"When you have seen as much of life as I have, you will not underestimate the power of obsessive love."
― J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince
Chapter 12: New Information
"I want to try it." Sherlock says so softly under his breath that John has to lean in towards his tall drink of water to catch the words that seem to turn into mist mere centimeters from his lips. Sherlock is not facing him, but down at the machine he is gently touching with all of the fingers on his right hand.
They are standing beside one of the gleaming chrome caskets. Sherlock is lovingly caressing the machine and the look on his face can only be described as enraptured. John is not sure whether he should be thrilled that something has struck the captain's fancy so strongly or perhaps a little jealous. In the end, he errs on the side of trusting Sherlock and smiles back at him. "Not until there are two."
Sherlock looks back over his shoulder at John with a little frown on his face. His neatly arranged, slightly long curls bounce against the nape of the neck that John loves to run the tip of his tongue over. "You read the files?" He asks, his voice coming out a bit rougher than he had perhaps intended. He sees John's thoughts very clearly and a faint stain of pink dances across his cheeks.
"Aye, I viewed the videos, too." John nods. Some days it's as if everything they say to one another is foreplay. He changes his focus, however, and says perhaps a bit more stern that he intended: "It's my job to take care of you, Sherlock." He spreads his legs shoulder-width apart and patiently waits for Sherlock to either erupt or back down. John knows that the captain wanted to make the announcement to the team about the Avatars and the possibility of re-creating Dr. Augustine's work, but some things just cannot be helped.
In order to keep everyone safe, especially the captain, John needs to stay on top of things, too. He learned many moons ago that on those occasions when Sherlock forgets important things that he does not keep John out of the loop intentionally but because he loves the dramatic flair. John, however, is bit smarter than the average hominid and since it was vital that he learned to keep up with the captain early on in their relationship, he simply helped himself to the information. He feels it is not so much need-to-know type deals like for everyone else on the team; rather it is one where he needs to know in order to do his job: protect the captain.
To his credit, Sherlock gives himself three seconds before he opens his mouth. That is not to say that those three seconds do not seem like ten thousand of the little buggers, but he does it anyway. He knows full well that John figured out a long time ago how to work with him, and sometimes that entails moving in opposing circles to his own. His frown deepens, causing his nose to wrinkle as he scowls at his soldierly partner. Sherlock studies John and considers his options. If he gets upset, it certainly will not solve anything and may even slow down the process. It also might end with him finding himself sleeping under the dining table. From the beginning, it has always been better when they worked together, no matter what the issue. The captain takes a deep breath and studies the lab at large, looking at everything except John. He can literally feel the heat from John's body, even with the three foot gap between them.
John has not moved.
Captain Holmes finally capitulates to the only person in the galaxy who will ever see such a thing. "Fine."
John smiles. "Want to go over the plans again?"
Sherlock finally takes his hand away from the machine and places it on John's shoulder. The two of them move back to the long tables to once again start the process of uncovering pertinent information in the stacks of files.
The entire crew plus Mycroft is assembled in the sitting room of the cabin. Una is out of uniform today and dressed in a sheer, pale rose shift. She rests demurely in a horribly ugly green armchair, her hands gently folded together in her lap. Her golden hair is pulled back from her face and hangs in a thick braid over her shoulder. George stands beside her, resting three tentacles against the chair the same way a human would do if that human were simply using the chair for support. Una is beginning to understand the majority of what the Odal "says" and is slowly learning the difference between an excited chirp, an amused snort and a long, thin wail of fear. George has been learning about the various machines in the lab and she often finds it necessary to communicate to him about whichever one she happens to be working on. Thankful, Odals pick up on sign language at an incredibly fast pace.
Greg is sprawled out, man-style, in the other armchair, looking far too comfortable against the hideous green and mustard yellow material. He has one booted leg hooked over the arm; the other one is straight in front of him, foot resting flat on the floor. He is wearing a red uniform top today, it is buttoned up save for the last four buttons. Anyone looking would see just a hint of the muscular definition of his chest and a very fine dusting of brown hair. One hand rests over the arm of the chair his back is against and the other one is just relaxed on his black-clad thigh. His brown hair is slightly mussed from where he removed his mask a few moments ago; he has been working with Mycroft, teaching him about sword fighting. Not that the admiral could not already hold his own against an assailant, just that he has always fought with his hands.
