Saving Sherlock Holmes (14/43)
Nov. 5th, 2012 07:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
earlgreytea68Title - Saving Sherlock Holmes (14/43)
Author -![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
earlgreytea68
Rating - General (eventually as high as Adult, which will be adjusted on a chapter-by-chapter basis)
Characters - Sherlock, John, Mycroft, Lestrade, Harry
Spoilers - Through "The Reichenbach Fall"
Disclaimer - I don't own them and I don't make money off of them, but I don't like to dwell on that, so let's move on.
Summary - Sherlock Holmes, schoolboy. Yeah, that basically sums it up.
Author's Notes - Thank yous! Toflawedamythystand sensiblecatfor the Britpick; to the readers who read as this was being written, including chicklet73; and to arctacuda, who uncomplainingly betas massive amounts of fic.
Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13
Chapter Fourteen
Sherlock had decided that he wasn’t wearing ties anymore.
This was ridiculous, as they were a required part of the Eton uniform, and, as Lestrade said when he came to their room to berate him about it, “You’ve been doing so well.”
“I hate ties,” Sherlock said, lining up pinecones on their windowsill. He was doing some sort of experiment on pinecones. He’d had these specially shipped from America. John had no idea what the point of it was, but thought it possible Sherlock had rather too much money. John was lying on his bed reading for his physics school and watching the conversation. “I’ve always hated ties,” Sherlock continued.
“Do you think you could manage to put up with them for just a few hours a day?” asked Lestrade.
“No,” sniffed Sherlock. “I don’t.”
“You’ve managed to do it so far.”
“What is the point of them?”
“Many things in life don’t have a point, Sherlock.”
“I’ve noticed. Waste of energy, all of it.”
“Unlike your very important experiment with pinecones,” drawled Lestrade.
Sherlock glared at him. “Well, you gave me an unsolvable case. Unsolvable!” Sherlock gestured to the bulletin board, which was now so covered in stuff that John kept expecting it to fall entirely off the wall.
“Well—” began Lestrade.
“How do you expect me to solve this case when you won’t let me go to Australia? All of the clues are in Australia.”
“You can’t go to Australia, Sherlock. Not without your brother’s permission.”
“He’ll never give me permission,” muttered Sherlock, darkly.
“And if you sneak out and go to Australia on your own, he’ll—”
“You don’t need to tell me Mycroft’s threats,” Sherlock interrupted, impatiently. “I know Mycroft’s threats. How often do you talk to him, anyway?”
“I don’t talk to him. He left me a message this morning.” Lestrade read from a piece of paper. “‘Tell my brother if he sneaks away to go to Australia, alone or with John, I’ll—’”
“Boring,” announced Sherlock. “I don’t want to hear the rest.”
“Look, I’ll try to find you a crime closer to home for you to solve,” Lestrade offered.
Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him. “And I’ll get to see the evidence?”
“I’ll make all my best efforts in that direction. If you start wearing a tie to your divs again.”
Sherlock steepled his fingers against his lips and considered this deal. “How can I trust that you’ll uphold your end of this bargain?”
“My word of honor.”
Sherlock’s lips curled into a mockery of a smile. “How quaint. I don’t believe in anybody’s word of honor.”
“I trust him,” John contributed. “Take my word of honor that Lestrade will fulfill his word of honor.”
“Thank you, John,” said Lestrade.
Sherlock looked at John, thinking, and then turned back to Lestrade. “All right. Fine. You’re lucky John was here.”
“Yeah,” agreed Lestrade, dryly. “What are you doing with the pinecones?”
Sherlock sighed dramatically. “I can’t possibly be expected to explain it to someone with your tiny brain.”
Lestrade shook his head and rolled his eyes and sighed and said to John, “Try and keep him in line, won’t you?” as he left the room.
“You don’t have any pinecone experiment yet, do you?” said John to Sherlock.
“No. Haven’t decided what I’m going to do with them yet. But he doesn’t need to know that.” Sherlock tipped his head and studied the pinecones thoughtfully.
“Do you think, for my sake, you could try not to get yourself kicked out of this school?”
“You’d be fine without me,” Sherlock said, waving his hand at him dismissively.
“No,” John said, bluntly. “I wouldn’t. What makes you think that?”
“You’re charming. You play rugby. You get along with everyone. The only reason you’re not popular now is because you spend too much time with me. If I left, I daresay you’d have more friends than you’d know what to do with.”
“Right,” said John. “But none of them would be as annoying as you are, so what would be the point?”
Sherlock glanced at him with a quick smile.
