Mystery Deepens

How had she known?

The smallest details of his life were plain to her. Things he mentioned in passing were digested, taken at face value and debated as though known equally well to both parties.

He sought to look upon the log again, to see the import of the conversation. To know what she knew. Or rather both of them. How many people was he talking to?

How many people was he? He would switch between faces just as easily, but someone else seemed to be talking to them.

Was it his past? Was it his future? A puppet? A bit of all three?

That's what happens when things happen out of order. Time had been cracked, and the lines were showing.

Instinctively his mind retreated into the most plain of corners, the most ordinary of locations, but it soon grew restless again. In short time he was alone again. He pushed against the bars and felt his wings grow again.

Just as quickly the tempo changed and he was ordinary again. Then the track bit him into a rolling madness.

As Sherlocks blocked out the world through their playing he soared on the winds of other's tunes. He sought the volume again. Loud enough to drown out the noise but without being overwhelming.

It seemed to give him a clarity his mind lacked otherwise. It smoothed his thoughts from the roughness he had grown accustom to. But no matter the tune, no matter the track it seemed to be just out of reach.