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221b_recs2014-07-27 04:15 pm
chapbook.livejournal.com) wrote in 221b_recs2014-07-27 04:15 pm
Entry tags:
Fic Rec: Sketchy
Title: Sketchy
Author: serpentynka
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Length: 186,281
Rating: E
Warnings: none
Verse: Sherlock BBC
Author's summary: Sherlock takes on an obvious case (barely a 4) and is forced to re-examine what it means to see and observe.
Reccer's comments: Serpentynka is new to fanfiction, but I was blown away by their magnum opus, Sketchy. Blown away as in they have written what will doubtless be on my list of best Sherlock fics of 2014. I was first drawn in by the masterful Sherlock POV, then charmed by the main OC, Alex Nussbaum, an artist who reluctantly agrees to tutor Sherlock in drawing (some of Sherlock's art is scattered about the text). Initial distrust eventually grows into a warm, honest friendship:
Here, have a look,” Sherlock says. He takes the sketchbook out of his pocket. “There are eighteen of John.”
“Why only eighteen,” Alex remarks with a small smile.
“I didn’t --“
“Do you really think I don’t know what this is about?” Alex asks.
“It’s not what you think.” It really, really isn’t. Absurd to imagine. John. And me.
“As if I’d blame you,” Alex says.
“Your opinion. What do you think of them.”
“Okay. Oh. Good likeness, still rough but quite expressive.” He flips through them. “Carry on like this, do carry on like this. Well done. Oh. Oh my God.” Alex closes his eyes for a moment because the tears have come back. “Horrible. Terrible, absolutely terrible.”
“Thank you for your honesty.” Sherlock speaks in earnest, but Alex is too upset to see it.
“Not technique!” Alex exclaims. “The subject. This happened. What is this. From your work? Was this from a murder that you saw?”
Sherlock is watching a flock of mottled pigeons as they circle above Trafalgar Square; the sound of the cars is nauseating to him; the wind is hurting his eyes.
“John is a veteran,” Sherlock says. The sky looks far too close around the birds as they fly, far too present.
“Oh. Dear Lord. He must have suffered so much.” Alex swallows and touches his chest where the silver medal is hidden beneath his shirt. “And this? What is this about?” He has turned the page without Sherlock noticing it.
“Oh. That’s for me. But the other picture?”
Alex closes the book and gives it back to Sherlock, who pockets it.
“Dreadful. But beautiful,” Alex says after a moment, wiping at his eyes again.
The rich depiction of places (primarily Norfolk, London, and Vienna) and an organic sense of structure brings additional depth to the world of this story. What kept me enthralled, however, what made me feel 100,000+ words were not enough, was the slowly evolving relationship of Sherlock and John, underlined by rapid POV switches and a dynamic approach to combining narrative, dialogue, and interior thoughts:
John’s train is delayed in Derby and he arrives in the late evening, close to 10. He takes a cab from the station and arrives at a large stone manor which he sees at first glance will outclass the hotel in Norfolk for its beauty and gardens. The cab driver had remarked that it is a landmark. It is completely dark, but John makes out the forms of lush plants, large, ancient trees and a small lake nearby. There is a light, cold rain falling as he walks toward the entrance and he shivers. As he reaches for the door, two peacocks, roosting somewhere above in the trees, call out to each other; he nearly jumps back from the door (train coffee) and then starts laughing at himself for it. Thus he walks into the reception with even more adrenaline than he’d already had, at the thought of seeing his friend. Christ. The place is stunning inside, bright, and furnished in antiques.
When he has passed the reception desk (they appear to have been expecting him), he sees that Sherlock is in a common room, in a large chair, reading. When he hears John’s step he puts his phone and journal down.
He is well suited to the room -- or it to him, more like it, as John doesn’t really take in much else. He sits down near Sherlock in a dark, carved armchair with stylised gryphons on its leather armrests. He curls his hands over their little heads and runs his fingers over them in a few light circles. Hello seems inadequate in such a setting and when there are many other things he would like to say. He breathes. Want you, beautiful --
“I missed you, too,” he says.
“Clearly,” Sherlock replies, and breaks into a warm smile.
“Nice place here,” John says, looking about the room. “And...it has peacocks.”
“16th century. The peacocks are newer. Would you like anything?”
“I would.”
Sherlock looks at him carefully with dark, mad eyes. He doesn’t answer. He instead stands and takes a key from his pocket and gives it to John; he tells him to go upstairs without him and unpack. When John has gone, Sherlock steps outside for a moment to take in the evening air (clean rain and grass; late geraniums); he types out a final text. (German this time.)
