Sherlock Fanfiction: Sherlock's Meta - The Tell-Tale Heart
Title: Sherlock's Meta: The Tell-Tale Heart
Author: saki101
Characters/Pairings: Sherlock/John
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Slash, metafiction
Word Count: ~2.1K
Disclaimer: Sherlock is not mine and no money is being made.
Summary: On the night before Christmas, Sherlock reflects.
A/N: Musings in the first person, from the viewpoints of different characters, about Series Three. The Tell-Tale Heart may be read alone or together with John's Meta and Mycroft's Meta.
Excerpt: When I invited you to live with me that first day at Bart’s, I had not foreseen that forgiveness would feature so prominently in our relationship.
Also posted on A03.
Sherlock's Meta: The Tell-Tale Heart
“For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams,” Sherlock recited to the sky. “It’s lit enough of our adventures,” he added, glancing at his mobile. He hadn’t liked coming down before John, but he’d been stubborn about staying for his shift and there were things to be put in place before Mary arrived. Sherlock pulled his dressing gown closer. He chilled easily still. He didn’t move away from the window. Reception was better there; the walls of the old farmhouse his parents preferred to the manor were thick. His phone glowed through his fingertips. Sherlock smiled at the brief message: Knackered. Will take first morning train..
“You were the dreamer, John,” Sherlock murmured as he tapped out his answer: Come tonight. SH. He hit send. The words flew away and the screen went dark. “Now I've become one.”
He stared past the tree tops. The dreams had begun while he was away, when he slept long enough to have any. The clouds drifted westward. At least it wouldn’t rain. The country lanes were less treacherous when they were dry. “But I’ve never hesitated to expose you to risk, have I?” Sherlock turned his back to the window, set his mobile on the desk. "But execution isn't a risk; it's a certainty." The phone brightened again, lit Sherlock’s face as he leaned over it. "And I couldn't bear to lose you," he murmured as he tapped the screen. He considered the simple message. Two hours seemed far too long, but people who lived and breathed needed to eat.
The John he’d taken with him on his journey hadn’t needed to nor had his heart beat. Sherlock dragged a blanket off the bed, pulled it around his shoulders and opened his laptop. At least it hadn’t at first.
Sherlock sat, stroked the touchpad. The document he opened was large. He scrolled down to a clear space and began to type.
***
You wanted to be with me. I heard you say as much at the cemetery. You consented to my taking you, more or less, so I didn’t understand why you hid from me when I did.
I work better when you’re near. You know this; I’ve told you so, you’ve seen it. There was so much work to be done. The sooner it was done, the sooner we could return to living our lives as we liked. This was obvious and yet you hid.
I’d hear you stomping along the corridors on the floor above me or slamming doors on the floor below. You rattled the windows. I couldn’t let you out, John. My mind palace is vast; it should have been enough for you. I thought I would have been enough for you.
Even so, knowing you were there helped me. The more you stomped, the faster I thought. I’d collect the broken things you left behind. Even they helped, but you would always be gone by the time I found them. You wouldn’t sit with me or look up with that smile of yours. Sometimes, I’d catch a glimpse of you in a mirror or find an impression upon a pillow. They helped, too. I tracked down Moriarty’s allies faster and faster. We would be home soon. I promised it aloud in the empty rooms and sometimes the curtains would rustle. In dreams you ran behind me, panting when we stopped, laughing as we gasped for air. We always caught the people we chased. You were never there when I woke.
I found clues faster, strung them together faster. We would be home soon. I shouted my promises to the echoing halls and when I slept I could hear your heart beating near me. When I awoke, my mind was razor sharp. I cut through their lies, all Moriarty’s accomplices and associates, cut them to ribbons and wove them back together in a clearer shape. I found more and more of them, coiled in their lairs and in their office suites. I would bring you home soon. I promised. And your heart began to beat, behind the walls and under the floors, while I tracked down the last piece of the puzzle. I let them catch me because it would be quicker. They beat me. I didn’t care, because it would be quicker. Your heart beat inside me. You whispered praise. It made me stronger. I could endure anything. I was coming home.
