Fic Rec: A Lost Thimble

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Title: A Lost Thimble
Author: kay_cricketed
Pairing: Sherlock/John (one-sided so far)
Length: 17,892 (so far)
Rating: Teen
Warnings: none
Verse: Sherlock BBC and The Borrowers

Author's summary: [Borrowers!AU] John Hamish Watson has watched Sherlock Holmes from a close distance since they were children, but they live in differently sized worlds. This does not stop him from losing his heart, or from following it all the way to Baker Street. This is the story of John and Sherlock's adventures in London, and how, through the ruthless cunning of crime consultant Jim Moriarty, they learn that one very tiny borrower can make the biggest difference of all.

Reccer's comments: First, I need to say that this is a WiP, but wait! Don't run away just yet! This story is so well written and so delightful, that I ask you to give it a chance. It stops at a good place, without a major cliffhanger. Even if the author never returns (and yes, it has been over a year), I think you will be more than satisfied with the characterization, pacing, humor, and rich worldbuilding. A Lost Thimble reminds me of Hayao Miyazaki's films (Spirited Away, Howl's Moving Castle), with their bittersweet beauty and entrancing sense of wonder. For example, here's the scene when John screws up his courage and visits child!Sherlock's desk:

He slid—oh, that was a rush!—and saw His Room disappear into a blur of colour and light and periwinkle winks. The desk slammed into his knees with shocking force, sending John tumbling across its surface.

“Well, that hurt,” John said to himself, getting to his feet again.

And he stopped.

Oh, thought John, gazing up in all directions, mesmerized by the piercing warmth of the sun and the way the glass reflected it across the desk in playful fragments. He turned in a full circle, mouth open. In that moment, John felt his heart swell and burst apart in his chest, unable to withstand the beauty and curiousness of it all. His Room, from this vantage point, seemed more fascinating than ever.

He touched some glass with his fingertips, staring at the tiniest foggy imprint he left behind on it. He went from jar to jar, peering through leaves and twigs to see the jars’ inhabitants: bugs and lizards and oh god, was it an insect? A piece of wood? A piece of wood that moved when it saw him! John smashed his face against the glass and grinned so hard his cheeks hurt. If this was what was on the desk, the jars on the window sills would be a hundred—no, a thousand—times more brilliant.

You'll note that I said "bittersweet" above. There is a dark side to the story, as well as an undercurrent of melancholic yearning, as John's feelings slowly evolve and Sherlock literally has no idea John exists. Considering the deadly danger "Human Beans" pose, isn't this for the best? Nevertheless, childhoods end and changes come, breaking this delicate equilibrium.

John’s head hurt. In fact, every part of his body hurt from neck to heels. He groaned and turned on his side, burying his face into his arm to get it out of the light. Why was there light? His borrower hole was dark and comforting. His leg throbbed. The phantom pains acting up again? No, this pain was distinct, acute. He took a few deep breaths and squinted up at his surroundings.


Only to recoil in shock.

“It’s showing severe signs of disorientation and alarm,” said Sherlock, hunched over his knees on the floor. He was staring at a jar, which was on the coffee table, which contained a terrified borrower, and his gaze was nothing less than riveted. His mouth hung open a little, like he did when he was thinking very fast.

John looked around frantically. He was in—a jar? Yes. Some kind of bloody jar, what was the crazy bean thinking, and worse—no, so much worse, John, pay attention, pay attention now, because the fact of the matter was he had been worse than seen, he was caught, like a mouse in a trap, and it wouldn’t budge no matter how hard he pushed on it because—oh, right, there it was, a book laying on the top, very clever, Sherlock—he never wanted this, not really, even when he’d day dreamed about being noticed by Sherlock and chatting with him, John had never really wanted to be caught, it was different, this moment, he’d—

Well, you'll have to read on to find out what happens next. ;-)