Surface Thoughts || Charles & Sherlock

wizardxavier:

youreawizardsherlock:

All of the things Charles was saying were things that Sherlock had thought before. His early childhood had been absent those thoughts for the most part, but as soon as it became apparent just what Sherlock’s mind could do, the looks had started. Looks of disbelief and discontent, fear or mistrust, or - in the case of his family - disappointment. It would have destroyed him, but for a coping mechanism he’d developed. “Alone is what you have.” He said stonily, “It protects you, and you should wear it like armor. I’ve learned that it’s never going to go away, so you accept it and use it to your advantage.”

"I would never want to get rid of my ‘gift’ as you call it," Sherlock continued. He stared down into his cup and discovered he no longer had an urge to drink. Setting the cup aside he went on, "not forever. My mind is what makes me who I am, and I loathe to think I could ever live like one of the ignorant masses. But…" the walls that guarded Sherlock fell for a moment, not visible but somehow perceived all the same. "…sometimes it gets to be much. And I do shut it out. There are ways to turn off my racing thoughts, and I am sure there are ways to turn off the ones you hear. I could show you."

Charles ran a hand through his hair, “Alone is quite lonely” he added, quite a blatant comment but nobody liked to be alone, not really. Did they? Charles raised his head suddenly, “You have a way?” he asked, looking at sherlock, “A way of blocking it out for a moment?” he asked, he had tried so many times, as Sherlock said, Charles would never really want to get rid of his gift, it was what made him who he was, he would prefer to search for acceptance than loose what made him who he was. But he didn’t have enough control, he couldn’t block it out when he needed to. He had developed other aspects of what he could do easily, looking into peoples minds as an example was something he had worked on for years, he had got it almost done to a science now. He could look past what people where thinking at the current time, and look at other things they had thought, done, seen. Of course, he never really used this unless he had to, but it was a skill he had none the less. He could also map out an area, by using what other people saw, he could see to, never really came in handy but someday it might. And as of recent, he was working on projecting thoughts into others brains, he would be able to communicate purely through the mind, he was already quite good, it was hard to practise, people don’t appreciate it when you project your thoughts and voice into their mind.

But blocking people out, he had tried so many time. He was never really good at it, if he focused enough he could turn the voices down, so they where mere background noise, which he did often. But he could never fully get rid of them, he smiled, “Would you show me?” 

Charles looked so cheerful and excited at the prospect, and Sherlock couldn’t help but think him a bit naive. He knew pain, certainly, but had he ever even considered all the ways of making it stop? Perhaps some ways that prefects would disapprove of, but they were all imbeciles anyway. “There are potions,” Sherlock said nonchalantly, “Ones that can slow you down, or muffle it. They can make it quiet.” Sherlock had experienced the full range of options medical potions had to give him. He liked the ones that sped him up; they made his thoughts seem not so quick, not so unmanageable. Of course there were also the ones that calmed and muted things. They made the intensities go away, even if they also inspired lethargy. Sherlock wouldn’t consider himself a junkie, or anything so puerile as that. He knew just what he was doing, and how to handle it. In all his years this was the best solution Sherlock had found. Now, would Charles be interested? “I have some if you’d like to try.”

Meretricious and a Happy New Year | John and Sherlock

lostwithoutyourbadger:

youreawizardsherlock:

The prey was gone, but Sherlock knew where they were headed. This disguise was compromised; he’d need a new one. “Someone more like,” Sherlock muttered. He swiftly removed the false glasses and stowed them away. Then long fingers freed his hair from the restrictive style he’d adopted for the initial stalking. Curls sprung down around his face messily, and with a wave of his wand they turned from black to light brown.

"Give me your tie," Sherlock instructed the blonde boy who’d bumped into him. Hufflepuff, 16, plays quidditch and has at least one sibling. Either muggleborn or muggle raised by Sherlock’s estimation, but that was always so tricky to determine. Left handed, had toast with breakfast-

Cutting off the string of deductions before his mind could runaway from him, Sherlock pulled off his stolen tie and began untucking his shirt from his trousers. “Now would be convenient.”