***
On the old wood, the phone blinked to life. Sherlock slid it closer, tapped and read: On train. His shoulders relaxed. He turned back to the keyboard.
***
You'd left our home.
I couldn't wait for you to be alone. So it was in a public place, among strangers, that I finally saw your eyes. When you looked up at me, the light in them was gone. There was no joy there and I could see that your heart didn’t beat for me.
You beat me until I bled. I was in the habit of enduring pain.
I shouldn’t have taken your heart with me. I understand that now. I thought you would rejoice at having it back. You are not you without it.
You think you have grown another heart, but it doesn’t beat at all.
I endured.
***
I saved you from the fire.
The message hadn’t come to me directly. It came through Mary. And yet the message was also for me. Why would a message for me come through Mary?
Oh, John. Your new heart has no beat at all.
Take your old one back. I’ve saved it for you.
***
You surprised me.
Clean-shaven in my doorway, curious, hesitant. I still wonder what you would have done if I had been alone, would you have needed to be invited in? There was a hint of life about you. Had I demonstrated that you mattered to me? It seemed to be enough for you to forgive learning that my parents knew or was it only that there was a problem that needed solving? It would be perfectly reasonable for you not to want to be roasted alive again. You took possession of the room, sat in your chair and clues slotted into place. Explaining to you worked as it had always done and I was off.
You followed me.
Without invitation, you followed me into the unknown, the darkness and the danger, shining behind me. And when I couldn’t see an answer, you blazed brighter. Despite your anger, your disappointment, your faith in me was strong. Not strong enough to last two years without a word, but strong enough to follow without one.
So I tried you again. After I solved the problem of the bomb ticking beneath the floor, I tried to solve the problem of you and me.
I offered you escape. You chose to stay. You said there wasn’t time to get away, but you run well, you could have gained the platform, possible shelter. You might have survived the blast, but you preferred to try to save others, to help me try to do that, and if I failed, to die with me rather than leave me alone. It wasn’t a clear signal, but it was enough for me to try harder to save you and me.
I would have guarded you against Mary in any event, if she turned out to be what I suspected, but I would have done it without your knowledge again, in case I was wrong and she could be your happiness.
I’ve never considered being wrong so often before. It’s a door you’ve opened wide for me, John. It has its uses.
And so I pled, on my knees, before that mechanical heart, for your forgiveness. For real forgiveness, which would allow you to let your anger go and be my friend again. You were happy as my friend, John. I cured your limp. I made you smile. So, a minute away from your death, I let you see that I had not understood how unhappy my death would make you. It was a sorrow I did not understand when I apologised in front of Mary. You hid your feelings so well, but now I know this about you. And there, beneath the earth, I gave you this knowledge of me.
The fact that I’d already switched off the bomb was irrelevant. You forgave me that in an instant. And I couldn’t help but laugh, because I could see in the pulse at your throat that your heart was beating.
***
My contrition wasn’t enough to stop you marrying Mary.
Perhaps you felt it was the honourable thing to do once you asked her. Perhaps it was also a punishment for me, to let me feel how it was to lose and be lost and alone. Perhaps you simply loved her and thought she loved you. It was your choice. I hadn’t given you a choice. That had been another mistake.
I had not expected you to ask me to be your best man. You saw that and any details you may have missed, I declared in the speech I made for you in front of our witnesses.
Without fully realising it, I think you thought to marry us both, your best man and your best woman, each of us to be faithful to you as you would be to both of us. Somewhere in the world there is probably a woman who would be the right one, but it is not Mary. I left you to suffer to keep you safe and ended up leaving you in as much danger as you would have been in if you had come with me. Maybe more. I am sorry, John, for all the unhappiness which may be coming and for whatever part in it I will have played.