John ventured, cautiously, “I’m going home for the short leave.”
“You could come home with me if you like,” Sherlock suggested, poking at the pinecones on the windowsill as if they would suddenly do something dramatic.
John knew he would suggest that. John would have liked to go back to Sherlock’s house. He liked it at Sherlock’s house. And he was ashamed of that. He had a family at home. A family he was supposed to be taking care of. He couldn’t keep pretending he didn’t, playing at this fairy tale with Sherlock.
“I know,” he said. “I have to go home.”
Sherlock shrugged as if he didn’t really care one way or the other. Which was a bit of a relief, because John suspected that just a bit of pouting on Sherlock’s part would have changed his mind.
***
So John went home for the short leave. Harry was pleasantly surprised to see him. Their mother was nowhere about.
“I didn’t want to worry you,” Harry said. “But she pretty much drifts in and out now. I think she has a boyfriend.”
John looked at the rather sorry state of the flat around them and said, “How much is she around? Harry…”
“Stop fussing. Don’t look like that. It’s all fine. It’s good to see you!” She gave him a fierce hug, which she clearly intended to distract him with. “Oh! And you’re home! So you can go out with all of us tonight! Sarah’s coming,” she sing-songed.
John had less than zero interest in going out with Sarah that night. And the solid realization of that was alarming. Three months earlier, he had fancied himself deeply in love with Sarah. His determination to go to Eton had caused a vicious row, and John had thought he would be depressed for a while. Then he had met Sherlock and immediately forgot about Sarah. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d thought of her.
“Unless, you know, you’re over Sarah because you’ve got your posh sex-voice Sherlock bloke.” Harry waved her hand about, looking amused.
“It isn’t like that,” John insisted, although he was no longer sure it wasn’t, and that was the moment when he decided he was definitely going out with Sarah that night.
***
Greg thought he’d half lost his mind. He thought he’d never do this with any other student, and he wasn’t sure what about Sherlock had wormed its way enough into his heart that he had even made this effort, but Greg found himself running to catch Sherlock before he could depart for the short leave. Sherlock was, in fact, about to duck into the car his brother had sent for him, and Greg forced the driver to agree to wait until Greg had managed to get Mycroft on the phone. Sherlock looked at him curiously, perplexed, and Greg raced back into Holland House in search of a phone.
He told Mycroft Holmes’s secretary that it was an urgent matter involving Mr. Holmes’s brother, and that opened the doors he’d thought it might. Mycroft picked up almost immediately, polished still but sharp with concern.
“What’s happened?”
“Nothing. I mean, nothing bad. I promised Sherlock I’d get him a puzzle closer to home. I have one, one he would love, phoned in to me by a friend at the Met, but I need your permission for it because it’s unconventional, and I don’t want the headmaster to know.”
There was a pause. “What is it?”
“Two closed-door murders, no obvious means of entry, no obvious connection between the two, except that there must be. My friend’s at the end of her rope, and I convinced her I knew someone clever enough to help her out.”
“Did you mention that this someone is a sixteen-year-old boy?” asked Mycroft, dryly.
“No. Listen, I know it sounds insane, but you know Sherlock’d eat it up with a spoon, and he’d solve it immediately.”
There was a long moment of silence. Then, “Tell the driver where you want you and Sherlock to be taken.”
“Thank you,” Greg said, and hung up the phone and dashed back out of Holland House.
“What is going on?” Sherlock asked, impatiently.
“How would you like to solve two murders today?” Greg replied.
Sherlock looked delighted, and then scaled it back, playing it cool. “I suppose that would be all right,” he said, casually.
Greg shook his head at him, trying to look disapproving, and said, “Get into the car.” When he turned to walk around the car to the other side, he caught out of the corner of his eye the little skip Sherlock gave in glee.
***
Mycroft arrived at New Scotland Yard toward the end of the day and ran into Gregory Lestrade immediately, settled into a chair and watching Sherlock through the windowed wall of a conference room. Sherlock seemed to be ordering everyone around, his eyes bright with happiness.
“Well,” remarked Mycroft. “He looks in his element.”
Lestrade jumped, plainly startled that Mycroft was there. The man must have been thoroughly lost in thought. “Hi,” he said, looking up at him with those wide, dark eyes he had.
Mycroft sat beside Lestrade without waiting to be asked. “How did he do?”
“Solved it. Smuggling ring. Asian antiquities. I knew he’d get it almost immediately. I think, if he was slightly easier to work with, they’d already be offering him a job.” Lestrade looked almost fond.
“Has he managed to alienate people?” Mycroft asked.
