FILL: The Upwards March [3/3]
anonymous
November 16 2010, 07:41:03 UTC
Ten Days
There is nothing. There is nothing at all. No case to distract him, no avenue of thought not lined with memory that he needs so desperately to dispose of.
There is so much laughter in his head. There were so many times where they could do nothing but clutch at each other and laugh - relief, some ridiculous urge, some release of tension. It ricochets around the inside of his skull at such a rate and volume that he has to press his palms against his ears and bury himself further into the sofa. How can the laughter not drown out the shouting? There seems to be so much less of it.
It seems reasonable that the laughter would overwhelm the rest. It seems reasonable that the equation would balance with an exothermic reaction. That there would be a negative enthalpy change. Light and heat.
If he can reduce it to chemistry, he can begin to make sense of it.
ΔH < 0
He hasn’t followed John’s trail because none of it will ever come to any good.
He is entirely useless.
Two Weeks
Morning sunlight finds the broken glass beneath his hands, spread above the shards like a vampire’s wings. They catch the light and cast it in all directions, dotting the walls with pinholes of white -- dotting his drawn, exhausted face. He is making it perfect. He is trying to bring them back together.
Some manic voice inside of him in the night had explained that the problem was the rack of beakers still shattered on the floor in the kitchen. That was why John had not yet reappeared in the doorway. That was why he had not yet called. It’s the glass. He hates the glass. So Sherlock pulled himself off of the floor on unsteady legs, heavy with a cocktail of barbiturates which had been somehow unable to undo him entirely, and sank to his knees by the pile, and stayed there for hours.
In the sun through the kitchen window, he admires his work. Six lines of rounded glass sitting in neat little rows, like a jigsaw puzzle. Some of the pieces are rubbed with faint red from the tiny cuts at the edges of Sherlock’s fingers. It was delicate, painful work, but he did it. The drugs are wearing away, now. The logic they presented to him wears with them.
He sits back against a leg of the table, puts his head back against the wood, and closes his eyes.
He will sweep the glass, at some point. He will shower, and he will go outside, and he will answer his mobile, and he will take another case, and another. He will resume life. There will be a Before John Watson, and an After John Watson. Before Christ, Anno Domini. There were things to look forward to before he met John. He is sure of it.
Anon Author
anonymous
November 17 2010, 05:10:19 UTC
Ha! Well, I think that the entire point of the prompt was the lack of a happy resolution. Writing one might defeat the purpose, no matter how nice it would be (and it would certainly be nice).
That being said, I'm perfectly willing to write that resolution, if the OP approves! I'd rather not subvert the prompt without permission, though.
But, in any case, I'm very pleased that you enjoyed it!
Re: FILL: The Upwards March [3/3]introductoryNovember 17 2010, 03:06:43 UTC
This so painful and so sharp and so, so right. This is bringing back sad breakup memories -- wait, it's a good thing! I felt this story in my heart, and that's the best compliment I could give. The imagery, the mood -- this is perfect and broken and beautiful.
Also, this means I don't have to finish the Sherlock-predicts-their-breakup story I'm writing right now -- you've done it, but a hundred times better. My heart.
Re: FILL: The Upwards March [3/3]
anonymous
November 17 2010, 05:04:00 UTC
I'm happy you liked it! But I hope you do finish the story you're writing. This one didn't quite dwell as much as I would have liked to on the idea of the prediction, and I would love to see something that does so!
Thank you, though, for the compliment. ♥ I appreciate it, and I'm glad you enjoyed it.
Re: FILL: The Upwards March [3/3]
anonymous
November 17 2010, 22:09:15 UTC
Stunning. Actually stunning. You broke my heart in the best worst way, it actually ached for him and just...wow. Your writing is exquisite, beautifully measured, almost like poetry, and you conveyed the emotion of it perfectly. Amazing ♥
And I too yearn for a sequel in which there is a happier ending. Even if it's not with John.
