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[complexharmony]

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[complexharmony]

( Years ago, I would have... The tip of his tongue curls against the corner of his upper lip, very briefly. By the time it disappears back inside his mouth, he thinks: I want you by my side when I kill again. If they had the same ability, as he suspected, they worked exactly the same. Sherlock could absorb powers the same as Sylar.

Channel that hunger for knowledge in a new direction, channel that addictive personality. Could he convince him to go through it, Sylar wonders. After all, telekinesis would only force him to kneel, put his finger to the brain, but he could not make him rewrite his own DNA.

That was something Sherlock would have to do on his own.

Sylar leans back in his seat, lounging in a lackadaisical fashion. While never fully relaxed he could permit himself this tiny margin of respite. A flick of his wrist sends the clock sailing through the air at breakneck speed. At the last possible second, the timepiece floats down with delicate care to its rightful place on the mantle. )

I could make it stop for you, Sherlock. Maybe not now, or tomorrow, but someday... And you'll just have to trust me when it happens.

( Sylar doesn't look away from his kindred spirit as his hand rises, just a little, enough to bring that candle into his grasp. )

Imagine if you could do what I can do. No more guesswork. No more missing pieces. With just a simple flick of the fingers...

( His index and middle fingers barely rise from the candle and his eyes lower to Sherlock's shirtfront. The first two connected buttons there snap off, scattering to parts unknown within the apartment. Their eyes meet again, Sylar's sharp and watchful beneath the lazy veneer. )

...You could have anything your logical heart desires.

( Watching his reaction only a few seconds longer, drinking that in. Then, down to business, something he cannot put off any further. He closes his eyes, sets the candle down in the spot formerly occupied by the clock, and focuses deeply inward. )

[acuriousincident]

( It's as if the very fabric of the room has shifted, as if, on a molecular level, reality's being altered right in front of his eyes. Sylar flicks his wrist and the watch flies back to its place on the mantle - you'd think it would crash at that speed, if you didn't know better. But while Sherlock can't pretend to understand Sylar's powers (the sheer extent of them), he understands quite intimately the power of the mind. How, if you understand every little detail, you can predict any outcome, in any context.

The trajectory of a watch, flying through the air, for instance, and every little inch of the space it traverses.

Imagine if you could do what I can do says the man who then proceeds to pop two buttons on his shirt, leaving his collarbones and chest just a little bit revealed, his skin prickling in response. Oh. If he'd been less entranced, he would have probably protested at Sylar's word choice - guesswork, really, like he'd ever guess - but then again, if he'd had the same powers, he might have thought inductive reasoning guesswork, too.

After all, compared to just knowing, pretty much everything is. )

You felt it, just now. The thrill of working through all the tiny links, one at a time.

( He doesn't bother fiddling with his shirt (it's ruined and also, ultimately unimportant) choosing instead to lean in a fraction as the other man closes his eyes, ready to work his magic - what an insipid metaphor, it's nothing like that, clearly, nothing so boring. )

Landing on the solution, finally, when all the pieces align and click - how do you get that, with your abilities? Frequently, the challenge lies in overcoming banality. In the process itself.

( He's honestly curious. In his own field of expertise, he considers himself the final authority, really, because everyone else simply can't be bothered learning enough, thinking enough, to challenge him. But this is clearly new ground, nothing he's ever seen before. Imagine if you could.

Indeed. )