Equivalent Exchange (2/?)
anonymous
November 24 2010, 02:35:59 UTC
"I really don't think you should hold me responsible for the actions of other people," Sherlock says, glaring.
"I'll stop when you stop taunting them," John says. "You do realize that doing that will usually involve them physically harming you in some way, right?" He presses his hands together and places them on Sherlock's broken arm, coaxing the bone into reknitting, into forming as if there'd never been any damage in the first place. John keeps most people from figuring it out by drawing simple medical circles on the palms of his hands while everyone's watching, but Sherlock sussed it out after twenty-four hours of being in John's presence.
"If you had come by faster--" Sherlock says, his eyes focused on John's face.
John rolls his eyes. "I didn't exactly run slower just to spite you," he says. Sherlock's arm is warm between his hands, and John can feel the way blood flows through his arteries and veins. Before Sherlock, he hadn't done any alchemy of any sort for a while, because of the unnatural feeling of the circle inside
( ... )
Re: Equivalent Exchange (2/?)
anonymous
November 25 2010, 04:04:25 UTC
Oh god this is awesome, please post more!
I love how the two series have blended together so seamlessly. I thought that the use of alchemy wouldn't fit right in Sherlock's world, but you've made it work wonderfully!
Equivalent Exchange (3/?)
anonymous
November 25 2010, 19:11:05 UTC
Need your assistance. Come immediately. SHOf course, this means that John ends up standing in a compost heap for three hours while Sherlock searches for the exact discarded eggshell that will point them towards the blackmailer. John holds a torch for him, trying hard not to think about how tired he is or how that moving thing that's rubbing against his ankle is probably a worm or how he hasn't eaten anything since this morning, because it was rather a busy day at the clinic
( ... )
Equivalent Exchange (4/?)
anonymous
November 27 2010, 17:49:19 UTC
"Tell me about her," Sherlock asks one morning as John's coming down the stairs.
John is still too sleepy to properly process anything. "Who?" He's still operating on autopilot as he reaches for the kettle and the teabags.
"Mary Morstan," Sherlock says. "Do try to keep up,"
John freezes in place, hand still on the handle of the kettle. "You want me to tell you about her?" He cannot imagine what Sherlock wants to know. Maybe he already knows all of John's secrets and wants confirmation of his cleverness. Maybe he wants to exploit John's emotional vulnerability for some reason, break John down to get at some other information.
"You were in love with her. You had an intense emotional reaction to her death," Sherlock says. His eyes are fixed on John's face, staring through him, cataloging every twitch and passing expression. "I want to understand it."
God, Sherlock was the only person John knew who would need to make a study of what love felt like. It's absurd, and John wants to laugh. He's tempted to lie or obfuscate the truth, to
( ... )
Equivalent Exchange (5/?)
anonymous
November 28 2010, 19:41:23 UTC
Oh god, I already have an extremely blatant continuity error in the parts above. Sorry about that everyone! This will teach me to edit while half-asleep
( ... )
Equivalent Exchange (6/?)
anonymous
November 29 2010, 11:52:49 UTC
The second they step into the room, John knows exactly what happened, what the cause of death is. He can smell it. That particular mix of blood, candle wax, human excrement, and something else, something undefinable, has burned itself into John's brain. He resists the urge to be sick all over the floor when he catches sight of the circle painted with careful white lines and the remains of the man who attempted it right next to it. His body had been ripped in half; the legs are by the window and the head and arms are by the sofa. There's a lump of vaguely organic matter in the center of the circle
( ... )
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"I'll stop when you stop taunting them," John says. "You do realize that doing that will usually involve them physically harming you in some way, right?" He presses his hands together and places them on Sherlock's broken arm, coaxing the bone into reknitting, into forming as if there'd never been any damage in the first place. John keeps most people from figuring it out by drawing simple medical circles on the palms of his hands while everyone's watching, but Sherlock sussed it out after twenty-four hours of being in John's presence.
"If you had come by faster--" Sherlock says, his eyes focused on John's face.
John rolls his eyes. "I didn't exactly run slower just to spite you," he says. Sherlock's arm is warm between his hands, and John can feel the way blood flows through his arteries and veins. Before Sherlock, he hadn't done any alchemy of any sort for a while, because of the unnatural feeling of the circle inside ( ... )
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I love how the two series have blended together so seamlessly. I thought that the use of alchemy wouldn't fit right in Sherlock's world, but you've made it work wonderfully!
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I've been wanting this crossover since this kinkmeme came into being :'D
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SHOf course, this means that John ends up standing in a compost heap for three hours while Sherlock searches for the exact discarded eggshell that will point them towards the blackmailer. John holds a torch for him, trying hard not to think about how tired he is or how that moving thing that's rubbing against his ankle is probably a worm or how he hasn't eaten anything since this morning, because it was rather a busy day at the clinic ( ... )
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John is still too sleepy to properly process anything. "Who?" He's still operating on autopilot as he reaches for the kettle and the teabags.
"Mary Morstan," Sherlock says. "Do try to keep up,"
John freezes in place, hand still on the handle of the kettle. "You want me to tell you about her?" He cannot imagine what Sherlock wants to know. Maybe he already knows all of John's secrets and wants confirmation of his cleverness. Maybe he wants to exploit John's emotional vulnerability for some reason, break John down to get at some other information.
"You were in love with her. You had an intense emotional reaction to her death," Sherlock says. His eyes are fixed on John's face, staring through him, cataloging every twitch and passing expression. "I want to understand it."
God, Sherlock was the only person John knew who would need to make a study of what love felt like. It's absurd, and John wants to laugh. He's tempted to lie or obfuscate the truth, to ( ... )
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