Fic Rec: Ford
Title:Ford
Author: theshopislocal
Pairing: Sherlock/John, John/OMC, John/Mary
Length: 31,750 words
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Canon-typical violence
Verse: Sherlock BBC
Author's summary: He turns back round then and looks down at me, eyes curious. “Your name, W.S.S. Holmes.” That’s not my name. “Is it Walter? Or Wilbur? Maybe something really awful like, er,” he smiles wryly, “Willoughby? Winchester?”
I feel my face go blank as my body numbs over. “Scott,” I say, voice devoid of emotion. “My name is Scott.”
Reccer's comments: Wow does this story pack a punch. It has a unique writing style that I haven't run across before that is very effective and emotionally harrowing. Filled with clever twists, it'll keep you guessing as to what is what (and who is who) until the very last chapter. Out of all of the outstanding fics to come out of the most recent round of Holmestice, this is one of the most memorable for me.
It's a bit difficult giving a rec for this without giving too much away, but I will do my best. The story takes place post-Reichenbach, and is not series 3 compliant. It has all of the angst one comes to expect from such a fic, along with offering its own unique twist to it. Someone is kidnapped off the streets of London - someone who the kidnapper thinks is the 'deceased' Sherlock Holmes. The story is told in first person, mostly from the kidnapped person's perspective. The narrative is non-linear, so we also see scenes from Mycroft's POV as he and Sherlock plot to bring down Sebastian Moran. Mary also has a role here, albeit offscreen.
The scenes between the kidnapped person and the kidnapper are at the crux of the story, emotionally intense and done in such a clever way that I was not completely convinced of the identify of either one of them until the grand reveal. The emotion coupled with heartstopping action left me on the edge of my seat the entire time. This is the type of story that I live for, and that will remain with me for a long time.
A possible trigger warning: there is a death of an unborn child, although it does take place offscreen.
Here is an excerpt from the very beginning of the story to give you a taste of the experience you are in for:
Oh, god.
Oh, god.
Oh, god-
“Please, please, let me go. I won’t-” I barely recognise my own voice, I’ve never heard myself so terrified, never been so terrified, “-won’t tell anyone, I won’t call the police, just please, please-”
“No, you’d never call the police, would you? You’d never ask anyone for help if you thought you could handle it yourself - you don’t fool me!”
Oh, god, what is this place? Who are you? Who are you? “I’m not- I’m not trying to fool you,” Who are you? “I don’t-don’t even know you!”
He huffs a dry little laugh. God, why is he laughing? What the- “’Course you don’t. You’ve probably forgotten me - deleted me.” Deleted? What on earth- “S’not like I ever mattered, not like I was ever anything more than a bloody hanger-on.”
I think it’s a garage. No. No, not a garage. Too small for a car. Jesus, what is this place? What’s happening, what’s- “Please, please-”
My heart is doing something odd in my chest, like an arrhythmia or something. Oh Christ, am I having a heart attack?
His face scrunches up like he’s tasted something foul. “Oh, stop begging, you tit. I don’t buy it, Sherlock.”
Sherlock? Sherlock? Who the hell is- “I’m not Sherlock!” It’s not me, it’s not me- “I’ve never even met anyone called Sherlock.” It’s not me! “Please, you have the wrong man-”
“That’s right, Sherlock,” Oh, god, “you are the wrong man. You were always the wrong man.”
Bloody h- what is he talking about? This doesn’t make any sense! “Please, oh god, please, I’m not-”
“Stop it, stop this!” he’s shouting now, leaning in close to my face. I can feel his breath on my forehead. It’s warm, it’s making me warm, febrile, I’m- oh, god, what’s happeni- “Stop lying to me! I know it’s you, I know who you are!”
I shake my head side to side, quick as a shiver. No, actually, it is a shiver. I’m shivering, quaking where I sit, my arms pulling at the cuffs, I can feel my wrists chafing. God, where am I? Where am- “No, no, you don’t! I’m not him, I’m not- Sh-Sherlock, I’m-I’m-” Oh, Jesus, it’s not me, it’s not me-“I’m Scott Ford Williams, I’m thirty-four years old, from Dorset, I’m a schoolteacher-”
Another gust of breath against my face. “You’re lying.”