Wisse, dass es genug ist zu wissen, dass es schwierig ist. SH *
The reply is nearly immediate:
Militat omnis amans. Alex
Sherlock chuckles and powers off his phone. Volleying Ovid about, at a time like this -- then again, why not?
___________
* Texts:
Know, that it is enough to know, that it is difficult. SH
Every lover is a soldier. Alex [Or: Love is warfare]
The reader is treated not to just the movement from friends to lovers, but a detailed evolution of their romantic and sexual relationship in the months that follow the admissions of love and attraction. We experience the external and internal obstacles that challenge Sherlock and John, realizing before the end how much that relationship has deepened, despite their own considerable flaws and Mycroft's well-meant but heavy-handed "tests".
Add to all this erotic storytelling, initiated by John and later attempted by Sherlock. John's steamy fantasies are realistic enough to be re-imagined in the "real world" (as some are!), whereas Sherlock's are more overtly biographical and can be hot or intensely moving (sometimes both).
“I have another story for you. Would you like to hear it?”
“Yes.”
John has reached down and taken one of Sherlock’s wrists. “Buttons. Impossible to take off quickly. Is that the point?”
“The point is -- ” Sherlock says, nimbly working at John’s placket. He has it pushed open in several seconds. “I don’t know.”
“Your cuffs. Finally,” John mutters, mostly at the shirt.
“Mmmm --“ Sherlock mumbles, unbuttoning John’s jeans. He pushes them open but John doesn’t move to take them off.
“We’d go for your fitting. Maybe tomorrow. I’d be behind you, in a chair. Your tailor would go and pin you up in all the pieces. You’d be able to see me, in the mirror. That’s how it starts. That’s just the beginning of it.”
Sherlock doesn’t want to be pinned (in place, by John) and sits up carefully. John notices it and lets him go. They are sitting in front of each other, on their knees.
“You would be on the pedestal,” John says, and unbuttons Sherlock’s trousers. “Properly endowed, left dresser.”
Sherlock smiles.
“You’d be standing there with those pieces pinned and you wouldn’t move, because it would poke you, and hurt. And he’d be working away on you, there on his knees. Like we are, now.” John is balanced on the balls of his feet; one heel is still bandaged. (Sherlock tries to forget about that piece of glass he'd missed and listen.) “He wouldn’t be paying any attention to me. And I’d be looking at you. I’d want to touch you.” (He puts a hand around Sherlock’s waist and runs it downward slowly.) “I wouldn’t be able to do. That tailor would be there. Frederick. So I’d start unbuttoning my trousers. He wouldn’t see. But you’d see in the reflection. You’re observant, you’d see it straight away. Hmmm...but you wouldn’t stand it. You’d know bloody well that I want you. But I can’t have you because of him. You’d know I wouldn’t be able to stop, so you’d tell him to go out. And I’d look at you in the mirror, and you’d have to stand there and watch me get off without you.” John has reached into his pants and pulled out his cock. (An offering. Accepted.) “You wouldn’t move because the pins would stab you if you did. Finally you’d step down and finish me off. Wouldn’t take much. Like now. Yeah. You feel how I want you?”
Sherlock is still smiling.
“Take me there," John adds, "and, we’ll see if it’s just a story. Oh, yeah. Oh, God.”
“Oh, I know it won't be just a story,” Sherlock says, and runs his lips lightly over John’s neck. His hand is far more forceful.
If you love reading about the visual arts and the skill of craftspeople, this is a work for you. If you adore sophisticated, sensual fiction that repays multiple readings, if you enjoy memorable OCs, and treasure IC romance between two flawed characters who struggle (and sometimes fail) to communicate, this is the work for you.
----
Note: this is set in an imagined S5, but was begun before S3 aired, so no S3 characters or spoilers are included. See comment below for additional information.
Author: serpentynka
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Length: 186,281
Rating: E
Warnings: none
Verse: Sherlock BBC
Author's summary: Sherlock takes on an obvious case (barely a 4) and is forced to re-examine what it means to see and observe.
Reccer's comments: Serpentynka is new to fanfiction, but I was blown away by their magnum opus, Sketchy. Blown away as in they have written what will doubtless be on my list of best Sherlock fics of 2014. I was first drawn in by the masterful Sherlock POV, then charmed by the main OC, Alex Nussbaum, an artist who reluctantly agrees to tutor Sherlock in drawing (some of Sherlock's art is scattered about the text). Initial distrust eventually grows into a warm, honest friendship:
Here, have a look,” Sherlock says. He takes the sketchbook out of his pocket. “There are eighteen of John.”
