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Here is part two of my three-part Sherlock/John mix, this one from Sherlock's POV. It is in three sections due to my inability to keep things short, and LJ word limits. I hope you enjoy the music and the fic if you read.

Here is the link to the first part of the fanmix, from John's POV.


Thanks once again to suchaprince   and mad_teagirl   for their beta help, lovely artwork, and converting the songs for me. You are wonderful people:)

Download link on suchaprince 's site


Links to part Two B and C of the Sherlock mix.


1. Changeling Child—Heather Dale
2. Throw Away—Blue Stahli
3. Underwater—Delerium
4. Schlaflos(sleepless)—Franz Liszt (performed by Paul Lewis)
5. Old-Fashioned Morphine—Jolie Holland
6. Allegretto quasi Menuetto—Brahms Sonata in E Minor--Yegor Dyachkov and Jean Saulnier
7. Communication-The Cardigans
8. Caprice No. 24 in A minor: Tema con Variazioni (Quasi Presto)—Paganini (Played by Julia Fisher)
9. Onion Girl—Holly Cole
10. What Makes a Man—City and Colour
11. Undecided—Django Reinhardt and Stephanne Grappelli
12. Make a Wish—Conjure One (Featuring Poe)
13. Lhasa—Bells
14. Oxford Suite—Ed-Alleyne Johnson
15. Conversation 16—The National
16. Fever—Sophie Millman
17. Prince Charming Comes—The Flash Girls
18. If You Knew—Jeff Buckley
19. You’re a Disaster—Dragonette
20. Visel Som—Telemann—Les Gitans Baroque (Performed by Ensemble Caprice) (AU)
21. When You Come—Crowded House
22. Just a Touch Away—Echo and the Bunnymen
23. I Need You to Turn To—Elton John (Live in Australia)
24. Is it Okay if I Call You Mine?—Sondre Lerche
25. With This Love (Choir)—Peter Gabriel Last Temptation of Christ Soundtrack
26. One Match—Sarah Harmer (AU)
27. Like a Mountain—Timber Timbre
28. How it Comes is How it Goes—Jay Malinowski
29. Ara Batur—Sigur Ros\
30. Farewell—Apocalyptica
31. The Briar and the Rose—Holly Cole and the Canadian Brass

1. Changeling Child--Heather Dale

It has taken him all day to drag the ax from the shed into the study. His body is not growing fast enough to be useful. He pretended to be interested in landscaping long enough to steal the key from the gardener’s pocket.

He smiles and pushes the ax between the smallest bookshelf and the wall. He is gasping for breath by the time the proper leverage has been achieved and the bookshelf falls. It crashes against the bookshelf across from it, and Sherlock waits to make sure the creaking has stopped before climbing up the back and throwing two blankets over the top to cover the space between. Good. They are long enough to reach the floor and block the light. He crawls underneath his shelter and enjoys the quiet for ten minutes before the shouting starts. Sherlock smiles.

It’s an improvement over the last time they found him.

2. Throw Away—Blue Stahli

 “We’re killing more than the loneliness behind the eyes.
Sometimes the best that you can do is just survive.”

“I had thought you would want to avoid something as trivial as university Mycroft. Then again, the path to world domination does involve some pedigree papers doesn’t it?”

Sherlock’s mouth twists. He runs his finger over the fireplace mantle and studies the smear of polish on it.

“Don’t Sherlock. You sound too much like him.” Mycroft twitches like he might step toward Sherlock.

Sherlock turns away and walks to the scarred bookshelf he used for shelter long ago. “Never fear, I am in no danger of crawling into your suitcase as I did father’s coffin.”

Mycroft goes still. “You are more than us. Try to remember that Sherlock.” Mycroft walks away as if he is driven from the room.

Sherlock has learned so much from Mycroft. Who, he supposes, learned from the best.

3. Underwater—Delerium

“something fearless in your eyes
something careless about your smile
something fragile when you hold your breath
and when you move
you move right through me”

He tastes cheap wine and blood. The violence of the kiss is interesting, but irrelevant.

Sherlock shoves David back and snaps his fist into his nose. Now they are both bleeding. Sherlock touches the cut on his lip as David shrieks at him.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” David pulls a handkerchief from his pocket to stanch the blood pouring down his face. The blood contrasts with the white-blonde hair falling over his nose.

“Me? Nothing at all. You are the one who decided that my interest in your thesis meant something else entirely.” Sherlock flexes his hand, but nothing appears to be damaged.

“You won’t find another roommate you freak. The rest of us actually feel something. I’ll come back for my things when you’re gone.” He stalks out and slams the door.

Sherlock is relieved. He doesn’t need to speak to anyone to prove his hypothesis. Chemicals are easily controlled. Perhaps he should make biochemical engineering his chosen field. Sherlock clenches his fist and breathes against the pressure in his lungs.

