Fic: Still Sherlock 1/?
Title: Still Sherlock- chapter one
Author:ununpentium
Fandom: BBC Sherlock fusion with the novel Still Alice
Rating: Mature
Pairings: Sherlock/John
Wordcount (this chapter): 1161
Warnings: Choosing not to warn
Read on AO3
Sherlock develops early onset Alzheimer's disease and when he no longer recognises John, he knows what he must do.
Notes:
Please not that I have chosen not to use archive warnings. This is because if I warn then I will give the plot away. Future chapters will be angsty and this whole piece of work is not exactly a bed of roses.
This is a reworking of the novel Still Alice by Lisa Genova. It is not necessary to have read it in order to understand this fic. I do not claim to own Sherlock or Still Alice, I am just borrowing them.
Chapter 1
Chapter Text
Sherlock could hear John banging and crashing about upstairs, his feet treading a well-worn path across the floorboards. Sherlock tried to block out the noise as he continued with his experiment, already irritated at John’s insistence that he wear safety glasses and gloves when dealing with acid. Sherlock knew better than to argue with John about laboratory safety, now they were semi-retired John was more stringent than ever.
“Sherlock?” John called down the stairs, “have you seen my watch? I swear I left it on the bedside table last night but I can’t find it anywhere! I’m going to be late.”
Sherlock rolled his eyes, put down the micro pipette he was using and glanced around the sitting room. There it was- John’s watch, discarded on the arm of the sofa last night as Sherlock and John were watching a film, Sherlock lying against John and complaining that John’s watch was digging into him.
“It’s on the sofa,” Sherlock called up, “you left it there last night.”
John rushed down the stairs and snatched his watch from the sofa, hastily fastening it around his wrist.
“Thanks. You remember I told you I’m away this weekend for a conference? I’ll be in Manchester until Sunday evening.”
Sherlock frowned. He hadn’t remembered, but he frequently deleted this kind of information.
“I’ve got to present a paper myself later on today at the Royal Society.”
John had never expected that Sherlock had any interest in the academic side of chemistry, he thought that Sherlock conducted experiments for fun and preferred running about after criminals, but they had aged quite considerably since those glory days and Sherlock had taken more of an interest in his research and had started to present his findings professionally. He was still the same old Sherlock, John mused, not afraid to speak his mind or flaunt his deductions, but his presentations were always packed out.
“Good luck,” John pressed a kiss to the top of Sherlock’s head; curls greying at his temples, “I’ll text you when I arrive at the hotel.”
Sherlock nodded in acknowledgement, his focus already trained back on his experiment.
~*~*~
The lecture hall was thrumming with the low level chatter of those lucky enough to secure seats at one of Sherlock Holmes’ presentations. Sherlock stood to the side, counting down the minutes until he was due to begin and glancing briefly over his notes. He had presented many papers over the years and never even entertained the notion that public speaking would make him nervous. He looked out over the audience, mentally deducing their professions and academic interests so he could tailor the bulk of his talk. He straightened his jacket, rolled his shoulders and stepped onto the podium to a lively applause.
Midway through his presentation, Sherlock faltered. This had never happened to him before. He knew his paper backwards, his notes were almost never needed; and yet he had ground to a halt right in the middle of a long explanation. Something had eluded him, but damn him if he could remember what. Something important had vanished, he could feel it, and it was an unpleasant feeling. Sherlock scanned the faces of the audience, they were still rapt with attention; Sherlock had only paused for a second, it only felt longer inside his head. Sherlock cleared throat, smiled, and started from the next section of his talk. Nobody suspected anything had gone wrong. Interesting.
~*~*~
After shaking himself free of the many people wanting to congratulate him on his paper, Sherlock caught a cab over to Lestrade’s flat. Lestrade had retired from the police a few years ago and although he would never admit it, he felt quite lonely without the constant paperwork and interaction with the other police officers. He especially missed haring around London with Sherlock and John, and since his wife had left him, taking their two children with her, Lestrade was rattling about in the flat all by himself.
Sherlock didn’t bother to knock and simply let himself in as usual using his set of lock picks. Lestrade chucked a cushion at Sherlock’s head as he entered the flat.
“Still not learnt any manners then?”
Sherlock’s lips quirked up into a half smile.
“Where would be the fun in that, Greg?”
