Aliyn Raven (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
aliyn_raven) wrote2023-06-14 11:36 pm
aliyn_raven) wrote2023-06-14 11:36 pm
Entry tags:
Fanfics About Sherlock BBC (Soft silk is hard to tear - 15)
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-tear
https://archiveofourown.org/works/47086126
Emil, thanks for the preliminary reading.
Rabies was again replaced by despair. It was easy for Sherlock to guess what John Watson was thinking. "Everyone will consider me the bedding of a star."
Dear God. How can he be so stupid?! What does he care about anyone when Sherlock Holmes himself brings him SONGS?! Or… Sherlock stopped, taken in by the realisation. Oh, it's impossible!
He caught up with John Watson in three huge steps, jumped ahead of him with the next jump, and blocked the road.
"Do you think the songs are nonsense?!"
"What?" John dumbfounded a little. "No."
"You lie. You think you are a great lifesaver, you make the world a better place. You keep the damn universe on your shoulders. The Doctor and his God Complex. But you know, John, you God died in Afghanistan. And of the scraps of memories that survived, none of them would even be hired to work in an ambulance. You are nobody. Your destiny is the whims of snotty kids and gouty old people."
"I know," John replied calmly. "But the consequences of a poorly treated cold can ruin life very much. Inflammatory arthritis is very painful. And leads innocent people to imprisonment behind four walls. And if you are not able to understand obvious things, this doesn't mean that my current self is useless."
Sherlock was momentarily taken aback. He expected fury, even a punch in the face, and Sherlock figured out how to subdue this outburst and take possession of John. But he again did something Sherlock didn't expect. Among the billions of sickeningly predictable people, suddenly there was one whom Sherlock could not calculate.
John went back to the shelter. Sherlock caught up with him again.
"You love me! You want me. You said that yourself!"
"Everyone loves the stars. And everyone wants you. This is what you exist for. This means nothing."
How many shocks can be from one person? Sherlock didn't know. And he didn't know what to do. For the first time in his life, he didn't know anything. And John said:
"If someone likes your songs, that doesn't mean they should want to sing it themselves. If someone notices your beauty and attractiveness, this does not mean that they should want to throw themselves into your arms. And finally, if the stars condescended to ordinary people, this doesn't mean that they should fulfill starry desires, renouncing themselves."
John somehow imperceptibly and not painfully, but very effectively pushed Sherlock away and went to the shelter. John's phone rang, and he answered as he went.
"I didn't understand, do you want me to characterise Nancy Walker? /-/ I don't know her much, but in situations where I saw her, Ms. Walker showed herself as a neat, responsible, reasonable person with pronounced leadership and organisational qualities, she has tactical and strategic planning skills. She is very wise for her age. /-/ People much older and more experienced than her also become victims of unscrupulous partners, so the story of 'Still Waters' is not an indicator."
'Still Waters'! Sherlock almost jumped, pleased with the idea. The killer is still on the loose. And he is one of the members of the band, and not of the company of the groupies; otherwise, there would be no benefit in removing the victim's widow from the scope.
And John Watson loves equity too much to refuse to catch a criminal. And he is too knightly to let the young lady risk her life alone. Because of this stupid noise with contracts and Mycroft's visit, everyone forgot about the killer, but now there was silence, and John would remember everything. And Sherlock will be able to lead him to a new deal.
And then… Then the drug of the scene will work. No one leaves there voluntarily. Never.
Someone was talking to John for a long time; he was listening, frowning. And said:
"It's good. I can sing this, but first I have to agree with the boss to let me go to town for a day. And we need at least two rehearsals. Do you have all the instrumentalists?"
Sherlock was worried. If John agreed to sing for someone, and even so easily, this person should be thoroughly studied. He has a net to catch the magic flounder.
And Sherlock said, stepping towards John:
"I can play the violin and keyboards. And the guitar, a little."
John nodded to him and asked the telephone interlocutor:
"Are the instruments all right too? Drums are a must."
He listened to the interlocutor and said:
"Fine. I'm going to you." He put the phone away and explained to Sherlock, "Sholto's already there, so it's all right."
