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[devoutish]

Yeah?

[That's it, that's all you get.]

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[devoutish]

Don't know why you put up with him. He'd drive me-- yeah, he'd drive me up the fucking wall. Wouldn't fucking stand for it.

[jumpthegun]

He drives most people up the wall. [There's a long sigh.] And I've told you why. Hasn't really changed. [The whole... love thing. The idiotic self-sacrifice from Sherlock. The excitement. The connection after Mary...]

[devoutish]

Yeah. I'd smack him to the floor. The fucking floor.

[jumpthegun]

[This is entering into uncomfortable territory. John's picturing Sherlock on the floor, face bloody, eyes wide and teary. His voice is quieter for a moment.]

Not as satisfying as you'd think.

[He clears his throat.]

Where are you? Still downtown?

[devoutish]

Mm. Can't stand it down here.

[jumpthegun]

Sounds like you might be finding good supplies, at least? Last I talked to Royce, anyway.

[devoutish]

You talked to Royce?

[jumpthegun]

Yeah, a little while back when he made that post about trading and turning into a monster.

[Wait.]

Oh, right. Our conversation was private.

[devoutish]

Mm...

[He trails off for a moment, fuzzy-headed.]

-- Yeah. Yeah, that one; yeah, that's right.

[jumpthegun]

[There's a pause.]

Are you feeling all right, Alfie?

[devoutish]

Ah-- yeah, no, I'm a bit out of sorts at the moment, I'm afraid.

[jumpthegun]

What's happened? Is Royce all right? Are you hurt?

[devoutish]

We're, ah, a bit intoxicated, that's all.

[jumpthegun]

What?

[There's a small spike of jealousy that John knows is very unhealthy.]

You... weren't you the one who's said it's a bad idea to drink in this weather?

[devoutish]

It's a terrible idea.

[He's just past the point of caring. They're in danger of dying all the time, anyway. There's not much difference between 80% likely to die and 81%.]

[jumpthegun]

Alfie...

[There's another long sigh, this time actually directed at the other man.]

How much have you drunk?

[devoutish]

Polished off a bottle together. Wine.

cw: alcoholism

[jumpthegun]

[John licks his lips and glances toward the door. He shouldn't. He doesn't need to. But just a drink. Just one drink... No. No, that's how Harry thinks. 'Just one drink' becomes 'just one more drink.' He gives himself a mental shake.]

You two need to get out of downtown.

[devoutish]

Away from the liquor shops?

[jumpthegun]

Back to people who need your supplies.

[devoutish]

Yeah. Do you know of anyone in the south, at the entrance?

[jumpthegun]

Ginger, America, and England are there. Not sure about anyone else. I think most have come up to the residential area or gone over to the industrial zone.

[devoutish]

Is this because there's nothing to be found down south?

[jumpthegun]

No. I think people are just getting anxious. Those places are a hell of a slog and if we're following the spiral, they're the farthest from the path we need to take.

[devoutish]

Well. We'll see about giving them anything they need, then.

[Another pause.]

It's less dangerous down there than the Pass.