#i’ve been thinking from the perspective of reed for months and that doesn’t seem healthy

[allfrogsmatter]

guys…. i finished writing my book yesterday!

i never thought id actually finish a project so big, but she’s done in all her glory: 45 chapters, 403 pages, 233,000 words….

and now i can tear it to bits editing for twice as long as it took me to write it!!

[darkangelz87]

Different Perspectives

A Autistic Sherlock and eventually Queerplatonic Johnlock fanfiction. Read if you want. ^^

                                     Seeing from Different Perspectives

                                                                                                                           Chapter One

 Autism.

: a mental condition, present from early childhood, characterized by difficulty in communicating and forming relationships with other people and in using language and abstract concepts.

Vague snapping of fingers, twirling, chewing on pencil erasers, sleeves and hands, bright lights, colors, sounds, texture of food and clothing, comforting or abrasive, touch, unwelcome and hurtful, eye contact, nope, thoughts merging and turning into screams… “STOP!”

Sherlock froze, shocked at the sound of his own voice ringing in his ears as he still was pulling at his curly hair, his eyes growing watery with unshed and unwanted tears as he stared straight ahead which happened to be right above a crowd of milling people in a shopping mall and dear lord, no, John was here. He didn’t want John to see this!

John Watson stopped what he was doing which was interrogating a passerby and he immediately strode over to him where he was sitting on a bench, the army doctor mask coming over his face as he leaned down, trying to catch his eye sight, “Hey! Sherlock! You okay? What’s wrong?”

Sherlock frowned, an eyebrow twitching.

Okay… I should probably start from the beginning.

I was diagnosed with Autism as a child and that combined with my brilliant mind and swift calculations was an astounding combination.

I saw it as a gift, my brain but I learned from other people especially my family and fellow childhood students that it wasn’t such a brilliant thing.

I remember enjoying and getting lost in the rays of sunlight through dust motes and how my pleasure points of my brain lit up with joy as I spent hours running my hands through the magical streams. I tried to show it to my family and got scolded for spending hours loafing when I should be studying.

My first special interest and happens to still be a dear interest of mine before studying murders, literature and violin was the wonder of bees. I fell in love with them after I saw my first bumble bee. One landed on a flower near me as I sat studying on a hill near our old house and when my eyes strayed to it, I felt something in me stir with silent wonder at its tiny fuzzy body and its low almost soothing buzzing. I watched it, enthralled until it flew away, and I rushed into the house, went to the family computer and quickly searched ‘Bees’.

I began to draw hundreds of bees, reading and studying everything about them and catching them, putting them in jars and letting them go after a while. The thing that blew my young mind and made me admire the little insects even more is, scientifically, the bumble bee’s wings should be too small for it to fly. Amazing little creatures that no one ever took notice of.

My bees ‘obsession’ was dismissed as a childish phase.

Flapping my hands when I was happy was discouraged ‘It was embarrassing’, twirling was considered dangerous to myself, to everyone around me and to the breakable objects within reach, when I was quiet and wanted to listen to Bach with my headphones on instead of struggling to push words out of my mouth I was considered uppity and snobbish.

Everything I did was wrong, so I started to formulate a blockade around me, my emotions and my autistic side was pushed down and restrained so I turned myself over to my mind and my calculating abilities and enhanced those qualities about myself instead and silently reveled in the praise it brought me from my family and the school faculty.

It didn’t help me with people though, they were a foreign entity and I didn’t want them to get too close to me because if they found out all about me they would surely go away, and I didn’t want the trouble, the headache and pain of relationships. And having girlfriends or boyfriends was out of the question. Sally Reed from high school tried to kiss me and I punched her for touching my tongue with hers and all the boys wanted to do with me was they hit me and taunted me for being smarter than them. I can’t help it if I knew the formula for pi in 4th grade, I naturally excelled at mathematics.

