This Man's Heart - Chapter 4
Jun. 27th, 2011 11:10 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ellie_hellTitle: This Man's Heart - Chapter 4
Rating: PG-13 for this chapter, but it will go up to R later.
Warnings: None, but contains non-graphic mentions of injuries.
Pairing: Eventual Sherlock/John.
Word count: 2676
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 anarionwho, once again, helped me deal with my inability to write a mistake-free header.
Back to the first chapter
Previous chapter
Chapter 4
After waking up the next morning, Sherlock changed into his now dry clothes, the piece of paper holding the second half of his and John’s conversation folded in his inner coat pocket. He opened the door and, as he expected, there were no signs of the masked man. He once again fought the urge to sneak around, but something about John made him want to respect his privacy. He had never bothered with people’s privacy before; it was just a propriety getting in the way of acquiring data. However, John was different and he suspected it had something to do with the mask. It was an imposed barrier and he wanted to respect it because John wanted him to. It was strange and foreign, like having a new voice inside his head saying that in order to get closer, he had to refrain from getting too close too soon. The voice was soft, kinder than his own, and Sherlock was surprised to realize he didn’t entirely object to its presence.
Exiting the manor quickly and quietly, he noticed the weather had calmed down and decided to go back to West Birches Bay where he had left his rowboat, hoping it hadn’t been blown away by the wind. Luckily for him, the small boat was still there, pushed against a tree, but still pretty much intact. He pulled it back into the water and started rowing towards Sailboat Bay; his ankle grateful for the shift in pressure. When he finally arrived home, it was still early and his aunt was sleeping in a wooden rocking chair. She had a patchwork quilt draped around her thin shoulders, no doubt having fallen asleep while waiting for Sherlock’s return. She woke up at once when he closed the door and was immediately on her feet, hurrying towards her nephew.
“You silly boy, are you just coming home? Where have you been? And are you limping?” She asked, managing to sound both concerned and annoyed at the same time.
“Oh, Aunt Martha, the most wonderful thing happened!” Sherlock replied, grabbing her by the shoulders and spinning her around twice before sitting on his favourite chair.
“My boat got blown off course, I sprained my ankle and had to spend the night in the Watsons’ manor.”
He told her some of the story, leaving out the part about John’s distress and everything after the first note. She fed him tea and oatmeal while listening to his story, becoming more and more concerned in the process. Still, she couldn’t help but smile at Sherlock’s enthusiasm.
“A storm, an injury and a night in a forbidden manor; it sounds dreadful, but I suppose you had a really good time. I need to check your ankle, put your leg on that chair,” she said while tapping his knee.
He took off his shoe and lifted his trouser leg so his aunt could examine him. She removed the bandage, admiring the quality of the cotton.
“This John Watson sounds like a real gentleman, letting you stay and lending you clothes.”
“He is. I don’t believe the balderdash people are saying about him around town, he’s just a normal man to whom something unfortunate happened.”
“Just a normal man, is he?” she asked with a knowing smile. “I’ve never heard you describe normalcy with such enthusiasm.”
Sherlock rolled his eyes; sometimes his aunt could be too perceptive for her own good.
“He’s not boring normal, he’s interesting normal. With what he went through, what he is going through, he shouldn’t be normal. Yet, he is. I find it fascinating,” Sherlock tried to explain between winces as Martha felt his ankle and re-bandaged it correctly.
“I don’t expect it to change anything, but please be careful. The brother may be nice, but I am still worried Harry will catch you snooping around and shoot you,” she said as she brushed a few curls out of his eyes.
Sherlock sighed, trying to sound irritated but not quite managing it. In fact, he still hadn’t come down from the incredible rush the previous night had provided. Once he was done with his breakfast and his aunt was done fussing over him, he escaped to his bedroom, took out his half of the previous night’s conversation and read it for what felt like the hundredth time.
