Voices
Title: Voices
Author: painted_ship
Pairing(s): John/Sarah, John/Mary, John/Sherlock
Rating: R
Warnings: Implied scenes of a sexual nature, and some swearing. Also, this fic is almost exclusively dialogue.
Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me.
Summary: Sometimes what you need is a long conversation. Or a series of short ones.
Author's Note below cut.
Author's Note: As stated in the ‘warning’, this is pretty much all dialogue, so if that irks you in some way, steer clear. Mostly, I did this because I wanted to practice the voices of Sherlock and John, and I thought I might as well share it once I’d written it.
Also, to anyone reading this who also happens to be reading Heavy Heart and thinking ‘Wth, why are you messing about on this’... Don’t hurt me, I am still working on it. It rather blossomed/exploded though, and I didn’t want to post what was intended to be the third and final chapter, only to announce that, surprise, it isn’t yet complete and there’s more to come.
I’m just so changeable! Anyway. Lengthy Author’s note is lengthy.
Things do not work out with Sarah.
‘I just don’t feel like there’s room for me in your life, John.’
Or for the 2.4 children and the puppy that you haven’t mentioned but that I know you want. Or the practical, family car. Or the spacious and respectable townhouse in Richmond. Or, in a few years time, the cosy family home in the country, in the village where one of us takes over the local practice.
‘I’m sorry, Sarah.’
Sorry, because it really does sound lovely. It’s a fantasy I’d like to live in. It’s a fantasy I really thought I could go after and fit into and clearly you thought so too, or we wouldn’t have gone through the preceding stages which, unfortunately, veered wildly off course and led to this point.
‘It’s okay. I’ve sort of known for a while. I just... I don’t have time, any more, John. I’m not getting any younger -’
‘Sarah, you’re not -’
‘No, but... Three years ago I think I’d have loved all this. I still do, in a way, it’s just... I want to settle down, I think.’
‘Right. Yes, of course.’
I’d always thought I was first class settling down material. Doctor, soldier. Educated, responsible, employable. Textbook solid-choice for a husband. No vices, clean and healthy lifestyle. Quite likes children, could be persuaded that I might make a good Dad.
But no. Apparently not.
Things do not work out with Sarah.
Inevitable. A smart, capable career woman, mid-thirties, almost certainly looking for something conventional and long-term, judging by the length of her skirts and the colours of her make-up. Motherly, not too revealing. Nothing showy on the face: makes herself up but not enough to bedazzle men into asking her out, but enough that they think she’s pretty once they’re already interested.
Too smart to believe that a man who routinely failed to show up to dates was going to change his ways or be capable of greater commitment.
Too sensible to think that a man who routinely carries a revolver and who spends his evenings chasing down criminals without police back-up would be a suitable father figure.
Far, far too dull to appreciate John.
‘Sarah’s just broken up with me.’
‘Mmm.’
‘You knew already, didn’t you?’
‘Of course.’
Things do look like they might work out with Mary.
‘You’ve probably noticed my life is, er... different.’
‘Yes, I had suspected as much when you arrived at the restaurant in the back of a police car, wrapped in a blanket and with dried blood on your jaw. Your own, I take it?’
‘Yes. I’m sorry, it wasn’t very, well. Smart. Or even ‘smart casual’.’
The blood on my shirt that I tried to keep my arm over all night, however, belonged to somebody else.
‘No, I’m sorry. It’s my case you’re being beaten up over. Besides, I thought it gave you rather a rakish edge.’
I’ve never been rakish. I wouldn’t know where to start.
Press on.
‘Mary, you need to hear this. I’m sorry, but... it’s never going to change because I actually enjoy it. It’s part of the package. I’ll get called away on cases by my mad flatmate and I’ll miss dates. Or worse, he’ll actually follow me to them and turn up and be completely oblivious to anything but what he’s focused on.’
‘Not really?’
‘It’s happened before.’
‘Well, it might smooth over any awkward silences.’
Like the one that occurs because we’ve both been gagged and tied to a chair and all I can do is look at you and hope that the smug bastard figures it out in time.
