Odd and cold and so much closer to the stars.
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC 2010)
Rating: Gen
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, the City of London
Triggers: None, that I'm aware of.
He moved through London as if he was a part of it, a part of its past and shadows and myths and legends, things time made real and unreal. He communicated with its secrets and with its invisible voices, asking them his questions through the bodies of its lost. The city in turn protected him and his and theirs but noticed that there was a gap, a silence where there should be noise.
Then there was a new body, a new shadow, one given substance, a shadow with thoughts and ideas and a life of its own, both them and individual, the city took notice and examined his history, his past.
That past did not matter to the city, only what it caused and it healed the wounds left by the place that invaded the shadow/equals mind and left him limping- the city put them together to make him whole, using strange combinations and a flat with an important name to fix what was broken.
When they ran the city watched them, watched them with the eyes of hundreds of years, the gaping windows to its soul and it thought good. Good, this is how it should be. Turning legend into fact and fact into air and smoke and patches and all this as it should be.
The city almost loses them once and curses itself, the towns feeling its helpless rage. After that it protected them, not feeling the cancer that endangered them.
The pool was not of the city. The city had never felt it. It was a pool out of time out of reason out of fact. The city could only alert its center and its sentry and hope.
When the center and the sentry bring the myths back to the city, it thanks them as it only knows. It clears its skies and its airs and its paths and spreads a sparking display before them. The center and the sentry didn’t notice but the legend/myth/mystery did, reflecting the stars in the city-grey eyes.
Rating: Gen
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, the City of London
Triggers: None, that I'm aware of.
He moved through London as if he was a part of it, a part of its past and shadows and myths and legends, things time made real and unreal. He communicated with its secrets and with its invisible voices, asking them his questions through the bodies of its lost. The city in turn protected him and his and theirs but noticed that there was a gap, a silence where there should be noise.
Then there was a new body, a new shadow, one given substance, a shadow with thoughts and ideas and a life of its own, both them and individual, the city took notice and examined his history, his past.
That past did not matter to the city, only what it caused and it healed the wounds left by the place that invaded the shadow/equals mind and left him limping- the city put them together to make him whole, using strange combinations and a flat with an important name to fix what was broken.
When they ran the city watched them, watched them with the eyes of hundreds of years, the gaping windows to its soul and it thought good. Good, this is how it should be. Turning legend into fact and fact into air and smoke and patches and all this as it should be.
The city almost loses them once and curses itself, the towns feeling its helpless rage. After that it protected them, not feeling the cancer that endangered them.
The pool was not of the city. The city had never felt it. It was a pool out of time out of reason out of fact. The city could only alert its center and its sentry and hope.
When the center and the sentry bring the myths back to the city, it thanks them as it only knows. It clears its skies and its airs and its paths and spreads a sparking display before them. The center and the sentry didn’t notice but the legend/myth/mystery did, reflecting the stars in the city-grey eyes.