“Of course he has. Told several people, me included, to stop thinking thoughts in our heads because we were disturbing him. Told some people to turn around so he didn’t have to look at them, or not to speak because they were bringing down the IQ of the entire street.”
Mycroft winced. “That sounds like Sherlock.”
“But he has been having the time of his life.”
“Of course he has. This is entirely his type of thing.” Mycroft leaned his elbow on the chair and his chin on his fist and watched Sherlock and heard himself say, “Sometimes I have no idea what I’m going to do with him.” This was not something he thought he had ever admitted out loud before. It was an enormous relief to say it now and to not have the world stop turning.
Lestrade said nothing for a moment, but when he did speak all he said was, “He’s very different from you, isn’t he?”
“Most people don’t realize that. But yes.”
“How can most people not realize that? You’re like night and day.”
“We’re more like twilight and dawn. Very different things, but easily mistaken for each other if you’re not looking the right way, and people seldom are.”
Lestrade was silent for another moment, before saying, “He’ll be all right. He’s clever.”
“He’s reckless,” Mycroft countered.
“He’s young. Weren’t we all, at that age?”
“No,” said Mycroft, flatly. “I was never reckless.”
There was another moment of silence. “You should try it sometime,” Lestrade suggested.
Mycroft looked at him in surprise. “Try what?”
“Being reckless.” Lestrade grinned at him. “It’s a hell of a lot of fun, I promise.”
“It’s never seemed so to me.”
“You haven’t been trying the right kind of reckless,” said Lestrade.
Mycroft stared at him and tried to determine what exactly was going on in this conversation.
And then Sherlock announced, walking swiftly over to them, “Well. That’s sorted. Mycroft. What are you doing here?”
Mycroft tore his eyes away from Lestrade and looked at Sherlock, who was practically glowing with exhilaration. It seemed to Mycroft he was almost floating on air, barely touching the ground as he walked. “I’ve come to take you home, now that you’ve solved your first murder for the Met.”
“First two murders,” said Sherlock, looking buoyant, and grinned, almost bouncing with glee. And it was a testament to what a good mood he was in that he just said to Mycroft, “Fine. Let’s go,” and walked off.
Mycroft blinked in pleased surprise not to have had to have a quarrel about that, then stood and turned to Lestrade, who had also risen to his feet.
“Thank you,” he said, sincerely. “This was clever. And also risky. I appreciate it.”
“Reckless,” said Lestrade. “It was quite reckless of me.” And he grinned.
***
There was no way Sherlock could sleep. He was much too tightly wound to accomplish that. And he hated being back in the London house, which felt like pale ghosts to him. Restless with insomnia, Sherlock had the most brilliant idea: He would go and see John.
He knew, of course, where John lived. He had made that deduction early on, and it was an easy task for him to sneak out of the house and get himself to the council estate. There was no answer when he knocked confidently on John’s door, and Sherlock hadn’t anticipated that, but he decided that was all right, he was not deterred. He picked the lock with laughable ease and let himself into the flat to wait.
The flat was a mess, much more so than Sherlock had expected. Sherlock read the whole story with a sweep of his eyes: alcoholic mother who had basically abandoned the flat, irresponsible sister who hadn’t entirely risen to the challenge of taking care of herself. John could not have been pleased with the state of things. No wonder John had felt compelled to come home this leave instead of staying with Sherlock. John was that sort. Caretaker tendency.
Sherlock had really just finished making these deductions when he heard the voices approaching the flat, loud and boisterous and drunk, a group of eight—no, nine. There was laughter, John’s laughter amongst them, and Sherlock experienced an odd contradictory flutter that was both happy anticipation of seeing John again and terrible nervous jealousy over other people making John laugh.
Then the door opened. The first person through was clearly John’s sister—the family resemblance was striking—and she was so busy laughing at something the girl behind her was saying that she didn’t notice Sherlock until almost everyone was in the flat already. John was the last one in, bringing up the rear, with a girl standing rather too closely to him, whispering something in his ear, and then John’s sister shrieked, “Who the hell are you?” and John looked up, straight into his eyes.
John froze. “Sherlock,” he managed.
Sherlock slid his eyes from John to the girl possessively hanging on his arm and back to John. This, he thought, might be about to get interesting. He stuck his hands in his coat pockets and said, flatly, “Hello.”
Next Chapter
Author -
earlgreytea68Rating - General (eventually as high as Adult, which will be adjusted on a chapter-by-chapter basis)
Characters - Sherlock, John, Mycroft, Lestrade, Harry
Spoilers - Through "The Reichenbach Fall"
Disclaimer - I don't own them and I don't make money off of them, but I don't like to dwell on that, so let's move on.