After all that has happened since the wedding, I think you know now that I would die for you and I would live for you and that I’ve tried to make up for the grief I caused you by leaving you behind.
I’m not sure you know that what I love best is to make you laugh.
There has been far too little laughter in recent months.
***
I hear you on the stairs. There you are in the doorway. You pause, eyebrows raised in question when I stare over the laptop screen at you. You do look tired, but there is a light in your eyes. I can see it from here. You ask which room is yours and I tell you this one. You look mildly surprised, but put your bag down inside the door, next to my shoes, without another question and scan the room. I see you take note of the large four-poster bed and my case open on the bench at its foot. You spot the half open door to the en suite, take your wash bag from your case and head in that direction. You’ll see my toiletries in there. I hear no exclamations of protest. I shan’t sleep much tonight and I want you near. Listening to your breathing will help me think. There are so many scenarios. I want to go over each one. This being wrong lark has unsettled me, slowed me down a bit.
I promised you in Dartmoor not to be wrong again and I wasn’t able to keep that promise. At your wedding, I made a vow to protect the three of you and this I hope to keep. Tomorrow will be a major step towards achieving that. I will take you with me. Excluding you is a mistake I shall not make again. Before we go, you will have played your part. I have not let you in on every detail of my plan, but I think you will forgive me that much. When I invited you to live with me that first day at Bart’s, I had not foreseen that forgiveness would feature so prominently in our relationship.
You’ve turned on the shower. The water pressure isn’t much here. I’m smiling as I type. You like to shower when you get home. You didn’t so you could get here sooner. I’ll thank you when you come out. I try to remember to do that these days. I forget though. Tonight I’ll remember.
When I close this file, I will change the password to something simple that you will guess. Just in case all doesn’t go to plan, I want you to have this, a real note. After you read it, delete it or leave the computer with Mycroft. You won’t be able to set a password Mary won’t be able to break.
We have several things to discuss tonight, but when you sleep, I may need to put my ear to your chest to listen to your heart beat.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Author: saki101
Characters/Pairings: Sherlock/John
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Slash, metafiction
Word Count: ~2.1K
Disclaimer: Sherlock is not mine and no money is being made.
Summary: On the night before Christmas, Sherlock reflects.
A/N: Musings in the first person, from the viewpoints of different characters, about Series Three. The Tell-Tale Heart may be read alone or together with John's Meta and Mycroft's Meta.
Excerpt: When I invited you to live with me that first day at Bart’s, I had not foreseen that forgiveness would feature so prominently in our relationship.
Also posted on A03.
Sherlock's Meta: The Tell-Tale Heart
“For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams,” Sherlock recited to the sky. “It’s lit enough of our adventures,” he added, glancing at his mobile. He hadn’t liked coming down before John, but he’d been stubborn about staying for his shift and there were things to be put in place before Mary arrived. Sherlock pulled his dressing gown closer. He chilled easily still. He didn’t move away from the window. Reception was better there; the walls of the old farmhouse his parents preferred to the manor were thick. His phone glowed through his fingertips. Sherlock smiled at the brief message: Knackered. Will take first morning train..
“You were the dreamer, John,” Sherlock murmured as he tapped out his answer: Come tonight. SH. He hit send. The words flew away and the screen went dark. “Now I've become one.”
He stared past the tree tops. The dreams had begun while he was away, when he slept long enough to have any. The clouds drifted westward. At least it wouldn’t rain. The country lanes were less treacherous when they were dry. “But I’ve never hesitated to expose you to risk, have I?” Sherlock turned his back to the window, set his mobile on the desk. "But execution isn't a risk; it's a certainty." The phone brightened again, lit Sherlock’s face as he leaned over it. "And I couldn't bear to lose you," he murmured as he tapped the screen. He considered the simple message. Two hours seemed far too long, but people who lived and breathed needed to eat.
