Aliyn Raven

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.

Irene Adler, completely naked, meticulously examined herself in a full-length mirror in her dressing room. She was not going to hide from the world that she had plastic surgery and Botox injections. If Cher turned such things into a successful show that added popularity and fees to her, then Irene can too.
However, for some reason, what gave Cher a new charm became fatal for Irene.
No, there are no complaints against the surgeon. He did a skin lift, and Botox is great. But the falsehood is still visible. And she strangely added ten years of age to Irene instead of reducing it by five years, as she and the doctor had planned.
[It would be better for me to leave small wrinkles than look like a plastic mummy,] she thought.
But top managers on TV channels don't like even small wrinkles. And many young beauties are hanging around their necks. Irene was flying out of the love section of the media market. And she had nothing to advance to the heights and stay there without the help of lovers. "I'm not Julia Louis-Dreyfus or Mary Berry (18)". Irene never deceived herself.
Of course, she has money. And there are investments that provide a stable income. However, she has become a common person. Another rich ordinariness among a billion of the same.
Not a star.
Not a queen.
The nobody.
Or not?
Sherlock Holmes texted her before the bandages were removed from Irene. She wrote to him a lot, saying that she always wanted him, but now she could not come. Sherlock didn't answer.
Irene realised he was not interested in her. Sherlock wanted to use her. And given what he himself told her about his attitude towards her, Sherlock was about to shove Irene into someone's bed.
This was out of the question! Irene was never shy about using sex to advance her career, but she always decided for herself who, when, and how to bestow her body and acted only in her own interests. She's not Readybed!
At the clinic, Irene pondered plans for revenge against Sherlock. However, now the mirror has made her change her plans. If Irene solves Sherlock's problems solely with her wits and diplomatic skills, it will turn her into one of the big bosses of the show business world.
It's not glory. But it is power and strength. This will make her the chosen one.
And Sherlock loves only the mind. He never noticed Irene's beauty in the days when it was natural. But Sherlock was infatuated with her for a couple of days; he admired Irene when she outsmarted Mycroft.
Irene winced at the thought of Mycroft. He almost ruined everything. And Irene found out in practice that blackmail is a profitable occupation but too troublesome.
But if she solves the problems of the victims of blackmail, she can rule the world. Any information can work for the client if it is properly presented to the public. Irene also became convinced of this in practice when she tried her hand at blackmail.
It's time to take advantage of this discovery.
And Sherlock doesn't care about her appearance. This used to infuriate Irene, but today she appreciated the benefits of such an attitude.
Irene didn't understand why she was so passionate — almost to the point of obsession — about Sherlock. She always considered herself free from love, passion, and other nonsense. She took and conquered hearts; she made people's souls burn but remained cold and detached. But Sherlock wasn't like anyone else. He isn't a man at all, but a fabulous elf. Irene wanted him like crazy. And she didn't abandon her attempts to charm him, to break through his coldness and detachment.
Irene threw on her dressing gown and went into the office, where she started to look for information about what problems Sherlock got himself into. It must be something incredible if it surpasses the scandal that erupted around Sherlock and to which he was indifferent.
But there is nothing online about Sherlock specifically. In any case, there was nothing at the time of that SMS. After that, a small scandal began with the soundtrack for the clip, which was assembled from pieces. And it was absurd: the video, by definition, is not the work of a singer but of a sound engineer. But the scandal about consumer fraud flared up seriously. However, he was interrupted by a scandal with a claque company disguised as an animal shelter.
But this is interesting. In order for the police to undertake such an investigation, Mycroft had to put pressure on her. But he didn't save his brother from a much worse scandal. The synthesised song didn't harm Sherlock; it even raised his rating as a songmaker: no one has ever created such lively and emotional audio tracks. Irene hadn't heard the song, but everyone wrote about it that way, and Irene had no reason to doubt such a characterization. Otherwise, video game makers wouldn't be bombarding Sherlock with offers.
However, Mycroft tried to bring to the fore not the talent of his brother but the firm-claque. And it was incredible! Mycroft didn't save his brother when he was truly in danger but rushed to the attack against what could benefit Sherlock.
Or is it not about Sherlock? But who, then, is so important to Mycroft? Is it the song performer?
Irene found photos of the singer.
[God, what's the spit-up?] she exclaimed with disgust.
Sherlock had always been indifferent to appearance, but to that extent... Irene even doubted for a moment whether she needed Sherlock if he coveted such a creature.
[Mycroft!] she figured it out. [Is he, too?]
Unbelievable... Both brilliant brothers stuck to this? And it turned out that Sherlock called Irene because she must distract Mycroft from... what was his name? ...John Watson?
"I will destroy you, Sherlock Holmes!" Irene exclaimed, enraged.
***
To prevent his name from being at the epicentre of the scandal, Anderson transferred all copyrights to his songs, lyrics, music, and arrangements to Scotland Garden Records. The studio, of course, was concerned about its own reputation, not the fate of Anderson — even if Scotland Garden Records would kick Anderson out and order compensation from him in favour of John Watson, the reputational damage was still too great. So the studio found some guy from the third tier of vocalists. An unremarkable specimen for sub-singing, without the slightest chance of a solo career. Such a "saboteur" can't stain the honour of the studio — he couldn't even be considered a full-time employee, just an occasional part-timer, nobody. But the scandal turned him into a famous blogger-hater. And crowds gathered to watch him swear and viciously ridicule music and movie celebrities.
Anderson even envied his rapidly growing popularity. And he regretted that he didn't choose this career option for himself. But Anderson had to admit that Lestrade was right: he does not have such a sharp and funny tongue as Joe Harrison. The guy was a third-rate singer but a deadly great hater. And although the reason for his hatred of John Watson, which pushed Joe Harrison to the claque company, was hastily invented, Harrison's talent for evil speeches made it convincing. The name Scotland Garden Records has remained unsullied. And the studio even scored a few reliability points when they paid John Watson compensation.
And Anderson turned into an office plankton on a small salary. One new song a month, constant concerts — the studio was not going to stand on ceremony with him and decided to use it for wear and tear.
Anderson could have left, but the rumours spread quickly, and now he could only work for his own confectionery chain. And its popularity rests solely on the musical fame of Anderson. The day he disappears from MTV and BBC Radio 2, the network will go bankrupt, unable to compete.
[It is necessary now, while I have fame, to invest more in the brand and promote new products. However, it takes a hell of a lot of time. But I'll be busy all the time. And my wife will not deal with these... She only knows how to spend my money. I can't even divorce her; she'll leave me a beggar!]
And on the horizon problems with the throat loomed because of overworking.
***
Stella Hopkins asked John to rehearse a song with him. What he did with Dimmock's singing was fantastic! Dimmock was a good singer — a very good one — but after studying with John, his singing turned into something fantastic.
Stella frequently received songs from Sherlock, but he was always unhappy with her. Stella was glad that he gave her songs at all — Sally Donovan could only dream of this. But Sherlock never explained what he didn't like. And John... His musical education is superficial, but his ability to perceive music and use intuition is incredible.
If not for Dimmock's jealousy! Stella was afraid that John would leave for the village again. Moreover, all or almost all the leading singers of Scotland Garden Records wanted to study with him. And that really pissed off Sherlock!
Stella could expect a lot from him, but not the search for a secluded farm in Sussex. Does he want to take John there? Does he want to steal him from Dimmock?
Stella smiled contentedly. Scotland Garden Records hasn't been this interesting and full of passion for a long time.
**********
(18)
Julia Louis-Dreyfus (born 13 January 1961) is a popular actress, comedian, and producer in the US. She is one of the most awarded actresses in America. And she also performed a lead role in a very successful television series about the active life of a woman of not a young age.
Mary Berry (born 24 March 1935) is a popular food writer, chef, baker and television presenter in the UK. She has many awards, and she was appointed Dame Commander of the Order of the British Empire (DBE) for services to broadcasting, the culinary arts, and charity.