Summary - Sherlock Holmes, schoolboy. Yeah, that basically sums it up.
Author's Notes - Thank yous! To
flawedamythystand sensiblecatfor the Britpick; to the readers who read as this was being written, including chicklet73; and to arctacuda, who uncomplainingly betas massive amounts of fic. Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13
Chapter Fourteen
Sherlock had decided that he wasn’t wearing ties anymore.
This was ridiculous, as they were a required part of the Eton uniform, and, as Lestrade said when he came to their room to berate him about it, “You’ve been doing so well.”
“I hate ties,” Sherlock said, lining up pinecones on their windowsill. He was doing some sort of experiment on pinecones. He’d had these specially shipped from America. John had no idea what the point of it was, but thought it possible Sherlock had rather too much money. John was lying on his bed reading for his physics school and watching the conversation. “I’ve always hated ties,” Sherlock continued.
“Do you think you could manage to put up with them for just a few hours a day?” asked Lestrade.
“No,” sniffed Sherlock. “I don’t.”
“You’ve managed to do it so far.”
“What is the point of them?”
“Many things in life don’t have a point, Sherlock.”
“I’ve noticed. Waste of energy, all of it.”
“Unlike your very important experiment with pinecones,” drawled Lestrade.
Sherlock glared at him. “Well, you gave me an unsolvable case. Unsolvable!” Sherlock gestured to the bulletin board, which was now so covered in stuff that John kept expecting it to fall entirely off the wall.
“Well—” began Lestrade.
“How do you expect me to solve this case when you won’t let me go to Australia? All of the clues are in Australia.”
“You can’t go to Australia, Sherlock. Not without your brother’s permission.”
“He’ll never give me permission,” muttered Sherlock, darkly.
“And if you sneak out and go to Australia on your own, he’ll—”
“You don’t need to tell me Mycroft’s threats,” Sherlock interrupted, impatiently. “I know Mycroft’s threats. How often do you talk to him, anyway?”
“I don’t talk to him. He left me a message this morning.” Lestrade read from a piece of paper. “‘Tell my brother if he sneaks away to go to Australia, alone or with John, I’ll—’”
“Boring,” announced Sherlock. “I don’t want to hear the rest.”
“Look, I’ll try to find you a crime closer to home for you to solve,” Lestrade offered.
Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him. “And I’ll get to see the evidence?”
“I’ll make all my best efforts in that direction. If you start wearing a tie to your divs again.”
Sherlock steepled his fingers against his lips and considered this deal. “How can I trust that you’ll uphold your end of this bargain?”
“My word of honor.”
Sherlock’s lips curled into a mockery of a smile. “How quaint. I don’t believe in anybody’s word of honor.”
“I trust him,” John contributed. “Take my word of honor that Lestrade will fulfill his word of honor.”
“Thank you, John,” said Lestrade.
Sherlock looked at John, thinking, and then turned back to Lestrade. “All right. Fine. You’re lucky John was here.”
“Yeah,” agreed Lestrade, dryly. “What are you doing with the pinecones?”
Sherlock sighed dramatically. “I can’t possibly be expected to explain it to someone with your tiny brain.”
Lestrade shook his head and rolled his eyes and sighed and said to John, “Try and keep him in line, won’t you?” as he left the room.
“You don’t have any pinecone experiment yet, do you?” said John to Sherlock.
“No. Haven’t decided what I’m going to do with them yet. But he doesn’t need to know that.” Sherlock tipped his head and studied the pinecones thoughtfully.
“Do you think, for my sake, you could try not to get yourself kicked out of this school?”
“You’d be fine without me,” Sherlock said, waving his hand at him dismissively.
“No,” John said, bluntly. “I wouldn’t. What makes you think that?”
“You’re charming. You play rugby. You get along with everyone. The only reason you’re not popular now is because you spend too much time with me. If I left, I daresay you’d have more friends than you’d know what to do with.”
“Right,” said John. “But none of them would be as annoying as you are, so what would be the point?”
Sherlock glanced at him with a quick smile.
John ventured, cautiously, “I’m going home for the short leave.”
“You could come home with me if you like,” Sherlock suggested, poking at the pinecones on the windowsill as if they would suddenly do something dramatic.
John knew he would suggest that. John would have liked to go back to Sherlock’s house. He liked it at Sherlock’s house. And he was ashamed of that. He had a family at home. A family he was supposed to be taking care of. He couldn’t keep pretending he didn’t, playing at this fairy tale with Sherlock.