4. Schlaflos(sleepless)—Franz Liszt (performed by Paul Lewis)

There is a white haze around his vision now. Speaking is becoming difficult. He can form the sentences in his mind but his mouth won’t cooperate his hands shake with the amount of coffee he has consumed taste buds cannot distinguish between flavours skin vibrating against his silk shirt fingertips over-sensitized but he can see the final…shoes!!

5. Old-Fashioned Morphine—Jolie Holland

He can always find what he wants, even if it isn’t pure. But then someone from his homeless network can point him toward a better source (he should be able to find a distributor on his own, but it is becoming more difficult). He won’t repeat the mistake of using it without testing quality first. Drain cleaner in the mix on that occasion gave him pause. He had just enough time to ring the ambulance before he passed out.

He is always careful now. He doesn’t notice the sting, only the blurring. Sherlock loves the gauze between him and everything outside. The horrifying cacophony of the world and all its demands. 

6. Allegretto quasi Menuetto—Brahms Sonata in E Minor--Yegor Dyachkov and Jean Saulnier

 “Even Anderson can see the cyanosis in the fingertips, and it should be obvious from the broken blood vessels in her eyes that multiple injections of—“

Everything slides sideways and Sherlock drowns in black.

“Welcome back you great git.”

Sherlock realizes his head is in Lestrade’s lap. He can feel the itch of the wool carpet through his shirt. “Apparently I passed out. No matter, just help me up and we can finish—“
Lestrade restrains him with one hand on his chest. This isn’t right, Sherlock should have more strength. Perhaps last night’s indulence, lack of food (can’t remember when he last ate, possibly three days). He can’t remember if he has slept.

Lestrade snaps his fingers between Sherlock’s eyes.

“Stay with me until the ambulance arrives. This makes three now you idiot.” Lestrade’s glower is well-practiced.

Sherlock wants to giggle, his head is spinning, and he thinks his noses is—yes, taste of blood in his throat.

“Isn’t it four now? Or don’t we count the opium den? I believe that was your first bust.” Sherlock sneers.

Lestrade grabs a fistful of Sherlock’s shirt and leans down until his face is hovering an inch above Sherlock’s nose. Sherlock can smell the cypress in Lestrade’s cologne. The inspector is more flexible than he realized. He supposes it’s the rage.

“I KNOW how many times you have ended up half dead you bloody prat. I don’t keep a damn scorecard! Some of us might ‘delete’ things like that hoping it won’t happen again. Someone has to be your bloody minder, and until a better one comes along, it’s me.”

Sherlock blinks at Lestrade. It is the only thing he has energy for while struggling against passing out. It almost seems as if Lestrade cares. But he knows how lost the Met would be without him, he is useful to them that is all.

“I will take it from here inspector.”

No. Lestrade cannot have called him.

“Fine. Just make sure it works this time. I won’t do this again!” Lestrade takes his jacket off and puts Sherlock’s head on it. He stands up, swaying slightly before he walks out of the flat.

“You don’t believe his intentions do you Sherlock? Every time you fall he rips the city apart trying to help you. This time he enlisted my aid.” Mycroft leans down and pulls Sherlock’s arm around his shoulders.

“I make Lestrade’s team look competent, and increase his solved case rate, what else is there to know? And I don’t need your damn clinic—if that is what you chose to call your private team.” Sherlock tries to sneer and winces as another drop of blood falls on his shirt. He breathes slowly. Being vertical is difficult, even with Mycroft’s assistance.
Mycroft wipes the blood away from Sherlock’s face with his handkerchief.

“If you knew what you needed we wouldn’t be arguing about it.” They make it out of the flat and down the stairs without incident. Mycroft helps Sherlock into the waiting car and climbs in beside him, puffing slightly.

“You draw people in against your will, but then you don’t know what you do with them while they orbit around you.” Mycroft smiles sadly at Sherlock and taps the privacy screen with his umbrella.

They begin to move and Sherlock struggles not to be sick. “I do not ‘draw anyone. What do you know; you barely leave your throne.” Sherlock snaps, and his head drops against the back of the seat.

“At least I observe further than my nose, dear brother.” Mycroft sighs and they spend the rest of the drive in silence.

7. Communication-The Cardigans

"I’ve seen you I know you but I don’t know how to connect
so I disconnect."

Borosilicate glass is perfect. Its low thermal expansion coefficient and the boron/silica/sand/lime make it strong, and its stable properties make it excellent for telescope mirrors. No deviation, disorder, even the shine is mesmerizing.

Something is warped through the beaker glass. John’s hand.

“I have been standing here for three minutes. I even used my watch this time. I’m headed out with Sara. Do you need anything?”

John’s fingers shine brightly through the glass. Sherlock is certain that the glass even smells perfect. It doesn’t retain traces of the chemicals he uses, doesn’t deteriorate… Oh yes, there was a question.