‘I’ll do my best, I really will, but I’ll forget our anniversary and all sorts of other important dates.’
‘I’ve always been hopeless at that sort of thing myself.’
Bloody hell. She really is determined.
‘Well, if you’re sure.’
‘Oh, yes. I’m very sure.’
Things do look like they might work out with Mary.
Bugger.
‘Mary’s just agreed to keep seeing me. Even after the date yesterday.’
‘Mmm.’
‘You’d worked that out too, I suppose?’
‘Yes.’
Things go very well indeed with Mary.
‘That was... incredible.’
‘You too.’
‘Mmm.’
‘You like it when I do that?’
‘Too much.’
‘Sorry.’
‘No, no, it’s just...’
‘Yes, I know.’
Wow. Unexpected, but wow.
Also, a night where I might finally get eight hours sleep.
Which I’ll need, if I’m going to tell Sherlock tomorrow.
‘You slept with her, then?’
‘Wha -? How did you -? I’ve literally just got in.’
‘That’s a ‘yes’, I take it.’
‘Yes, yes it is a ‘yes’. But... No, never mind, I don’t think I actually want to know how you knew that.’
Double bugger.
He’ll be moving out in less than two months. He doesn’t know it yet, but he will.
Bugger, Bugger, Bugger!
Think of something, for God’s sake. It’s just physical attraction, she can’t cling on to him if I really put my mind to it. John doesn’t really want her. He just can’t.
He doesn’t think she’s extraordinary.
‘I’m moving out, Sherlock.’
‘What?’
‘Not straight away, don’t worry. I can stay for a bit, give you time to find someone else to make up the rent.’
Though God knows who. But I hope he can find someone. It isn’t the money, quite clearly. He likes the company, whether he admits it or not.
‘Why?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Why are you leaving?’
‘Well, I’m... I’m moving in with Mary, actually.’
‘Oh.’
‘It is traditional to offer some sort of congratulations.’
‘How tedious.’
‘... Oh, come on. You must have known. You probably knew before I did.’
...
‘Sherlock? What... what are you doing, what the -? Where are you going?’
‘Out.’
‘How did he take it?’
‘He ran away.’
‘Oh. Well, I suppose it’s a bit of a chore finding a flatmate these days.’
‘He doesn’t need the money.’
‘But I thought -’
‘He wears clothes worth more than the flat. I think he just doesn’t like living on his own.’
‘Oh.’
‘What?’
‘Well...’
‘What is it?’
‘No, never mind. It’s nothing.’
‘You’re lying. Go on, tell me.’
‘You don’t think he might be... jealous... Do you?’
‘Oh. You’re back, then. Where did you go, a jaunt down to the mortuary? Work Molly into a state of barely controlled lust so she’d let you terrorise a few corpses?’
‘No.’
‘Where then?’
‘I went to the park.’
‘Why, someone been found in the lake?’
‘I live in hope.’
We’re alright, then. A momentary hitch. Thank God for that.
‘I went to see Mary.’
‘Yes.’
‘She said she thought you might be jealous.’
...
‘Are you jealous, Sherlock?’
‘Of whom?’
‘Well, me. Finding someone. Moving in with them. That sort of thing.’
‘No.’
‘I didn’t think so. I told her she was barking up the wrong tree. So, why did you run away earlier?’
‘I didn’t run away. I went out.’
‘Right. Okay. Why did you go out?’
...
‘Sherlock?’
‘Sherlock? Oh, forget it. Tea?’
She is clearly more perceptive than I thought. More perceptive than John, at any rate.
She’s still not extraordinary, though.
‘You were wrong, I’m afraid. He’s not jealous.’
‘Oh, so you asked him?’
‘Yeah. I didn’t think it was that. I can’t honestly see Sherlock wanting to have a romantic relationship with anybody, let alone move in with them. Unless they had a laboratory, of course. And a liberal view of keeping dog testicles in the fridge.’
‘... I didn’t think he was jealous of that. Of you.’
‘But... you said...’
‘I thought he might be jealous of me.’