Mycroft stands on the opposite side of the room from Greg. He is dabbing at the beads of sweat still present on his forehead from the workout with a bright red wash cloth. Greg is absolutely not admiring the way the scarlet hue contrasts against his hunter green shirt. Unlike Greg, however, Mycroft is barefoot. His shirt is also opened down to mid-chest, though remains tucked into his trousers. He lacks the muscle definition of the weapons' expert, though if one looked close enough, which Greg absolutely is not, the admiral does not have an access of body fat on his torso. Mycroft shares his brother's lean build, though his arms are considerably more built up, especially due to hefting the heavy practice sword, made more obvious by the fact that his long sleeves have been neatly rolled all the way to his shoulders. When he turns, there is the slightest damp patch at the base of his spine, just above the waist of his trousers. Greg tries to focus and remind himself that even though Mycroft has no real authority on this particular mission, he is still a commanding officer; and, well…some things are just off limits.
They are all waiting for Captain Holmes to begin the briefing concerning the next part of their mission, each being with different levels of tension.
John enters the cabin via the tunnel from the lab. He, too, is fully dressed in his uniform, a pale green shirt with the sleeves rolled up, black trousers and his supple, glossy calf-high leather boots. He gives them all a quick smile and bounces a little on the balls of his feet; the excitement is pouring off of him in almost-tangible waves. His arms are full of files and a large e-book rests on top of them, reminiscent of the way he looked in the lecture hall on the Proto-Tethys a few weeks ago. He sets the e-book up so that it may be viewed by everyone present. Sherlock comes into the room and gestures at George. George moves from Una's side to dim the lights and the resumes his station.
John checks with the captain who gives him a slight nod. John pushes "play" on his e-book and a video begins to play. Sherlock fiddles with the e-cig in his pocket, knowing full well every detail of the video. He slides down to the floor, resting his back against the side of the chair Greg is lounging in. John joins him, pressing his back against Sherlock's chest as the screen flickers to life.
"Some of this may jump a little, and there are some things we were unable to uncover. George did an excellent job getting any of this old footage to even this point, so please, let's thank him." John states from the floor, his smooth voice carrying throughout the room. They all clap politely for George, who actually blushes a deep red against the light green tint of his skin. His huge eyes blink in wonder and gratitude as he snorts a happy little sound. He waves a tentacle as if to say "carry on" as the sound for the video finally catches up with the pictures on the screen. Everyone's eyes turn in that direction.
On the screen is a tall woman with dark ginger hair and smiling brown eyes. She is wearing a long white lab coat and is smoking a real cigarette. She smiles a warm, caring smile down at them through the decades that separate them. There is something immensely "likable" about this woman and a she seems to speak to them all, commanding attention without uttering a single word.
"I am Doctor Grace Augustine," she says before taking a drag. The end of the cigarette glows orange and there is silence for a moment as she closes her eyes. "…and this is the Avatar program." As the camera pans outward, it shows several people of various ages and ethnicities working at computers, writing notes, or otherwise engaged in science-y type pursuits.
Grace walks through her lab that is filled to the brim with equipment, very recognizable equipment. As she walks, she explains to her audience what is happening in the lab, how she has managed to learn about the native people of Pandora, and even about the little school she has been running. She holds up a couple of photographs from the pockets of her lab coat: two unique beings that are obviously children smile up to the audience with innocence and curiosity. Their beautiful white teeth are set off nicely by the azure hue of their skin and long, dark hair. It is unsure whether they are boys or girls. She gives the photos one last look before hiding them back in her pocket.
The camera follows her until she stops in front of what appears to be a giant aquarium filled with some kind of clear liquid. In the liquid floats an adult version of the children from the photograph. This one is male and very naked. His eyes are closed as if he is sleeping. The camera moves around to show the audience another angle of the tank, the figure inside moves its hands and feet a little the way a child would move whilst sleeping in the womb. It zooms in a bit and the audience is treated to a shot of a very relaxed face, closed eyes framed by long, black eyelashes; high cheekbones and a wealth of long black hair.
