Knit Two Together (3/?)
anonymous
December 13 2011, 20:03:40 UTC
Sherlock is pleased by his progress, and his hands have adapted to the task. Occasionally he steals John's jumper to check the sizing, not that he can do much about it now if it's turning out a bit big, he can't just drop stitches without destroying his painstaking pattern.
Another case intrudes, and this time Sherlock is clever enough to mark where he leaves off in the chart, and to put a lifeline of bright thread through the last completed row, so he feels better about letting the project go for several days, more confident that he isn't "losing his train of thought".
And John seems happy to have Sherlock's full attention again. He hadn't realised there was any issue but of course he's always been blind about the consequences when he gets obsessed about something. He resolves to do better, and when he resumes knitting, he allows that part of his brain not keeping count in time with the music to muse over more topics to share with John in the evenings, more outings they can make together, even ponders what sort of "male bonding" exercise he can plan for he, John and Lestrade, to make their excursions a little less "date"-like.
The answer comes to him in a flash of cleverness as he finishes the second sleeve. By texting exclusively with Mycroft's assistant Sherlock can pretend he's not asking his brother for the favour of arranging a day at an Army live firing range. The brief indignity is completely worth it, however, for John's whoop of glee at watching Lestrade fire a grenade launcher for the first time, and the exhilaration and almost-completely-subterranean smugness John exhibits in comparing their shooting accuracy at the end of the day.
Working the body of the jumper proves a bigger challenge to Sherlock than the sleeves, both in managing the work on the large circular needles -- the nylon cable strung between the back ends of otherwise normal knitting needles tends to curl back into a tight spiral whenever he sets the work aside -- and in alternating between the intricate stitchery on the front and the plain knitting on the back, where it's too easy to lose his count. Still, Sherlock's glad he chose a pattern where he can work in the round, he can't imagine working the back separately, row after row of dull stockinette. He has new respect for whoever created the godawful scarf for the fourth Doctor...
As Christmas gets closer, Sherlock finds it more and more difficult to hide his plans. He eagerly tries to decide how he's going to present the jumper, while making a diversionary point of quizzing John about things he wants and needs.
John shrugs irritably, though, and says he doesn't really need any more "stuff". Sherlock knows he moved into the flat with almost nothing, has bought little since, but he's sure the work he's put into the jumper will be appreciated. He has trouble understanding John's reticence, though, until a chance comment from Anderson, of all people, makes him realize there might be a critical flaw in his plan.
It makes sense. John doesn't have a lot of money of his own, and doesn't want to exchange gifts because he thinks buying for Sherlock is bound to fail on any one of multiple counts. If he shops for things he can afford, he fears nothing he buys will be up to Sherlock's admittedly spoiled standards, and even if he stretches for something extravagant, there's no way for him to guess what Sherlock has already owned or purchased for himself, or what he will find fascinating or unspeakably dull.
And...the fatal flaw. What will John do when faced with a handmade jumper, nearly three months of careful work? Sherlock recognises with sinking heart that he hasn't thought to put himself in John's shoes: even if he's succeeded in finding a perfectly interesting, appropriate, amusing gift for Sherlock, he's going to feel blindsided and inadequate.
Another case intrudes, and this time Sherlock is clever enough to mark where he leaves off in the chart, and to put a lifeline of bright thread through the last completed row, so he feels better about letting the project go for several days, more confident that he isn't "losing his train of thought".
And John seems happy to have Sherlock's full attention again. He hadn't realised there was any issue but of course he's always been blind about the consequences when he gets obsessed about something. He resolves to do better, and when he resumes knitting, he allows that part of his brain not keeping count in time with the music to muse over more topics to share with John in the evenings, more outings they can make together, even ponders what sort of "male bonding" exercise he can plan for he, John and Lestrade, to make their excursions a little less "date"-like.
The answer comes to him in a flash of cleverness as he finishes the second sleeve. By texting exclusively with Mycroft's assistant Sherlock can pretend he's not asking his brother for the favour of arranging a day at an Army live firing range. The brief indignity is completely worth it, however, for John's whoop of glee at watching Lestrade fire a grenade launcher for the first time, and the exhilaration and almost-completely-subterranean smugness John exhibits in comparing their shooting accuracy at the end of the day.
Working the body of the jumper proves a bigger challenge to Sherlock than the sleeves, both in managing the work on the large circular needles -- the nylon cable strung between the back ends of otherwise normal knitting needles tends to curl back into a tight spiral whenever he sets the work aside -- and in alternating between the intricate stitchery on the front and the plain knitting on the back, where it's too easy to lose his count. Still, Sherlock's glad he chose a pattern where he can work in the round, he can't imagine working the back separately, row after row of dull stockinette. He has new respect for whoever created the godawful scarf for the fourth Doctor...
As Christmas gets closer, Sherlock finds it more and more difficult to hide his plans. He eagerly tries to decide how he's going to present the jumper, while making a diversionary point of quizzing John about things he wants and needs.
John shrugs irritably, though, and says he doesn't really need any more "stuff". Sherlock knows he moved into the flat with almost nothing, has bought little since, but he's sure the work he's put into the jumper will be appreciated. He has trouble understanding John's reticence, though, until a chance comment from Anderson, of all people, makes him realize there might be a critical flaw in his plan.
It makes sense. John doesn't have a lot of money of his own, and doesn't want to exchange gifts because he thinks buying for Sherlock is bound to fail on any one of multiple counts. If he shops for things he can afford, he fears nothing he buys will be up to Sherlock's admittedly spoiled standards, and even if he stretches for something extravagant, there's no way for him to guess what Sherlock has already owned or purchased for himself, or what he will find fascinating or unspeakably dull.
And...the fatal flaw. What will John do when faced with a handmade jumper, nearly three months of careful work? Sherlock recognises with sinking heart that he hasn't thought to put himself in John's shoes: even if he's succeeded in finding a perfectly interesting, appropriate, amusing gift for Sherlock, he's going to feel blindsided and inadequate.
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And I want very badly to know how Sherlock is going to get himself out of the spot he's put himself in...
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