[John always could inspire such loyalty in people. He saw it time and again, he spoke about it in his best man speech, about how Sherlock might be the smart one, but John was the better man. He always has been, always will be.
That doesn't change that literally none of this is the business of Davesprite at all.
What a shame that the drugs seem to be controlling his fingers for a moment, instead of the logic of his mind.]
To save his life.
[Why else?
Why else would a man falsify his own death, leave his reputation in shambles, and disappear for years?]
[He wouldn't have been surprised if Sherlock just hung up entirely, or if he spouted off some other snippy dig at him for the presumption of asking. The answer he gets is still frustratingly short and vague, like it's supposed to shut him up simply with the supposed nobility of its cause.]
[He contemplates dropping back into his usual typing style to answer, but he doesn't trust Sherlock enough not to use it as a point of deflection.]
[It's not even meant to be a noble cause, he doesn't see it that way. It had been a necessity at the time, the right choice, but not noble. No matter the reason, it didn't erase the grief and damage done.
I hate you so much.
John's words keep ringing in his head and his fingers itch at the inside of his left wrist enough to leave it raw, wishing he had something better to raze this grief out of him. He's not supposed to get so emotionally compromised.]
I still don't see how that is your business. Perhaps because it's not.
Can we skip ahead to the part where we agree that the ends don't justify the means, you say something trite and ultimately meaningless about not hurting John again, and you leave?
[Davesprite sighs. And for a moment he considers, because maybe there's more he could say, better arguments, or other phrases to dig with. But the thing is... every other time he's tried, Sherlock has turned around and rebuffed him. Even now the answer he got was so short. It might as well be the self-assured brushoff of a man who thinks he knows everything. And why wouldn't it be, the way Sherlock has acted around him before? Even after he realized Davesprite was real, the man was still too high on his own pride to offer anything but the most backhanded apology, and even then only at Watson's behest.]
[He drops the punctuation, the grammar, all of it.]
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no subject
That doesn't change that literally none of this is the business of Davesprite at all.
What a shame that the drugs seem to be controlling his fingers for a moment, instead of the logic of his mind.]
To save his life.
[Why else?
Why else would a man falsify his own death, leave his reputation in shambles, and disappear for years?]
no subject
[He contemplates dropping back into his usual typing style to answer, but he doesn't trust Sherlock enough not to use it as a point of deflection.]
How?
no subject
I hate you so much.
John's words keep ringing in his head and his fingers itch at the inside of his left wrist enough to leave it raw, wishing he had something better to raze this grief out of him. He's not supposed to get so emotionally compromised.]
I still don't see how that is your business. Perhaps because it's not.
Can we skip ahead to the part where we agree that the ends don't justify the means, you say something trite and ultimately meaningless about not hurting John again, and you leave?
no subject
[He drops the punctuation, the grammar, all of it.]
youre such a piece of shit
[And he hangs up.]