i remembered the riding crop this time.
Apr. 19th, 2011 06:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
falling_voicesO look, Sherlock recs.
Complementing this post.
• sonata form, by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
paisley_pie
mycroft gen | 7294 words | pg-13
Following from Sherlock's tenth anniversary to his thirtieth. Deceptively beautiful prose, and a relationship between both brothers that takes on the series' quiet and not-so quiet hints and spins them to music.
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
flecalicious
fem!sherlock/john | 2831 words | r
(I am growing more and more interested by their genderbent versions, although I have yet to find drawn-out fanfiction of fem!Sherlock and fem!John.) In which fem!Sherlock plays Hey Jude on the violin, which I find endlessly charming, John is John, and sex is understated and warm.
When John kisses Sherlock for the first time — or maybe she kisses him, he's not sure, only that the world has suddenly become an impression of skin and teeth and mouth, pressure points of feeling like his mind is expanding at a hundred miles an hour — he has the line hey Jude don't be afraid rushing around and around in his head, and with the taste of her it magnifies and folds in on itself and becomes half-remembered strings, the movement of her fingers and the expression on her face as she'd played. The calmest he'd ever seen her. Perhaps the saddest.
• precipitation. by orange_crushed
sherlock/john, ish | 1500 words or so | pg
Beautiful, stylistic writing style, flatmates being boys, boys being lazy and a little bit stupid. Dreaming of snow.
There is an unusual silence, the moment when Sherlock ought to ask him if his awful meal's given him food poisoning already. He doesn't. "It's snowing again," he says. John looks up, surprised.
• murderous, codependent, by rageprufock
sherlock/john, ish | 1879 words | pg
IN WHICH THEY ARE LESTRADE'S DAUGHTER'S CATS. Really, need more be said? (Snuggles, purring, and happy naps in the sun.)
Lestrade doesn't know anything about animal psychology, but honestly, John looks a bit embarrassed about the whole thing, making an apologetic chirruping noise and an effort to pad up to Lestrade — which goes abortive when Sherlock thumps himself in a possessive heap over John's back, purring excessively and pinning the smaller cat under his weight.
• chiron, by abundantlyqueer
john gen | 3964 words | r
A fairly compulsive, researched and detailed description of the provenance of John's battle wounds, updating ACD!Watson's being shot at the battle of Maiwand in 1880.
Two-twelve is flying at the left of the pack, with the three other Pumas spaced out on her right. As they fly, the sky turns to pale lilac and the ragged line of the mountains off to their right turns to silver. The ground below begins to lighten, every boulder and building inked-in by shadows. John squints against the wind, and his heart is weightless in his chest.
• tigers, by anon (ficmeme fill.)
jim/sebastian | 1500 words or so | r
A take on what the Moriarty/Moran relationship might be in this 'verse, well-written and chilling. Told from Sebastian's point of view, and in the end maybe this is why Jim is the most fascinating character in this: he is a twisted, but darkly lookalike of Sherlock, half-crazed and experimental.
"Good. Wakey wacky. A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down, the medicine go down, the —"
"Piss off!" Properly awake now and groaning, trying to burrow under the pillow in case dreams of tigers in grass are hiding there, wanting to return to the hot, heavy African stillness.
• home is where you let me in, by bedamn
john/sherlock | 1808 words | pg
Fairytales, growing up, and a bird man John Watson sees every time it's important. This surprised me; I was not expecting it to follow the course of the series, to branch out in another direction altogether, and the dark mood of the show, put to the light, almost ethereal writing style and paragraphy-structure, makes the entire story very strange, very pleasant.
"You're supposed to open it," the voice says. John looks up from his desk and sees a boy curled on his bed, back propped against the wall and feet tucked underneath him. He must be John's age, he thinks, seventeen or rather close to it; the jeans and crisp blue work shirt with the purple scarf wrapped around his neck giving him an impression of being just a bit older than the features are telling.
• fruit on offer, by ristrettoette
john&sherlock gen | 1292 words | pg
Terribly, terribly gorgeous. And sweetly aching, tastes of oranges. It feels like a, a delicacy, a perfect treat.
Without thinking about it: Pablo de Sarasate. Malagueña. Moorish arches, the dust rising from sun-darkened Spanish towns. He skips through to the left-handed pizzicato. The strange flat plucking of the strings resounds like sun on rooftops, an oud in the desert. He falls silent after a moment. The sound stills in the flat, saying, Summer mornings.
