goshdarnspam | (◕ω◕✿)

[Sherlock woke first. His first registered emotion was annoyance-- getting captured always tended to derail things too much for his tastes. The next thing he registered was the feeling of a warm body against him. The smell on their clothes, as his face is pressed into the lapel of a jacket, carries a familiar cigarette brand. Bradbury.

He bolted upright, or at least the best he could, in the odd way they were tied. There was no way to wake him like this, and sadly, no way to separate. He sat awkwardly until he finally started to come around.]

Bradbury. [Now, he speaks loudly so that he can get past the grog.] You've put my hands to sleep.

[ The first thing actually out of Bradbury's mouth is an ever-eloquent "mmghhh" of confusion that ends in a sharp, choked-off note when he looks down and actually realizes what's happening, and much like Sherlock, he attempts to jerk away. It doesn't go particularly well, and Sherlock's treated to feeling Bradbury's full-body shiver and the sudden kick of his pulse spiking from its dormant state. ]

The fuck? [ Is all he has the coordination to murmur right now, struggling to shake off his torpor. ]

[He winces when the back of Bradbury's neck just pushes his wrists harder against the wall. At least he's conscious again, relatively. Sherlock strains to keep the top half of his body a safe distance from Rick's as the jerks of his body try to pull Sherlock forward.]

Apparently we weren't as well covered as we thought. There should be a knife in my pocket, if they didn't confiscate it. Can you reach?

[ it takes a long moment for Bradbury to find his voice, and when he does, at least it seems most of his brain function has been restored with it. ]

Yeah, just -- just gimme a sec.

[ why does sherlock have to be so tall? it makes reaching down harder, bradbury's face mashing into his collarbone as his tied hands slide down the small of sherlocks back and -- no getting around it -- over his ass. there's an awkward pause while he palms and pats around sherlock's back pockets, briefly considering the merits of joking that the lack of padding is making it more difficult to tell what might be a knife and what's just sherlock, but he refrains. ]

Got it. [ his breath runs against the side of sherlock's neck. ]

[Sherlock's feels a wave of embarrassment wash over him as Bradbury's large hands slide along his backside. Perhaps he should have mentioned his mini flashlight first. His face scrunches when the fuzz of Bradbury's buzzcut brushes past his nose, almost provoking a sneeze from him.]

This isn't even an efficient way to tie two people together. What the hell are they getting at?

[It's a relief to feel the knife slip out of his pocket, unless he wanted to smell what Bradbury ate for lunch until someone came to free them.]

It's an army knife. If you can flip the blade out without stabbing me in the lumbar, that would be the best route.

You're the detective, not me. And give me a little credit, will you?

[ there's more awkward shifting, bradbury falling silent as he does have to concentrate, and then the click of metal becomes audible and he sighs in relief. then the next few seconds are occupied by the quiet sound of the knife rasping against bradbury's ties, though he speaks quietly to help the time pass faster. ]

What's your working hypothesis?

[Sherlock's eyes scan the room. Anything to ignore the fact that Bradbury is so close to him. There's nothing unusual about the room. An average storage cabinet with a sliver of light coming from beneath the door. Probably locked or otherwise barred, so again, tying them seemed pointless, unless it isn't particularly sturdy.]

They're toying with us. A perceived shot at what machismo they think we possess.

[On his end, not a whole lot, to be honest.]

Great. Don't suppose you have any suspects in mind? [ On Bradbury's end, it's debatable. He clearly presents masculinity, but it's less of a deliberate show and more what he is, as natural as breathing. He grunts at Sherlock's assessment, chest heaving with every breath.

He'd started out panicking, but now that he has something to do -- a task to focus on -- his pulse is evening out, as is the draw of his breath. ]

Unless the thieves we've been tailing were more perceptive than I realized, none as of yet.

[He can tell this thinking aloud is helping keep Bradbury focused on the task at hand and not the fact that Sherlock is sitting on his lap in a dark room.]

How bloody thick are those, anyway?

[ Bradbury rolled his eyes, a gesture largely lost when his face was pressed against Sherlock. ]

Thick enough. It'll go faster if you don't bitch about it.

[ Pointedly, but it's not actually telling him to stop talking. And Sherlock's right: it does keep him from thinking too hard about it. He can make the bondage jokes when their dicks aren't less than a foot away from each other.

He finally saws through, the grunt of triumph more felt than heard as he gingerly undoes the bindings on his wrists. ] There we go. Your turn.

[Luckily Bradbury can't see the sour look on Sherlock's face, and the expression quickly changes once he's cut through the ropes. Sherlock lifts his tied hands over Bradbury's head and takes the knife between them.]

If you can move your legs, I'd check the door. Quietly. It doesn't look like there's a guard, but it's hard to tell.

[He starts to cut away at his own ropes with a deft hand, as if he's had to do this before. Many times, in fact.]

My ankles are tied too. It'll be easier to get to 'em once you get off.

