(Sorry, sorry sorry for the long wait. This was very hard to write. I'm throwing it up here without much proofing just to get going on this again, so apologies for errors!)
(Sorry sorry sorry for the wait. This was hard to write. Apologies for any errors..throwing it here ASAP before I mess with it)
Sherlock isn't ready to do this. Isn't ready to tell John what's been going on in his head. But he owes him. Not just for shooting Albert Gruner. For tolerating Sherlock Holmes. No one is like John.
Mycroft loves him dearly, beneath his meddling façade-- the same self-satisfaction with which he micromanages all of Europe-- but it is a love born of obligation and fraternal ties. Sherlock is never entirely sure if he loves Mycroft as a person, and having someone on common intellectual footing has proven to be both a blessing and a curse. Sherlock has made many poor choices throughout his life, but at least they were his own poor choices. Still, whatever decisions he made, whether they saw him saving someone from the gallows or back in rehab, Mycroft would still be his brother. John, however, could cease being his friend at any time. He is keenly aware that he owes John. And he doesn't like the feeling.
He is about to berate him. To tear him into ribbons. He sees the whole conversation play itself out... he accuses John of forcing out information against his will, and John recoils at the word choice and backs off. Maybe for quite a long time. But he doesn't want John to back off. Not really. And, for all his catering to sentimental concepts, John has a point. He would benefit by purging the thoughts.
"Fine. Clearly he meant to humiliate me, to teach me a lesson. It was one worth learning." He tries for a nonchalance. "I let him finish what he started."
"Don't hide behind the words, Sherlock."
"I'm not hiding behind...fine,</i!"he spit the word out like a cobra spraying venom. "You want the words? Have words. I let him rape me. I let him shove his...cock down my throat and I let him fuck me on the back of the plane. I let him do it with the curtain closed and everyone doing their best to ignore what was going on, and I let him do it with the curtain open and everyone watching. I let him thank me for a job well-done like the cockslut I really am, and I let him kill me because it wasn't good enough for him."
John's expression was surprisingly solid. Sherlock had expected shock. Fear. Uncertainty.
"Do you feel pain when you are in your mind palace, or are you disconnected from your body and only observing?"
It's Sherlock who is shocked by the directness of the question.
"I can chose to merely observe myself, or I can relive it. I have rooms to go to to retrieve information I have stored. Places from my past to escape to. As far as physical sensations, I can't block them out entirely if they are occurring in real time, but I can create them within my mind... based on past experiences, or, in the case of something I have not actually experienced, how I would perceive it to feel. So, in answer to your question, yes. I felt pain. What I imagined it would feel like."
"So your body will still store and process that, like a phantom limb? Or like a psychosomatic injury?"
"I don't know. I suppose so."
"All right then. I will be prepared in case that becomes an issue. Did it help?"
Again, unexpected. He hates repetition and he's shocked to find himself doing it. "Help?"
"Did you find the thing you should have done to make it all go without a hitch? And did he teach you whatever lesson you thought you needed to learn?"
"No. There's was no correct course of action I could determine. Too many variables in the equation. And..." He looks up at John. This is not the right answer, he knows, but it's the true one. "Yes. I think it did teach me something."
"Okay. Are you done with that, then?"
Sherlock smiles. My god, there really is no one like John. "Yes. Done."
FILL 10/? Above the Clouds
(Sorry sorry sorry for the wait. This was hard to write. Apologies for any errors..throwing it here ASAP before I mess with it)
Sherlock isn't ready to do this. Isn't ready to tell John what's been going on in his head. But he owes him. Not just for shooting Albert Gruner. For tolerating Sherlock Holmes. No one is like John.
Mycroft loves him dearly, beneath his meddling façade-- the same self-satisfaction with which he micromanages all of Europe-- but it is a love born of obligation and fraternal ties. Sherlock is never entirely sure if he loves Mycroft as a person, and having someone on common intellectual footing has proven to be both a blessing and a curse. Sherlock has made many poor choices throughout his life, but at least they were his own poor choices. Still, whatever decisions he made, whether they saw him saving someone from the gallows or back in rehab, Mycroft would still be his brother. John, however, could cease being his friend at any time. He is keenly aware that he owes John. And he doesn't like the feeling.
He is about to berate him. To tear him into ribbons. He sees the whole conversation play itself out... he accuses John of forcing out information against his will, and John recoils at the word choice and backs off. Maybe for quite a long time. But he doesn't want John to back off. Not really. And, for all his catering to sentimental concepts, John has a point. He would benefit by purging the thoughts.
"Fine. Clearly he meant to humiliate me, to teach me a lesson. It was one worth learning." He tries for a nonchalance. "I let him finish what he started."
"Don't hide behind the words, Sherlock."
"I'm not hiding behind...fine,</i!"he spit the word out like a cobra spraying venom. "You want the words? Have words. I let him rape me. I let him shove his...cock down my throat and I let him fuck me on the back of the plane. I let him do it with the curtain closed and everyone doing their best to ignore what was going on, and I let him do it with the curtain open and everyone watching. I let him thank me for a job well-done like the cockslut I really am, and I let him kill me because it wasn't good enough for him." John's expression was surprisingly solid. Sherlock had expected shock. Fear. Uncertainty. "Do you feel pain when you are in your mind palace, or are you disconnected from your body and only observing?" It's Sherlock who is shocked by the directness of the question. "I can chose to merely observe myself, or I can relive it. I have rooms to go to to retrieve information I have stored. Places from my past to escape to. As far as physical sensations, I can't block them out entirely if they are occurring in real time, but I can create them within my mind... based on past experiences, or, in the case of something I have not actually experienced, how I would perceive it to feel. So, in answer to your question, yes. I felt pain. What I imagined it would feel like." "So your body will still store and process that, like a phantom limb? Or like a psychosomatic injury?" "I don't know. I suppose so." "All right then. I will be prepared in case that becomes an issue. Did it help?" Again, unexpected. He hates repetition and he's shocked to find himself doing it. "Help?" "Did you find the thing you should have done to make it all go without a hitch? And did he teach you whatever lesson you thought you needed to learn?" "No. There's was no correct course of action I could determine. Too many variables in the equation. And..." He looks up at John. This is not the right answer, he knows, but it's the true one. "Yes. I think it did teach me something." "Okay. Are you done with that, then?" Sherlock smiles. My god, there really is no one like John. "Yes. Done."