Re: warning: contains even more crack that I thought was possibleetothepiiJanuary 22 2011, 21:26:54 UTC
"That really isn't how it's supposed to work," Mycroft tells him the first time, because it really isn't how it's supposed to work.
"We don't obey any of the natural laws," Sherlock merely says flippantly, steepling his fingers together and giving the television a thoughtful stare. "There's no need to go about following the undetectable ones too."
--
"We don't create the legends," Mycroft tells him when Sherlock picks up the phone to dial Lestrade. "We just live them. They believe, and we embody."
But that's not true, not really. Not here, not in the city where light pollution makes the stars wink out every night. Not where one muse, one thought, one companion can reach thousands upon thousands of people.
"No, I don't think so," he says, because this isn't the Old World anymore. Because he's never known the world he sees in the others' eyes -- of fear and darkness and monsters in the night. "I think you can change it."
--
"He hasn't got friends."
--
"You can't," he says, but Moriarty -- and Moriarty glows in his mind's eye, bright with the power that comes of being something more than human. But -- but that doesn't change things, not anymore. Not in a world of rooting for the underdog and the good guys always winning. Not when it comes from colorful sheafs of paper instead of whispered as a talisman against the dark. "You can't, and you know it."
And Moriarty tilts his head, alien and reptilian, and says. "I have to, you know I do."
Because this is how the stories go -- because there's no victory without conflict, and because he has to win. Except for the times where he doesn't, and they're there, there's enough of them, that his voice chokes and he can't breathe and he says, "Don't hurt him. Whatever you want with me, just don't hurt him."
--
"Sherlock Holmes is a great man. Maybe someday, he'll even be a good one."
--
"Consulting detective," Mycroft says when he hears the latest of Sherlock's plans. "With a blogger."
"I don't see why you ask when you already know the answer," Sherlock replies. And also, "He writes the posts himself. I never asked him to."
"How many people read the blog?"
Here, Sherlock smiles with all his teeth, because here is what he was waiting for, because here he has something to offer. Because if he can do it for himself, he can do it for Mycroft too. "That's where you come in, brother."
--
"Heroes aren't real, John. And even if they were, I wouldn't be one."
And that's true, it's still true, because he is harder to handle than ever before, because now he collapses when he doesn't eat or sleep, and he says things that hurt, and there is another layer there -- a layer of, without you, I'm nothing, a slight sheen of how did I even live before I found you?
Because between the two of them, then maybe.
[Mycroft (newish) -- of censorship, of paranoia and three-letter-organizations, of the Patriot Act and wiretaps and monitoring; of the safety in knowledge and the ruthlessness of command; of "for your own good" and "need-to-know".
Sherlock (new) -- of misanthropy, of science, of reading and learning. Of the hunger for knowledge and thrill of being right. Of burning fast and bright, and leaving your mark. But mostly, of loneliness, of standing out, of never being invited, and the omnipresent ache of waiting for a friend.
John (brand new) -- of patience, of sidekicks, of someone has to make sure you eat and hold you when you fail -- because now you can fail, because now you fall down because he needs to pick you up. Of finding someone brighter than everyone else, and getting close enough to reach into the flame. Of caring and loving and the two of us, against the world.
Moriarty (ooold, but a new spinoff) -- of charisma, of madness, of the devil's advocate and the other side; of hyenas and jackals and evil scientists; Of honor and the painful truth and evil is sexy. Of seduction and not being afraid of the darkness.
Anthea (promised to Mycroft for help) -- of cheerfulness, of grace, of always being there to take a command. Of being smart and sharp and carefully overlooked except in the times you aren't. Of "yes, sir", and "already did it, sir", and coffee that's always done the way you like it.]
"That really isn't how it's supposed to work," Mycroft tells him the first time, because it really isn't how it's supposed to work.
"We don't obey any of the natural laws," Sherlock merely says flippantly, steepling his fingers together and giving the television a thoughtful stare. "There's no need to go about following the undetectable ones too."
--
"We don't create the legends," Mycroft tells him when Sherlock picks up the phone to dial Lestrade. "We just live them. They believe, and we embody."
But that's not true, not really. Not here, not in the city where light pollution makes the stars wink out every night. Not where one muse, one thought, one companion can reach thousands upon thousands of people.
"No, I don't think so," he says, because this isn't the Old World anymore. Because he's never known the world he sees in the others' eyes -- of fear and darkness and monsters in the night. "I think you can change it."
--
"He hasn't got friends."
--
"You can't," he says, but Moriarty -- and Moriarty glows in his mind's eye, bright with the power that comes of being something more than human. But -- but that doesn't change things, not anymore. Not in a world of rooting for the underdog and the good guys always winning. Not when it comes from colorful sheafs of paper instead of whispered as a talisman against the dark. "You can't, and you know it."
And Moriarty tilts his head, alien and reptilian, and says. "I have to, you know I do."
Because this is how the stories go -- because there's no victory without conflict, and because he has to win. Except for the times where he doesn't, and they're there, there's enough of them, that his voice chokes and he can't breathe and he says, "Don't hurt him. Whatever you want with me, just don't hurt him."
--
"Sherlock Holmes is a great man. Maybe someday, he'll even be a good one."
--
"Consulting detective," Mycroft says when he hears the latest of Sherlock's plans. "With a blogger."
"I don't see why you ask when you already know the answer," Sherlock replies. And also, "He writes the posts himself. I never asked him to."
"How many people read the blog?"
Here, Sherlock smiles with all his teeth, because here is what he was waiting for, because here he has something to offer. Because if he can do it for himself, he can do it for Mycroft too. "That's where you come in, brother."
--
"Heroes aren't real, John. And even if they were, I wouldn't be one."
And that's true, it's still true, because he is harder to handle than ever before, because now he collapses when he doesn't eat or sleep, and he says things that hurt, and there is another layer there -- a layer of, without you, I'm nothing, a slight sheen of how did I even live before I found you?
Because between the two of them, then maybe.
[Mycroft (newish) -- of censorship, of paranoia and three-letter-organizations, of the Patriot Act and wiretaps and monitoring; of the safety in knowledge and the ruthlessness of command; of "for your own good" and "need-to-know".
Sherlock (new) -- of misanthropy, of science, of reading and learning. Of the hunger for knowledge and thrill of being right. Of burning fast and bright, and leaving your mark. But mostly, of loneliness, of standing out, of never being invited, and the omnipresent ache of waiting for a friend.
John (brand new) -- of patience, of sidekicks, of someone has to make sure you eat and hold you when you fail -- because now you can fail, because now you fall down because he needs to pick you up. Of finding someone brighter than everyone else, and getting close enough to reach into the flame. Of caring and loving and the two of us, against the world.
Moriarty (ooold, but a new spinoff) -- of charisma, of madness, of the devil's advocate and the other side; of hyenas and jackals and evil scientists; Of honor and the painful truth and evil is sexy. Of seduction and not being afraid of the darkness.
Anthea (promised to Mycroft for help) -- of cheerfulness, of grace, of always being there to take a command. Of being smart and sharp and carefully overlooked except in the times you aren't. Of "yes, sir", and "already did it, sir", and coffee that's always done the way you like it.]
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brb totally fangirling you right now. 0__o
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Achingly lovely.
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