“Lye.” He mutters.

But John is already gone. The pipette chimes against the side of the glass (beautiful) as Sherlock stirs the contents, watching the reaction, listening to the hiss of the gas produced. Sherlock can set his watch by the reaction, but he never tires of the order of things.

8. Caprice No. 24 in A minor: Tema con Variazioni (Quasi Presto)—Paganini (Played by Julia Fisher)

Dreaming is an imprecise method of restoring the body. He understands the method of REM sleep, and why it is necessary, but it still seems like a waste of time. He mastered lucid dreaming when he was eight. Sherlock is almost ashamed it took that long, but in his defense his brain was still developing at the time. He has never liked to sleep. Sherlock would drop from exhaustion while running through the house as a toddler, though the random narcolepsy took time to control. The brain really should grow at a faster rate, there was so much more he could have accomplished as a child.

Sherlock plucks the strings with his left hand, playing arpeggios and scales with his right hand. Why would Devon Sharp’s murderer arrange forged notes for his family when it was clear that he was not the straying type, and had just been married three months previously, had a new baby on the way and—

There was a code in the serifs below the letters in the forged notes, something Arabic; he needed the book from the third shelf below the window, seven from the left.


Sherlock turns from the bookshelf (he doesn’t remember walking over), one finger on the book, the other hand grasping his bow. He is holding his violin with the pressure of his chin alone.

John walks up and puts his hands under the violin. Sherlock releases it into his grip.

“Stop thinking in counterpoint and put something down before you break it.” John shakes his head and takes the bow from Sherlock’s left hand. He walks over to put the violin and bow in the case of the coffee table.

Sherlock knows there is a 13th century book by Al-Jazari that had a particular invention where…Yes!

Sherlock hears John snort behind him, and continues reading.

9. Onion Girl—Holly Cole

 “I’m a bit unstable, she said with a Cheshire grin
So many cracks in my sidewalk, boy, now don’t you fall in
The things I’ve wanted the most in this life I can’t have
So you see I’ve been damning the world before it damns me.”

“I find it disturbing how well you can cry on demand Sherlock. John taps the counter as they wait in the local independent coffee shop (Starbucks says Starbucks is anathema).

“You don’t find it so when you watch professional actors do it. I fail to see the difference when I employ it in our cases.” Sherlock sniffs his crème Brule latte, closing his eyes briefly in bliss.

“She was 80 years old! How is manipulating an old woman not horrific?” John licks the whip cream from his mocha.

Sherlock blinks slowly at John, leading the way out of the café. The crowd parts in his wake.

Sherlock spins around once they are outside, “You failed to see what all the photos of her children told you John. Not a hair out of place, no facial expressions, muscles cramped from holding position. She was an emotional sadist.” Sherlock stops, remembering to breathe.

“Was that a deduction, or a personal observation Sherlock?”

Sherlock feels blankness wash over his face. “Your deductions need work John.”

10. What Makes a Man—City and Colour

 “I can see the sun, it's setting
It's getting colder, starting to freeze
What makes a man want to break a heart with ease?
I think I know
I think I might know”

Sherlock digs his finger into the nerve cluster under the thief’s arm - he howls.

“You need to stop lying to me Robert. I’m sure it works on your ‘marks’ but such things won’t affect me. “He leans in to whisper in his ear. “What about that new girlfriend of yours, I know you are quite fond of her already, might even be thinking something permanent, yes? What would she say if I stopped by the flower shop and showed her the pictures of you in the bank after hours?”

“No don’t! I can’t lose her. I—alright. Check the contact list in my mobile. His name is under ‘g.’ It is the only one in there.”

“Yes, I am well aware of your lack of friends Robert.” Sherlock plucks the phone from Robert’s pocket and releases his hold on the nerve cluster. Robert wheezes with relief.
He memorizes the number and tosses the mobile onto the thief’s chest. Then he notices John standing frozen in the doorway.

“I see you don’t approve of my methods John. It’s nothing you haven’t employed yourself on occasion, is it?”

“That may be Sherlock, but we aren’t in a bloody war zone, and surely you can find another way?” John waves his hand at Robert, who is struggling to get up.

“I think you should lower your expectations John, or add it to the list of things you find disappointing.” Sherlock brushes past him.

John grabs Sherlock near the shoulder and digs a finger under Sherlock’s arm, holding it against the same nerve cluster he had just used on Robert.

“You can aspire to better than this.” John growls and shoves him backward.

Sherlock frowns. Everyone expects him to be a brilliant machine. Why is John different?

11. Undecided—Django Reinhardt and Stephanne Grappelli

They are sitting on a bench in Hyde Park. John has done remarkably well for the first half hour of the walk, but now he needs to stop.

