John's Midnight Garden (1/many)
anonymous
November 3 2010, 14:35:57 UTC
I'm not sure if the OP has ever read Tom's Midnight Garden, but it's what I thought of immediately when I read this prompt and I make no apologies about any similarities between this fic and that book (but I will say that it is by Phillipa Pearce, not me, I don't own any of it, and it's brilliant - it's also one of the only books in the world that makes me cry every time I read it, without fail).For as long as John can remember he has dreamt of the garden. It isn’t a place that he’s ever been to in real life, but when he closes his eyes and drifts off he sometimes finds himself there
( ... )
John's Midnight Garden (2/many)
anonymous
November 3 2010, 14:36:57 UTC
He had thought that the dreams would stop when he grew up, but they didn’t. He spent as much time in the garden when he was twenty as when he was twelve. He knew better than to talk about it by then
( ... )
John's Midnight Garden (3/many)
anonymous
November 3 2010, 14:38:16 UTC
The pool explodes.
Well, that is an oversimplification. There has been so much that has come before that, the bombs and the pips and Moriarty. There was Carl Powers and the painting and Moriarty, and there was Sherlock, so much Sherlock. John’s mind has been buzzing for days. He’s been going through it all on high alert, trying to keep up with everything and trying to reconcile every moment with what is happening. He is thinking about snipers and bombs and are you alright? and he can’t get his mind straight until the world explodes in white hot heat
( ... )
Re: John's Midnight Garden (5/many)
anonymous
November 3 2010, 14:40:34 UTC
The next time he wakes up he is in a hospital bed, surrounded by off-white and beeping machines. From the sounds of it Sherlock is outside the room having an argument with Mycroft over the phone and, when John looks to the side, Harry is sleeping in one of the uncomfortable hospital chairs
( ... )
John's Midnight Garden (6/many)
anonymous
November 3 2010, 14:41:39 UTC
“I want to see whether it prefers to eat Mycroft’s dress shoes or his tennis shoes,” Sherlock says, grinning broadly. There is entirely too much dimple in that grin John thinks, even as relief floods him. “I’m hoping it chooses his dress shoes. Mycroft doesn’t like tennis
( ... )
John's Midnight Garden (7/many)
anonymous
November 3 2010, 14:43:12 UTC
He sleeps a lot in the hospital and he dreams of the garden almost every time he closes his eyes. It is the same as ever, though the seasons change more quickly than they should. And, of course, there is Sherlock. He is there every time
( ... )
John's Midnight Garden (8/many)
anonymous
November 3 2010, 14:44:35 UTC
Somewhere in there, between the games of hide and seek and the games of hide and seek and rally 1-2-3, they have a conversation that John isn’t sure how to classify
( ... )
John's Midnight Garden (9/many)
anonymous
November 3 2010, 14:45:32 UTC
When John gets home from he hospital, the dreams come back with him and it’s on the fourth night after he gets back he has one of the most terrifying dreams of his life
( ... )
John's Midnight Garden (10/many)
anonymous
November 3 2010, 14:46:24 UTC
John feels awkward standing out there alone. It has been weeks since he has been in the garden without Sherlock and now that he’s alone again he can’t think of what to do. He feels at a loose end. But he still feels that strange unpleasant feeling from the house and he never gets close to it if he can help it. But there’s something under his skin telling him to follow Sherlock
( ... )
John's Midnight Garden (11/many)
anonymous
November 3 2010, 14:47:33 UTC
They freeze like that for a moment, staring at each other in wide eyed shock. John can see that Sherlock’s paler than he has ever been, as white as a sheet in fact. There is a look of utter terror in his eyes that John’s only ever seen once before
( ... )
John's Midnight Garden (13/many)
anonymous
November 3 2010, 14:49:18 UTC
That evening John goes back to the garden when he closes his eyes, but it isn’t Sherlock he sees there.
He’s walking under the yew trees, or inside the yew trees would be more accurate, surrounded by their green, when there is a rustle from behind him.
“Sherlock,” he says, turning round. But it isn’t Sherlock standing there, it’s Mycroft. He’s watching John with a look that is chilling, or it would be if John hadn’t seen it after another twenty five or so years of honing.
“Not today, I’m afraid,” Mycroft says.
John sometimes thinks that his subconscious must hate him.
“Mycroft,” John says. He feels out of place already and the boy is still a boy. He can’t even grow a beard.
“Yes. I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while,” Mycroft says, which is, in itself, worrying. He tilts his head back in a move that is uncannily Mycroft, so that he’s looking almost down his nose at John. “You and my younger brother seem to have some form of friendship
( ... )
John's Midnight Garden (14/many)
anonymous
November 3 2010, 14:50:14 UTC
Three weeks later Sherlock is in the middle of another case and John is roped in as well for an all nighter. He ends up falling asleep at the table, still fully dressed, his head on his hand
( ... )
John's Midnight Garden (15/many)
anonymous
November 3 2010, 14:51:10 UTC
The next time John goes to the garden isn’t for another two weeks, an almost unheard of amount of time since he’s been living in Baker Street and especially since the explosion
( ... )
John's Midnight Garden (16/many)
anonymous
November 3 2010, 14:53:30 UTC
It is snowing the next time John goes to the garden, floating down in huge fat flakes, and he is soaked to the skin before he’s been there five minutes. He huddles for shelter under the old oak tree what appears to be the middle of the night
( ... )
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Well, that is an oversimplification. There has been so much that has come before that, the bombs and the pips and Moriarty. There was Carl Powers and the painting and Moriarty, and there was Sherlock, so much Sherlock. John’s mind has been buzzing for days. He’s been going through it all on high alert, trying to keep up with everything and trying to reconcile every moment with what is happening. He is thinking about snipers and bombs and are you alright? and he can’t get his mind straight until the world explodes in white hot heat ( ... )
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He’s walking under the yew trees, or inside the yew trees would be more accurate, surrounded by their green, when there is a rustle from behind him.
“Sherlock,” he says, turning round. But it isn’t Sherlock standing there, it’s Mycroft. He’s watching John with a look that is chilling, or it would be if John hadn’t seen it after another twenty five or so years of honing.
“Not today, I’m afraid,” Mycroft says.
John sometimes thinks that his subconscious must hate him.
“Mycroft,” John says. He feels out of place already and the boy is still a boy. He can’t even grow a beard.
“Yes. I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while,” Mycroft says, which is, in itself, worrying. He tilts his head back in a move that is uncannily Mycroft, so that he’s looking almost down his nose at John. “You and my younger brother seem to have some form of friendship ( ... )
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