:::
A few weeks after that, the Lestrades arrived in Sainte-Cécile. By then, Martha was still worried about Sherlock wandering around in the forest close to the forbidden manor, but he had promised to be careful and there was nothing she could do to forcefully keep him inside the house; he was a grown man after all. Instead, she seized every opportunity she could think of to ask for his help with various tasks. Her last ploy had been to ask for his help to clean the house and – out of affection – he had indulged her for two days. By that time, he was buzzing with the excitement caused by the arrival of a new family in town.
Gregory Lestrade was thirty-five years old. His family had left the big city to establish themselves in Sainte-Cécile where his father had been given a job at the Price Company. He was to be in charge of the sawmill and of the adjacent store and Gregory had decided to follow, enticed by the career opportunity and the interesting salary. Mrs. Lestrade and her children were all a little scared of how their lives would change after moving from Québec City to what seemed like a very small corner of the world. However, soon after their arrival, they had been seduced by the landscapes and it wasn’t long before they realized that the people scattered along the coast were far from ordinary.
Gregory was minding the store, like every afternoon, when he saw Sherlock Holmes for the first time. There had been very few clients on that day because of the awful weather, and he looked like he had walked for a while; his wet dark brown hair were curling low on his forehead, his clothes were soaked and he was leaving muddy footprints all over the floor. However, that’s not what struck Gregory first. Sherlock walked in as though he owned the place and he touched everything (something no other client would’ve dared to do), picking up objects and putting them down in the wrong place. He was very thin, but he invaded the place with his ample gestures and his energetic steps. As soon as Sherlock saw Gregory, he made a beeline towards the counter.
“You’re Gregory Lestrade,” he stated.
“Yes, I am,” Gregory replied, a little shaken by the tone of the stranger.
“I know you are, I wasn’t asking. Even an idiot would’ve figured that out, judging by your age and the fact that you’re standing behind the counter of the store run by your family. Also, those lines in the corner of your eyes.”
Instinctively, Gregory raised a hand to touch his face, trying to feel for the lines he had never realized were there. Frowning, he asked:
“Who are you?”
“Sherlock Holmes,” the strange man answered.
Gregory had heard of Sherlock Holmes before; working in the store meant he was privy to new gossip daily. There was quite a lot of talk about the man, but the word he had heard the most to describe him was ‘strange’ and, judging from what he had seen of him so far, Gregory was forced to agree.
“I wanted to come sooner; there’s always a lot of data to collect when a new family moves in, you see,” Sherlock continued, “but my aunt decided the house needed to be scrubbed. I told her it was useless, that the house was clean enough and that her ploys to keep me from getting into trouble were less than subtle, but she insisted and I gave in.”
While Sherlock was talking, another client had entered the store. A pretty brown haired nurse who was assisting the village’s doctor. Her name was Sarah Sawyer and if she made frequent trips to the store to pick up the doctor’s orders, Gregory wasn’t complaining. He took care of Sarah while Sherlock continued to observe the scene with curiosity and a complete lack of shame.
“What can I do for you?” Gregory asked drily once Sarah had left the store.
Sherlock raised an eyebrow, a little surprised by the other man’s tone.
“You’re attracted to her,” he said and once again, he wasn’t asking, simply stating a fact.
Instinctively, Lestrade looked around to check if anyone had heard and was glad to see that the store was still empty. He was mortified; the nerve on that man seemed impossible.
“I am not!” he said through gritted teeth.
“Accelerated pulse and breathing, dilated pupils, trembling hands, your face is flushed and so is your neck. You’re either attracted to Miss Sawyer or running a fever. Shall I get the doctor, then?”
Lestrade rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help a smile.
“All right, I like her. Please don’t start telling people and keep your voice down, someone could come in and hear you!” he said, while nervously checking the door.
“Don’t worry, she likes you too. Or was running a fever, sometimes it’s hard to tell.”
He made a disgusted noise when he noticed Gregory’s smug smile.