• i meet you there, and we go, the half-open window, i broke them all for you and i dream a highway (back to you), by irisbleufic
john/sherlock | ensemble | 6000 words or so | r
In which John&Sherlock die, and then go and raise bees. The rest of the world attempts to cope with this. (A note, here: I usually don't like many heaven-related stories, as very few manage to convince me. Among the very few that can actually create an afterlife believable enough for me, I count Connie Willis' Passage, which is less about the afterlife than it is about what matters to get there — and… well, this. Prepare the tissues, as this is heartbreaking and beautiful.)
"I dream of what it's like," he says with difficulty, and the words taste right in spite of the fact that everything else tastes wrong, "when we leave this place."
John is quiet for an unbearably long while (too quiet: no humming, no breath) before he lets his forehead drop to rest against Sherlock's, smudge of ash and grit and sweat mixed with something far too heavy to be tears. He presses one hand over Sherlock's heart, and there's warmth again.
• caught up in the speed of days, by flecalicious
john&fem!sherlock gen | 1000 words | pg
Epic platonic friendship. I have so much love for this — for the gorgeousness that are boy&girl best friends, and also fuck the double standard very much, by the way — this is delicious and so very pretty and warm to the end of my toes, and there's a part of me who wants them to forever remain like this, platonic and adorable best friends, and I love it.
Lestrade caught him staring once, had said, "You're not helping the rumours," and it had been hard to explain that watching Sherlock is like watching a nature documentary, those BBC ones where the colours are bright and the birds are magnificent. Catching something special, even if it's only for a moment. She's a bright spark in a monotonous existence, and for that John is thankful forever.
• darling, oh, don't put down your guns yet, by sartorialists
john/sherlock | 1000 words or so | r
After the pool!reaction, in which Sherlock takes to drugs and John takes to Sherlock. The plot, though, is rather the least important thing in this; what matters is the strange, aching relationship drawn between both men, and the softly desperate ending.
And that's how the police, the ambulance, Donovan, Lestrade find them. Side by side, like Romeo and Juliet, but not really in love. Just simply made for each other.
• the staff of baker street high school, by anon (ficmeme.)
hinted at john/sherlock, mostly ensemble gen | 3000 words or so | pg
Cracky!school!au, and they're all teachers. Even Jim. Especially Jim. This is just — hilarious and glorious, and perfectly believable, perfectly real. Mrs Hudson is the cherry on top.
No one messes around Mr Watson's class. He is one of those teachers you never even try with. If you behave then he is one of the best teachers you'll ever know, patient, steady, and with a habit of springing really bizarre experiments on you. (…)
Mr Holmes is similar, in a very different way. He's the sort of teacher you either love or hate, but you never make him angry.
Most people hate him.
• de gustibus non disputantur, by stranded_pearl
john/sherlock | 2500 words or so | r
They get drunk (very), make horrid puns (many) and seduce each other in Latin (a lot). And the entire lot is fucking glorious — I haven't studied Latin in many years and I just sat there laughing myself to tears, it is amazing. The sex part is ridiculous and awkward and clumsy and marvelous. ♥
John gave the corkscrew a vicious twist and glared at his flatmate. "Quidquid latine dictum sit, altum sonatur." Switching to his command voice he added, "Now you ei and don't reveni until you have found us something to bibere out of."
Sherlock's lips gave a rebellious twitch. "Sed Magister nundi sum! Noli mihi imperate!"
John pulled the cork from the bottle with a satisfying pop. "Tu es radix lector and magister of squat. Now get up and fac qui ego dixi."
• equivalence, by introductory
anthea/mycroft | 3000 words | pg-13
In which not!Anthea is genderfluid, and Mycroft is pansexual. This, oh, is fairly stunning — there is a desperate quality to it, and something beautiful and rare in the relationship Anthony/Anthea develops with Mycroft: it's also staggeringly lovely in the, well, yes, in the fluidity of it, how Anthea/Anthony's gender flexibility impacts their lives together, and how it is depicted.
Gradually, the closet in your flat begins to split: neatly divided like that of a married couple, one side hers, one side his, a row of delicate blouses across from starched shirts. The harmony pleases you in a way you can't define, the two halves complementing each other perfectly. Each item is quietly stylish and extremely well-crafted: you're expected to look your best at all times, no matter which one of you shows up at the office on that particular day. Appearances are everything, after all.
(Every day there's something new and rather marvellous. I ♥ this fandom, I do, I do.)
Complementing this post.
• sonata form, by
paisley_pie mycroft gen | 7294 words | pg-13
Following from Sherlock's tenth anniversary to his thirtieth. Deceptively beautiful prose, and a relationship between both brothers that takes on the series' quiet and not-so quiet hints and spins them to music.
