This Man's Heart - Chapter 6
Jul. 11th, 2011 02:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ellie_hellTitle: This Man's Heart - Chapter 6
Rating: PG
Warnings: None.
Pairing: Eventual Sherlock/John.
Word count: 1593
Summary: In the latter part of the 19th century, a peculiar solitary man and an ex-army doctor disfigured in a war live in a small village, surrounded by breathtaking landscapes. When they first meet, they have no idea their lives are about to change forever and, over the months, they will form an unusual friendship, discover more about each other and themselves, and maybe fall a little in love along the way.
Disclaimer: See first chapter.
Beta: Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
albalark who was not only a beta, but a teacher of precious English lessons (in so many pretty colours) and to disassembly_rsn whose history knowledge I envy, and who helped me revise a lot of the backstory. You two made this insanely better, I hope you know how much I appreciate your help. I also thank the lovely anarion who, once again, helped me deal with my inability to write a mistake-free header.
Back to the first chapter
Previous chapter
Chapter 6
Often during the following winter, Sherlock thought about the encounter and suspected he had ruined every chance he had had of John tying his scarf to a tree again. They had spent a nice day together, he had solved the porcupine skeleton puzzle, John had amazed him with his owl training skills and they had enjoyed each other’s company. Yet, Sherlock had pushed a subject John hadn’t wanted to get into and there had been no sight of the man or his scarf since.
Sherlock waited a little longer than five months before finally seeking someone else’s opinion. At first he thought of his aunt, but she had fussed so much after he had spent the night in the manor that he didn’t want to worry her more than was necessary. Instead, he headed to the store one afternoon and gestured for Gregory to follow him to the chess table, which he did once he was done with his customer.
“Gregory, are we friends?”
“Of course we are!” he exclaimed. “Why else would I let you win at chess?” he added with a mischievous smile and a wink before moving his pawn, while Sherlock rolled his eyes.
“In the years I’ve spent studying the townspeople’s behaviour, I have discovered that friends seem to obey some rules, one of them being: friends must keep secrets for one another. Is that correct?”
Gregory narrowed his eyes. “Well yes, friends are supposed to keep each other’s secrets, I suppose it could be called The Friendship Code but wait, Sherlock… did you kill someone?”
“Ludicrous. Of course I didn’t. But the story I am about to tell you is of a delicate nature and I want to make sure you’ll be discreet.”
Gregory was intrigued and he nodded vigorously. Sherlock then proceeded to tell him everything, from the first time he had seen John in the forest to the last time he had seen him, standing on the shore as he rowed away from West Birches Bay. Gregory waited until his friend was done before offering his input.
“Sometimes you need to think before you talk. I think you may have rushed him and I bet he didn’t appreciate you saying his sister is a prison guard.”
“His sister is a jailer, surely he realizes that.”
“Perhaps he does. But people don’t usually like it when others speak ill of their families or friends,” Gregory said.
Inevitably, they eventually ended up discussing the mask. “I wonder if it’s really that horrible,” Sherlock said, “and what he thinks when he sees himself in a mirror. Do you think there are mirrors in his manor? Do you think he removes his mask when he’s alone?”
“I would,” Gregory replied, “it must feel uncomfortable sometimes. Also, you said he was moaning and sobbing that night you slept in the manor, maybe the injury is painful.”
Yes maybe,” Sherlock said, but he wasn’t really there anymore. His thoughts had drifted off to Lover’s Island where he had spent the afternoon with John several months ago. There had to be a way to see John again; they didn’t even know each other properly, it couldn’t end when it didn’t feel like it had begun at all.
:::
Everyday, Sherlock ran to the shore and looked towards West Birches Bay, wishing to see the red scarf floating in the wind. Everyday, he was disappointed, but he never stopped hoping. He couldn’t chase Gregory’s words out of his mind; of course he had made John angry – he had made a lot of people angry along the years – and he wanted to apologize and make it up to him. He usually didn’t care when people were mad at him, but John was much more interesting than all the people he had angered along the years and he didn’t plan on letting go until he knew what the source of the pull was. He knew the key to John speaking to him again was a heartfelt apology, but he didn’t know how to reach him without alerting his sister.