“Why only eighteen,” Alex remarks with a small smile.
“I didn’t --“
“Do you really think I don’t know what this is about?” Alex asks.
“It’s not what you think.” It really, really isn’t. Absurd to imagine. John. And me.
“As if I’d blame you,” Alex says.
“Your opinion. What do you think of them.”
“Okay. Oh. Good likeness, still rough but quite expressive.” He flips through them. “Carry on like this, do carry on like this. Well done. Oh. Oh my God.” Alex closes his eyes for a moment because the tears have come back. “Horrible. Terrible, absolutely terrible.”
“Thank you for your honesty.” Sherlock speaks in earnest, but Alex is too upset to see it.
“Not technique!” Alex exclaims. “The subject. This happened. What is this. From your work? Was this from a murder that you saw?”
Sherlock is watching a flock of mottled pigeons as they circle above Trafalgar Square; the sound of the cars is nauseating to him; the wind is hurting his eyes.
“John is a veteran,” Sherlock says. The sky looks far too close around the birds as they fly, far too present.
“Oh. Dear Lord. He must have suffered so much.” Alex swallows and touches his chest where the silver medal is hidden beneath his shirt. “And this? What is this about?” He has turned the page without Sherlock noticing it.
“Oh. That’s for me. But the other picture?”
Alex closes the book and gives it back to Sherlock, who pockets it.
“Dreadful. But beautiful,” Alex says after a moment, wiping at his eyes again.
The rich depiction of places (primarily Norfolk, London, and Vienna) and an organic sense of structure brings additional depth to the world of this story. What kept me enthralled, however, what made me feel 100,000+ words were not enough, was the slowly evolving relationship of Sherlock and John, underlined by rapid POV switches and a dynamic approach to combining narrative, dialogue, and interior thoughts:
John’s train is delayed in Derby and he arrives in the late evening, close to 10. He takes a cab from the station and arrives at a large stone manor which he sees at first glance will outclass the hotel in Norfolk for its beauty and gardens. The cab driver had remarked that it is a landmark. It is completely dark, but John makes out the forms of lush plants, large, ancient trees and a small lake nearby. There is a light, cold rain falling as he walks toward the entrance and he shivers. As he reaches for the door, two peacocks, roosting somewhere above in the trees, call out to each other; he nearly jumps back from the door (train coffee) and then starts laughing at himself for it. Thus he walks into the reception with even more adrenaline than he’d already had, at the thought of seeing his friend. Christ. The place is stunning inside, bright, and furnished in antiques.
When he has passed the reception desk (they appear to have been expecting him), he sees that Sherlock is in a common room, in a large chair, reading. When he hears John’s step he puts his phone and journal down.
He is well suited to the room -- or it to him, more like it, as John doesn’t really take in much else. He sits down near Sherlock in a dark, carved armchair with stylised gryphons on its leather armrests. He curls his hands over their little heads and runs his fingers over them in a few light circles. Hello seems inadequate in such a setting and when there are many other things he would like to say. He breathes. Want you, beautiful --
“I missed you, too,” he says.
“Clearly,” Sherlock replies, and breaks into a warm smile.
“Nice place here,” John says, looking about the room. “And...it has peacocks.”
“16th century. The peacocks are newer. Would you like anything?”
“I would.”
Sherlock looks at him carefully with dark, mad eyes. He doesn’t answer. He instead stands and takes a key from his pocket and gives it to John; he tells him to go upstairs without him and unpack. When John has gone, Sherlock steps outside for a moment to take in the evening air (clean rain and grass; late geraniums); he types out a final text. (German this time.)
Wisse, dass es genug ist zu wissen, dass es schwierig ist. SH *
The reply is nearly immediate:
Militat omnis amans. Alex
Sherlock chuckles and powers off his phone. Volleying Ovid about, at a time like this -- then again, why not?
___________
* Texts:
Know, that it is enough to know, that it is difficult. SH
Every lover is a soldier. Alex [Or: Love is warfare]
The reader is treated not to just the movement from friends to lovers, but a detailed evolution of their romantic and sexual relationship in the months that follow the admissions of love and attraction. We experience the external and internal obstacles that challenge Sherlock and John, realizing before the end how much that relationship has deepened, despite their own considerable flaws and Mycroft's well-meant but heavy-handed "tests".
