I'll be writing a bunch of ficlets for varying fandoms, though mostly Sherlock, here in the comments. Feel free to leave a request and I'll write you one.
2. late night thoughtsshiverelectricOctober 31 2011, 13:01:57 UTC
150
When the first strains of notes filtered through John's door, he tensed, preparing himself for yet another late night torture session on the violin. It was a wonder the poor thing was still in the shape it was given how much Sherlock musically abused it. But tonight, he could tell, was different, where there was usually a sharp screeching, instead was a soft warm-up of sorts that eventually melted into a easy melody. John listened for a while, hearing Sherlock put himself through his paces, from the sound of it. Eventually he was lulled into a sense of security that the soothing song being played wouldn't morph into an ear-wrenching cacophony, and before sleep came soon after, he had the strongest thought that the violin, like him, put up with the harsh treatment if only for times like these, when it was shown a genuine appreciation and affection from Sherlock.
It takes John a moment to recover from hearing Sherlock Holmes utter such a statement. Sherlock, the hard drive that deletes any and everything he deems unimportant or irrelevant, finding beauty in something?
Following Sherlock's line of sight, John is awed once more when he realizes what has earned Sherlock's appraisal, especially using a term that is so subjective that has John is surprised Sherlock would deign to use it.
In as many words as he can frame his fraying and changing thoughts on who Sherlock is, he says, "I thought you didn't care about-"
"Doesn't mean I can't appreciate it," Sherlock returns, focusing once more on the task at hand. But John is still trying to reconcile the cool, analytical genius of Sherlock that he uses to hold him apart from the human experience with this man that can, if only occasionally, revel in the little things that freckle life with wonder.
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When the first strains of notes filtered through John's door, he tensed, preparing himself for yet another late night torture session on the violin. It was a wonder the poor thing was still in the shape it was given how much Sherlock musically abused it. But tonight, he could tell, was different, where there was usually a sharp screeching, instead was a soft warm-up of sorts that eventually melted into a easy melody. John listened for a while, hearing Sherlock put himself through his paces, from the sound of it. Eventually he was lulled into a sense of security that the soothing song being played wouldn't morph into an ear-wrenching cacophony, and before sleep came soon after, he had the strongest thought that the violin, like him, put up with the harsh treatment if only for times like these, when it was shown a genuine appreciation and affection from Sherlock.
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"Beautiful, isn't it?"
It takes John a moment to recover from hearing Sherlock Holmes utter such a statement. Sherlock, the hard drive that deletes any and everything he deems unimportant or irrelevant, finding beauty in something?
Following Sherlock's line of sight, John is awed once more when he realizes what has earned Sherlock's appraisal, especially using a term that is so subjective that has John is surprised Sherlock would deign to use it.
In as many words as he can frame his fraying and changing thoughts on who Sherlock is, he says, "I thought you didn't care about-"
"Doesn't mean I can't appreciate it," Sherlock returns, focusing once more on the task at hand. But John is still trying to reconcile the cool, analytical genius of Sherlock that he uses to hold him apart from the human experience with this man that can, if only occasionally, revel in the little things that freckle life with wonder.
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