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.

[Why are all people so obsessed with sex?] Sherlock thought, lying on a wide bed at the love hotel. The prostitute that he picked up in the lobby of the hotel stroked his stomach.
"Will we see each other?" She asked. "I will not take the money from you. Not now and not in the future. You are cute. I really had a pleasure with you."
Sherlock removed her hand, got up, and started dressing.
"Did I do something wrong?" The girl asked excitedly. "If you want something special, I'm doing everything."
"There are still tips here." Sherlock put the money on the pillow. "You know your business well, and your cat needs a veterinarian until he infects the second cat."
"What?" the girl was amazed.
"There is more wool on your stockings from a red cat than from a white one."
Sherlock left the room. The prostitute didn't lie; her orgasm was unfeigned. But what is so special about sex? Mediocre pleasure, dull preliminary gestures. And if you imagine that after that you still need to communicate... Oh Dear God, no. Love relationships are even more boring than procedural sex for health.
But.
Sherlock hastened to hide from the unresolved problem in a taxi. Did the experiment show that nothing had changed? Yes. So there is nothing to talk about. Sherlock still doesn't like contact with other people's bodies and still does not see the difference between a man and a woman. They are all equally burdensome. And the pleasure of both options is greatly overrated. And all the thoughts and desires associated with John are just accidental side effects. John is right when he says that Sherlock sees him as a replacement for his temporarily lost voice. But Mike Stamford assures that the treatment is going well, and Sherlock will soon be able to sing himself no worse than before. John will become unnecessary.
...The first thing Sherlock saw when he returned home was Molly Hooper and John Watson, who were sitting at the table in the living room very close to each other. Sherlock didn't know his rage could be so strong. However, even stronger was the fear that other people might see his feelings.
Sherlock froze in the doorway, listening to what Molly and John were talking about. They could have nothing in common!
Molly moved her finger over the touchpad and explained to John how to fill out the search utility.
"It needs to be clarified," said John. "Emergency workers" aren't only doctors, nurses, and assistants of nurses. There are still electricians, systems administrators, and accountants. Medicine in the United Kingdom is formally free, but in fact people pay taxes for it, and the hospital should report expenses in front of three departments. Therefore, the ambulance clinic has many employees who understand nothing about medicine but regularly occur near the coffee machine for staff and in the dining room. And doctors and nurses often discuss the salvation of the next laureate of the Darwin Awards, who was poisoned by household chemicals because he didn't read the safety rules on the packaging. And this we have not yet considered agents of pharmaceutical companies, representatives of providers of provisions, plumbers, and other coming persons. But about them later. First, we will find those relatives and acquaintances "Still Waters", who were on ambulance staff."
"Isn't it all too difficult?" Molly asked doubtfully.
"Sherlock said any poisoner is a strategist. This means that the killer was collecting all sorts of useful information long before he decided to kill Tim Rogers."
"Or he asked a medical professional he knew when he planned the murder," Molly said. "It's more likely. Or even this wasn't a medical professional, but that acquaintance who heard a lot about deaths from an accident."
"Bobby's talk about falling down stairs and wiring accidents," John replied. "Because this was a tip from an ambulance worker. Not everyone understands toxicology among medical professionals in ordinary life. This is a rather rare specialisation for civilian medicine."
Oh, so interesting! Sherlock starts to listen carefully. Turns out, among the participants of "Still Waters" no one was a student of the Department of Chemistry or Medical at the University.
But John unexpectedly showed more intelligence than Sherlock had expected. And it was intriguing.
However, John doesn't need to snuggle up to Molly like that to look for the killer! And Sherlock went from the stairs to the kitchen, slammed the door loudly, and started noisily looking for everything that was needed to make tea. Molly immediately rushed to save the kitchen. And John left. And returned half an hour later in a suit.
[Mycroft, I'll kill you!] Sherlock decided. John doesn't like costumes. But he respects tradition and will never go to the theatre in jeans and a sweater, even for an afternoon show.
John left the flat, and Sherlock texted Irene Adler.

Come to London immediately.

Sherlock hated this annoying, boring dummy, but Mycroft had been in love with her in the recent past. Well... Yes. "Love" is not the right word to apply to Mycroft. But at the sight of her, he almost choked with saliva. And he paid too much attention to the magazines, where there were naked photos of Ms. Adler. Although Irene herself strove in every possible way to start an affair with Sherlock, she will not refuse the career benefits that a connection with Mycroft brings. And that's why Irene will not let Mycroft be near John much better than Sherlock can. For the sake of such a service, Sherlock can compromise his principles and give her a second song.
"One Song Star" Irene Adler wasn't exactly a bad singer: she received a scholarship to study at the New Hampshire Art College in operatic vocals and then got a job at Teatr Wielki in Warsaw. But she never appeared on stage because she was on the farthest "substitute bench". The theatre is very good, but Irene Adler is a so-so actress. It is a voice without a soul. And she went into pop vocals. And when it turned out that it needed fire and passion even more than in opera, Irene made a career through the underpants of art managers and producers of both sexes. She was a guest on many talk shows, often starring nude. All publications were in prestigious magazines, and nudity was not pornographic but like art. However, this didn't change the fact that, apart from meat, Irene has nothing. Sherlock never even called her by her first name: "This woman" — that's all.
Mycroft introduced them. He wanted Sherlock to give her a song, or better yet, sing a duet with her. Sherlock had to give her the song to get Mycroft to keep this woman away from him. Especially since the news about her reached the Mummy; and Mrs. Holmes started talking about good girls from worthy families, with whom her sons must meet. Irene's departure to the US to shoot a video for Sherlock's song calmed Mummy's zeal. But Sherlock would not sing a duet with Irene even under threat of execution.
But now, for the first time, this woman can become useful. Sherlock knew that one day this would happen, and therefore he didn't delete her contacts from his phone and allowed her to sometimes send messages.
***
Anderson nearly exploded with rage. John Watson refused to sing a duet with him! This non-entity, released from oblivion by a psychopath, should have been happy that the studio gave him a contract and a real start with a famous singer.
John Watson said he was not interested in a stage career. But he's recording a second song for Sherlock Holmes.
The dissembler!
Sally Donovan, contrary to her rule "Have sex only with married men because they keep silent", flirts with Watson, forgetting about the existence of Anderson and her connection with him. And, judging by the fact that she baked the pie herself, Sally wants to get Watson not only for sex.
And this was the best proof that Sherlock Holmes won unfairly. John Watson is a fake. This nondescript little man couldn't sing himself. He is a screen for a voice that is assembled for a phonogram. Moreover, everything was done with prohibited psychotropic technologies. A living person can't have such charm! Especially if the person is so unattractive. When all of Anderson's work went unnoticed because of Sherlock Holmes, there were no questions. Sherlock Holmes is a psychopath, and Anderson hated him. However, Sherlock's beauty, charisma, and magical voice are undeniable. But John Watson...
No.
Philip Anderson can't lose to such a nonentity!
However, there is a cure for parasites. Claques. This service was forgotten in the middle of the last century when live sound broadcasts from theatres to cinemas appeared. Actors stopped buying applause for themselves and whistles for competitors, and newspaper critics became the most popular commodity. But the twenty-first century and cheap internet in every flat and even in every pocket brought claqueurs back to the market. A large part of popular bloggers willingly did the work of claqueurs or specialised only in it.
Peanut Galleries. Hooligans from the cheapest seats in the theatre shouted salacious comments about what was happening on stage and pelted the actors with peanuts — not for free, of course. Now this activity has changed its face. Bloggers insulted celebrities on the streets and provoked them into fights so that bloggers could get scandalous photos that would attract more advertisers to their blogs.
Art colleges or producers and managers teach artists how to survive and behave in such conditions before they are released as debutants on stage, on television, and on the screens of the cinema. But John Watson is not ready for this. It will break him instantly. And pull Sherlock down with him.
Anderson didn't need to contact the claqueurs and peanut gallerists on his own. The firms that hired them operated from behind the scenes at charities and animal shelters. If the true activities of such an institution became known, the artists had an alibi: they wanted to do good deeds and were deceived, not buy a dirty victory in the competitive fight.
And Anderson called the director of the shelter to set up a meeting.