“If things go the way they always go in those situations, I expect a wedding within two years, and obviously my aunt will make me go; it will be dreadful.”
Of course, Sherlock was right. He was always right. Less than two years later, Sarah Sawyer would become Sarah Lestrade and Sherlock Holmes would be best man at the wedding. However, it wouldn’t be the same Sherlock Holmes; following their first meeting, Sherlock’s world would be turned upside down.
:::
Sherlock found his first meeting with Gregory Lestrade very satisfying. Other than the man’s attraction to Sarah Sawyer, Sherlock deduced his favourite kind of wine, the fact that he played the guitar (but not very well) and that he was working five mornings a week in the sawmill with his father. The latter deduction interested him most; accidents tended to happen often in sawmills. He eagerly asked about those and was pleased to be told a very gruesome description of an incident that had happened that very morning and in which someone had lost the tip of a finger.
The store was empty, so Gregory asked if Sherlock was interested in playing a game of chess and he agreed. There was a chess table in the back of the store where villagers and sea captains often gathered to play and gossip, but with the storm raging outside it was currently deserted, so the two men sat down and started playing. Unsurprisingly, Sherlock won the game, but Gregory wasn’t a sore loser and they played for two more hours while Sherlock answered questions about the villagers and the rumours running around town. Obviously, Gregory eventually asked about Harry Watson and her masked brother.
Like every time the subject emerged, Sherlock’s eyes lit up and he told Gregory everything he knew, except the tale of his meetings with John. He thought it best for Gregory to hear his side of the story, seeing as it was made of facts while anything anyone else would tell him was bound to be filled with lies, improbabilities and ridiculous fairy tales. For the first time, Sherlock actually had a good time in someone who wasn’t his aunt’s company. Or John’s. But were you really in someone’s company if you weren’t even in the same room? Eventually, Sherlock had to go back home; Martha was having tea with Mrs. Turner the next day and she had asked Sherlock to bring back the molasses she needed to bake cookies. However, before he left the store, he made Gregory promise to keep an eye open for more severed limbs in the sawmill. Unfortunately for Sherlock, Gregory categorically refused to steal detached human bits, but he agreed to take notes. It wasn’t ideal, but until Sherlock found a real cadaver (which he wished for everyday) it would have to do. .
After Sherlock, it was Martha’s turn to visit the store and welcome the recently arrived family. She entered the store bearing her brightest smile and the rest of the molasses cookies she had baked the day before. Martha and Mrs. Lestrade instantly liked each other and they spent a long time chatting on that day. Gregory had told his mother all about his first meeting with Sherlock and she was curious to meet what seemed to be a very smart but peculiar boy. So she invited them both to dinner that following Sunday and Martha accepted, promising to try her best to bring Sherlock along.
Luckily for them, Sherlock’s routine had changed a lot since he had spent the night in the Watsons’ manor. He was still often running around the village while conducting various experiments with animals, plants and townsfolk (even if the latter choice involved a lot of observing and no dissecting at all). Still, he didn’t wander as far from home as he used to. He was always staying close enough to run to the edge of Sailboat Bay several times a day, looking for a signal from John and growing more impatient every passing day. However, he still accepted to accompany his aunt to the Lestrade’s house for dinner, partly because he hoped Gregory would have more macabre tales of torn limbs to tell, but also because the store was one of the only places Harry Watson sometimes visited. He figured the subject was bound to arise with the store owners gathered around a table.
The meal was pleasant. Mrs. Lestrade was a good cook and the Lestrades were very nice people, taking turn delighting Martha with tales of the big city. In exchange, she answered all their queries about the villagers and finally the subject of the Watsons came on the table. Harry had come to the store only once since the Lestrades’ arrival and it was to pick up a package that had arrived from Scotland. When she had lifted the heavy box, the sound its contents had made resembled bottles hitting against each other. They spent a few minutes speculating about the contents of the box, before giving up and talking about the masked brother. Martha surprised Sherlock by telling the Lestrade family that, despite his unusual appearance, he seemed like a nice person and that they shouldn’t pay any attention to the horrific tales circulating about him around town. There were now two families in Sainte-Cécile who didn’t believe The Beast deserved his nickname. It wasn’t much, but according to Sherlock some progress had been made during that evening and he considered the whole thing a success.
