![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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
Emil, thanks for the preliminary reading.
John's determined expression didn't please Sherlock at all. And the words were even worse.
"I love you very much, Sherlock. But this isn't the kind of love that causes people to fall on all horizontal surfaces in the house and then play Scrabble or walk in the park, holding hands."
Sherlock was about to protest, but John, who had dutifully done what Sherlock wanted since the day they started working in the studio in Sussex's town, stopped him with such an authoritative gesture that all the words stuck in Sherlock's throat.
"I'm moving to another flat," John said. "This will make it easier for you to grasp reality. There's one more song left, so if you're still interested in my vocals, we'll continue. I'd be happy to continue the friendship, but that doesn't seem to be something you'd be interested in."
"You... No! You want me!" Sherlock exclaimed in the tone of a forensic prosecutor.
"I also want to be a surgeon," John replied calmly. Too much peace. It made him feel terrible. And Sherlock said:
"You can't operate on people! And you never can."
"And you can never be a lover. You have a lot of passion and charm. But they are not for people. This is for songs only."
"I love you!" Sherlock was outraged.
"You've never seen me," John said, shaking his head in negation. "You look at me as a temporary replacement for your own voice, so you try to keep it closer to you. And you couldn't help but appreciate the convenience of being next to someone who can make balti gosht without burning down the kitchen. But you never saw me. And now you don't see."
He went to the door on the street. Sherlock followed him. And when Sherlock was in the middle of the stairs, he said:
"You are the other half of my soul."
John stopped at the door but didn't remove his hand from the knob. He is half turning to look at Sherlock. And he answered:
"I'm not a piece of something or someone. And you too."
John went outside. And Sherlock froze on the stairs. Why, when it comes to John, does he always not know what to do? Running after John barefoot and in a goddamn morning gown? Or wait until John calms down, enjoys Dimmock, and returns home in a more conversational state?
Sherlock has always thought that "second half", "soulmate," and things alike are nothing more than stupid and tasteless metaphors. But it turned out that this is a fact. Incredible, wonderful, magnificent fact.
However, John was not happy about this. And he left.
At the thought of Dimmock getting John's lips, cock, and ass, Sherlock curled up on the stairs like an offended child, wrapping his arms around himself.
And then he jumped up. This was not it! Sherlock needs John's arms, which are strong and empathetic at the same time. Sherlock couldn't even think that someone's hands could be so careful and tender. However, when he had a little argument with the guys from the cafe, John treated his abrasions and checked for fractures. Sherlock got to know John's power well, and it acted like Viagra. But his empathy and tenderness turned out to be drugs.
Dimmock isn't good enough for all this! He's just mediocre. He is cute, always ready to get laid, but so ordinary that he isn't visible.
Maybe John has never heard Dimmock sing?
Oh, this is a great idea! Sherlock jumped up and even jumped on the stairs, pleased with his genius. He will now write an excellent song in which he will explain to John how wonderful it is that he has become part of the soul and life of Sherlock, his other half and completion. Even if John himself doesn't notice that since the first day of work in that same Sussex studio, he has been walking without a cane and his hand doesn't tremble, Sherlock will explain to him in the only language that Sherlock speaks flawlessly and that John understands well: the music.
Common words and conversations only spoil everything, and music creates perfection even from problems and chaos.
It usually took Sherlock a week to complete a song. He didn't rivet one-day consumer goods. All his songs were masterpieces. But now Sherlock has created a pearl in two and a half hours. He even made a midi-karaoke file to make it easier for John to see how ordinary and uninteresting Dimmock is. John... John-John-John-John! Sherlock couldn't let go of him, even if he hadn't really taken possession of him.
Given the London traffic and the finickiness of Dimmock, who loves preliminary ceremonies, John did not have time to get down to the most important thing. And now he will never start with this object.
Sherlock called Dimmock with a malevolent and triumphant smile and said that if he wanted to get Sherlock's song, he should immediately come to the audition.
Of course, this snob instantly forgot his arrogance, and he was an hour and a half later in Sherlock's living room. And John came with him.
John liked the song. Sherlock enjoyed his admiring, adoring gaze.
