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Continuation of the first part. Songs 16-24 in this section. Two of these fics are set in alternate universes.

16. Fever—Sophie Millman

Sherlock feels stones settle in his chest, as if he has swallowed them one by one. They have barricaded the oxygen within, and he cannot draw air past the weight. He feels heat bloom under his skin, and he struggles against the need to pace the room. Sherlock presses his fingers into his thighs and turns his face to the back of the sofa.

“You are always so still when you’re thinking Sherlock. I wonder where all that energy goes.” John remarks from the kitchen, as he types on his laptop.

Sherlock breaks one of the stones in his lungs enough to reply. “Am I so quiet?”

Sherlock wants to use the lead in his body, the flames under his skin. He wants to bring the world down in pyroclastic fury. No, not the world. John.

He will hold the stones, pull in the fire. Sherlock doesn’t believe John will immolate himself. John wants to save him, but not from this.

17. Prince Charming Comes—The Flash Girls

 “For into darkness my prince comes
On his bony horse called Death”

Sherlock doesn’t wish for death (predilection for morgue drawers aside); even if he is fascinated by the process and the various ways people plot the demise of others. The puzzle is simply more important to him, and he lets everything else fall away, including his own safety, in pursuit of the solution.

Mycroft has hired an entire team to follow him. He noticed them shadowing him as soon as he left home. No one else besides his prat brother has bothered about his welfare. Now it appears as though John has become his protector.

Sherlock watches John spin on his bad leg, kicking out at the mugger with his other foot. The thief crumples to the ground and briefly struggles to get up. John leans over him and slams his fist into the other man’s solar plexus. The mugger’s head slams to the concrete (unconscious for a few minutes at least) and John gets up. He walks up to Sherlock and lifts his chin, inspecting the knife cut on Sherlock’s neck.

“You’ll live. But I think you should invest in a collar to protect your neck” John wipes the drops of blood away.

Sherlock smiles faintly and bends down to pick up his scarf to hide the warmth in his cheeks. He should be past blushing at his age. He texts Lestrade to pick up the trash, fingers fumbling against the keys. He curses to himself quietly. Idiot.

“People have reactions to stress Sherlock. You’re no different.” Sherlock looks up as John moves in front of him, arms crossed over his horrible jumper.

This is not stress. It’s something waiting in the dark that Sherlock refuses to name.

“Stress is useless. Lestrade will be here in ten minutes. Shall we continue?”

John shakes his head and follows Sherlock out of the alley.

18. If You Knew—Jeff Buckley

John strips the latex gloves from his hands and tosses them into the bin. The morgue echoes slightly with the ring.

He is giving Sherlock the familiar ‘how can you dismiss emotions?’ look. Sherlock rolls his eyes and bins his set of gloves.

“I have told you before John, bringing emotions into things hinders the case.”

“Oh god forbid they should clutter up your investigations!” John snorts and turns away.

Sherlock see the edge of John’s scar, where the stretched collar of his jumper has slipped down. His mouth goes dry with the urge to press his mouth to the puckered skin. He wants to remind John that Sherlock isn’t the only one who can repress what he doesn’t want known He realizes he cannot do it indefinitely, but then John won’t stay either—no one ever does.

19. You’re a Disaster—Dragonette

“Oh if your mind needs so much alteration
You better find another medication
If you're fine, oh if your fine and I am just mistaken
You'll walk the line, you'll walk the line
You'll walk right off the deep end.
You'll run into something to ruin you."

John has just asked him a question. The words sound familiar, but they are wrapped in insulation. Cotton stuffed into his ears. Sherlock hates anything near his ears, it makes the air taste electric. John’s feels green and spiky with concern. Sherlock smirks. He has worried John again. The room is melting together somehow the edges of everything are soft as the duvet on his bed oh sleep he might use some…

Sherlock opens his eyes. Cold water drips back into his hair. Why is he lying on the floor?

“I am going to lock you up when I leave the flat next time. No use locking your equipment away, you just break the lock and start over. You bloody idiot. Now what the hell were you creating in there? I’ve opened all the windows but I want to make sure you haven’t seared your lungs or something.” John leans in and peers into Sherlock’s eyes.