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.

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

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.

Molly Hooper stood at Mrs. Hudson's doorstep and glared with anger at the media.
"Instead of stopping people from working, write about what bad products are in food banks. Or about the monstrously long lines at free clinics. But you need a brain for this, and not everyone has it." Molly turned proudly, entered the house, and closed the door.
"You are very brave," John said from the top of the stairs. "And kind."
"The trifles." Molly went up to the landing, took the letters from the table in the hallway, quickly looked through them as she entered the living room, and went to the table.
John sat down in a chair, took his laptop, and checked the donations. Together with the military disability pension, this is enough to pay for the room and John's share of the cost of food — he paid for the room himself, and he and Sherlock shared the food equally. Luckily, Sherlock wasn't picky, so he didn't mind simple, healthy food.
And it's time to admit that the time of quiet sitting in the shelter is over. John likes London again; he is interested in writing about it and inventing fantastic stories about its streets and parks. John needs a job in London. And, preferably, part-time, so that there is time for writing stories. John should call Sholto and say that he has to transfer the doctor, whom Sholto hired for a few days to replace John, full-time.
John looked at Molly's deft handling of the targeting programme for Sherlock's website.
"Do you work for him because the main thing for you is to write fanfiction or draw paintings?" John asked. "Will you show your work?"
"Did he tell you about it?" Molly got angry.
"No. Unrequited love is the thing for lazy, egocentric people who need to satisfy their hormones but, at the same time, they do not want to work on relationships and do not want to even for a moment take their minds off admiring their experiences and think about interacting with the feelings of others. Molly wanted to protest, but John got ahead of her.
Molly wanted to protest, but John got ahead of her.
"However, you are hardworking and kind. So you have some business that completely absorbs your attention. And you don't want to break away from him for a boyfriend or kids. And Sherlock is a fuel for your works."
Molly sighed softly. It was both indignation and an understanding that the doctor was right. And he said:
"Working for him leaves a lot of free time and allows you not to worry about paying bills. Your business doesn't generate income, but you are happy with it, and you don't care what others think about it. You are very brave and strong. And smart. Not everyone can arrange their lives so well according to their own taste."
Molly didn't know what to say. Her feelings were diametrically opposed: rage and gratitude.
She preferred to shrug her shoulders and get to work. But her thoughts were far from monitoring the network. All Molly had to do was set up the utilities for a specific task and run them, so she could think carefully about whether she should continue to meet with Moriarty. He is so sweet and kind. But she can't be a good wife to him because she's married to her comic book.
Tom hates Sherlock so much and wants to take revenge on him only because he thinks that his romance with Molly fell apart because of him. But in fact, Molly ran away from Tom's house to Sherlock's apartment because a graphics tablet was waiting for her there, and Sherlock never noticed what she was doing or whether she existed at all. He even did her secretarial work for her if he saw that she was very involved in a difficult moment in her comic. And Molly loves Sherlock for that.
She also likes Sherlock's unbridled desire to show off his genius, when he tells Molly what a goat or a bore her new boyfriend really is. It looks like jealousy. But at the same time, she can't be afraid that Sherlock will demand that Molly should belong only to him — and then it would have to greatly reduce the time spent with the comic and the number of very inspiring and random sexual adventures.
[God,] Molly thought. [I'm an absolute pervert.]
[Not everyone can arrange their lives so well according to their own taste,] John's voice sounded in her head.
Molly looked at John, who was poking at the keys of his laptop with his two fingers intently, even making his lips pipe, solving such a difficult task as wrestling with the keyboard.
And Molly suddenly realised that this man had become her best friend. He understood her like no one else in the world.
***
Sherlock realised that he would hate his songs soon. John loves them more than Sherlock!
But no one needs Sherlock at all without songs. More precisely, John isn't interested — Sherlock didn't care about the rest of humanity.
[William, don't waste your time with all your circle of people.] Mummy's voice sounded in his head.
"Get out!" Sherlock bared his teeth.
[William, don't grimace! Your face is ugly enough on its own.]
[Don't be sad, buddy!] Sherlock heard Uncle Rudy chuckle. [The most seductive beauty consists only of ugliness. Look how many women are ready to throw themselves on the necks of Belmondo and Celentano. Even your mother is crazy about them!]
Sherlock took a good look at himself in the mirror above the fireplace in his living room. He succeeded in creating the most seductive temptation out of ugliness. Almost everyone falls in love with Sherlock. John is in love too; it's obvious.
But John's kisses belong to Dimmock. Or a nurse. Or anyone he met who caught John's attention: Sherlock didn't imagine that someone could refuse him. But on the other hand, Sherlock is able to distract John from a date by inviting him to take up the song. John loves his songs. John was looking at Sherlock at that moment, so that it made him burn with desire. No one else could do this to Sherlock. Only John.
Sherlock slipped his hands under the robe he wore over his naked body, stroking his belly and chest.
[William, only low creatures wear a morning gown outside the bedroom.]
Sherlock proudly stalked over to the couch and collapsed onto it in a big way.
John loves this garment! He always gets a little embarrassed when he sees Sherlock with it.
[William, the only things that are valuable and important are those for which your appearance doesn't matter. You're good at chemistry and math. Focus on that.]
It's wonderful that John doesn't care about all the chemistry and math that don't apply to the patient's prescription. He admires Sherlock's music.
At the thought of what a grandiose upset happened to Mummy at this news, Sherlock flew up into the clouds without drugs.
[William, you must introduce your chosen one to the family. It was cruel and dishonourable of you to show your parents as homophobic. Your father and I are not happy that you will not give a continuation to the Holmes family. Since Mycroft is too busy serving his country, it has become your responsibility. But we are here for progress. And the most important thing for us is the happiness of our children. When are you bringing John Watson to the family dinner?]
"When hell freezes," Sherlock hissed. "We'll come to you on ice skates."
The best way to get rid of a lover is to introduce him to Mrs. Holmes. This is a guarantee that he will run away from you faster than you say the word "Hello!".
[William, the word "hello" is…]
Sherlock dismissed her image with a wave of his hand. And looked around the room with tenderness. This apartment was not only ideally comfortable for Sherlock but also became the perfect scarecrow for Mrs. Holmes: she could not remain here for more than half an hour a year. And then in the company of a father who believed that it was impossible for decent gentry not to visit their sons at least once a year.
The cunning Eurus sat first with her uncle on a tropical island, then on student campuses in France and the US, then in the disaster sites of Africa and South America — in all three cases, parents would not even come close to such places. Sherlock wasn't drawn to it either, but he sometimes thought it was a good hideout. And before returning to England, Eurus said via an online connection that Uncle Rudy was always her father, his housekeeper was her mother, and the only thing she wants to know about the rest of the family is where their graves will be to spit on them.
The most interesting thing is that Mummy didn't even think that she must be upset. She was glad that the source of the former grandiose problem would never remind itself of itself. There is nothing to say about his father; his fear of Eurus is even greater than Mycroft's.
But if the mother came into Sherlock's memories at all and lingers there so stubbornly, it means that Sherlock has made a huge, fatal mistake somewhere.
And he could only make a mistake in his relationship with John. But how and where? John is his ideal inspiration, the missing part of his soul, the ideal embodiment of his songs, he sings no worse than Sherlock himself. Or better?
Smugness and vanity immediately rebelled, but Sherlock kicked them under the guest armchair. They are useful for communicating with the rest of humanity, especially Mycroft, but John is an exception. Smugness and vanity will have a voice when Sherlock completely owns John and it's time to be proud of such a trophy — the most valuable in the entire universe.
John walked from the hallway into the kitchen. He was loaded with supermarket bags. Again, John decided to cook himself because it was more economical. Boredom!
John sorted his purchases into cupboards and the refrigerator and went up to his room. Soon he came downstairs, already in a fresh turtleneck and new jeans.
"Why are you hobnobbing with Dimmock when I'm there?" Sherlock asked bluntly.

