Fic Rec: In the Deep
Apr. 30th, 2013 11:56 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
chapbook.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
221b_recsTitle: In the Deep
Author: professorfangirl
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Length: 3288
Rating: M
Warnings: none
Verse: Sherlock BBC
Author's summary: Consciousness is an ocean; Sherlock dives too deep:
He remembers indigo. He remembers searching out indigo, harder to find than evidence; you could only come across it at a certain hour just approaching dusk, when the light was heavy and diffuse over London. You had to time it precisely, you had to catch John by a window and say his name so that he turned his head at just the right angle to the light, and raised his eyebrows, and there in the moment before he said “Yeah?,” if you were very observant and very fortunate, you’d catch it in his eyes, perfect, fathomless: indigo.
He drowns in it now, when he’s lucky.
He can climb out any time he wants to.
He doesn’t.
Reccer's comments: ProfessorFangirl explores the mysteries of the ocean, of drifting human consciousness, and of love in this gorgeous post-hiatus one-shot. The interlacing of deep-sea animal life with Sherlock's (imagined? real?) memories supports an extraordinarily effective irregular structure. The facts about the sea and its creatures never become pedantic or gratuitous. Nor does the angst become overwrought, kept in check by the vibrant imagery, the dissociation Sherlock feels as he swims through memory and dream, and yes, even a bit of humor:
“Sherlock, what. The screaming green fuck. Is that?”
Sherlock glances over. “Deep sea anglerfish.”
It does look vaguely fish-shaped, dusky red, shiny and gelatinous, with sharp dorsal spines. But it’s mostly jaws, an enormous jutting maw fringed with long translucent teeth; the damn thing couldn’t properly close its mouth. It’s a prehistoric nightmare, and it’s sitting on the kitchen table.
“See, look,” Sherlock says. John tears his eyes away from the monster in the tray to see the test tube gleaming a bit more brightly.
“Huh. Nice. Good thing this fella had a headlamp so that folks could see him coming.”
Sherlock shakes the tube. “Needs more agitation. Maybe heat.” Abruptly he uncorks the tube, caps it with his finger, shakes, and then smears a blue-green fluorescent trail on John’s forearm. “Ah! Yes, I was right, that’s what it needed.”
“Sherlock!” John shouts. “The fuck!” He wipes at his arm with his hand, stares dismayed at his glowing palm. “Tell me that shit’s not toxic.”
Sherlock’s biting his lips. “No, of course not.” His eyes are dancing. “I wouldn’t do that to you. Probably.”
John’s exasperated, but as ever his exasperation is just this close to laughter. “No, I think you probably would, because you’re a truly irritating prick.”
Sherlock breaks, laughing in his silent breathy way. John with his hands on his hips is amusing at the best of times, but with bright fishy smears on his arm and his hand he’s hilarious. Adorable.
“Right.” John reaches over and grabs the anglerfish.
Author: professorfangirl
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Length: 3288
Rating: M
Warnings: none
Verse: Sherlock BBC
Author's summary: Consciousness is an ocean; Sherlock dives too deep:
He remembers indigo. He remembers searching out indigo, harder to find than evidence; you could only come across it at a certain hour just approaching dusk, when the light was heavy and diffuse over London. You had to time it precisely, you had to catch John by a window and say his name so that he turned his head at just the right angle to the light, and raised his eyebrows, and there in the moment before he said “Yeah?,” if you were very observant and very fortunate, you’d catch it in his eyes, perfect, fathomless: indigo.
He drowns in it now, when he’s lucky.
He can climb out any time he wants to.
He doesn’t.
Reccer's comments: ProfessorFangirl explores the mysteries of the ocean, of drifting human consciousness, and of love in this gorgeous post-hiatus one-shot. The interlacing of deep-sea animal life with Sherlock's (imagined? real?) memories supports an extraordinarily effective irregular structure. The facts about the sea and its creatures never become pedantic or gratuitous. Nor does the angst become overwrought, kept in check by the vibrant imagery, the dissociation Sherlock feels as he swims through memory and dream, and yes, even a bit of humor:
“Sherlock, what. The screaming green fuck. Is that?”
Sherlock glances over. “Deep sea anglerfish.”
It does look vaguely fish-shaped, dusky red, shiny and gelatinous, with sharp dorsal spines. But it’s mostly jaws, an enormous jutting maw fringed with long translucent teeth; the damn thing couldn’t properly close its mouth. It’s a prehistoric nightmare, and it’s sitting on the kitchen table.
“See, look,” Sherlock says. John tears his eyes away from the monster in the tray to see the test tube gleaming a bit more brightly.
“Huh. Nice. Good thing this fella had a headlamp so that folks could see him coming.”
Sherlock shakes the tube. “Needs more agitation. Maybe heat.” Abruptly he uncorks the tube, caps it with his finger, shakes, and then smears a blue-green fluorescent trail on John’s forearm. “Ah! Yes, I was right, that’s what it needed.”
“Sherlock!” John shouts. “The fuck!” He wipes at his arm with his hand, stares dismayed at his glowing palm. “Tell me that shit’s not toxic.”
Sherlock’s biting his lips. “No, of course not.” His eyes are dancing. “I wouldn’t do that to you. Probably.”
John’s exasperated, but as ever his exasperation is just this close to laughter. “No, I think you probably would, because you’re a truly irritating prick.”
Sherlock breaks, laughing in his silent breathy way. John with his hands on his hips is amusing at the best of times, but with bright fishy smears on his arm and his hand he’s hilarious. Adorable.
“Right.” John reaches over and grabs the anglerfish.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}