sherlockbbc_fic | prompting part XXIII

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prompting part XXIII

All new prompts go on Part XXIV
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(prepared by anonymous)

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Part XV - Part XVI - Part XVII - Part XVIII - Part XIX - Part XX
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Sherlock and John have/adopt/whatever a kid.

We've all seen this before yeah? The kid being intelligent enough to keep up with Sherlock, and inheriting braveness from John? Well, screw that no.

The kid isn't super intelligent. They're kind of a coward and will prefer to run away then anything else. They can't help but feel like their disappointing their parents in every way, but no matter how hard they try They just can't get past that last, insurmountable step.

Sherlock and John reassure them it's fine...while being just a little disappointed that their kid can't do all that they hoped they'd do.

Angst people, angst, angst, angst.

tl;dr: Sherlock and John have a kid who isn't special at all.

OH YES THIS!

As a child of Very Special People, who Wasn't Special At All, I find this very Relevant To My Interests.

His name is Jeremy Alasdair Watson-Holmes, after both his grandfathers. He is 11 years old and has his Da's sandy blonde hair and his father's long, angular face. He's lanky and bony and too tall for his age when all he wants to be is small enough to pass unnoticed by his peers and teachers.

Technically, his aunt Harry is his mother but she had only had him as a favor to Da. She loved him, of that he had no doubt, but she just wasn't the motherly sort and she knew it.

He hates school.

Well, to be fair Jeremy doesn't hate school, he hates the people at school.

All those kids who want to beat him up just to see if he's as tough as his Da and call him a coward when he runs away instead.

All those teachers who look at Jeremy like he's so disappointing for not being as intellegant as his father. Leaving little notes on his paper about "applying himself". He's not even a bad student! Sure Jeremy isn't a brain like his teachers want him to be but he's solidly in the top 15% of students in his grade.

The worst part is when he sometimes sneaks downstairs and listens as Da and Father talk about him.

"So what if he can't deduce things like you can, and he runs for help instead of defending a weaker classmate like I would? He's healthy, sane and he hasn't been kidnapped in almost three years." Da is saying.

"I know. I just sometimes wish..." Father's voice drifts off.

"Yeah, me too." Da says.

Jeremy goes back upstairs before he can hear the rest.

"But Jeremy's going to grow up to be a wonderful man in spite of our expectations" John says.

"And if we're really lucky, he'll be a good one too." Sherlock finishes.

It's almost a prayer by now.

Jeremy lays in bed late at night and tries to wish himself into the person everyone wishes he was, utterly dejected that no one wants him for who he is.

I'm not the OP but I liked this piece. The last three sentences painted such a great picture of the overall theme, even though Jeremy still misunderstands his parent's feelings. Then again, it does say that he's not good with deduction.

Op here: I love this; this is exactly what I wanted. The non-special kid of special parents. Who are maybe a little dissapointed, but still loving.

I do also love how Sherlock echoed Lestrade by hoping that Jeremy will be a good man. stay strong little Jeremy. Stay strong.

Lovely. Oh Jeremy.

Much love for this.

This is fantastic!

I really liked the detail of 'if we're lucky, he'll be a good man too' - it seems to very much reflect the natural fears of people bringing up a Holmes-Watson boy :)

Oh wow, this is serious deja vu for me, because I wrote a fic almost just like this for the Animorphs fandom (about Aldrea and Dak Hamee's son, if you know the canon). Stories are always told about the amazing people; that's who we want to read about/watch, but the legacy they create would be an incredibly difficult one to live up to.

I really enjoy this fill, great job!

He can’t speak French.

That in it self isn’t too unusual as not everyone can. His Dad can’t after all. His Dad can’t speak a single word other than ‘bonjour’. His Father is another story but the fact remains that he isn’t alone in his inability to speak French. No, the thing that truly stuck out, burned like a thousand suns was that in the grand scheme of things – in the spider web of life as his Uncle tells him, is that it is one further nail in the coffin of everything he can’t do, or rather everything he should be able to do. He can’t speak French.

Hear that world: I can’t speak French, I can’t do shit. I’m Hamish, and I can’t speak French.

That bites because he’s a Holmes: he shares a surname and genetics with the world’s only consulting detective and a man who makes the world literally run. He shares that and yet can’t deduce, can’t see the tiny details. Rather he sees thing in the literal. His mind can’t make those micro-second jumps. It takes him longer, so much longer. No matter how many times his Father takes him out to a public place, and asks what he sees he just doesn’t beyond the exterior. He can’t pick apart the details and see the individual threads.

Once again, that in it self isn’t too unusual. His Dad can’t do that either.

