Synthesis
Title: Synthesis
Author: LapOtter
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Length: 40011
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence
Verse: Sherlock BBC
Author's summary:
syn·the·sis [sin-thuh-sis] /ˈsɪnθəsɪs/ noun, plural syn·the·ses.
1. the combining of the constituent elements of separate material or abstract entities into a single or unified entity ( opposed to analysis, ) the separating of any material or abstract entity into its constituent elements.
2. a complex whole formed by combining.
a·pha·sia [uh-fey-zhuh] /əˈfeɪʒə/ noun.
1. the loss of a previously held ability to speak or understand spoken or written language, due to disease or injury of the brain.
Reccer's comments:
Aphasia is realized here with more poignancy than even Oliver Sacks can bring to the table. So much of Sherlock is tied up in his words, that without them he seems initially less, both himself and to the reader. The author deals with his frustration in a way that is both relatable and Sherlockian. John is wonderful, of course and the lengths that he goes to in order to buoy Sherlock make me wish that we all had someone like him in a time of need. The best element here is the realism of dealing with the disorder, one that doesn't seem all that improbable when you consider the amount of head trauma that seems to come their way.
Excerpt:
"Can you speak at all, Sherlock?" John asks, a real note of concern creeping into his voice. "Only we'd normally never be able to shut you up."
Sherlock looks between them, feeling helpless, and the worry and expectation on their faces isn't helping to calm him. He feels almost panicky, and he forces that down in order to think clearly. There's only one thing he can think to say, only one word that rests thick and sweet like honey on his tongue, and he says it and is relieved when it comes out sounding the way he intended:
"John."
John blinks down at him. "Is that all you can say?" he asks, worry momentarily masked by surprise and amusement, as though the notion were ridiculous.
Sherlock grits his teeth and nods.
"...Right," John says after a long, tense moment, and reaches for Sherlock's call button. "You need a neurological assessment and an MRI, now."
Author: LapOtter
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Length: 40011
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence
Verse: Sherlock BBC
Author's summary:
syn·the·sis [sin-thuh-sis] /ˈsɪnθəsɪs/ noun, plural syn·the·ses.
1. the combining of the constituent elements of separate material or abstract entities into a single or unified entity ( opposed to analysis, ) the separating of any material or abstract entity into its constituent elements.
2. a complex whole formed by combining.
a·pha·sia [uh-fey-zhuh] /əˈfeɪʒə/ noun.
1. the loss of a previously held ability to speak or understand spoken or written language, due to disease or injury of the brain.
Reccer's comments:
Aphasia is realized here with more poignancy than even Oliver Sacks can bring to the table. So much of Sherlock is tied up in his words, that without them he seems initially less, both himself and to the reader. The author deals with his frustration in a way that is both relatable and Sherlockian. John is wonderful, of course and the lengths that he goes to in order to buoy Sherlock make me wish that we all had someone like him in a time of need. The best element here is the realism of dealing with the disorder, one that doesn't seem all that improbable when you consider the amount of head trauma that seems to come their way.
Excerpt:
"Can you speak at all, Sherlock?" John asks, a real note of concern creeping into his voice. "Only we'd normally never be able to shut you up."
Sherlock looks between them, feeling helpless, and the worry and expectation on their faces isn't helping to calm him. He feels almost panicky, and he forces that down in order to think clearly. There's only one thing he can think to say, only one word that rests thick and sweet like honey on his tongue, and he says it and is relieved when it comes out sounding the way he intended:
"John."
John blinks down at him. "Is that all you can say?" he asks, worry momentarily masked by surprise and amusement, as though the notion were ridiculous.
Sherlock grits his teeth and nods.
"...Right," John says after a long, tense moment, and reaches for Sherlock's call button. "You need a neurological assessment and an MRI, now."