‘What? What do you...? Oh.’
‘Yes.’
‘Sherlock.’
‘Mmm.’
‘Mary said she thinks you might be jealous.’
‘We’ve been through this, John. Just make the tea now.’
‘No, no. I misunderstood, before.’
...
‘She thinks you’re jealous of her.’
...
‘For, umm. For being with me.’
...
‘I know, it’s ridiculous isn’t it? Sorry, I don’t know why I even mentioned it. I’ll make that tea.’
‘So, what happened?’
‘I mentioned it.’
‘And?’
‘He didn’t say anything.’
‘Ah.’
‘He probably wasn’t even listening. He does that, you know, just drops in and out. Beneath his notice, I expect.’
‘You don’t believe a word you just said, do you?’
‘Of course I do!’
‘I don’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘Shortly after we first met, two weeks after the date-with-the-dried-blood, you told me you were bisexual.’
‘Oh right, so of course, despite being a perfectly reasonable man who refrains from drooling at all the women I see on a given day, I must necessarily be lusting after any and every man I lay eyes on.’
‘I didn’t mean that. I just mean that it’s not impossible that you’re attracted to him.’
‘No. But I’m not.’
‘Are you attracted to me?’
‘Well, yes. Obviously.’
‘Physically, yes. But other than that.’
‘Of course! I think you’re wonderful. We get on well, you understand me, you put up with my frankly appalling habit of turning up to see you looking like I’ve been in a fight. Usually because I have.’
‘Exactly.’
‘What?’
‘You think that I ‘put up with’ you. That I fit in around the life you have with Sherlock.’
‘Mary -’
‘I’m not angry, John. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed it. I never especially wanted or expected long-term commitment, that’s why it worked. To be honest, if Sherlock’s happy to share you, we can stay as we are, although I doubt he will be.’
‘You can’t be serious.’
‘About what?’
‘About any of it!’
‘Why not?’
‘I... I don’t.... I don’t know.’
‘Go and talk to him. Good luck.’
‘Sherlock.’
‘Mmm.’
‘I saw Mary, again, today.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘How?’
‘You smell of her perfume.’
‘You like it?’
‘No, it’s foul.’
And it reeks of her.
‘Right. Well, I’ll be sure not to pass that on. Look, I... need to ask you something.’
‘Alright.’
‘This is quite difficult. Although I guess you already know what I’m going to say.’
‘No, John, as usual your capacity to surprise me is still firing on all cylinders.’
‘Right. Well, it’s like this. Mary thinks you’re jealous of her.’
‘Correct.’
‘Correct that you are? Or correct that she does think that?’
‘Both.’
‘Right. Oh.’
‘Do go on.’
‘Sherlock...’
‘Still here.’
‘Look, you’re not making this any easier.’
‘Wouldn’t know how.’
‘No, you wouldn’t, I suppose. Look... I do really fancy her.’
‘I am well aware.’
‘But -’
‘But?’
‘But, I think that... I also really like you. Although I’m not really sure how, or in what way, just at the minute.’
‘Right. Thanks.’
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean... Oh God, I don’t know what I mean. Look, I haven’t done this in a while, okay?’
‘Done what?’
‘Well... men. I’m out of practice.’
‘I’m sure it will come back to you.’
Sherlock finally lifts his gaze from the laptop perched against his legs. He looks over the back of the sofa at John. John looks back.
‘Right. You think so, do you?’
‘If you let me refresh your memory, yes.’
‘...Okay.’
Things with Sherlock get very much better.
Fuck. Why didn’t I think of this earlier? Why didn’t he do anything about it earlier?
It’s two am and he’s been playing something wistful on the violin for two hours. I should be asleep. Not lying here, pretending. In hope. In wait.
But I want to see him. The flex of his fingers and twist of his wrist as he shuts the door. The quirk of his head and arch of his neck as he looks at me. The crinkle at his eyes and the curve of his lips as he smiles lopsidedly at me because he knows I’m feigning sleep, of course.
Oh bloody hell, here he is.
Things with Mary sort of fizzle out, after that.