Add to all this erotic storytelling, initiated by John and later attempted by Sherlock. John's steamy fantasies are realistic enough to be re-imagined in the "real world" (as some are!), whereas Sherlock's are more overtly biographical and can be hot or intensely moving (sometimes both).
“I have another story for you. Would you like to hear it?”
“Yes.”
John has reached down and taken one of Sherlock’s wrists. “Buttons. Impossible to take off quickly. Is that the point?”
“The point is -- ” Sherlock says, nimbly working at John’s placket. He has it pushed open in several seconds. “I don’t know.”
“Your cuffs. Finally,” John mutters, mostly at the shirt.
“Mmmm --“ Sherlock mumbles, unbuttoning John’s jeans. He pushes them open but John doesn’t move to take them off.
“We’d go for your fitting. Maybe tomorrow. I’d be behind you, in a chair. Your tailor would go and pin you up in all the pieces. You’d be able to see me, in the mirror. That’s how it starts. That’s just the beginning of it.”
Sherlock doesn’t want to be pinned (in place, by John) and sits up carefully. John notices it and lets him go. They are sitting in front of each other, on their knees.
“You would be on the pedestal,” John says, and unbuttons Sherlock’s trousers. “Properly endowed, left dresser.”
Sherlock smiles.
“You’d be standing there with those pieces pinned and you wouldn’t move, because it would poke you, and hurt. And he’d be working away on you, there on his knees. Like we are, now.” John is balanced on the balls of his feet; one heel is still bandaged. (Sherlock tries to forget about that piece of glass he'd missed and listen.) “He wouldn’t be paying any attention to me. And I’d be looking at you. I’d want to touch you.” (He puts a hand around Sherlock’s waist and runs it downward slowly.) “I wouldn’t be able to do. That tailor would be there. Frederick. So I’d start unbuttoning my trousers. He wouldn’t see. But you’d see in the reflection. You’re observant, you’d see it straight away. Hmmm...but you wouldn’t stand it. You’d know bloody well that I want you. But I can’t have you because of him. You’d know I wouldn’t be able to stop, so you’d tell him to go out. And I’d look at you in the mirror, and you’d have to stand there and watch me get off without you.” John has reached into his pants and pulled out his cock. (An offering. Accepted.) “You wouldn’t move because the pins would stab you if you did. Finally you’d step down and finish me off. Wouldn’t take much. Like now. Yeah. You feel how I want you?”
Sherlock is still smiling.
“Take me there," John adds, "and, we’ll see if it’s just a story. Oh, yeah. Oh, God.”
“Oh, I know it won't be just a story,” Sherlock says, and runs his lips lightly over John’s neck. His hand is far more forceful.
If you love reading about the visual arts and the skill of craftspeople, this is a work for you. If you adore sophisticated, sensual fiction that repays multiple readings, if you enjoy memorable OCs, and treasure IC romance between two flawed characters who struggle (and sometimes fail) to communicate, this is the work for you.
----
Note: this is set in an imagined S5, but was begun before S3 aired, so no S3 characters or spoilers are included. See comment below for additional information.
no subject
no subject
It was started before S3 and is set in an imagined S5, but no S3 characters or spoilers are included. Mary is in the past, but as it was begun before S3 the author (wisely I think) chooses not to imply much beyond that she is definitely out of the picture and for some time.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
Only you can decide what you enjoy in the end. Lucky for us there are many talented writers in the fandom who write in a range of more or less conventional styles and I love the diversity. Some styles might not be my or your cup of tea, but, as John says, it's all fine.
(Hoping this doesn't come off as "You don't like this style? You're a peasant" BS, but rather "Different strokes for different folks is just fine".)
ETA: added "rapid" to POV switches in the text to serve as an advisory
no subject
My apologies - I didn't read the excerpts because I didn't want to be "spoiled" for any of the scenes. I love long stories with a new, intriguing premise, so I was excited when I read your rec and jumped straight to the story. I do realize that most people don't have an issue with rapidly shifting POV's, but unfortunately, it's a definite trigger for me. Too lazy to try and figure out whose thoughts I'm reading at the time, I guess.
Thank you for your quick response and for volunteering to rec on this site in the first place. There is so much SH fic out there, and I have so little time, that I rely very heavily on recommendations. Your time in writing such a comprehensive review is very much appreciated (even if I didn't take advantage of it at the start, lol!).
no subject
I adore longfic too! 75,000+ makes my heart go pit-a-pat.
Thank you for your kind words! I'm so glad recc'ers as a group have been helpful to you.