"He's your commanding officer, and it was he who offered them to call you," Sherlock said, his insides cold with jealousy. The feeling was new and unpleasant. But Sherlock's discovery was worth it. John is like a dog that always needs a handler. It remains to find a means to force Sholto to give him John.
They drove to the town in silence. And John was driving Sherlock's car because he knew the short country road. And the way he held the steering wheel made Sherlock wary. Managing such a person is not easy. How does Sholto do it?
Sherlock was intrigued.
In the ceremonial hall of the city hall, it turned out that Sally Donovan was sitting on the drums.
And it wasn’t her skills that surprised — Sherlock had long known that she was good at hitting drums at home to relieve stress, and she even studied this as an elective at an art college — but that she would agree to play in a provincial town in honour of some stupid local holiday?!
The bassist was Nancy Walker. It was expected. And two high school boys with guitars in their hands stomped near the wall, excited, scared, and inspired while having time to lewdly stare at Sally Donovan.
John stretched his throat with vocal gymnastics and stood at the microphone, checked it, and adjusted the height. With a wave of his hand, he ordered to begin.
At the first beats Sherlock winced in disgust, and then looked at John angrily and indignantly. How could he, after so much nit-picking about Sherlock's song (it was fair, but that's not the point!) agree to sing this incompetent howl?!
The song was written many years ago by some unknown rocker, and it was hated by everyone who was even worth anything in music and poetry, but adored by music teachers, headmasters of low-grade schools, and leaders of small towns. But even they didn't listen to it themselves, only used it in ceremonies and lessons.
O'Kay, Nancy is bad with money, and she is probably at odds with her family (an orphan would have at least some inheritance because Nancy has real Royal English and doesn't have an unconscious habit of protecting things too much, so she went to a fairly expensive school and did it not at a discount), but how could Sally agree to participate in THAT?!
And John sang:
So close, no matter how far. (14)
Couldn't be much more from the heart.
Forever trusting who we are
And nothing else matters.
God… Damn! And all people are idiots. And Sherlock is the main dumbass of all times and people. The song is EXCELLENT!!!
Why hasn't anyone seen this before? Why was it only John who was able to pull this pearl into the light? Why did only John realise that it shines with incredible, cosmic beauty?
Or did everyone see it — not for nothing that so many people always demand to sing it? But only John has the power to master this incredible magic and show its true splendor.
Never opened myself this way,
Life is ours, we live it our way,
All these words, I don't just say,
And nothing else matters.
"John, John, John!" Sherlock mentally shouted, "What are you doing?! How can I live without it now?"
He glanced around at the few spectators. Everyone was as shocked as he was. Even such ordinary beings were aware of how great John's magic was. Fae. The elusive will-o'-wisp, which is impossible not to succumb to the charm.
Never cared for what they say.
Never cared for games they play.
Never cared for what they do.
Never cared for what they know.
And I know, yeah, yeah.
Sherlock was scared. He understood why John was giving up his singing career. He wants freedom. He has always been free. In everything. He became free the way Sherlock wanted to be, but still couldn't. John always lived only the way he wanted, and no one could manage him, impose his own rules and laws.
How that fits in with the army, Sherlock didn't understand. But it did.
John will not be included in the cage of ratings, musical styles, and media. He never wants to prove anything to anyone. He will not become a prisoner of big names and other people's attention.
Will-o'-wisp belongs to no one.
But will-o'-wisp does not warm anyone. And John Watson is the warmth of a fireplace, the smell of fresh pastries, and hot mulled wine. This is a house full of security and comfort.
The song is over. The people were in an enchanted stupor for a few moments, and then they rushed to express their admiration for John. And Sally tried hardest of all: she stuck to John like a band-aid and had been chatting about the duet. Sherlock instantly wanted to strangle her. Or at least drag her away from John.
Of course, Sholto got there earlier. More precisely, he covered John's retreat from the positions, but so cleverly that all this crazy herd did not even understand how cleverly they were tricked.
The one who commands is not always the most important.
Another revelation from John Watson.
But if will-o'-wisp does not want to go into Sherlock's world, then maybe Sherlock can create the world he needs for him?
