[Sherlock BBC] Fic: The Holmes That Had A Heart
Title: The Holmes That Had A Heart
Rating: PG
Pairings: Sherlock/John, but can be read as intense platonic dependence
Summary: Sherlock prided himself on his ability to lie and manipulate others. Unfortunately, he was never very good at deceiving himself. Oh, he knew he had weaknesses - he might never admit to them out loud, but he knew them. And he knew that half the reason Mycroft was such a big controlling arse was because of him - him and his greatest weakness.
A/N: Thank you, rougewinter for cleaning up this messy messy thing so quickly. And for inadvertently inspiring me to write again. Let's see if I succeed in expanding this later on. AHAHAHA. AND I GOT TO POST THIS JUST IN TIME - BEFORE S3 WHEEE.
The Holmes That Had A Heart
Sherlock prided himself on his ability to lie and manipulate others. Unfortunately, he was never very good at deceiving himself. Oh, he knew he had weaknesses - he might never admit to them out loud, but he knew them. And he knew that half the reason Mycroft was such a big controlling arse was because of him - him and his greatest weakness.
He had a heart.
He wasn’t like his father or Mycroft - both of whom cared for no one save a handful of people and not one whit about the rest of humanity. He wasn’t like them, willing to sacrifice even those of that handful when the need called for it. Oh yes, he could step back when the situation warrants it, and harden his heart when he had to - but people affected him like it never did any of the Holmes men in the past century, and he hated it. Hated these feelings and hated Mycroft and his father for being free of them. Hated them for never being able to understand, for looking at him, puzzled, as he cried real tears over the death of a pet or the departure of a friend or for simply caring.
Oftentimes, he wished for the life all of the other Holmes men led - where there was no one but himself (perhaps occasionally one or two others, but only when he felt like it) to worry about. Sometimes, he even hated Mummy for passing on such a thing as a heart to one of her children - but that never lasted very long. Mummy was the only one who understood him, and he would never begrudge her for wishing to have even just one person in her life who truly understood her. He imagined how Mummy could have lived all those years with just her husband and eldest son and stopped resenting her.
Then Mummy died, and Sherlock spiralled out of control. He’d lived for Mummy for so long, serving as her only respite from the loneliness of her life, and when this vital role was taken from him, it felt like he was cast adrift. He couldn’t stop himself from missing her, for needing and wanting to see her again, for not wanting to be the only Holmes with a working heart. And as much as Mycroft sought to stop Sherlock’s self-destruction, he lacked the insight into humanity that was needed for such a task.
In the end, after years of morphine and endless attempts to kill himself, a desperate Mycroft talked to him on what could possibly have ended up being his deathbed, and idly uttered one sentence that turned everything around. “Mummy would’ve been very upset.”
Sherlock didn’t believe in an afterlife, but Mummy did. And if there was a chance, no matter how infinitesimal, that it did exist, he didn’t want Mummy to be upset for eternity because of him. So agonisingly slowly, he pulled himself together. And he decided that the best course to live his life was to turn everything off - live his life as unencumbered by messy feelings as much as possible.
Mycroft had the same idea. He started screening everyone who came into close or repeated contact with Sherlock and disposed and approved of them as he saw fit. Sherlock let him. And even if the younger Holmes always said that it was because he simply didn’t care, he and Mycroft knew the truth - he let his brother do this because he was afraid of caring for anyone any more.
Neither of them were prepared for people to still worm themselves into Sherlock’s life anyway. Most people would have been able to predict the outcome from the start. After all, upon repeated contact with individuals they did not find entirely abhorrent, most people would know that it was impossible to completely prevent developing attachments to, and affections for, these individuals. But neither Mycroft, who had never felt the need to make emotional connections with people, nor Sherlock who had never understood his need for the same, given the environment he grew up in - saw it coming.
John Watson, with his loyalty and his steadfast courage, came into Sherlock’s life, and both Mycroft and Sherlock realised that they had both let their guards down. The day after John shot someone for a person he’d just met, Sherlock received a text from his brother for the first time in over a decade. ”Be very careful.” - MH, the message said.
However, it was too late. Someone else had seen it, and had threatened the person that tethered Sherlock to health and sanity. In an abandoned pool with no one but his closest friend and his apparent greatest enemy with him, Sherlock felt his heart race and fear creep into his entire being.
It took days to accept it. He spent ages sullenly sitting on his chair, playing airs on the violin, refusing to eat nor speak to anyone, trying to deny the reality of his feelings. Unfortunately, the more he thought, the more he realised that it was true. He’d let other people in too - John more than anyone else, but there was Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade too. He cared for them and there was no going back now.