In the following weeks, those Sunday dinners became a tradition and Sherlock attended them most of the time, only refusing to go when he had an experiment that required close supervision. Gregory and Sherlock would usually leave the table before everyone else, sneaking into the closed store to play chess and talk about the accidents that had happened - or almost happened - at the sawmill.
It took some time before Sherlock realized it, but as the weeks passed and he continued to beat Gregory at chess, he eventually came to the conclusion that he had made his first friend. Gregory had lost every single game and Sherlock had called him an idiot at least once during most of them. He also had the habit of pointing out what mistakes had lost Gregory the game and why it didn’t matter because he was smarter and would always be able to predict his every move, therefore continuing his winning streak. Still, Gregory’s enthusiasm for the game never faltered and he seemed to appreciate Sherlock’s company. Sherlock didn’t know much about friendship, but decided that someone continuing to play with him despite being called an idiot was most likely a friend.
Next chapter
:::
Click here for the timeline.
Click here for the map.
:::
Rating: PG-13 for this chapter, but it will go up to R later.
Warnings: None, but contains non-graphic mentions of injuries.
Pairing: Eventual Sherlock/John.
Word count: 2676
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 anarionwho, once again, helped me deal with my inability to write a mistake-free header.Back to the first chapter
Previous chapter
Chapter 4
After waking up the next morning, Sherlock changed into his now dry clothes, the piece of paper holding the second half of his and John’s conversation folded in his inner coat pocket. He opened the door and, as he expected, there were no signs of the masked man. He once again fought the urge to sneak around, but something about John made him want to respect his privacy. He had never bothered with people’s privacy before; it was just a propriety getting in the way of acquiring data. However, John was different and he suspected it had something to do with the mask. It was an imposed barrier and he wanted to respect it because John wanted him to. It was strange and foreign, like having a new voice inside his head saying that in order to get closer, he had to refrain from getting too close too soon. The voice was soft, kinder than his own, and Sherlock was surprised to realize he didn’t entirely object to its presence.
Exiting the manor quickly and quietly, he noticed the weather had calmed down and decided to go back to West Birches Bay where he had left his rowboat, hoping it hadn’t been blown away by the wind. Luckily for him, the small boat was still there, pushed against a tree, but still pretty much intact. He pulled it back into the water and started rowing towards Sailboat Bay; his ankle grateful for the shift in pressure. When he finally arrived home, it was still early and his aunt was sleeping in a wooden rocking chair. She had a patchwork quilt draped around her thin shoulders, no doubt having fallen asleep while waiting for Sherlock’s return. She woke up at once when he closed the door and was immediately on her feet, hurrying towards her nephew.
“You silly boy, are you just coming home? Where have you been? And are you limping?” She asked, managing to sound both concerned and annoyed at the same time.
“Oh, Aunt Martha, the most wonderful thing happened!” Sherlock replied, grabbing her by the shoulders and spinning her around twice before sitting on his favourite chair.
“My boat got blown off course, I sprained my ankle and had to spend the night in the Watsons’ manor.”
He told her some of the story, leaving out the part about John’s distress and everything after the first note. She fed him tea and oatmeal while listening to his story, becoming more and more concerned in the process. Still, she couldn’t help but smile at Sherlock’s enthusiasm.
“A storm, an injury and a night in a forbidden manor; it sounds dreadful, but I suppose you had a really good time. I need to check your ankle, put your leg on that chair,” she said while tapping his knee.