[ There were better ways he could have phrased that, but Bradbury ignores it in favor of shifting to work some feeling back into his fingertips. By the sliver of light, he can tell where the direction of the door is, but when he nudges it with his feet, it doesn't budge. It also doesn't budge when he shoves it harder, thighs tensing under Sherlock with the effort he's putting into it. Finally, he gasps: ]

No dice.

[Can we not. That's the thought Sherlock forces himself not to speak as Bradbury tries to extricate himself from their awkward tangle of limbs.

While the door is being attended to, Sherlock finally gets through the ropes on his wrists. The return of the blood flow sends pins beneath his skin and he seethes a bit.]

Nor any for "quietly."

[Things just got more complicated. His powers don't seem to be working here, so he doubts Rick's would either. As for moving his own legs, his ankles are tied too, he finds, behind Bradbury's back.]

Bring your feet back. It'll be easier for me to do it.

Sorry. [ He doesn't really sound it, but he brings his legs around closer for Sherlock to reach, his thighs an awkward backrest for the other man until it occurs to him -- ]

Uh, is it gonna be easier if I keep my legs together, or...?

[Sherlock isn't sure Bradbury is clever enough to be doing that on purpose, but he does give him a pointed glare anyway.]

Doesn't make much of a difference.

[He twists around and leans back, keeping his balance by rooting his tied feet on Bradbury's waist. It's uncomfortable, but it's the only way he can reach the other man's feet.]

Your head was bleeding. How is it? [Better than talking about the current situation.]

[ It's not that Bradbury isn't clever so much as sexual innuendo is the last thing he wants to be thinking about , and he's blocked it out so securely he doesn't even realize how it could be taken. ]

I'm not seeing double or anything, so I probably don't have much of a concussion. Nothing a couple of aspiring won't fix.

[A smirk flickers across Sherlock's face. Much of one. It sounds like something he'd say. At least they both have the necessary cavalier attitude for this.

He glances between the door and the progress he's making. The ropes finally give way, and he awkwardly lifts himself with his hands so Bradbury can slip his legs free.]

Our powers are blocked here, but there's nothing unusual about that door. If we can't open it normally, there must be a trick to it.

[Not that kicking down a door is the normal way to leave a room, but never mind that.]

[ Bradbury kicks his legs free of the cut ties, relief visible in his face before he holds his out for the knife, expectantly. He may not be able to see Sherlock's legs behind his back, but he has a good guess they're also tied together, and it'll be easier for him to return the favor rather than Sherlock crawling further onto his lap. ]

What, like a password we're supposed to guess? Open sesame?

Something less obvious, yes.

[Just a hint of exasperation as he hands Bradbury the knife and lets his torso hit the ground again. Sherlock takes his flashlight out at last, and uses it to look around the room for any clues. No indentations on the walls, no vents, nothing. At least it meant they weren't being watched, either.]

A coded action, maybe.

[ There really isn't any way for him to comfortably get at legs tied behind his back, but Bradbury's giving a good go at it. It's easier, now that he's got both hands free, moving along quicker while he listens to Sherlock speak. ]

Like what?

[ Even in the darkness, the dubiousness in his voice comes through loud and clear. ]

[Sherlock reclines on the floor, assuming his typical thinking position. It was hardly as comfortable as the furniture back home, but it would have to do. He isn't typically tied to a hulking American either, but let it be said that little affects his focus.

He's silent for a while, mind bubbling with the possibilities as the only sound in the room is Bradbury cutting the ropes. The ropes. Sherlock frowns behind his steepled fingers.]

The way we were tied may play into it.

Yeah? [ If they could see each other, he'd be raising a brow, but that's largely out of the question, so he lets the question carry into the tone of his voice instead. ]

So what, this really is a fucked-up version of seven minutes in heaven or something?

[ Look, unlike some people, Bradbury had a healthy and robust teenagerhood. ]

[Sherlock pauses. Sometimes Bradbury, while being incredibly thick, was able to actually pick up on the heart of matters with disturbing accuracy. For once, he almost wishes someone isn't following his train of thought.]

It does seem to be more of a prank than something malicious. Aside from knocking us on the heads, anyway.

[ Don't be rude, Sherlock!! Bradbury can be perceptive when he isn't being willfully ignorant... which is most of the time.

He frowns, but he doesn't answer until he's finished cutting the ropes and Sherlock's ankles are free, and he pulls the ties loose before easing the other man's legs away. If they're going to have to talk about this, it would be nice with some space between them. ]

Then why not just tell us what they want? What's the point?

[It's with no small bit of urgency that Sherlock scoots away from Bradbury and leans up against the adjacent wall. Both of their sizes are making inhabiting the room a problem now that he isn't on Rick's lap. Too bad, that.

Sherlock tucks his legs up and wraps his arms around his knees, another favored thinking position.]

Well, Bradbury, if someone asked you to kiss me without forcing us into it, I doubt you'd do it, would you?

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