**********
(14) Certainly, it's the brilliant "Nothing Else Matters" by "Metallica", which in 1992 conquered the charts and proved that rock can't die.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=waBb-UM5m4g
https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14237516/1/Soft-silk-is-hard-to-tear
https://archiveofourown.org/works/47086126
Emil, thanks for the preliminary reading.
Rabies was again replaced by despair. It was easy for Sherlock to guess what John Watson was thinking. "Everyone will consider me the bedding of a star."
Dear God. How can he be so stupid?! What does he care about anyone when Sherlock Holmes himself brings him SONGS?! Or… Sherlock stopped, taken in by the realisation. Oh, it's impossible!
He caught up with John Watson in three huge steps, jumped ahead of him with the next jump, and blocked the road.
"Do you think the songs are nonsense?!"
"What?" John dumbfounded a little. "No."
"You lie. You think you are a great lifesaver, you make the world a better place. You keep the damn universe on your shoulders. The Doctor and his God Complex. But you know, John, you God died in Afghanistan. And of the scraps of memories that survived, none of them would even be hired to work in an ambulance. You are nobody. Your destiny is the whims of snotty kids and gouty old people."
"I know," John replied calmly. "But the consequences of a poorly treated cold can ruin life very much. Inflammatory arthritis is very painful. And leads innocent people to imprisonment behind four walls. And if you are not able to understand obvious things, this doesn't mean that my current self is useless."
Sherlock was momentarily taken aback. He expected fury, even a punch in the face, and Sherlock figured out how to subdue this outburst and take possession of John. But he again did something Sherlock didn't expect. Among the billions of sickeningly predictable people, suddenly there was one whom Sherlock could not calculate.
John went back to the shelter. Sherlock caught up with him again.
"You love me! You want me. You said that yourself!"
"Everyone loves the stars. And everyone wants you. This is what you exist for. This means nothing."
How many shocks can be from one person? Sherlock didn't know. And he didn't know what to do. For the first time in his life, he didn't know anything. And John said:
"If someone likes your songs, that doesn't mean they should want to sing it themselves. If someone notices your beauty and attractiveness, this does not mean that they should want to throw themselves into your arms. And finally, if the stars condescended to ordinary people, this doesn't mean that they should fulfill starry desires, renouncing themselves."
John somehow imperceptibly and not painfully, but very effectively pushed Sherlock away and went to the shelter. John's phone rang, and he answered as he went.
"I didn't understand, do you want me to characterise Nancy Walker? /-/ I don't know her much, but in situations where I saw her, Ms. Walker showed herself as a neat, responsible, reasonable person with pronounced leadership and organisational qualities, she has tactical and strategic planning skills. She is very wise for her age. /-/ People much older and more experienced than her also become victims of unscrupulous partners, so the story of 'Still Waters' is not an indicator."
'Still Waters'! Sherlock almost jumped, pleased with the idea. The killer is still on the loose. And he is one of the members of the band, and not of the company of the groupies; otherwise, there would be no benefit in removing the victim's widow from the scope.
And John Watson loves equity too much to refuse to catch a criminal. And he is too knightly to let the young lady risk her life alone. Because of this stupid noise with contracts and Mycroft's visit, everyone forgot about the killer, but now there was silence, and John would remember everything. And Sherlock will be able to lead him to a new deal.
And then… Then the drug of the scene will work. No one leaves there voluntarily. Never.
Someone was talking to John for a long time; he was listening, frowning. And said:
"It's good. I can sing this, but first I have to agree with the boss to let me go to town for a day. And we need at least two rehearsals. Do you have all the instrumentalists?"
Sherlock was worried. If John agreed to sing for someone, and even so easily, this person should be thoroughly studied. He has a net to catch the magic flounder.
And Sherlock said, stepping towards John:
"I can play the violin and keyboards. And the guitar, a little."
John nodded to him and asked the telephone interlocutor:
"Are the instruments all right too? Drums are a must."
He listened to the interlocutor and said:
"Fine. I'm going to you." He put the phone away and explained to Sherlock, "Sholto's already there, so it's all right."
"He's your commanding officer, and it was he who offered them to call you," Sherlock said, his insides cold with jealousy. The feeling was new and unpleasant. But Sherlock's discovery was worth it. John is like a dog that always needs a handler. It remains to find a means to force Sholto to give him John.