Lestrade sighed, pulled himself up from the sofa and made his way into the kitchen, automatically making Sherlock a coffee. He had quickly learnt that Sherlock was more insufferable than usual without his caffeine fix.
Lestrade leant with his back against the counter as he waited for the kettle to boil.
“So, how’s John?”
“He’s good. He’s away for the weekend.”
“Oh? Where to?”
Where had John gone? Sherlock remembered John telling him he would be away until Sunday evening, but he couldn’t remember where he said he was going.
“Unimportant. Somewhere dull. I deleted it. Have you got any cold cases for me to look at?”
“No I haven’t, because being retired, I can’t just walk into Scotland Yard when I feel like it and pinch files for you!”
Sherlock made an irritated noise in the back of his throat. “What use are you now then? My brain is rotting without a case and since Donovan took over she delights in giving me the boring ones.”
Lestrade knew better than to rise to Sherlock’s provocation. He finished making the coffee and thrust a cup at Sherlock.
“Drink this. It’ll make you slightly less of an annoying arse.”
~*~*~
Sherlock entered 221b and threw his briefcase down onto the floor. He hated that thing, but it was just the right size for his papers and notes. John said it made him look distinguished. Sherlock thought it was hateful.
“John?” Sherlock called out. Then he remembered- John was away. Away until Sunday. Away where? Just ‘away’. Sherlock decided to pass the time by going for a walk, it was about time he updated his mental maps of the city.
Sherlock decided on his favourite route- through Marylebone, Oxford Circus, down Regent Street, through Leicester Square then finally reaching Embankment. It took him about an hour at a reasonable pace and he enjoyed the crisp March air. Upon reaching Waterloo Bridge, Sherlock decided it was time to head home and start the next experiment he had been planning on. Sherlock turned around and froze. He didn’t know where to go. He knew he was on Waterloo Bridge, facing towards the Strand. He knew that a few minutes to his left was Embankment tube station, and to his right was Temple, but he didn’t know where to go to get home. His breathing quickened and he could feel his heart begin to race. Think Sherlock, you know every street in London. You know how to get back to Baker Street.
Sherlock closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and opened them again. God, he was stupid. Of course he knew how to get back to Baker Street. Sherlock mentally scolded himself and started walking.
Chapter Two
Author:ununpentium
Fandom: BBC Sherlock fusion with the novel Still Alice
Rating: Mature
Pairings: Sherlock/John
Wordcount (this chapter): 1161
Warnings: Choosing not to warn
Read on AO3
Sherlock develops early onset Alzheimer's disease and when he no longer recognises John, he knows what he must do.
Notes:
Please not that I have chosen not to use archive warnings. This is because if I warn then I will give the plot away. Future chapters will be angsty and this whole piece of work is not exactly a bed of roses.
This is a reworking of the novel Still Alice by Lisa Genova. It is not necessary to have read it in order to understand this fic. I do not claim to own Sherlock or Still Alice, I am just borrowing them.
Chapter 1
Chapter Text
Sherlock could hear John banging and crashing about upstairs, his feet treading a well-worn path across the floorboards. Sherlock tried to block out the noise as he continued with his experiment, already irritated at John’s insistence that he wear safety glasses and gloves when dealing with acid. Sherlock knew better than to argue with John about laboratory safety, now they were semi-retired John was more stringent than ever.
“Sherlock?” John called down the stairs, “have you seen my watch? I swear I left it on the bedside table last night but I can’t find it anywhere! I’m going to be late.”
Sherlock rolled his eyes, put down the micro pipette he was using and glanced around the sitting room. There it was- John’s watch, discarded on the arm of the sofa last night as Sherlock and John were watching a film, Sherlock lying against John and complaining that John’s watch was digging into him.
“It’s on the sofa,” Sherlock called up, “you left it there last night.”
John rushed down the stairs and snatched his watch from the sofa, hastily fastening it around his wrist.
“Thanks. You remember I told you I’m away this weekend for a conference? I’ll be in Manchester until Sunday evening.”
Sherlock frowned. He hadn’t remembered, but he frequently deleted this kind of information.
“I’ve got to present a paper myself later on today at the Royal Society.”
John had never expected that Sherlock had any interest in the academic side of chemistry, he thought that Sherlock conducted experiments for fun and preferred running about after criminals, but they had aged quite considerably since those glory days and Sherlock had taken more of an interest in his research and had started to present his findings professionally. He was still the same old Sherlock, John mused, not afraid to speak his mind or flaunt his deductions, but his presentations were always packed out.