Later, I found my calling in being a consulting detective for Inspector Lestrade, it fully utilized my brain in a healthy way (drugs got my pent-up emotions and energy out when I was high, and I didn’t care about keeping up facades when I was stoned) and I could get along with Inspector Lestrade (Even if some of his group are complete idiots). I eventually found a promising flat with an acquaintance I knew from an old case, Mrs. Hudson. The only problem which was a big problem considering my sometimes-low funds (I refuse to ask Mycroft for anything if I can help it!) was I needed a flat mate to help me with the rent.

In walks John Watson.

I admit, at first, I was only interested in Watson because of his ability to pay some of the bills and to furnish half of the rent but then it turned to something else when he really listened to my deductions with almost a form of awe and a word whispered in complete reverence like: ‘Marvelous!’, ‘Brilliant!’, ‘Fantastic!’, the list went on and to top it all, he killed a man for me.

I haven’t known him for very long but what I do know of Watson, he intrigues me, and no one has ever intrigued me before. I wanted to keep him thinking that I was this intellectual genius, so I hid my disability from him with care the last couple of months that we have lived together.

Well, seems like the proverbial cat is out of the bag.

I didn’t want to go to a mall to talk to a jeweler that had been robbed from, it was a category 3 at least, not worth my interest but Watson had shown interest in it and he said it would be nice to hang out together, that it would be a casual time out together.

Uhuh… I should’ve went with my instinct and said, most definitely no!

It was an onslaught on my senses ever since we entered the doors. Screaming kids, chattering, giggling girls and boisterous laughter assaulted my ears, fluorescent lights glared in my eyes making my head pound with intense pain and people getting too close for comfort sometimes made my skin crawl and unpleasantly itch all over.

By the time I was clawing at my hair and screaming for everything to “STOP!” I knew my cover was blown.

I didn’t dare to look up when John asked what was wrong, but I gritted my teeth and clenched my eyes tightly shut, trying to shut out the imminent look of pity that would surely be coming from Watson.

What I didn’t expect was gentle, steady hands on both sides of my face.

My eyes flew open in shock and I blinked unexpectedly at the change of brightness as I slowly registered that John had just slipped a pair of sunglasses over my eyes.

I blinked up at John and he just smiled, a little smile that he shows sometimes when he is reading the paper, writing in his blog, or drinking an extra especially good cup of hot tea and he walked back to the jeweler, continuing to ask him questions.

I was dumbstruck.

I composed myself and quietly felt around in my faculties, testing myself to see if my senses had calmed down somewhat and found to my surprise that just dimming the lights had made the sounds more bearable and my pounding headache melted down to a tremor of pain. Note to self: Start carrying sunshades in coat pocket.

John walked back to me and I cocked my head to one side, looking up at him with a question on my face, he answered the quiet question, “Nothing that the police can’t solve by themselves.” I growled in annoyance, rolling my eyes, “Like I said, clearly a category 3, nothing of interest.” John grinned, shrugging, “Ah, oh well. It was worth getting out of the flat for a bit huh?” I snorted, looking away, “I’d rather dissect a skunk than be around these swaggering, giggling bags of testosterone and hormones.” John laughed, making me turn my eyes on him, really looking at him and seeing him, I quirked an eyebrow quizzically at this seemingly normal man and I smirked.

John Watson was anything but normal.

 Author’s note: This chapter is insanely short and kinda pointless lol but I just wanted to start this story with something sooo here it is! I’ve been wanting to write this for a very long time and I’m starting it! I’m excited! :) I will be using my own Autistic experiences in the story (Using sunglasses does help dim down sensory issues for me. I wear them in public a lot.). I hope to be able to kinda write and put together a guideline for the next chapter so it won’t be so short and kind of random and I am debating just keeping the story in Sherlock’s pov and not switching back and forth like I am prone to do.

But yeah, this story is about Autistic Sherlock and how he tries to act neurotypical and generally succeeds until John Watson comes in the picture and figures things out and the big thing is, John doesn’t care that Sherlock is Autistic and it may possibly be one of the things that he loves about him. 😊

Yes, there will be queerplatonic Johnlock a lot later in the story cause it’s a slow burn, very sloooow but cutesy fluffy slow burn.

Hope you guys like it and feedback is appreciated! 😊  

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