Lessons in Friendship 9 - Rhythms of the mind

Disclaimer: Sherlock, John and all other mentioned characters belong to BBC, Mr. Moffat, Mr. Gatiss or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I just borrowed them for fun. I wrote this for my personal delight and improving my English, no copyright infringement intended. No money changed hands and no profit is being made.

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Chapter 4

The sea - Part 2

In the beginning of autumn they stayed in Dorset for a case nearby, it was still quite warm and when the case was finished, John convinced Sherlock to go to Chesil beach. Which - from a distance - looked like an unusual long sand dune in the sea, it was close to the shore, but had water on both sides, for miles.*

They walked down the long strip of pebbles, Sherlock refused to get his coat of. They went by a small group of anglers in silence.

Once they had passed them, there seemed to be just empty beach for miles, no one to be seen. The beach was mercifully private, it was a cloudy and misty day, though not cold with the occasional sunny interval and a medium breeze.

"London is noisy, a cacophony of dissonant sounds," Sherlock suddenly uttered, out of nowhere.

"I thought you love London," John hurried to understand the situation.

"I do. Could you listen, I didn't say I don't. The fact that I like London is making the ordeal easier but it is quite a loud place and this is one of its disadvantages. But it can be handled by suitable equipment."

"Equipment?"

"Do you hear London inside 221b?"

"Now that you mention it… not so much, no. Was worse when I moved in, got used to it, maybe."

"You didn't, not solely. After the explosion I made sure the new windows where as soundproof as possible… and Mycroft made sure they are also bullet proof."

"What?… Blimey, that must have cost a fortune."

"The first, no, it is not that unusual anymore, noise attenuation is a common feature in modern windows. The latter, yes."

John chuckled.

"Overall you are also quite quiet within these walls, I have never lived with anybody who was as quiet as you are… I mean, you can be a whirlwind of action, rocking the house, but you mostly keep a low level of noise. Of course the violin has its volume, but it's different. The ambient of sound you create is different from other people."

"Getting used to sensual input is difficult," Sherlock continued as if the other man hadn't spoken. "That's why I detect so many things. My brain can't tally them, mark them as 'known', which a normal person does constantly. I am transfixed by details. This is not happening by choice, but it is very helpful for detective work, though bad for daily life. The impact on daily life is more interfering than most people can imagine. I don't get used to things, at least not to a level or in a speed that is useful. It's rather annoying as well as exhausting."

Sherlock was not looking at him while he spoke, and the doctor was sure this was difficult for him, exposing a weakness most people couldn't even imagine.

"Fading things down or blocking them out is almost impossible. Sounds I like are easier to handle. I can try to control perceiving them, but it's always difficult, always work to do it… Satisfied?"

John briefly wondered how this explanation could by any means be complete, for him it raised more questions than it answered.

"No, elaborate," John used Sherlock's staccato style, but his friend didn't get the joke.

They had walked quite a distance by now. The consultant was not a man who knew how to bimble leisurely. His posture was stiff and he had his hands behind his back while he was walking. On the round pebbles that formed the beach it must be quite a balance act.

"The rhythm influences if sounds are perceived good or bad in certain circumstances. Natural sounds are overall easier to handle, because they have organic rhythms or none at all. Some natural sounds soothe my mind."

John raised his eyebrows, such a remark from Sherlock Holmes?

"I was rather disappointed when - as a child - I realised that others will never experience the beauty and intensity of my sensory world. It had been always like this for me, it was a shock to learn others perceived different."

"So you are able to enjoy it!"

Sherlock ignored that statement and John tried to put the things his flatmate had said together. By now it seemed to be just a random collection of pieces of information stripped of their background.

"In my youth my perception had more negative sides than positive ones and I not able to handling them satisfactorily. The… sensations caused by loud noises were devastating, sometimes I was unnerved by the sound of my own blinking and kept from sleep by the movement of air I felt on my skin that was caused by my own breathing. Not being able to share this facet of my existence frustrated me. Trying to explain it brought more problems than good. I soon learned it made me seem lunatic and odd and that the better option was to keep it to myself. Though at times it became so intense I vomited or shut down."

Sherlock suddenly stopped, blocking John's paths. He slipped out of his coat and for a moment John wondered if his flatmate would just get naked and have a swim.

At home he seemed to have no sense of appropriate state of dress. After what Sherlock had just told him John wondered if not wearing clothes had to do with Sherlock being unable to stand the sensations it caused on the skin, Sherlock also wore his t-shirts inside out because the seams were annoying him.

"Sit down," the detective suddenly ordered.

He - not really gently - pushed his flatmate down near the waterline.

"What are you doing?" John was not happy about the rude movement and barely managed to keep himself from falling and bruising his bum.

Once he sat down he noted that the pebbles he was sitting on weren't really comfortable.

