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monkeybardBrother to Brother
By MonkeyBard
Rating: PG
Length: 580
Universe: BBC-Sherlock
Summary: Another chat between brothers.
Date: 28 July 2019
JWP #28: The Needle, The Bottle, The Pipe: Everyone has an addiction of one sort or another. Select one to spotlight in today's entry. This can also apply to side characters such as opium-smoking Isa Whitney or former-junkie Alfredo Llamosa.
A/N: Relates to 13 July’s prompt fic, Eye to Eye.
Sherlock lay insensate, high on a meticulously precise cocktail of illegal narcotics.
A boy sat at his feet, a disapproving frown on his semi-transparent face. This was twice now he’d come all the way to London because his youngest brother was in a critically bad way. “I knew you were naff, but now I know you’re an idiot, too.”
“I’m not an idiot,” protested Sherlock, his own voice as youthful as the ghost’s.
“You are.” Ford turned to the similarly ghostly figure, his frown deepening into an expression disconcertingly mature on such young features. “You did this before. Mummy and Daddy didn’t like to talk about it in front of anyone, but I can always listen in. It was terrible for them and you. And now you’ve done it again. Idiot.”
“You’re just not aware of all the facts. My actions have been perfectly logical.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“It’s true!” Sherlock found himself on the verge of a childish whine and fought the impulse. Just because he was once again, apparently, a ten-year-old boy, even if it was only in ethereal form, was no reason to behave like a child.
“I dare you to convince me,” declared Ford. He crossed his arms over his chest and put on his most challenging, most big-brotherly look.
Sherlock huffed out an irritated sigh. “John has…fallen away from me. He’s in trouble. On a downward spiral.”
“Tell me something I don’t know?”
Sherlock wanted to ask how Ford knew, but refrained. That data was for the moment irrelevant, although he couldn’t deny curiosity. “Mary charged me with saving him.”
“Ugh! There are so many things wrong with that!”
“What?” It was not the response he’d expected at all.
“Where do I start?” Ford leaned in over Sherlock’s physical body, getting in the face of his ephemeral one. “One, how did she know? Two, you think poisoning yourself is going to help. Three, Mary’s a cow and I hate her!”
“Don’t be absurd.”
“I’m not absurd. You’re absurd. She shot you! I hate her! And now she’s trying to kill you again, so I hate her more!” Ford was nearly in tears and fighting valiantly not to succumb.
Sherlock sat stunned for several seconds while Ford gulped down huge breaths, gusting them out again in almost-sobs. A tiny part of his brain wondered why or how a ghost would breathe. A larger part saw his brother hurting and felt a fraternal need to reassure him. “It will be all right.”
“How do you know? You don’t know!”
“I know John. I know everyone who cares about John. There’s Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, and Molly. And me. I know what they will do and how their acts will affect him. It will be all right,” he said again, firm but kind.
“I hope so.” Ford sniffed, returned safely from the brink of bawling like a baby. Just because he was perpetually youthful didn’t mean he was young anymore. He wiped his eyes as if resentful of the tears that had dared to leak out. He looked up at Sherlock again. “Don’t tell John what I said about Mary.”
“I won’t. Even if I remember you said it, I won’t tell.”
“Swear?”
“Swear.”
“You better be right. It had better be all right. Mummy doesn’t need two of us around and I don’t need your company.”
Sherlock came very close to smiling. “You don’t want your naff little brother around mucking things up.”
Ford grinned. “Too right.”
By MonkeyBard
Rating: PG
Length: 580
Universe: BBC-Sherlock
Summary: Another chat between brothers.
Date: 28 July 2019
JWP #28: The Needle, The Bottle, The Pipe: Everyone has an addiction of one sort or another. Select one to spotlight in today's entry. This can also apply to side characters such as opium-smoking Isa Whitney or former-junkie Alfredo Llamosa.
A/N: Relates to 13 July’s prompt fic, Eye to Eye.
Sherlock lay insensate, high on a meticulously precise cocktail of illegal narcotics.
A boy sat at his feet, a disapproving frown on his semi-transparent face. This was twice now he’d come all the way to London because his youngest brother was in a critically bad way. “I knew you were naff, but now I know you’re an idiot, too.”
“I’m not an idiot,” protested Sherlock, his own voice as youthful as the ghost’s.
“You are.” Ford turned to the similarly ghostly figure, his frown deepening into an expression disconcertingly mature on such young features. “You did this before. Mummy and Daddy didn’t like to talk about it in front of anyone, but I can always listen in. It was terrible for them and you. And now you’ve done it again. Idiot.”
“You’re just not aware of all the facts. My actions have been perfectly logical.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“It’s true!” Sherlock found himself on the verge of a childish whine and fought the impulse. Just because he was once again, apparently, a ten-year-old boy, even if it was only in ethereal form, was no reason to behave like a child.
“I dare you to convince me,” declared Ford. He crossed his arms over his chest and put on his most challenging, most big-brotherly look.
Sherlock huffed out an irritated sigh. “John has…fallen away from me. He’s in trouble. On a downward spiral.”
“Tell me something I don’t know?”
Sherlock wanted to ask how Ford knew, but refrained. That data was for the moment irrelevant, although he couldn’t deny curiosity. “Mary charged me with saving him.”
“Ugh! There are so many things wrong with that!”
“What?” It was not the response he’d expected at all.
“Where do I start?” Ford leaned in over Sherlock’s physical body, getting in the face of his ephemeral one. “One, how did she know? Two, you think poisoning yourself is going to help. Three, Mary’s a cow and I hate her!”
“Don’t be absurd.”
“I’m not absurd. You’re absurd. She shot you! I hate her! And now she’s trying to kill you again, so I hate her more!” Ford was nearly in tears and fighting valiantly not to succumb.
Sherlock sat stunned for several seconds while Ford gulped down huge breaths, gusting them out again in almost-sobs. A tiny part of his brain wondered why or how a ghost would breathe. A larger part saw his brother hurting and felt a fraternal need to reassure him. “It will be all right.”
“How do you know? You don’t know!”
“I know John. I know everyone who cares about John. There’s Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, and Molly. And me. I know what they will do and how their acts will affect him. It will be all right,” he said again, firm but kind.
“I hope so.” Ford sniffed, returned safely from the brink of bawling like a baby. Just because he was perpetually youthful didn’t mean he was young anymore. He wiped his eyes as if resentful of the tears that had dared to leak out. He looked up at Sherlock again. “Don’t tell John what I said about Mary.”
“I won’t. Even if I remember you said it, I won’t tell.”
“Swear?”
“Swear.”
“You better be right. It had better be all right. Mummy doesn’t need two of us around and I don’t need your company.”
Sherlock came very close to smiling. “You don’t want your naff little brother around mucking things up.”
Ford grinned. “Too right.”