“Good luck,” John pressed a kiss to the top of Sherlock’s head; curls greying at his temples, “I’ll text you when I arrive at the hotel.”
Sherlock nodded in acknowledgement, his focus already trained back on his experiment.
~*~*~
The lecture hall was thrumming with the low level chatter of those lucky enough to secure seats at one of Sherlock Holmes’ presentations. Sherlock stood to the side, counting down the minutes until he was due to begin and glancing briefly over his notes. He had presented many papers over the years and never even entertained the notion that public speaking would make him nervous. He looked out over the audience, mentally deducing their professions and academic interests so he could tailor the bulk of his talk. He straightened his jacket, rolled his shoulders and stepped onto the podium to a lively applause.
Midway through his presentation, Sherlock faltered. This had never happened to him before. He knew his paper backwards, his notes were almost never needed; and yet he had ground to a halt right in the middle of a long explanation. Something had eluded him, but damn him if he could remember what. Something important had vanished, he could feel it, and it was an unpleasant feeling. Sherlock scanned the faces of the audience, they were still rapt with attention; Sherlock had only paused for a second, it only felt longer inside his head. Sherlock cleared throat, smiled, and started from the next section of his talk. Nobody suspected anything had gone wrong. Interesting.
~*~*~
After shaking himself free of the many people wanting to congratulate him on his paper, Sherlock caught a cab over to Lestrade’s flat. Lestrade had retired from the police a few years ago and although he would never admit it, he felt quite lonely without the constant paperwork and interaction with the other police officers. He especially missed haring around London with Sherlock and John, and since his wife had left him, taking their two children with her, Lestrade was rattling about in the flat all by himself.
Sherlock didn’t bother to knock and simply let himself in as usual using his set of lock picks. Lestrade chucked a cushion at Sherlock’s head as he entered the flat.
“Still not learnt any manners then?”
Sherlock’s lips quirked up into a half smile.
“Where would be the fun in that, Greg?”
Lestrade sighed, pulled himself up from the sofa and made his way into the kitchen, automatically making Sherlock a coffee. He had quickly learnt that Sherlock was more insufferable than usual without his caffeine fix.
Lestrade leant with his back against the counter as he waited for the kettle to boil.
“So, how’s John?”
“He’s good. He’s away for the weekend.”
“Oh? Where to?”
Where had John gone? Sherlock remembered John telling him he would be away until Sunday evening, but he couldn’t remember where he said he was going.
“Unimportant. Somewhere dull. I deleted it. Have you got any cold cases for me to look at?”
“No I haven’t, because being retired, I can’t just walk into Scotland Yard when I feel like it and pinch files for you!”
Sherlock made an irritated noise in the back of his throat. “What use are you now then? My brain is rotting without a case and since Donovan took over she delights in giving me the boring ones.”
Lestrade knew better than to rise to Sherlock’s provocation. He finished making the coffee and thrust a cup at Sherlock.
“Drink this. It’ll make you slightly less of an annoying arse.”
~*~*~
Sherlock entered 221b and threw his briefcase down onto the floor. He hated that thing, but it was just the right size for his papers and notes. John said it made him look distinguished. Sherlock thought it was hateful.
“John?” Sherlock called out. Then he remembered- John was away. Away until Sunday. Away where? Just ‘away’. Sherlock decided to pass the time by going for a walk, it was about time he updated his mental maps of the city.
Sherlock decided on his favourite route- through Marylebone, Oxford Circus, down Regent Street, through Leicester Square then finally reaching Embankment. It took him about an hour at a reasonable pace and he enjoyed the crisp March air. Upon reaching Waterloo Bridge, Sherlock decided it was time to head home and start the next experiment he had been planning on. Sherlock turned around and froze. He didn’t know where to go. He knew he was on Waterloo Bridge, facing towards the Strand. He knew that a few minutes to his left was Embankment tube station, and to his right was Temple, but he didn’t know where to go to get home. His breathing quickened and he could feel his heart begin to race. Think Sherlock, you know every street in London. You know how to get back to Baker Street.
Sherlock closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and opened them again. God, he was stupid. Of course he knew how to get back to Baker Street. Sherlock mentally scolded himself and started walking.
Chapter Two