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.

Janine Hawkins was furious! Moriarty shouldn't dare treat her like a whore!
When he suggested she tell the media all about Sherlock Holmes, Janine was sure it was an innocent prank with no ill effects. Sherlock doesn't care about scandals, and she needs money. Plus, she wanted to get even with Sherlock for flirting with her so much before he offered to hire her. The jerk! She has already started thinking about the style of the wedding dress. Although she could have guessed earlier that Sherlock is a dirty guy: what normal man would refuse sex?
And it's not about homophobia. Janine deliberately took her time at that TV series launch party and took a closer look at which of the single guys didn't have an interest in the person of the colour of the sky — there are a lot of gays in the world of photo models and in show business, and you will not survive with a negative attitude towards them, even if you are not a model but only the secretary of a top model. But Sherlock didn't pick up men and didn't accept their advances.
Janine never wanted a career on the stage or on the podium; she needed a home and peace, but the work did not leave her the opportunity to find an accountant husband. She wanted to send him to work in the morning, sit with him in front of the TV in the evening, and go fishing on weekends.
There was no way to change jobs, and Sherlock looked so calm and detached from the party that Janine considered him a suitable option.
However, what happened did.
And now Janine is at risk of losing her house if she doesn't sleep with Charles Augustus Magnussen. Suddenly, it turned out that the farm that she had bought was burdened with many debts. And all documents about it are in the hands of Moriarty. This is very strange because Janine carefully checked everything before buying. But it turned out that it wasn't all. Or Moriarty bribed the real estate expert, and now she's broke. Or the debt documents are false, but the court requires a lot of time and money, which she does not have a penny of: all investment income goes to the maintenance of the house — the renovation of the farm into a lady's house had cost far more than Janine had bargained for. The expert deceived her here, too. But if she had sex with Charles Augustus Magnussen, she would spend the rest of her life in a shelter for the disabled. He is a total sadist.
"Do something with it!" Janine said to Sherlock, standing in his living room. And she looked around her, surprised that a man with his money rents a tiny apartment at the level of cheap office plankton from his own manager.
"You are indebted to me!" Janine added. "I communicated with your mother, but this was not in the contract! God... If I had known that she is such a nightmare, I would never have agreed."
"You're lying," Sherlock replied calmly. He was sitting in an armchair by the fireplace, plucking the strings of a violin. "The contract did not provide for an engagement. It was you who insisted on the celebration. And it is impossible not to invite all my relatives if you do it. And the contract did not forbid you to portray a quarrel right during the acquaintance with my mother and leave."
Janine then hoped for a fictitious marriage. Or that Sherlock is bisexual and the marriage will be real. And the inevitable adultery... Profit doesn't come without costs. And in marriage, Sherlock would have bought a normal house, preferably a penthouse with a roof garden. And then the husband's lovers are even necessary: the mistress of the house is too often tired of many worries.
And those thoughts angered Janine even more.
"What about your antics going to events?" she said. "I've been apologising all the time, no matter where we are!"
"The contract didn't have this clause. Your stupidity is your problem."
"You were the problem!" Janine was outraged. "If I had not apologised, then after breaking up with you, I would have become an outcast!"
Sherlock got up from his chair and walked into the kitchen. A moment later, the SAS was in the living room. They handcuffed Janine and pinned her against the wall. Sherlock played the winning musical phrase. And then he went into the living room and said to Mycroft:
"This is yours. Take it away."
"Sherlock, what the hell?" Mycroft said indignantly. "You have declared an ultra-red alert!"
"It was your idea to hire her. You let her talk so much in the media. You must solve the problems associated with it."
"Thank you, gentlemen," Mycroft said to SAS. "And I offer my deepest apologies. You will all be compensated for your needless worry. You are free. Ms. Hawkins can stay. Or leave."
Janine got frightened almost to death. She met Mycroft shortly after meeting Sherlock when he interrogated her in an abandoned subway station. How stupid she was! Should have run away from Sherlock back then. But she decided that a husband with such a brother is cool. And she sits inside the ass.
Still, Janine's fear was not so strong that she forgot about the other threat. Janine slipped to the pouffe by the fireplace and looked at the Holmes brothers sitting in their armchairs.
She was afraid of Mycroft. And she hated Sherlock. But who the hell is the third one?
Some little man, who looked amazingly ridiculous in his costume, sat down at the table and stared at them all, as if at a theatrical performance.
Mycroft said:
"You ruined our visit to the museum."
"John," Sherlock purred, "you owe me dinner. I saved you from a nightmare."
"Not everyone understands culture like a snail," Mycroft told him.
"Compared to your eternal "I'm living in a world of goldfish" is this progress or degradation?"
"This is a world beyond your nature, Sherlock."
Janine stared at both brothers, dumbfounded. Are they competing over that petty, colourless misunderstanding?!
"They will do it for a long time, Ms.," the misunderstanding said, getting up from the table. "Would you like to get coffee?"
He went into the kitchen and took out two small cezves. Oh my God, real cezves! Who knows how to brew coffee in them these days?
"Do you want it as a traditional European, with milk and sugar but without caffeine?" John asked.
"And what do you drink?" Janine asked with confusion and walked into the kitchen.
"In different ways. Now I want it black, with pepper and nutmeg. Without sugar, of course."
"A strange combination," Janine said.
"If you make a cappuccino out of it, you will have an interesting taste. Want to try?"
"Let's go," Janine agreed, and John put the tiny cezves in the kitchen cupboard and took another, larger one. As Janine noticed, there were five different ones.
"Did Dimmock go on a world tour?" Sherlock asked venomously.
"When?" John was surprised.
"Your nurse received a good job for her in Egypt when you wanted a change one that was your bed. What should lure Dimmock away from you?"
"Don't talk nonsense!" John replied indignantly. And Janine was trying to understand how, in the world of show business, there could have appeared a new ruler that she did not know about. But in the next moment, she realised these words were a hint to Mycroft. Sherlock's older brother didn't move in his chair, and Janine couldn't see his face, but something told her soon Dimmock would get big events.
Wait… Dimmock? The one? He and that... Is this a misunderstanding?! The misunderstanding mentioned, meanwhile, whipped the cream and started to warm the coffee cups. Ah, to hell! It doesn't concern her.
"Jim Moriarty and Charles Augustus Magnussen!" Janine screamed.
"Who is this?" John asked.
Sherlock said fastidiously:
"One owns a recording studio, the other owns a half-yellow newspaper."
"And both of you bullied you in the media and the blogosphere," Janine said.
"With your help," Sherlock added. "It's boring. And to no avail. If you have not come up with more interesting entertainment, then go to a bar. John! Give me her cappuccino. Janine won't appreciate it; she has no taste."
"Otherwise, I would never have chosen you!" An enraged Janine jumped out of the kitchen and ran down the stairs.
Idiots! Magnussen's newspaper has already caused three government crises. And no one knows how many parliamentarians and government officials dance to the tune of Magnussen, fearing exposure.
"But that's not my problem," Janine thought. "I need to keep the house or get back the money I spent on it."
***
Lestrade didn't sit down at the Scottish Garden Records board of directors' meeting table. He did not even approach the podium but said from the threshold:
"The new clip of Sherlock Holmes collected eleven million views in five days. And the popularity of the song continues to grow. Sherlock Holmes has announced another clip. If you don't want to take your place in history next to Ray Foster and secure the fate of EMI for this studio, then it's time to start wallowing at his feet. Does everyone remember how he says to "Queen" that they are medium talents and how many millions the company lost when they went to competitors?" (16)
Lestrade stepped out into the corridor. There is nothing more pleasant than the opportunity to poke the bosses in the shit with their noses. Sherlock, of course, is still a pain in the ass, but for the sake of such moments, he can tolerate him.
And songs. Lestrade was as fascinated by them as anyone else.
**********
(16) Ray Foster, the EMI top-manager who caused Queen to leave the company, never existed. And financial problems for EMI started only in 2005. In real life, "Queen" willingly cooperated with EMI, as well as with other companies. And it was EMI who released the single "Bohemian Rhapsody". The company did initially refuse to release the song, but didn't quarrel with "Queen" and, following the success of "Bohemian Rhapsody" on radio, was the first to suggest releasing a single. But why not refer to one of my favorite movies if it is so appropriate?

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.