"Oh, well sorry again.." John replied watching as the student transformed in front of him. So, was he only just posing as a Slytherin student to and following someone? John stood there confused and nearly missed the boy’s question. "Give you my what?" He looked down at his tie, shaking his head. This was John’s only good tie. All the other ones he owned were worn out and faded. He didn’t know this kid well enough to lend it to him. ”How is giving you my tie going to better this situation?”              

"It will make him think I’m a Hufflepuff," Sherlock replied, "Obviously.” Sherlock did a little dance of hopping onto his toes to see over the crowd. He didn’t need to peer too high up, but the crowd had filled in after his quarry. At a distance Sherlock could just see a blonde head disappear around a corner.

Time was running out. “For god’s sake,” Sherlock cursed before grabbing the Hufflepuff’s arm and taking off down a different hall. If he hurried he could meet his stalkee at a different junction of hallways, and along the way perhaps convince this other boy to be part of his disguise.

Surface Thoughts || Charles & Sherlock

wizardxavier:

youreawizardsherlock:

All of a sudden Sherlock didn’t feel so similar to Charles anymore. The other knew things, knew people’s secrets, but also was forced to live with their pain. Sherlock could deduce a person’s secrets with a look, but the emotional sea those secrets floated atop of was always so distant from him. The pain Sherlock felt in his mind was purely his own, where as Charles had to deal with everyone else’s.

And then again, all of a sudden, they were the same in his eyes once more. Sherlock gazed down into his cup at his own distorted reflection in the dark brown liquid. “Do you ever wish you could just make it stop for a little while?” he asked. There was softness in his voice, but Sherlock kept a firm grip on his emotions. Weakness wouldn’t be tolerated. “To be able to turn off the lights every now and again and sit in the dark?”

Charles gave kind of a sad smile, he was staring at the floor, “All the time” he replied, looking up, “I’ve tried so many times, to block it out. I try and try and try. I can honestly say I have gotten better at ignoring the pain, but it never goes away, not really. They are always there, whether I am listening to them or not, I can always hear them in my head, screaming like they want me to hear-” he stopped short. His voice had risen while he spoke, but now the silence settled around them. This was the first time Charles had said this to anybody. He never told anybody these things, of course he kept secrets. They where things he could do he never said, feelings he kept bottled inside, these things he had never told anybody before. But he had just told someone how he felt, he had just begun to let his secrets out, at least half of them.

 ”Do you?” he asked, “Wish you could stop? Stop being able to tell things about people on sight? Stop the whirring in your brain all the time?” He paused once more, trying to find the right words, “It’s like, being given a gift that you didn’t really want. Of course, others think its wonderful, and you pretend it is too. But these gifts, our gifts, are different. Because even when people say they think what we can do is wonderful, they are always scared underneath it all, even if they don’t admit it. They are always so scared. Because nobody really knows what you can do. And because of that, you are alone. And at first, when you realize you’re alone, it doesn’t seem too awful. It never really effects anything. But as you grow up, as you learn you wont ever be accepted, that this is who you are and you can’t change it, or shut it off, or even ignore it. It’s the worst feeling in the world.”

All of the things Charles was saying were things that Sherlock had thought before. His early childhood had been absent those thoughts for the most part, but as soon as it became apparent just what Sherlock’s mind could do, the looks had started. Looks of disbelief and discontent, fear or mistrust, or - in the case of his family - disappointment. It would have destroyed him, but for a coping mechanism he’d developed. “Alone is what you have.” He said stonily, “It protects you, and you should wear it like armor. I’ve learned that it’s never going to go away, so you accept it and use it to your advantage.”

"I would never want to get rid of my ‘gift’ as you call it," Sherlock continued. He stared down into his cup and discovered he no longer had an urge to drink. Setting the cup aside he went on, "not forever. My mind is what makes me who I am, and I loathe to think I could ever live like one of the ignorant masses. But…" the walls that guarded Sherlock fell for a moment, not visible but somehow perceived all the same. "…sometimes it gets to be much. And I do shut it out. There are ways to turn off my racing thoughts, and I am sure there are ways to turn off the ones you hear. I could show you."

