002 - he's just really good at hobos

[perhapsyouveheardofme]

who: Sherlock Holmes and YOU
when: round noonish!
location: the plaza
summary: Sherlock Holmes needs information! help a brother out?
style: I do action usually but I'll switch for you
status: open as hell come at me bros

<sub>[today, Mr. Holmes, bandaged and stitched as he is, has deigned it necessary to make his way out on the town - but in disguise. anyone currently tooling about the plaza might notice a scruffy looking man, bent over slightly, with a greasy coat that's been torn at the bottom, unlaced boots, unkempt pants and a greasy hat that's been jammed on his head. everything about him is soaking wet, because Holmes knows the basic fact that everyone shows up so, and he's hobbling around the plaza trying to figure out what else is up.

feel free to come pester him! :3]</sub>

Comments

YESSSSSS

[perhapsyouveheardofme]

. . . . . .

_{[oh, he's read his monographs. splendid! but wait-]}

I've never written anything by the name of "The Sign of Four", I'm afraid. I can't say I've ever so much as heard of the title.

[modernholmes]

Of course not. It was written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle in 1890.

[perhapsyouveheardofme]

Oh?

_{[he frowns.]}

Is he well-versed in the arts of deduction? I've never once heard his name.

[modernholmes]

How can you know of Holmes without knowing of Doyle?

[perhapsyouveheardofme]

...Because I am Holmes.

Unless you mean someone other than Sherlock Holmes. Entirely possible; my brother shares the surname, though I doubt you mean him. Perhaps someone beyond my time..

[modernholmes]

There is only one Sherlock Holmes. But much as I admire him, I am well aware that Holmes is fictional.

[perhapsyouveheardofme]

. . . . .

_{[oh hell no]}

Excuse me? At present I do seem to be a fully-functional and completely aware human mind.

[modernholmes]

Are you claiming to be the Sherlock Holmes?

[perhapsyouveheardofme]

That would be exactly what I am claiming.

[modernholmes]

That's illogical.

wow self think and edit before you post /throws up hands

[perhapsyouveheardofme]

Ah, yes, but talking rabbits and a bubble under the sea that spirits away souls at the time of death is most certainly logical.

_{[he smirks condescendingly, then sighs and begins to walk away.]}

It seems this place will do nothing short of temporarily confuse or excite and later disappoint me; at least it has that much in common with the planet Earth. An elementary exercise, no doubt, but it shall certainly aide me in some small way.

_{[he pauses, and turns.]}

Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth. Wouldn't you agree?

/pats

[modernholmes]

I haven't given up on finding logical explanations yet.

[He frowns stubbornly and chases after him a few steps.]

Wait! In a place like this isn't the trick figuring out what should be considered impossible? If you are really Holmes, then how could I have read about you at home?

[perhapsyouveheardofme]

_{[almost immediately after Conan's stopped speaking, Holmes begins, without a beat.]}

I have a friend who is constantly scribbling down notes about even my most trifling of escapades; perhaps this man is his editor. It is no secret that you are clearly from another time period; your speech and dress are entirely without explanation beyond that assumption. It's likely you've picked up an edited copy of his memoirs and, in the same vein, my biography, no matter how confusing the actual printed dates may be.

_{[he keeps walking, talking somewhat loudly as he goes, as if bored and annoyed at having to point out the very obvious.]}

Perhaps he has been plagiarizing my friend, stamping his own name over the true author's in order to make money, and only now, what I have assumed to be decades after the fact, has anyone considered it even as the slightest possibility.

Perhaps _{[and he stops again, and swivels, looking down on Conan quite seriously,]} he is my creator, and now that I have died and the story has ended, I have somehow come to a place that encases other forms of my consciousness, or other consciousnesses from other stories that have also died in their own tales, or I have come to reside in his consciousness, which makes the least sense of all, for the idea that I was birthed from a place as nonsensical as this is not only repugnant but somewhat insulting.

_{[he starts walking again.]}

If we choose to pursue any one of these thoughts, we can come to the conclusion that whatever is happening here falls neatly into the category of the unexplained, something that has yet to be fully explored by forward-thinking minds, and should be investigated to the best of said minds' abilities, until something more involved or refined can be surmised or it is found to have absolutely no solution at all.

Personally, my assumptions have come about to something entirely different; to my own mind, it is not so much clear as understood that my life has indeed ended, and now I have come to some facsimile of an after-life, proving that theologians throughout my era were incredibly off-the-mark in their assumptions and beliefs, but providing no further comfort than that.

When one mysteriously drops from a free-fall off a cliff into the sky of a city in a large bubble under the sea, lands in a lake at top speeds and survives, and finds the city to be populated by talking rabbits and children who claim to have read my entirely fictional life story, the impossible is no longer an issue; no, the issue is now as you said: what should be impossible and is considered no longer - or perhaps, never was, in this odd little Wonderland - and any wild flights of fancy that come to mind surely have room for debate.

By closing your mind to the idea that you have come into contact with a character you claim to be someone fiction you've read diligently, you are closing your mind to all manner of possibilities, and therefore keeping yourself from the truth. Instead of proclaiming me wrong, you should be investigating my claim. That, truly, is the only solution to a forward-thinking investigator trapped in a location that seemingly holds no truths he personally has known.

[modernholmes]

[Conan follows after him, silently, as he considers that rather surprising speech. Finally he breaks into a soft laugh. There was a kind of self aware humor in it that belonged to no child. No matter how intelligent.]

I've fallen into a trap here, haven't I. Too much thinking of all the hoaxes and tricks I have seen. There should be no situation for which the mind of man cannot conceive an explanation.

After all, there can always only be one truth. An unthinkable truth for the world I once knew. But the truth nonetheless.

But what you have just said is the reasoning of Holmes. No imitator or cosplayer would be capable of it.