Fic: Subterranean Homesick Alien
Title: Subterranean Homesick Alien
Genre: Gen/Char Study
Pairings: None, Sherlock/John
Rating: G
Words: 597
Summary: When John was five he believed in both Santa Clause and the Doctor. A look at John as he grew up to become who he is and what culminated in his fulfillment with Sherlock.
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money earned.
AN: Written to the song Subterranean Homesick Alien by Radiohead, but does not require the song for understanding. As requested by catgirlpoison . Part of my Radiohead songfic project. Details after fic. BTW these fics are all one-shots/drabbles and you can read any of them in any order.
Songs done: 15 Step, Black Star, All I Need, Fitter Happier, Karma Police, The Amazing Sounds of Orgy, No Surprises
Songs queued: Faust Arp, There There, Exit Music, You and Whose Army, True Love Waits/Jigsaw Falling into Place
When John was five he tumbled around imitating his favorite hero on TV. Up trees and under hedges he would go, following his invisible Doctor to the ends of the universe to catch bad guys. He received an action figure of his hero for Christmas. It was of a man in a long coat and an even longer scarf. The house was filled with his squeals of delight. His parents were amused that he thanked both Santa and the Doctor. He took it with him everywhere.
When John was ten he ran home right after school to catch new episodes of Doctor Who. His sister watched with him sometimes, and while she fantasized about the companions he fantasized about being a companion. To run headlong into danger with the man of space and time was all he dreamed of. John didn't believe in Santa Clause anymore, but he believed in the Doctor. He kept it to himself. Harry would have never let him live that down.
When John was fifteen he was at odds with life. His parents divorced and his sister drank. After another fight and another detention, he came home to an empty house and the smell of alcohol. He knew about the bottles under Harry's bed. When he groped around for an unopened one, his hand touched on something irregular. It was his old 4th Doctor action figure, faded and dusty but still smiling up at him. He tossed it in the bin.
When John was twenty, he was occupied with a purpose. He'd gathered himself up enough to be in Uni. He wanted out, and he was smart enough to know he was smart. He would become an educated man. The world of knowledge should be plenty for him to explore. He had a goal now, to help and heal others. But he wasn't sure what to say when someone asked who inspired him to be a doctor.
When John was twenty-five he completed med-school and realized he wasn't satisfied at all. He decided the only way to quail the gnawing hollow in the pit of his stomach was to become an action hero himself. He turned down cushy jobs to enlist in the army. He trained harder than anyone. His sergeants praised him. He lost himself in the drills, tried to forget who he was, but he couldn't shake the unease that something was missing.
When John was thirty he chased his dreams all the way to Afghanistan. And there amidst the violence and death, high on adrenaline, it would be enough. But sometimes when he laid down at night below the endless desert sky, he started to imagine again. Sometimes when he sat in the desert haze, feverish with heat, he found himself transfixed by mirages in the distance.
When John was thirty-five, he nearly died. The military was more concerned about it than he was. He was discharged and stuck back into the monochrome tapestry of London. He sat at the foot of his bed for hours, eying the drawer with his gun inside.He accepted long ago that nothing happens to him, and was surprised to be called out by an old school mate.
When John was thirty-five, he met an eccentric man with a long coat, an unnatural affinity for his scarf, and a mind that encompassed the brilliance of a supernova. When said man evaluated him with piercing grey eyes and extended an invitation in the form of:
“Want to see some more?”
John understood with the very fiber of his being what was being asked, and he'd known his answer since he was five years old.
“Oh God yes.”
--
AN:So this is part of the Radiohead songfic request project/thing I'm doing, because I just love them so much. If anyone feels like having a fic done to any Radiohead song, drop me a line in the comments. The queue is a bit long right now, so you'll have to wait a while for it to be up, but if you fancy a song of theirs, don't be shy! You can choose pairing/non pairing, premise/plot and genre. I also do Doctor Who fandom (Doctor/Master preferred) and House/Wilson.
