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saki101Title: You Follow Me Down Other Roads
Author: Saki101
Genre: open to interpretation
Rating: PG
Length: ~500 words
Warning: Spoilers for second season.
Disclaimer: I don't own BBC's Sherlock and no money is being made.
Author's note: Episode-related, The Hounds of Baskerville.
(Link also posted on sherlockbbc and AO3.) You Follow Me Down Other Roads follows Zygomata.
Excerpt: “You can’t keep up with my mind,” Sherlock said. He glanced over his steepled fingers towards the armchair next to which John stood. “You are getting faster though.”
You Follow Me Down Other Roads
“You can’t keep up with my mind,” Sherlock said. He glanced over his steepled fingers towards the armchair next to which John stood. “You are getting faster though.”
John tilted his head, raised an eyebrow at that. The kettle switched off. He turned his back on Sherlock and walked into the kitchen. Knowing Sherlock had chosen to experiment upon him had left a deeper mark than the terror itself. Knowing John fought other terrors almost every night hadn’t stopped Sherlock. In the dark place where those realisations crouched, Sally’s scathing words echoed, He doesn’t have friends...stay away from Sherlock Holmes.
John took two mugs from the cupboard, checked inside them before setting them on the counter.
In the village churchyard, Sherlock had called after him. John listened even when Sherlock mumbled, drawn to his voice, rich in undertones, revelations. John always listened, even when he was trying not to.
I don’t have friends. I've just got one, Sherlock had admitted and the tone of his voice had hooked into John more than the words. It had made him hesitate.
John got out the milk, his eyes flicking towards the sitting room. Sherlock had fallen silent, gaze directed across the room, fingers pressed lightly against his lips.
John aimed the arcs of scalding water into the cups. He settled the kettle back on its base.
Sherlock spoke softly into his hands, “And you follow me down other roads...”
John put a steaming mug on the coffee table in front of Sherlock.
Sherlock’s voice dropped lower. “...that I don’t know so well.” Sherlock’s brows drew together. On the street outside, a motorcyclist gunned his engine, resentful of a stop light's authority.
Without flinching, John straightened up, moved back to the armchair and sat. He held his cup over his lap with both hands, let the steam warm his face, relax some of the tightness in the muscles there. The vapour swirled steadily upwards.
“And if I get lost,” Sherlock continued briskly, voice more conversational, eyebrows lifting, long arm reaching out for the tea.
John’s eyes stayed trained on Sherlock’s face.
Sherlock’s head turned. He looked at John over his raised cup, the corners of his lips quirking upwards. “You lead me back,” he concluded and took a sip of tea. It was precisely as he liked it. His smile broadened.
John held Sherlock’s eyes, remembering the dim laboratory, the stalking shadow, speaking to his tormentor from inside a metal cage. Even over a phone, the sound of Sherlock’s voice had reassured him, holding the terror at bay as Sherlock had known it would. Sherlock probably saw him remembering it now. Could it be you’ve chosen to trust Sherlock Holmes, of all people? John heard Mycroft's softly-spoken, ironic question again. The answer was short, but not easy to explain, even less so now. However, there was no one to whom John needed to explain, and it was hard not to be pleased that Sherlock had worked it out, about the leading and the following. John smiled back.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The next ficlet in the series may be found here.
Author: Saki101
Genre: open to interpretation
Rating: PG
Length: ~500 words
Warning: Spoilers for second season.
Disclaimer: I don't own BBC's Sherlock and no money is being made.
Author's note: Episode-related, The Hounds of Baskerville.
(Link also posted on sherlockbbc and AO3.) You Follow Me Down Other Roads follows Zygomata.
Excerpt: “You can’t keep up with my mind,” Sherlock said. He glanced over his steepled fingers towards the armchair next to which John stood. “You are getting faster though.”
“You can’t keep up with my mind,” Sherlock said. He glanced over his steepled fingers towards the armchair next to which John stood. “You are getting faster though.”
John tilted his head, raised an eyebrow at that. The kettle switched off. He turned his back on Sherlock and walked into the kitchen. Knowing Sherlock had chosen to experiment upon him had left a deeper mark than the terror itself. Knowing John fought other terrors almost every night hadn’t stopped Sherlock. In the dark place where those realisations crouched, Sally’s scathing words echoed, He doesn’t have friends...stay away from Sherlock Holmes.
