holding them back.

Watching them interact now.

"What were you expecting," John asks with a laugh. "Because you really can say that you now, officially, know me better than anyone else."

And the same is true for Sherlock. Someone knows him, completely, and is not pulling away.

"I'll do better next time. I'll focus. No more chasing R.A.B.I.T.s."

[noshit]

Sherlock wonders why no one has come up yet, but he's rather fine with it. He didn't want the hustle and bustle of idiots up here. The contact of John's head against his shoulder does have him glancing at the other man... it's strangely intimate, yet not at all. He doesn't care for people touching him at all, he's not a personal sort, not this way.

But it's the fact that John is doing that, is close to him like this and he seems fine with it. More than fine. He's not trying to get up and leave and calling Sherlock a freak or madman. He's just sitting here with him, laughing, leaning against him like they've known each other all their lives. Then again seeing each others memories like they just had was a good kick start for knowing one another.

"Then we're the same in that regard. Not even Mycroft knows everything about me." John's seen some things even his brother hasn't. At the mention of a next time he frowns a little, brow furrowing.

"... I'm not sure there will be a next time." After what happened they might not want to try with Sherlock and John again. They'd try to find someone different for him, blame it on him for John not being able to focus.

He wanted a next time, he really did, but Sherlock couldn't see it happening.

[substituteskull]

"There's going to be a next time," he tells the man, self classified as genius and yet fully aware that Sherlock is, truly, a genius. He's seen him guess the impossible in memories. No, not guess. Deduce. He'd have made a fantastic detective in another life. "The way we Drift is perfect."

Minus some of the hangups, but that's just natural. He hadn't even clicked that well with Harry at first. It's sort of hard to go through sexual experiences with your sister...though oddly, easier in the same regard as brothers must find it as she'd only slept with women.

He's already on his feet before anyone comes to join them. Standing straight and proud, shoulders squared, John faces Mycroft, cane and all, and scowls up at him. He's waiting for an argument to come for John to keep looking, but there are engineers and conn-pod crews coming in behind him to unhook their drive suits.

"Rangers Watson and Holmes, we'll begin in earnest tomorrow then, shall we?"

John doesn't smile, not outwardly, and won't until he and Sherlock are alone again. "Yes, sir."

[noshit]

He wants to believe it with every part of his soul, the words sound so good to him as John speaks them. He wanted to feel the way their minds had connected again during the Drift, it was an amazing rush, better than any drug induced one he'd ever had before. And lucky for John he hadn't had to deal with sexual experiences in Sherlock's memories.

Sherlock found the idea of it dull, a distraction from his experiments and research. Beyond the fact that he'd never found anyone worth being distracted by.

When Mycroft comes in, others flooding in behind him to remove them from their suits, his eyes are narrowed slightly, expecting the worst. Yet that's not the case, only Mycroft could trick him into thinking it was, but then he's calling them both Rangers and relief floods him.

"Yes, fine." No 'sir', no respect. Sherlock is as always, a total twat when it comes to his brother. He gets a look from Mycroft for it, but his brother knows he won't get any better than that. After they've been removed from their suits and lead back down out of Vatican Cameo, Sherlock knows he needs time to dissect every little thing he'd seen in John's memories.

"..." He'll be deep in thought already, fingers running over lips as he ponders everything over. Rather a party pooper, he should be wanting a hard drink after that, shouldn't he?

All my Johns forever. I feel so much better. <33

[substituteskull]

"Do you want something to eat...?" John asks what seems like quite suddenly. "You haven't had a thing since tea yesterday afternoon." No one has to guess how John knows that. Mycroft, though, with his slightly pained, indigestive smile shakes his head. The man acts as if he can hardly stand up, always leaning on something, never walking far.

This stroll down the corridor seems to be utterly endless for Mycroft but John humours him when he tells the blond not to bother with his brother now. "I very much doubt he'll even speak, much less eat. You see, Ranger Watson, my brother prefers to fast. It helps his mind work and right now, he's learning what it's like to be of two minds. It's a great deal of date to digest. Do not feel strangely if you are not engaged. But do bring him along with you to eat and I'd like the both of you to report for more training first of the hour in the combat room."

John's still surprised at that, enough to be standoffish with the other man. He smirks wryly as the engineers and the Marshall veer off and away from them.

"I'm not sure I care for him," he admits to Sherlock freely.

/gathers up John and you, never lets go <3

[noshit]

The corner of Sherlock's mouth quirks as Mycroft talks about him, his brother speaks as if he's not there, as if he's brain dead and can't speak up for himself. He can, just have to give him a moment to fully ingest everything his mind has seen. Sherlock doesn't want to just see it, he wants to understand every part, every second.

He's been given this privilege to see every part of this other man's life and it's so different from his own, it's really amazing to see how another lived compared to him in such detail. Growing up with a sibling as well, one that was a headache for them too, granted in a much different way.

Once Mycroft is gone his eyes flicker to look where his brother's back had retreated to, then he's glancing at John. John. John Watson. The man who's life was in his head now.

"... not an uncommon reaction." To them, he should say. And he will speak, just probably in a distracted sort of tone. Eating though, no, not going to do that, too much to pick apart and concentrate on. Though his eyes will linger on John, silently asking if he's alright. That was an experience for him as it was, no doubt it had been twice as much for John when he'd locked onto that memory.

"But he isn't incorrect, I'm not interested in eating." John will have to fix this odd habit to a degree, drifting with him and then not eating would be a bad bad habit especially with them starting training. Sherlock would need to be fit to do that after all. Fasting hardly did him good in that area.

<33333333333333333

[substituteskull]

"You don't have to be interested in it, but you still have to do it," John says immediately, hands at his sides rather than in his pockets. A true military man. He doesn't give Sherlock a smile either when the other looks at him. Sternness is something Sherlock respects. He's seen his childhood after all, how his mother handled him. Strong, but allowing the boy his freedom to explore, mentally, if perhaps never quite encouraging him to go outside of the family garden. Understandable. Sherlock, even as a child, had been unnerving.

There hadn't been skinned knees from climbing trees or proving that height has nothing to do with toughness with the neighbourhood lads for Sherlock Holmes. And yet, he'd not been entirely intellectual either.

He's seen the judo training and--

Well, they'd fought together. It'd been exhilerating and John looks forward to another session soon.

"Have something to eat because you'll get to me in my head again tomorrow and I don't want us both to pass out because you neglected yourself. We're a team now, Sherlock. We come as a pair. And if you won't look after your body, I will."

[noshit]

... for all that he could tell John to shove off and let him eat when he wanted, he does have a point. Sherlock isn't just on his own now. They're a pair, they have to work together.

And there in lies the problem.

"You'll do what?" Sherlock's brows furrow as he looks at John. He almost makes it seem like he'll force feed him if necessary, or that's just the sternness of the Ranger speaking, not an actual threat. Perhaps a bit of both. Either way, he'd like to see him try.

"You hardly have to hold my hand like a child, John." He says, sounding much like an annoyed child. Funny that.

"I know my limits." He'll assure him. This is coming from the man who used to be a heavy drug user and regularly forgot to eat. The eating bit still happens now, more so because he just doesn't care to. The drugs... on occasion, but he's sure that won't be happening again. His teammate is quite the tip top, straight laced man after all.