He took off his shoe and lifted his trouser leg so his aunt could examine him. She removed the bandage, admiring the quality of the cotton.
“This John Watson sounds like a real gentleman, letting you stay and lending you clothes.”
“He is. I don’t believe the balderdash people are saying about him around town, he’s just a normal man to whom something unfortunate happened.”
“Just a normal man, is he?” she asked with a knowing smile. “I’ve never heard you describe normalcy with such enthusiasm.”
Sherlock rolled his eyes; sometimes his aunt could be too perceptive for her own good.
“He’s not boring normal, he’s interesting normal. With what he went through, what he is going through, he shouldn’t be normal. Yet, he is. I find it fascinating,” Sherlock tried to explain between winces as Martha felt his ankle and re-bandaged it correctly.
“I don’t expect it to change anything, but please be careful. The brother may be nice, but I am still worried Harry will catch you snooping around and shoot you,” she said as she brushed a few curls out of his eyes.
Sherlock sighed, trying to sound irritated but not quite managing it. In fact, he still hadn’t come down from the incredible rush the previous night had provided. Once he was done with his breakfast and his aunt was done fussing over him, he escaped to his bedroom, took out his half of the previous night’s conversation and read it for what felt like the hundredth time.
:::
A few weeks after that, the Lestrades arrived in Sainte-Cécile. By then, Martha was still worried about Sherlock wandering around in the forest close to the forbidden manor, but he had promised to be careful and there was nothing she could do to forcefully keep him inside the house; he was a grown man after all. Instead, she seized every opportunity she could think of to ask for his help with various tasks. Her last ploy had been to ask for his help to clean the house and – out of affection – he had indulged her for two days. By that time, he was buzzing with the excitement caused by the arrival of a new family in town.
Gregory Lestrade was thirty-five years old. His family had left the big city to establish themselves in Sainte-Cécile where his father had been given a job at the Price Company. He was to be in charge of the sawmill and of the adjacent store and Gregory had decided to follow, enticed by the career opportunity and the interesting salary. Mrs. Lestrade and her children were all a little scared of how their lives would change after moving from Québec City to what seemed like a very small corner of the world. However, soon after their arrival, they had been seduced by the landscapes and it wasn’t long before they realized that the people scattered along the coast were far from ordinary.
Gregory was minding the store, like every afternoon, when he saw Sherlock Holmes for the first time. There had been very few clients on that day because of the awful weather, and he looked like he had walked for a while; his wet dark brown hair were curling low on his forehead, his clothes were soaked and he was leaving muddy footprints all over the floor. However, that’s not what struck Gregory first. Sherlock walked in as though he owned the place and he touched everything (something no other client would’ve dared to do), picking up objects and putting them down in the wrong place. He was very thin, but he invaded the place with his ample gestures and his energetic steps. As soon as Sherlock saw Gregory, he made a beeline towards the counter.
“You’re Gregory Lestrade,” he stated.
“Yes, I am,” Gregory replied, a little shaken by the tone of the stranger.
“I know you are, I wasn’t asking. Even an idiot would’ve figured that out, judging by your age and the fact that you’re standing behind the counter of the store run by your family. Also, those lines in the corner of your eyes.”
Instinctively, Gregory raised a hand to touch his face, trying to feel for the lines he had never realized were there. Frowning, he asked:
“Who are you?”
“Sherlock Holmes,” the strange man answered.
Gregory had heard of Sherlock Holmes before; working in the store meant he was privy to new gossip daily. There was quite a lot of talk about the man, but the word he had heard the most to describe him was ‘strange’ and, judging from what he had seen of him so far, Gregory was forced to agree.
“I wanted to come sooner; there’s always a lot of data to collect when a new family moves in, you see,” Sherlock continued, “but my aunt decided the house needed to be scrubbed. I told her it was useless, that the house was clean enough and that her ploys to keep me from getting into trouble were less than subtle, but she insisted and I gave in.”