However the fact he can’t do that becomes more glaring when he considers the other half of his DNA: his mother’s side. His mother: the woman, the one person to beat his Father and bring a Nation to its knees if only for a brief moment before it crumbled. She was intelligent, his Father said, but far too cocky, added his Dad. He didn’t even have that confidence running through his veins. He doesn’t have that manipulative streak.

When he was younger, he had thought something was wrong with him because he didn’t take after his parents. In an effort to work it out he had taken a Psych class at school. Just to see if that would clear things up. It didn’t. In fact it frustrated him even more.

Nature versus Nurture: the question of if genetics or the environment in which you are raised plays a bigger role. Clearly as nature wasn’t working, Hamish turned to nurture. Except that didn’t fit either. His Dad was a former soldier, a crack shot, and smart himself by regular standards. He was brave; he was fearless. He stood up for the little guy and didn’t balk under pressure.

He remembered hearing about the time his Dad was kidnapped by Moriarty and how he remained so calm, stoic. How he was so brave. He can remember how his Father’s eyes grew soft while talking and how his Dad had tried to play it down. He remembered it. It stuck with him.

It stuck with him when he was kidnapped at age fourteen and broke down in tears from the get-go. He wasn’t brave.

He wasn’t intelligent – smart yes but no more than the next guy.

His parents did try to say it didn’t matter. That as long as he was happy, that they didn’t have any expectations on him but for him to do his best. But that was a lie – everyone had expectations, and he wasn’t meeting them.
In fact the only thing going for him was that his genetics had granted him with a pretty face, angular features and dark hair. Even that didn’t make him ‘hot’ as his flatmate, Georgia, put it. It made him interesting, different, but handsome in his own way.

As if his ego didn’t need anymore beating.

He walks around these London streets, cold winter wind whistling. He needs a haircut, needs to shave and needs to pay off his student loans. His Father and Uncle had offered to take care of it. But he knew he couldn’t respect himself if he let that happen. If he could get himself through life than he could at least say ‘I got through on my own – I worked for this’. At least he has a job. That was something.

Music, sadness and happiness weaves into one as he turns the street corner. There is a busker there: young, female with auburn hair and the expression of utmost passion on her face, like his father when he plays. His heart clenches slightly because just like he can’t speak French, he can’t play an instrument, he couldn’t stand-up against the homophobes at school, he can’t, he couldn’t, he isn’t …

He isn’t a Holmes; he isn’t a Watson. Not even an Adler.

He’s just Hamish.

His eyes feel itchy, his breathing laboured. He digs deep into his jacket pocket, pulls out ten quid and drops it in the buskers open case.

She smiles.

He forces one back because this girl deserves it.

And hopes that while he isn’t special, than at least she can be for him.

His phone beeps and he pulls it out, sees a text.

Mish, can u plz come? @ home. xxGeorgia.

Like lightning he replies, because Georgia only uses chat speak when she’s sad, or drunk – more than often both:

Course – what’s the matter? H

(what he doesn’t see is though is that once he meets people, he somehow lights up their world because he will help out as best he can even if it doesn’t involve stopping criminal syndicates, he will be that shoulder to cry on, he does put aside his own insecurities and is there, constantly. he doesn't see that his parents are truly proud of him because he is a good man)

His name is Hamish.

He can’t speak French.

But that really doesn’t make him any less important.

Edited 2012-01-09 00:49 (UTC)

Op here; let me bawl my eyes out. Because seriously- two fills on something I prompted? Both of them wonderful, wonderful fills?

and for Hamish to be wonderful at something, anything, makes feel just a little bit better about myself.

This is very sweet and moving! Loved it.

This is lovely. I like how you portray that being 'special' or 'important' doesn't necessarily mean an obvious talent or intellect or great feats of courage. It can be something as simple and as subtle as being there for people; being good.

Oh, this is incredibly sweet. I love the idea that Hamish has the emotional intelligence that Sherlock and Irene so desperatly lack, and that is his true strength. Great fic!

10016 comments

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prompting part XXIII

Possible Warnings...

Re: Possible Warnings...

Well, this turned out a lot angstier than I expected. (Fill)

Re: Well, this turned out a lot angstier than I expected. (Fill)

Re: Well, this turned out a lot angstier than I expected. (Fill)

Re: Well, this turned out a lot angstier than I expected. (Fill)

Re: Well, this turned out a lot angstier than I expected. (Fill)

Re: Well, this turned out a lot angstier than I expected. (Fill)

Re: Well, this turned out a lot angstier than I expected. (Fill)

He Can't Speak French 1/2 - a fill

He Can't Speak French 2/2 - a fill

Re: He Can't Speak French 2/2 - a fill

Re: He Can't Speak French 2/2 - a fill

Re: He Can't Speak French 2/2 - a fill

Re: He Can't Speak French 2/2 - a fill