Dimmock even glowed with the anticipation of success. He did a warm-up of his throat, read the text printed on a sheet of paper again, put it on the table, and started to sing under karaoke, looking at the laptop screen. Of course, Dimmock ruined the song. It couldn't be otherwise. It's not his level.
"You sing wonderfully," John said. "But what if you play a different image of the hero?"
Dimmock looked at him in surprise. And Sherlock was worried. What the hell is another image?
John said:
"He's a predator. Manipulator. He will destroy this girl as soon as he gets her."
Sherlock gasped for a moment, as if someone had punched him in the gut. And John continued:
"But he's trying to make her feel guilty, so she doesn't fight back. Because he can get hurt in a fight. But he is too smart and prudent to put himself at risk."
Sherlock didn't understand. This shouldn't have happened! John had to throw himself into his arms.
Dimmock didn't understand either.
"But why? He loves her. And he says that they are two halves of the same fate."
John shook his head negatively.
"The idea of two halves of one whole, soulmates, and the like is one of the meanest and most criminal things because it not only takes away individuality, freedom, and selfhood from humans but also deprives them of further personal development because any development is always a change. And half of something or someone must remain unchanged."
Dimmock was puzzled. And it seemed to Sherlock that the whole world known to him was collapsing. However, John didn't stop there and said:
"Only those who want to parasitize other people can support the idea of soulmates and two halves that need to be united."
Dimmock was lost in thought about what he had heard, and Sherlock dreamed of a dose of heroin and of it being big. It is impossible to survive this otherwise. Why doesn't John want to hear him?!
Dimmock sang again. And it was terrible: the cries of a gibbon in the mating season. Sherlock was about to tell him to go to hell, but John got ahead of him.
"No," he interrupted the song. "There is no need for such outright aggression. It's not rape, it's bait hunting. Everything should sound like a passionate love confession but scare the listener at the same time. It's a double-bottom song, and you need to show them both."
"What nonsense?!" Sherlock exclaimed with outrage. But Dimmock said, looking at John with a gentle, playful smile:
"It's too confusing for a simple guy like me, Dr. Watson. Maybe you can show me how?"
Sherlock started up. Will John sing his song? Is it good or bad? In any case, it's better than if he went to have sex with Dimmock again.
And John looked at Sherlock and said with his wonderful bright smile:
"Do you not mind?"
"No," Sherlock muttered. As if he didn't write it for John!
And John did a warm-up of his throat, took a printout, sat on the windowsill, and started to sing.
He didn't move to the energetic song of what Sherlock now realised was a teenage style. John conducted only lightly with his free hand. And this was enough for him to subdue the world. Sherlock watched Dimmock with displeasure, and Dimmock was fascinated.
And the singing... John even made the Union Jack pillow to desire himself. Yes, now he was insanely predatory and dangerous. But it was even more alluring, gentle, and seductive.
My eyes with your vision, (17)
My choice but always your decision,
My play with your direction/
Well it's my lead but always your connection
But when I look into your eyes you don't believe me.
I can see it in your eyes you don't believe.
Sherlock wanted to catch John. But he himself turned out to be in John's captivity. And the worst part, Sherlock realised, was that he didn't mind dissolving into John and being swallowed up by him.
And bloody Dimmock looks at John like he's about to start stripping, begging John to get laid on him immediately.
But why doesn't John want to own any of them?
My words, your expression.
My land, always your possession.
My song, your production.
My expense is always your deduction.
But when I look into your eyes you don't believe me,
I can see it in your eyes you don't believe me.
John doesn't need to absorb anyone. He doesn't want to own anyone. It will take away his freedom. John wants communication and interaction, he needs people-universes that are free and independent. But Sherlock did not know how to be a free and independent universe with someone. He always ran away in solitude to save himself. From the hysterical dictatorship of the mother, from the boredom of everyday life, from the stupidity of people, from his inability to communicate.
And now Sherlock didn't know how to interact with John if one didn't absorb the other if they were free persons but not components of something.
**********
(17) "You Don't Believe" by The Alan Parsons Project
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w24l3lmwQrE
https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14237516/1/Soft-silk-is-hard-to-tear
https://archiveofourown.org/works/47086126
Emil, thanks for the preliminary reading.
