The title for this fic was inspired by my favorite Elsanna fic "R9K ElsaisSuffering" and the idea of voice actors was inspired by mad_lori's "Performance in a Leading Role". I used my knowledge of musical instruments (which is extreme since I play about seven of them) to create an environment from Sherlock's perspective as he effectively falls for John Watson.
For those worried about the rape/noncon tag: there's mild dubcon involved in the fic, but nothing goes further than a few kisses. I put the tag on their because I wanted to make sure every thing is covered on base, even if nothing serious happens. There is for sure an aftermath of the event.
Sherlock sat perched on his custom carved, rich, dark mahogany piano bench staring at the empty lines on a page he prefers to call scales. He'd been sitting and staring, hoping to find some form of inspiration for the love song he'd have to finish by the due date of Friday. It's Thursday.
This love song is the last one he has to write of a set of eight and seems to be causing the most problems creatively. Papers littered the carpet around the feet of the grand piano, rustling as Sherlock continued to shift his feet in impatience. Usually, the movie soundtracks he worked on were filmed and edited already, so he could filter in the emotions of the actors and pour it into the music. He had a knack for adding just the right touch to the musical score, which Disney studios had quickly picked up on and offered him a huge job for Disney's next animated film: Ancient. It's been a different dynamic so far, working out the musical score and lyrics before animation's finished. Thankfully, his job still requires him to work on the soundtrack after editing, but so far writing the lyrics has proven to be quite the challenge.
Frankly, it's due to his lack of knowledge in the area. Sure, Sherlock knows well enough how to manipulate someone's emotions through music, how to make someone melt with a pull of the bow across violin strings, or how to make a character appear villainous or heroic with a simple melody on the piano, but writing lyrics to his own compositions that require at least some knowledge on the feeling, is way out of his depth. He'd been lucky he'd gotten where he is at all. The girl who lives next to him, Molly, had been kind enough to explain to him what it felt like to be in love, although she'd huffed and left quickly when he mentioned anything having to do with her husband, Lestrade, Detective Inspector for the metro.
A scowl formed on Sherlock's lips as he raked his brain once more for inspiration, any inspiration, and drew a blank. With a growl, he slammed both hand down on the keys of the keyboard, resulting in a horrendous sound, and stood staring down at the empty scales. A swift plunk from closing the key cover ended his failed writing session. In a fit, Sherlock roughly picked up his violin from the stand and fumbled to rosin the bow before pulling a long E from the strings. The bow sailed over through notes of a song he'd composed some time ago for a woman he once knew; it was his way of giving her thanks for introducing him to a desperate manager who was in dire need of a sound engineer. The Woman, Irene, had given him a small smile when he handed the flash drive to her with the song on it. That was the last time he'd ever considered someone else could have feelings for him and that he could possibly have feelings for someone else since his Uni days.
The bow pulled a sour note from the violin and Sherlock scowled as he was snapped out of his bought of nostalgia. He set the violin back down on his stand along with a slam of the door in frustration and attempted to calm himself down. Guests were coming. Well, at least a guest was coming over to his house in an hour. Everyone working on the production had been rodgering him for a 'sneak peak' of his work, which he declined each time with growing irritation. Tonight, however, was important. It was his prescheduled meet with the voice actors and actresses. Meeting the people bringing characters on screen to life was Sherlock's best bet at figuring whether or not their voice range would suit the song, or whether or not the song would suit the character. Typically, he scheduled these at least two weeks before his deadline, which allows him ample time to fix up anything or rewrite songs. This time, however, none of the voice actors had been cleared in their schedule to meet with him, until three managers had called him in the middle of a creative stupor to inform him that their client could meet on Thursday. That was last Friday.
They'd all agreed to meet at his home, since they'd blatantly disregarded the attachment on the email that read my deadline for recording is 2/7/2014, in regards to this set date, I would like to meet all voice actors two weeks prior. Sherlock scowled as he crossed his parlor room into the sitting room. He skimmed the shelves close to the telly and picked the movie he came across first that was produced by Disney. The screen lit up in swirls of light blue, white, magenta, and some subdued purple as the title screen of the movie flashed across the screen. A hymn of voices accompanied the intro, and Sherlock absent-mindedly joined in, humming each note and shuffling through the sheet music in the folder he'd prepared for today's gathering.