Sherlock doesn’t know why he agreed to accompany John when he said he was going out.

Sherlock doesn’t leave the flat unless there is a case on, or he is out of nicotine patches or tea. But now John does the shopping, so he can devote more time to deduction.

It is warm for May. The expected rain has not come, and the sun is breaking through the clouds long enough to bring out the colours of the spring flowers around them.

John’s eyes are closed as the sun warms him face. His hand rests close to Sherlock’s on the bench, fingers almost touching.

Clearly the city works department should stain the bench, it has at least two years wear on it, and it could use sanding and priming as well. Sherlock watches a family playing catch with an Irish wolfhound in the middle of the clearing, the young girl herded by the dog so she doesn’t stray. The couple will divorce inside a month, although it will be amicable for the child. The dog’s custody may be a problem with the husband.

John punches Sherlock in the arm and Sherlock turns.

“Close your eyes. Try relaxing for five minutes, if you can.” John raises an eyebrow in speculation.

Sherlock finds a smile. He keeps the honest expressions for John. “If you insist.” He replies, and pokes John’s arm in return, leaning his head back.

John chuckles in shock.

Sherlock closes his eyes and soaks in the sound and the warmth.

12. Make a Wish—Conjure One (Featuring Poe)

 “Tell me have you ever been afraid like this.”

John smells like antiseptic and bergamot, with a hint of sun. If sun had a smell—which is completely ridiculous.

Sherlock threw out the disgusting cheap shampoo John brought with him (the artificial scent of strawberries makes him ill), forcing John to use Sherlock’s. Then Sherlock realizes he doesn’t want John to share the same sage and wintergreen scent, and that conclusion makes no sense. He uses sense as part of his deductions, so it doesn’t surprise him that he notices John’s smell. What is disturbing is that he is focused on it. To the point of wanting to bury his nose in John’s shoulder and wrap himself over John like a blanket.

Sherlock grabs and his coat and runs out the door, narrowly avoiding John coming in.

“Sherlock? Where are you going?”

He had received a tip from one of his street kids yesterday. She said it would take at least three days, but Sherlock is positive something will turn up now.

13. Lhasa—Bells

You could lean your head down
And rest it on my knee
You could tell me a story
That does not end this way”

He knows how to silence his mind, how to control his hunger and repress needless emotions. He knows the chemical makeup of anything he can smell and taste and can relay the history of a human being from the way they hold a teacup. But this is beyond him.

Adults cannot retreat to forts made of blankets and sheets, or holes they have hollowed out of the earth. He longs for the custom drawer at the mortuary home he hasn’t told John about. He presses his fingers into his aching eyes.

The air is stained with the words he hadn’t meant to say. He doesn’t know why he mentioned John’s mother’s manic depression, or why he told him it was useless to let it shadow him now.

Everything is simpler when Sherlock is silent.
14. Oxford Suite—Ed-Alleyne Johnson

Sherlock’s legs dangle from the roof of the Cambridge Theatre. He closes his eyes and disengages from the slice of the November wind. He slows his heart rate and listens to the city breathe, still active at 2am. It never stops, always murmuring and sighing to itself.

If he had a sensitive omni-directional microphone he might be able to catch more of its whisperings, and perhaps a new case. His lips curve into a smile.

Sherlock hears a scrape against the stone beside him, and suddenly warmth returns to his side.

“Hello John. Followed the GPS on my phone again have you?”

“Someone has to stalk you when Mycroft is busy.” John hands him his leather gloves.

Ah. “Thank you.” Sherlock forces his numb fingers into the gloves and grips the ledge behind him.

Their legs tap against the side of the building and John leans slightly into Sherlock (heat conservation, obviously). Their slight movements add another note to the music around them.

15. Conversation 16—The National

 “I figured out what we’re missing
I tell you miserable things after you are asleep.”

Sherlock is suspended in a sea with no horizon. There is no sun, only stars, and planets so large he can see the tracks of dried rivers on their surface. The stars are so bright they should hurt his eyes, but they don’t. The ocean has no taste, and he realizes he is naked and John is floating beside him, fingers laced with Sherlock’s. None of this is logical, and yet it doesn’t bother him.

Sherlock smiles at John, and John smiles back. John’s hand is pulled away and he is sucked beneath the black waves. The stars go nova above Sherlock and he wakes up, gasping. Sherlock rubs his hands through his sweaty hair, and notices he has kicked all the covers onto the floor. He leans down and drags them onto the bed. He curls onto his side and waits for the shivering to stop.


( 2 comments — Leave a comment )
Jun. 30th, 2011 05:27 am (UTC)
do you have a link to download this part of the fanmix?
Jun. 30th, 2011 02:59 pm (UTC)
Sorry about that, it is up at the top now. It is on suchaprince's original post.
( 2 comments — Leave a comment )