[Ficlet] Sherlock/John - Untitled
Posting a Sherlock/John ficlet/whatever thingie here for archiving purpose.
And then life suggests that you remember the
years you ran around, the years you developed
a shocking lifestyle, advocated careless abandon,
owned a chilly heart.
Eleanor Lerman - Starfish
Now John was a good man, despite the past, despite the war, he always had a good head on his shoulders and an even greater heart inside. And what he surmised as his having a chilly heart was actually layers of war born jadedness rusting its surface.
It was in the way he read 'British troops in Iraq had a duty under human rights laws' on The Times and pictured skin flayed open like silk on stone, pinned down by silver pins, tendons and whiteness of bones revealed, vividly. Pint and pint of blood spilled carelessly over sand covered white tiles in what otherwise a sterile room. The silence more telling than the unheard scream.
It was in the way he realized 'veteran hero' was not an acceptable currency.
It was particularly there in how he stared dispassionately at the telly when it had 'we should bring our troops home' debate on, then flicked it to home shopping network channel easily.
(It was never that.
Easy.
But, what can you do.)
John Watson's brand of advocating careless abandon was in the way he readily threw his lot in with Sherlock Holmes despite how in just two days after meeting the man he had already been accosted and warned off by member of law enforcement, committing illegal trespassing, being politely kidnapped, as well as killing his first civilian victim outside the battlefield.
Somewhere between trading barbs with The British Government and enjoying three pieces of slightly cold and soggy dim sum at 10 PM he kept replaying the older Holmes' assessment of his psychological condition in his mind and decided it was a complete toss at best and rather apt at worst, in the grand scheme of things. Labels paled in comparison in the face of actions in real life and he had been living in real life for as long as he can remember. And this, falling into steps next to Sherlock right in the thick of things, was living real life at its finest form.
Sherlock had not paused in his activity of reconstructing Matisse's self portrait on his plate with dim sum dipping sauce when he interrupted John's musing, sotto voce. 'Once again I was proven right, wasn't I? Solar system's quite a useless knowledge when it comes to solving crime. Admit it, John.'
And John realized it'd do him good to keep in mind that real life can also be quite a pain in the arse more often than not.
Bollocks.
+ + +
(Yeah, I don't even know where this came from, orz)
And then life suggests that you remember the
years you ran around, the years you developed
a shocking lifestyle, advocated careless abandon,
owned a chilly heart.
Eleanor Lerman - Starfish
Now John was a good man, despite the past, despite the war, he always had a good head on his shoulders and an even greater heart inside. And what he surmised as his having a chilly heart was actually layers of war born jadedness rusting its surface.
It was in the way he read 'British troops in Iraq had a duty under human rights laws' on The Times and pictured skin flayed open like silk on stone, pinned down by silver pins, tendons and whiteness of bones revealed, vividly. Pint and pint of blood spilled carelessly over sand covered white tiles in what otherwise a sterile room. The silence more telling than the unheard scream.
It was in the way he realized 'veteran hero' was not an acceptable currency.
It was particularly there in how he stared dispassionately at the telly when it had 'we should bring our troops home' debate on, then flicked it to home shopping network channel easily.
(It was never that.
Easy.
But, what can you do.)
John Watson's brand of advocating careless abandon was in the way he readily threw his lot in with Sherlock Holmes despite how in just two days after meeting the man he had already been accosted and warned off by member of law enforcement, committing illegal trespassing, being politely kidnapped, as well as killing his first civilian victim outside the battlefield.
Somewhere between trading barbs with The British Government and enjoying three pieces of slightly cold and soggy dim sum at 10 PM he kept replaying the older Holmes' assessment of his psychological condition in his mind and decided it was a complete toss at best and rather apt at worst, in the grand scheme of things. Labels paled in comparison in the face of actions in real life and he had been living in real life for as long as he can remember. And this, falling into steps next to Sherlock right in the thick of things, was living real life at its finest form.
Sherlock had not paused in his activity of reconstructing Matisse's self portrait on his plate with dim sum dipping sauce when he interrupted John's musing, sotto voce. 'Once again I was proven right, wasn't I? Solar system's quite a useless knowledge when it comes to solving crime. Admit it, John.'
And John realized it'd do him good to keep in mind that real life can also be quite a pain in the arse more often than not.
Bollocks.
+ + +
(Yeah, I don't even know where this came from, orz)