John's determined expression didn't please Sherlock at all. And the words were even worse.
"I love you very much, Sherlock. But this isn't the kind of love that causes people to fall on all horizontal surfaces in the house and then play Scrabble or walk in the park, holding hands."
Sherlock was about to protest, but John, who had dutifully done what Sherlock wanted since the day they started working in the studio in Sussex's town, stopped him with such an authoritative gesture that all the words stuck in Sherlock's throat.
"I'm moving to another flat," John said. "This will make it easier for you to grasp reality. There's one more song left, so if you're still interested in my vocals, we'll continue. I'd be happy to continue the friendship, but that doesn't seem to be something you'd be interested in."
"You... No! You want me!" Sherlock exclaimed in the tone of a forensic prosecutor.
"I also want to be a surgeon," John replied calmly. Too much peace. It made him feel terrible. And Sherlock said:
"You can't operate on people! And you never can."
"And you can never be a lover. You have a lot of passion and charm. But they are not for people. This is for songs only."
"I love you!" Sherlock was outraged.
"You've never seen me," John said, shaking his head in negation. "You look at me as a temporary replacement for your own voice, so you try to keep it closer to you. And you couldn't help but appreciate the convenience of being next to someone who can make balti gosht without burning down the kitchen. But you never saw me. And now you don't see."
He went to the door on the street. Sherlock followed him. And when Sherlock was in the middle of the stairs, he said:
"You are the other half of my soul."
John stopped at the door but didn't remove his hand from the knob. He is half turning to look at Sherlock. And he answered:
"I'm not a piece of something or someone. And you too."
John went outside. And Sherlock froze on the stairs. Why, when it comes to John, does he always not know what to do? Running after John barefoot and in a goddamn morning gown? Or wait until John calms down, enjoys Dimmock, and returns home in a more conversational state?
Sherlock has always thought that "second half", "soulmate," and things alike are nothing more than stupid and tasteless metaphors. But it turned out that this is a fact. Incredible, wonderful, magnificent fact.
However, John was not happy about this. And he left.
At the thought of Dimmock getting John's lips, cock, and ass, Sherlock curled up on the stairs like an offended child, wrapping his arms around himself.
And then he jumped up. This was not it! Sherlock needs John's arms, which are strong and empathetic at the same time. Sherlock couldn't even think that someone's hands could be so careful and tender. However, when he had a little argument with the guys from the cafe, John treated his abrasions and checked for fractures. Sherlock got to know John's power well, and it acted like Viagra. But his empathy and tenderness turned out to be drugs.
Dimmock isn't good enough for all this! He's just mediocre. He is cute, always ready to get laid, but so ordinary that he isn't visible.
Maybe John has never heard Dimmock sing?
Oh, this is a great idea! Sherlock jumped up and even jumped on the stairs, pleased with his genius. He will now write an excellent song in which he will explain to John how wonderful it is that he has become part of the soul and life of Sherlock, his other half and completion. Even if John himself doesn't notice that since the first day of work in that same Sussex studio, he has been walking without a cane and his hand doesn't tremble, Sherlock will explain to him in the only language that Sherlock speaks flawlessly and that John understands well: the music.
Common words and conversations only spoil everything, and music creates perfection even from problems and chaos.
It usually took Sherlock a week to complete a song. He didn't rivet one-day consumer goods. All his songs were masterpieces. But now Sherlock has created a pearl in two and a half hours. He even made a midi-karaoke file to make it easier for John to see how ordinary and uninteresting Dimmock is. John... John-John-John-John! Sherlock couldn't let go of him, even if he hadn't really taken possession of him.
Given the London traffic and the finickiness of Dimmock, who loves preliminary ceremonies, John did not have time to get down to the most important thing. And now he will never start with this object.
Sherlock called Dimmock with a malevolent and triumphant smile and said that if he wanted to get Sherlock's song, he should immediately come to the audition.
Of course, this snob instantly forgot his arrogance, and he was an hour and a half later in Sherlock's living room. And John came with him.
