Over the laws of light

[foreshadower]

WHO: The Shade and Sherlock Holmes
WHERE: SHADOWY PLACES AND THEN ELSEWHERE?
WHEN: Tuesday night!
WARNINGS: Bastards.
SUMMARY: Shadow walkers meet and Shade is a mentor or something?
FORMAT: Tagger's Choice, paragraph to start!


The Shade, as the name would elude, preferred darkness. The way even the smallest, most innocent of things could appear sinister, the way shadows were long, the way the chill would spread out and into everything. The lack of light didn't bother him, of course. He was of shadow, of course he liked the dark. Thanks to that odd little accident so long ago had left him with this, but he enjoyed it.

Stepping into the shadows was so easy, slipping into something that wasn't like the shadowlands he had back in his world, but he could still step into them, the comforting, eerie silence. The kind of silence that was truly silent. So silent that one could hear their heart beat, and Shade would, if he had a heart that still beat.

Which he didn't, of course, but that was beside the point. Poetry was important to make the point.

But it was always quiet in the shadows, even his cane didn't tap against the surface that he was walking on, if it even existed.

Comments

[deductives]

Sherlock Holmes took to night over day as well, but for different, more logic based reasons. Criminals were typically more active at night, and if the police needed him, he needed to stay awake. Night also suited him for pursuit; darkness provided places to hide, places to observe. Tracking down murderers and thieves under the guise of night offered him the same advantages they tried to take of others. They never expected it to be used against them.

In this new world of super powers and general chaos, Sherlock hadn't imagined this would become so literal. After the accidental discovery of his shadow walking, he tried his best to adapt to it. With few cases and no John to mollify him until recently, there was a lot of time to devote to it. Tailing Batwoman was something he marked as a success. Waking up beneath his bed on the rare early mornings he did try and get some sleep was not.

Still, traveling was much easier this way, and this night Sherlock decided to widen his test area. He'd been meaning to investigate Big Ben since his arrival, and on a night free of distractions, he made his way to New Jersey, easily moving through the Holland Tunnel's darkness. Feeling rather proud, though wishing he could improve his speed, Sherlock took pause a few blocks away from the tower. Outside of the shadows, it loomed even higher than he was used to, and the benevolent clock face's light didn't reach him like it could at home.

It was then that he had a feeling that he wasn't quite alone.

[foreshadower]

He was used to it being still, and perhaps a little lonely in what wasn't necessarily the shadowlands, but a close enough approximation for him to still think of it as so when he stepped through them. Here, there were fewer users of this sort of power. No Obsidian to keep his eye on, no archenemies in the shadows, nobody to trap and keep mind of. All in all, the shadows were rather boring.

Which was why, despite the fact that he knew where the fellow was going when he headed in that direction, he still followed him into the steaming pile that was the state of New Jersey. How lovely, yes. New Jersey.

He wasn't a fan, but the Shade, like in most things, was ridiculously pretentious. If the city wasn't named Opal, he wanted nothing to do with it, and that extended to the state she rested in as well. he could walk for longer, sifting in and out of the shadows, or rather moving right along with it, as if there's a flow, matching the man's arduous pace through it.

My, someone was new, wasn't he? The Shade slipped close, but not nearly close enough, only so much that he could observe, for just a moment, what the gentleman was catching eye on.

Ah. Yes, well, the landscape in sight probably spoke enough on where he came from, didn't it? Only Londoners were really interested in the tower. If there were tourists coming to the pillaged tower, they would come in the day time. Night was a bit odd of a choice. However, that's all he had right now, were suspicions.

Of course, he could just speak up, and he did so, slipping from the shadows only as a courtesy. He could more than just walk them, he was them, and sometimes it served best to slip out. ]

Not quite the same sight as in the original locale, is it?

[ His voice, while having lost most of the inflection of his time and place of birth, still held over some old standards. Just a hair too posh, extended vowels here and there. ]

[deductives]

[Sherlock tensed when a man emerged from out of the rest of the darkness around him. He had entertained the thought that other people had powers like his; it was doubtful people had monopolies on that sort of thing, especially common tropes like super strength or flight. It still jarred him a bit to see people floating above him on occasion, but that was beside the point.

He wished he still felt the security of John's ever borrowed gun in his pocket, but all he had was the pocketknife that never parted from his coat. The man didn't have a threatening stance, but that hardly meant much when they were submerged in shadows that could move them closer or even farther in a matter of milliseconds. Sherlock looks the Shade over and calmly appraises him-- expatriate, judging by the voice, and a rich one, as they often were. The inflection and the attitude gave that away; classism never changed. If the clothes weren't purely costume, and they looked a bit too well worn to be, he didn't hail from Sherlock's time period, either. Not originally, at least.]

