James emerged from his dark cave of technology some minutes after Sebastian started going through the papers. Convenient, that. He'd been cooped up in the windowless room for neigh on 27 hours. And it would have probably gone on for a few days more had Sebastian not received his little...message.
James sometimes forgot to keep up with basic things like shaving or brushing his hair. Sometimes he looked like a perfect clone of Richard Brook. And would be too if he weren't so blank-faced all the time. That was one of the great differences, the thing that made him so different from his parts. The people he took on had a whole range of complex emotions and like normal people had a harder time controlling them. James was (usually) perfectly in control, of ever minuscule twitch.
Other than that though - he looked a damn mess. He only sported a dress shirt and trousers, no shoes or socks. Not even a tie. It was possibly a sign of just how bored he was after finishing with Sherlock. Another obsession; another dead end.
He wanted competition. That was almost all he lived for these days. A challenge. An opponent. Sherlock Holmes had almost been perfect. Till he jumped off a roof. James snarled at the reminder. He beat Sherlock Holmes and now he was back with the ordinary crowd.
He might have just shot himself for real, just for a little excitement.
Hair sticking out in just about every way and a five o'clock shadow that had grown overnight were what he sported. He looked tired as well; the bags under his eyes more prominent and just how thin he was was shown off greatly with the lack of volume a suit normally provided.
James walked past Sebastian, taking a glance at his files and --
"Didn't take you for the self-praising kind, darling."
no subject
James sometimes forgot to keep up with basic things like shaving or brushing his hair. Sometimes he looked like a perfect clone of Richard Brook. And would be too if he weren't so blank-faced all the time. That was one of the great differences, the thing that made him so different from his parts. The people he took on had a whole range of complex emotions and like normal people had a harder time controlling them. James was (usually) perfectly in control, of ever minuscule twitch.
Other than that though - he looked a damn mess. He only sported a dress shirt and trousers, no shoes or socks. Not even a tie. It was possibly a sign of just how bored he was after finishing with Sherlock. Another obsession; another dead end.
He wanted competition. That was almost all he lived for these days. A challenge. An opponent. Sherlock Holmes had almost been perfect. Till he jumped off a roof. James snarled at the reminder. He beat Sherlock Holmes and now he was back with the ordinary crowd.
He might have just shot himself for real, just for a little excitement.
Hair sticking out in just about every way and a five o'clock shadow that had grown overnight were what he sported. He looked tired as well; the bags under his eyes more prominent and just how thin he was was shown off greatly with the lack of volume a suit normally provided.
James walked past Sebastian, taking a glance at his files and --
"Didn't take you for the self-praising kind, darling."