The John he’d taken with him on his journey hadn’t needed to nor had his heart beat. Sherlock dragged a blanket off the bed, pulled it around his shoulders and opened his laptop. At least it hadn’t at first.
Sherlock sat, stroked the touchpad. The document he opened was large. He scrolled down to a clear space and began to type.
***
You wanted to be with me. I heard you say as much at the cemetery. You consented to my taking you, more or less, so I didn’t understand why you hid from me when I did.
I work better when you’re near. You know this; I’ve told you so, you’ve seen it. There was so much work to be done. The sooner it was done, the sooner we could return to living our lives as we liked. This was obvious and yet you hid.
I’d hear you stomping along the corridors on the floor above me or slamming doors on the floor below. You rattled the windows. I couldn’t let you out, John. My mind palace is vast; it should have been enough for you. I thought I would have been enough for you.
Even so, knowing you were there helped me. The more you stomped, the faster I thought. I’d collect the broken things you left behind. Even they helped, but you would always be gone by the time I found them. You wouldn’t sit with me or look up with that smile of yours. Sometimes, I’d catch a glimpse of you in a mirror or find an impression upon a pillow. They helped, too. I tracked down Moriarty’s allies faster and faster. We would be home soon. I promised it aloud in the empty rooms and sometimes the curtains would rustle. In dreams you ran behind me, panting when we stopped, laughing as we gasped for air. We always caught the people we chased. You were never there when I woke.
I found clues faster, strung them together faster. We would be home soon. I shouted my promises to the echoing halls and when I slept I could hear your heart beating near me. When I awoke, my mind was razor sharp. I cut through their lies, all Moriarty’s accomplices and associates, cut them to ribbons and wove them back together in a clearer shape. I found more and more of them, coiled in their lairs and in their office suites. I would bring you home soon. I promised. And your heart began to beat, behind the walls and under the floors, while I tracked down the last piece of the puzzle. I let them catch me because it would be quicker. They beat me. I didn’t care, because it would be quicker. Your heart beat inside me. You whispered praise. It made me stronger. I could endure anything. I was coming home.
***
On the old wood, the phone blinked to life. Sherlock slid it closer, tapped and read: On train. His shoulders relaxed. He turned back to the keyboard.
***
You'd left our home.
I couldn't wait for you to be alone. So it was in a public place, among strangers, that I finally saw your eyes. When you looked up at me, the light in them was gone. There was no joy there and I could see that your heart didn’t beat for me.
You beat me until I bled. I was in the habit of enduring pain.
I shouldn’t have taken your heart with me. I understand that now. I thought you would rejoice at having it back. You are not you without it.
You think you have grown another heart, but it doesn’t beat at all.
I endured.
***
I saved you from the fire.
The message hadn’t come to me directly. It came through Mary. And yet the message was also for me. Why would a message for me come through Mary?
Oh, John. Your new heart has no beat at all.
Take your old one back. I’ve saved it for you.
***
You surprised me.
Clean-shaven in my doorway, curious, hesitant. I still wonder what you would have done if I had been alone, would you have needed to be invited in? There was a hint of life about you. Had I demonstrated that you mattered to me? It seemed to be enough for you to forgive learning that my parents knew or was it only that there was a problem that needed solving? It would be perfectly reasonable for you not to want to be roasted alive again. You took possession of the room, sat in your chair and clues slotted into place. Explaining to you worked as it had always done and I was off.
You followed me.
Without invitation, you followed me into the unknown, the darkness and the danger, shining behind me. And when I couldn’t see an answer, you blazed brighter. Despite your anger, your disappointment, your faith in me was strong. Not strong enough to last two years without a word, but strong enough to follow without one.
So I tried you again. After I solved the problem of the bomb ticking beneath the floor, I tried to solve the problem of you and me.