Drowned world // Sherlock and Eleven

marauderoftime:

youreawizardsherlock:

The second she fell, Sherlock knew it was too late. Eleven of course was ever the hero, and leaped off the boat. Sherlock was quick to follow, though as he vaulted over the side the boat crashed into the dock.

A distressed mermaid prince was wailing and frantically trying to pull himself out of the water, and Eleven was clutching at the seizing girl as her eyes rolled back into her head. She was bleeding from somewhere, Sherlock couldn’t quite see, bit it would be the potion that killed her if they didn’t act quickly. Neither of them had antidote on their person, it had all happened too quickly. There was only one thing Sherlock could think of to try.

"Move!" he shouted, shoving Eleven aside and taking the young princess in his arms. She was shaking, almost bucking his grip, but Sherlock turned her onto her side. Long fingers pushed into her mouth, pressing the back of her throat while she struggled to breathe. Sherlock pulled his hand free just as Princess Gaiana retched over the side of the dock.

Eleven watched, eyes wide, as the Ravenclaw shoved his fingers down the Princess’s throat, knowing instantly that Sherlock had been thinking faster and more clearly than he in the instant she had hit to dock. Almost instantly, the Princess doubled over and retched into the water that was slapping up against the wood of the docks and the boat. She coughed, violently, coming back up and gasping as if she couldn’t quite breathe, before doubling over a second time and retching again into the water.

The Mermaid Prince didn’t seem to notice at all, and simply hung from the dock, arms tensed as he tried to keep his upper half up out of the water. His eyes were as wide as Eleven’s as they both watch the Princess heave up whatever potion went into her system, and Eleven found himself holding his breath - hoping and praying to whomever looked over them that it would work. 

The Princess finally collapsed down against the dock, heaving and pale, but otherwise not seeming to be in any danger. The young woman shivered violently as she laid there, her eyes closed, as the Mermaid Prince reached up and gently stroked her hair, fear etched into ever single one of his features. He seemed hesitant, as if touching her at would break her, but the Princess opened her eyes and managed a weak smile for him.

Letting out his breath, Eleven slumped as he let himself relax. “Sherlock….do you think that worked?” With how quickly they had gotten to her after imbibing the potion, Eleven was sure that most of it was out of her system, but even the smallest bit could have done damage. They should really get her back to someone who would know how to help her more, but he wasn’t sure that the Prince was going to let go of her, now that it was apparent that he wasn’t going to lose her to death.

She wasn’t dead, that was a start. Gaiana was breathing evenly - if with some trouble - and not seizing any longer. Sherlock wiped his fingers on the wet wood of the dock and started to pull off his robe. “For now,” he replied. The prince was doing nothing much of use, other than touching her hair and being frightened. Eleven seemed content to do his own deep breathing, though neither of those responses were helpful. “She’s still bleeding and quite possibly still going to die. And even if the poison doesn’t kill her, she’ll no doubt be incredibly sick. We have to get her dry and warm and to a doctor.”

His robe was mostly dry, and he wrapped it around the shivering girl on the dock before kneeling. “You aren’t helping,” he said bluntly at the mermaid half emerged from the water. The Ravenclaw looked at Eleven and raised a brow. “Are you going to help me lift her? Or are you going to reveal that you have medical training?”

Surface Thoughts || Charles & Sherlock

wizardxavier:

youreawizardsherlock:

"And you?" Sherlock inquired. He knew full well that some people just wanted to be caught out in all their little secrets. The pressure was too great for them and they just couldn’t keep their mouths shut. "Did you want your secret to be found out?" Whether Charles wanted it to be or not, the secret was out now to Sherlock. However it was suddenly eating him up to know whether it was purely his observational skill, or by some unconscious desire in the other boy that had made him sloppy. "You must have felt guilty, overhearing all those private thoughts that were never meant to be heard."

Charles laughed, he finished his tea with a final sip and set it down on the counter. “I have more  guilt than you can imagine from the things I have heard” he responded, “but I would prefer my gift to stay hidden, if you don’t mind.”  He paused for a second and looked down at his feet, “It’s terrible, you know, people don’t want you knowing half the things they think about. They don’t want anybody knowing, after all who would want someone to know their darkest secrets? Some people have terrible things, things they keep hidden. I know them though, but I don’t want to, there is so much guilt overhearing peoples thoughts. Its like overhearing a private conversation, you know you shouldn’t be listening, but their voices just wont go away. And pain. There is so much pain, so much loss. I can hear it all. How people scream inside their minds, they have all lost and loved so much.”