Jim Moriarty hated the internet. This is the territory of uncontrollability. He poured so much money into the Sherlock Holmes scandal, but just one video appeared from a semi-amateur provincial studio and with a crappy video sequence from a set of stock photo landscapes — and the world is again at the feet of Sherlock Holmes.
Moriarty couldn't help but admire the grace of the move. To give a song to a simple being, an empty place, so that this thing will lift him to the top. It's only world-famous for fifteen minutes, of course, but it's enough to send Sherlock inundated with offers to write video game soundtracks. And it's not funny. This is the most profitable segment of the market. Not only the entertainment sector but the entire market as a whole.
Moriarty never could capture even part of the game world. Investments brought income but did not give control. This is not a movie business or the making of musical stars, where everything and everyone depends on the manager. Here, Moriarty was a king. He is just one of the kings, not the only ruler, but there is a springboard for conquering the entire show world.
And Sherlock Holmes is an excellent weapon. Everything he touches turns not even into gold but into diamonds.
However, Sherlock Holmes slipped away again. And not only this. He got carte blanche. Anoraks from all over the planet who spend fifty-two billion dollars a year (15) on video games are not interested in the blogosphere and media scandals. On the contrary. Out of principle, they will buy something that makes the "proper" world dissatisfied. Even if the specific video games in the making in which Sherlock will take part don't sell well, their soundtrack album will be at the top of the charts. And then it is enough for game-makers to mould a full-length cartoon from fragments of the game — even a schoolboy armed with a free video editor can handle this task in a couple of days. And they can conquer cinemas and Internet TV.
Molly Hooper said that Sherlock, despite the displeasure of Scotland Garden Records, is considering options for video games, the trailer for which will be in the form of a full-length song. This fool girl was sure that Jim Moriarty would run to invest in games and an album.
And, contrary to the expectations of the mass media and the blogosphere, Sherlock didn't make a scandal because of Anderson, who arranged his song, or because of the disc that Moriarty Records is preparing to release. "If someone likes to eat rotten products, it's only their problem. I throw away my mistakes and don't try to make jewellery out of slag."
A long line of singers has already lined up, dreaming of singing a song for the trailer. And they are all stars. Not super-values, but real stars. However, Sherlock didn't even consider candidates. But he discusses games and trailers with this, a little unkilled from the village.
But what if this John Watson isn't that simple? What if he is that gold that does not glitter? And are his roots deeper than this stupid world sees and that is this old strong did not wither? After all, the decrowned again becomes king not without the help of John Watson.
It's not for entertainment that Sherlock, who could not live outside the big city, spent three weeks in the countryside and returned with John Watson. He even settled him into his apartment!
And how many weeks did Sherlock spend looking for a singer to whom he could entrust this song?
[I need to find out everything about this soldier fellow.] Jim Moriarty decided. [A person who spent so much time in the war can't help but have a pile of dirty secrets that will cause hatred of the townsfolk and their press. And with a successful scenario, Watson is waiting for a prison.]
***
Molly Hooper loved Sherlock Holmes. And she loved music. But she hated musicians.
Everything about them was false. They speak in one range and sing in another. They look like gods on stage; they are goblins in life. Their poems are about high passions and philosophy, but their interests are low to the point of dejection in reality.
John Watson was also a fake. There was something extremely dangerous in his colorlessness and spinelessness. Molly, barely out of the recording room, couldn't remember what the man looked like or what his name was. But even three days later, she remembered everything he said. Molly didn't remember how Sherlock — Sherlock! — introduced them to each other, as the sound engineer was talking about the remastering of last year's Sherlock song and that Sherlock answered him, but every word of John Watson stuck in her head like a self-tapping screw.
And John Watson had no right to sing like that! Such magic and power should only belong to Sherlock. He is special, a true star, he is an elf of legends. And Watson is nobody. He's not even ugly. This is only empty space.
But.
Molly turned the song back on. It's impossible not to listen. And she understood why Sherlock changed so many things in the song. And why did he say that there were actually two songs.
Molly desperately wanted John Watson to sing the second song, too. And she wished that he never existed just as much.
***
The killer didn't care that Sherlock Holmes didn't give "Still Waters" his song. It's not a value. And given Holmes' reputation and the upcoming scandals that will soon fall on him, it is better for the band to stay away from such a person. There are many geniuses in the world, but only one reputation.
It is better to rejoice at how gracefully they managed to throw Nancy Walker out of the band. Now no one, anywhere, will ever listen to a single word of hers. For the world, she is just a slut who initially stuck to the drug addict, and then laid down under the old man only to have the club's managers let her appear on stage with her mediocre guitar strumming. Nancy got a job singing and playing solo in the best nightclub in that insignificant town, which the pre-contest job search brought the band.
Of course, John Watson didn't even think of sleeping with her, even his nurse didn't believe it for a second, but the whole world believes. Against the background of the fact that the nurse suddenly began to leave the hospital to work on the Egyptian archaeological expedition, people will consider Nancy the destroyer of the family. She can yell as much as she wants that one of the members of the band killed Tim Rogers, but no one will listen to her. For the world, she is just a devourer of hype who even uses the death of her lover to promote herself.
And John Watson is in London, and it's for a long time. Sherlock Holmes intends to squeeze the most advantage out of his song. Watson needs to get help for the shelter, which means an increase to his miserable salary, and therefore he will not come off Holmes. This champion of justice will not be up to the death of Tim Rogers.
The "Still Waters" were expelled from the village and from the town, but England is big, and in the wake of the image of the victim, they received very fat contracts for their status with two nightclubs in Bath. The uproar over Tim's death has given them the opportunity to get a good job in London, but now the resort town is more profitable: the group will receive more attention from foreigners and English indie game developers, who for some reason fell in love with Bath this year. There is a chance to get a contract for soundtracks. And the band has a free rehearsal room to work out for the contest. "Still Waters" won't win it; that's out of the question — it's impossible with such a line-up and songs, but Tim's death and the crowd's love for sad stories have already dramatically increased sales of the first album and pre-orders for the second, so they will necessarily get a contract with a good promoter. And then the promoter will take care of the replacement members of the band. [And that the brand "Still Waters" will belong only to me,] thought the killer. [It's easier to do business with one person than with a crowd.]
***
Sherlock Holmes could never complain about the lack of delight in the audience. And those who wanted to get his songs were always in abundance.
But only the admiration of John Watson caused a sweet thrill in the chest, which spread through the body in a wonderful, intoxicating wave. This is because only John could distinguish true masterpieces from trash. And only he noticed even what Sherlock himself didn't see: what touches should be added or removed in order for the song to become alive. His grading system fascinated Sherlock, but he couldn't calculate it out.
[This isn't pharmacology or road building,] John's voice echoed in his head again. [Don't calculate! Do feel.]
Sherlock didn't understand. Feelings are always primitive, chaotic, ugly and stupid. And Sherlock's songs are deep and perfect. Because he knows the truth. Music is mathematics. Poetry is mathematics. Impact on the public is math. He never made mistakes in calculations.
But it was the last songs that Sherlock created without mathematics, just thinking about John, being angry at this impossible person and admiring him, fearing losing the world of music and hating the rules of show business, that became masterpieces.
John.
This man persuaded his girlfriend to part with him for the sake of the expedition. What kind of man does that?
"It is impossible to be happy next to a person whose dreams didn't come true. There are many loves, women, and men, but there is only one dream. Jeanette always wanted to visit Egypt, live there, see enough of its antiquities, and study them. However, it was necessary to help the divorced mother feed the younger children. Jeanette's father drank while on welfare, and his alimony was negligible. The dream was forgotten but didn't disappear. And now that Jeanette is free from obligations, she can fulfil this thing. Or be miserable for the rest of her life. The choice is obvious, isn't it?"
Sherlock saw nothing obvious. He also didn't understand why John, who easily starts an affair with anyone (Dimmock! This capricious narcissistic snob jumped into John's bed as soon as he smiled at him), categorically doesn't accept any love proposals from Sherlock.
"You don't need it".
But why?! What is Sherlock doing wrong?
**********
(15) 2010-12 data.

Sherlock and John have a serious showdown! Genius is waiting for new discoveries.
New chapter tonight.

Fanfic starts here:
https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14237516/1/Soft-silk-is-hard-to-tear
https://archiveofourown.org/works/47086126

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

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).

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

Ajax, thanks for the preliminary reading.

