kunju (innie_darling) wrote in sherlock_remix,

for jenny_starseed: "Three Scenes (try to see things my way)"

Original Author: jenny_starseed
Original Story Title: Three Scenes of Reconciliation
Original Story Link: http://jenny-starseed.livejournal.com/5184.html
Original Story Pairings: None
Original Story Rating: PG
Original Story Warnings: Eating Disorders.
Remix Story Title: Three Scenes (try to see things my way)
Remix Author: martinius
Remix Beta: cefyr
Remix Britpicker: N/A
Remix Story Pairings: None
Remix Story Rating: PG
Remix Story Warnings: Eating Disorders.

"Three Scenes (try to see things my way)"


It’s not like he planned it like this. In fact, he’d planned to go on as he was forever, which, in hindsight, seems stupid. He doesn’t need Sherlock’s knowledge of chemistry to realise that a body can’t go when the only things given to it are “diet pills” and caffeine. And a cigarette, from time to time.

It’s not about looks, not really. He doesn’t want to be thin to fit the double standards, not in that way. He needs to look the part to be able to play the part, and never eating much when dining out with various diplomats and the like is part of that. Always denying himself, it has become second nature. Always being the one in control of himself, because that indicated control of his environment.

But he doesn’t have control. Here, in this hospital bed, he’s the perfect picture of someone who has lost control. He just hopes that he’ll be able to get out of here and erase the evidence of this hospital stay before someone finds out about it. Someone important.

Sherlock had been to see him. Just once, and even that one time was something of a miracle. Of course, Sherlock had the emotional maturity of a teaspoon, even if he wasn’t a sociopath. There was something not quite right about him, not that Mycroft really had a leg to stand on when it came to that.

“You’re not an inflated penguin, Mycroft.”

Mycroft smiles to himself. It’s a good thing he’s used to Sherlock’s ways of speaking, otherwise he might have taken offense at that.


Being a parent means having to worry, it’s natural, or so all her friends tell her. You always worry about your children, their families, their happiness, and so on.

She sometimes thinks that her friends should be happy they don’t have more to worry about.

She used to go to a group held nearby for families of drug addicts when Sherlock was using. Despite having almost nothing in common with most of those people, apart from that, she felt as if they understood her better than any of her friends did. She could talk about her worry over Sherlock and the fact that it wasn’t just “normal” parental worry, that Sherlock could overdose any day (even if he claimed he had everything under control, the boy was not as smart as he thought he was), because they all had sons and daughters, brothers, sisters, fathers or mothers with the same kind of problem.

She wishes there were a support group for this.

Anonymous parents of children who have almost been killed by assassins, it would be called, though it’s not very catchy. Mycroft would never admit it, of course, he tries to protect her, but she’s not blind, and she has her own sources of information.

But there isn’t a support group, no one she can talk to, because the boys won’t talk to her, not about things that might worry her, and their father is dead. So she just has her friends, and she lies to them about this, because how could she ever tell the truth? They wouldn’t understand.


When Sherlock has left for Mycroft’s birthday dinner John Watson goes out and buys himself a bottle of vodka, in case of emergencies. He absolutely will not be responsible for his actions if he has to listen to Sherlock rant about his brother and how he’s been tricked into going, and be sober at the same time.
Strangely, Sherlock doesn’t seem very agitated when he’s leaving, but John chalks that up to the fact that things had been going better between them. Still, a whole dinner. They can barely manage to be civil to one another for five minutes, he’s sure the dinner will escalate into utter chaos.

When Sherlock gets home, much later than John has expected, he goes through the living room without stopping and then calls from the kitchen:

“You can put the vodka away, John, I’m going to bed now.”

John slowly gets up from the chair he has been sitting in, looks at the bottle he’s placed next to him, puts it away in one of the cupboards and goes to bed himself, smiling slightly.

Remember to leave feedback for both authors!
Tags: challenge: round two, fanwork: fic, jenny_starseed, martinius, pairing: none (gen), rated: pg, verse: bbc, warnings apply

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