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colebaltblueTitle: Victor
Author: colebaltblue
Pairing/Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson
Word Count: 1,300
Rating: PG
Warnings: no specific ones
Summary: When Sherlock Homles said “friend” to describe his skull, what did he mean when he said, “well, when I say friend...”
Author's Notes: Wholly unbetaed (at this point) and written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
gracious_anne for Make Me a Monday for this prompt.
“Oh John, thank god you’re home,” Sherlock called as John struggled in up the stairs with the bags of groceries.
“Here, John, let me help you with the shopping...” John replied as he walked in, sending a pointed glare at his flatmate.
Sherlock looked puzzled and surprised at the same moment. John had now spent enough time with his flatmate to know that the look was simply an act. He knew perfectly well that John would’ve appreciated help with the shopping, but instead he hid behind his massive intellect and pretended such social niceties escaped him. It was a clever trick, John had decided, it had everyone fooled. Well, almost everyone.
“Yorick not doing his job?” he called from the kitchen as he shoved Sherlock’s latest mould experiment over and set the shopping down on the counter.
“Yorick?” Now Sherlock sounded puzzled too.
“Yeah, Yorick. Your skull.”
“Yes, I am aware that is who you are referring to. But his name isn’t Yorick. And, I’m not Hamlet.”
“And I suppose you’re not questioning the meaning of your life right now either,” John responded, taking a deep breath before he opened the fridge. There hadn’t been body parts in it when he left, but Sherlock had been unattended for an hour and stranger things had happened in less time.
“The meaning of life? John?”
“Oh nevermind Sherlock. What did you need?”
“Tea.”
John closed the refrigerator door and hung his head for a moment, breathing in and out slowly, calmly, trying to remember some of the mentally calming exercises that he and his therapist had discussed. He just didn’t realize at the time he’d need them for dealing with Sherlock.
“That’s what you were waiting for? That’s what was so important as I struggled up the stairs?”
“Of course not, John,” Sherlock said slowly, as if dealing with a small child. “However, I do require tea.”
John sighed and put the kettle on. One of these days he was just going to say no, but not today because he wanted tea too. He caught Sherlock smiling at him out of the corner of his eye.
“Some days I really hate you, you know.”
Sherlock’s smile grew.
“So, what is his name?”
Sherlock looked back at the skull with something that John was afraid was very close to fondness.
“Victor.”
“Victor,” John said as he glanced at the kettle, waiting for it to boil. “Was that his name before..” he gestured at it.
“Before he died, you mean?” Sherlock asked.
John nodded in reply.
“Yes, Victor Trevor.”
“And you knew him. Before.”
“Before he died? Yes, of course. Well, I suppose. As well as we know anyone.”
John narrowed his eyes and looked at Sherlock. Sherlock was busy looking at the skull and very carefully not looking at John. There was more to this story, much more. Sherlock didn’t look all that eager to tell it, but John decided if he was going to have the skull of a person that Sherlock knew when he was still a person he deserved to know the whole story. He opened his mouth to respond when he heard the gurgle of boiling water next to him. Tea would help.
He held Sherlock’s cup out to him as Sherlock carefully replaced the skull on the mantle piece.
“You want to know the whole story,” Sherlock said as he accepted the mug.
“Cleverly deduced,” John responded. Sherlock sighed.
“He was a graduation present. From Mycroft. When I completed my chemistry degree, before I started graduate work.”
“Mycroft got you the skull of someone you know for your graduation from university gift?” John asked. He wondered why he wasn’t surprised by this piece of news. Then he realized that months of living with Sherlock had probably desensitized him to such things as finding out the skull living on Sherlock’s, no their, mantle was not just a metaphorical friend but quite possibly a literal one as well. He vaguely wondered what his therapist would have to say about this. If he ever had the guts to tell her.
Sherlock held his cut to his lips, eyes twinkling.
“Nevermind,” John sighed. “Continue.”
“Mycroft thought I needed a friend.”
“A friend? Christ Sherlock, so he gets you a skull?”
“Well, he got me the whole skeleton, but I unfortunately I wasn’t able to keep it.” Sherlock turned his head to regard the skull staring at them from the mantel piece. “I managed to smuggle the skull into my rooms though.”
John was trying very hard not to imagine the Holmes family Christmas dinners right now. Really hard.
“I suppose Mycroft felt it to be some sort of petty insult.”
“Insult. For what?”
Sherlock shrugged and then looked at John. “You have a sister, is the nature of my sibling rivalry with Mycroft really that difficult to deduce, John?”
John rolled his eyes. “If only you actually believed half the shit that came out of your mouth, Sherlock.”