While Sherlock was talking, another client had entered the store. A pretty brown haired nurse who was assisting the village’s doctor. Her name was Sarah Sawyer and if she made frequent trips to the store to pick up the doctor’s orders, Gregory wasn’t complaining. He took care of Sarah while Sherlock continued to observe the scene with curiosity and a complete lack of shame.
“What can I do for you?” Gregory asked drily once Sarah had left the store.
Sherlock raised an eyebrow, a little surprised by the other man’s tone.
“You’re attracted to her,” he said and once again, he wasn’t asking, simply stating a fact.
Instinctively, Lestrade looked around to check if anyone had heard and was glad to see that the store was still empty. He was mortified; the nerve on that man seemed impossible.
“I am not!” he said through gritted teeth.
“Accelerated pulse and breathing, dilated pupils, trembling hands, your face is flushed and so is your neck. You’re either attracted to Miss Sawyer or running a fever. Shall I get the doctor, then?”
Lestrade rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help a smile.
“All right, I like her. Please don’t start telling people and keep your voice down, someone could come in and hear you!” he said, while nervously checking the door.
“Don’t worry, she likes you too. Or was running a fever, sometimes it’s hard to tell.”
He made a disgusted noise when he noticed Gregory’s smug smile.
“If things go the way they always go in those situations, I expect a wedding within two years, and obviously my aunt will make me go; it will be dreadful.”
Of course, Sherlock was right. He was always right. Less than two years later, Sarah Sawyer would become Sarah Lestrade and Sherlock Holmes would be best man at the wedding. However, it wouldn’t be the same Sherlock Holmes; following their first meeting, Sherlock’s world would be turned upside down.
:::
Sherlock found his first meeting with Gregory Lestrade very satisfying. Other than the man’s attraction to Sarah Sawyer, Sherlock deduced his favourite kind of wine, the fact that he played the guitar (but not very well) and that he was working five mornings a week in the sawmill with his father. The latter deduction interested him most; accidents tended to happen often in sawmills. He eagerly asked about those and was pleased to be told a very gruesome description of an incident that had happened that very morning and in which someone had lost the tip of a finger.
The store was empty, so Gregory asked if Sherlock was interested in playing a game of chess and he agreed. There was a chess table in the back of the store where villagers and sea captains often gathered to play and gossip, but with the storm raging outside it was currently deserted, so the two men sat down and started playing. Unsurprisingly, Sherlock won the game, but Gregory wasn’t a sore loser and they played for two more hours while Sherlock answered questions about the villagers and the rumours running around town. Obviously, Gregory eventually asked about Harry Watson and her masked brother.
Like every time the subject emerged, Sherlock’s eyes lit up and he told Gregory everything he knew, except the tale of his meetings with John. He thought it best for Gregory to hear his side of the story, seeing as it was made of facts while anything anyone else would tell him was bound to be filled with lies, improbabilities and ridiculous fairy tales. For the first time, Sherlock actually had a good time in someone who wasn’t his aunt’s company. Or John’s. But were you really in someone’s company if you weren’t even in the same room? Eventually, Sherlock had to go back home; Martha was having tea with Mrs. Turner the next day and she had asked Sherlock to bring back the molasses she needed to bake cookies. However, before he left the store, he made Gregory promise to keep an eye open for more severed limbs in the sawmill. Unfortunately for Sherlock, Gregory categorically refused to steal detached human bits, but he agreed to take notes. It wasn’t ideal, but until Sherlock found a real cadaver (which he wished for everyday) it would have to do. .
After Sherlock, it was Martha’s turn to visit the store and welcome the recently arrived family. She entered the store bearing her brightest smile and the rest of the molasses cookies she had baked the day before. Martha and Mrs. Lestrade instantly liked each other and they spent a long time chatting on that day. Gregory had told his mother all about his first meeting with Sherlock and she was curious to meet what seemed to be a very smart but peculiar boy. So she invited them both to dinner that following Sunday and Martha accepted, promising to try her best to bring Sherlock along.
