How a Resurrection Really Feels - Chapter 2/11
Title: How a Resurrection Really Feels
Chapter: 2 Cattle and the Creeping Things
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...
Cattle and the Creeping Things
Mycroft is uncomfortable, but you really wouldn’t know it by looking at him. The only indication of his discomfort is the slightly tighter grip on his tea cup, the minute tilt of his head. He has trained himself to see people at their lowest point, to watch people (or careers or economies or governments) fall.
Mycroft is not prepared for this.
Sherlock is pacing - no, he’s prowling like a panther - back and forth across the expensive, ancient, and nearly threadbare rug in Mycroft’s study. He’s talking and it’s almost lyrical the way the words are flowing from him. He’s gesticulating, motioning with his hands and arms, proving his points.
Sherlock is high as hell.
Mycroft has only ever seen Sherlock crash. Only ever seen the aftermath of his habit. Picked up the pieces for Sherlock; saved Sherlock from himself. He’s never seen Sherlock riding high. Never seen him explode with the drug coursing through him, sending his mind and body into an overdrive.
Mycroft suspects that it’s a bit like staring at the sun.
Sherlock can focus his thoughts on one thing and it’s clearer, sharper, and more precise than ever. He can speak rivers of thoughts and mouth galaxies of words. He can build a ladder to the stars and tear it down again with a simple phrase. He’s enthralling and alarming because of what he’s chosen to to fixate on.
Sherlock says, “Doesn’t it all end up in some revelation with four men on horses and violent red visions?”
Mycroft sets down his tea cup and pushes himself out of his chair. Sherlock is pulling on his shirt cuffs, throwing out his arms. His whole body seems to vibrate and those waves roll off him and around him and feed back into him causing the cycle to continue. Mycroft can feel the energy, feel the power, but he can also see the emptiness behind his brother’s eyes.
Mycroft grabs Sherlock by his biceps, holds him still.
Sherlock’s eyes narrow as he stares at his brother. He can feel the soft parts around the edges of himself curling up and pulling inwards, away from Mycroft’s touch. He wants to violently shove his arms away, lash out at his brother; he wants to bring back the bright focus that he had.
Sherlock says, “I could be Famine. Maybe Pestilence. But are you War or Death?”
Mycroft’s business side will not dignify that question with an answer, but the part of himself that is too much like his brother grabs on and starts to wonder himself. He forces it to the back of his mind and tells Sherlock he can’t be Famine or Pestilence. He tells him again (always again) that he worries about him.
Mycroft refuses to give up hope for his brother.
Sherlock laughs and Mycroft gets the distinct impression that Sherlock has answered his own question, assigned Mycroft as a Horsemen in his head - War or Death?
Sherlock only says, “I'm pretty sure we’ve been through this before.”
chapter 1 | chapter 3
Chapter: 2 Cattle and the Creeping Things
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...
Cattle and the Creeping Things
Mycroft is uncomfortable, but you really wouldn’t know it by looking at him. The only indication of his discomfort is the slightly tighter grip on his tea cup, the minute tilt of his head. He has trained himself to see people at their lowest point, to watch people (or careers or economies or governments) fall.
Mycroft is not prepared for this.
Sherlock is pacing - no, he’s prowling like a panther - back and forth across the expensive, ancient, and nearly threadbare rug in Mycroft’s study. He’s talking and it’s almost lyrical the way the words are flowing from him. He’s gesticulating, motioning with his hands and arms, proving his points.
Sherlock is high as hell.
Mycroft has only ever seen Sherlock crash. Only ever seen the aftermath of his habit. Picked up the pieces for Sherlock; saved Sherlock from himself. He’s never seen Sherlock riding high. Never seen him explode with the drug coursing through him, sending his mind and body into an overdrive.
Mycroft suspects that it’s a bit like staring at the sun.
Sherlock can focus his thoughts on one thing and it’s clearer, sharper, and more precise than ever. He can speak rivers of thoughts and mouth galaxies of words. He can build a ladder to the stars and tear it down again with a simple phrase. He’s enthralling and alarming because of what he’s chosen to to fixate on.
Sherlock says, “Doesn’t it all end up in some revelation with four men on horses and violent red visions?”
Mycroft sets down his tea cup and pushes himself out of his chair. Sherlock is pulling on his shirt cuffs, throwing out his arms. His whole body seems to vibrate and those waves roll off him and around him and feed back into him causing the cycle to continue. Mycroft can feel the energy, feel the power, but he can also see the emptiness behind his brother’s eyes.
Mycroft grabs Sherlock by his biceps, holds him still.
Sherlock’s eyes narrow as he stares at his brother. He can feel the soft parts around the edges of himself curling up and pulling inwards, away from Mycroft’s touch. He wants to violently shove his arms away, lash out at his brother; he wants to bring back the bright focus that he had.
Sherlock says, “I could be Famine. Maybe Pestilence. But are you War or Death?”
Mycroft’s business side will not dignify that question with an answer, but the part of himself that is too much like his brother grabs on and starts to wonder himself. He forces it to the back of his mind and tells Sherlock he can’t be Famine or Pestilence. He tells him again (always again) that he worries about him.
Mycroft refuses to give up hope for his brother.
Sherlock laughs and Mycroft gets the distinct impression that Sherlock has answered his own question, assigned Mycroft as a Horsemen in his head - War or Death?
Sherlock only says, “I'm pretty sure we’ve been through this before.”
chapter 1 | chapter 3