Two knocks at the door. Looks like the first client's arrived twenty minutes early. Sherlock let out a small sigh and plastered a fake smile on his face before making way for the front door and welcoming in his first guest. Standing on the other side of the door when he opened it was a man, on the short side, 5'7" at most, blonde hair flecked with silver. Sherlock stepped to the side and welcomed the man, John as he introduced himself, to his humble abode. John followed his lead around the tour of the main floor. Sherlock trailed into the sitting room expecting a blonde head tailing him, but was surprised to see he'd lost the other man somewhere in the house. He backpedaled; ready to reprimand the blonde man for not following him, when the first note of his most recent completed melody filled the air. Aspiring Queen (Reprise) swarmed his ears in a concoction of beautiful, evil, and heart wrenching, exactly as it was intended to. Sherlock followed the sound to the parlor room and found John sitting at his grand piano, eyes focused on the sheet music and swaying softly in time with the song, playing.
Two things skidded across his mind.
One, John Watson is nothing like the boring and dull voice actor I expected him to be. It's new and somewhat exciting. Two, what the hell makes him think it's okay to just play someone's grand piano without asking first? That takes courage, but I should really get him to stop.
His mind was telling him to yell at the blonde man for playing his second most prized possession, but his body wouldn't oblige the movement. In a fit of stubbornness, Sherlock's feet were adamant about remaining where they were. With a slight sigh of defeat, he leaned against the doorway to the entranced and watched. John's fingers were a bit stout, but moved gracefully across the black and white expanse before them. The melody Sherlock composed seemed to grow more beautiful as the song went on to a point that he wasn't sure if this was the song he'd wrote for Aztec princess Eztli about taking the throne by force from her sister. John added a little adlib at the end, seemingly the perfect touch to the once thought perfect melody. The blonde man sat, staring at the sheet music as he dropped his hands back into his lap.
Sherlock stalked silently towards him, bending down so their heads were at the same height. "That was brilliant." He whispered.
John flinched, startled and visibly shaken by Sherlock's closeness. No doubt his manager had told him about how hard he is to work with. Sherlock's plastered smile melted into a gentle, real smile and he took the pencil off the stand to add the final adlib that John had used on the song. "I didn't know you played." Sherlock said as he leaned up after finishing his haphazard scribble of notes on the sheet music. John shrugged. "You never asked."
An unrecognized feeling passed through Sherlock as he smiled at the blonde man before blurting, "Afghanistan or Iraq?" A weird combination of shame and confidence settled in his chest and he averted his eyes from John to stare at his violin instead. He felt movement come from beside him, but he didn't look at the mop of blonde hair beside him.
"How did you know? I haven't told anyone about…" John trailed off, seeing as Sherlock hadn't turned back to respond. Sherlock bit his lower lip, contemplating between telling the other man his deductions and face the consequences of losing someone so interesting, or ignoring the question and brushing him into the sitting room. "Sherlock?" John squeaked from beside him. "Are you okay?" He took in a deep breath before steeling his features and whirling around to face him. "I know you're an army doctor who's recently been invalided. The tan on your hands is the first clue, combined with the fact that your tan doesn't spread past the wrist, so uniform. Army. The way you held yourself when you entered the room said trained, and recalling how you mentioned Bart's hospital was different from your day under your breath when we passed through the hallway with the picture of myself there, says trained at Bart's, so army doctor. Your therapists thinks your limp is at least partly psychosomatic, quite correctly, I'm afraid, which says the injury was traumatic. Possibly a comrade's death, more likely a life-threatening situation with injury involved elsewhere. Watching you walk through the house, you unconsciously defend your left shoulder and make sure not to overuse it, even though you're clearly left handed. So, shoulder pain. Army doctor invalided home, psychosomatic limp, and a traumatic experience, leading to a gunshot wound. Where has there been heavy fighting and gun use? Afghanistan, or Iraq?" Sherlock finished off with a click of his tongue. He braced himself for the usual lashing and screaming that was about to come and fully expected John to just leave. The defense he'd built up against what the blonde haired man's response would be held up for as long as he could fake it, awaiting the blow to his chin.
But none came.
Sherlock opened his eyes, unaware he'd shut them so tightly and looked at the man sitting next to him. John was catatonic. No movement, hardly any breathing, no blinking. Did I break him?
John swallowed roughly and stared up at Sherlock, clearing his throat before replying. "That…was…amazing." Sherlock was taken aback. John was amazed. There wasn't even the slightest trace in his face to suggest he was mad. The blonde haired man was truly astonished at what he'd said. Confusion took over Sherlock's mind as he processed the three words just spoken. "Do you really think so?"
