“Each has his past shut in him like the leaves of a book known to him by heart and his friends can only read the title.”
- V i r g i n i a W o o l f
Sir Ian McKellen || Benedict Cumberbatch
#elderlock
It took Hamish about three seconds to realize there was something different about his room.
Namely, the mysterious man who was sitting silently in his bedroom desk chair, gazing out the window at the starless night sky.
“I like your room.” He offered in way of a greeting. His voice was eerily soft. He was clad in a simple white t-shirt and dark black jeans. He had no weapon that Hamish could see, and wasn’t behaving in a hostile manner. The stranger did, however, look as if he’d been through the ringer a few times.
He seemed tired, sedate even, with dark circles hovering beneath his unusually large eyes.
“…Who are you?” Hamish asked blearily, rubbing his eyes with his small fist.
The child didn’t sit upright, or feel too nervous at the moment. After all, his father was a renown consulting detective and his dad was an ex-army captain and doctor. And they were both downstairs. If there was one place Hamish felt completely safe: it was 221b Baker Street.
He simply assumed that his parents knew this man was here.
“I’m a friend of your father’s.” The intruder confirmed lightly, turning his attention back toward Hamish.
The young Holmes frowned. That didn’t sound quite right to Hamish. He was still rather tied, however; a quick glance at the clock showed it was nearly midnight.
“Father says he doesn’t have friends.” Hamish yawned.
The barest hint of a smile touched the corner of the stranger’s lips. “Such a clever boy…” He whispered, almost as if he were speaking to himself.
Shifting his right foot a bit, the stranger began to lightly swivel the desk chair he occupied in a childish manner. “I came to surprise your father. Leave him a little message. At least… initially…”
He stopped twirling back and forth for a good four seconds, and just stared at Hamish, “But you can imagine my surprise when I came into his old room to find… you… instead.” He grinned.
Hamish’s stomach began to churn with nervous butterflies, and he had no idea as to why. He had no basis; this man hadn’t harmed him, or indicated he was violent, or upset, or confrontational. And yet… the nervous, internal butterflies continued to flutter.
‘He looks like a Cheshire Cat…’ Hamish thought to himself, tilting his head.
The stranger mimicked the move. “I love that book too.” He smiled.
Hamish winced. Another person might have felt a little unsettled with the knowledge that someone could ‘read their mind’ so easily. Hamish, however, was used to Sherlock doing it constantly… so he presumed he was just ‘easy to read’. A pout crossed his features; he needed to work on that.
The gentlemen smiled softly when Hamish couldn’t contain another yawn.
“Yes, I guess it is rather late.” The older sighed, standing up from the chair.
He moved over toward Hamish, and plopped himself down on the edge of the bed,”The itsy-bitsy spider went up the water spout… down came the rain and wasssssshed the spider out,” He began to hum; eyes trailing over Hamish’s form with a gentle appreciation. “Out came the sun and dried up all the rain… so the itsy-bitsy spider went up… the spout… again…”
Hamish gave him a tired glare, “I’m too old for nursery rhymes.” He protested weakly.“It’s more of a riddle.” The man perked up. “Do you like riddles?”
Hamish shrugged.
“You should learn to. Riddles have a hundred uses. And lots of layers to be extracted from their words. They’re conversation for the clever.” He beamed. “Maybe I’ll start sending you some. It’ll be like a game. You can start learning to do what your father does… but it’ll just be between us and y-“The gentlemen cut himself off; eyes darting toward the door quickly, as if he’d heard something… before turning back to Hamish and offering him another crooked smile,
“I would like us to be friends, Hamish. You’re a bright young boy. And I have a gift for spotting talent.” He grinned pleasantly. “I think I’ll visit your father another day. But for now, let’s just keep this as ooooour little secret, hm? I really want our reunion to be a surprise.”
Hamish blinked, curiously observing the man, “It’s been a long time since you’ve seen him?” He asked.
“…Ages.” The whispered answered came. The stranger held something out for Hamish to take, “I took the liberty of programing my number into your phone. If you ever need anything… a friend… someone to listen… I’ll be around. But you can’t tell your dad or your father anything about me. I reeeeeeeeeeeeeeally want it to be a surprise. Do you understand?” He instructed with playful encouragement.
Hamish nodded. His eyes were already beginning to droop as sleep started to overcome him once more.
“Goodnight Hamish.” The stranger bid in an airy, sing-songy voice as he stood and headed toward the bedroom door. “I’ll visit you again soon.”
Hamish closed his eyes for a moment and huffed out a long, weary sigh. When he opened them again, the stranger had vanished; the boy hadn’t even heard his bedroom door open or close.
Realizing his phone was still in hand, Hamish clicked it on - immediately wincing at the brightness of his LCD screen in the otherwise dark room.
He scrolled down to look at his contact list. He didn’t have many numbers; he had his parents, of course… his uncle, and Detective Inspector Lestrade (in case of an emergency when his parents were unreachable), Mrs. Hudson, his Aunt Harry, his grandmother… and finally… his new, secret friend.
Hamish stared at the number for a few minutes before he set his phone down on his bedside table; left open on the last contact he’d viewed… which was simply listed as:
Jim.
The faint sounds of his parents talking and moving about downstairs lulled Hamish back to sleep.
The LCD screen powered down, and the room plunged back into darkness.
I was listening to this little songlet on a repeated loop while I wrote: click
Fic note: click
#let’s have a frank discussion about benedict shall we? #this man is gracious #he’s kind #he’s intelligent and witty and funny and he goes out of his way to accommodate fans #he’s talented and versatile and no matter what role he takes on he puts himself into it completely #he has such a handle on his craft that he can BECOME any character he’s playing #not just sherlock but he’s the biggest example#benedict as sherlock loses all traces of benedict because he’s that good #but that’s not what we’re here to talk about #we’re here to talk about how fucking GOOD this guy is#there isn’t a bad bone in his body and even when he’s being a smartass it has a playful edge to it #to take away any sting in his words #like at that pbs thing in new york #he could have been so annoyed with some of that shit but he wasn’t #he teased them and joked with them and answered all of their questions #even when it looked like he was making fun of them or when he was exasperated he came off as kind #and let’s not forget that he’s so down on himself so often #his looks his skill his everything #he has acknowledged and talked down about himself about his ‘privilege’ more than once #there are times when it’s so apparent he dosen’t like himself #especially how he looks #and it kills me because he’s gorgeous #and not just on the outside not just on the surface #he’s got a gorgeous mind and a beautiful heart #and that’s all i’ve got to say thank you for your time
(via sketchlock)
Wholock - The Doctor’s boy
Jim grew up with an abusive father and an alocoholic mother. One day he met the Doctor, who promised to take him on adventures and show him wonders beyond the world Jim knew. But something went wrong, and the Doctor returned years later to a Jim who had nothing but hatred for the world…And nothing but hatred for the Doctor.
-
(via consultingburglar)
in the dark
* * *
i don’t have any creative thought these days so am reading some johnlock fics (guys, you know my preference? … any rec?). as a result, i am drawing these kind of sketches quite often…
(via still-has-trust-issues)
(Source: eightdayswaiting)