“I know,” he said. “I have to go home.”
Sherlock shrugged as if he didn’t really care one way or the other. Which was a bit of a relief, because John suspected that just a bit of pouting on Sherlock’s part would have changed his mind.
***
So John went home for the short leave. Harry was pleasantly surprised to see him. Their mother was nowhere about.
“I didn’t want to worry you,” Harry said. “But she pretty much drifts in and out now. I think she has a boyfriend.”
John looked at the rather sorry state of the flat around them and said, “How much is she around? Harry…”
“Stop fussing. Don’t look like that. It’s all fine. It’s good to see you!” She gave him a fierce hug, which she clearly intended to distract him with. “Oh! And you’re home! So you can go out with all of us tonight! Sarah’s coming,” she sing-songed.
John had less than zero interest in going out with Sarah that night. And the solid realization of that was alarming. Three months earlier, he had fancied himself deeply in love with Sarah. His determination to go to Eton had caused a vicious row, and John had thought he would be depressed for a while. Then he had met Sherlock and immediately forgot about Sarah. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d thought of her.
“Unless, you know, you’re over Sarah because you’ve got your posh sex-voice Sherlock bloke.” Harry waved her hand about, looking amused.
“It isn’t like that,” John insisted, although he was no longer sure it wasn’t, and that was the moment when he decided he was definitely going out with Sarah that night.
***
Greg thought he’d half lost his mind. He thought he’d never do this with any other student, and he wasn’t sure what about Sherlock had wormed its way enough into his heart that he had even made this effort, but Greg found himself running to catch Sherlock before he could depart for the short leave. Sherlock was, in fact, about to duck into the car his brother had sent for him, and Greg forced the driver to agree to wait until Greg had managed to get Mycroft on the phone. Sherlock looked at him curiously, perplexed, and Greg raced back into Holland House in search of a phone.
He told Mycroft Holmes’s secretary that it was an urgent matter involving Mr. Holmes’s brother, and that opened the doors he’d thought it might. Mycroft picked up almost immediately, polished still but sharp with concern.
“What’s happened?”
“Nothing. I mean, nothing bad. I promised Sherlock I’d get him a puzzle closer to home. I have one, one he would love, phoned in to me by a friend at the Met, but I need your permission for it because it’s unconventional, and I don’t want the headmaster to know.”
There was a pause. “What is it?”
“Two closed-door murders, no obvious means of entry, no obvious connection between the two, except that there must be. My friend’s at the end of her rope, and I convinced her I knew someone clever enough to help her out.”
“Did you mention that this someone is a sixteen-year-old boy?” asked Mycroft, dryly.
“No. Listen, I know it sounds insane, but you know Sherlock’d eat it up with a spoon, and he’d solve it immediately.”
There was a long moment of silence. Then, “Tell the driver where you want you and Sherlock to be taken.”
“Thank you,” Greg said, and hung up the phone and dashed back out of Holland House.
“What is going on?” Sherlock asked, impatiently.
“How would you like to solve two murders today?” Greg replied.
Sherlock looked delighted, and then scaled it back, playing it cool. “I suppose that would be all right,” he said, casually.
Greg shook his head at him, trying to look disapproving, and said, “Get into the car.” When he turned to walk around the car to the other side, he caught out of the corner of his eye the little skip Sherlock gave in glee.
***
Mycroft arrived at New Scotland Yard toward the end of the day and ran into Gregory Lestrade immediately, settled into a chair and watching Sherlock through the windowed wall of a conference room. Sherlock seemed to be ordering everyone around, his eyes bright with happiness.
“Well,” remarked Mycroft. “He looks in his element.”
Lestrade jumped, plainly startled that Mycroft was there. The man must have been thoroughly lost in thought. “Hi,” he said, looking up at him with those wide, dark eyes he had.
Mycroft sat beside Lestrade without waiting to be asked. “How did he do?”
“Solved it. Smuggling ring. Asian antiquities. I knew he’d get it almost immediately. I think, if he was slightly easier to work with, they’d already be offering him a job.” Lestrade looked almost fond.
“Has he managed to alienate people?” Mycroft asked.
“Of course he has. Told several people, me included, to stop thinking thoughts in our heads because we were disturbing him. Told some people to turn around so he didn’t have to look at them, or not to speak because they were bringing down the IQ of the entire street.”
Mycroft winced. “That sounds like Sherlock.”
“But he has been having the time of his life.”
