:( 2/3 (fucking character limit)
anonymous
November 1 2010, 09:07:13 UTC
"I pay half the rent too, you know," John replies with an edge of sharpness to his tone. "He's got nowhere else to stay, so he'll stay with us."
"No," Sherlock repeats again. "Send him to Harriet."
"Harry's worse at taking care of kids than I am. And our place is bigger. It wouldn't be that hard to child-proof the place, and I haven't seen him in years."
"Send him to Harry and visit him."
"Don't be an arse, Sherlock. It'll only be for a couple days. I know you don't like kids, but just this once -- I'll do all the taking care of him, and you can impress him with everything you know, and it'll be fun."
Sherlock considers it for a brief moment. How much damage could he do in a "couple days" without getting caught? Well, accounting for unsupervised access to him during the hours that John's at work, coupled with a child's natural naivety and Sherlock's rather good acting skills... Plus the eagerness of children to please adults, and their lack of comprehension about what is and isn't appropriate behavior, not to mention Sherlock's skill at subterfuge and deception...
It would be so easy. No one would ever know.
“Unacceptable. You are forbidden from bringing a child under the age of thirteen into this flat.”
“I'm doing this with or without your permission, Sherlock. I was just letting you know, so you could be ready for it. You can't stop me.”
“Then I'll stay at a hotel while he's present. Let me know when he's left.” Sherlock does the math -- he has enough cocaine lying around (well-hidden of course) to last him a week or so, more if his tolerance has decreased at the average rate. That'd be plenty of time, though the withdrawal would be really rather inconvenient.
John's staring at him incredulously. “You can't possibly hate children that much. They're really not that bad when they're playing by themselves. What's this about?”
Sherlock purses his lips. “It's nothing.”
“Doesn't sound like nothing, the way you're going on. It sounds like you think if you're within fifty feet of a child, something terrible will happen.”
“I am the terrible thing that will happen, to it,” Sherlock says. His hands are clenched into tight fists, and his nails dig into the base of his thumb. He has to tell John. He has to, because John is his conscience, or as close to one as Sherlock has, and he knows John won't let up until he knows -- or until Sherlock gives in.
Sherlock can't give in, so.
“Oh, that's not true,” John says dismissively, lightly. “I'm sure you'd be great with children. Have you even tried?”
“John.” Sherlock stares fixedly at the petri dish, but it blurs in front of his eyes. “You can not leave me alone with a child.” His nails in the base of his thumb, the sharp spread of pain up his wrists as he hits the right nerve. “I am not safe for children.” I'm sorry. I'm sorry. “I will say this once, and only once.” Please don't hate me. I couldn't bear it if you hated me. “If you give me unsupervised access to a child, I will hurt it.” The pain flares, stinging, and wetness wells up under his fingernails. “And I will enjoy it. And you will never know, because I am much cleverer than you, and know how to hide my tracks.”
John is silent for a very long time. Sherlock watches a drop of blood well up, then slide down his wrist. It falls onto the table.
John's voice, when he speaks, is closer now, and very neutral. “Have you done it before, then?”
“No,” Sherlock says, but honesty propels him to add, “But if I had, I'd still say no, and you'd have no way of knowing if I was telling the truth.”
A hand touches Sherlock's back. “I believe you. Is this uh... a recent development?”
“Since puberty.”
“So, you fantasize about...”
“I'm not well-rested enough to fantasize. I haven't the time. It's worse when I'm bored, especially so once that Lestrade forced me off the cocaine.”
“But you'd never really, you know--”
“I might. I don't give myself the opportunity to find out. I'd appreciate if you helped me do the same.”
John sighs, and the hand disappears from his back -- a rustling, John running his hands through his hair. The hand returns, on his shoulder this time, and squeezes. “Okay. Yeah, I can do that.”
3/3 (fucking character limit)
anonymous
November 1 2010, 09:07:33 UTC
They send the child to Harriet, and John never brings it up again.
But when the case comes where the only eyewitness to the murder is a mute ten-year-old girl, John offers smoothly to do the questioning on his own while Sherlock searches the victim's flat, and the flats of all the attendees at the party the victim held, for the murder weapon.
Re: 3/3 (fucking character limit)
anonymous
November 1 2010, 14:58:27 UTC
Oh man, that was so good. I work with people who struggle with an attraction to children, and often they don't have any kind of support or anyone willing to look beyond the instinctive horror or it to see someone who doesn't want to hurt kids and needs help. I loved the hand on the shoulder, and the silent way John helps Sherlock after he finds out, it's just really great. Thank you for writing this respectfully!
Re: 3/3 (fucking character limit)
anonymous
November 2 2010, 06:10:15 UTC
Oh man. Oh man. I literally held my breath during parts of this. Like another anon said, Sherlock comes off really sympathetic here - as someone fearful of his own desires. This is all kinds of well done.
Re: 3/3 (fucking character limit)
anonymous
November 27 2010, 22:32:04 UTC
My God, that is so fantastic. Just... yeah.