They drove to the town in silence. And John was driving Sherlock's car because he knew the short country road. And the way he held the steering wheel made Sherlock wary. Managing such a person is not easy. How does Sholto do it?
Sherlock was intrigued.
In the ceremonial hall of the city hall, it turned out that Sally Donovan was sitting on the drums.
And it wasn’t her skills that surprised — Sherlock had long known that she was good at hitting drums at home to relieve stress, and she even studied this as an elective at an art college — but that she would agree to play in a provincial town in honour of some stupid local holiday?!
The bassist was Nancy Walker. It was expected. And two high school boys with guitars in their hands stomped near the wall, excited, scared, and inspired while having time to lewdly stare at Sally Donovan.
John stretched his throat with vocal gymnastics and stood at the microphone, checked it, and adjusted the height. With a wave of his hand, he ordered to begin.
At the first beats Sherlock winced in disgust, and then looked at John angrily and indignantly. How could he, after so much nit-picking about Sherlock's song (it was fair, but that's not the point!) agree to sing this incompetent howl?!
The song was written many years ago by some unknown rocker, and it was hated by everyone who was even worth anything in music and poetry, but adored by music teachers, headmasters of low-grade schools, and leaders of small towns. But even they didn't listen to it themselves, only used it in ceremonies and lessons.
O'Kay, Nancy is bad with money, and she is probably at odds with her family (an orphan would have at least some inheritance because Nancy has real Royal English and doesn't have an unconscious habit of protecting things too much, so she went to a fairly expensive school and did it not at a discount), but how could Sally agree to participate in THAT?!
And John sang:
So close, no matter how far. (14)
Couldn't be much more from the heart.
Forever trusting who we are
And nothing else matters.
God… Damn! And all people are idiots. And Sherlock is the main dumbass of all times and people. The song is EXCELLENT!!!
Why hasn't anyone seen this before? Why was it only John who was able to pull this pearl into the light? Why did only John realise that it shines with incredible, cosmic beauty?
Or did everyone see it — not for nothing that so many people always demand to sing it? But only John has the power to master this incredible magic and show its true splendor.
Never opened myself this way,
Life is ours, we live it our way,
All these words, I don't just say,
And nothing else matters.
"John, John, John!" Sherlock mentally shouted, "What are you doing?! How can I live without it now?"
He glanced around at the few spectators. Everyone was as shocked as he was. Even such ordinary beings were aware of how great John's magic was. Fae. The elusive will-o'-wisp, which is impossible not to succumb to the charm.
Never cared for what they say.
Never cared for games they play.
Never cared for what they do.
Never cared for what they know.
And I know, yeah, yeah.
Sherlock was scared. He understood why John was giving up his singing career. He wants freedom. He has always been free. In everything. He became free the way Sherlock wanted to be, but still couldn't. John always lived only the way he wanted, and no one could manage him, impose his own rules and laws.
How that fits in with the army, Sherlock didn't understand. But it did.
John will not be included in the cage of ratings, musical styles, and media. He never wants to prove anything to anyone. He will not become a prisoner of big names and other people's attention.
Will-o'-wisp belongs to no one.
But will-o'-wisp does not warm anyone. And John Watson is the warmth of a fireplace, the smell of fresh pastries, and hot mulled wine. This is a house full of security and comfort.
The song is over. The people were in an enchanted stupor for a few moments, and then they rushed to express their admiration for John. And Sally tried hardest of all: she stuck to John like a band-aid and had been chatting about the duet. Sherlock instantly wanted to strangle her. Or at least drag her away from John.
Of course, Sholto got there earlier. More precisely, he covered John's retreat from the positions, but so cleverly that all this crazy herd did not even understand how cleverly they were tricked.
The one who commands is not always the most important.
Another revelation from John Watson.
But if will-o'-wisp does not want to go into Sherlock's world, then maybe Sherlock can create the world he needs for him?
**********
(14) Certainly, it's the brilliant "Nothing Else Matters" by "Metallica", which in 1992 conquered the charts and proved that rock can't die.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=waBb-UM5m4g