How a Resurrection Really Feels - Chapter 1/11
Title: How a Resurrection Really Feels
Chapter: 1 Hornets! Hornets!
Pairing: multi
Fandom: BBC!Sherlock
Rating: R
Word Count: 500
Spoilers: None. Pre-Series One
Warnings: Drug Use. Non-linnear storytelling.
Notes: inspired by the album "Separation Sunday" by The Hold Steady.
Summary: When Sherlock was at University, he found something that made his mind focus, that let him ignore those around him, that made him feel more alive than he had ever felt. But he's never been one for self preservation or knowing when things have gone too far...
Hornets! Hornets!
The Boy’s eyes are wide, face young, excitement and danger showing at the same time. Sherlock is sure he doesn’t look as young or eager, though he is in fact, both. The Boy leans closer to Sherlock, a little too close for some’s comfort, and they’re close enough that it strikes Sherlock as slightly odd that he has no idea what the Boy’s name is, but that thought is quickly dismissed. The Boy doesn’t know Sherlock’s name either and it won’t matter in a few minutes anyway.
“I won’t be much for conversation if we do this rest of this,” the Boy says, eyes darting to the table.
It’s more an admission of hesitance than anything else. Sherlock tries not to sigh but he’s not one for conservation. And besides, they hadn’t been doing much talking.
Sherlock nods to the Boy, indicating his turn.
Sharing isn’t really Sherlock’s style, but this’ll do for now. He watches the Boy, his face in three-quarters profile as he bends over the table. Sherlock shivers in coldness or anticipation. Maybe neither. Possibly both.
By the time Sherlock’s finished his share the world is brighter, louder, warmer. The Boy is shimmering at the edges, moving closer, and Sherlock must be shining bright. He wishes he was alone.
But if he’s alone... if he’s alone...
“I like these awkward silences,” Sherlock says to no one.
He’s not sure where he is or when he left the Boy’s room. He’s somewhere cold and he’s coming down hard. His lips are bruised and swollen, and he smiles as he imagines state the Boy must be in.
He leans back and takes his own pulse in time with the footsteps that get closer and closer. Sherlock doesn’t have to even look up to know that his brother is standing over him. He’s beyond the point of surprise.
Dull.
“I should remind you, Sherlock, that you did say - dramatic as usual - to ‘always remember never to trust me,’” Mycroft says lazily, tapping his umbrella against his shoe. “And, as loathe as I am to admit this, you were right. I can’t trust you.”
Sherlock’s jacket is buttoned wrong, his shirt tails are lopsided - one side still tucked into his trousers, the other out - and his tie so loose that he may as well not even be wearing it. For a moment Mycroft is almost more offended at the state of his brother’s suit.
“I’m always right.”
“Get up. I’m taking you back to your room.”
Sherlock allows himself to be helped up and ushered towards the black car waiting for him. When they arrive at Sidney Sussex, the car idles for a moment before Sherlock moves to get out.
“I don’t want this to keep happening, Sherlock,” Mycroft warns.
Sherlock pauses with his hand on the door handle. “There will always come a time when I will go with whoever will get me the highest.”
And then Sherlock is gone, the door slamming shut, and Mycroft can do nothing.
chapter 2
Chapter: 1 Hornets! Hornets!
Pairing: multi
Fandom: BBC!Sherlock
Rating: R
Word Count: 500
Spoilers: None. Pre-Series One
Warnings: Drug Use. Non-linnear storytelling.
Notes: inspired by the album "Separation Sunday" by The Hold Steady.
Summary: When Sherlock was at University, he found something that made his mind focus, that let him ignore those around him, that made him feel more alive than he had ever felt. But he's never been one for self preservation or knowing when things have gone too far...
Hornets! Hornets!
The Boy’s eyes are wide, face young, excitement and danger showing at the same time. Sherlock is sure he doesn’t look as young or eager, though he is in fact, both. The Boy leans closer to Sherlock, a little too close for some’s comfort, and they’re close enough that it strikes Sherlock as slightly odd that he has no idea what the Boy’s name is, but that thought is quickly dismissed. The Boy doesn’t know Sherlock’s name either and it won’t matter in a few minutes anyway.
“I won’t be much for conversation if we do this rest of this,” the Boy says, eyes darting to the table.
It’s more an admission of hesitance than anything else. Sherlock tries not to sigh but he’s not one for conservation. And besides, they hadn’t been doing much talking.
Sherlock nods to the Boy, indicating his turn.
Sharing isn’t really Sherlock’s style, but this’ll do for now. He watches the Boy, his face in three-quarters profile as he bends over the table. Sherlock shivers in coldness or anticipation. Maybe neither. Possibly both.
By the time Sherlock’s finished his share the world is brighter, louder, warmer. The Boy is shimmering at the edges, moving closer, and Sherlock must be shining bright. He wishes he was alone.
But if he’s alone... if he’s alone...
“I like these awkward silences,” Sherlock says to no one.
He’s not sure where he is or when he left the Boy’s room. He’s somewhere cold and he’s coming down hard. His lips are bruised and swollen, and he smiles as he imagines state the Boy must be in.
He leans back and takes his own pulse in time with the footsteps that get closer and closer. Sherlock doesn’t have to even look up to know that his brother is standing over him. He’s beyond the point of surprise.
Dull.
“I should remind you, Sherlock, that you did say - dramatic as usual - to ‘always remember never to trust me,’” Mycroft says lazily, tapping his umbrella against his shoe. “And, as loathe as I am to admit this, you were right. I can’t trust you.”
Sherlock’s jacket is buttoned wrong, his shirt tails are lopsided - one side still tucked into his trousers, the other out - and his tie so loose that he may as well not even be wearing it. For a moment Mycroft is almost more offended at the state of his brother’s suit.
“I’m always right.”
“Get up. I’m taking you back to your room.”
Sherlock allows himself to be helped up and ushered towards the black car waiting for him. When they arrive at Sidney Sussex, the car idles for a moment before Sherlock moves to get out.
“I don’t want this to keep happening, Sherlock,” Mycroft warns.
Sherlock pauses with his hand on the door handle. “There will always come a time when I will go with whoever will get me the highest.”
And then Sherlock is gone, the door slamming shut, and Mycroft can do nothing.
chapter 2