Fic Rec: Bel Canto
Title: Bel Canto
Author: bendingsignpost
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Length: 123k
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Violence, internalized homophobia, eventual character death
Verse: Sherlock BBC
Author's summary: After years of waiting for wealthy patrons to faint, Dr John Watson discovers a far more interesting patient in the opera house basement. (AU through a Phantom of the Opera lens.)
Reccer's comments: Don’t run away! I almost didn’t read this because the idea of a Phantom of the Opera fusion sounded silly to me, but I’m so glad I gave it a try. It’s a slow-burning epic with plenty of intriguing plot twists melded with judiciously applied UST. Though the whole story is from John’s point of view, Ben cleverly makes use of what the reader knows and John doesn’t to twist the angst knife as the plot unfolds. Seeing Sherlock from the outside in all his infuriating opacity and fantastic intelligence is a treat. Minor characters, including Mrs. Hudson, Molly, and Irene, play important roles and are unmistakably themselves even in the world of the opera. As a bonus, the descriptions of the music are glorious: I desperately want to see the opera described in this story. Even if you don’t know anything about opera, this is worth a read for the beautifully crafted prose and the deeply satisfying growth of the relationship between Sherlock and John.
When John finishes explaining for the second time, for the first full time, what it feels like to have a friend die beneath his hands, Vernet nods and stands.
Provoked beyond manners, John snaps at him, and then the man lifts his violin and begins to play.
John becomes the statue.
Vernet comes alive.
The man walks into the melody, and though he stumbles, he soon begins to run. Harsh strides, hard strokes, the sound of restrained panic strangling the heart. He wanders, running toward and from, strings shrieking with each misstep before they sing the voiceless terror of heavy duty in mortal hands.
He concludes only to begin again, to begin anew. Variation upon variation fills the air between them, and John realises through his own disbelief in Vernet’s reality, that Vernet is watching him still. It’s nigh impossible to tell through the mask, through the rocking of the man’s body as his violin plays him, but Vernet keeps his face turned toward John’s, fixed while his feet shuffle and his fingers fly.
A refrain repeats, and repeats, and repeats, and upon hearing it for what may be the fifth or the fiftieth time, John nods. Yes. Yes, Vernet has it.
With that, Vernet tears the violin from his shoulder, fingers tight about its wooden neck. The cut-off note dies strangled. “Good?” Vernet demands.
“Yes,” John says, and says again. “Yes, that was... yes.” Breathless. There’s no air in the room, only music.
Author: bendingsignpost
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Length: 123k
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Violence, internalized homophobia, eventual character death
Verse: Sherlock BBC
Author's summary: After years of waiting for wealthy patrons to faint, Dr John Watson discovers a far more interesting patient in the opera house basement. (AU through a Phantom of the Opera lens.)
Reccer's comments: Don’t run away! I almost didn’t read this because the idea of a Phantom of the Opera fusion sounded silly to me, but I’m so glad I gave it a try. It’s a slow-burning epic with plenty of intriguing plot twists melded with judiciously applied UST. Though the whole story is from John’s point of view, Ben cleverly makes use of what the reader knows and John doesn’t to twist the angst knife as the plot unfolds. Seeing Sherlock from the outside in all his infuriating opacity and fantastic intelligence is a treat. Minor characters, including Mrs. Hudson, Molly, and Irene, play important roles and are unmistakably themselves even in the world of the opera. As a bonus, the descriptions of the music are glorious: I desperately want to see the opera described in this story. Even if you don’t know anything about opera, this is worth a read for the beautifully crafted prose and the deeply satisfying growth of the relationship between Sherlock and John.
When John finishes explaining for the second time, for the first full time, what it feels like to have a friend die beneath his hands, Vernet nods and stands.
Provoked beyond manners, John snaps at him, and then the man lifts his violin and begins to play.
John becomes the statue.
Vernet comes alive.
The man walks into the melody, and though he stumbles, he soon begins to run. Harsh strides, hard strokes, the sound of restrained panic strangling the heart. He wanders, running toward and from, strings shrieking with each misstep before they sing the voiceless terror of heavy duty in mortal hands.
He concludes only to begin again, to begin anew. Variation upon variation fills the air between them, and John realises through his own disbelief in Vernet’s reality, that Vernet is watching him still. It’s nigh impossible to tell through the mask, through the rocking of the man’s body as his violin plays him, but Vernet keeps his face turned toward John’s, fixed while his feet shuffle and his fingers fly.
A refrain repeats, and repeats, and repeats, and upon hearing it for what may be the fifth or the fiftieth time, John nods. Yes. Yes, Vernet has it.
With that, Vernet tears the violin from his shoulder, fingers tight about its wooden neck. The cut-off note dies strangled. “Good?” Vernet demands.
“Yes,” John says, and says again. “Yes, that was... yes.” Breathless. There’s no air in the room, only music.