Author: painted_ship
Pairing(s): John/Sarah, John/Mary, John/Sherlock
Rating: R
Warnings: Implied scenes of a sexual nature, and some swearing. Also, this fic is almost exclusively dialogue.
Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me.
Summary: Sometimes what you need is a long conversation. Or a series of short ones.
Author's Note below cut.
Author's Note: As stated in the ‘warning’, this is pretty much all dialogue, so if that irks you in some way, steer clear. Mostly, I did this because I wanted to practice the voices of Sherlock and John, and I thought I might as well share it once I’d written it.
Also, to anyone reading this who also happens to be reading Heavy Heart and thinking ‘Wth, why are you messing about on this’... Don’t hurt me, I am still working on it. It rather blossomed/exploded though, and I didn’t want to post what was intended to be the third and final chapter, only to announce that, surprise, it isn’t yet complete and there’s more to come.
I’m just so changeable! Anyway. Lengthy Author’s note is lengthy.
Things do not work out with Sarah.
‘I just don’t feel like there’s room for me in your life, John.’
Or for the 2.4 children and the puppy that you haven’t mentioned but that I know you want. Or the practical, family car. Or the spacious and respectable townhouse in Richmond. Or, in a few years time, the cosy family home in the country, in the village where one of us takes over the local practice.
‘I’m sorry, Sarah.’
Sorry, because it really does sound lovely. It’s a fantasy I’d like to live in. It’s a fantasy I really thought I could go after and fit into and clearly you thought so too, or we wouldn’t have gone through the preceding stages which, unfortunately, veered wildly off course and led to this point.
‘It’s okay. I’ve sort of known for a while. I just... I don’t have time, any more, John. I’m not getting any younger -’
‘Sarah, you’re not -’
‘No, but... Three years ago I think I’d have loved all this. I still do, in a way, it’s just... I want to settle down, I think.’
‘Right. Yes, of course.’
I’d always thought I was first class settling down material. Doctor, soldier. Educated, responsible, employable. Textbook solid-choice for a husband. No vices, clean and healthy lifestyle. Quite likes children, could be persuaded that I might make a good Dad.
But no. Apparently not.
Things do not work out with Sarah.
Inevitable. A smart, capable career woman, mid-thirties, almost certainly looking for something conventional and long-term, judging by the length of her skirts and the colours of her make-up. Motherly, not too revealing. Nothing showy on the face: makes herself up but not enough to bedazzle men into asking her out, but enough that they think she’s pretty once they’re already interested.
Too smart to believe that a man who routinely failed to show up to dates was going to change his ways or be capable of greater commitment.
Too sensible to think that a man who routinely carries a revolver and who spends his evenings chasing down criminals without police back-up would be a suitable father figure.
Far, far too dull to appreciate John.
‘Sarah’s just broken up with me.’
‘Mmm.’
‘You knew already, didn’t you?’
‘Of course.’
Things do look like they might work out with Mary.
‘You’ve probably noticed my life is, er... different.’
‘Yes, I had suspected as much when you arrived at the restaurant in the back of a police car, wrapped in a blanket and with dried blood on your jaw. Your own, I take it?’
‘Yes. I’m sorry, it wasn’t very, well. Smart. Or even ‘smart casual’.’
The blood on my shirt that I tried to keep my arm over all night, however, belonged to somebody else.
‘No, I’m sorry. It’s my case you’re being beaten up over. Besides, I thought it gave you rather a rakish edge.’
I’ve never been rakish. I wouldn’t know where to start.
Press on.
‘Mary, you need to hear this. I’m sorry, but... it’s never going to change because I actually enjoy it. It’s part of the package. I’ll get called away on cases by my mad flatmate and I’ll miss dates. Or worse, he’ll actually follow me to them and turn up and be completely oblivious to anything but what he’s focused on.’
‘Not really?’
‘It’s happened before.’
‘Well, it might smooth over any awkward silences.’
Like the one that occurs because we’ve both been gagged and tied to a chair and all I can do is look at you and hope that the smug bastard figures it out in time.