Mycroft is silent and patient. He lets Sherlock toy with the Christofori a little longer, small hands darting across the upper register, one moment playing a snippet of Gershwin, the next tapping out atonal nonsense, the bones of his hands so small as to be likened to those of birds' wings.
• under your skin, by flecalicious fem!sherlock/john | 2831 words | r
(I am growing more and more interested by their genderbent versions, although I have yet to find drawn-out fanfiction of fem!Sherlock and fem!John.) In which fem!Sherlock plays Hey Jude on the violin, which I find endlessly charming, John is John, and sex is understated and warm.
When John kisses Sherlock for the first time — or maybe she kisses him, he's not sure, only that the world has suddenly become an impression of skin and teeth and mouth, pressure points of feeling like his mind is expanding at a hundred miles an hour — he has the line hey Jude don't be afraid rushing around and around in his head, and with the taste of her it magnifies and folds in on itself and becomes half-remembered strings, the movement of her fingers and the expression on her face as she'd played. The calmest he'd ever seen her. Perhaps the saddest.
orange_crushed sherlock/john, ish | 1500 words or so | pg
Beautiful, stylistic writing style, flatmates being boys, boys being lazy and a little bit stupid. Dreaming of snow.
There is an unusual silence, the moment when Sherlock ought to ask him if his awful meal's given him food poisoning already. He doesn't. "It's snowing again," he says. John looks up, surprised.
sherlock/john, ish | 1879 words | pg
IN WHICH THEY ARE LESTRADE'S DAUGHTER'S CATS. Really, need more be said? (Snuggles, purring, and happy naps in the sun.)
Lestrade doesn't know anything about animal psychology, but honestly, John looks a bit embarrassed about the whole thing, making an apologetic chirruping noise and an effort to pad up to Lestrade — which goes abortive when Sherlock thumps himself in a possessive heap over John's back, purring excessively and pinning the smaller cat under his weight.
john gen | 3964 words | r
A fairly compulsive, researched and detailed description of the provenance of John's battle wounds, updating ACD!Watson's being shot at the battle of Maiwand in 1880.
Two-twelve is flying at the left of the pack, with the three other Pumas spaced out on her right. As they fly, the sky turns to pale lilac and the ragged line of the mountains off to their right turns to silver. The ground below begins to lighten, every boulder and building inked-in by shadows. John squints against the wind, and his heart is weightless in his chest.
jim/sebastian | 1500 words or so | r
A take on what the Moriarty/Moran relationship might be in this 'verse, well-written and chilling. Told from Sebastian's point of view, and in the end maybe this is why Jim is the most fascinating character in this: he is a twisted, but darkly lookalike of Sherlock, half-crazed and experimental.
"Good. Wakey wacky. A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down, the medicine go down, the —"
"Piss off!" Properly awake now and groaning, trying to burrow under the pillow in case dreams of tigers in grass are hiding there, wanting to return to the hot, heavy African stillness.
bedamn john/sherlock | 1808 words | pg
Fairytales, growing up, and a bird man John Watson sees every time it's important. This surprised me; I was not expecting it to follow the course of the series, to branch out in another direction altogether, and the dark mood of the show, put to the light, almost ethereal writing style and paragraphy-structure, makes the entire story very strange, very pleasant.
"You're supposed to open it," the voice says. John looks up from his desk and sees a boy curled on his bed, back propped against the wall and feet tucked underneath him. He must be John's age, he thinks, seventeen or rather close to it; the jeans and crisp blue work shirt with the purple scarf wrapped around his neck giving him an impression of being just a bit older than the features are telling.
ristrettoette john&sherlock gen | 1292 words | pg
Terribly, terribly gorgeous. And sweetly aching, tastes of oranges. It feels like a, a delicacy, a perfect treat.
Without thinking about it: Pablo de Sarasate. Malagueña. Moorish arches, the dust rising from sun-darkened Spanish towns. He skips through to the left-handed pizzicato. The strange flat plucking of the strings resounds like sun on rooftops, an oud in the desert. He falls silent after a moment. The sound stills in the flat, saying, Summer mornings.
irisbleufic john/sherlock | ensemble | 6000 words or so | r
In which John&Sherlock die, and then go and raise bees. The rest of the world attempts to cope with this. (A note, here: I usually don't like many heaven-related stories, as very few manage to convince me. Among the very few that can actually create an afterlife believable enough for me, I count Connie Willis' Passage, which is less about the afterlife than it is about what matters to get there — and… well, this. Prepare the tissues, as this is heartbreaking and beautiful.)
