Title: Break the Silence and Tell
Prologue
Pairing: Eventual Sherlock/John and Mycroft/John
Rating: NC16
Genre: AU, Drama, Angst, Fantasy
Warning: Eventual emotional abuse
Word Count: 643
Summary: John, ex-magical researcher thought he had left it all behind when he was rendered a mute by an experiment, but a letter from a man named Sherlock Holmes changes all of that. An impossible potion, an equally impossible man, and the man who rules Related Londons - what else could be next?
A/N: My first foray into the BBC Sherlock fandom with a multi-chapter fic, which is pretty rare for me. I've drawn from several influences for the creation of my AU, as well. This story was titled 'That Sherlock Story' when I was still writing it, but that's a bit too cruel to people who read it. Expect sporadic updates and bad grammar. I also have a bad Holmes' voice in words. Many thanks to my beta, ice_evaesco.
He could feel the magic in the air, humming, strung tightly, like the strings of a violin, simply waiting for a musician's bow, waiting to be given shape and form, and him the conductor of it all, the different notes and tunes. He wavedhis left arm in a wide circle to the left, commanding words leaving his lips swept up away into the wind. The nature of the magic changed,, no longer still, wilder now, moving on its own accord. He could feel the building pressure, insistent, urgent, spinning faster and faster, a whirlwind of threads and words and raw magic, raging around madly with him in the center of it all. Another word, another gesture, and it was pulling at his reins. He had to be careful now, but he couldn't find it in himself to care, to give a rat's arse, orchestrating this chaotic creation, he was what is important, what gave life to this.
It was like standing on the edge of a cliff, and looking down, with your arm spread wide to either side, the wind buffeting his form. Words were shouted, screamed, lost to the wind, and he thought he heard himself laugh, maybe, and then all of a sudden he was up there, tethering on the edge, for a minute unaffected by the earth's gravity, so still, so very still before the fall, and trembles, the magic spilling over and crashing down. He made a sharp gesture upwards and sideways, and formed patterns and drew shapes with his hands, words spilling out shotgun one after another in syllabuses and sounds and his pulse quickens as the surrounding structures glowed and shivered and it's working, and-
He felt the exact second when it ripped itself violently out of his control, out of his hands, a beast unleashed and full of unbridled fury as the roar is too loud too near too close and he knew he was in danger but he couldn't move - there was nowhere to run to and he screamed, word after sentences after riddles and tried to reign it back in. Desperation lent power to his words and his sharp gestures but nothing worked, not this time, and only for a second, he saw Death with his eyes in a split second still, maws wide with teeth needle sharp, raging for his blood, something so beautiful and yet so terrifying and it hit him, surging deep into him - back to its creator, tearing and rending and god and so much blood and he couldn't scream, couldn't breathe couldn't see couldn't think and the world dissolves into pain and a haze of red, blood in the back of his throat, veins set on fire and his head bursting and this was dying and he couldn't think of a goodbye-
He woke up later, much later, when the skies were dark, the space so still, and so quiet. He tried to move, his body singing and thrumming with pain, and tried to see. He was still whole - no missing limbs and appendages, and he could still see, still hear, still remember, and he waved a hand in front of his face. He was alive, he was alive, while part of the building beside him had a large crack on its surface and he supposed someone heard his prayers or that he was lucky. Aware that he needed medical attention, he tried to sit up, but it was ten minutes before he could, and his lips moved soundlessly. He swallowed dryly, tasting blood and ash and dirt in his mouth, and tried again, tried to clear his throat, speak, anything. His throat worked, his lips, his mouth, but - nothing.
When a week later and he was still unable to produce any other sound, he quietly resigned himself to being a mute for life.