Luckily for them, Sherlock’s routine had changed a lot since he had spent the night in the Watsons’ manor. He was still often running around the village while conducting various experiments with animals, plants and townsfolk (even if the latter choice involved a lot of observing and no dissecting at all). Still, he didn’t wander as far from home as he used to. He was always staying close enough to run to the edge of Sailboat Bay several times a day, looking for a signal from John and growing more impatient every passing day. However, he still accepted to accompany his aunt to the Lestrade’s house for dinner, partly because he hoped Gregory would have more macabre tales of torn limbs to tell, but also because the store was one of the only places Harry Watson sometimes visited. He figured the subject was bound to arise with the store owners gathered around a table.
The meal was pleasant. Mrs. Lestrade was a good cook and the Lestrades were very nice people, taking turn delighting Martha with tales of the big city. In exchange, she answered all their queries about the villagers and finally the subject of the Watsons came on the table. Harry had come to the store only once since the Lestrades’ arrival and it was to pick up a package that had arrived from Scotland. When she had lifted the heavy box, the sound its contents had made resembled bottles hitting against each other. They spent a few minutes speculating about the contents of the box, before giving up and talking about the masked brother. Martha surprised Sherlock by telling the Lestrade family that, despite his unusual appearance, he seemed like a nice person and that they shouldn’t pay any attention to the horrific tales circulating about him around town. There were now two families in Sainte-Cécile who didn’t believe The Beast deserved his nickname. It wasn’t much, but according to Sherlock some progress had been made during that evening and he considered the whole thing a success.
In the following weeks, those Sunday dinners became a tradition and Sherlock attended them most of the time, only refusing to go when he had an experiment that required close supervision. Gregory and Sherlock would usually leave the table before everyone else, sneaking into the closed store to play chess and talk about the accidents that had happened - or almost happened - at the sawmill.
It took some time before Sherlock realized it, but as the weeks passed and he continued to beat Gregory at chess, he eventually came to the conclusion that he had made his first friend. Gregory had lost every single game and Sherlock had called him an idiot at least once during most of them. He also had the habit of pointing out what mistakes had lost Gregory the game and why it didn’t matter because he was smarter and would always be able to predict his every move, therefore continuing his winning streak. Still, Gregory’s enthusiasm for the game never faltered and he seemed to appreciate Sherlock’s company. Sherlock didn’t know much about friendship, but decided that someone continuing to play with him despite being called an idiot was most likely a friend.
Next chapter
:::
Click here for the timeline.
Click here for the map.
:::
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-06-27 04:15 pm (UTC)“He’s not boring normal, he’s interesting normal
An important distinction.
...he made Gregory promise to keep an eye open for more severed limbs in the sawmill.
Just curious, what kind of experiments is he running here. Because he would be, I think. That insatiable curiosity is part of what makes him him. But would he be doing forensic science here?
Sherlock didn’t know much about friendship, but decided that someone continuing to play with him despite being called an idiot was most likely a friend.
:-)
no subject
Date: 2011-06-27 09:05 pm (UTC)Yes, interesting normal. Well, I needed to figure out why Sherlock would be drawn to John because eventually, the mask won't be novel and mysterious anymore. I think Sherlock would be interested in the duality he saw in John.
Your comment made me go back and edit this chapter because there were two small details missing. I think Sherlock would love to experiment on dead body parts, but Lestrade will never steal him severed limbs. I'm afraid he has to use animals, plants, people... whatever's around. Since he didn't attend university, all his knowledge comes from books and he'll jump on any occasion he gets to experience things first hand (this will come up in a later chapter).
Thanks for commenting :-)
no subject
Date: 2011-06-27 08:00 pm (UTC)And it has Lestrade!
