Sherlock feeling guilty about ruining his college principal’s life and comparing it to potentially ruining Victor’s father’s life made me think about PTSD
Which is interesting because in the first episode when he first met John and deduced John having it, he promptly said he didn’t have it
But despite his amazing intellectual abilities, Sherlock is still human, and it’s been proven he can be wrong, plus considering the countless amounts of intense traumatic situations he’s undoubtedly been through, the unwanted memories/hinted trauma blocking and unpleasant flashbacks, his severe anxiety/distress and guilt
What if he does have PTSD
Or am I looking too deep into it
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Oenology
Drunk discussion, a Mitch Hedberg joke, and the Science of Seduction.
When Sherlock solves the case of the winery, the owner, as promised, sends them a case of very nice wine. Naturally, they have to open a bottle and try it. And another to compare. And a third to consolidate their findings.
“Is this cooking wine?” John takes another swallow and squints into his glass. “For dinner I was going to make that thing.”
Sherlock opens his eyes. “The thing with the peas?”
“No. It has chicken and… you know… things. Parsnips. Or carrots. Vegetable things. And you cook it in wine.”
“Red or white?”
“I dunno. White, I guess. Isn’t chicken white?”
“This is pink,” says Sherlock, clinking his glass against John’s. “Cheers. I don’t gen-er-ally like rosé, but this is… quite de-lect-able.” He’s pronouncing words carefully, he notices, because his lips are not fully cooperating. Speech is such a complicated thing.
“Green,” says John. “Those green grapes. Why isn’t there green wine?”
“Good question. No clue.”
“Should be. For holidays.”
“Not a vivid green, though,” says Sherlock. “Like ab-snith…absence… absinthe. Absinthe.” He says the word several times to make sure it’s right. Not an easy word. “Absinthe. I had it once.”
“How was it?”
“Disappointing. Could hardly taste the wormwood.”
“Wormwood.” John frowns. “That a mushroom?”
“Plant. Ornamental. Toxic, kinda.”
“Sounds dangerous.”
“Not very. Only one documented case. Idiot.”
“Idiot yourself.” John giggles. “Only you would know that.”
They’ll have to go to the shops if they want to make the chicken thing, with the vegetable things, and that sounds like too much effort. They open a packet of flatbread and slice some of the cheddar that isn’t hosting a mould experiment. Sherlock finds a bunch of grapes that are not very shrivelled.
John grabs the cheese and flatbread and another bottle of the wine, and moves the feast into the sitting room. Sherlock follows with the grapes and a packet of biscuits. John lights a candle and they sit on the floor, like a picnic.
It’s almost romantic, Sherlock thinks. “Almost romantic,” he says. “Did I say that out loud?” He pops a grape into his mouth.
John giggles. “You have to wait.”
He chews the grape. “Wha’ for?”
“Th’ grape,” John says. “It’s a grape.”
“I’m aware,” he replies.
“Still a grape. Not wine yet. You gotta wait.” He giggles again.
“Okay, I’m waiting.” He’s not sure, but maybe John has just told a joke. Interesting. “What does it mean?”
“Yer a wino,” John says. “Don’t eat the grapes. Gotta wait for the grapes to turn into wine.”
“We have plenty of wine, John. And grapes— I s’pose we’d have to ferment them. What we need is— Saccharomyces cerevisiae.” He’s not sure how he’s managed to pull these syllables out of his brain, but there they are. It’s like a magic trick, only the magician is completely pissed.
John snorts. “Just a joke. And now you’re doing that thing.”
“What thing? I’m not even wearing my coat. Or collar. What thing am I doing?”
“That thing. Where you seduce me with science.”
“Science,” he repeats. “My dear doctor, se-duc-tion ought to be an exact science, but I can see that you have once again attempted to tinge it with—“ He draws a breath, not sure where his sentence is going.
“Come here, you romantic seductor… deductor... deducer…,” John says, grabbing his dressing gown. “I deduce that you are seducing me.”
The kiss is sloppy, and tastes a bit like wine, but it’s the best thing Sherlock has ever imbibed.
“You’ve biased my judgment, doctor,” he says.
“About time.” John presses a grape to Sherlock’s lips. “I wasn’t ‘bout to wait any longer.”
The Mitch Hedberg joke: "I saw this wino, he was eating grapes. I was like, 'Dude, you have to wait.'"
Maybe you had to be there.
Originally posted in Trifles, Chapter 10.
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“I don’t think I could love anyone else.”
“What?” John asked into the newly broken silence.
Sherlock took a sip of his tea from where he was leaned up against the counter, “If I lost you or something, I really don’t think I’d want anyone else.”
“Lost me? Like a dog?” John asked sarcastically, taking a sip of his own tea.
“You’ve ruined me for everyone else.”
“Oh.” John said quite stupidly.
Sherlock had the decency to look embarrassed.
“I’ve ruined you?” John asked, equally as embarrassed.
“I just, don’t want anyone else.”
John smiled, “I feel the same.”
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