Fic: Sherlock, untitled character blah
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Rating: PG
Pairing: John Watson & Sherlock Holmes
Disclaimer: Everything here belongs to a strange combination of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Stephen Moffat, Mark Gatiss and the BBC. And a little tiny bit of me. Which answers the question of what would happen in the statistically unlikely event that those people (things? entities?) had a baby.
Author's Note: Because when I get into a fandom I feel the need to explore characters (because there's nothing I hate more than poor characterisation. Feel free to laugh at the irony) so I did. Plus I already exhausted all the fic on the internet for this fandom. Which meant I had to jump in.
Sherlock reminds John of the soldiers. Only, that’s not right.
He reminds John of the soldiers and, at the same time he doesn’t. Because the way he looks and the too-fast way he moves, with the eagerness of adventure, reminds him of the young boys who’d just signed up for a laugh or for adventure. The ones who had come without really understanding what war was, despite the training.
But then, he’s not that person. He’s not anything like that. Sherlock’s not naive or innocent or even vaguely twitchy in that way that young soldiers get, nerves and excitement and horror coalescing into a movement somewhere deep down inside them, underneath the skin. He’s blasé about death, about everything. He’s got the devil-may-care, arrogant, do and die attitude of the career soldier. The big ones who don’t talk as much, but will pick up a gun from a mangled corpse because they’ve run out of ammo and won’t even blink about it. It’s all about the job.
But that’s not right either. He’s got the arrogance of some of the worse officers, the ones who are convinced they are right and damn the consequences. He’s in charge of any situation because he says he is.
And then, he’s not like a soldier at all, really. It occurs to John sometimes. All those traits, rolled into one, make a little boy. A child who was spoilt a bit and who always answers back. Children can never sit properly still and children see everything as a game. A child will not notice death because they don’t understand it; a child will believe the universe revolves around them.
But, and there’s one crucial difference here, a child will be wrong and Sherlock Holmes, Watson is beginning to fear (beginning to understand?) is right.
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unbeta'd because, well, the fandom is so gorram young that there isn't any sort of system in place - and also because I sort of wrote this at work... maybe a little.
-
Rating: PG
Pairing: John Watson & Sherlock Holmes
Disclaimer: Everything here belongs to a strange combination of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Stephen Moffat, Mark Gatiss and the BBC. And a little tiny bit of me. Which answers the question of what would happen in the statistically unlikely event that those people (things? entities?) had a baby.
Author's Note: Because when I get into a fandom I feel the need to explore characters (because there's nothing I hate more than poor characterisation. Feel free to laugh at the irony) so I did. Plus I already exhausted all the fic on the internet for this fandom. Which meant I had to jump in.
Sherlock reminds John of the soldiers. Only, that’s not right.
He reminds John of the soldiers and, at the same time he doesn’t. Because the way he looks and the too-fast way he moves, with the eagerness of adventure, reminds him of the young boys who’d just signed up for a laugh or for adventure. The ones who had come without really understanding what war was, despite the training.
But then, he’s not that person. He’s not anything like that. Sherlock’s not naive or innocent or even vaguely twitchy in that way that young soldiers get, nerves and excitement and horror coalescing into a movement somewhere deep down inside them, underneath the skin. He’s blasé about death, about everything. He’s got the devil-may-care, arrogant, do and die attitude of the career soldier. The big ones who don’t talk as much, but will pick up a gun from a mangled corpse because they’ve run out of ammo and won’t even blink about it. It’s all about the job.
But that’s not right either. He’s got the arrogance of some of the worse officers, the ones who are convinced they are right and damn the consequences. He’s in charge of any situation because he says he is.
And then, he’s not like a soldier at all, really. It occurs to John sometimes. All those traits, rolled into one, make a little boy. A child who was spoilt a bit and who always answers back. Children can never sit properly still and children see everything as a game. A child will not notice death because they don’t understand it; a child will believe the universe revolves around them.
But, and there’s one crucial difference here, a child will be wrong and Sherlock Holmes, Watson is beginning to fear (beginning to understand?) is right.
-
unbeta'd because, well, the fandom is so gorram young that there isn't any sort of system in place - and also because I sort of wrote this at work... maybe a little.
-