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aliyn_ravenAU! 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-tear
https://archiveofourown.org/works/47086126
Ajax, thanks for the preliminary reading.
Sherlock Holmes' phone didn't answer. Again. Molly Hooper scolded the boss as a "terrible person". She was a very intelligent girl and didn't speak rude words, even when she was at home alone.
Molly stroked the dog affectionately.
"One more call, dear, and we'll go for a walk."
She called Mrs. Hudson. 'The subscriber apologises and asks to call back in two hours or leave a voice message after the signal.'
Well, at least there is a connection. Molly said hello, named herself, and said:
"Jim Moriarty invites Sherlock to his studio! These are wonderful conditions! There is complete creative freedom; Sherlock himself will choose the performers, and he has royalties from each performance of the song and from each sale or paid online listening to the recording. But that's not all!" Molly took a deep breath and said, "Jim Moriarty is giving Sherlock his lawyers for court! And, more importantly, his advertising firm will take care of the blogosphere and social media. All this monstrous bullying and demands to cancel Sherlock will turn into support. You must send your lawyer to Moriarty Records as soon as possible."
Molly said goodbye and ended the connection. She was sure that Sherlock simply had to agree. He was attacked from three sides.
The gays were ready to stone Sherlock for hiding his sexual orientation. Feminists were eager to tear him to shreds for hiring a straight woman to pose as his mate. The champions of traditional values dreamed of burning Sherlock at the stake for defiling the sacred bonds of marriage with a fake engagement.
And adding to the tension were the singers and bands Sherlock worked with. Stories about his rudeness, selfishness, and heartlessness now and then became the topic of the day.
Against this background, even allegations of sexual harassment faded. Mrs. Hudson showed to the court those numerous intimate offers that Sherlock received even during the scandal, and her lawyer filed a counterclaim for libel and extortion. And won it.
But this isn't for long. With a little more time, all lovers of easy money and PR will figure out how to say that Sherlock harassed them and even raped them while drug-intoxicated, so he doesn't remember anything.
And because of the way Sherlock got his throat injured, no court will listen to his words that he takes only those substances that will allow him to relax until he is disconnected from the world but do not cause aggression or sexual desire.
Molly fervently approved of all laws that protect people from harassment and rape; however, protection is needed from those who turn laws into weapons of crime.
But these are just words. In reality, Sherlock will not survive without protection.
And Sherlock should have quit drugs long ago! He should speak out against them more and donate to free addiction treatment centers. He will play his games until he burns his brilliant brain with some stuff! And to the point that no one will take him seriously. Let him not live with a needle, but indulging in drugs from time to time is no less harmful.
Molly has said this to Sherlock many times, but he won't listen to anything.
She sighed, put the collar on her dog, attached the leash, and took him to the park.
"Ms. Hooper?" A male voice asked from behind her. "May I ask for a minute of your attention? Don't be afraid; the conversation is purely business."
The voice was very beautiful. Probably the most beautiful one Molly has heard in her life — and this is even taking into account the time when she worked for Sherlock: he often demanded that Molly carry the phone for him in the park and on the streets, so that Sherlock could understand how the voices of those he was about to grace and let them buy his song sounded in different conditions.
She turned around and looked at the speaker. Dear God, he's even prettier than his voice! And so elegantly dressed.
Only after that did she realise that she had seen this man many times on various talk shows.
"Mr. Moriarty..." Molly spluttered. "How are you?"
"Thanks, I'm good," he smiled. "I hope you're alright."
"Oh... Ah... Yes, thank you." Molly somehow managed to come to her senses. "Can I help you?" And added with a laugh, "I don't decide anything. If you are talking about Sherlock Holmes, then he never listens to me. I'm just sorting through his bills and letters."
"You are a very brave person," said Moriarty. "I never ventured to do it myself, even when I started my own business."
Molly smiled sheepishly. [My goodness, what a voice!] thought Molly. [And why doesn't he sing?] And Moriarty showed her the CD.
"Can you turn it on in the presence of Mr. Holmes? And show him the cover. If he approves, everything is ready for the release of the album. His royalties will be worthy of this masterpiece."
Molly took the CD carefully. Twelve singers, men and women, performed one of Sherlock's favorite songs, once a hit but now forgotten. And Molly, who adored this song, considered this a blatant injustice.
