[identity profile] pipmer1.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] 221b_recs
Title: Albion and the Woodsman
Author: Glenmore
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Length: 54,437 words
Rating: Not Rated (I would rate it Mature)
Warnings: None
Verse: Sherlock BBC

Author's summary: Post Series 3. Sherlock and John are devastated after Mary Morstan makes her final moves. Sherlock relapses at the crack house, John walks around the world ...and a lot happens in between. Parentlock, in the good way.

Reccer's comments: If you are the type of reader who, like me, generally avoids first-person storytelling, then do yourself a favor and make an exception for this one. It's one of those rare fics that successfully paints Sherlock Holmes as a devoted single parent. The story is in turns funny, heartbreaking, and heartwarming.

It is told from Sherlock's POV, and begins post-series 3. It starts out after Sherlock has been shot for a second time by Mary Watson, an event that leads to her arrest and to John needing to disappear for awhile in order to get his head together. He leaves for a year-long walkabout around the world, leaving Sherlock devastated and returning to drugs. Of course he cleans himself up, only to be confronted several months later by a pregnant stranger claiming that Sherlock is the father.

We get to watch Sherlock fall immediately in love with his son Albion, and then take to single fatherhood like a duck takes to water. As Sherlock grows into his new role, he continues to pine for John and wait for his eventual return. The way Sherlock refers to John in his absence by different epithets such as 'eleven jumpers Watson' and 'Three pairs of brogues Watson' kept me delighted and laughing throughout.

We are introduced to several OC’s, not the least of which is Albion himself. His nanny gives soldier!John a run for his money (once he returns), and even the mother who abandoned him manages to turn her life around and gain at least a smidgen of our respect.

There are struggles and lessons to be learned, not the least of which that 'happily ever after' does not mean what all the fairy-tales claim. Reality is much more complicated, but all the more rewarding because of it.




The last time I saw John Watson, he told me that he was sick of every last thing and was going to walk around the world.

“Everything, John?”

“Everything, Sherlock. I’m sick of my life, I’m sick of the clinic, I’m sick of criminals, I’m sick of people. I’m sick of all the other things I can’t remember that I’m sick of too, so don’t think that because I left I something out, I’m not sick of it. I am and I’m leaving.”

“I love you,” was all I could think to tell him.

He looked at me with great tenderness and sadness.

“I can’t hear that right now, Sherlock.”

I attempted to remonstrate but he raised his strong square hand and turned his wincing face slightly to the left, as if he had just been offered poison. “I don’t want to hear that from you. I can’t hear it. I’m going to walk around the world. I hope you get better.”

And just like that he walked away, leaving me holding a discharge sheet and a bottle of codeine in one hand, my stitched abdominal cavity in the other.

He didn’t explicitly say he was sick of me too, but since he said “sick of everything”, and didn’t specifically eliminate me, I had to assume he was sick of me too. Which was intensely painful.

I took a taxi home.

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