The confusion spread over John's features, mixing with the widespread awe. "Of course it was. It was absolutely amazing." Sherlock stared down unblinking at John until another knock at the front door shook him back from the depths of his mind palace. He left John without another word and approached the door, opening it to reveal a woman, maybe 5'5" at most, blonde hair, lavender shirt, standing on the other side. Her smile widened as Sherlock stepped to the side and closed the door behind her. "I'm Mary, one of the voice actresses-"
"Obviously." Sherlock remarked as he ushered into the sitting room. He was about to leave and fetch John, but Mary clasped a hand around Sherlock's wrist before he could leave. "Is John here yet? He told me he'd manage to find his way here on his own, but…I'm just worrying for no reason." She said.
Sherlock shook off her hand from his wrist as he made way to leave the room. "He's in the parlor room." He informed her with a flick of his hand in the direction. The third and final knock came from the front door and he was grateful for the excuse to leave. Mary seemed sweet so far, but his experience has always told him looks can be deceiving. He swung the door open quickly, glancing at the client for all but two seconds. She's tall, maybe 5'8", brown haired, purple sundress, and smiling oddly. "Hello, Sherl. It's good to finally meet you. I'm Janine." The woman said, sticking her hand out. Sherlock took her hand and gave it one firm shake with a scowl. He hadn't been called Sherl since he was a boy, and the name had never been used in good light. "Well, Janine, everyone's in the sitting room. With you here we can get started on the overview." Sherlock stated blandly.
He led Janine into the sitting room to find Mary sitting on John's lap and giggling. Something in his stomach twisted. It's not that he didn't like seeing Mary like that, but he didn't like seeing Mary like that. Janine sat down in the chair opposite the telly and placed her chin in her hand. Sherlock was focused on the sight of Mary and John, unaware he was letting his feelings show on his face. John noticed from the couch and instantly closed his mouth, worry taking over. "Are you all right, Sherlock? You're all red." John said, concern lacing each word. Sherlock relaxed his face and fought off his feelings of jealousy. There's one deduction he hadn't been expecting to make today. He nodded in response to John. The quicker he got this over with, the better. "I'm fine, thanks." Sherlock said as normally as he could manage. He really needed to get a hold of his emotions. Fifteen years of work almost destroyed because of this one man he'd met but today.
Regaining his composure, Sherlock inhaled and exhaled slowly before picking up the file of papers. "Here's the breakdown. This pile has Eztli's songs, this pile has Erendira's, and this pile has Zuma's." He explained handing the separate piles towards Mary, Janine, and John. "I have the original sheet music in the parlor room. I'll play your songs with a sample of how I feel it should be sung, and then you'll sing." Sherlock stated as he moved from the sitting room to the parlor room. "Janine, we're starting with you."
He sat down on the edge of his bench and moved Aspiring Queen (Reprise) out of the way, replacing it with Battlebourne. Sherlock let go of the feeling of the others in the room, focusing solely on the piece he was playing, and let the lyrics flow out of him.
In a far off place
There's a wide gold space
With a great warm welcome
That is waiting for me
Over hill
Where the soldiers lay
Is where my heart is saying
That's where I'm meant to be
I will fight my fate
I'm not a measly girl
I will prove my weight
I'm not to be ignored
I will find my way
To that perfect place
I would do most anything
To prove I'm battle born
I will train for war
I'll be the best there's been
I will show them wrong
If I can be strong
I know every step
Will be worth the trip
I would do most anything
To prove I'm battle born
I will rise in fire
From the ashes I revive
I will show my hand
I won't back down tonight
That princess is gone
A soldier in her place
I would do most anything
To prove I'm battle born
Slowly, he played the last few notes. Sherlock's eyes fluttered open as he gazed at the three people staring at him. Immediately, he shut out any emotion he had and became defensive. "What?"
Everyone in the room had teary eyes. Janine and Mary left the room with a few gasps, leaving John and Sherlock alone in the parlor. Sherlock frowned. "What? What's wrong? Did I do something wrong?" He panicked. John let out a small laugh and shook his head. "No, Sherlock. You did fine." He responded. Sherlock laced his eyebrows in confusion. "Then why did they leave? And why were they crying?"
John actually chuckled this time. It was a deep sound that seemed to roll off his tongue and emanated from his chest, which Sherlock reveled in. "They left because they wanted to dry their eyes without ruining their makeup." John sighed. "They cried, because…well…when they, when I, watched you sing, it was like you just shut the world out. You were so passionate in that moment. It was like watching a picture show of your emotions as they all cleared out and settled in a soothing calm, like watching a force of nature settle into a calm breeze."
Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "That's a very…romantic way of putting that."
