(no subject)

[holmes_fanatic]

---1---

[The feed lurches disconcertingly. Sheets, ceiling, a rather plain wall, all follow each other in rapid and confusing succession until with an intake of breath, the flailing stops and the feed settles into a child's hand grasping the edge of that sheet; the shadow of a sitting up figure projected onto the wall beyond.]

... back here. A dream?

[Too vivid, too real for that. The shadow shifts, hand going to its head as a deep breath is taken. It's a hard transition to make, almost feeling like he's losing Tokyo and everything there all over ag-- what the hell?]

A wire ... ?

[The shadow reveals that there are in fact several wires. As Conan slides off the bed, tracing them to their source, the bracelet picks up some of the wires -- looking suspiciously home-made -- Conan's bare feet, and eventually, a smartphone. Conan picks it up curiously.]

Monitor brain functions ... ? Ha ... there really is an app for everything ...

---2---

[The feed lurches disconcertingly. Sheets, ceiling, a rather plain wall, a stack of books, all follow each other in rapid and confusing succession until with an intake of breath, the flailing stops and the feed settles into a child's hand grasping the edge of that sheet; the shadow of a sitting up figure projected onto the wall beyond.]

... back here. A dream?

[Too vivid, too real for that. The shadow shifts, hand going to its head as a deep breath is taken. It's a hard transition to make, almost feeling like he's losing Tokyo and everything there all over ag--]

What the--

[The bracelet gets jolted wildly as Conan explores his hair. It gets in the way and is roughly discarded onto the bed, giving a much clearer view of a pale seven-year-old, methodically working his way through his fringe -- what's left of it. There's a patch been shaved off either temple, and something taped onto it with medical tape.]

Doesn't hurt -- a sensor? But that should mean --

[Not wasting any time, Conan slips out of the bed. He's been dressed in a man's shirt, as big on him as a hospital gown, a fact which gives him a moment's pause, but he's undeterred, rolling up the sleeves before turning to pick up his bracelet again -- and making another discovery. What he thought was a bed was a --]

Coffee table.

Looking for this?

[Conan turns to look at Sherlock, standing in the door way, smartphone in hand. Conan doesn't bother with a greeting, making his unsteady way over to snatch at the smartphone. Sherlock lets him, expression simply distant.]

Monitor higher brain functions ... ? Ha, there's an app for everything.

[Sherlock might be looking as unamused as ever, but a new face makes it's way around the door, with an expression that is clearly more welcoming.]

Conan! You're finally back with us?

John's glad. He was complaining that you were unsanitary.

[Conan's clearly not sure how to react.] Why the coffee table? Couldn't you have monitored me from my room -- o-oi-oi!

Don't get excited -- your bracelet. [Ignoring Conan's protests, Sherlock's casually taken hold of his arm and is reaching for the button that will end the feed.] You're broadcas--

[And cut.]