Requested Ficlet: "Three's A Crowd"
Mar. 1st, 2013 09:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nevannaFandoms: Sherlock and X-Men movieverse
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, and I do not profit from their use.
Summary: There’s “unusual,” and then there’s “science fiction,” and, until today, John would have placed “telepathic mutants who have hacked into my brain while we investigate the murder of another mutant” firmly in the latter category.
Words: c. 925
Written for:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
hanasaseru, who asked for (as one option) Charles Xavier and John Watson.
Notes: Elle was my first reader and made sure that this piece made at least some amount of coherent sense, which I greatly appreciate.
Three's A Crowd
John Watson had expected (and, if he’s being completely honest with himself, hoped) to find himself in some unusual situations through his association with Sherlock Holmes. Still, there’s “unusual,” and then there’s “science fiction,” and, until today, he would have placed “telepathic mutants who have hacked into my brain while we investigate the murder of another mutant” firmly in the latter category.
If you wanted Sherlock’s help, why aren’t you talking to him? he thinks, knowing that Charles Xavier will hear him.
He was highly uncooperative, comes the reply.
John laughs out loud at this. If there’s any man on the planet more stubborn than my flatmate, I’m not sure I want to meet him.
No. The voice in his head is wry, touched with grim amusement. I’m rather certain that you don’t.
“Talking with our new consultant?” Sherlock hasn’t looked up from his microscope.
“That’s right.” John can only imagine what he looks like from the outside, but then again, he doesn’t have to. He has tended to wounded soldiers in fits of delirium, chattering and shouting and, yes, sometimes laughing, at people who weren’t there. He supposes that he’s lucky, in a way: he still knows where and who he is. He isn’t sliding into madness - yet.
I know that you’re not particularly thrilled with these circumstances yourself, Xavier says. But you gave your permission. He refused to grant me an inch of access, and I did not want to risk damaging that extraordinary mind of his.
John isn’t sure he wants to think too hard about the implications of this, and so he’s almost glad when Sherlock speaks up. “Tell him that I’ve discovered something rather interesting, and that I’d like… er… both of you to come and have a look.”
John hasn’t even crossed the room when Xavier says, If you would allow me to speak through you, it would make things easier for all of us.
You’re serious, aren’t you? Following orders in the army was one thing; allowing someone else to run his body like a car is quite another.
It’s a serious situation, Xavier reminds him.
Not arguing with that. It’s just… It’s just that suddenly he’s thinking of the smell of chlorine and the weight all down his front and the sound of an oily voice in his ear, telling him not to move, telling him what to say. After all he’s seen, there’s no reason why that should bother him. No reason, other than the fact that his mental passenger can probably sense the panic that he is absolutely not feeling, thank you.
“I’m waiting,” Sherlock drawls. He has an astonishing ability to talk as if he’s clenching his teeth even when he’s not. Perhaps that’s his mutant power?
I want bring a killer to justice, Xavier is saying. Mr. Holmes, unless I’m much mistaken, is interested in the puzzle, and in the mutant phenomenon in general. You’re involved because… well, I think we both know.
John does know. He wants to do the right thing, and at the same time, he also wants to help Sherlock. Bloody hell, it’s always because he wants to help Sherlock. He dislikes the idea of giving up control, but Sherlock would indeed fight tooth and nail against it until something in his brain exploded. What do I have to do?
Xavier’s mental voice is calm and reassuring. It’s a tone that John has employed himself, many times. Just relax, Dr. Watson. You will be aware, and you will be safe.
John, now a passenger himself, feels an uncomfortable disorientation as his feet move (but he didn’t tell them to move) closer to the microscope, as his voice says (but he didn’t tell it to say), “Mr. Holmes, this is Professor Xavier. Your friend has allowed me to… participate more fully in this venture.”
Sherlock’s head comes up suddenly. “He allowed you, did he?”
“Indeed. Would you like to ask him?”
Sherlock makes eye contact, which turns into a scowl. “We’d be wasting time. Afterward. And I’ll hold you to that. For now, have a look at this blood sample.”
As uncannily polite as Xavier has been about all of this, John doesn’t let his guard down fully. He has a foolish notion (or, perhaps, not so foolish; he doesn’t know the rules, does he?) that if he doesn’t stay alert, he’ll… fade away. Sink. Drown.
He tries to pay attention as his own voice strings together words in the language of genetics that he’s never used in his own studies, and other words altogether that he’s never even heard of. And unless he’s much mistaken, unless his senses are becoming warped, Sherlock is responding with increasing enthusiasm, eager to share his theories and hungry for new knowledge about this new race of humans.
John didn’t know what to expect when he allowed a telepath to hack into his brain, but he was fairly certain that thoughts such as What if Sherlock prefers him to me? – which he will never say aloud – never even occurred to him. He knows that this really shouldn’t be his priority right now, but the thought persists.
That is up to him, Xavier says as he uses John’s hand to adjust a dial on the microscope, and his other hand to reach for a test tube. But I doubt it. You’ve trusted me this far, Dr. Watson. Please also trust – and John could swear that the voice in his head has taken on a wistful note – that I know a true friend when I see one.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, and I do not profit from their use.