John took two mugs from the cupboard, checked inside them before setting them on the counter.
In the village churchyard, Sherlock had called after him. John listened even when Sherlock mumbled, drawn to his voice, rich in undertones, revelations. John always listened, even when he was trying not to.
I don’t have friends. I've just got one, Sherlock had admitted and the tone of his voice had hooked into John more than the words. It had made him hesitate.
John got out the milk, his eyes flicking towards the sitting room. Sherlock had fallen silent, gaze directed across the room, fingers pressed lightly against his lips.
John aimed the arcs of scalding water into the cups. He settled the kettle back on its base.
Sherlock spoke softly into his hands, “And you follow me down other roads...”
John put a steaming mug on the coffee table in front of Sherlock.
Sherlock’s voice dropped lower. “...that I don’t know so well.” Sherlock’s brows drew together. On the street outside, a motorcyclist gunned his engine, resentful of a stop light's authority.
Without flinching, John straightened up, moved back to the armchair and sat. He held his cup over his lap with both hands, let the steam warm his face, relax some of the tightness in the muscles there. The vapour swirled steadily upwards.
“And if I get lost,” Sherlock continued briskly, voice more conversational, eyebrows lifting, long arm reaching out for the tea.
John’s eyes stayed trained on Sherlock’s face.
Sherlock’s head turned. He looked at John over his raised cup, the corners of his lips quirking upwards. “You lead me back,” he concluded and took a sip of tea. It was precisely as he liked it. His smile broadened.
John held Sherlock’s eyes, remembering the dim laboratory, the stalking shadow, speaking to his tormentor from inside a metal cage. Even over a phone, the sound of Sherlock’s voice had reassured him, holding the terror at bay as Sherlock had known it would. Sherlock probably saw him remembering it now. Could it be you’ve chosen to trust Sherlock Holmes, of all people? John heard Mycroft's softly-spoken, ironic question again. The answer was short, but not easy to explain, even less so now. However, there was no one to whom John needed to explain, and it was hard not to be pleased that Sherlock had worked it out, about the leading and the following. John smiled back.
The next ficlet in the series may be found here.
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no subject
Date: 2012-01-12 03:14 am (UTC)I've been reading a fair amount of Sherlock!fic the past few months and found a broad spectrum of speculation about the topic and the series seems to be taking the subject quite seriously, too, which is fascinating.
Thank you so much for reading. ♥ I didn't think I'd start writing Sherlock!fic, and it was a bit scary to post one. I do think those are the roads where John will help Sherlock not be lost or hurt. Thank you again. :D
no subject
Date: 2012-01-12 04:40 am (UTC)My own views re: Sherlock and sex is this: he is a very, very passionate person (we can see this in the first scene of the first series, whipping that man). He feels too much, and it's too much for him to handle. So he sets it aside.
Also, I do really think he's demisexual, hopefully you're familiar enough with the term. He NEEDS someone to stimulate him intellectually, he needs someone to bond with him in an emotional way before we can open up to even the possibility of sex with that person. I know that I'm pretty much like that, too; as much as I drool over fellows online, in real life I do not find people attractive until I actually get to know them, become friends with them, start to have intelligent discussions with them. I usually don't think "Oh wow, that guy is really foxy" unless I have picked their brain or they've made me laugh or feel something. (There are exceptions. DMC is one of them; I have always been struck by his beauty. But of course I have since learned how clever he is, and that adds to it.)
no subject
Date: 2012-01-12 08:29 am (UTC)It's interesting how DMC seems to be an exception for a lot of people. For those who fell in love with him as Illya (which seems to be the majority), it could be the intelligence and wry humour of the character supplied that context for his beauty from the outset. Maybe that's a strong element of his wide and long-lasting appeal.
The way Sherlock and his interaction with John is being written and acted, I very much see him fitting the definition of demisexual.
Good luck with your new fandom story. It is intimidating to branch into a new area, but exciting, too. Which fandom is it?
no subject
Date: 2012-01-12 04:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-01-12 06:09 pm (UTC)