John liked the song. Sherlock enjoyed his admiring, adoring gaze.
Dimmock even glowed with the anticipation of success. He did a warm-up of his throat, read the text printed on a sheet of paper again, put it on the table, and started to sing under karaoke, looking at the laptop screen. Of course, Dimmock ruined the song. It couldn't be otherwise. It's not his level.
"You sing wonderfully," John said. "But what if you play a different image of the hero?"
Dimmock looked at him in surprise. And Sherlock was worried. What the hell is another image?
John said:
"He's a predator. Manipulator. He will destroy this girl as soon as he gets her."
Sherlock gasped for a moment, as if someone had punched him in the gut. And John continued:
"But he's trying to make her feel guilty, so she doesn't fight back. Because he can get hurt in a fight. But he is too smart and prudent to put himself at risk."
Sherlock didn't understand. This shouldn't have happened! John had to throw himself into his arms.
Dimmock didn't understand either.
"But why? He loves her. And he says that they are two halves of the same fate."
John shook his head negatively.
"The idea of two halves of one whole, soulmates, and the like is one of the meanest and most criminal things because it not only takes away individuality, freedom, and selfhood from humans but also deprives them of further personal development because any development is always a change. And half of something or someone must remain unchanged."
Dimmock was puzzled. And it seemed to Sherlock that the whole world known to him was collapsing. However, John didn't stop there and said:
"Only those who want to parasitize other people can support the idea of soulmates and two halves that need to be united."
Dimmock was lost in thought about what he had heard, and Sherlock dreamed of a dose of heroin and of it being big. It is impossible to survive this otherwise. Why doesn't John want to hear him?!
Dimmock sang again. And it was terrible: the cries of a gibbon in the mating season. Sherlock was about to tell him to go to hell, but John got ahead of him.
"No," he interrupted the song. "There is no need for such outright aggression. It's not rape, it's bait hunting. Everything should sound like a passionate love confession but scare the listener at the same time. It's a double-bottom song, and you need to show them both."
"What nonsense?!" Sherlock exclaimed with outrage. But Dimmock said, looking at John with a gentle, playful smile:
"It's too confusing for a simple guy like me, Dr. Watson. Maybe you can show me how?"
Sherlock started up. Will John sing his song? Is it good or bad? In any case, it's better than if he went to have sex with Dimmock again.
And John looked at Sherlock and said with his wonderful bright smile:
"Do you not mind?"
"No," Sherlock muttered. As if he didn't write it for John!
And John did a warm-up of his throat, took a printout, sat on the windowsill, and started to sing.
He didn't move to the energetic song of what Sherlock now realised was a teenage style. John conducted only lightly with his free hand. And this was enough for him to subdue the world. Sherlock watched Dimmock with displeasure, and Dimmock was fascinated.
And the singing... John even made the Union Jack pillow to desire himself. Yes, now he was insanely predatory and dangerous. But it was even more alluring, gentle, and seductive.
My eyes with your vision, (17)
My choice but always your decision,
My play with your direction/
Well it's my lead but always your connection
But when I look into your eyes you don't believe me.
I can see it in your eyes you don't believe.
Sherlock wanted to catch John. But he himself turned out to be in John's captivity. And the worst part, Sherlock realised, was that he didn't mind dissolving into John and being swallowed up by him.
And bloody Dimmock looks at John like he's about to start stripping, begging John to get laid on him immediately.
But why doesn't John want to own any of them?
My words, your expression.
My land, always your possession.
My song, your production.
My expense is always your deduction.
But when I look into your eyes you don't believe me,
I can see it in your eyes you don't believe me.
John doesn't need to absorb anyone. He doesn't want to own anyone. It will take away his freedom. John wants communication and interaction, he needs people-universes that are free and independent. But Sherlock did not know how to be a free and independent universe with someone. He always ran away in solitude to save himself. From the hysterical dictatorship of the mother, from the boredom of everyday life, from the stupidity of people, from his inability to communicate.
And now Sherlock didn't know how to interact with John if one didn't absorb the other if they were free persons but not components of something.
**********
(17) "You Don't Believe" by The Alan Parsons Project
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w24l3lmwQrE