Mr. John Watson is a very strange man. Nancy Walker was firmly convinced of this. He noticed treasures that others didn't see. But he didn't want to use them!
Bass solo? Own vocals? Nancy knew it happens sometimes but never thought she could do it herself. She was not so good and rousing as to be a front-one. However, a couple of soft, almost imperceptible prompts from John Watson, and Nancy received star quality. But Doc said he did nothing. Then Nancy herself opened the door of the room in which she had locked herself and stepped out into the light.
And John Watson helped her not go crazy and not commit suicide after Tim's death. He believed Tim wanted to quit drugs and therefore would not have violated substitution therapy. And Doc promised he would find Tim's killer. And Nancy knew he could be trusted.
If John Watson became the manager of their group, they would conquer the world. And if he himself performed... Musicians spend years trying to develop the abilities that Watson is given from birth. Nancy did not understand why he did not want to use such a precious gift.
And as soon as Nancy began to think that she could not be more surprised and perplexed, Doc brought Sherlock Holmes himself to write a song for "Still Waters". Prior to this, Sherlock consulted with them about why John Watson doesn't like his song if the entire world is delighted with it, as it should be. Conceited bastard! Nancy then excellently gloated when she heard that not everyone falls at the feet of Sherlock Holmes. But Doc is Doc. Even the blind will see how special he is. However, forcing Sherlock to give a song to an obscure group... It was beyond reality. And it was cosmic luck!
Oh yes, Sherlock Holmes is an absolute asshole. The most unbearable person in the world. People accused him of terrible things. But Sherlock's songs are brilliant. And for that matter, John Lennon was also a complete scoundrel. However, everyone still loves his songs.
And a band that is at the ass of the ratings can even afford to be connected with Sherlock Holmes.
Nancy was a little annoyed that Dean was trying to flirt with Sherlock all the time today instead of playing and showing his skills. They were incredibly lucky: at first, the shelter allocated a room for rehearsals and gave them a part-time job with an overnight stay. Now the best songwriter in the United Kingdom has shown interest in working with them. Sherlock, of course, is a sod and a boor, but he is right when he says that he is not interested in a jar for sperm, but in the style and type of musician who will perform his song.
And yet Dean can be understood. You don't see a guy like Doc every day. Therefore, trying to show him that Sherlock is unreliable is quite natural. In addition, there are fewer gays than heterosexuals. The breadth of the search also matters. And if John Watson made a marriage proposal to his nurse, then when you lose to a pretty woman, you can console yourself with the thought that the bisexual Watson turned out to have a larger hetero side. This is biology; no one argues with it. But when the guy of your dreams is taken away by another guy... And John Watson is unconditionally in love with Sherlock Holmes, even if he doesn't want to admit it himself... Oh. Poor Dean.
However, there will be many more loves, but there is only one good song. Even if 'Still Waters' won't get any good things anymore, if they don't make stars of the songs left by Tim, then being the band of one stellar single is better than being nothing.
And Nancy spat about her decent upbringing and yelled at the guys in the language that they understood. Bingo! The band started work.
Their singing and music made Sherlock wince squeamishly, but when the band started playing Tim's new song from the secret album, the one that was supposed to be released for free as an advertisement, Sherlock started to look at them with interest and listen carefully. And said they were good material. They will have a song where everyone will get a verse and a group chorus.
Nancy politely thanked Sherlock and hung around Doc's neck with a squeal of delight. So what? Let the genius not think that the main prize is already his. Doc deserves to be courted and seduced.
Judging by how angry Sherlock looked when Doc hugged Nancy back, she did the right thing.
The rehearsal was over, and the band began to gather for a performance in a village pub. Suddenly, there were a lot of tourists in the area, and the owner of the pub decided to hire musicians. And since the morning part-time work at the orphanage provided housing and food, the group did not leave after Tim's funeral. Everyone stayed for this sudden tourist season and started to look for a drummer through social networks. Although it's possible that the guy Mr. Sholto found will stay with the band. His army career is not going well, but he is a capable drummer.
...The band buried Tim in the village cemetery. His parents don't care about their son, and Nancy isn't even sure they understand what happened at all. And in the cemetery near the old church, there are many yews and ash trees, which still remember the times of Queen Betsy — the first one. Strictly speaking, this cemetery was already closed to burials, but the priest really liked 'Still Waters' and got permission to bury Tim here.