Sherlock probably just added another line around John’s mouth. John won’t survive his friendship, he should convince him to leave. Perhaps after everything settles.
20. Visel Som—Telemann—Les Gitans Baroque (Performed by Ensemble Caprice) (AU)

Sherlock digs his feet into the braided rag rug below his bedroom window. He rubs his fingers along the wood of his violin, his cheek against the satiny wood. He feels a murmur along his cochlea and picks up the bow. The vibration starts under his tongue and travels along his arm and into his lungs, down his legs and into his feet. Sherlock moves slowly across his room, eyes closed. He is standing on a drum, his heart is held to the rhythm, and he can feel himself breathe in time. The notes start on the lowest string, the slowest beat, picking up speed until he is spinning around the room, fingers and bow blurring over the strings. Sherlock hums with the strings, smells smoke, tambourines, dust, horses, and saffron. Doesn’t know what he is playing where he is but the joy expands in his chest and he dances on the tips of his toes hair falling into his eyes until he feels the wall. Stops. Slides to the floor, opening his eyes. Outside John’s door.

The door creaks open and Sherlock beams at John. His skull feels fractured, and he is afraid of what may slip out.

John kneels down beside him, hands twisting the edge of the grey t-shirt he sleeps in. They sit in the hallway and listen to the echoes.

21. When You Come—Crowded House

“And that is why
I stumble to my knees
And why underneath the heavens
With the starts burning and exploding
I know I could never let you down.”

Perspicacity, integral, insoluble, inosculate, inperpetum, scherzo, terror, calm, confusion, lost.

He has always able to weave language. It has never failed him before. He wants to grab John and shake him ask him where he has hidden the letters the punctuation the pause between words. And why he has stolen Sherlock’s ability to speak.

22. Just a Touch Away—Echo and the Bunnymen

“You said you could make it disappear
Make my pathway clean and clear
You said I was just a touch away
But I'm not even close
No, nowhere near"

They are sitting in Angelo’s. Sherlock has eaten some of his bruschetta. He lets John think he is making headway in forcing Sherlock to eat.

John ordered the spinach and ricotta ravioli. Sherlock won’t tell him, but he is going mad from the smell. He’s quite sure he wasn’t hungry before, even when he forced himself to eat the bruschetta.

“John, why do you have an aversion to proper shirts?” He asks, trying to distract himself.
John rolls his eyes and puts down his fork, pushing up the sleeve of his shapeless Aran jumper.

“I don’t have an aversion to shirts. I live to make you miserable, haven’t you figured that out yet?” John smirks at him and continues eating.

Sherlock snorts. The spinach is fresh, so is the ricotta. A bit of zinfandel in the cream sauce.

“Sherlock? What the hell, are you alright?”

Sherlock opens his eyes. He has leaned so far forward his head is on the table, his fingers reaching towards John. Sherlock straightens quickly, and pushes his chair back.

“Fine. Probably the irritating demands of sleep.”

John raises and eyebrow in disbelief. How is it Sherlock can lie to everyone else but John just waits, demanding that Sherlock repair the silence with truth.

John reaches across the table, taking Sherlock’s appetizer plate. His fingers brush against Sherlock’s wrist and Sherlock resists the urge to push his chair further away.

John puts some of his pasta on the plate and shoves it back toward Sherlock.

“Don’t make me tie you to the chair and force you to eat, you idiot.”

Sherlock gives a long-suffering sigh and toys with his fork. John’s saliva will be on the piece of pasta furthest to the left on the plate. Sherlock eats that piece first.

23. I Need You to Turn To—Elton John (Live in Australia)

“You're not a ship to carry my life
You are nailed to my love in many lonely nights
I've strayed from the cottages and found myself here
For I need your love your love protects my fears”

“She bit her nails until they bled, scratched her skin incessantly, and pulled out her hair—all nervous and disgusting habits and nothing to do with the murderer. I would look at the family, most likely the uncle. She was going to report him for child abuse, and it would ruin his burgeoning political career. Was there anything else, or may I get on with my day?”

Sherlock turns around and finds Lestrade, his team, and John with identical expressions of fury.