Meanwhile, Harry Watson and her brother continued to stir the rumour pot around town. Harry didn’t hunt as much that winter, but she often went to the store where she received many packages, some of them coming from as far as the other end of the world. She was living richly, ordering whisky from Scotland, Jenever from Amsterdam and wines from France. The Englishwoman wasn’t hiding the fact she was drinking a lot and most villagers had seen her pull a flask out of her pocket at least once.
In February came Shrove Tuesday and the festivities associated with it. On that year, Moran and Moriarty had organized a small party in their rented house. Martha was obviously attending; she had helped Mrs. Turner with the food. The Lestrades were also going to be there and, surprisingly, Gregory had successfully talked Sherlock into putting in an appearance, telling him it was part of The Friendship Code and that he would regret not coming if Harry Watson decided to show up.
The alcohol was flowing in Moran and Moriarty’s house. The oldest were gathered in the kitchen, sharing stories while the youngest were drinking and playing cards in the living room. Some villagers had brought their instruments and soon enough most people were paired up and dancing. Unsurprisingly, Gregory nervously asked Sarah Sawyer to dance and she almost didn’t blush when she accepted. In order to avoid the requests of the women his age, Sherlock danced with his aunt, Mrs. Turner and even Mrs. Lestrade, but it had the opposite effect when the ladies realized he wasn’t that bad a dancer. Molly Hooper, of course, was the most persistent of the bunch, but even she abandoned hopes after the third refusal. While Gregory was making a laughing Sarah spin, he heard Molly tell one of her friends that Sherlock was sinfully beautiful that night and as Lestrade glanced at his friend, he couldn’t help but agree. With his cheeks reddened by the wine and the heat of the room, his hair even wilder than usual and his slightly opened shirt, Sherlock looked stunning.
The evening was mostly useless; while Sherlock would’ve usually enjoyed being surrounded by people discussions the Watsons, that night felt different. All the talk about what Harry was up to made him wish he still had meetings with John to look forward to. Unfortunately, Harry Watson never came and other than Jonathan Anderson leaving with his arm around the notary’s daughter – Sally Donovan – nothing gossip worthy happened. Sherlock left way past midnight with a very tipsy Martha Hudson whom he had to help up the stairs.
:::
After lent, a horrible storm hit Sainte-Cécile. The snow blurred the horizon, erasing mountains, capes and bays; a whole landscape disappearing in a sea of white powder while a stifling silence buried everything. The storm had awoken memories in Sherlock, who couldn’t stop thinking about the masked man. He wondered if John was bundled up alone in his hut on Lover’s Island, wandering the corridors of his big manor or worse, kneeling and screaming on the snowed grounds close to the unused fox enclosure. On that night, Sherlock dreamed of him: he was running on the sandy path of Lover’s Island, sometimes crouching down to pick up an animal bone. Suddenly, the wind started blowing, a swarm of feathers surrounded him and he disappeared at once, sucked in by the thick feather veil. Sherlock then heard a piercing scream. John was moaning and sobbing just like he had on that night and the noises escaping his mouth were shaking the mountains. When Sherlock woke up, he was drenched in sweat and trembling.
The next day, he was playing chess with Gregory when he once again felt the urge to talk about the masked man.
“I can’t stop thinking about him, even when I’m thinking about something else, he’s in the back of my mind. The thought of him being his sister’s prisoner revolts me, and at the same time I find it sad.”
“Are you sure he’s a prisoner?” Gregory asked after thinking about Sherlock’s words for a moment.
“What do you mean?”
“Think about the maritime pilots. They may seem like prisoners of the boats they pilot, but most of them love it very much and would feel trapped in the life you live, even with all the freedom you have.”
Those words swirled around Sherlock’s mind for a long time after he left the store, having won two chess games. He had a hard time imagining Harry Watson as anything other than a jailer keeping her brother prisoner like she had done with the red foxes, but he decided to send John a message nonetheless.
John,
I would like to call you a friend, that’s why I am worried by the idea that you might be prisoner. I may have imagined bars where there aren’t any. It was without malice. Forgive me.
Hoping to see your scarf again,
SH
He rolled his message, wrapped it in one of his own scarves and, as soon as the weather was nice enough, he walked along the shore towards West Birches Bay. The journey was difficult and he often sank up to his thighs in snow, but eventually he reached the place where John had tied his scarf a few months ago. He tied his own scarf to the same branch and returned home, hoping John would see this peace offering during one of his walks around the grounds.