Author: theshopislocal
Pairing: Sherlock/John, John/OMC, John/Mary
Length: 31,750 words
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Canon-typical violence
Verse: Sherlock BBC
Author's summary: He turns back round then and looks down at me, eyes curious. “Your name, W.S.S. Holmes.” That’s not my name. “Is it Walter? Or Wilbur? Maybe something really awful like, er,” he smiles wryly, “Willoughby? Winchester?”
I feel my face go blank as my body numbs over. “Scott,” I say, voice devoid of emotion. “My name is Scott.”
Reccer's comments: Wow does this story pack a punch. It has a unique writing style that I haven't run across before that is very effective and emotionally harrowing. Filled with clever twists, it'll keep you guessing as to what is what (and who is who) until the very last chapter. Out of all of the outstanding fics to come out of the most recent round of Holmestice, this is one of the most memorable for me.
It's a bit difficult giving a rec for this without giving too much away, but I will do my best. The story takes place post-Reichenbach, and is not series 3 compliant. It has all of the angst one comes to expect from such a fic, along with offering its own unique twist to it. Someone is kidnapped off the streets of London - someone who the kidnapper thinks is the 'deceased' Sherlock Holmes. The story is told in first person, mostly from the kidnapped person's perspective. The narrative is non-linear, so we also see scenes from Mycroft's POV as he and Sherlock plot to bring down Sebastian Moran. Mary also has a role here, albeit offscreen.
The scenes between the kidnapped person and the kidnapper are at the crux of the story, emotionally intense and done in such a clever way that I was not completely convinced of the identify of either one of them until the grand reveal. The emotion coupled with heartstopping action left me on the edge of my seat the entire time. This is the type of story that I live for, and that will remain with me for a long time.
A possible trigger warning: there is a death of an unborn child, although it does take place offscreen.
Here is an excerpt from the very beginning of the story to give you a taste of the experience you are in for:
Oh, god.
Oh, god.
Oh, god-
“Please, please, let me go. I won’t-” I barely recognise my own voice, I’ve never heard myself so terrified, never been so terrified, “-won’t tell anyone, I won’t call the police, just please, please-”
“No, you’d never call the police, would you? You’d never ask anyone for help if you thought you could handle it yourself - you don’t fool me!”
Oh, god, what is this place? Who are you? Who are you? “I’m not- I’m not trying to fool you,” Who are you? “I don’t-don’t even know you!”
He huffs a dry little laugh. God, why is he laughing? What the- “’Course you don’t. You’ve probably forgotten me - deleted me.” Deleted? What on earth- “S’not like I ever mattered, not like I was ever anything more than a bloody hanger-on.”
I think it’s a garage. No. No, not a garage. Too small for a car. Jesus, what is this place? What’s happening, what’s- “Please, please-”
My heart is doing something odd in my chest, like an arrhythmia or something. Oh Christ, am I having a heart attack?
His face scrunches up like he’s tasted something foul. “Oh, stop begging, you tit. I don’t buy it, Sherlock.”
Sherlock? Sherlock? Who the hell is- “I’m not Sherlock!” It’s not me, it’s not me- “I’ve never even met anyone called Sherlock.” It’s not me! “Please, you have the wrong man-”
“That’s right, Sherlock,” Oh, god, “you are the wrong man. You were always the wrong man.”
Bloody h- what is he talking about? This doesn’t make any sense! “Please, oh god, please, I’m not-”
“Stop it, stop this!” he’s shouting now, leaning in close to my face. I can feel his breath on my forehead. It’s warm, it’s making me warm, febrile, I’m- oh, god, what’s happeni- “Stop lying to me! I know it’s you, I know who you are!”
I shake my head side to side, quick as a shiver. No, actually, it is a shiver. I’m shivering, quaking where I sit, my arms pulling at the cuffs, I can feel my wrists chafing. God, where am I? Where am- “No, no, you don’t! I’m not him, I’m not- Sh-Sherlock, I’m-I’m-” Oh, Jesus, it’s not me, it’s not me-“I’m Scott Ford Williams, I’m thirty-four years old, from Dorset, I’m a schoolteacher-”
Another gust of breath against my face. “You’re lying.”