He walks past all of them and down the stairs. He pulls up the collar of his coat and waits outside the flat for John, leaning against the brick of the apartment building. He can feel the chips in the brick behind him from the two-week old stabbing. John finds him pulling bits of stone from the wall when he comes down the stairs. John’s expression hasn’t changed.

Sherlock can feel John’s fingers digging into his brain, sorting through his thoughts, trying to find something he can recognize. He cannot be what John wants. He isn’t a sociopath, but letting everyone assume makes things easier.

“I don’t know why you bother John. It really doesn’t matter what I am capable of as long as I solve the case. The murderers are more—“

John slams his cane against the wall next to Sherlock.

Sherlock jumps slightly away from him.

“Damn you Sherlock. Just because everyone else gives up on you doesn’t bloody well mean I am! You can box everything away all you want, but the locks won’t last forever. I know the strain is going to break you. Just remember who’ll be around when it does.”

John moves his hand and Sherlock almost flinches again. John stops, then moves slowly to squeeze Sherlock’s arm.

“Come on then, we’ll walk from here.”

John starts off. Sherlock shoves his hands in his pockets and follows him.
24. Is it Okay if I Call You Mine?—Sondre Lerche

Sherlock has infiltrated John’s phone and tracks his flat mate using the GPS. John is most likely aware of this, but ignores it in the exasperated fashion he does with anything regarding Sherlock’s habits.

Sherlock might need to ask John an important question, or tell him they are out of milk, or rat poison. And perhaps sometimes the silence is too much; John’s presence has faded, and Sherlock has not imprinted enough of John to his memory.

25. With This Love (Choir)—Peter Gabriel Last Temptation of Christ Soundtrack

He doesn’t consider it chaos. It may appear that way to the dimwitted observer, but he knows precisely where everything is, and just how high he can balance the piles before inertia takes hold.

His things have encompassed the whole flat, and he can see parcels of his cases, memories, wherever he looks. He cannot stand a tidy flat. How else would you know you’re alive unless you can see the evidence?

Everything is obviously his, or at least it used to be. Now there is a med kit in the bathroom, jumpers that smell like hospital sanitizer in the hamper and a laptop on the desk. There is even marmalade and other edible things in the fridge (he can forgive the marmalade and forcing his experiments into sealed containers).

John Watson is bleeding into Sherlock’s space. Even though John hates clutter he is adding to the piles that enclose Sherlock. Something about this makes Sherlock still and manic simultaneously.

26. One Match—Sarah Harmer (AU)

 “If we only spoke with our minds
I would never look you in the eye
‘Cause I think I might’ve heard some things
You told me even if you didn’t try”

“You’re going to have permanent marks if you furrow your brow so much John. You’ve been doing it every day when you come in after the clinic.” Sherlock continues whispering to the ivy growing around the skull. It is much happier on the mantle than it was in growing in John’s sweater. Sherlock smiles at it and the new shoot unfurls a leaf.

“How would you even know when you’re never looking at me? Forget it. I need to ask something. It sounds daft, but never mind. Sherlock do you—”

Sherlock turns around and raises an eyebrow at John. “I know you can form a complete sentence.”

“Shut up. Do you produce your own sunlight as well as the clouds and everything else? I thought there were puddles of light around the flat lately--and nowhere near a window--but I figure I was just exhausted.” John says in a rush. Then he closes his eyes in disgust.

“Oh, that. Well how else do you expect anything to grow John?” Sherlock walks over to the violet and strokes its purple/white/green variegated leaves.

“Yes, alright. But it depends on your state of mind too doesn’t it?”

Sherlock can feel John hovering behind him. Sherlock tenses and blows on the flowers.

“It can. I told you I have been trying to control most of it” Sherlock replies.

John’s hand squeezes Sherlock’s shoulder. Sherlock turns partway around and stares at John, repressing any unnecessary reactions. He can feel his skin shivering and grits his teeth against it.

“So, when you smile at me after a case and I feel a slight case of sunburn I’m not mental then. Good enough.” John winks at him and walks away.

Sherlock turns and presses his forehead to the window (he can still feel the imprint of John’s hand). He presses one finger to the glass. He checks the surrounding area for witnesses, and then aims his finger straight up. A focused beam of light shoots through the glass and into the clouds above.