Moriarty was right, actually. Sherlock was, in a way, ordinary. He had something that tied him to the rest of humanity, something that Moriarty didn’t have. Despite endless efforts to be otherwise, he had a thrice damned heart.
So Sherlock set plans into motion, let Moriarty go on with his game, let himself get ‘killed’ and be forgotten by people he will never forget. He travelled across continents, dismantling Moriarty’s empire and ensuring the safety of the three people he unknowingly let into the tiny locked room in his heart where Mummy and Father and Mycroft used to solely occupy.
He watched as these people went on with their lives and put him behind them. How, despite the sadness that often snuck up on then, they lived. He resented them for it - their ability to live their lives without him - because if given the reverse, if they had left him and died the way he did, he did not know if he could do the same.
This is why when it was finally over - when he was sure they were safe - he went back. Because he was selfish and refused to be reduced to a mere memory. Even if he knew that it would be best for all involved if he stayed dead - if he disappeared and forgot them and let them forget him - he didn’t do it.
“You look sad when you think he can't see you." Molly said to him once.
And while she meant it as Sherlock putting on a mask for the sake of John, the truth is - he is sad whenever John looks away, when John turns his attention to the myriad of people who come into their lives. His world had started to revolve around John so much, and he is selfish enough to want John’s to revolve around him. So he barges in at the most awkward time imaginable - just when John is ready to completely move on from the heartbreak and loss of Sherlock’s death - and insinuates himself back into John’s life. He knows his place in Mrs. Hudson’s and in Lestrade’s lives; those roles were easy to step back into - but he and John have grounded each other; have been the center of each other’s lives since they met, whether John realised it or not, and Sherlock cannot and will not let that go.
Because if he let that happen, then he might as well have actually died.
------------
The idea for this came as rougewinter and I were agonising over S3 of Sherlock... so close yet so far. I wrote it faster than possibly anything else I've written, and she beta'd it very well very quickly. You do not want to know what this looked like before she got her hands on it.
I want to write an expanded version of this fic. With focus on Sherlock's experiences and maybe a Mummy + Mycroft segment too. But who knows if I'll ever get to it. OTL If anyone's interested in playing with the idea and wants to write it by any chance, I welcome it! <3 (Just tell me, of course)
Rating: PG
Pairings: Sherlock/John, but can be read as intense platonic dependence
Summary: Sherlock prided himself on his ability to lie and manipulate others. Unfortunately, he was never very good at deceiving himself. Oh, he knew he had weaknesses - he might never admit to them out loud, but he knew them. And he knew that half the reason Mycroft was such a big controlling arse was because of him - him and his greatest weakness.
A/N: Thank you, rougewinter for cleaning up this messy messy thing so quickly. And for inadvertently inspiring me to write again. Let's see if I succeed in expanding this later on. AHAHAHA. AND I GOT TO POST THIS JUST IN TIME - BEFORE S3 WHEEE.
The Holmes That Had A Heart
Sherlock prided himself on his ability to lie and manipulate others. Unfortunately, he was never very good at deceiving himself. Oh, he knew he had weaknesses - he might never admit to them out loud, but he knew them. And he knew that half the reason Mycroft was such a big controlling arse was because of him - him and his greatest weakness.
He had a heart.
He wasn’t like his father or Mycroft - both of whom cared for no one save a handful of people and not one whit about the rest of humanity. He wasn’t like them, willing to sacrifice even those of that handful when the need called for it. Oh yes, he could step back when the situation warrants it, and harden his heart when he had to - but people affected him like it never did any of the Holmes men in the past century, and he hated it. Hated these feelings and hated Mycroft and his father for being free of them. Hated them for never being able to understand, for looking at him, puzzled, as he cried real tears over the death of a pet or the departure of a friend or for simply caring.
Oftentimes, he wished for the life all of the other Holmes men led - where there was no one but himself (perhaps occasionally one or two others, but only when he felt like it) to worry about. Sometimes, he even hated Mummy for passing on such a thing as a heart to one of her children - but that never lasted very long. Mummy was the only one who understood him, and he would never begrudge her for wishing to have even just one person in her life who truly understood her. He imagined how Mummy could have lived all those years with just her husband and eldest son and stopped resenting her.
Then Mummy died, and Sherlock spiralled out of control. He’d lived for Mummy for so long, serving as her only respite from the loneliness of her life, and when this vital role was taken from him, it felt like he was cast adrift. He couldn’t stop himself from missing her, for needing and wanting to see her again, for not wanting to be the only Holmes with a working heart. And as much as Mycroft sought to stop Sherlock’s self-destruction, he lacked the insight into humanity that was needed for such a task.
