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221b_recs2012-09-19 11:26 pm
pennypaperbrain.livejournal.com) wrote in 221b_recs2012-09-19 11:26 pm
Fic rec: Hell in a Greek Myth
Title: Hell in a Greek Myth
Author: anon – kinkmeme fill
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Length: 6 LJ comments
Rating: PG
Warnings: none needed by comm rules
Verse: Sherlock BBC
Author's summary: None. The prompt was ‘A depressed Sherlock is given meds to help stabilise his moods.’
Reccer's comments: While I don’t think I’ve ever seen this fic mentioned or linked to elsewhere, it’s my own personal favourite out of everything I’ve found on the kinkmeme. The topic of Sherlock and depression can sometimes tempt people to overwrite, but this is a beautifully spare and unsentimental plumbing of the depths followed by a similarly-handled return to life. The fic asks what is wrong with Sherlock and whether it needs fixing, and answers the question in the most realistic and open-ended (the two qualities are probably connected!) way I’ve ever seen.
This story is in the second person, which I normally hate, but it’s handled so gracefully here that I love it. Talented authoranon, if you are still out there, this really deserves to be cleaned up and posted where everyone can find it. Plus I'd love to read your other work.
(NB: Be careful to read in the right order. Part 1/6 appears lower on the page than Part 2/6.)
John presses against you, his hand gripping your side, and kisses the side of your neck. You can barely breathe. He sits up, his weight removed from your back like a millstone unslung. His hand slips from your side to the small of your back. You are crying, or anyway there are tears in your eyes--it comes and goes.
"Sherlock," John says, your name so well-shaped by his mouth. "I want you back. Please."
Back to please again, as if it were a shibboleth that could unlock any door. John picks up the edge of your dressing gown from where it's fallen and tucks it over your hip and leg, a strangely motherish gesture. His hand is shaking; you can feel it.
John rises. He retreats to the kitchen, where he will make tea. He will sit at the table in front of his laptop to drink it, but he will not look at the screen. He will be watching you the whole time. John does not believe in any particular god, but some part of him will be praying for you. You don't have to see this to know that it will happen.
It occurs to you, not for the first time, that you're bringing someone rather crucial down with you.
Author: anon – kinkmeme fill
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Length: 6 LJ comments
Rating: PG
Warnings: none needed by comm rules
Verse: Sherlock BBC
Author's summary: None. The prompt was ‘A depressed Sherlock is given meds to help stabilise his moods.’
Reccer's comments: While I don’t think I’ve ever seen this fic mentioned or linked to elsewhere, it’s my own personal favourite out of everything I’ve found on the kinkmeme. The topic of Sherlock and depression can sometimes tempt people to overwrite, but this is a beautifully spare and unsentimental plumbing of the depths followed by a similarly-handled return to life. The fic asks what is wrong with Sherlock and whether it needs fixing, and answers the question in the most realistic and open-ended (the two qualities are probably connected!) way I’ve ever seen.
This story is in the second person, which I normally hate, but it’s handled so gracefully here that I love it. Talented authoranon, if you are still out there, this really deserves to be cleaned up and posted where everyone can find it. Plus I'd love to read your other work.
(NB: Be careful to read in the right order. Part 1/6 appears lower on the page than Part 2/6.)
John presses against you, his hand gripping your side, and kisses the side of your neck. You can barely breathe. He sits up, his weight removed from your back like a millstone unslung. His hand slips from your side to the small of your back. You are crying, or anyway there are tears in your eyes--it comes and goes.
"Sherlock," John says, your name so well-shaped by his mouth. "I want you back. Please."
Back to please again, as if it were a shibboleth that could unlock any door. John picks up the edge of your dressing gown from where it's fallen and tucks it over your hip and leg, a strangely motherish gesture. His hand is shaking; you can feel it.
John rises. He retreats to the kitchen, where he will make tea. He will sit at the table in front of his laptop to drink it, but he will not look at the screen. He will be watching you the whole time. John does not believe in any particular god, but some part of him will be praying for you. You don't have to see this to know that it will happen.
It occurs to you, not for the first time, that you're bringing someone rather crucial down with you.
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looking forward to the rest.
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I'll wait for a better frame of mind and give it another shot. Thanks, hun!