All of a sudden Sherlock didn’t feel so similar to Charles anymore. The other knew things, knew people’s secrets, but also was forced to live with their pain. Sherlock could deduce a person’s secrets with a look, but the emotional sea those secrets floated atop of was always so distant from him. The pain Sherlock felt in his mind was purely his own, where as Charles had to deal with everyone else’s.

And then again, all of a sudden, they were the same in his eyes once more. Sherlock gazed down into his cup at his own distorted reflection in the dark brown liquid. “Do you ever wish you could just make it stop for a little while?” he asked. There was softness in his voice, but Sherlock kept a firm grip on his emotions. Weakness wouldn’t be tolerated. “To be able to turn off the lights every now and again and sit in the dark?”

Surface Thoughts || Charles & Sherlock

wizardxavier:

youreawizardsherlock:

The concept of guilt wasn’t foreign to Sherlock, but it was one of the few emotions he didn’t have to work hard to ignore. Guilt and shame were for people who were bothered by what others thought. When he was young, Sherlock had been shamed by his parents and his older brother. As the years went by, he learned that nothing came of the feeling. “Ugh,” the black-haired boy scrunched up his nose as if something was foul in his tea, “guilt. A useless feeling if you ask me. And too often what gives people away, I agree.” Sherlock took another sip and set his cup aside, “Guilt makes people stupid.”

Charles smiled, he was just about done his tea now but he still took another sip, “Guilt can bring out the worst in people” he replied, “People never seem to last long with guilt, they always blurt out whatever they are holding in eventually, perhaps we don’t want to be a secretive as we seem to be,” being able to read peoples minds meant that you knew a lot more about people than you probably wanted. And Charles happened to know quite a bit about some people, their guilty consciousness included, it was a general statement but from what Charles had experienced, secrets had a way of making themselves known.

"And you?" Sherlock inquired. He knew full well that some people just wanted to be caught out in all their little secrets. The pressure was too great for them and they just couldn’t keep their mouths shut. "Did you want your secret to be found out?" Whether Charles wanted it to be or not, the secret was out now to Sherlock. However it was suddenly eating him up to know whether it was purely his observational skill, or by some unconscious desire in the other boy that had made him sloppy. "You must have felt guilty, overhearing all those private thoughts that were never meant to be heard."

One Prefect Per Holmes Brother, Please. || Sherlock, Mycroft, and Greg

magic-is-an-advantage:

burgundy-lion:

Everything is great Mrs Holmes. Thank you.”  Greg said, clearing his throat as he calmed down. Sitting up in his seat, he moved his head to stare at Sherlock. “Maybe you should keep your rude opinions about your brother to yourself? Mycroft hasn’t said anything rude to you since we’ve gotten here and I think you show him that same respect.” He snapped, shrinking back down into his seat afterwards.

Mycroft had clenched his jaw as soon as Sherlock had insulted him and he would have snapped something at his brother, had it not been for Greg and his boyfriend’s obvious will to reply to the younger Holmes. What the Gryffindor said, however, made Mycroft’s eyes widen and his cheeks colour slightly pink as he coughed, nodding ever so slightly. “I do agree. Keep your naughty thoughts to yourself, Sherlock.” He uttered with a triumphant smirk since Mummy had not said anything against Greg. Leaning in to softly peck the boy’s cheek, however, he opened his mouth to whisper. 

"Let him, Gregory. It is utterly nice that you defend me but we do not want to shock Mummy." 

Unaffected, Sherlock simply rolled his eyes and slid down into the couch cushions. It was his house, why should he bother with polite decorum? It wasn’t like he was trying to impress anyone. “Oh yes, because you’re the expert and Mycroft and my relationship. Has he told you all the rosy stories from our childhood?” Sherlock’s tone was so obviously sarcastic he half suspected a canned laugh track to play. The Holmes brothers’ childhood was anything but ‘rosy’, as at least three people in the room were painfully aware. Sherlock turned to his mother, “Mummy, can I be excused? I’ve lost my thirst for tea.”