“Of course he has. This is entirely his type of thing.” Mycroft leaned his elbow on the chair and his chin on his fist and watched Sherlock and heard himself say, “Sometimes I have no idea what I’m going to do with him.” This was not something he thought he had ever admitted out loud before. It was an enormous relief to say it now and to not have the world stop turning.
Lestrade said nothing for a moment, but when he did speak all he said was, “He’s very different from you, isn’t he?”
“Most people don’t realize that. But yes.”
“How can most people not realize that? You’re like night and day.”
“We’re more like twilight and dawn. Very different things, but easily mistaken for each other if you’re not looking the right way, and people seldom are.”
Lestrade was silent for another moment, before saying, “He’ll be all right. He’s clever.”
“He’s reckless,” Mycroft countered.
“He’s young. Weren’t we all, at that age?”
“No,” said Mycroft, flatly. “I was never reckless.”
There was another moment of silence. “You should try it sometime,” Lestrade suggested.
Mycroft looked at him in surprise. “Try what?”
“Being reckless.” Lestrade grinned at him. “It’s a hell of a lot of fun, I promise.”
“It’s never seemed so to me.”
“You haven’t been trying the right kind of reckless,” said Lestrade.
Mycroft stared at him and tried to determine what exactly was going on in this conversation.
And then Sherlock announced, walking swiftly over to them, “Well. That’s sorted. Mycroft. What are you doing here?”
Mycroft tore his eyes away from Lestrade and looked at Sherlock, who was practically glowing with exhilaration. It seemed to Mycroft he was almost floating on air, barely touching the ground as he walked. “I’ve come to take you home, now that you’ve solved your first murder for the Met.”
“First two murders,” said Sherlock, looking buoyant, and grinned, almost bouncing with glee. And it was a testament to what a good mood he was in that he just said to Mycroft, “Fine. Let’s go,” and walked off.
Mycroft blinked in pleased surprise not to have had to have a quarrel about that, then stood and turned to Lestrade, who had also risen to his feet.
“Thank you,” he said, sincerely. “This was clever. And also risky. I appreciate it.”
“Reckless,” said Lestrade. “It was quite reckless of me.” And he grinned.
***
There was no way Sherlock could sleep. He was much too tightly wound to accomplish that. And he hated being back in the London house, which felt like pale ghosts to him. Restless with insomnia, Sherlock had the most brilliant idea: He would go and see John.
He knew, of course, where John lived. He had made that deduction early on, and it was an easy task for him to sneak out of the house and get himself to the council estate. There was no answer when he knocked confidently on John’s door, and Sherlock hadn’t anticipated that, but he decided that was all right, he was not deterred. He picked the lock with laughable ease and let himself into the flat to wait.
The flat was a mess, much more so than Sherlock had expected. Sherlock read the whole story with a sweep of his eyes: alcoholic mother who had basically abandoned the flat, irresponsible sister who hadn’t entirely risen to the challenge of taking care of herself. John could not have been pleased with the state of things. No wonder John had felt compelled to come home this leave instead of staying with Sherlock. John was that sort. Caretaker tendency.
Sherlock had really just finished making these deductions when he heard the voices approaching the flat, loud and boisterous and drunk, a group of eight—no, nine. There was laughter, John’s laughter amongst them, and Sherlock experienced an odd contradictory flutter that was both happy anticipation of seeing John again and terrible nervous jealousy over other people making John laugh.
Then the door opened. The first person through was clearly John’s sister—the family resemblance was striking—and she was so busy laughing at something the girl behind her was saying that she didn’t notice Sherlock until almost everyone was in the flat already. John was the last one in, bringing up the rear, with a girl standing rather too closely to him, whispering something in his ear, and then John’s sister shrieked, “Who the hell are you?” and John looked up, straight into his eyes.
John froze. “Sherlock,” he managed.
Sherlock slid his eyes from John to the girl possessively hanging on his arm and back to John. This, he thought, might be about to get interesting. He stuck his hands in his coat pockets and said, flatly, “Hello.”
Next Chapter
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2012-11-06 01:13 am (UTC)Also, do I detect burgeoning Mystrade!? I love it. I also love the twilight and dawn comparison. That's an absolutely brilliant description. Well done, you.
Also also, you're still interviewing, yes? I'm sending you good vibes from SoCal.
no subject
Date: 2012-11-07 05:01 am (UTC)As for Mycroft and Lestrade, they just click. And the twilight and dawn thing was a fun thing to come up with.