Summary: There’s “unusual,” and then there’s “science fiction,” and, until today, John would have placed “telepathic mutants who have hacked into my brain while we investigate the murder of another mutant” firmly in the latter category.
Words: c. 925
Written for:
hanasaseru, who asked for (as one option) Charles Xavier and John Watson.Notes: Elle was my first reader and made sure that this piece made at least some amount of coherent sense, which I greatly appreciate.
Three's A Crowd
John Watson had expected (and, if he’s being completely honest with himself, hoped) to find himself in some unusual situations through his association with Sherlock Holmes. Still, there’s “unusual,” and then there’s “science fiction,” and, until today, he would have placed “telepathic mutants who have hacked into my brain while we investigate the murder of another mutant” firmly in the latter category.
If you wanted Sherlock’s help, why aren’t you talking to him? he thinks, knowing that Charles Xavier will hear him.
He was highly uncooperative, comes the reply.
John laughs out loud at this. If there’s any man on the planet more stubborn than my flatmate, I’m not sure I want to meet him.
No. The voice in his head is wry, touched with grim amusement. I’m rather certain that you don’t.
“Talking with our new consultant?” Sherlock hasn’t looked up from his microscope.
“That’s right.” John can only imagine what he looks like from the outside, but then again, he doesn’t have to. He has tended to wounded soldiers in fits of delirium, chattering and shouting and, yes, sometimes laughing, at people who weren’t there. He supposes that he’s lucky, in a way: he still knows where and who he is. He isn’t sliding into madness - yet.
I know that you’re not particularly thrilled with these circumstances yourself, Xavier says. But you gave your permission. He refused to grant me an inch of access, and I did not want to risk damaging that extraordinary mind of his.
John isn’t sure he wants to think too hard about the implications of this, and so he’s almost glad when Sherlock speaks up. “Tell him that I’ve discovered something rather interesting, and that I’d like… er… both of you to come and have a look.”
John hasn’t even crossed the room when Xavier says, If you would allow me to speak through you, it would make things easier for all of us.
You’re serious, aren’t you? Following orders in the army was one thing; allowing someone else to run his body like a car is quite another.
It’s a serious situation, Xavier reminds him.
Not arguing with that. It’s just… It’s just that suddenly he’s thinking of the smell of chlorine and the weight all down his front and the sound of an oily voice in his ear, telling him not to move, telling him what to say. After all he’s seen, there’s no reason why that should bother him. No reason, other than the fact that his mental passenger can probably sense the panic that he is absolutely not feeling, thank you.
“I’m waiting,” Sherlock drawls. He has an astonishing ability to talk as if he’s clenching his teeth even when he’s not. Perhaps that’s his mutant power?
I want bring a killer to justice, Xavier is saying. Mr. Holmes, unless I’m much mistaken, is interested in the puzzle, and in the mutant phenomenon in general. You’re involved because… well, I think we both know.
John does know. He wants to do the right thing, and at the same time, he also wants to help Sherlock. Bloody hell, it’s always because he wants to help Sherlock. He dislikes the idea of giving up control, but Sherlock would indeed fight tooth and nail against it until something in his brain exploded. What do I have to do?
Xavier’s mental voice is calm and reassuring. It’s a tone that John has employed himself, many times. Just relax, Dr. Watson. You will be aware, and you will be safe.
John, now a passenger himself, feels an uncomfortable disorientation as his feet move (but he didn’t tell them to move) closer to the microscope, as his voice says (but he didn’t tell it to say), “Mr. Holmes, this is Professor Xavier. Your friend has allowed me to… participate more fully in this venture.”
Sherlock’s head comes up suddenly. “He allowed you, did he?”
“Indeed. Would you like to ask him?”
Sherlock makes eye contact, which turns into a scowl. “We’d be wasting time. Afterward. And I’ll hold you to that. For now, have a look at this blood sample.”
As uncannily polite as Xavier has been about all of this, John doesn’t let his guard down fully. He has a foolish notion (or, perhaps, not so foolish; he doesn’t know the rules, does he?) that if he doesn’t stay alert, he’ll… fade away. Sink. Drown.
He tries to pay attention as his own voice strings together words in the language of genetics that he’s never used in his own studies, and other words altogether that he’s never even heard of. And unless he’s much mistaken, unless his senses are becoming warped, Sherlock is responding with increasing enthusiasm, eager to share his theories and hungry for new knowledge about this new race of humans.
John didn’t know what to expect when he allowed a telepath to hack into his brain, but he was fairly certain that thoughts such as What if Sherlock prefers him to me? – which he will never say aloud – never even occurred to him. He knows that this really shouldn’t be his priority right now, but the thought persists.
That is up to him, Xavier says as he uses John’s hand to adjust a dial on the microscope, and his other hand to reach for a test tube. But I doubt it. You’ve trusted me this far, Dr. Watson. Please also trust – and John could swear that the voice in his head has taken on a wistful note – that I know a true friend when I see one.
