221B Recs

Title: Into the Dark Stream
Author: lbmisscharlie On Ao3
Pairing: John/Sherlock, OFC/OFC are the main pairings
Length: 119,503
Rating: E
Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Minor Character Deaths (including children, as happened during the war)
Verse: Sherlock BBC
Author's summary: Ireland, 1920. There's a war on, but no one seems to be playing by the rules. John Watson, injured and unemployed after his time at the Front, joins up with the special forces sent over to keep the peace, but when he meets Sherlock Holmes, the second son of the local lord, he begins to lose track of which side he is on.

Reccer's comments: True history AUs are rare indeed in any fandom, primarily because it takes so much research and practice to richly communicate a complex foreign culture and tell a good fictional story. Most history AUs require years of research to get to the point where the author can adroitly share the cultural and social realities of the peoples living in the past. Therefore, it's no surprise that most authors find it already challenge enough to skillfully create a genre AU like a Western. It's frankly a miracle that this fandom has been blessed with more than one history AU, let alone more than one that is as beautifully wrought as this one.

That lbmisscharlie loves 20th-century Irish and British history is made abundantly clear from the first chapter. John Watson, soldier of King and Country, is not patrolling Afghanistan, but another restive part of the British Empire, Ireland, just as England's grip is slipping. Although BBC!John never has reservations about his deployment to Afghanistan or what he did there, the John of this story will grow to question what he does in Ireland. Without slipping into overt preachiness, the author makes vivid the cultural clashes and how the characters choose to navigate them. Both sides commit atrocities, leaving one wondering who really is in the right.

John and the other canonical characters like Sherlock and Molly are deftly smoothed into their AU roles. For the most part, the political, social, and cultural beliefs and values they express and act on as English and Irish of the 1920s are blended skillfully with the traits of the BBC characters. Alterations to characters are made purposefully. For example, John is a not an officer or doctor in this fic, something that allows the author to play with class differences in England and in Ireland. Him not being a doctor is, more than once, subtly presented as a lack; something John could be, but never had the opportunity given his social class (several rungs below ACD's Watson for sure and maybe below BBC!John as well).

Of the many OCs, Eva stands out. Both Eva and Molly demonstrate the challenges of women living in Ireland during the troubles of the 1920s. They might support Irish independence, but the violence is personally painful, compelling them to look or hope for alternatives to the high costs of war. These women might risk themselves for Sherlock at different moments of the plot, but it is clear they have lives and concerns outside of Sherlock's Work.

Apart from the layered portrayals of major and minor characters, there is the vibrant sense of place throughout. From the bloody fields of the Continent near the end of WWI, to London and many locations in Ireland (primarily in and around Macroom), the scenery is beautifully rendered, often amplifying the mood of a particular scene. One of many examples is a cinematic rendering of the interior of the Honan Chapel on the grounds of University College in Cork, a setting that conveys the menace and mystery of what is facing John, before suddenly inspiring a brief moment of wonder and nostalgia:

Scrubbing his hands through his hair, John looks around the small chapel once more. The weak candlelight barely penetrates the dark corners, its flickering light producing strange, monstrous shadows in the lurking depths. Bracing one hand on the pew, John hauls himself to his feet and makes his way to the wall. Thrusting the taper in front of him, he traces the walls with his hand as he surveys the perimeter, noting anything that could be used as a weapon: this heavy candelabra, that bible stand, the blunt granite edge of the font. The altar is bare but for an embroidered altar cloth; underneath is empty.


From the altar, John walks down the steps back into the nave, testing the stability of the pews as he passes down the centre aisle. Dead ahead, St Patrick in his emerald robes offers a benediction, while down each side of the nave saints less familiar pass judgement. Pausing in the middle of the aisle, his eye is captured by a brilliant column of blue, its deep tones blending to amethyst in the fading light, which leads to an imperious face with a sharp, beaked nose. But for the long mass of crimson curls, the face, with the haughty set of its eyes and the thrusting, stubborn chin, could be familiar. Some forgotten ancestor of Sherlock’s, perhaps? Amused, John steps closer, craning his neck to examine the details, when his eye focuses and he frowns.


Surrounding the figure, at feet and head, are sparkling, crimson bees, their wingspan the breadth of a man’s spread palm. In one hand, the figure holds a miniature of the chapel, formed from golden beeswax, and John is startlingly thrown back to the summer. To Sherlock’s outstretched thumb, coated in honey, to his caring hands on the hives. John’s laugh, when it breaks the silence, is hoarse, peculiar and cracked. Beekeepers, watching him.

I could go on and on about the many virtues of this lovingly crafted fic, but I urge you to see for yourself!

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. ;-)

Title: Fearful Symmetry
Author: irisbleufic
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Length: 20,500
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: none
Verse: Sherlock BBC
Author's summary: Of nightmares, family, and forgiveness.
Reccer's comments: If you have been searching for a fic that features Harry Watson as a nuanced character rather than a stereotype or a plot device, then here you will find one marvelous example. John and Harry's troubled relationship is explored, with both siblings portrayed as flawed but ultimately able to use the love they share to forgive each other. John's developing relationship with Sherlock is treated with equal care. Iris demonstrates the tremendous courage it takes to forgive and to love without making the ust and brother-sister conflict melodramatic.

Excerpt: “John, what are you doing here?”

The question hung in the air between the four of them, inescapable.

John wiped his mouth and blinked at her, forcing himself to smile in an attempt to stave off the fierce, sudden anger that rose in him. She'd been gunning for an argument all evening, hadn't she?

“Let's see, Harry,” he began, “what am I doing here? Well: first, there was the part where you collected me at the airport smelling of gin, cider, and God knows what else. Then, there was the part where, instead of having the whole tearful-reunion-and-catch-up thing that all my mates had―the ones who made it home, anyway―I spent the next forty-five minutes navigating both you and my luggage through the entire bloody underground just to find the place they'd sorted out for me in the meantime, and you were mostly asleep on my shoulder any time we weren't walking, and oh, by the way, you didn't even mention the cane. Not once.”

Mrs. Hudson was staring down at her plate, and Sherlock was listening intently, his head tilted ever so slightly in John's direction. Harry, on the other hand, was biting into her lower lip so hard that she'd probably draw blood if she didn't stop soon.

If John didn't stop soon.

It was the brush of Sherlock's hand, again, under the table, that snapped him out of it.

Harry took a shuddering breath and opened her mouth to speak. “John, I―”

“No,” John said. “I'm the one who's sorry. Believe me.”

Harry lifted her head and gave him a hard, defiant look.

“For what, John? Which part of it?”