Sherlock grinned.
“So, how did you know Victor?”
“He was my only friend.”
John’s eyes widened and he felt an unpleasant roll of his stomach. Medical school had taught him how to disconnect a dead body from the live person in a clinical sense. Afghanistan had taught him how to compartmentalize the live people that became dead bodies before his very eyes. Like most humans, he had considerable trouble with the latter. He couldn’t really understand, didn’t want to understand, how Sherlock could manage to apparently think of them as one in the same.
Sherlock considered John over the top of his cup as he sipped his tea quietly.
John shifted his gaze to the window, trying to quell the feeling in his stomach.
“John,” Sherlock said quietly, patiently, gently. “You have all the facts before you.”
John took a deep breath. He didn’t know the whole story. Sherlock hadn’t told him the whole story, just given him the pieces he needed to deduce the whole story. He’d get mad a Sherlock in a minute for using this subject to attempt to train him to deduce better, but first he needed to take care of the churning in his gut.
Sherlock didn’t have friends, was his first thought. He was Sherlock’s only friend and he was quite sure from the panic he had seen before in Sherlock’s eyes when he had ended up battered and bruised from their adventures that Sherlock was human enough to not ever keep his skull on the mantle piece. Victor then was not a friend in the conventional sense.
What other kinds of friends did people have? John thought to himself. He thought of his own childhood before dismissing it as too normal. He remembered once that Harry described the family dog as her “best friend”, but Victor was human, not canine. What kinds of friends would Sherlock have?
“Imaginary,” he said, comprehension dawning on his face. “Victor was your imaginary friend, growing up.”
Sherlock smiled at John. “Very good, go on.”
“Mycroft got you the skeleton because you didn’t have any friends. Beyond Victor, of course.”
“Of course.”
“So you didn’t really know Victor, then?” John asked, feeling relief flood his stomach. He took a sip of his cooling tea.
“No, not in any conventional sense. But, after years of only imagining him it was nice to put a face to a name. So to speak.”
John rolled his eyes, but let the giggle escape anyway. Sherlock chuckled back in response.
“Before you returned with the shopping I had been asking Victor for some help regarding a new case. But, since you moved in I’ve found him to be less and less useful. Perhaps you might be able to help?”
John grinned at his strange flatmate and nodded in response. Sherlock set his tea down, steepled his fingers and opened his mouth to begin.
Author: colebaltblue
Pairing/Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson
Word Count: 1,300
Rating: PG
Warnings: no specific ones
Summary: When Sherlock Homles said “friend” to describe his skull, what did he mean when he said, “well, when I say friend...”
Author's Notes: Wholly unbetaed (at this point) and written for
gracious_anne for Make Me a Monday for this prompt.“Oh John, thank god you’re home,” Sherlock called as John struggled in up the stairs with the bags of groceries.
“Here, John, let me help you with the shopping...” John replied as he walked in, sending a pointed glare at his flatmate.
Sherlock looked puzzled and surprised at the same moment. John had now spent enough time with his flatmate to know that the look was simply an act. He knew perfectly well that John would’ve appreciated help with the shopping, but instead he hid behind his massive intellect and pretended such social niceties escaped him. It was a clever trick, John had decided, it had everyone fooled. Well, almost everyone.
“Yorick not doing his job?” he called from the kitchen as he shoved Sherlock’s latest mould experiment over and set the shopping down on the counter.
“Yorick?” Now Sherlock sounded puzzled too.
“Yeah, Yorick. Your skull.”
“Yes, I am aware that is who you are referring to. But his name isn’t Yorick. And, I’m not Hamlet.”
“And I suppose you’re not questioning the meaning of your life right now either,” John responded, taking a deep breath before he opened the fridge. There hadn’t been body parts in it when he left, but Sherlock had been unattended for an hour and stranger things had happened in less time.
“The meaning of life? John?”
“Oh nevermind Sherlock. What did you need?”
“Tea.”
John closed the refrigerator door and hung his head for a moment, breathing in and out slowly, calmly, trying to remember some of the mentally calming exercises that he and his therapist had discussed. He just didn’t realize at the time he’d need them for dealing with Sherlock.
“That’s what you were waiting for? That’s what was so important as I struggled up the stairs?”
“Of course not, John,” Sherlock said slowly, as if dealing with a small child. “However, I do require tea.”
John sighed and put the kettle on. One of these days he was just going to say no, but not today because he wanted tea too. He caught Sherlock smiling at him out of the corner of his eye.
“Some days I really hate you, you know.”
Sherlock’s smile grew.
“So, what is his name?”
Sherlock looked back at the skull with something that John was afraid was very close to fondness.