Nancy always went to the cemetery before the performance and told Tim how the day went. And that she has one more new plan for the future. Doc and Ms. Eurus were right: it helped to live. And will help to move on when the time comes for the group to leave. And even the thought that there would be a new love in Nancy's life ceased to cause disgust. There was only a dull, aching pain. But Nancy knew that it would pass and that life would go on. Tim, through death, became her brother. It happens. And Nancy needs to be happy for both. Someday it will be. Not now. No. But someday it will be for sure. After all, Tim wanted Nancy to have everything she needed and wanted. And she wanted happiness for him. So everything will work out.
...Sherlock was waiting for Nancy near Tim's grave. And he asked before she could be surprised:
"Ms. Walker, do you want to participate in the capture of the killer of your beloved? But John Watson should know nothing about it. He is too knightly and will be against your participation in a risky business."
"Yes!" Nancy looked at Sherlock with adoration. Scoundrel? Oh, no… He is the best man in the world!
***
Mrs. Hudson was charming. And a chatterbox. But it suited her. Loquacity is usually only irritating, but Mrs. Hudson made it enjoyable.
John, sitting in a quiet corner of the pub, carefully studied the contract. It seems to be nothing dangerous. And London, which is monstrously expensive for his wallet, will not be a problem. John only has to come for three hours to record a song. The entire video, entirely and completely, will be coordinated with John Watson. It will be posted on Sherlock's page and Watson's blog; everyone else will be able to repost it. If the video has donations and advertising revenue, they are divided equally between Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Both have nothing to do with the income from each other's web pages. John signed the contract. And he asked Mrs. Hudson where in London it was cheaper to rent an evening suit.
"Oh dear," said Mrs. Hudson. "Sherlock invited you to dinner?"
"What?!" John wondered. "No. I'm going with a pal to Covent Garden."
"Sherlock is surprisingly goofy when it comes to himself. He will continue to devour you with his eyes. Invite him yourself."
"Mrs. Hudson, with all due respect, I have never heard a wilder fantasy. I have a girlfriend and..."
"That's not very fair to her," said Mrs. Hudson. "You both look at each other like that."
"No!" John was outraged.
"Men are amazingly stupid," sighed Mrs. Hudson. "Sherlock could never do even for a single day without London. And you made him sit in the village for almost three weeks. And he has never been so happy." She smiled. "And you? How much time do you spend with him and how much with your girlfriend?"
"It's rehearsals," John said. "It's work. When we record the song, it's all over."
"Judging by the number of rehearsals, you are planning "Nessun dorma". (12)
John smiled.
"Of course not. But 'Still Waters' is too inexperienced for real rock music. They are talented, very talented, but it takes a lot of training for these people to play at their real level."
Mrs. Hudson shook her head.
"Sherlock doesn't mess around with newbies. He doesn't teach anyone. He never waits. And if he would only call, hundreds of bands would run to accompany you. Sherlock could have chosen any band. Never and nowhere has Sherlock worked as a keyboardist. He plays well and writes excellent parts for keyboard instruments, but he doesn't sit down at the synthesiser. Sherlock is a violinist or vocalist. And now, with you, Sherlock has become a keyboard player."
"That song means a lot to him," John replied. "And there is no other keyboardist. Besides, it's not very smart of him, but Sherlock thinks this song will help him with his upcoming lawsuits. Or at least offset their effects."
"He is unconcerned about the court and his possible ruin. Sherlock will quickly gather a band for himself and start to conquer the world again, not even noticing a change in comfort. Oddly enough, his household goofiness will not allow him to realise the difference in living conditions and in food. Of course, the band will very soon leave Sherlock because of his disgusting character, but a new team will take their place immediately. Everyone wants to ascend, and two or three months of communication with Sherlock are not a high price for this. He creates really brilliant songs that always conquer the top of the charts. And Sherlock perfectly understands the situation, so he never holds on to anyone. But you are an exception, John. You are really dear to him and very important. And you seem to be the only one who doesn't notice."
**********
(12) "Nessun dorma" (English: "Let no one sleep") is an aria for tenor from the final act of Giacomo Puccini's opera Turandot (text by Giuseppe Adami and Renato Simoni) and one of the most difficult in all operatic art.