He shot Sherlock a look filled mock venom. "Shut up." John laughed from his seat. Sherlock's lips pulled up into a genuine smile as he chuckled along with him.
His mind tried to find a place to store everything he'd picked up on John Watson since this afternoon and began categorizing all the information into subgroups for organization. John's made him laugh, something Sherlock hasn't done in over five years of clawing his way to the number one slot in sound engineering. He's made him feel. Really feel. Feel in ways he hasn't felt in ten years, since Victor. Feel in ways he thought he'd forgotten.
His smile stayed even after they were done laughing and Sherlock could feel the light in his eyes. No one had ever told him how good it'd feel to enjoy someone's company. Sherlock's eyes locked with the blue ones across from him and he felt the world blur around him. All those books he'd read about getting lost in someone's eyes had seemed so far fetched and 'love sick' that he'd never believed he of all people would actually do it. But there he was, staring into the eyes of someone else and losing touch with the world around him. How much luck will it take to play this off as platonic?
Mary returned first, breaking John out of the spell that had befallen the two. She laughed at the dazed faces before her. "You both look like you've just returned from another universe."
You could say that.
John smiled at Mary as she took a seat on his lap and threw her arms around her. Sherlock's smile receded a bit. He needs to pull himself together. Going 'love sick puppy' for John Watson would not do. Anna walked in next, holding extra tissue in hand as she took her seat. "I'm ready to do the run through of the song." She sniffled.
Sherlock nodded once in acknowledgement. He stretched his fingers getting them ready for their dance and let everything float from his mind as he played while Janine sang. Six hours of work, and everyone was prepped and ready for turn in the next day, except for that one love song that still eluded him. "It's been a long day, I'm turning in. Night guys." Janine waived as she left. Mary stood near the door with John. Sherlock could barely make out what they were saying from the hall, not that he was eavesdropping. "Are you going to make it home okay? It's awfully late." Mary whined. John chuckled, "I'll be just fine, Mary. Go get some rest." She gave the blonde man a small smile, and Sherlock could feel the heat of jealousy swell through his veins, practically bursting the back of his neck in red. John waved Mary off before closing the door and turning back towards Sherlock. His small smile had dropped when he noticed how red the taller man was. "Whoa, Sherlock, are you ok? You're all red." John said his words laced with concern.
Sherlock blinked twice at the smaller man. "I'm fine," he lied. John narrowed his eyes at him but didn't question further, instead choosing to sit in on the couch in the sitting room. When Sherlock made no movement to follow him, John motioned for him to come over. As if he couldn't tell John had wanted him to follow the first time. A bit reluctantly, Sherlock walked over and sank into the couch with one cushion separating them. A thick silence spread between the two. John pursed his lips before attempting to cute the tension.
"So, were those all the songs for the movie?"
"No."
"But isn't your turn in date for the songs tomorrow?"
Sherlock turned towards John, surprised that he'd remembered the date specified on the email, let alone even read for himself. "I was planning to write the last song after everyone left," he conceded. John smiled at the lanky man. "Maybe I can help." Sherlock watched him pick up one of the blank pieces of sheet music and snatched a pencil from the side table. "What type of song is left to write?" He queried.
"A love song."
John subtly flinched before writing the words 'love song' in the top left hand corner.
"Got a title?"
"I don't name my songs until after they're written."
John glanced at him. "Makes sense. You could say it's less…treble." Sherlock couldn't help a deep chuckle at the corny pun. Only John Watson. "That was an incredibly bad joke," he replied. John only laughed harder at Sherlock's response, making his face turn scarlet and resulted in his laughter becoming a hoarse, gasping noise. "It made you laugh, though." John retorted once he composed himself.
"Out of pity."
The laughter died down from the blonde man and looked at him. A comfortable silence fell between the two, and Sherlock indulged himself with little dances of his eyes over the brilliantly tanned expanse of John's skin. He'd lost his wits in the little lines near John's eyes, when a soft tap on his forearm returned him to reality.
Fuck. I did it again. Why do you have to be so enticing? Why can't you just be dull and ordinary like every other voice actor I've worked with? Why are you so interesting? Why you?
The shorter man was staring at Sherlock with a concern and confusion laced expression before murmuring a soft 'Sherlock?'
All right, don't fuck this up. You'll be lucky if he even stays for the rest for the rest of the night, let alone want to visit again. By god, don't fuck this up.
"Sorry, I was just…" He trailed off, leaving half of his sentence hanging for lack of a good answer. Just what? Just committing the lines around your eyes to memory? Drinking in the warmth of your freshly tanned skin? Losing touch with the rationality that I hold above everything else?