“Victor.”
“Victor,” John said as he glanced at the kettle, waiting for it to boil. “Was that his name before..” he gestured at it.
“Before he died, you mean?” Sherlock asked.
John nodded in reply.
“Yes, Victor Trevor.”
“And you knew him. Before.”
“Before he died? Yes, of course. Well, I suppose. As well as we know anyone.”
John narrowed his eyes and looked at Sherlock. Sherlock was busy looking at the skull and very carefully not looking at John. There was more to this story, much more. Sherlock didn’t look all that eager to tell it, but John decided if he was going to have the skull of a person that Sherlock knew when he was still a person he deserved to know the whole story. He opened his mouth to respond when he heard the gurgle of boiling water next to him. Tea would help.
He held Sherlock’s cup out to him as Sherlock carefully replaced the skull on the mantle piece.
“You want to know the whole story,” Sherlock said as he accepted the mug.
“Cleverly deduced,” John responded. Sherlock sighed.
“He was a graduation present. From Mycroft. When I completed my chemistry degree, before I started graduate work.”
“Mycroft got you the skull of someone you know for your graduation from university gift?” John asked. He wondered why he wasn’t surprised by this piece of news. Then he realized that months of living with Sherlock had probably desensitized him to such things as finding out the skull living on Sherlock’s, no their, mantle was not just a metaphorical friend but quite possibly a literal one as well. He vaguely wondered what his therapist would have to say about this. If he ever had the guts to tell her.
Sherlock held his cut to his lips, eyes twinkling.
“Nevermind,” John sighed. “Continue.”
“Mycroft thought I needed a friend.”
“A friend? Christ Sherlock, so he gets you a skull?”
“Well, he got me the whole skeleton, but I unfortunately I wasn’t able to keep it.” Sherlock turned his head to regard the skull staring at them from the mantel piece. “I managed to smuggle the skull into my rooms though.”
John was trying very hard not to imagine the Holmes family Christmas dinners right now. Really hard.
“I suppose Mycroft felt it to be some sort of petty insult.”
“Insult. For what?”
Sherlock shrugged and then looked at John. “You have a sister, is the nature of my sibling rivalry with Mycroft really that difficult to deduce, John?”
John rolled his eyes. “If only you actually believed half the shit that came out of your mouth, Sherlock.”
Sherlock grinned.
“So, how did you know Victor?”
“He was my only friend.”
John’s eyes widened and he felt an unpleasant roll of his stomach. Medical school had taught him how to disconnect a dead body from the live person in a clinical sense. Afghanistan had taught him how to compartmentalize the live people that became dead bodies before his very eyes. Like most humans, he had considerable trouble with the latter. He couldn’t really understand, didn’t want to understand, how Sherlock could manage to apparently think of them as one in the same.
Sherlock considered John over the top of his cup as he sipped his tea quietly.
John shifted his gaze to the window, trying to quell the feeling in his stomach.
“John,” Sherlock said quietly, patiently, gently. “You have all the facts before you.”
John took a deep breath. He didn’t know the whole story. Sherlock hadn’t told him the whole story, just given him the pieces he needed to deduce the whole story. He’d get mad a Sherlock in a minute for using this subject to attempt to train him to deduce better, but first he needed to take care of the churning in his gut.
Sherlock didn’t have friends, was his first thought. He was Sherlock’s only friend and he was quite sure from the panic he had seen before in Sherlock’s eyes when he had ended up battered and bruised from their adventures that Sherlock was human enough to not ever keep his skull on the mantle piece. Victor then was not a friend in the conventional sense.
What other kinds of friends did people have? John thought to himself. He thought of his own childhood before dismissing it as too normal. He remembered once that Harry described the family dog as her “best friend”, but Victor was human, not canine. What kinds of friends would Sherlock have?
“Imaginary,” he said, comprehension dawning on his face. “Victor was your imaginary friend, growing up.”
Sherlock smiled at John. “Very good, go on.”
“Mycroft got you the skeleton because you didn’t have any friends. Beyond Victor, of course.”
“Of course.”
“So you didn’t really know Victor, then?” John asked, feeling relief flood his stomach. He took a sip of his cooling tea.
“No, not in any conventional sense. But, after years of only imagining him it was nice to put a face to a name. So to speak.”
John rolled his eyes, but let the giggle escape anyway. Sherlock chuckled back in response.
“Before you returned with the shopping I had been asking Victor for some help regarding a new case. But, since you moved in I’ve found him to be less and less useful. Perhaps you might be able to help?”
John grinned at his strange flatmate and nodded in response. Sherlock set his tea down, steepled his fingers and opened his mouth to begin.
