poeticterms | (no subject)

Tony is not wrong. Cal just sort of vaguely assumes that there are like, keywords. Or something. Especially with how often pizza probably gets ordered here.

Tony's reaction gets a curious glance, though.

He manages—well, he manages what to most people would probably be a face that looks like it is not hiding anything.

But luckily he has the perfect excuse to not be here acting suspicious anymore.

"Lemme go clean up so I can eat with you guys like," he wrinkles his nose in mock annoyance, "a civilized person."

"Heaven forfend," Sherlock says dryly.

"Does that mean we might actually use plates this time?" Cal asks.

"Perhaps if we move quickly to occupy the kitchen before he returns."

"Fuck you, Sherry Holmes."

He ruffles Sherlock's hair again—almost kisses his forehead, but remembers in time—and laughs all the way up the stairs.

Cal snorts in amusement.

"Better get on that, then."

He will let Sherlock lead the way. Because, you know, it's Sherlock's house.

—Sherlock laughs.

If there's an extra spark of mischief in his eye as he leads Cal to the kitchen, surely it is just sibling rivalry.

(Get on what, after all?)

Get on the kitchen!

Obviously.

Cal is not looking closely enough to see extra sparks of mischief, thanks very much.

Cal can be astonishingly unobservant, but for once, Sherlock won't complain. It's just as well. Of all the revelations Cal might have about this household, that is probably the one he most needs to be shielded from.

The kitchen is spotless. It is very much Sherlock's territory. But there is a very friendly kitchen table, suitable for eating pizza at.

Sometimes Cal is selectively unobservant. It's not as frequent as it once was, and friendship with Sherlock has actually begun to sharpen his observational skills a little, but there are still times in his life when it's a necessary tool for survival.

He's going to need to come to terms with the truths about the Stark household in bits and pieces to be able to accept this one. For now, it's incredibly easy for him to overlook.

That table looks convenient! Cal will take a seat.

And Sherlock will preemptively get out an appropriate number of plates.

"When do we expect the pizza?" he asks thin air.

"Twenty to thirty minutes," thin air replies.

Thin air is a very helpful substance.

"That's convenient," Cal remarks. "Half the time on the phone, they forget to tell you."

And when that happens, he usually forgets to ask.

"I never forget to ask."

Sherlock laughs.

"That would be kind of crappy programming."

Cal is mostly addressing Sherlock, but also sort of including Jarvis. If only because Jarvis was the last - uh, conversational participant to say actual words.

"Oh, indeed."

He can tell from long experience that Jarvis is laughing with him, although there is of course no outward indication.

"On the contrary. Writing a forgetful AI would take a considerable effort."

"Really?"

Cal was thinking more along the lines of glitchy software. Or - something. Everything he knows about actual AIs comes from the movies, and he is pretty sure that (for example) Jarvis is not out to kill them all.

Probably.

"Oh, yes," Sherlock agrees. "To forget something, you need a memory more like a human's than a computer's." He puts on his Tony voice. "A real bitch of a coding job," back to his natural accent, "or so I'm told."

Cal doesn't even blink at the change in voice. Something else he's getting used to.

"Okay," he acknowledges. "I meant more like the, uh, coding screwing up or something."

"For a program written by an eleven-year-old, Jarvis is astonishingly robust."

"Damned by faint praise," he deadpans.

"- what?"

. . . that is not a piece of information Cal had possessed before.