"No, not common," he mentioned simply, and didn't elaborate. He crossed his arms, instead, looking down at the computer, like he was concentrating on that instead of anything else. He was listening, if just for a few moments, to clear the air of Sherlock's questioning.

He wouldn't elaborate -- couldn't. There was a story to tell about his powers, sure, about how he was the only one, until Pherson, and then he'd been killed -- by Mitchell -- and was only succeeded by one other.

Both had powers they shouldn't. Both had lost it, listening too much and not just telling the fucks around them to shut up, if at least for a while. Then again, neither one of them would be able to do that like he did. He let his jaw relax, after a few moments.

"What're you looking for?"