AU! No summary so far. It's about music, show business and a new life after a disaster. John+Sherlock. Slowburn.
https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14237516/1/Soft-silk-is-hard-to-tearhttps://archiveofourown.org/works/47086126Ajax, thanks for the preliminary reading.
Of course, all this couldn't do without Mycroft. Sherlock sneered profusely about the older brother's fear of Eurus — he didn't show himself until after he got her into trouble with her licenses and lengthy proceedings of the Department of Health because of a bureaucratic error.
But Mycroft didn't disappear from this, alas. And Eurus said that work is more important to her than two idiots, so older brothers should figure out their relationship themselves. And if they kill each other in the process, it's easier for her: it won't be necessary for her to take revenge on Mycroft and coddle the second brother, the eternal kid.
Now both brothers were in the garden of a small hotel, and this gave Mycroft an advantage: Sherlock did not have a violin in his hands, the sound of which made his older brother run without looking back.
"Eurus promised to take revenge on you," Sherlock said, gloating to Mycroft. He safely passed the words about the kid past his ears.
"She won't retaliate," Mycroft replied quickly. "I have prepared for her a compensation she cannot refuse."
Mycroft was really afraid of Eurus. And Sherlock envied her to the point of hatred — he himself could not keep his brother so well at a distance.
And Mycroft said:
"You are needed in London for a lot of things."
"There is nothing I need in London."
"No one doesn't need you here."
Sherlock hissed like a cat in anger. Mycroft was right. John Watson turned down Sherlock again.
'Your song is meant to be the warmth of a fireplace on a cold, rainy night. But there is no fire burning in this fireplace because the performer must play this role. And I have too little talent for such a difficult task.'
Sherlock even considered the minor fact that the opinions of such musical misunderstandings as Nancy Walker, Dean Taylor and Edwin Brown matter to Watson. Sherlock showed them the Great Song, and this was the song, not the music and lyrics. For this, and after that, he had to gargle a lot with that vile liquid that Mike prescribed for him. Sherlock was willing to put up with it no more than once a day. But now I had to use it multiple times. And no doubt Mike would make a scolding for Sherlock when he got to town, but it was worth it. 'Still Waters' was in rapturous ecstasy. They wanted this song for themselves with all their mediocre being, although they themselves admitted they were not able to sing it properly. But they unanimously said that Doc would not sing it.
'There's too little life for him.'
Sherlock didn't understand. He watched Watson and the band rehearse. He spoke to Watson again.
And got rejected again. And there was no one else fit for the Great Song. No one is anywhere!
"Damn!" Sherlock exclaimed.
"What?" gasped Mycroft, frightened by the sudden yell.
And Sherlock realised with amazement that he hadn't heard or seen Mycroft while he was thinking about John Watson.
This was the first time in Sherlock's life. Until now, Mycroft has filled all the real and mental space in which he appeared. The true son of his mother, a schizoid-hysterical control-freak woman! Only a violin could expel them, and even then, not immediately. Therefore, Sherlock switched to the violin from the piano at school and stubbornly defended his choice when he found out that Mycroft hates violin music and Mummy considers it harmful to her nerves.
Mycroft again started his hurdy-gurdy about Sherlock's bad taste and behaviour and about the upset Mummy, but Sherlock began to remember Watson's singing, and the world disappeared. Sherlock heard only silky soft laughter, saw the smile of a cartoon bear cub, and heard his fleeting but always inspiring rehearsal lines. He kept aloof because he was not a member of the band, but it was John Watson who kept everything in working order, and didn't allow the band to fall apart. It was the light side of Watson.
But there was another one. Watson was able to stop a drunken brawl in a pub with one shout. More specifically, a heated rivalry between villagers and retired warriors over who punches Sherlock in the face first.
They were all insane. They are unable to perceive the world around them. Sherlock was sure of that. But they heard John Watson. And although, as Sherlock knew for sure, there was no sympathy between the village and the shelter, both sides considered Captain Watson's opinion authoritative. And this authority was so great that the villagers and the military, obeying the quiet, calm advice of Captain Watson, set drinks for each other. And they have not only fallen behind the visiting fool who says things about people that they would like to hide. Together, these wild beasts carefully held the door open for Captain Watson as he dragged Sherlock outside by the scruff of the collar. How Watson was able to do this with such a difference in height, despite the fact that Sherlock himself boxed well, was a mystery to Sherlock until now. But the little and deceptively unremarkable man coped admirably.
Sherlock waited for a scolding and a lecture on the rules of good manners, and, to his amazement, he was ready to dutifully accept them, but Watson again surprised Sherlock when he silently walked to the shelter as if Sherlock was an empty place. And the next day, he spoke to Sherlock as if nothing had happened.
"Sherlock!" Mycroft shook him by the shoulder. "Why did you bring me to this club?"
Sherlock looked around in surprise. Yes. This is a club.
"There's a concert on Saturday," Sherlock said. "I want to watch the dress rehearsal. And it's good for you too."
Without waiting for an answer, Sherlock walked into the auditorium.
There was the parish priest, the deputy mayor, and some relatives of participants in the rehearsal of the concert. Sherlock took a seat at the back of the hall, in the shade. Mycroft, disgruntled, sat down beside him.
'Still Waters' sang a couple of songs — not bad and not good, sound and mediocre — but the suffering of Mycroft, snob and lover of the classics, caressed Sherlock's heart. And then John Watson appeared on the scene.
"Oh my God, Sherlock, he looks even older and shabbier than in the photo from security cameras!" Mycroft said it squeamishly.
"My friend wrote this song," Watson said. "He was killed in Afghanistan. He knew much about what it was like to be betrayed and sold for money and fame. And if there is something after death, then I want Steve Lawrence to know that the traitors received their well-deserved punishment and that his name was included in the list of heroes. Justice and honour exist, Steve."
The band played the intro, and John started singing.
If you take a life do you know what you'll give? (8)
Odds are you won't like what it is
When the storm arrives would you be seen with me
By the merciless eyes of deceit?
Sherlock almost groaned in annoyance and admiration: HOW does he do it? Why does his voice, far from being the most beautiful and skillful, penetrate so deeply into the soul and dig into the heart?
I've seen angels fall from blinding heights.
But you yourself are nothing so divine.
Just next in line
Arm yourself because no one else here will save you.
Hell yeah, Sherlock figured that out a long time ago. He is just next in a long line of ones wanting to get this will-o'-wisp and having only dirt. He will be able to seduce the faerie, created for seduction!
And if you think you've won you never saw me change.
The game that we've all been playing,
I've seen this diamond cut through harder men
Than you yourself but if you must pretend.
You may meet your end.
Arm yourself because no one else here will save you,
The odds will betray you
And I will replace you.
[He provokes the killer], Sherlock realised. [Wants to lure him out of hiding.]
It was a monstrous, deadly risk, but it was more exciting than any drug. And John Watson himself. His singing. His goddamn magic.
You can't deny the prize it may never fulfill you.
It longs to kill you, are you willing to die?
The coldest blood runs through my veins.
You know my name.
You know my name.
Oh no, Sherlock won't refuse this prize. He will get his faerie, his will-o'-wisp, in the cold of which the volcano hides.
And in the next moment, Sherlock realised that he was not alone in his desire. Mycroft, who embodied contempt for human passions and exorbitant snobbery, devoured John Watson with his eyes and squeezed his own groin with his hands.
**********
(8) "You Know My Name" by Chris Cornell, "Casino Royale" Soundtrack by Chris Cornell & David Arnold.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u4yZIrcneTM![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