‘I’ll do my best, I really will, but I’ll forget our anniversary and all sorts of other important dates.’
‘I’ve always been hopeless at that sort of thing myself.’
Bloody hell. She really is determined.
‘Well, if you’re sure.’
‘Oh, yes. I’m very sure.’
Things do look like they might work out with Mary.
Bugger.
‘Mary’s just agreed to keep seeing me. Even after the date yesterday.’
‘Mmm.’
‘You’d worked that out too, I suppose?’
‘Yes.’
Things go very well indeed with Mary.
‘That was... incredible.’
‘You too.’
‘Mmm.’
‘You like it when I do that?’
‘Too much.’
‘Sorry.’
‘No, no, it’s just...’
‘Yes, I know.’
Wow. Unexpected, but wow.
Also, a night where I might finally get eight hours sleep.
Which I’ll need, if I’m going to tell Sherlock tomorrow.
‘You slept with her, then?’
‘Wha -? How did you -? I’ve literally just got in.’
‘That’s a ‘yes’, I take it.’
‘Yes, yes it is a ‘yes’. But... No, never mind, I don’t think I actually want to know how you knew that.’
Double bugger.
He’ll be moving out in less than two months. He doesn’t know it yet, but he will.
Bugger, Bugger, Bugger!
Think of something, for God’s sake. It’s just physical attraction, she can’t cling on to him if I really put my mind to it. John doesn’t really want her. He just can’t.
He doesn’t think she’s extraordinary.
‘I’m moving out, Sherlock.’
‘What?’
‘Not straight away, don’t worry. I can stay for a bit, give you time to find someone else to make up the rent.’
Though God knows who. But I hope he can find someone. It isn’t the money, quite clearly. He likes the company, whether he admits it or not.
‘Why?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Why are you leaving?’
‘Well, I’m... I’m moving in with Mary, actually.’
‘Oh.’
‘It is traditional to offer some sort of congratulations.’
‘How tedious.’
‘... Oh, come on. You must have known. You probably knew before I did.’
...
‘Sherlock? What... what are you doing, what the -? Where are you going?’
‘Out.’
‘How did he take it?’
‘He ran away.’
‘Oh. Well, I suppose it’s a bit of a chore finding a flatmate these days.’
‘He doesn’t need the money.’
‘But I thought -’
‘He wears clothes worth more than the flat. I think he just doesn’t like living on his own.’
‘Oh.’
‘What?’
‘Well...’
‘What is it?’
‘No, never mind. It’s nothing.’
‘You’re lying. Go on, tell me.’
‘You don’t think he might be... jealous... Do you?’
‘Oh. You’re back, then. Where did you go, a jaunt down to the mortuary? Work Molly into a state of barely controlled lust so she’d let you terrorise a few corpses?’
‘No.’
‘Where then?’
‘I went to the park.’
‘Why, someone been found in the lake?’
‘I live in hope.’
We’re alright, then. A momentary hitch. Thank God for that.
‘I went to see Mary.’
‘Yes.’
‘She said she thought you might be jealous.’
...
‘Are you jealous, Sherlock?’
‘Of whom?’
‘Well, me. Finding someone. Moving in with them. That sort of thing.’
‘No.’
‘I didn’t think so. I told her she was barking up the wrong tree. So, why did you run away earlier?’
‘I didn’t run away. I went out.’
‘Right. Okay. Why did you go out?’
...
‘Sherlock?’
‘Sherlock? Oh, forget it. Tea?’
She is clearly more perceptive than I thought. More perceptive than John, at any rate.
She’s still not extraordinary, though.
‘You were wrong, I’m afraid. He’s not jealous.’
‘Oh, so you asked him?’
‘Yeah. I didn’t think it was that. I can’t honestly see Sherlock wanting to have a romantic relationship with anybody, let alone move in with them. Unless they had a laboratory, of course. And a liberal view of keeping dog testicles in the fridge.’
‘... I didn’t think he was jealous of that. Of you.’
‘But... you said...’
‘I thought he might be jealous of me.’