Next chapter
:::
Click here for the timeline.
Click here for the map.
:::
Rating: PG
Warnings: None.
Pairing: Eventual Sherlock/John.
Word count: 1593
Summary: In the latter part of the 19th century, a peculiar solitary man and an ex-army doctor disfigured in a war live in a small village, surrounded by breathtaking landscapes. When they first meet, they have no idea their lives are about to change forever and, over the months, they will form an unusual friendship, discover more about each other and themselves, and maybe fall a little in love along the way.
Disclaimer: See first chapter.
Beta: Thanks to
albalark who was not only a beta, but a teacher of precious English lessons (in so many pretty colours) and to disassembly_rsn whose history knowledge I envy, and who helped me revise a lot of the backstory. You two made this insanely better, I hope you know how much I appreciate your help. I also thank the lovely anarion who, once again, helped me deal with my inability to write a mistake-free header.Back to the first chapter
Previous chapter
Chapter 6
Often during the following winter, Sherlock thought about the encounter and suspected he had ruined every chance he had had of John tying his scarf to a tree again. They had spent a nice day together, he had solved the porcupine skeleton puzzle, John had amazed him with his owl training skills and they had enjoyed each other’s company. Yet, Sherlock had pushed a subject John hadn’t wanted to get into and there had been no sight of the man or his scarf since.
Sherlock waited a little longer than five months before finally seeking someone else’s opinion. At first he thought of his aunt, but she had fussed so much after he had spent the night in the manor that he didn’t want to worry her more than was necessary. Instead, he headed to the store one afternoon and gestured for Gregory to follow him to the chess table, which he did once he was done with his customer.
“Gregory, are we friends?”
“Of course we are!” he exclaimed. “Why else would I let you win at chess?” he added with a mischievous smile and a wink before moving his pawn, while Sherlock rolled his eyes.
“In the years I’ve spent studying the townspeople’s behaviour, I have discovered that friends seem to obey some rules, one of them being: friends must keep secrets for one another. Is that correct?”
Gregory narrowed his eyes. “Well yes, friends are supposed to keep each other’s secrets, I suppose it could be called The Friendship Code but wait, Sherlock… did you kill someone?”
“Ludicrous. Of course I didn’t. But the story I am about to tell you is of a delicate nature and I want to make sure you’ll be discreet.”
Gregory was intrigued and he nodded vigorously. Sherlock then proceeded to tell him everything, from the first time he had seen John in the forest to the last time he had seen him, standing on the shore as he rowed away from West Birches Bay. Gregory waited until his friend was done before offering his input.
“Sometimes you need to think before you talk. I think you may have rushed him and I bet he didn’t appreciate you saying his sister is a prison guard.”
“His sister is a jailer, surely he realizes that.”
“Perhaps he does. But people don’t usually like it when others speak ill of their families or friends,” Gregory said.
Inevitably, they eventually ended up discussing the mask. “I wonder if it’s really that horrible,” Sherlock said, “and what he thinks when he sees himself in a mirror. Do you think there are mirrors in his manor? Do you think he removes his mask when he’s alone?”
“I would,” Gregory replied, “it must feel uncomfortable sometimes. Also, you said he was moaning and sobbing that night you slept in the manor, maybe the injury is painful.”
Yes maybe,” Sherlock said, but he wasn’t really there anymore. His thoughts had drifted off to Lover’s Island where he had spent the afternoon with John several months ago. There had to be a way to see John again; they didn’t even know each other properly, it couldn’t end when it didn’t feel like it had begun at all.
:::
Everyday, Sherlock ran to the shore and looked towards West Birches Bay, wishing to see the red scarf floating in the wind. Everyday, he was disappointed, but he never stopped hoping. He couldn’t chase Gregory’s words out of his mind; of course he had made John angry – he had made a lot of people angry along the years – and he wanted to apologize and make it up to him. He usually didn’t care when people were mad at him, but John was much more interesting than all the people he had angered along the years and he didn’t plan on letting go until he knew what the source of the pull was. He knew the key to John speaking to him again was a heartfelt apology, but he didn’t know how to reach him without alerting his sister.
Meanwhile, Harry Watson and her brother continued to stir the rumour pot around town. Harry didn’t hunt as much that winter, but she often went to the store where she received many packages, some of them coming from as far as the other end of the world. She was living richly, ordering whisky from Scotland, Jenever from Amsterdam and wines from France. The Englishwoman wasn’t hiding the fact she was drinking a lot and most villagers had seen her pull a flask out of her pocket at least once.
