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[devoutish]

Yeah?

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

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[devoutish]

Do you trust his word despite that?

[jumpthegun]

I trust that Sherlock and I are in a position to handle him if he needs handling.

[devoutish]

Stay alive. I'd like to see you home.

[jumpthegun]

Dying's not on my schedule, mate. Once was enough.

[devoutish]

I'm glad we see eye to eye.

[jumpthegun]

I think I'm the one who ought to be worrying about you, anyway. You seem to be going for the record. I'd appreciate you stopping that. It's bad for my heart.

[devoutish]

That's another downside to text, isn't it. I could be bleeding out again right now and you'd never know it.

>voice

[jumpthegun]

[There's another pause as John gets up to move to a nearby room and close the door.]

I'm alone now. Is there something you wanted to say rather than type?

voice

[devoutish]

No, no - there's nothing. I just prefer this. That's all.

[jumpthegun]

[John breathes a small sigh of relief.]

Why is that? Let's you gauge people more easily than text so you know if they're bleeding out?

[devoutish]

I've got to make sure you're not hiding your injuries somehow, yeah?

[He pauses, then gives the real answer.]

Letters, text, that's for arranging a meeting, or when you've got no other option. A proper conversation should let you hear a man's voice, see a man's face.

[jumpthegun]

You could always just ask Bucky. He seems keen to share when I'm injured. [His delivery for that is entirely deadpan.]

And just know that Sherlock hates talking on the phone. If he could manage to communicate purely through text, I think he would.

[devoutish]

Mm. And why is that? Because he's got something to hide, and he doesn't trust his voice not to give it away?

[jumpthegun]

He says it's faster, and I'm pretty sure he just learned to hate talking on the phone because of his brother.

[devoutish]

His brother?

[jumpthegun]

Mycroft. He's basically like Sherlock, but imagine someone older, colder, even more observant, and basically running the British government. Mycroft has manners, but he's like a supervill- Y'know, I think you'd get along with him, actually. He's a businessman. Sherlock can't stand him.

[And with good reason, as far as John is concerned given what happened with Moriarty's lie.]

I don't like him much, myself. Hadn't been living with Sherlock a day and the arsehole kidnapped me and tried to pay me to spy on Sherlock for him. All without actually telling me who he was.

[devoutish]

A supervillain, and I'd get along with him? Mate, I'm flattered.

[jumpthegun]

Ha. Ha. [John rolls his eyes to himself.] He just acts like one sometimes. He's... doing what's best for the country, at least. There is that.

[devoutish]

What a family. Have you met the parents?

[jumpthegun]

No. Though, apparently, Sherlock thinks I have. Reckon they were over sometime when I was out. He doesn't notice when I'm gone sometimes.

I can't even imagine what they'd be like. Except posh.

[devoutish]

Wealthy?

[jumpthegun]

He works for free for the police and doesn't care about money. His coat must have coast £300, he wears tailored suits, and spends far too much money on products for his hair. I'm pretty sure he's got a trust fund or an allowance or something. He doesn't talk about it, but he's definitely not poor.

[devoutish]

Goodness. Does he pay your rent?

[jumpthegun]

No. [There's a brief flare of irritation in his voice, followed by a pause.] Sometimes. When work was light. I paid him back, though. We each pay for half of everything. He was looking for a flatmate because flats are expensive in London. That's how we met.

[John isn't really sure how to square that with what he knows of Sherlock's financial situation, but this isn't really Alfie's business, anyway.]

[devoutish]

Only teasing a bit, mate. Him more than you.