Knit Two Together (2/?)
anonymous
December 13 2011, 18:49:05 UTC
The next day, Sherlock plans a little better and quits early in the afternoon so that nothing seems suspicious when he and John go out for Friday Chinese. John does ask, somewhat pointedly, if he's picked up a new case without saying anything, but Sherlock shakes his head easily. He wouldn't dare, not after the royal rebuke he'd gotten after the pool debacle.
"Just a new research project. Rather mundane really, but new to me."
"Good," John says. "I like it when you find something new to research. Fewer firearms violations that way."
Sherlock grins. He succeeds in predicting the fortune in John's cookie, but is wildly off the mark on his own. Such is life.
The next day he's back on the net, and he finds a nice tool for building the cable patterns he's chosen into a final design. Quite sophisticated, this knitting subculture, and he momentarily wonders if there might be other mathematical puzzles their number-crunching tools could solve, but it's very satisfying to print out the final charts: a massive, beautiful array of complex symbols. He makes himself read through the instructions one last time, and let them simmer through an evening's musing before the fire with John, and a good night's sleep, before beginning his project in earnest the next morning.
Sherlock gets quickly through the ribbing on the cuff, and then begins the cabling on the outside of the first sleeve -- the fun part. He works on it steadily for two and a half days before realising his stitch count has gone wrong.
It takes him twenty frustrating minutes to find the error, and is furious with himself over the wasted effort. The only way to fix it is frogging (as in "rip it, rip it") back to the mistake, and he has to walk away angrily from the pile of yarn that gathers on his bed, already kinked by one trip around the needles. But after a cup of tea, he returns and begins again.
He falls back into the rhythm and has made up the lost work by the time John arrives with a bag full of curries.
The day after that is better, but again, what ought to be a simple task of counting and dexterity proves a challenge: Sherlock has to "tink" or "unknit" a double handful or more of stitches, at least a dozen times, but at least he doesn't have to rip back several rows.
He's excited, of course, when a Tuesday phone call brings them a new case, and he thrusts the knitting back into its bag and hides it away. But he's uncomfortably aware of the passing days as he concentrates on unraveling crime rather than yarn. He does try to pick the work up late at night, at least to finish his interrupted row, but trying to concentrate on the case and the pattern at the same time proves disastrous. Frustrated, he's briefly tempted to yank the needles out and start over, or quietly discard the project altogether -- after all, John would never know.
Only briefly, though. Giving in just isn't in his nature. He simply has to be attentive to his work, and paranoid about his counting. Thinking about anything other than John's smile when he puts the jumper on for the first time is counterproductive.
After that, Sherlock segregates his time rigorously between solving the case, solving the knitting, and spending time with John. Soon enough the case is solved, and he has several days of blissful, intensive work, but he fears it isn't going to be enough. It isn't going to be possible to finish this for John's birthday, even if he forgoes sleep completely -- which is likely to provoke more issues with John than any gift will soothe. Not a wise course, there.
Christmas is, perhaps, more realistic, then, but he finds it difficult to alter his pace for the relaxed deadline. He has a nice routine going now -- breakfast with John, watching out the window until he turns the corner toward the surgery, and then choosing a stack of albums at random from his vinyl collection to listen to while he works. Mostly classical, but the odd bit of music from his and Mycroft's teen years as well, and he wonders if Mrs Hudson finds the shift from Vivaldi to Violent Femmes jarring...
"Just a new research project. Rather mundane really, but new to me."
"Good," John says. "I like it when you find something new to research. Fewer firearms violations that way."
Sherlock grins. He succeeds in predicting the fortune in John's cookie, but is wildly off the mark on his own. Such is life.
The next day he's back on the net, and he finds a nice tool for building the cable patterns he's chosen into a final design. Quite sophisticated, this knitting subculture, and he momentarily wonders if there might be other mathematical puzzles their number-crunching tools could solve, but it's very satisfying to print out the final charts: a massive, beautiful array of complex symbols. He makes himself read through the instructions one last time, and let them simmer through an evening's musing before the fire with John, and a good night's sleep, before beginning his project in earnest the next morning.
Sherlock gets quickly through the ribbing on the cuff, and then begins the cabling on the outside of the first sleeve -- the fun part. He works on it steadily for two and a half days before realising his stitch count has gone wrong.
It takes him twenty frustrating minutes to find the error, and is furious with himself over the wasted effort. The only way to fix it is frogging (as in "rip it, rip it") back to the mistake, and he has to walk away angrily from the pile of yarn that gathers on his bed, already kinked by one trip around the needles. But after a cup of tea, he returns and begins again.
He falls back into the rhythm and has made up the lost work by the time John arrives with a bag full of curries.
The day after that is better, but again, what ought to be a simple task of counting and dexterity proves a challenge: Sherlock has to "tink" or "unknit" a double handful or more of stitches, at least a dozen times, but at least he doesn't have to rip back several rows.
He's excited, of course, when a Tuesday phone call brings them a new case, and he thrusts the knitting back into its bag and hides it away. But he's uncomfortably aware of the passing days as he concentrates on unraveling crime rather than yarn. He does try to pick the work up late at night, at least to finish his interrupted row, but trying to concentrate on the case and the pattern at the same time proves disastrous. Frustrated, he's briefly tempted to yank the needles out and start over, or quietly discard the project altogether -- after all, John would never know.
Only briefly, though. Giving in just isn't in his nature. He simply has to be attentive to his work, and paranoid about his counting. Thinking about anything other than John's smile when he puts the jumper on for the first time is counterproductive.
After that, Sherlock segregates his time rigorously between solving the case, solving the knitting, and spending time with John. Soon enough the case is solved, and he has several days of blissful, intensive work, but he fears it isn't going to be enough. It isn't going to be possible to finish this for John's birthday, even if he forgoes sleep completely -- which is likely to provoke more issues with John than any gift will soothe. Not a wise course, there.
Christmas is, perhaps, more realistic, then, but he finds it difficult to alter his pace for the relaxed deadline. He has a nice routine going now -- breakfast with John, watching out the window until he turns the corner toward the surgery, and then choosing a stack of albums at random from his vinyl collection to listen to while he works. Mostly classical, but the odd bit of music from his and Mycroft's teen years as well, and he wonders if Mrs Hudson finds the shift from Vivaldi to Violent Femmes jarring...
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So, Sherlock has my record collection, as well. :)
"Good," John says. "I like it when you find something new to research. Fewer firearms violations that way."
Okay, I laughed.
This is lovely. Hoping for more. :)
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