The Freight Train and the Wall
Sometimes John holds Sherlock down.
You might think it's a small man struggling for dominance.
You might think it's a big man craving submission.
What you think is wrong.
Because here's the thing: The problem with being strong is that it makes you disinclined to ask for help. Put down burdens. Take a damn breath.
Sherlock's been strong in body and mind for a long time. Before others asked the world of him, he asked it of himself, only his standards were higher, his demands fiercer, his tolerance of failure non-existent.
Before Sherlock learned how to defame a lying witness, a suspect, the idiot who took his cab, he perfected the fine art of savaging himself every time he missed a clue, misunderstood a joke, or simply thought too slowly.
Brain and body a freight train forever gathering speed, Sherlock never stopped, did not stop, could not stop…
And then he met a wall.
Know this: Sherlock didn't know he wanted to stop, hadn't a clue. Then one day John held him down and instead of struggling, Sherlock went motionless, keened, almost cried.
Because where Sherlock is all relentless speed, John is still. He's silent, slow and, most importantly, now that he has a reason, a person, a purpose, John's at peace.
And so when John presses his sweetheart into the sheets with the wall of his weight and will and love and every single atom of god damn peace he has in him, well something amazing happens, something sweet.
Sherlock's body arches into the contact, his eyes close, and after one second, two…he stutters himself still.
Sherlock stops.
Body.
Soul.
Brain.
Until it's just his heart gathering speed.
Detectivelyd's beautiful "To the Sheets" artwork inspired this. Every time I look at it I see relief on Sherlock's face, I see peace. (Find it here: tinyrul dot com /detectivelyd)