Longer comment to follow tomorrow, Verity put a new plot bunny in my head which screams for attention. *argh*
no subject
Date: 2011-06-27 08:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-28 08:29 pm (UTC)It was strange and foreign, like having a new voice inside his head saying that in order to get closer, he had to refrain from getting too close too soon. The voice was soft, kinder than his own, and Sherlock was surprised to realize he didn’t entirely object to its presence.
Lovely beginning! And the piece of paper was mentioned again. *yay*
“Oh, Aunt Martha, the most wonderful thing happened! My boat got blown off course, I sprained my ankle and had to spend the night in the Watsons’ manor.”
Nearly as good as four suicides and a note, I suppose. :D
Love the first meeting of Sherlock and Lestrade! The whole fever vs attraction thing! *lol*
Also, those lines in the corner of your eyes.
This of course explains everything. What? ;)
However, it wouldn’t be the same Sherlock Holmes; following their first meeting, Sherlock’s world would be turned upside down.
OMGOMGOMG! *is pathetically excited for the story to unfold*
He was still often running around the village while conducting various experiments with animals, plants and townsfolk (even if the latter choice involved a lot of observing and no dissecting at all).
Totally boring this whole absence of dissecting people...
PS Just wondering: What age is Sherlock?
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Date: 2011-06-28 08:31 pm (UTC)Great chapter and yay for more John in the next chapter! MOAR JOHN! *ahem*
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Date: 2011-06-28 09:09 pm (UTC)I had the 'four suicides and a note' type of excitement in mind when I wrote that :-) You're in my head! Haa! Well, while you're there, if you could vacuum a little... and try not to trip on the consulting detective and doctor having sex in that corner.
You had the same reaction I wanted Lestrade to have when Sherlock tells him it's obvious who he is. Valid points followed by a very WTF comment. I also like Lestrade and his friendship with Sherlock, and you'll see more of that later.
It would be just like Christmas if Sherlock ever found a dead body lying around, it would give him the opportunity to properly dissect someone. Meanwhile, he has to work with what he finds because unfortunately, live people refuse to be dissected *scoff*.
I decided to use the ACD canon ages for Sherlock and John, which makes Sherlock 30 years old at the moment and John 32.
Yes, more John very soon. It is a S/J story, so I can't keep the doctor away for too long (not that I want to).
Because you leave amazing comments, here, have this rec. It's The Curious Case of a Hand Job in the Nighttime (http://cleo-2010.livejournal.com/13473.html) by
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Date: 2011-06-29 11:57 am (UTC)'Oh, ha, sorry boys. Keep going. I'll just stand over here
watchingpretending not to notice.' ;)30? Ok, I imagined him to be much younger. *oops*
I have no idea why you would think I'd like that rec. Seriously, it's not like I read or write porn. Ever.
:D
PS it's hot and funny. Thanks for the rec!
.
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Date: 2011-06-30 03:10 pm (UTC)You? Write porn? No. However, you do write amazing hot porn.
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Date: 2011-06-28 01:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-28 01:23 pm (UTC)Thanks for continuing to read :-)
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Date: 2011-06-28 02:11 am (UTC)Your story makes me wish I had some kind of artistic ability, so I could illustrate it. There are so many beautiful images in it - like Sherlock rowing towards Sailboat Bay, for instance. Or Aunt Martha asleep in the rocking chair. And of course the manor. It just comes to life in my head as I read it. Beautiful settings, charming characters.
Oh, and I love Sherlock being so alive and excited after his adventure - "a storm, an injury and a night in a forbidden manor" - and meeting someone who interests him. :D
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Date: 2011-06-28 01:29 pm (UTC)I can't imagine Sherlock being anything but thrilled when he came back from spending a night in the manor. A storm, an injury and a forbidden manor is probably his idea of the perfect date; John has no idea he just showed Sherlock a pretty nice time.
I'm insanely happy you're still liking this :-)
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Date: 2011-06-30 07:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-30 03:12 pm (UTC):-)