In February came Shrove Tuesday and the festivities associated with it. On that year, Moran and Moriarty had organized a small party in their rented house. Martha was obviously attending; she had helped Mrs. Turner with the food. The Lestrades were also going to be there and, surprisingly, Gregory had successfully talked Sherlock into putting in an appearance, telling him it was part of The Friendship Code and that he would regret not coming if Harry Watson decided to show up.
The alcohol was flowing in Moran and Moriarty’s house. The oldest were gathered in the kitchen, sharing stories while the youngest were drinking and playing cards in the living room. Some villagers had brought their instruments and soon enough most people were paired up and dancing. Unsurprisingly, Gregory nervously asked Sarah Sawyer to dance and she almost didn’t blush when she accepted. In order to avoid the requests of the women his age, Sherlock danced with his aunt, Mrs. Turner and even Mrs. Lestrade, but it had the opposite effect when the ladies realized he wasn’t that bad a dancer. Molly Hooper, of course, was the most persistent of the bunch, but even she abandoned hopes after the third refusal. While Gregory was making a laughing Sarah spin, he heard Molly tell one of her friends that Sherlock was sinfully beautiful that night and as Lestrade glanced at his friend, he couldn’t help but agree. With his cheeks reddened by the wine and the heat of the room, his hair even wilder than usual and his slightly opened shirt, Sherlock looked stunning.
The evening was mostly useless; while Sherlock would’ve usually enjoyed being surrounded by people discussions the Watsons, that night felt different. All the talk about what Harry was up to made him wish he still had meetings with John to look forward to. Unfortunately, Harry Watson never came and other than Jonathan Anderson leaving with his arm around the notary’s daughter – Sally Donovan – nothing gossip worthy happened. Sherlock left way past midnight with a very tipsy Martha Hudson whom he had to help up the stairs.
:::
After lent, a horrible storm hit Sainte-Cécile. The snow blurred the horizon, erasing mountains, capes and bays; a whole landscape disappearing in a sea of white powder while a stifling silence buried everything. The storm had awoken memories in Sherlock, who couldn’t stop thinking about the masked man. He wondered if John was bundled up alone in his hut on Lover’s Island, wandering the corridors of his big manor or worse, kneeling and screaming on the snowed grounds close to the unused fox enclosure. On that night, Sherlock dreamed of him: he was running on the sandy path of Lover’s Island, sometimes crouching down to pick up an animal bone. Suddenly, the wind started blowing, a swarm of feathers surrounded him and he disappeared at once, sucked in by the thick feather veil. Sherlock then heard a piercing scream. John was moaning and sobbing just like he had on that night and the noises escaping his mouth were shaking the mountains. When Sherlock woke up, he was drenched in sweat and trembling.
The next day, he was playing chess with Gregory when he once again felt the urge to talk about the masked man.
“I can’t stop thinking about him, even when I’m thinking about something else, he’s in the back of my mind. The thought of him being his sister’s prisoner revolts me, and at the same time I find it sad.”
“Are you sure he’s a prisoner?” Gregory asked after thinking about Sherlock’s words for a moment.
“What do you mean?”
“Think about the maritime pilots. They may seem like prisoners of the boats they pilot, but most of them love it very much and would feel trapped in the life you live, even with all the freedom you have.”
Those words swirled around Sherlock’s mind for a long time after he left the store, having won two chess games. He had a hard time imagining Harry Watson as anything other than a jailer keeping her brother prisoner like she had done with the red foxes, but he decided to send John a message nonetheless.
John,
I would like to call you a friend, that’s why I am worried by the idea that you might be prisoner. I may have imagined bars where there aren’t any. It was without malice. Forgive me.
Hoping to see your scarf again,
SH
He rolled his message, wrapped it in one of his own scarves and, as soon as the weather was nice enough, he walked along the shore towards West Birches Bay. The journey was difficult and he often sank up to his thighs in snow, but eventually he reached the place where John had tied his scarf a few months ago. He tied his own scarf to the same branch and returned home, hoping John would see this peace offering during one of his walks around the grounds.
Next chapter
:::
Click here for the timeline.
Click here for the map.
:::