In the end, after years of morphine and endless attempts to kill himself, a desperate Mycroft talked to him on what could possibly have ended up being his deathbed, and idly uttered one sentence that turned everything around. “Mummy would’ve been very upset.”
Sherlock didn’t believe in an afterlife, but Mummy did. And if there was a chance, no matter how infinitesimal, that it did exist, he didn’t want Mummy to be upset for eternity because of him. So agonisingly slowly, he pulled himself together. And he decided that the best course to live his life was to turn everything off - live his life as unencumbered by messy feelings as much as possible.
Mycroft had the same idea. He started screening everyone who came into close or repeated contact with Sherlock and disposed and approved of them as he saw fit. Sherlock let him. And even if the younger Holmes always said that it was because he simply didn’t care, he and Mycroft knew the truth - he let his brother do this because he was afraid of caring for anyone any more.
Neither of them were prepared for people to still worm themselves into Sherlock’s life anyway. Most people would have been able to predict the outcome from the start. After all, upon repeated contact with individuals they did not find entirely abhorrent, most people would know that it was impossible to completely prevent developing attachments to, and affections for, these individuals. But neither Mycroft, who had never felt the need to make emotional connections with people, nor Sherlock who had never understood his need for the same, given the environment he grew up in - saw it coming.
John Watson, with his loyalty and his steadfast courage, came into Sherlock’s life, and both Mycroft and Sherlock realised that they had both let their guards down. The day after John shot someone for a person he’d just met, Sherlock received a text from his brother for the first time in over a decade. ”Be very careful.” - MH, the message said.
However, it was too late. Someone else had seen it, and had threatened the person that tethered Sherlock to health and sanity. In an abandoned pool with no one but his closest friend and his apparent greatest enemy with him, Sherlock felt his heart race and fear creep into his entire being.
It took days to accept it. He spent ages sullenly sitting on his chair, playing airs on the violin, refusing to eat nor speak to anyone, trying to deny the reality of his feelings. Unfortunately, the more he thought, the more he realised that it was true. He’d let other people in too - John more than anyone else, but there was Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade too. He cared for them and there was no going back now.
Moriarty was right, actually. Sherlock was, in a way, ordinary. He had something that tied him to the rest of humanity, something that Moriarty didn’t have. Despite endless efforts to be otherwise, he had a thrice damned heart.
So Sherlock set plans into motion, let Moriarty go on with his game, let himself get ‘killed’ and be forgotten by people he will never forget. He travelled across continents, dismantling Moriarty’s empire and ensuring the safety of the three people he unknowingly let into the tiny locked room in his heart where Mummy and Father and Mycroft used to solely occupy.
He watched as these people went on with their lives and put him behind them. How, despite the sadness that often snuck up on then, they lived. He resented them for it - their ability to live their lives without him - because if given the reverse, if they had left him and died the way he did, he did not know if he could do the same.
This is why when it was finally over - when he was sure they were safe - he went back. Because he was selfish and refused to be reduced to a mere memory. Even if he knew that it would be best for all involved if he stayed dead - if he disappeared and forgot them and let them forget him - he didn’t do it.
“You look sad when you think he can't see you." Molly said to him once.
And while she meant it as Sherlock putting on a mask for the sake of John, the truth is - he is sad whenever John looks away, when John turns his attention to the myriad of people who come into their lives. His world had started to revolve around John so much, and he is selfish enough to want John’s to revolve around him. So he barges in at the most awkward time imaginable - just when John is ready to completely move on from the heartbreak and loss of Sherlock’s death - and insinuates himself back into John’s life. He knows his place in Mrs. Hudson’s and in Lestrade’s lives; those roles were easy to step back into - but he and John have grounded each other; have been the center of each other’s lives since they met, whether John realised it or not, and Sherlock cannot and will not let that go.
Because if he let that happen, then he might as well have actually died.
------------
The idea for this came as rougewinter and I were agonising over S3 of Sherlock... so close yet so far. I wrote it faster than possibly anything else I've written, and she beta'd it very well very quickly. You do not want to know what this looked like before she got her hands on it.
I want to write an expanded version of this fic. With focus on Sherlock's experiences and maybe a Mummy + Mycroft segment too. But who knows if I'll ever get to it. OTL If anyone's interested in playing with the idea and wants to write it by any chance, I welcome it! <3 (Just tell me, of course)