"It's…fine. It's all fine." John said. Thankfully, he dropped the subject of Sherlock's awkward dance with his diction and returned to the sheet he held in his hands. "So, this love song, who is it being sung by and what's it about?"
"It's…uh…" Stop being a total blubbering dick for once and pull yourself together. "It's for Erendira and Zuma. The premise of the song is somewhere along the lines of 'love at first meeting'. The regular Pixla nonsense." He managed.
John smiled. "I think the term's 'love at first sight', Sherlock."
Sherlock blinked at John, for the first time in a long time being lost at a loss for words. Say something, idiot.
"Right." He stuttered. With quick thinking, he cleared his throat and grabbed the pen on the table next to him. "I was thinking the first line would sound something like...Days on end, training under starlight/Days on end, living out a dream…" John nodded with approval. "I like it. It has a sincere feel to it. Go on."
Sherlock looked at John, panic concealed behind his eyes. "I don't know. That's all I've gotten so far." John processed his words. "Have you written anything about love before?" He queried.
"Love? No, not really my area." He lied. It's not a complete lie. At least there's enough truth to it that it won't raise any red flags.
The blonde man glanced at him before nodding. "I see. I guess I can, uh, walk you through it, or something. What makes you feel…loved, I guess?"
The way you looked at me after I sang for the first time today.
"I've only ever felt loved once, and it was years ago."
John's eyes went all soft and he smiled. "Describe what it felt like to me. Tell me what happened."
Fuck. Victor is not a wound I want to pick at. Pull yourself together and scrape something together. You've got tons of untouched poetry books on the shelves. Say something, you dumb fuck! You can't be a total fuck up 24/7.
"It was…uh…"
Think. Say something. Anything.
"It was…it was brilliant. I'd felt like I'd finally found someone who I could share my life with, and the way I was raised to think didn't matter anymore. He…Victor…made me feel like I could lose my mind tomorrow and I'd still be the happiest person." Sherlock admitted.
That was good. That should pass. John won't question that.
John's eyes widened, and Sherlock could see them gloss over with tears that threatened to spill. He shifted in his seat, awaiting a response from the shorter man. Seconds that felt like hours passed before he spoke. "Sherlock," John began, "that was beautiful. Utterly beautiful…Victor…he mad you so happy. What happened?"
What? Did he ask about Victor? The Victor Trevor? What happened? Beautiful? What?
Sherlock stared at John, refusing to blink.
Stupid, he's going to think he broke you! Just answer him. He wants to know. Maybe you can finally let him go.
He opened his mouth to speak, but John beat him to it. "Sorry, that was inappropriate of me to ask. You don't have to answer if you don't want to."
Fuck! Just tell him!
"No, it's…it's fine." Sherlock mustered. "I met Victor at Uni about ten years ago. He was…pure genius. I was attracted to his intellect and worked in his lab for a few months before we took our relationship up a notch from colleagues to friends. We started hanging out at his place. He told me, one day, that he couldn't stop thinking about me. I told him the same. In the span of sixth months we went from colleagues to friends to lovers. It made me feel…high, in a sense. He was smart and kind and all bronzed skin. It was amazing, but…"
A hand found its way to his shoulder. Sherlock glanced over and saw John watching him intently, a tear spilling down one cheek.
"There was this day, two years after our relationship, to be precise, that he seemed distant and depressed. We were laying in my dorm when he got up and got dressed. He walked over to me, kissed my nose, and said, 'Sherlock, I love you, you know that, but I can't stay with you if you don't love me.' I was so…confused. And scared. I looked at him and said 'I do love you.', but he only shook his head and said, 'You're a great man, Sherlock Holmes. You put a lot of dedication in to your work, and I can't compete with that type of love. You'll be going places some day. I'd always hoped I'd be there to see you reach the top.' It was the last time I ever saw him." Sherlock finished. He felt…better. It felt good, actually, to tell someone what he's been hiding for years.
Stop being so sappy. You're Sherlock fucking Holmes. Pull yourself together.
Suddenly, John's arms were around his. He was hugging him. Tightly.
"John." Sherlock wheezed. The grip around him loosened enough for him to breathe.
"Sorry."
What the fuck is that? Are you smiling? You fucking idiot! Why don't you just tell him he should let you suck his dick while you're at it?
"It's fine."
John released him with a pat on his back and picked up the paper again.
"So, the love song?"
The movie Sherl puts on is "Frozen" because I have an unhealthy addiction :)