Lamont had been settled quite happily in his lab, having just returned from a successful venture into the darker alleys of New York. Returning from his task, cloak and hat in hand, he was in his abandoned chemistry lab. Margo and Vincent had left hours earlier at his instruction to go home and rest while he continued his business late into the evening. His initial inspection of the lab told him they had dawdled for a short time before realizing he intended to be quite late.
He was reaching out toward the hat stand to trade his cloak for a lab coat when the hair on his arms stood up, as if there was some electric force pervading the room. He looked about, concern and determination on his face as he tried to locate the source, but found it difficult to move.
With a blinding flash, he felt all his senses overwhelmed at the same time and shut his eyes to try and save them. Was there a trap in the lab? What was causing the phenomenon? His mind raced as it felt like he was briefly lifted into the air.
A moment later he felt his shoes tap down on the ground however the noise and light were still too much to figure out more, but then he was airborne again. This time the sensation was a familiar one. For being unable to see or hear clearly, he could feel the concussion of an explosion ripple through his core as it tossed him. Many a time he's been thrown and buried by explosions, and he didn't fight the tumble or put out his arms to break the fall, not wanting to risk injury.
The lone figure which Sherlock finds beneath the debris is breathing easily, and for all purposes seems to be unconscious. Lamont doesn't know who or what is pulling the debris off of him, but he will play the victim for now until he can determine the truth of the situation. Meanwhile, his sharp fedora has miraculously stayed on his head and he's clad in an impeccable evening suit. Spread below him is a black cloak, but folded as it is, it looks like nothing more than an evening coat which had been dropped onto the floor. He can only hope that the single automatic pistol hidden neatly below his suit goes unnoticed long enough for him to palm it into his cloak or hat so that any cursory inspection for injury only yields an empty gun brace.
He waits a moment before moving slowly, feeling sore from the tumble and not needing to act that part at least. With a faint groan he puts a hand to his head, finding the hat there and pressing a hand down on it as if it had been hit in the blast.
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Date: 2015-02-25 04:04 am (UTC)From:He was reaching out toward the hat stand to trade his cloak for a lab coat when the hair on his arms stood up, as if there was some electric force pervading the room. He looked about, concern and determination on his face as he tried to locate the source, but found it difficult to move.
With a blinding flash, he felt all his senses overwhelmed at the same time and shut his eyes to try and save them. Was there a trap in the lab? What was causing the phenomenon? His mind raced as it felt like he was briefly lifted into the air.
A moment later he felt his shoes tap down on the ground however the noise and light were still too much to figure out more, but then he was airborne again. This time the sensation was a familiar one. For being unable to see or hear clearly, he could feel the concussion of an explosion ripple through his core as it tossed him. Many a time he's been thrown and buried by explosions, and he didn't fight the tumble or put out his arms to break the fall, not wanting to risk injury.
The lone figure which Sherlock finds beneath the debris is breathing easily, and for all purposes seems to be unconscious. Lamont doesn't know who or what is pulling the debris off of him, but he will play the victim for now until he can determine the truth of the situation. Meanwhile, his sharp fedora has miraculously stayed on his head and he's clad in an impeccable evening suit. Spread below him is a black cloak, but folded as it is, it looks like nothing more than an evening coat which had been dropped onto the floor. He can only hope that the single automatic pistol hidden neatly below his suit goes unnoticed long enough for him to palm it into his cloak or hat so that any cursory inspection for injury only yields an empty gun brace.
He waits a moment before moving slowly, feeling sore from the tumble and not needing to act that part at least. With a faint groan he puts a hand to his head, finding the hat there and pressing a hand down on it as if it had been hit in the blast.