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

Ajax, thanks for the preliminary reading.

"Opera?!" Sherlock cried out across the whole area. Even the birds in the orphanage garden fell silent for a few moments. "Nobody listens to opera!"
"I like opera," said John Watson firmly, and smiled at Mycroft with slight embarrassment. "But I can't afford a ticket to Covent Garden."
"It's free. All the major theaters in London, Cardiff and Edinburgh provide the government with a few seats through taxes so that British culture can always be shown to the right foreigners. But this has a downside: Whitehall is obliged to seat spectators in reserved seats, even if there are no foreign guests. Alas, not everyone in Whitehall is cultured, and I don't want my neighbor's snoring to drown out the show."
John looked at Mycroft doubtfully. Whitehall is a large quarter with many institutions; is it really difficult to find those who will be happy to visit the opera there?
"Nobody likes opera," Sherlock repeated gloatingly.
"I'll be glad to keep you company, Mycroft," John smiled. He really loved the opera, and he was sick and tired of Sherlock's puerile antics. "I promise to snore at the beat so that your other neighbors will consider this a director’s reading."
Sherlock almost boiled with anger, but to Mycroft's delight, he couldn't do anything about it.
"How can you love this howl?" Sherlock continued to persevere. "If you want to enjoy the classics, there are instrumental concerts for that!"
"The opera is not afraid to admit how brittle and vulnerable people are," John replied. "Movies show it too, but I like it more in music."
Sherlock gasped, taken aback by the sudden realisation. This is his mistake, the wrong place in the song! That's why John doesn't want to take this thing! Oh, it's incredible! John is a treasure.
And Scotland Garden Records is a lair for donkey-eared idiots who can't tell a song from a crow's cawing. John is also not smart if he could not clearly explain the reason for his rejection, but at least he noticed the error. He was the only one who noticed!
Sherlock looked at John admiringly and said:
"You may never be the most luminous of people, but as a conductor of light, you are unbeatable."
"What?" John didn't understand. And Mycroft smiled with anticipation, rejoicing at Sherlock's epic fail. Mycroft didn't like youthful vocabulary, but sometimes it was very accurate. And Sherlock explained:
"Some people who aren't geniuses have an amazing ability to stimulate it in others."
"Sometimes I wonder," John enunciated thoughtfully, "how did you live to your age with whole teeth?"
"And just lived to this day," Mycroft added.
Sherlock didn't even hear them, caught up in his idea. And he ran away without bothering to say goodbye.
Mycroft said:
"Legworking, fussing, prattling with nonsense. What's he like to communicate with? Hellish, I imagine."
"I'm never bored."
"Oh yes, he always brings entertainment," Mycroft agreed. "Sometimes too much. You're a doctor. In fact, you're an Army doctor. You understand how he damaged his voice."
"Clinically, it looks like a police gas burn," John said neutrally. "One of those used to disperse riots."
"Don't tell me you thought for a second that Sherlock might care about social and political events."
John responded with a sympathetic nod. Mycroft said with annoyance:
"It wasn't only vaping with… dubious substances. He contracted streptococcal pharyngitis because the company, with little concern for personal safety, smoked one e-cigarette at all."
John nodded again. Some things are obvious. And Mycroft added:
"I worry about him. Constantly. But I prefer for various reasons that my concern stays in the shadows. We have what you might call a... difficult relationship."
"Maybe you both need to shed more light on understanding?" John replied.
Mycroft smiled.
"You are too kind… John." He said the name so carefully, as if he were afraid to break it. "But this adventure with substances isn't the first. And, I'm afraid, not the last. My brother has learned nothing."
"You need to talk about this with him, not with me."
"I'm sorry, John." Mycroft tried to smile as charmingly as he could. "There are topics much more interesting. Rugby. Antiques Roadshow".
"Do you watch this TV show?" John was surprised.
"It's cute. And relieves stress well. Just don't tell this to Sherlock!"
"No, no, Mycroft," John smiled. "The Geneva Convention prohibits torture."
Mycroft smiled and invited John to an old pub. And, to Mycroft's delight, he received consent.
***
Sherlock adored this state. His blood boils, and his overflowing energy spills out, creating a song. It's better than any orgasm. It's the coolest of all drugs. It means to be a God.
Unfortunately, this has not always been the case. And then Sherlock just calculated the words and notes mathematically. Insanely boring. Although he did well enough to have songs in the top ten of the charts, and Molly Hooper, this materialisation of all nightmares about tedious secretaries, did not whine that he had nothing to pay the bills with. But it was a go-to product for mediocrities like Donovan and Dimmock. This kind of song making is not something that makes you feel alive. Sherlock is not a machine to live by calculations. He needs a drive; he needs a flight. And this can only give an external impetus. But life is monstrously poor at inspiring events. And Sherlock was looking for incentives. Some of them brought him to intensive care. But Sherlock thought the result was worth it.
And suddenly, John. Fairy. He was the only one who realised that Sherlock was a genius even more than he himself thought! There is not only one Great Song. There are two of them!
Sherlock just needs to carefully separate them and polish them.
And John will sing both. No one else deserves it, because no one else can be such a good tool for translating Sherlock's ideas.
And let Mycroft choke on his opera tickets and even some kind of antique cane of a long-ago croaked Louis or George, which his brother will bring to John.
Sherlock has a stronger lure. John will never be able to resist, even if he doesn't even want to think about the stage right now.
Sherlock polished the first Great Song and, not in the least embarrassed by the fact that the village inn had thin walls and it was getting late, started to record his singing. The voice sounded hoarse and terrible. But that's not a problem. John will still understand the genius of the song. And adding vocals to a melody played in an audio editor is a one-minute job.
John will get a sample on his phone today. And then Mycroft can gobble up his umbrella!
***
The chief content manager released Anderson's song in prime time on Sunday. That's it! While a forgotten pseudo-genius roams the Sussex villages, true talents conquer the world. Anderson looked forward to rising sales of his albums and bookings for arrangements.
***
The trip wire was waiting for John on the stairs. Everyone knew that at that time he was checking on the bedridden residents of the shelter. And it is almost impossible to notice a guitar string stretched at the level of the ankles. If you don't specifically look for it. A cane helps not only the blind not get into trouble.
The killer watches too many action movies. But he does it with his ass. Otherwise, one would have realised that trip wire is not the best remedy against someone who was looking for it almost every step of the way when he left the territory of the base.
If only this rogue did not begin to make IED (10). It will blow up half the shelter to hell even in the process of making the device — this is not an occupation for average minds. You may not be able to read, but you must understand explosives. Illiterate Afghan terrorists knew how to count excellently; they also understood the issues they needed well in physics and chemistry, and they successfully competed with the sixteenth department of MI6 in inventiveness. (11)
John made a call to Sholto. John needs pliers to remove the wire. And he needs a partner's insurance to get the killer to mess up the car and catch him or her when they do it.
**********
(10) IED is an improvised explosive device.
(11) Sixteenth division of MI6 deals with R&D.