‘What? What do you...? Oh.’
‘Yes.’
‘Sherlock.’
‘Mmm.’
‘Mary said she thinks you might be jealous.’
‘We’ve been through this, John. Just make the tea now.’
‘No, no. I misunderstood, before.’
...
‘She thinks you’re jealous of her.’
...
‘For, umm. For being with me.’
...
‘I know, it’s ridiculous isn’t it? Sorry, I don’t know why I even mentioned it. I’ll make that tea.’
‘So, what happened?’
‘I mentioned it.’
‘And?’
‘He didn’t say anything.’
‘Ah.’
‘He probably wasn’t even listening. He does that, you know, just drops in and out. Beneath his notice, I expect.’
‘You don’t believe a word you just said, do you?’
‘Of course I do!’
‘I don’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘Shortly after we first met, two weeks after the date-with-the-dried-blood, you told me you were bisexual.’
‘Oh right, so of course, despite being a perfectly reasonable man who refrains from drooling at all the women I see on a given day, I must necessarily be lusting after any and every man I lay eyes on.’
‘I didn’t mean that. I just mean that it’s not impossible that you’re attracted to him.’
‘No. But I’m not.’
‘Are you attracted to me?’
‘Well, yes. Obviously.’
‘Physically, yes. But other than that.’
‘Of course! I think you’re wonderful. We get on well, you understand me, you put up with my frankly appalling habit of turning up to see you looking like I’ve been in a fight. Usually because I have.’
‘Exactly.’
‘What?’
‘You think that I ‘put up with’ you. That I fit in around the life you have with Sherlock.’
‘Mary -’
‘I’m not angry, John. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed it. I never especially wanted or expected long-term commitment, that’s why it worked. To be honest, if Sherlock’s happy to share you, we can stay as we are, although I doubt he will be.’
‘You can’t be serious.’
‘About what?’
‘About any of it!’
‘Why not?’
‘I... I don’t.... I don’t know.’
‘Go and talk to him. Good luck.’
‘Sherlock.’
‘Mmm.’
‘I saw Mary, again, today.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘How?’
‘You smell of her perfume.’
‘You like it?’
‘No, it’s foul.’
And it reeks of her.
‘Right. Well, I’ll be sure not to pass that on. Look, I... need to ask you something.’
‘Alright.’
‘This is quite difficult. Although I guess you already know what I’m going to say.’
‘No, John, as usual your capacity to surprise me is still firing on all cylinders.’
‘Right. Well, it’s like this. Mary thinks you’re jealous of her.’
‘Correct.’
‘Correct that you are? Or correct that she does think that?’
‘Both.’
‘Right. Oh.’
‘Do go on.’
‘Sherlock...’
‘Still here.’
‘Look, you’re not making this any easier.’
‘Wouldn’t know how.’
‘No, you wouldn’t, I suppose. Look... I do really fancy her.’
‘I am well aware.’
‘But -’
‘But?’
‘But, I think that... I also really like you. Although I’m not really sure how, or in what way, just at the minute.’
‘Right. Thanks.’
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean... Oh God, I don’t know what I mean. Look, I haven’t done this in a while, okay?’
‘Done what?’
‘Well... men. I’m out of practice.’
‘I’m sure it will come back to you.’
Sherlock finally lifts his gaze from the laptop perched against his legs. He looks over the back of the sofa at John. John looks back.
‘Right. You think so, do you?’
‘If you let me refresh your memory, yes.’
‘...Okay.’
Things with Sherlock get very much better.
Fuck. Why didn’t I think of this earlier? Why didn’t he do anything about it earlier?
It’s two am and he’s been playing something wistful on the violin for two hours. I should be asleep. Not lying here, pretending. In hope. In wait.
But I want to see him. The flex of his fingers and twist of his wrist as he shuts the door. The quirk of his head and arch of his neck as he looks at me. The crinkle at his eyes and the curve of his lips as he smiles lopsidedly at me because he knows I’m feigning sleep, of course.
Oh bloody hell, here he is.
Things with Mary sort of fizzle out, after that.