Filled: Perception [2/2]ifonlynotneverDecember 21 2011, 10:18:27 UTC
They don't speak much for the rest of the day. He catches John looking at him from the corner of his eye, but the doctor does not push, so Sherlock pretends not to notice.
-
It is three in the morning when the words come, but he knows that if he waits until a reasonable hour, he'll forget them or delete them or think better of them, so he takes the stairs to John's upstairs bedroom two at a time. He nearly hesitates when he gets to the door, but he's gotten this far, so he puts his hand on the doorknob and twists it open.
John is awake before he's halfway across the room, his army-cultivated habits in full force as he snaps upright, his hand scrabbling for a gun that is not beneath his pillow.
"Wh-Sherlock? What are you-What time is it?"
"Late," the detective replies, and plops himself down, cross-legged, on the end of John's bed. "Or early. I don't hate it, you know."
"What? This is important, right? You're not just-"
"The-deficit. Disorder. The way I think. I don't hate it. That's not what bothers me."
In the dark, without the distraction of clear vision, Sherlock can just about hear every single one of John's thoughts in his breathing.
"It's not that I can't pay attention. That's not what it is. People think it's that, but it's not. There are things I can concentrate on, and things I can't, depending on what matters, and mostly nothing that matters to other people matters to me. I can't concentrate on what I don't care about. Like tunnel vision. And time. Time is odd. I lose track. More than most people. Most people have more time, I used to think. Only they don't, do they? They just use it better.
"And inside my head-I don't know. I don't know how it should be, so I don't know how it's different. What is it like inside your heads? You normal people, I mean. Is it small? Is it linear? Thinking shouldn't be linear. It's nearly as inefficient as thinking circularly..." He falls silent, picks at the bedspread beneath his fingers, and waits for the man across from him to say something.
"I see," John murmurs, and it sounds as if he really does, at least a little. Sheets rustle as he sits up a bit straighter, leans forward just an inch; he's thought of something. "So the cocaine...?"
Sherlock peers at John in the dark, feeling a sharp, fleeting stab of pride, of approval.
"Mmhm," he hums. "Very good. Central nervous system stimulant, similar in effect to methylphenidate. Shorter in duration, but much stronger. It helped, mostly. Good for thinking, bad for health. Like smoking. That helped, too." He slumps, leans so far down his head touches the sheets. When he speaks, his voice is muffled. "You were the first one to ask, you know. What it's like. Inside my head. No one else did."
For a long while, there is nothing. Just his breathing, and John's, and the words hanging in the air between them.
And then John sighs, and reaches forward, his touch light but warm against Sherlock's head, fingertips imparting some strange, fleeting comfort that goes right to Sherlock's brain, to his gut, to his heart.
"You're an idiot," John says, but they have known one another for long enough that it means more than that. It means, You're still who you were. It means, I don't think any differently of you. It means, You are an idiot, and that's fine, because I am, too. You're fine. It's all fine.
And it drains the energy out of him, leaves him relieved and exhausted enough that when his flatmate's fingers retreat and he says, "Go to sleep," he does.
Sherlock falls asleep at the foot of John's bed and dreams of the inside of his brain.
Re: Filled: Perception [2/2]truthwritasliesDecember 21 2011, 10:36:58 UTC
Oh, this is gorgeous.
I really identify with Sherlock not wanting people to know because then they'll think he's lesser somehow.
(I don't have ADD but I do have OCD, PTSD and BiPolar disorder and when people find out they tend to treat me like I can't be trusted to look out for myself. It's frustrating as hell since I'm perfectly capable aside from brief moments of insanity.)
Re: Filled: Perception [2/2]ifonlynotneverDecember 21 2011, 18:30:58 UTC
jaksdjfl Thank you! Wasn't sure how it would stand up in the light of day, but I'm happy. :)
I think it's like that for many psychological disorders. For me, it was actually kind of a relief when I was diagnosed with depression and ADD, up until I had to deal with the shitstorm that was my mother's reaction. Since then, it's just been easier to... not mention it.
Re: Filled: Perception [2/2]ifonlynotneverJanuary 26 2012, 23:45:13 UTC
I really liked this too - I buy this interpretation of Sherlock. And John's reaction is pitched just right.
Also, unreasonable parents... I feel your pain. I got 'You're imagining it' AND 'You brought it on yourself by reading depressing books' at the same time over what has turned out to be bloody bipolar. Like positive thinking would make that go away.
Re: Requesting anonifonlynotneverDecember 22 2011, 16:16:43 UTC
jakldf I'm so glad it was what you were looking for! And seriously, thank you so much for prompting it. It made me think, and that was exactly what I needed. ♥
Re: Filled: Perception [2/2]ifonlynotneverDecember 22 2011, 07:08:54 UTC
There are things I can concentrate on, and things I can't, depending on what matters, and mostly nothing that matters to other people matters to me. I can't concentrate on what I don't care about.
This, exactly this. If I don't care about it, I can't concentrate on it... or it takes five times as long and insane willpower for me to complete it.