I offered you escape. You chose to stay. You said there wasn’t time to get away, but you run well, you could have gained the platform, possible shelter. You might have survived the blast, but you preferred to try to save others, to help me try to do that, and if I failed, to die with me rather than leave me alone. It wasn’t a clear signal, but it was enough for me to try harder to save you and me.
I would have guarded you against Mary in any event, if she turned out to be what I suspected, but I would have done it without your knowledge again, in case I was wrong and she could be your happiness.
I’ve never considered being wrong so often before. It’s a door you’ve opened wide for me, John. It has its uses.
And so I pled, on my knees, before that mechanical heart, for your forgiveness. For real forgiveness, which would allow you to let your anger go and be my friend again. You were happy as my friend, John. I cured your limp. I made you smile. So, a minute away from your death, I let you see that I had not understood how unhappy my death would make you. It was a sorrow I did not understand when I apologised in front of Mary. You hid your feelings so well, but now I know this about you. And there, beneath the earth, I gave you this knowledge of me.
The fact that I’d already switched off the bomb was irrelevant. You forgave me that in an instant. And I couldn’t help but laugh, because I could see in the pulse at your throat that your heart was beating.
***
My contrition wasn’t enough to stop you marrying Mary.
Perhaps you felt it was the honourable thing to do once you asked her. Perhaps it was also a punishment for me, to let me feel how it was to lose and be lost and alone. Perhaps you simply loved her and thought she loved you. It was your choice. I hadn’t given you a choice. That had been another mistake.
I had not expected you to ask me to be your best man. You saw that and any details you may have missed, I declared in the speech I made for you in front of our witnesses.
Without fully realising it, I think you thought to marry us both, your best man and your best woman, each of us to be faithful to you as you would be to both of us. Somewhere in the world there is probably a woman who would be the right one, but it is not Mary. I left you to suffer to keep you safe and ended up leaving you in as much danger as you would have been in if you had come with me. Maybe more. I am sorry, John, for all the unhappiness which may be coming and for whatever part in it I will have played.
After all that has happened since the wedding, I think you know now that I would die for you and I would live for you and that I’ve tried to make up for the grief I caused you by leaving you behind.
I’m not sure you know that what I love best is to make you laugh.
There has been far too little laughter in recent months.
***
I hear you on the stairs. There you are in the doorway. You pause, eyebrows raised in question when I stare over the laptop screen at you. You do look tired, but there is a light in your eyes. I can see it from here. You ask which room is yours and I tell you this one. You look mildly surprised, but put your bag down inside the door, next to my shoes, without another question and scan the room. I see you take note of the large four-poster bed and my case open on the bench at its foot. You spot the half open door to the en suite, take your wash bag from your case and head in that direction. You’ll see my toiletries in there. I hear no exclamations of protest. I shan’t sleep much tonight and I want you near. Listening to your breathing will help me think. There are so many scenarios. I want to go over each one. This being wrong lark has unsettled me, slowed me down a bit.
I promised you in Dartmoor not to be wrong again and I wasn’t able to keep that promise. At your wedding, I made a vow to protect the three of you and this I hope to keep. Tomorrow will be a major step towards achieving that. I will take you with me. Excluding you is a mistake I shall not make again. Before we go, you will have played your part. I have not let you in on every detail of my plan, but I think you will forgive me that much. When I invited you to live with me that first day at Bart’s, I had not foreseen that forgiveness would feature so prominently in our relationship.
You’ve turned on the shower. The water pressure isn’t much here. I’m smiling as I type. You like to shower when you get home. You didn’t so you could get here sooner. I’ll thank you when you come out. I try to remember to do that these days. I forget though. Tonight I’ll remember.
When I close this file, I will change the password to something simple that you will guess. Just in case all doesn’t go to plan, I want you to have this, a real note. After you read it, delete it or leave the computer with Mycroft. You won’t be able to set a password Mary won’t be able to break.
We have several things to discuss tonight, but when you sleep, I may need to put my ear to your chest to listen to your heart beat.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~