Molly said with regret:
"I think this idea is charming. I would definitely buy this album. But Sherlock Holmes is sure to be furious."
"Do you like the circus?" Moriarty asked.
"What?" Molly was surprised.
"Since I'm offering you a risky act, I must compensate. Inviting you to dinner is trite. You have enough theater in abundance in everyday life — I know what it is like to work with artists. And the circus is something new. So do you love the circus?"
"Unless there are animals there," Molly said firmly. "They are treated horribly in the circus!"
"I totally agree with you!" Moriarty nodded. "I support the requirement to legally ban the use of animals in the circus."
Molly looked at him with approval and admiration. Moriarty smiled.
"What about tonight?"
"With pleasure." Molly smiled back.
Let it mean nothing, but walking with such a handsome man and even the owner of the most orgasmic voice in the world was an extremely successful event.
***
"I can see it all very well, Mrs. Hudson," said John. "But I'm not going to support Sherlock in his quest to play Pygmalion. I am not a piece of ivory to him. (13) And I'm not a brainless Cinderella to think that by clinging to the prince you can become a star from the dishwasher."
"Many people have become these".
"I'm already a doctor. And he became one himself, without the help of bedding."
"Oh." Mrs. Hudson was a little taken aback. "But you love him! And don't even try to deny it, young man."
"I didn't try to do it. However, love is a perishable thing. Especially if the provincial ordinariness is infatuated with the star. There are many stars, but there are many more everyday problems. And you can survive them only with friends. Their love is peal. And my love for them is peal."
Mrs. Hudson was silent for a moment, trying to understand what she heard. And said:
"John, but you are not ordinary! You are a star. As soon as the video comes out, you will shine. It's always like that with Sherlock's songs. You have a different world now."
"The song will probably shine. But I will never be like this. The one single will quickly be forgotten without reinforcement with new songs. And I will no longer record songs or perform in person anywhere."
"John, why?" Mrs. Hudson was shocked and outraged. "You are very talented!"
"I know. I've always known since school. But I had goals and more important things to do. Because of the injury, they had to be corrected, but in general, nothing has changed."
"And this decision is final," Mrs. Hudson realised.
"Exactly." John got up and took the folder with the contract. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Hudson. Goodbye."
John walked towards the exit of the pub. And stumbled upon Sherlock, seething with rage, who had heard their conversation. John paled a little and tensed, but walked past so determinedly that Sherlock didn't dare to stop him.
But Mrs. Hudson jumped up and pushed Sherlock to the door where John had disappeared.
"If you don't catch up with him right away and explain yourself properly, I'll kill you myself, before the court and the press do it. You are perfect for each other!"
Sherlock was about to protest, but Mrs. Hudson cut him off.
"Quick! Or I'll chat you to death with stories about TV series, and you can't hide from me anywhere!"
Sherlock wasn't about to explain himself, but it's better to stay away from Mrs. Hudson for the next twenty four hours. And Sherlock went outside.
There, John Watson consoled the sobbing Nancy Walker, trying to take her somewhere away from prying eyes.
**********
(13) The myth of Ancient Greece. The sculptor Pygmalion couldn't marry for a long time because he found flaws in the appearance of all the women he saw. Once he made a sculpture of a girl from ivory (sculptors softened it in a special solution and sculpted large figures as if from clay, then dried), which fully corresponded to his tastes. Pygmalion fell in love with his sculpture like a woman, bought her clothes and jewellery, put her to bed, etc. On a holiday in honour of Aphrodite, the goddess of love, Pygmalion brought rich gifts to her temple and asked the goddess to send him a wife who would look like a sculpture he had created. Aphrodite turned the sculpture into a living woman who became Pygmalion's wife. No one asked this woman if she wanted to be Pygmalion's wife, and it is not known if she had any feelings, thoughts, and desires, or if she was just a moving sex doll. Not a single version of the ancient myth doesn't say the name of this woman, and even the antique poet Ovid, who wrote a huge poem based on myths, did it without her name. And only Jean-Jacques Rousseau gave her the name Galatea in his play "Pygmalion" (1762), and there the sculpture comes to life itself in the manufacturing process as a missing but relatively independent part of Pygmalion's soul, his Alter Ego. The term "Alter Ego", if suddenly someone doesn't know, was not invented by Sigmund Freud and Carl Gustav Jung but by the Ancient Greek philosopher Zeno of Citium (334-262 BC).
https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14237516/1/Soft-silk-is-hard-to-tear
https://archiveofourown.org/works/47086126
Ajax, thanks for the preliminary reading.
