Two REALLY dark Bone-Fiddle verse 221Bs
Jan. 29th, 2015 06:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
vulgarweedI wrote these over a year ago and never posted them until now. I never write bleak, tragic fic - except, apparently, when I do. If this version of John and Sherlock had never met, it would not have gone well for either of them.
The Reagan Administration had a lot of blood on its hands.
Just take comfort in knowing this is an AU of an AU. This did not really happen in this 'verse.
Warnings: Major character deaths.
The War Comes Home With You
Charleston, WV, 1983
“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Captain Watson.”
John barely registered the doctor's touch on his arm. It was intrusive. It was pushy. Why was this man touching him? Bad news was bad enough. Why was he calling him Captain? He wasn't there. He didn't understand.
“Call me John. Please,” John managed to mutter. And he managed to look up at the doctor's face. The man had worked for hours. He was exhausted and overwrought. John understood, he'd been there himself. It's just that there was nothing to say, and so it was better that no one said anything.
“John. Okay. Your son, he - ”
“Didn't make it. Did he?”
“No.”
John closed his eyes. Drew deep breath. Held his stillness as long as he could. “And Mary?”
“We don't know yet. She's still experiencing severe hemorrhaging.”
Oh. That was it then. If she made it, he might. If she didn't, he wouldn't. If he couldn't be a father or a husband, he'd at least be a killer one last time.
The doctor was young. Still a scientist, still trying to explain.
“It happens sometimes, problems with fetal development . . . “
“I know that,” John said coldly. “I'm a doctor too. Paternal chromosome damage. Agent Orange. Spina bifida.”
Yup. It gets worse.
In the Time of the Plague
Washington DC, 1987
“Do whatever it takes,” Mycroft Holmes said, “ just know that cameras will be on you. The demonstrators will have theirs and we will have ours.”
“So we shouldn't arrest the fags?” asked the Washington police chief.
“If you must. Just make sure we keep control of the narrative . . . oh, never mind. Just don't be cruel, and for God's sake, don't be seen being cruel. We are long past the point where these people have no public sympathy. If you let yourself be seen abusing queers, then you yourself will look weak. Don't let that happen. Keep your men on a tight leash OR ELSE.”
Mycroft took a deep breath. He commanded so much power of perception, and yet even his skills could be so easily undone in the face of real pain. Right now, he truly hated the masters he served and the thugs he commanded.
Mycroft went into the bathroom and changed his clothes and hair and face completely. Then he walked onto the Mall where the AIDS memorial quilt was first unfurled, acres wide and long. With unerring direction and inside information, he found his way to the only patch he cared about – the one with the microscope and magnifying glass, skull and violin, and the name of his baby brother.
***
If you thought I posted these for an hour or so late last night, you were not hallucinating. I chickened out and set them to "private" again because I didn't want to leave my readers stuck with this on their minds, if I wasn't sure I had something more fun to post shortly thereafter. I do, there's smut coming soon.
The Reagan Administration had a lot of blood on its hands.
Just take comfort in knowing this is an AU of an AU. This did not really happen in this 'verse.
Warnings: Major character deaths.
The War Comes Home With You
Charleston, WV, 1983
“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Captain Watson.”
John barely registered the doctor's touch on his arm. It was intrusive. It was pushy. Why was this man touching him? Bad news was bad enough. Why was he calling him Captain? He wasn't there. He didn't understand.
“Call me John. Please,” John managed to mutter. And he managed to look up at the doctor's face. The man had worked for hours. He was exhausted and overwrought. John understood, he'd been there himself. It's just that there was nothing to say, and so it was better that no one said anything.
“John. Okay. Your son, he - ”
“Didn't make it. Did he?”
“No.”
John closed his eyes. Drew deep breath. Held his stillness as long as he could. “And Mary?”
“We don't know yet. She's still experiencing severe hemorrhaging.”
Oh. That was it then. If she made it, he might. If she didn't, he wouldn't. If he couldn't be a father or a husband, he'd at least be a killer one last time.
The doctor was young. Still a scientist, still trying to explain.
“It happens sometimes, problems with fetal development . . . “
“I know that,” John said coldly. “I'm a doctor too. Paternal chromosome damage. Agent Orange. Spina bifida.”
Yup. It gets worse.
In the Time of the Plague
Washington DC, 1987
“Do whatever it takes,” Mycroft Holmes said, “ just know that cameras will be on you. The demonstrators will have theirs and we will have ours.”
“So we shouldn't arrest the fags?” asked the Washington police chief.
“If you must. Just make sure we keep control of the narrative . . . oh, never mind. Just don't be cruel, and for God's sake, don't be seen being cruel. We are long past the point where these people have no public sympathy. If you let yourself be seen abusing queers, then you yourself will look weak. Don't let that happen. Keep your men on a tight leash OR ELSE.”
Mycroft took a deep breath. He commanded so much power of perception, and yet even his skills could be so easily undone in the face of real pain. Right now, he truly hated the masters he served and the thugs he commanded.
Mycroft went into the bathroom and changed his clothes and hair and face completely. Then he walked onto the Mall where the AIDS memorial quilt was first unfurled, acres wide and long. With unerring direction and inside information, he found his way to the only patch he cared about – the one with the microscope and magnifying glass, skull and violin, and the name of his baby brother.
***
If you thought I posted these for an hour or so late last night, you were not hallucinating. I chickened out and set them to "private" again because I didn't want to leave my readers stuck with this on their minds, if I wasn't sure I had something more fun to post shortly thereafter. I do, there's smut coming soon.
