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10 Nov 2013
Consciousness is an ocean; Sherlock dives too deep:
He remembers indigo. He remembers searching out indigo, harder to find than evidence; you could only come across it at a certain hour just approaching dusk, when the light was heavy and diffuse over London. You had to time it precisely, you had to catch John by a window and say his name so that he turned his head at just the right angle to the light, and raised his eyebrows, and there in the moment before he said “Yeah?,” if you were very observant and very fortunate, you’d catch it in his eyes, perfect, fathomless: indigo.
He drowns in it now, when he’s lucky.
He can climb out any time he wants to.
This work was originally posted 12/9/12.
Written for the Fuckyeahjohnlockfanfic 10K giveaway, for ivorylungs' wonderful prompt: “Sherlock in a coma after an accident (post-Reichenbach) that he can come out of anytime. But he stays there, in his mind, because it’s before he fell, before he came back and was punched and screamed at, and where a John who doesn’t hate him is.”