No. I don't think this area is capable of reaching Westminster's standards for architecture. [He stepped casually to the side, like a circling cat.] Who are you?

[foreshadower]

I am the Shade.

[ He let the man circle, tipping a hand to his hat with the introduction of his name, always peering from behind tinted sunglasses that were just a bit too outlandish to really be anything but costume. Some parts of his dress, of course, were. The sunglasses, the cane, essentially there for show. After all, did he need a sword buried in his cane? Of course not, he was immortal, but setting the stage was vital to someone who was a former supervillain.

It was the little things, he'd learned, that mattered in that line of work. Intimidation and theatrics not only benefited him in his work, but they were fun. At least for someone who was far too bored in his life. ]

And you? It is rare I find others in my shadows like this.

[ The possessive term deliberate, as if he were laying claim to them, and why not? From the way this man moved, slow even for him who sauntered everywhere, he was new to the experience. ]

[deductives]

[An alias. That figures. Sherlock slips his hands into his coat pockets to keep his air of nonchalance evident.]

Sherlock Holmes. [His eyes narrow, more from false curiosity than anything else.]

So did you arrive here this way, or can I expect to lose my accent, too?

[foreshadower]

[ His eyebrows rose only slightly, but the spunk was appreciated. At least a fair amount. Most people couldn't pick it up anymore, at least most Americans, and even those who also came from his country of origin were often less than able to pick up on his particular accent.

Just a hair posh, perhaps like someone who was a bit too full of themselves.

Which, of course, he was, so there was that. ]

When one spends so much time away from that place, things simply happen. Including the loss of accents. It's a tragedy, I'm afraid, but you'll learn to live with it.

[deductives]

[Sherlock could easily read the arrogance, but knew it had to come from somewhere. Then again, this power could make anyone who used it properly rather smug.]

I'll stick with it, thanks.

[He could already speak in an American accent, among others, but losing his own posh London drawl was too revolting to think about. To let something like the Brooklyn accent stick-- perish the thought.]

You've been following me. So what do you want?

[foreshadower]

You could say that I'm often watching things that catch my attention, Mr. Holmes. [ It was an oddity. He had no doubts, of course, that this man was supposed to be Sherlock Holmes, and yet, he found himself wanting, for the lack of a better term.

This was not the sort of man he imagined when reading Doyle. ]

Particularly when we share a power. I have always found it important to keep an eye on others with similar abilities. I'm sure you can understand why.

[ He watched with the sort of air a predator would hold. Still, and yet his eyes continued to track every movement, if one could catch the shift beneath his sunglasses. He was a picture of Victorian sensibility in some ways, even in the way he never shifted, or even adjusted his clothing. ]

[deductives]

Obviously.

[As well as obviously vague. Purposely so, if he isn't mistaken. However, Sherlock is as of yet unaware of his fictional counterpart in other worlds, but he does so love to shatter people's expectations of him. Especially if they involved proving people wrong with an intellectual trussing, or anything about that bloody hat.

When the Shade goes on to explain, Sherlock listens with a careful ear for any sort of deceitful lilt, or any hint of false pleasantry. The man isn't circling him physically, but he can feel the gaze, see the slight twitches in his face around the sunglasses. He can imagine a myriad of reasons for monitoring people with this power. They have virtually free reign anywhere a shadow is cast.]

Don't like sharing all your free space, then. That's hardly charitable of you.

[foreshadower]

Oh it's hardly that, but you never know who you can trust, hm? [ He reaches out, fishing into the dark, before pulling free a pipe, which he promptly lights, tossing the small, disposable match into the pool of shadows at his feet.

Drawing in the smoke from his pipe, he continued to watch him, but this time it was accompanied by the smoke, and he waved a hand to emphasize his words. ]

I hardly have a problem with sharing, but I should certainly like to keep an eye on whomever wants to share with me. Just in case. Power such as this, as I'm sure you've noticed, could so easily be abused.

[ His tone still light, it was no surprise that he spoke with confidence. After people like Culp, and yes even like himself in earlier years, he knew how easily the power could be abused. ]

[deductives]

[Unfortunately, the irony of the smoking situation doesn't strike Sherlock, but the enticing smell of the tobacco does make him glad he wore an extra nicotine patch that day.]

So then you know people who do abuse it.

[Sherlock is certain Shade can't be talking about him. He's hardly mastered this new ability enough to make either ill or good use of it, though he isn't going to let on to that. Not in words, anyway.]

Are they here, or in your home world?

[foreshadower]

Ah, primarily in my world, yes.

[ He says no more than that about the subject, moving on rather quickly, all things considered. At least in comparison to to the rest of his other motions, lethargic and unconcerned with the world around him. ]

And what, exactly, do you plan to do with your budding competency with such power?