Thanks for the good vibes! I need them!!
no subject
Date: 2012-11-06 01:19 am (UTC)Oh Mycroft, don't even try to resist the silver fox.
no subject
Date: 2012-11-07 05:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-11-06 01:22 am (UTC)Love the Lestrade & Mycroft interaction.
no subject
Date: 2012-11-07 05:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-11-06 01:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-11-07 05:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-11-06 01:46 am (UTC)I apologize that I don't comment as often as I should, but I would like to make up for that by confessing I'm deeply in love with you/ this story.
Back to my moment of panic: WHHHHHHHHY!? It looks like so much trouble if John doesn't ditch Sarah right now.
Great job though. I wait for your updates eagerly.
no subject
Date: 2012-11-07 05:02 am (UTC)As for the cliffhanger, well, I had to! I couldn't resist!!
no subject
Date: 2012-11-06 01:47 am (UTC)Jealous Sherlock means terrible, terrible things will happen.
no subject
Date: 2012-11-07 05:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-11-06 02:14 am (UTC)I liked the comparison of Sherlock and Mycroft, the analogy was quite fitting and lovely. Also, Lestrade is a genius.
no subject
Date: 2012-11-07 05:04 am (UTC)And I enjoy so much examining Mycroft and Sherlock and how they fit together, so I especially enjoyed that bit.
no subject
Date: 2012-11-06 03:22 am (UTC)It's not John's room any more, it's their room.
I love Lestrade. I'll find you a crime if you wear your tie, how perfect is that?
“You don’t have any pinecone experiment yet, do you?” said John to Sherlock.
And I love our dear clever John.
John suspected that just a bit of pouting on Sherlock’s part would have changed his mind.
Sherlock missed an opportunity there.
Sherlock looked delighted, and then scaled it back, playing it cool. “I suppose that would be all right,” he said, casually.
Ah, 16.
“We’re more like twilight and dawn. Very different things, but easily mistaken for each other if you’re not looking the right way, and people seldom are.”
Wow, what a fantastic comparison! It makes me want to delete every other comment I've made just to make it stand out how much I love this line. What it says and how it says it.
And then there's the end. UH OH.
no subject
Date: 2012-11-08 04:30 am (UTC)I really enjoyed thinking of how the stakes of behavior would be so much lower for a teenager. Like, "Please would you just wear a tie???"
Sherlock can't get much past John these days. John's too used to him.
Awww, thanks, I'm so glad you love that line! I was very pleased when I came up with it. :-)
no subject
Date: 2012-11-06 03:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-11-08 04:31 am (UTC)I'm so glad you're loving this, even if it's not usually your thing! I love when that happens!!
no subject
Date: 2012-11-06 03:57 am (UTC)John gotta talk to Sherlock and poor poor Sherlock. All he wanted to do is share his moment with John. D: Wibbles all around.
no subject
Date: 2012-11-06 07:33 am (UTC)Fav Scene:
1. John is standing up for Lestrade when Lestrade needs it to convince Sherlock to trust him.
2. Lestrade and Mycroft are getting along! And Lestrade is flirting with him and Mycroft is confuzzled.
3. John is continuing his sexual identity crisis. Poor thing needs a hug.
4. I like the nod to Blind Banker. That was good sneak in the background. Also following that episode is bringing in Sarah. Another prop for that.
Now the question is... What is poor Sherlock is going to do. Adult Sherlock buts in and invade John's life till all his girlfriends run to the hill. But this is child Sherlock. Would he be the same in reacting? Would he withdraw or panic? What would John do?
Also (as someone had pointed out) would John be more freaked over the fact Sherlock now see what his home looked like and can pretty much deduced why he doesn't mention it or being caught with a girl hanging on his arm?
Lovely Chapter again and truly cannot wait for more.
no subject
Date: 2012-11-08 04:42 am (UTC)2. I don't think Mycroft is used to being flirted with, poor thing.
3. John is in the middle of some *epic* thinking about himself.
4. I enjoyed working The Blind Banker into the story! Along with Sarah! I have so much fun doing that with AUs!
As for what happens next, well, wait and see. ;-)
no subject
Date: 2012-11-08 04:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-11-06 04:25 am (UTC)(But I do want to point out the lack of tigers in this chapter. I mean, Mycroft and Greg even had a conversation that did not end in them insulting each other, and still no tigers. Very sad.)
“We’re more like twilight and dawn. Very different things, but easily mistaken for each other if you’re not looking the right way, and people seldom are.”
Excellent comparison. I really like it. :)
no subject
Date: 2012-11-08 04:33 am (UTC)I want you to imagine that there are so many tigers prowling around this story that they're so commonplace that I can't be bothered to describe them all the time.