Surface Thoughts || Charles & Sherlock

wizardxavier:

youreawizardsherlock:

Sherlock couldn’t speak of other people’s secrets just by looking at Charles. He wasn’t involved in them, he simply knew. There was no way of telling what a person knew about a stranger without having both parties present to be observed. “It’s remarkably easy to keep a secret, I don’t know why people have so much trouble doing it.” Sherlock’s tea - while still quite hot - had cooled to the point of him being able to drink it. Before he simply forgot about the cup, Sherlock took a sip. “For instance, my brother still thinks I’ve quit smoking. It’s been months now, he’s getting slow.” Mycroft also had no idea what else Sherlock got up to, but he didn’t think much on that least Charles hear.

Charles smiled, “Keeping secrets is never to hard I suppose, unless you felt guilty about it” he responded, why did people fail to keep secrets after all? The only reasons that Charles could think of where if you didn’t really want to keep it in the first place, or if you felt guilty about it. “People can be quite good at hiding secrets, but terrible at hiding a guilty conscience”. He took another sip of his tea, the perfect temperature for him finally. 

The concept of guilt wasn’t foreign to Sherlock, but it was one of the few emotions he didn’t have to work hard to ignore. Guilt and shame were for people who were bothered by what others thought. When he was young, Sherlock had been shamed by his parents and his older brother. As the years went by, he learned that nothing came of the feeling. “Ugh,” the black-haired boy scrunched up his nose as if something was foul in his tea, “guilt. A useless feeling if you ask me. And too often what gives people away, I agree.” Sherlock took another sip and set his cup aside, “Guilt makes people stupid.”

Meretricious and a Happy New Year | John and Sherlock

lostwithoutyourbadger:

youreawizardsherlock:

When he was younger Sherlock dressed as a pirate and chased pretend enemies around the ocean he imagined up in his back garden. Now, no longer a boy, Sherlock dressed up as more mundane things. Namely, other students.

Hair slicked back, reading glasses donned, Slytherin tie in place, Sherlock pretended to be absorbed in a textbook as he shadowed an older student. He was certain the other was involved in a complex web of illicit events and dealings, including the recent bombings on the quidditch pitch. All he needed was some sign, some clue-

A body bumped forcefully into Sherlock’s, knocking his book to the ground with a loud thump. The student Sherlock had been following turned to look, and the Ravenclaw quickly ducked his head and reclaimed the text on the floor. When he dared look up again, his mark was gone. “You idiot,” Sherlock snapped at the boy who’d run into him, “you’ve ruined everything!” Sherlock stood on his toes to peer over the crowd, trying to find some sign of the one he’d been following.

John shook his still damp hands dry as walked out of the restroom. Classes were over for the day and he was looking forward to just relaxing. As he walked down the hall, John rolled down the sleeves of his jumper, not paying any attention to what was going on around him. Not even seconds later, he bumped into another student. John stumbled back, barely catching himself from falling. He gave a small smile of relief before turning toward the student. He opened his mouth to apologize when the student, Slytherin from the looks of his tie, went off on him.

"Whoa, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bump into you." John spoke, giving an apologetic smile. He watched as the Slytherin seemed to be looking for something or someone. Perhaps it was the thing he so called ‘ruined’. "You lose something?"

The prey was gone, but Sherlock knew where they were headed. This disguise was compromised; he’d need a new one. “Someone more like,” Sherlock muttered. He swiftly removed the false glasses and stowed them away. Then long fingers freed his hair from the restrictive style he’d adopted for the initial stalking. Curls sprung down around his face messily, and with a wave of his wand they turned from black to light brown.

"Give me your tie," Sherlock instructed the blonde boy who’d bumped into him. Hufflepuff, 16, plays quidditch and has at least one sibling. Either muggleborn or muggle raised by Sherlock’s estimation, but that was always so tricky to determine. Left handed, had toast with breakfast-

Cutting off the string of deductions before his mind could runaway from him, Sherlock pulled off his stolen tie and began untucking his shirt from his trousers. “Now would be convenient.”

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