Sherlock gently taps on John's shoulder. John moves forward so that the captain may rise from the floor. He stands up and stops the video on the screen, then rewinds it so that everyone is looking at a full side view of the tank.
"Though it may appear to be a living creature; it is not. It is an amalgam of the DNA of the native Pandorians, called the Na'vi, and human DNA. It is more like an icon that lives and breathes; allowing the being whose DNA is infused with it to move freely about the surface of the planet." He uses his long index finger to point to the sleeping face. "While it is not alive, it is alive. It is less like Frankenstein's creature than a living costume that can be injured, or killed. It needs to be fed and it needs to rest. You do not wear this costume as much as become a part of it."
Once again, John is struck by the wistful expression on Sherlock's face. It is beautiful in its complexity as much as it is frightening in its intensity. It is almost the expression he wears during an orgasm. John pulls his focus back to the captain's words. The rest of the room is so quiet that he can hear each individual's respirations. There is a new feeling among them now, one of expectation.
The captain fast-forwards through another section of the video, stopping on a close-up of the sleeping creature. For a moment, he turns towards the screen and studies what he sees there before he speaks. "There are very few of the Na'vi remaining. In order to discover what is killing Pandora, we need to find them. We have the power to save what remains of a once-proud race. My proposal is to use this technology to seek them out, discover why this moon is dying, and either stop it or save the Na'vi in any way possible."
Around the room, heads nod in agreement. Una is the first to speak. "How many can we make?" She no longer hides her mouth behind her hand, though she does curl her lips around her teeth a little when she speaks.
John answers from the floor where he sits with his legs straight out in front of himself. "We have enough to make two."
That causes the uproar. Mycroft does not say a word, nor does George, but Greg and Una are instantly angry.
"How can I be expected to protect you if I can't even get out onto the rest of the planet?" Greg questions Sherlock, his arms outspread.
"We will still need you here." Sherlock answers him, his focus torn between Greg and the screen of the e-book.
Una begins to ask a question, but Sherlock does not give her the chance. "We can only use human DNA, I'm sorry." He gives her an expression that lends weight to his words. She sits back, mollified for the moment. "If we had more time and more material to work with, we could produce several more. We do not. Our last readings from the core showed a marked increase in the decay of the materials making up the foundation of the tectonic plates that cover the surface."
Greg and Una are still trying to talk at once. John stands up and holds one hand in the air, the universal sign for "quiet." Greg thumps back against the chair while Una laces her fingers back together in her lap. George reaches over with a tentacle and gives a rather squelchy pat on the arm. She nods to him, but her eyes are on Sherlock.
"We will still need all of you. When Sherlock and I are in the avatars, we will be unable to protect ourselves here. The way I understand it, it's like going to sleep here and waking up there." He points in the direction of the lab, meaning the wilderness beyond their encampment. "Una, we need you to continue doing what you have been doing: monitoring the life support systems and the overall running of the machinery. George, we need someone monitoring the computers round the clock. Mycroft will help you do that, in shifts and together when need be. You will be our support. We need someone to help collect all of the data we will be sending in. How you organize it will be up to you."
"And me?" Greg asks, stealing a look at Mycroft out of the corner of his eye.
"The same thing, Greg, keep doing what you have been doing. If you are willing to pitch in, you can help everyone else. We need to keep the encampment safe, but most of all we need a support team for when we are, well, back in our own bodies." John explains it so that it no longer seems that he and the captain will be off doing whatever they want: it is a team effort. "We need you guys, all of you. I can't let him do this alone, but I need to know that the fort is literally going to not fall down around our collective ears while we are out of it and in such vulnerable positions." John speaks to them all as if they have a choice in the matter.
Greg can sense the wisdom in John's words. Still, he gets a strange prickly feeling in the back of his mind when he thinks about the whole project. He glances over at Mycroft again, this time not hiding it. He can tell from the admiral's expression that perhaps he is feeling a bit of the same thing.
There is no more time for questions, however, as John starts a second video, this one staring a young man named Jake Sully.