I'm the OP! Fuck. Oh god. This is exactly what I wanted, but you wrote it much better than I could ever imagine it. God you did such a brilliant job; your writing is so gorgeous and it hurt my heart so much but it's exactly what I wanted. I feel like I've upset so many anon's by asking for an angsty ending as opposed to a happy one, but this fits so well, and you did so spectacularly.
Anon Author
anonymous
November 19 2010, 08:41:14 UTC
Excellent! I'm very pleased that you liked it. It was a great prompt, and it was exactly what I wanted to write, so I thank you for the opportunity to angst with abandon.
Personally, I'm glad you asked for an angsty ending instead of a happy one, really. We get happy endings so often. It's nice to diverge from the norm a little!
There is nothing. There is nothing at all. No case to distract him, no avenue of thought not lined with memory that he needs so desperately to dispose of.
There is so much laughter in his head. There were so many times where they could do nothing but clutch at each other and laugh - relief, some ridiculous urge, some release of tension. It ricochets around the inside of his skull at such a rate and volume that he has to press his palms against his ears and bury himself further into the sofa. How can the laughter not drown out the shouting? There seems to be so much less of it.
It seems reasonable that the laughter would overwhelm the rest. It seems reasonable that the equation would balance with an exothermic reaction. That there would be a negative enthalpy change. Light and heat.
If he can reduce it to chemistry, he can begin to make sense of it.
ΔH < 0
He hasn’t followed John’s trail because none of it will ever come to any good.
He is entirely useless.
Two Weeks
Morning sunlight finds the broken glass beneath his hands, spread above the shards like a vampire’s wings. They catch the light and cast it in all directions, dotting the walls with pinholes of white -- dotting his drawn, exhausted face. He is making it perfect. He is trying to bring them back together.
Some manic voice inside of him in the night had explained that the problem was the rack of beakers still shattered on the floor in the kitchen. That was why John had not yet reappeared in the doorway. That was why he had not yet called. It’s the glass. He hates the glass. So Sherlock pulled himself off of the floor on unsteady legs, heavy with a cocktail of barbiturates which had been somehow unable to undo him entirely, and sank to his knees by the pile, and stayed there for hours.
In the sun through the kitchen window, he admires his work. Six lines of rounded glass sitting in neat little rows, like a jigsaw puzzle. Some of the pieces are rubbed with faint red from the tiny cuts at the edges of Sherlock’s fingers. It was delicate, painful work, but he did it. The drugs are wearing away, now. The logic they presented to him wears with them.
He sits back against a leg of the table, puts his head back against the wood, and closes his eyes.
He will sweep the glass, at some point. He will shower, and he will go outside, and he will answer his mobile, and he will take another case, and another. He will resume life. There will be a Before John Watson, and an After John Watson. Before Christ, Anno Domini. There were things to look forward to before he met John. He is sure of it.
There must have been.
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That being said, I'm perfectly willing to write that resolution, if the OP approves! I'd rather not subvert the prompt without permission, though.
But, in any case, I'm very pleased that you enjoyed it!
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Also, this means I don't have to finish the Sherlock-predicts-their-breakup story I'm writing right now -- you've done it, but a hundred times better. My heart.
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Thank you, though, for the compliment. ♥ I appreciate it, and I'm glad you enjoyed it.
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And I too yearn for a sequel in which there is a happier ending. Even if it's not with John.
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Fuck. Oh god. This is exactly what I wanted, but you wrote it much better than I could ever imagine it. God you did such a brilliant job; your writing is so gorgeous and it hurt my heart so much but it's exactly what I wanted.
I feel like I've upset so many anon's by asking for an angsty ending as opposed to a happy one, but this fits so well, and you did so spectacularly.
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Personally, I'm glad you asked for an angsty ending instead of a happy one, really. We get happy endings so often. It's nice to diverge from the norm a little!
♥
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I'm so glad someone as talented as you filled. :D
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