This was a lovely fill. I wouldn't be surprised if Sherlock really did have ADD.
I prompted this because of a conversation between myself and one of my best friends wherein she commented on how much Sherlock reminds her of me (officially ADD as of this past summer, finally) and how many of the quote-unquote ADD-symptom-boxes one could tick off with what's said/shown about him.
I was just glad someone else besides me was seeing it, then I wondered of there were other people (ADD or not) out there seeing the same thing, and if they knew they weren't the only ones.
Re: Filled: Perception [2/2]pandasealJanuary 7 2012, 07:01:43 UTC
That's not it, I know what you're thinking, I can see it and it's not that, that's not me, that's not what it's like, I can't control it but that doesn't mean I'm not in control.
-
It is three in the morning when the words come, but he knows that if he waits until a reasonable hour, he'll forget them or delete them or think better of them, so he takes the stairs to John's upstairs bedroom two at a time. He nearly hesitates when he gets to the door, but he's gotten this far, so he puts his hand on the doorknob and twists it open.
John is awake before he's halfway across the room, his army-cultivated habits in full force as he snaps upright, his hand scrabbling for a gun that is not beneath his pillow.
"Wh-Sherlock? What are you-What time is it?"
"Late," the detective replies, and plops himself down, cross-legged, on the end of John's bed. "Or early. I don't hate it, you know."
"What? This is important, right? You're not just-"
"The-deficit. Disorder. The way I think. I don't hate it. That's not what bothers me."
In the dark, without the distraction of clear vision, Sherlock can just about hear every single one of John's thoughts in his breathing.
"It's not that I can't pay attention. That's not what it is. People think it's that, but it's not. There are things I can concentrate on, and things I can't, depending on what matters, and mostly nothing that matters to other people matters to me. I can't concentrate on what I don't care about. Like tunnel vision. And time. Time is odd. I lose track. More than most people. Most people have more time, I used to think. Only they don't, do they? They just use it better.
"And inside my head-I don't know. I don't know how it should be, so I don't know how it's different. What is it like inside your heads? You normal people, I mean. Is it small? Is it linear? Thinking shouldn't be linear. It's nearly as inefficient as thinking circularly..." He falls silent, picks at the bedspread beneath his fingers, and waits for the man across from him to say something.
"I see," John murmurs, and it sounds as if he really does, at least a little. Sheets rustle as he sits up a bit straighter, leans forward just an inch; he's thought of something. "So the cocaine...?"
Sherlock peers at John in the dark, feeling a sharp, fleeting stab of pride, of approval.
"Mmhm," he hums. "Very good. Central nervous system stimulant, similar in effect to methylphenidate. Shorter in duration, but much stronger. It helped, mostly. Good for thinking, bad for health. Like smoking. That helped, too." He slumps, leans so far down his head touches the sheets. When he speaks, his voice is muffled. "You were the first one to ask, you know. What it's like. Inside my head. No one else did."
For a long while, there is nothing. Just his breathing, and John's, and the words hanging in the air between them.
And then John sighs, and reaches forward, his touch light but warm against Sherlock's head, fingertips imparting some strange, fleeting comfort that goes right to Sherlock's brain, to his gut, to his heart.
"You're an idiot," John says, but they have known one another for long enough that it means more than that. It means, You're still who you were. It means, I don't think any differently of you. It means, You are an idiot, and that's fine, because I am, too. You're fine. It's all fine.
And it drains the energy out of him, leaves him relieved and exhausted enough that when his flatmate's fingers retreat and he says, "Go to sleep," he does.
Sherlock falls asleep at the foot of John's bed and dreams of the inside of his brain.
And it's fine.
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I really identify with Sherlock not wanting people to know because then they'll think he's lesser somehow.
(I don't have ADD but I do have OCD, PTSD and BiPolar disorder and when people find out they tend to treat me like I can't be trusted to look out for myself. It's frustrating as hell since I'm perfectly capable aside from brief moments of insanity.)
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I think it's like that for many psychological disorders. For me, it was actually kind of a relief when I was diagnosed with depression and ADD, up until I had to deal with the shitstorm that was my mother's reaction. Since then, it's just been easier to... not mention it.
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Also, unreasonable parents... I feel your pain. I got 'You're imagining it' AND 'You brought it on yourself by reading depressing books' at the same time over what has turned out to be bloody bipolar. Like positive thinking would make that go away.
Fanfiction about this sort of stuff helps.
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You've got it spot on IMO - feeling like other people have more time, non-linear thinking, all of it. Perfect. Lovely. Thank you so much, IDEK.
Anon cried a little, trufax.
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This, exactly this. If I don't care about it, I can't concentrate on it... or it takes five times as long and insane willpower for me to complete it.
This was a lovely fill. I wouldn't be surprised if Sherlock really did have ADD.
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I was just glad someone else besides me was seeing it, then I wondered of there were other people (ADD or not) out there seeing the same thing, and if they knew they weren't the only ones.
Thus, prompted.
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Damn, well done.
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