Fic Rec: The Witch's Heart
Title: The Witch's Heart
Author: magicbunni on AO3, FF.net
Pairing: Gen
Length: 54,596 words
Rating: General audience
Verse: Sherlock BBC
Author's summary: Sherlock has been at the University of Cambridge for a relatively short time, but he's already making waves, and not all for the good, to his family's chagrin. He's on notice for rule-breaking and working to patch his reputation when a mysterious body interrupts his plans. Can he turn his back on a dead boy in need, or are some things simply worth notoriety?
Reccer's comments: I tried for days to come up with a description of this story that will do it justice and make you want to put it at the top of your reading list. The story deserves it. You, the reader, deserve it. Alas, it makes me all too aware of why I read fanfiction and make recommendations, instead of writing stories myself.
"The Witch's Heart" is a complex story, interweaving action and insight. Magicbunni's crisp prose and sharp observations mirror Sherlock's turbulent mind. Her supporting characters, including several well-developed women, enrich the story.
It's the story of seventeen-year-old Sherlock at a vulnerable, transitional time in his development into the adult we know - disoriented by the attentions of girls and by the desires of his own adolescent body.
It's a story about music, Sherlock's soul, and his violin as he struggles with a piece that demands his emotional engagement as well as his technical skill.
It's the story of a case that draws Sherlock in almost without volition.
It's the story of Sherlock trying to find a place for himself in the shadows of a harsh father and a 'perfect' older brother. Arrived underage at Cambridge, he is too brilliant, too abrasive, and too pretty - irritating his peers, and arousing the suspicions of police.
It's the best young Sherlock story I've read and one of the best Sherlock stories, period. I love it even more each time I read it.
Maestro stood back and opened his arms. "The violin, orchestra, is your lover - your hot-headed, genius, tempestuous lover, full of élan and barriers, that sort of thing. That is your violin!"
"Oh God no," Eliza gave a cough. "Grotty."
Sherlock's bow lip curled at her. But Maestro picked up his violin, and that captured every iota of Sherlock's attention. It was something very few were allowed to touch. Maestro cradled the thing with expert hands.
"Violin, your haven in this life is your orchestra. It is your satisfaction. Very different from you, but then, there is no one like you, in the end. This composure, this fidelity, this strength," he tucked the rest to his chin and wrapped his other hand to cup the neck of a cello, "it is what you need in your bones. Feel that."
Feel it. Sherlock didn't move.
Maestro released the cello and handed back the violin, gently. "Try to feel it, Sherlock. You are mindless about the orchestra when they are lifting you. Now you have to reach out to them and knit yourself into the difference. Can you do that?"
He looked back at them and didn't know. Maestro saw that too, and the glowering orchestra behind Sherlock, so Maestro had the orchestra run through their part without him. The absence of the violin was glaring, at least to him.
Many of them wouldn't look at him. But then there was Karla, who looked increasingly displeased. She glanced up at him.
Irritation… maybe even anger.
Lips twitching. She longs to say something.
Sherlock did his piece solo. It sounded… weird to him. Beautiful; fragile; and sort of crazed, and he kept waiting for them to come meet him, all those people behind him. He wondered how they had felt while playing their part without him. When he glanced at them he could see their eyes following his every move as if they'd had no time to witness them before. He finished and exhaled discordantly, his entire body listing right and feeling askew. His chest now throbbed. Badly.
Karla stood up. "Eliza, you massive bitch, you cause this problem sitting there with your mug full of poison every time he moves. You're toxic. You're polluting the strings so we're this load of daggers behind him-"
Author: magicbunni on AO3, FF.net
Pairing: Gen
Length: 54,596 words
Rating: General audience
Verse: Sherlock BBC
Author's summary: Sherlock has been at the University of Cambridge for a relatively short time, but he's already making waves, and not all for the good, to his family's chagrin. He's on notice for rule-breaking and working to patch his reputation when a mysterious body interrupts his plans. Can he turn his back on a dead boy in need, or are some things simply worth notoriety?
Reccer's comments: I tried for days to come up with a description of this story that will do it justice and make you want to put it at the top of your reading list. The story deserves it. You, the reader, deserve it. Alas, it makes me all too aware of why I read fanfiction and make recommendations, instead of writing stories myself.
"The Witch's Heart" is a complex story, interweaving action and insight. Magicbunni's crisp prose and sharp observations mirror Sherlock's turbulent mind. Her supporting characters, including several well-developed women, enrich the story.
It's the story of seventeen-year-old Sherlock at a vulnerable, transitional time in his development into the adult we know - disoriented by the attentions of girls and by the desires of his own adolescent body.
It's a story about music, Sherlock's soul, and his violin as he struggles with a piece that demands his emotional engagement as well as his technical skill.
It's the story of a case that draws Sherlock in almost without volition.
It's the story of Sherlock trying to find a place for himself in the shadows of a harsh father and a 'perfect' older brother. Arrived underage at Cambridge, he is too brilliant, too abrasive, and too pretty - irritating his peers, and arousing the suspicions of police.
It's the best young Sherlock story I've read and one of the best Sherlock stories, period. I love it even more each time I read it.
Maestro stood back and opened his arms. "The violin, orchestra, is your lover - your hot-headed, genius, tempestuous lover, full of élan and barriers, that sort of thing. That is your violin!"
"Oh God no," Eliza gave a cough. "Grotty."
Sherlock's bow lip curled at her. But Maestro picked up his violin, and that captured every iota of Sherlock's attention. It was something very few were allowed to touch. Maestro cradled the thing with expert hands.
"Violin, your haven in this life is your orchestra. It is your satisfaction. Very different from you, but then, there is no one like you, in the end. This composure, this fidelity, this strength," he tucked the rest to his chin and wrapped his other hand to cup the neck of a cello, "it is what you need in your bones. Feel that."
Feel it. Sherlock didn't move.
Maestro released the cello and handed back the violin, gently. "Try to feel it, Sherlock. You are mindless about the orchestra when they are lifting you. Now you have to reach out to them and knit yourself into the difference. Can you do that?"
He looked back at them and didn't know. Maestro saw that too, and the glowering orchestra behind Sherlock, so Maestro had the orchestra run through their part without him. The absence of the violin was glaring, at least to him.
Many of them wouldn't look at him. But then there was Karla, who looked increasingly displeased. She glanced up at him.
Irritation… maybe even anger.
Lips twitching. She longs to say something.
Sherlock did his piece solo. It sounded… weird to him. Beautiful; fragile; and sort of crazed, and he kept waiting for them to come meet him, all those people behind him. He wondered how they had felt while playing their part without him. When he glanced at them he could see their eyes following his every move as if they'd had no time to witness them before. He finished and exhaled discordantly, his entire body listing right and feeling askew. His chest now throbbed. Badly.
Karla stood up. "Eliza, you massive bitch, you cause this problem sitting there with your mug full of poison every time he moves. You're toxic. You're polluting the strings so we're this load of daggers behind him-"