Right level of uncomfortableness. And loved Sherlock's confidence that he wouldn't get caught and how he makes sure he isn't put in that position as a result.
Re: 3/3 (fucking character limit)
anonymous
January 29 2011, 18:25:37 UTC
...oh. my struggles are different, i always wanted to hurt people. to bend them and break them and kill them. to kiss tear-stained cheeks and listen to them cry.
i got lucky. i have support, not from my family, but from my boyfriend, from the twins. sherlock doesn't even know how lucky he is.
you write so well, and you have so much respect for your subject matter. i'm crying, now.
"I pay half the rent too, you know," John replies with an edge of sharpness to his tone. "He's got nowhere else to stay, so he'll stay with us."
"No," Sherlock repeats again. "Send him to Harriet."
"Harry's worse at taking care of kids than I am. And our place is bigger. It wouldn't be that hard to child-proof the place, and I haven't seen him in years."
"Send him to Harry and visit him."
"Don't be an arse, Sherlock. It'll only be for a couple days. I know you don't like kids, but just this once -- I'll do all the taking care of him, and you can impress him with everything you know, and it'll be fun."
Sherlock considers it for a brief moment. How much damage could he do in a "couple days" without getting caught? Well, accounting for unsupervised access to him during the hours that John's at work, coupled with a child's natural naivety and Sherlock's rather good acting skills... Plus the eagerness of children to please adults, and their lack of comprehension about what is and isn't appropriate behavior, not to mention Sherlock's skill at subterfuge and deception...
It would be so easy. No one would ever know.
“Unacceptable. You are forbidden from bringing a child under the age of thirteen into this flat.”
“I'm doing this with or without your permission, Sherlock. I was just letting you know, so you could be ready for it. You can't stop me.”
“Then I'll stay at a hotel while he's present. Let me know when he's left.” Sherlock does the math -- he has enough cocaine lying around (well-hidden of course) to last him a week or so, more if his tolerance has decreased at the average rate. That'd be plenty of time, though the withdrawal would be really rather inconvenient.
John's staring at him incredulously. “You can't possibly hate children that much. They're really not that bad when they're playing by themselves. What's this about?”
Sherlock purses his lips. “It's nothing.”
“Doesn't sound like nothing, the way you're going on. It sounds like you think if you're within fifty feet of a child, something terrible will happen.”
“I am the terrible thing that will happen, to it,” Sherlock says. His hands are clenched into tight fists, and his nails dig into the base of his thumb. He has to tell John. He has to, because John is his conscience, or as close to one as Sherlock has, and he knows John won't let up until he knows -- or until Sherlock gives in.
Sherlock can't give in, so.
“Oh, that's not true,” John says dismissively, lightly. “I'm sure you'd be great with children. Have you even tried?”
“John.” Sherlock stares fixedly at the petri dish, but it blurs in front of his eyes. “You can not leave me alone with a child.” His nails in the base of his thumb, the sharp spread of pain up his wrists as he hits the right nerve. “I am not safe for children.” I'm sorry. I'm sorry. “I will say this once, and only once.” Please don't hate me. I couldn't bear it if you hated me. “If you give me unsupervised access to a child, I will hurt it.” The pain flares, stinging, and wetness wells up under his fingernails. “And I will enjoy it. And you will never know, because I am much cleverer than you, and know how to hide my tracks.”
John is silent for a very long time. Sherlock watches a drop of blood well up, then slide down his wrist. It falls onto the table.
John's voice, when he speaks, is closer now, and very neutral. “Have you done it before, then?”
“No,” Sherlock says, but honesty propels him to add, “But if I had, I'd still say no, and you'd have no way of knowing if I was telling the truth.”
A hand touches Sherlock's back. “I believe you. Is this uh... a recent development?”
“Since puberty.”
“So, you fantasize about...”
“I'm not well-rested enough to fantasize. I haven't the time. It's worse when I'm bored, especially so once that Lestrade forced me off the cocaine.”
“But you'd never really, you know--”
“I might. I don't give myself the opportunity to find out. I'd appreciate if you helped me do the same.”
John sighs, and the hand disappears from his back -- a rustling, John running his hands through his hair. The hand returns, on his shoulder this time, and squeezes. “Okay. Yeah, I can do that.”
Reply
They send the child to Harriet, and John never brings it up again.
But when the case comes where the only eyewitness to the murder is a mute ten-year-old girl, John offers smoothly to do the questioning on his own while Sherlock searches the victim's flat, and the flats of all the attendees at the party the victim held, for the murder weapon.
He's grateful.
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Right level of uncomfortableness. And loved Sherlock's confidence that he wouldn't get caught and how he makes sure he isn't put in that position as a result.
Reply
i got lucky. i have support, not from my family, but from my boyfriend, from the twins. sherlock doesn't even know how lucky he is.
you write so well, and you have so much respect for your subject matter. i'm crying, now.
TL;DR - THANK YOU
Reply
Leave a comment