Genre: Gen/Char Study
Pairings: None, Sherlock/John
Rating: G
Words: 597
Summary: When John was five he believed in both Santa Clause and the Doctor. A look at John as he grew up to become who he is and what culminated in his fulfillment with Sherlock.
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money earned.
AN: Written to the song Subterranean Homesick Alien by Radiohead, but does not require the song for understanding. As requested by catgirlpoison . Part of my Radiohead songfic project. Details after fic. BTW these fics are all one-shots/drabbles and you can read any of them in any order.
Songs done: 15 Step, Black Star, All I Need, Fitter Happier, Karma Police, The Amazing Sounds of Orgy, No Surprises
Songs queued: Faust Arp, There There, Exit Music, You and Whose Army, True Love Waits/Jigsaw Falling into Place
When John was five he tumbled around imitating his favorite hero on TV. Up trees and under hedges he would go, following his invisible Doctor to the ends of the universe to catch bad guys. He received an action figure of his hero for Christmas. It was of a man in a long coat and an even longer scarf. The house was filled with his squeals of delight. His parents were amused that he thanked both Santa and the Doctor. He took it with him everywhere.
When John was ten he ran home right after school to catch new episodes of Doctor Who. His sister watched with him sometimes, and while she fantasized about the companions he fantasized about being a companion. To run headlong into danger with the man of space and time was all he dreamed of. John didn't believe in Santa Clause anymore, but he believed in the Doctor. He kept it to himself. Harry would have never let him live that down.
When John was fifteen he was at odds with life. His parents divorced and his sister drank. After another fight and another detention, he came home to an empty house and the smell of alcohol. He knew about the bottles under Harry's bed. When he groped around for an unopened one, his hand touched on something irregular. It was his old 4th Doctor action figure, faded and dusty but still smiling up at him. He tossed it in the bin.
When John was twenty, he was occupied with a purpose. He'd gathered himself up enough to be in Uni. He wanted out, and he was smart enough to know he was smart. He would become an educated man. The world of knowledge should be plenty for him to explore. He had a goal now, to help and heal others. But he wasn't sure what to say when someone asked who inspired him to be a doctor.
When John was twenty-five he completed med-school and realized he wasn't satisfied at all. He decided the only way to quail the gnawing hollow in the pit of his stomach was to become an action hero himself. He turned down cushy jobs to enlist in the army. He trained harder than anyone. His sergeants praised him. He lost himself in the drills, tried to forget who he was, but he couldn't shake the unease that something was missing.
When John was thirty he chased his dreams all the way to Afghanistan. And there amidst the violence and death, high on adrenaline, it would be enough. But sometimes when he laid down at night below the endless desert sky, he started to imagine again. Sometimes when he sat in the desert haze, feverish with heat, he found himself transfixed by mirages in the distance.
When John was thirty-five, he nearly died. The military was more concerned about it than he was. He was discharged and stuck back into the monochrome tapestry of London. He sat at the foot of his bed for hours, eying the drawer with his gun inside.He accepted long ago that nothing happens to him, and was surprised to be called out by an old school mate.
When John was thirty-five, he met an eccentric man with a long coat, an unnatural affinity for his scarf, and a mind that encompassed the brilliance of a supernova. When said man evaluated him with piercing grey eyes and extended an invitation in the form of:
“Want to see some more?”
John understood with the very fiber of his being what was being asked, and he'd known his answer since he was five years old.
“Oh God yes.”
--
AN:So this is part of the Radiohead songfic request project/thing I'm doing, because I just love them so much. If anyone feels like having a fic done to any Radiohead song, drop me a line in the comments. The queue is a bit long right now, so you'll have to wait a while for it to be up, but if you fancy a song of theirs, don't be shy! You can choose pairing/non pairing, premise/plot and genre. I also do Doctor Who fandom (Doctor/Master preferred) and House/Wilson.