Sherlock Holmes' phone didn't answer. Again. Molly Hooper scolded the boss as a "terrible person". She was a very intelligent girl and didn't speak rude words, even when she was at home alone.
Molly stroked the dog affectionately.
"One more call, dear, and we'll go for a walk."
She called Mrs. Hudson. 'The subscriber apologises and asks to call back in two hours or leave a voice message after the signal.'
Well, at least there is a connection. Molly said hello, named herself, and said:
"Jim Moriarty invites Sherlock to his studio! These are wonderful conditions! There is complete creative freedom; Sherlock himself will choose the performers, and he has royalties from each performance of the song and from each sale or paid online listening to the recording. But that's not all!" Molly took a deep breath and said, "Jim Moriarty is giving Sherlock his lawyers for court! And, more importantly, his advertising firm will take care of the blogosphere and social media. All this monstrous bullying and demands to cancel Sherlock will turn into support. You must send your lawyer to Moriarty Records as soon as possible."
Molly said goodbye and ended the connection. She was sure that Sherlock simply had to agree. He was attacked from three sides.
The gays were ready to stone Sherlock for hiding his sexual orientation. Feminists were eager to tear him to shreds for hiring a straight woman to pose as his mate. The champions of traditional values dreamed of burning Sherlock at the stake for defiling the sacred bonds of marriage with a fake engagement.
And adding to the tension were the singers and bands Sherlock worked with. Stories about his rudeness, selfishness, and heartlessness now and then became the topic of the day.
Against this background, even allegations of sexual harassment faded. Mrs. Hudson showed to the court those numerous intimate offers that Sherlock received even during the scandal, and her lawyer filed a counterclaim for libel and extortion. And won it.
But this isn't for long. With a little more time, all lovers of easy money and PR will figure out how to say that Sherlock harassed them and even raped them while drug-intoxicated, so he doesn't remember anything.
And because of the way Sherlock got his throat injured, no court will listen to his words that he takes only those substances that will allow him to relax until he is disconnected from the world but do not cause aggression or sexual desire.
Molly fervently approved of all laws that protect people from harassment and rape; however, protection is needed from those who turn laws into weapons of crime.
But these are just words. In reality, Sherlock will not survive without protection.
And Sherlock should have quit drugs long ago! He should speak out against them more and donate to free addiction treatment centers. He will play his games until he burns his brilliant brain with some stuff! And to the point that no one will take him seriously. Let him not live with a needle, but indulging in drugs from time to time is no less harmful.
Molly has said this to Sherlock many times, but he won't listen to anything.
She sighed, put the collar on her dog, attached the leash, and took him to the park.
"Ms. Hooper?" A male voice asked from behind her. "May I ask for a minute of your attention? Don't be afraid; the conversation is purely business."
The voice was very beautiful. Probably the most beautiful one Molly has heard in her life — and this is even taking into account the time when she worked for Sherlock: he often demanded that Molly carry the phone for him in the park and on the streets, so that Sherlock could understand how the voices of those he was about to grace and let them buy his song sounded in different conditions.
She turned around and looked at the speaker. Dear God, he's even prettier than his voice! And so elegantly dressed.
Only after that did she realise that she had seen this man many times on various talk shows.
"Mr. Moriarty..." Molly spluttered. "How are you?"
"Thanks, I'm good," he smiled. "I hope you're alright."
"Oh... Ah... Yes, thank you." Molly somehow managed to come to her senses. "Can I help you?" And added with a laugh, "I don't decide anything. If you are talking about Sherlock Holmes, then he never listens to me. I'm just sorting through his bills and letters."
"You are a very brave person," said Moriarty. "I never ventured to do it myself, even when I started my own business."
Molly smiled sheepishly. [My goodness, what a voice!] thought Molly. [And why doesn't he sing?] And Moriarty showed her the CD.
"Can you turn it on in the presence of Mr. Holmes? And show him the cover. If he approves, everything is ready for the release of the album. His royalties will be worthy of this masterpiece."
Molly took the CD carefully. Twelve singers, men and women, performed one of Sherlock's favorite songs, once a hit but now forgotten. And Molly, who adored this song, considered this a blatant injustice.