"I dream of what it's like," he says with difficulty, and the words taste right in spite of the fact that everything else tastes wrong, "when we leave this place."
John is quiet for an unbearably long while (too quiet: no humming, no breath) before he lets his forehead drop to rest against Sherlock's, smudge of ash and grit and sweat mixed with something far too heavy to be tears. He presses one hand over Sherlock's heart, and there's warmth again.
flecalicious john&fem!sherlock gen | 1000 words | pg
Epic platonic friendship. I have so much love for this — for the gorgeousness that are boy&girl best friends, and also fuck the double standard very much, by the way — this is delicious and so very pretty and warm to the end of my toes, and there's a part of me who wants them to forever remain like this, platonic and adorable best friends, and I love it.
Lestrade caught him staring once, had said, "You're not helping the rumours," and it had been hard to explain that watching Sherlock is like watching a nature documentary, those BBC ones where the colours are bright and the birds are magnificent. Catching something special, even if it's only for a moment. She's a bright spark in a monotonous existence, and for that John is thankful forever.
sartorialists john/sherlock | 1000 words or so | r
After the pool!reaction, in which Sherlock takes to drugs and John takes to Sherlock. The plot, though, is rather the least important thing in this; what matters is the strange, aching relationship drawn between both men, and the softly desperate ending.
And that's how the police, the ambulance, Donovan, Lestrade find them. Side by side, like Romeo and Juliet, but not really in love. Just simply made for each other.
hinted at john/sherlock, mostly ensemble gen | 3000 words or so | pg
Cracky!school!au, and they're all teachers. Even Jim. Especially Jim. This is just — hilarious and glorious, and perfectly believable, perfectly real. Mrs Hudson is the cherry on top.
No one messes around Mr Watson's class. He is one of those teachers you never even try with. If you behave then he is one of the best teachers you'll ever know, patient, steady, and with a habit of springing really bizarre experiments on you. (…)
Mr Holmes is similar, in a very different way. He's the sort of teacher you either love or hate, but you never make him angry.
Most people hate him.
stranded_pearl john/sherlock | 2500 words or so | r
They get drunk (very), make horrid puns (many) and seduce each other in Latin (a lot). And the entire lot is fucking glorious — I haven't studied Latin in many years and I just sat there laughing myself to tears, it is amazing. The sex part is ridiculous and awkward and clumsy and marvelous. ♥
John gave the corkscrew a vicious twist and glared at his flatmate. "Quidquid latine dictum sit, altum sonatur." Switching to his command voice he added, "Now you ei and don't reveni until you have found us something to bibere out of."
Sherlock's lips gave a rebellious twitch. "Sed Magister nundi sum! Noli mihi imperate!"
John pulled the cork from the bottle with a satisfying pop. "Tu es radix lector and magister of squat. Now get up and fac qui ego dixi."
introductory anthea/mycroft | 3000 words | pg-13
In which not!Anthea is genderfluid, and Mycroft is pansexual. This, oh, is fairly stunning — there is a desperate quality to it, and something beautiful and rare in the relationship Anthony/Anthea develops with Mycroft: it's also staggeringly lovely in the, well, yes, in the fluidity of it, how Anthea/Anthony's gender flexibility impacts their lives together, and how it is depicted.
Gradually, the closet in your flat begins to split: neatly divided like that of a married couple, one side hers, one side his, a row of delicate blouses across from starched shirts. The harmony pleases you in a way you can't define, the two halves complementing each other perfectly. Each item is quietly stylish and extremely well-crafted: you're expected to look your best at all times, no matter which one of you shows up at the office on that particular day. Appearances are everything, after all.
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no subject
Date: 2011-04-19 05:07 pm (UTC)(And, of course, thanks for the rec *blush* *hugs*)
no subject
Date: 2011-04-20 02:42 pm (UTC)(And fft, you're welcome, though I could probably fill an entire rec post with everything that's yours in this fandom — I had a hard time making a choice, as it was. Keep being wonderful, m'kay? /hugs back)
no subject
Date: 2011-04-19 08:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-20 02:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-22 08:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-19 08:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-20 02:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-19 10:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-20 02:49 pm (UTC)hihihihi
Date: 2011-04-23 07:28 pm (UTC)IN THE MEANTIME HERE IS A PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT: doctor who today today TODAY allllllll day i am incoherent. and would like to share incoherency with you.
:D
Re: hihihihi
Date: 2011-04-24 01:31 pm (UTC)Doctor Who omg — am still looking for a way to watch it, damn BBCplayer. Looking. Right. Ngk.