Thanks! I love that comparison Mycroft makes, too. I admit, though, that possibly my favorite Mycroft moment of the chapter is the part where he slips up and says he doesn't know what to do with Sherlock. I don't think Mycroft has been that honest with anyone before, including Mrs. Hudson. BODES WELL FOR YOUR MYSTRADE.
no subject
Date: 2012-11-06 06:46 am (UTC)I loved the entire chapter, and I now have a knot in my stomach because I am afraid how John will react to Sherlock witnessing the state of his home life. He has tried so hard to keep that side in private because he is ashamed of it. I hope Sherlock behaves properly to make John proud.
Lestrade and Mycroft (my guilty otp)love them both
no subject
Date: 2012-11-08 04:41 am (UTC)Glad you liked the bit of Lestrade and Mycroft thrown in there!
no subject
Date: 2012-11-06 07:52 am (UTC)Also, aaaw Mycroft and Lestrade. Yes! Go be reckless with Lestrade, Mycroft. Live a little. ^_^
no subject
Date: 2012-11-08 04:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-11-06 11:45 am (UTC)This is GORGEOUS:
“We’re more like twilight and dawn. Very different things, but easily mistaken for each other if you’re not looking the right way, and people seldom are.”
Lestrade is brilliant, puzzled!Mycroft is hilarious, and I love elated-breaking-and-entering-then-NOT-elated Sherlock. (It is waaaay too early for me to be completely coherent, sorry!)
no subject
Date: 2012-11-08 04:43 am (UTC)I so enjoyed really digging into the Mycroft / Sherlock dynamic and playing on the "night and day" idea.
no subject
Date: 2012-11-06 12:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-11-08 04:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-11-06 04:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-11-08 04:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-11-06 04:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-11-08 04:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-11-06 10:17 pm (UTC)What a lovely scene - aptly summed up by that wonderful word, glee!!
I'm so glad Mycroft agreed - it was just what Sherlock needed.
But then the recklessness takes over Sherlock, too, and . . . oh! cliffhanger!!!!!
no subject
Date: 2012-11-08 04:45 am (UTC)And it was wise of Lestrade to see how much Sherlock needed that, and wise of Mycroft to trust him that way.
no subject
Date: 2012-11-07 07:06 am (UTC)And I continue to love your Mycroft and Lestrade. Mycroft could definitely stand to do with some recklessness.
I also loved the night/day dusk/dawn observation. Spot on!
no subject
Date: 2012-11-09 04:38 am (UTC)Brilliant, as usual
Date: 2012-11-07 11:46 pm (UTC)Re: Brilliant, as usual
Date: 2012-11-09 04:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-11-07 11:50 pm (UTC)I have a suspicion that John might leash out because he's shocked and embarrassed and Sherlock with his social tone deafness might not be much help. Especially not a jealous, socially tone deaf Sherlock.
And I have to compliment the twilight/dawn comparison as well. It's very apt.
no subject
Date: 2012-11-09 04:39 am (UTC)Glad you enjoyed this!
no subject
Date: 2012-11-11 10:53 pm (UTC)And I really feel for poor John about his home situation. He's trying to be so responsible, but he's just a kid. Of course Sherlock's house would seem like a dream come true, not only because Sherlock's there, but because John gets to be looked after himself rather than doing the looking after. But poor John is such a caretaker that he feels ashamed of himself for wanting that, which is so sad.
And I love the way Greg has taken Sherlock under his wing. He's trying so hard to keep Sherlock engaged, and it's working, even if Sherlock is playing cool about it. And now Sherlock has an in with New Scotland Yard already, and two solved murders under his belt! And Mycroft and Greg actually managed to have a civil conversation, too! I love the description of Mycroft and Sherlock as being like twilight and dawn, that's a great way to put it. And Greg being just a little bit flirty with Mycroft was so cute.
But oh dear! It's very cute that restless Sherlock would get it into his head to sneak out and see John, but I can't imagine John is going to be happy about Sherlock seeing the way his family lives. And that's without the added complication of Sherlock getting jealous about Sarah. Must read next chapter now! Luckily for me it's already up! :D
no subject
Date: 2012-11-15 04:28 am (UTC)In my reading of John, he grew up way too quickly. He's got a ton of responsibility on his shoulders, and he's not used to being treated like the kid he still is, the way Mrs. Hudson treats him. And he feels guilty for liking getting to be young.
I honestly think Greg falls for Sherlock before he falls for Mycroft. Not in a sexual way, just that Greg comes to really love the kid he sees in Sherlock, in a way that completely bewilders the rest of the people at Eton.