It's not right, so not right, but... in my head, The Antlers = Sherlock AU
At least, the first three songs off the Hospice album. It's a deeply moving, deep-emotion probing, concept album, telling of the dedicated, loving, though often unhealthy and abusive relationship between a caretaker and the terminally ill patient who hired him.
This is a snippet of a review of the album, done by the BBC's James Skinner:
There is much to say about Hospice, but of most import is its sheer heart. Born out of isolation and all manner of personal tumult suffered by bandleader Peter Silberman, it balances clinical austerity with deeply humanistic concerns, questioning the very nature of benevolence. More specifically, it asks where you draw the line: when does compassion become self-sacrifice? Likewise devotion, obsession? Selflessness, folly? These are big, searching questions, and Silberman posits them with an earnest conviction that on occasion proves excruciating.
I wish that i had known in that first minute we met
The unpayable debt that I'd owe you
'Cause you'd been abused by the bone that refused you
And you hired me to make up for that
Walking in that room when you had tubes in your arms
Those singin' morphine alarms out of tune
They had you sleeping and even, and i didn't believe them
When they called you a hurricane tunderclap
When I was checking vitals I suggested a smile
You didn't talk for a while, you were freezing
You said you hated my tone, it made you feel so alone
And so you told me I ought to be leaving
But something kept me standing by that hospital bed
I should've quit but instead I took care of you
You made me sleep and uneven, and I didn't believe them
When they told me that there was no saving you
Please, curtains in, start us off... You swing first
Sorry, I don't know what I said, but you're crying now again
And that only makes it worse
Let me do my job
Let me do my job
Sylvia, get your head out of the oven
Go back to screaming and cursing
Remind me again how everyone betrayed you
Sylvia, get your head out of the covers
Let me take your temperature
You can throw the thermometer right back at me
If that's what you want to do, okay?
Please, please calm down, steady out... I'm terrified
Sorry, I want us to ally, but you swing on little knives
They're only sharp on one side
Let me do my job
Let me do my job
Sylvia, get your head out of the oven
Go back to screaming and cursing
Remind me again how everyone betrayed you
Sylvia, get your head out of the covers
Let me take your temperature
You can throw the thermometer right back at me
If that's what you want to do, okay?
Sylvia, can't you see what you are doing?
Can't you see I'm scared to speak, and I hate my voice because it only makes you angry
Sylvia, I'll only talk when you are sleeping
That's when I tell you everything, and I imagine that somehow you're going to hear me...
You've been living a while in the front of my skull, making orders
You've been writing me rules, shrinking maps and redrawing borders
I've been repeating your speeches, but the audience just doesn't follow
Because I'm leaving out words, punctuations, and it sounds pretty hollow
I've been living in bed because now you tell me to sleep
I've been hiding my voice and my face, and you decide when I eat
In your dreams I'm a criminal, horrible, sleeping around
While you're awake I'm impossible, constantly letting you down
Little porcelain figurines, glass bullets you shoot at the wall
Threats of castration for crimes you imagine when I miss your call
With the bite of the teeth of that ring on my finger, I'm bound to your bedside, your eulogy singer
I'd happily take all those bullets inside you and put them inside of myself
"Someone, oh anyone, tell me how to stop this
She's screaming, expiring, and I'm her only witness
I'm freezing, infected, and rigid in that room inside her
No one's going to come as long as I lay still in bed beside her"
So, yeah. John as the caretaker. Sherlock as the patient. With very, very dark themes.
This could be the result of my latest migraine... who knows...
This is a snippet of a review of the album, done by the BBC's James Skinner:
There is much to say about Hospice, but of most import is its sheer heart. Born out of isolation and all manner of personal tumult suffered by bandleader Peter Silberman, it balances clinical austerity with deeply humanistic concerns, questioning the very nature of benevolence. More specifically, it asks where you draw the line: when does compassion become self-sacrifice? Likewise devotion, obsession? Selflessness, folly? These are big, searching questions, and Silberman posits them with an earnest conviction that on occasion proves excruciating.
Click to viewI wish that i had known in that first minute we met
The unpayable debt that I'd owe you
'Cause you'd been abused by the bone that refused you
And you hired me to make up for that
Walking in that room when you had tubes in your arms
Those singin' morphine alarms out of tune
They had you sleeping and even, and i didn't believe them
When they called you a hurricane tunderclap
When I was checking vitals I suggested a smile
You didn't talk for a while, you were freezing
You said you hated my tone, it made you feel so alone
And so you told me I ought to be leaving
But something kept me standing by that hospital bed
I should've quit but instead I took care of you
You made me sleep and uneven, and I didn't believe them
When they told me that there was no saving you
Please, curtains in, start us off... You swing first
Sorry, I don't know what I said, but you're crying now again
And that only makes it worse
Let me do my job
Let me do my job
Sylvia, get your head out of the oven
Go back to screaming and cursing
Remind me again how everyone betrayed you
Sylvia, get your head out of the covers
Let me take your temperature
You can throw the thermometer right back at me
If that's what you want to do, okay?
Please, please calm down, steady out... I'm terrified
Sorry, I want us to ally, but you swing on little knives
They're only sharp on one side
Let me do my job
Let me do my job
Sylvia, get your head out of the oven
Go back to screaming and cursing
Remind me again how everyone betrayed you
Sylvia, get your head out of the covers
Let me take your temperature
You can throw the thermometer right back at me
If that's what you want to do, okay?
Sylvia, can't you see what you are doing?
Can't you see I'm scared to speak, and I hate my voice because it only makes you angry
Sylvia, I'll only talk when you are sleeping
That's when I tell you everything, and I imagine that somehow you're going to hear me...
You've been living a while in the front of my skull, making orders
You've been writing me rules, shrinking maps and redrawing borders
I've been repeating your speeches, but the audience just doesn't follow
Because I'm leaving out words, punctuations, and it sounds pretty hollow
I've been living in bed because now you tell me to sleep
I've been hiding my voice and my face, and you decide when I eat
In your dreams I'm a criminal, horrible, sleeping around
While you're awake I'm impossible, constantly letting you down
Little porcelain figurines, glass bullets you shoot at the wall
Threats of castration for crimes you imagine when I miss your call
With the bite of the teeth of that ring on my finger, I'm bound to your bedside, your eulogy singer
I'd happily take all those bullets inside you and put them inside of myself
"Someone, oh anyone, tell me how to stop this
She's screaming, expiring, and I'm her only witness
I'm freezing, infected, and rigid in that room inside her
No one's going to come as long as I lay still in bed beside her"
So, yeah. John as the caretaker. Sherlock as the patient. With very, very dark themes.
This could be the result of my latest migraine... who knows...