Molly said with regret:
"I think this idea is charming. I would definitely buy this album. But Sherlock Holmes is sure to be furious."
"Do you like the circus?" Moriarty asked.
"What?" Molly was surprised.
"Since I'm offering you a risky act, I must compensate. Inviting you to dinner is trite. You have enough theater in abundance in everyday life — I know what it is like to work with artists. And the circus is something new. So do you love the circus?"
"Unless there are animals there," Molly said firmly. "They are treated horribly in the circus!"
"I totally agree with you!" Moriarty nodded. "I support the requirement to legally ban the use of animals in the circus."
Molly looked at him with approval and admiration. Moriarty smiled.
"What about tonight?"
"With pleasure." Molly smiled back.
Let it mean nothing, but walking with such a handsome man and even the owner of the most orgasmic voice in the world was an extremely successful event.
***
"I can see it all very well, Mrs. Hudson," said John. "But I'm not going to support Sherlock in his quest to play Pygmalion. I am not a piece of ivory to him. (13) And I'm not a brainless Cinderella to think that by clinging to the prince you can become a star from the dishwasher."
"Many people have become these".
"I'm already a doctor. And he became one himself, without the help of bedding."
"Oh." Mrs. Hudson was a little taken aback. "But you love him! And don't even try to deny it, young man."
"I didn't try to do it. However, love is a perishable thing. Especially if the provincial ordinariness is infatuated with the star. There are many stars, but there are many more everyday problems. And you can survive them only with friends. Their love is peal. And my love for them is peal."
Mrs. Hudson was silent for a moment, trying to understand what she heard. And said:
"John, but you are not ordinary! You are a star. As soon as the video comes out, you will shine. It's always like that with Sherlock's songs. You have a different world now."
"The song will probably shine. But I will never be like this. The one single will quickly be forgotten without reinforcement with new songs. And I will no longer record songs or perform in person anywhere."
"John, why?" Mrs. Hudson was shocked and outraged. "You are very talented!"
"I know. I've always known since school. But I had goals and more important things to do. Because of the injury, they had to be corrected, but in general, nothing has changed."
"And this decision is final," Mrs. Hudson realised.
"Exactly." John got up and took the folder with the contract. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Hudson. Goodbye."
John walked towards the exit of the pub. And stumbled upon Sherlock, seething with rage, who had heard their conversation. John paled a little and tensed, but walked past so determinedly that Sherlock didn't dare to stop him.
But Mrs. Hudson jumped up and pushed Sherlock to the door where John had disappeared.
"If you don't catch up with him right away and explain yourself properly, I'll kill you myself, before the court and the press do it. You are perfect for each other!"
Sherlock was about to protest, but Mrs. Hudson cut him off.
"Quick! Or I'll chat you to death with stories about TV series, and you can't hide from me anywhere!"
Sherlock wasn't about to explain himself, but it's better to stay away from Mrs. Hudson for the next twenty four hours. And Sherlock went outside.
There, John Watson consoled the sobbing Nancy Walker, trying to take her somewhere away from prying eyes.
**********
(13) The myth of Ancient Greece. The sculptor Pygmalion couldn't marry for a long time because he found flaws in the appearance of all the women he saw. Once he made a sculpture of a girl from ivory (sculptors softened it in a special solution and sculpted large figures as if from clay, then dried), which fully corresponded to his tastes. Pygmalion fell in love with his sculpture like a woman, bought her clothes and jewellery, put her to bed, etc. On a holiday in honour of Aphrodite, the goddess of love, Pygmalion brought rich gifts to her temple and asked the goddess to send him a wife who would look like a sculpture he had created. Aphrodite turned the sculpture into a living woman who became Pygmalion's wife. No one asked this woman if she wanted to be Pygmalion's wife, and it is not known if she had any feelings, thoughts, and desires, or if she was just a moving sex doll. Not a single version of the ancient myth doesn't say the name of this woman, and even the antique poet Ovid, who wrote a huge poem based on myths, did it without her name. And only Jean-Jacques Rousseau gave her the name Galatea in his play "Pygmalion" (1762), and there the sculpture comes to life itself in the manufacturing process as a missing but relatively independent part of Pygmalion's soul, his Alter Ego. The term "Alter Ego", if suddenly someone doesn't know, was not invented by Sigmund Freud and Carl Gustav Jung but by the Ancient Greek philosopher Zeno of Citium (334-262 BC).
