Fic: Find It True
Title: Find It True
Fandom: Sherlock
Pairings: John/Sherlock
Rating: PG
Word Count: 382
Summary: Sherlock doesn't believe in love.
‘Something isn’t true unless you find it true in your own life’
Sherlock doesn’t believe in love. He never has, not even a little. Of course he’s seen it, countless times, across his whole life. Sherlock knows that mummy and daddy loved him, before they passed, and as much as he hates to admit it to himself, Mycroft loves him too. He’s seen it in his work; the worried spouses, the caring family members and concerned friends. He knows the power it can have, just how strong it’s influence is. Love can be a motivator, a deterrent and the worst type of drug. It can raise you from the dead and send you back there, just as easily. He’s seen the best and worst acts of humanity committed in the name of love. No, it’s not that he doesn’t understand love, he just could never bring himself to actually believe in it.
Sherlock’s aware how all this sounds, how it paints a hard picture of him as a cold-hearted, lonely man, but he doesn’t care. Love is undefinable and unquantifiable, which in turn makes it unacceptable to him. It can’t be measured, tested, poked, prodded, explored, categorized, deduced or even seen. It’s preposterous to him that such an unknown could ever factor into his life. He’s built on facts and rationality. Love really has no business there.
Yet as Sherlock watches John sleep, his not-quite-blonde hair being messed and his chest rising and falling steadily, he wonders if everything he knows is wrong. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s be disproved, (damn Mycroft) but it would most certainly be the most significant. He runs his fingers up John’s arm and the doctor makes a quiet, contented sound at that. It swells inside Sherlock and he thinks no, this isn’t love. This is so much more than four letters can convey. He silently curses all languages because he knows there’s nothing in any of them that can express what he’s currently feeling. Love is elementary and this is intrinsically complex and unique. John shifts beneath him, rolling over onto his side, so Sherlock slides down the bed and curls up around him. As he drifts off, he lets his mind wander to this ‘not-quite-love’ predicament and how utterly lovely it actually is.
Fandom: Sherlock
Pairings: John/Sherlock
Rating: PG
Word Count: 382
Summary: Sherlock doesn't believe in love.
‘Something isn’t true unless you find it true in your own life’
Sherlock doesn’t believe in love. He never has, not even a little. Of course he’s seen it, countless times, across his whole life. Sherlock knows that mummy and daddy loved him, before they passed, and as much as he hates to admit it to himself, Mycroft loves him too. He’s seen it in his work; the worried spouses, the caring family members and concerned friends. He knows the power it can have, just how strong it’s influence is. Love can be a motivator, a deterrent and the worst type of drug. It can raise you from the dead and send you back there, just as easily. He’s seen the best and worst acts of humanity committed in the name of love. No, it’s not that he doesn’t understand love, he just could never bring himself to actually believe in it.
Sherlock’s aware how all this sounds, how it paints a hard picture of him as a cold-hearted, lonely man, but he doesn’t care. Love is undefinable and unquantifiable, which in turn makes it unacceptable to him. It can’t be measured, tested, poked, prodded, explored, categorized, deduced or even seen. It’s preposterous to him that such an unknown could ever factor into his life. He’s built on facts and rationality. Love really has no business there.
Yet as Sherlock watches John sleep, his not-quite-blonde hair being messed and his chest rising and falling steadily, he wonders if everything he knows is wrong. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s be disproved, (damn Mycroft) but it would most certainly be the most significant. He runs his fingers up John’s arm and the doctor makes a quiet, contented sound at that. It swells inside Sherlock and he thinks no, this isn’t love. This is so much more than four letters can convey. He silently curses all languages because he knows there’s nothing in any of them that can express what he’s currently feeling. Love is elementary and this is intrinsically complex and unique. John shifts beneath him, rolling over onto his side, so Sherlock slides down the bed and curls up around him. As he drifts off, he lets his mind wander to this ‘not-quite-love’ predicament and how utterly lovely it actually is.