Man's Original Virtue - pt3
anonymous
October 18 2010, 11:09:08 UTC
When Harry Watson is thirteen years old, she learns about slavery in history lessons. She goes home that night and sits across from her little brother at the dinner table and thinks.
Her mother asks if she’s quite well, she’s too quiet and Harry assures her that she’s fine.
That night she knocks on John’s door and waits for the answer. John opens it, peeking his head out.
“What do you want?” he asks. Harry shifts uncomfortably, looking down at her shoes.
“I’m sorry,” she says, “for bossing you around all the time.” John blinks.
Yesterday she told him to stand on his head. The week before she had made him run round the house seven times. She had thought it was funny. She remembers the video from history.
“If I tell you to do something you don’t want to,” she says after a moment, “ask me if you have to, okay.” He nods.
She shrugs and begins to shuffle away.
“Thank you,” John calls after her.
“Don’t mention it,” she replies.
“Do I have to?” John shoots back. Harry laughs.
“No,” she says. “Mention it if you want to.”
*
The thing about Sherlock is that he doesn’t realise he’s giving orders half the time. It’ll be ‘get my phone, would you?’, or ‘hand me that scalpel’. He’s so caught up in his thought processes that he doesn’t notice that you’re not just an extension of his own limbs. It’s that, more than anything, that means John doesn’t fight the curse when Sherlock tells him what to do.
Sometimes he doesn’t understand, like when Sherlock told him to note down every registration number he saw on the way to a crime scene once, but in the end, everything usually becomes clear.
Sometimes, when Sherlock’s giving orders, it’s because he doesn’t have time for explanations, and that’s fine too. John knows that sort of order. If you waited for an explanation every time you were given an order in the army, then you’d be dead. So he follows them without thinking about it sometimes. Some are more difficult than others. ‘Climb that wall’ for example, is sometimes nearly impossible, and it’s not like the magic gives him amazing climbing abilities. He has to do all the hard work himself, or the sick, painful pressure in his head begins. But he usually manages in the end, and if he knows that something is impossible, he hems Sherlock in with questions until he gets an order he can actually follow.
But Sherlock’s the only one. He won’t follow anyone else without question. It’s a matter of principle more than anything. He knows that if he lets the curse rule him he’ll be nothing more than a puppet or a robot. It’s not a happy thought.
“Out of the way,” Anderson says on the staircase one day. John holds on as long as he can, ignoring the rushing in his ears, feeling the pain beginning to cloud his mind, just so he can have those few extra seconds of free will.
Anderson glares at him, but John doesn’t care. He is still human.
Her mother asks if she’s quite well, she’s too quiet and Harry assures her that she’s fine.
That night she knocks on John’s door and waits for the answer. John opens it, peeking his head out.
“What do you want?” he asks. Harry shifts uncomfortably, looking down at her shoes.
“I’m sorry,” she says, “for bossing you around all the time.” John blinks.
Yesterday she told him to stand on his head. The week before she had made him run round the house seven times. She had thought it was funny. She remembers the video from history.
“If I tell you to do something you don’t want to,” she says after a moment, “ask me if you have to, okay.” He nods.
She shrugs and begins to shuffle away.
“Thank you,” John calls after her.
“Don’t mention it,” she replies.
“Do I have to?” John shoots back. Harry laughs.
“No,” she says. “Mention it if you want to.”
*
The thing about Sherlock is that he doesn’t realise he’s giving orders half the time. It’ll be ‘get my phone, would you?’, or ‘hand me that scalpel’. He’s so caught up in his thought processes that he doesn’t notice that you’re not just an extension of his own limbs. It’s that, more than anything, that means John doesn’t fight the curse when Sherlock tells him what to do.
Sometimes he doesn’t understand, like when Sherlock told him to note down every registration number he saw on the way to a crime scene once, but in the end, everything usually becomes clear.
Sometimes, when Sherlock’s giving orders, it’s because he doesn’t have time for explanations, and that’s fine too. John knows that sort of order. If you waited for an explanation every time you were given an order in the army, then you’d be dead. So he follows them without thinking about it sometimes. Some are more difficult than others. ‘Climb that wall’ for example, is sometimes nearly impossible, and it’s not like the magic gives him amazing climbing abilities. He has to do all the hard work himself, or the sick, painful pressure in his head begins. But he usually manages in the end, and if he knows that something is impossible, he hems Sherlock in with questions until he gets an order he can actually follow.
But Sherlock’s the only one. He won’t follow anyone else without question. It’s a matter of principle more than anything. He knows that if he lets the curse rule him he’ll be nothing more than a puppet or a robot. It’s not a happy thought.
“Out of the way,” Anderson says on the staircase one day. John holds on as long as he can, ignoring the rushing in his ears, feeling the pain beginning to cloud his mind, just so he can have those few extra seconds of free will.
Anderson glares at him, but John doesn’t care. He is still human.
*
Reply
Leave a comment