(No, Sylar thinks as their eyes meet, you don't have to say a word. He could almost see past those irises of a raging sea into the mind beyond. The neurons and pulses firing on the same wavelength, and it was as if no one else existed in the world. Only they mattered, they above the ants that crawled beneath them, mindless in their routine, intellectually inferior.
Soon his reflection looked away and Sylar exhales slowly, unaware he had been holding his breath. Heartbeat loud in his ears, the nearness of the other man. If his hadn't been occupied with the gear, still held suspended in time, he might've...
Well. That was an excuse, wasn't it? It would take no thought at all to suspend the tool there with his mind, free his hands to pull Sherlock into his lap, or even better, lay him flat upon the desk and see how alike their tastes were.
But there was a broken thing still here, one nearly made whole again. He turns his attentions back to it now. Magnification was no longer required; he knew the gears' placement by simple rote memory. )
I don't normally perform this for a captive audience. Careful; I might become addicted to this, too.
( There's a beat, a hesitation within his hands before he places the next gear where it belonged. Addiction. What else did Sherlock use to satisfy that ache within him? There were not, he presumed, always a case to solve. Or, at least, a case suited to Sherlock's tastes. How did he fill the time?
Mm. Answers were everywhere around them, like dust in a sunbeam. He would find out soon enough. He sits back and places the tool within its toolbox once again. The puzzle was not complete. He moves his fingertips over the remaining pieces leisurely; he felt no need to hurry. )
I'm going to tell you the story of a man named Brian Davis. I hadn't known I had an ability, you see, until someone came into my life and told me I was special. What I can do isn't flashy, or obvious. It's all in the mind, what we do. Suresh ran his tests, took blood, hooked up the wires to my head. Those all said I was normal. He was ready to give up, abandon me, move on to someone else on his fucking list.
( No trace of anger anymore; he'd put those demons to rest a long time ago. His voice is velvet wrapped in steel wool. )
But. I knew the tests were wrong. I felt different. So I called one of Suresh's other names. Brian came into my shop, showed me his ability. And, would you believe it? He said he didn't want it. That he might... hurt someone. He was scared of the unknown, scared of stepping outside his programming.
I took what he unknowingly offered to me.
( His hand rises from the remaining pieces. As puppets on a string, the metal cogs rise as well. They hove between the desk and his hand, one piece to each finger. He waggles his fingers in a wave pattern, and the pieces follow in formation. He guides them to the clock, returning them to their rightful place. Similar gestures flick the switch on the mantlepiece clock, close up its back panel and set it upright again.
Tick. Tock. Perfect harmony. His mind felt at peace as he heard the mechanical clicks from outside his mind, instead of from within. He turns to watch him once more. )
no subject
Soon his reflection looked away and Sylar exhales slowly, unaware he had been holding his breath. Heartbeat loud in his ears, the nearness of the other man. If his hadn't been occupied with the gear, still held suspended in time, he might've...
Well. That was an excuse, wasn't it? It would take no thought at all to suspend the tool there with his mind, free his hands to pull Sherlock into his lap, or even better, lay him flat upon the desk and see how alike their tastes were.
But there was a broken thing still here, one nearly made whole again. He turns his attentions back to it now. Magnification was no longer required; he knew the gears' placement by simple rote memory. )
I don't normally perform this for a captive audience. Careful; I might become addicted to this, too.
( There's a beat, a hesitation within his hands before he places the next gear where it belonged. Addiction. What else did Sherlock use to satisfy that ache within him? There were not, he presumed, always a case to solve. Or, at least, a case suited to Sherlock's tastes. How did he fill the time?
Mm. Answers were everywhere around them, like dust in a sunbeam. He would find out soon enough. He sits back and places the tool within its toolbox once again. The puzzle was not complete. He moves his fingertips over the remaining pieces leisurely; he felt no need to hurry. )
I'm going to tell you the story of a man named Brian Davis. I hadn't known I had an ability, you see, until someone came into my life and told me I was special. What I can do isn't flashy, or obvious. It's all in the mind, what we do. Suresh ran his tests, took blood, hooked up the wires to my head. Those all said I was normal. He was ready to give up, abandon me, move on to someone else on his fucking list.
( No trace of anger anymore; he'd put those demons to rest a long time ago. His voice is velvet wrapped in steel wool. )
But. I knew the tests were wrong. I felt different. So I called one of Suresh's other names. Brian came into my shop, showed me his ability. And, would you believe it? He said he didn't want it. That he might... hurt someone. He was scared of the unknown, scared of stepping outside his programming.
I took what he unknowingly offered to me.
( His hand rises from the remaining pieces. As puppets on a string, the metal cogs rise as well. They hove between the desk and his hand, one piece to each finger. He waggles his fingers in a wave pattern, and the pieces follow in formation. He guides them to the clock, returning them to their rightful place. Similar gestures flick the switch on the mantlepiece clock, close up its back panel and set it upright again.
Tick. Tock. Perfect harmony. His mind felt at peace as he heard the mechanical clicks from outside his mind, instead of from within. He turns to watch him once more. )
Would you have done the same thing?