If you have not read History, Repeating Itself by gyzym then you are seriously not living life to its full potential. I just emerged after a binge session, just about gasping for air. IT’S AMAZING. I think someone at the con told me to read it - I wish I could remember the context. Anyway -
45,500 words, 10 chapters. John and Sherlock as you’ve never seen them before. The best fucking narrator I’ve just about ever met. And their chemistry is delicious.
I don’t know if authors want to hear this or not - is it a compliment? But this story could 100% be name-swapped and repackaged as original fiction and be a fucking hit. (The only downside being that then we’d lose the delightful ‘everyone matches the ACD canon and it’s all one big delightful coincidence’ injoke that carries through, and that really is a gem and a half.)
He looked me over. There’s something about Holmes’ stare—I noticed it even then—that makes a man slightly uncomfortable. How can I properly…okay. Imagine you’re in class, right? And you get that creepy feeling at the back of your neck, like someone’s watching you. So you turn around and look, but no one’s there, and you feel crazy but the sensation doesn’t go away, and you start wondering where this little fucker is hiding, because obviously someone is staring at you? You’re there with me? Okay, now multiply it by six and then add the idea that someone is dissecting your brain from the inside out, and then you’ve got what it’s like when Holmes starts with the scrutiny.
I coughed. He looked away.
"Right," he said, "time for a drink."
"It’s two in the afternoon."
"Well, you can’t expect me to move in with a guy without knowing what he’s like after a couple of beers," Holmes said. "I’d ask you to buy me dinner first, but I get the impression you might hit me."
"Astute," I murmured, and he laughed.