Sherlock sat down besides him with a heavy thud, his face clearly displaying he was miserable.

John stared and tried to interpret his expression and the situation.

No, it's not anger, more like uneasiness. He just doesn't like what he is doing, but doing it nevertheless.

"Lie down, close your eyes," Sherlock had his elbows on his raised knees and was still not looking at him. For another moment John just stared at the other man in surprise about the odd order.

He wanted to resist and curse, then he just reclined.

It wasn't comfortable, neither Sherlock's tone, nor the slightly wet pebbles in the misty breeze. His feet must be only two or three metres away from the moving water.

"I can't simulate how light hurts the eyes and how it pierces into the brain with needles of brightness without hurting you, so I won't try. Therefore just keep your eyes closed, might help intensifying the other sensations."

Oh, were they doing what John thought they were doing?

"The ground is hard, I can feel every one of those stones pressing into my backside, they hurt… Oh, we should probably do it from your perspective, but I'm not sure I can manage that. You'll have to feel what I describe."

Sherlock too lay down, with a roughness that made John wince.

"If it is all so intense for you, why aren't you more careful with your body?" John asked.

"Sometimes I need it to hurt, to feel myself, to ground myself… or to try to make my body get used to the sensation and to dull it."

"But you said it doesn't work, why do you do it nevertheless?"

"It doesn't. I don't know. Stupidity probably."

John grunted in disapproval.

"The stones press into my skin, where there are bones close to the surface, it hurts more. My skull hurts from the contact, my shoulders, my hip and my spine, too. Try to sense that pressure."

John traced the sensation, there was strain, but it didn't hurt. Although Sherlock was far better cushioned by his high quality coat than John was by his thin summer jacket. He also realised Sherlock had chosen the spot carefully, they were lying side by side and there were no larger or sharp stones under them.

Also, no one could see them doing this, it must look ridiculous, he smiled.

"On a scale from one to ten, how much does it hurt?" the doctor needed more details.

"Three."

"That's as much as I'd say it hurts when you get a proper bruise from running into a table."

"Yes."

"Alright."

"Now focus on your mouth, open it slightly, breathe."

John did as he was told, breathed through his mouth.

"The wet air is thick in my mouth, it needs more force to be inhaled, feels more solid than the dry inland air… it is also salty on the tongue, tasting of life and decay at the same time. The taste winds up the nasal cavities and soothes them as well as making the brain fuzzy with its intensity. It tingles and wets all the small spaces in my skull, leaves a patina in my mouth."

John gulped.

Up to now he had tried to intensely sense the few things Sherlock had mentioned, now that he described this it gained unwanted intensity.

He could feel the clogging wetness in his head that smelled of rotting fish, was it just imagination, created by empathy?

He winced, maybe he was just imagining it but that exactly was the idea behind this, wasn't it?

"You need to be aware of it, don't try to ignore the sensation, it would spoil this experiment."

"Trying. It's…"

"I know, I live with that every day. Don't mark it as negative, it just is. Although it feels thicker it also feels cleansing and pure. It clears the insides of the head, refreshes the mind, blows away mental dust."

John attempted to imagine how the clean air cleanses his mind.

"The air moisture is perceptible on the skin, everywhere… entering the ears, relaxing the little hairs inside them, soothing them. The hairs on the skull curl up and it causes a slightly tingling movement."

John huffed in amusement, trying to feel the insides of his ears and the hairs on his skull.

"It starts to slightly weight down the clothes, it's a flimsy change, but it's constant. The skin catches small drops of salt water. Where they dry the surface starts to tense, maybe itch. The lips start to feel taut, the urge to lick them is there. The inside of the mouth becomes salty because of the licking."

John winced, he had of course licked his lips the moment Sherlock mentioned it and it was awfully salty.

He had probably done that several times during the past hour and not even noticed it. He also realised Sherlock had switched from talking about himself to a neutral point of view.

"Even though it is overcast, the warmth of the sun is still there and can be felt through the clouds. The upper side of the body is a lot warmer than the side facing the ground, which is cooling considerably now due to the already cool nights."

John concentrated on the temperature of his surroundings and after a few moments started to feel the cold seep into him.

"It touches you, not a biting cold, but a smooth solid cold field, radiating from the ground, the contrast of the warmth from above is a bit irritating, but still in an odd balance, like standing in the cold in front of a fire, front warm, back cold. The calves are the only place that seem to be unbalanced."

Sherlock was right, it was an odd perception, travelling through his body, having pointed out every tiny bit of sensation he wouldn't even have been able to name if asked, but they were there, amplified by the directed focus and the intense explanations.

"Store the warmth from the front, it is glowing and pressing down on you like a soft sponge, soak it up, take the spongy energy inside, keep it."

John frowned, this was a departure from how Sherlock had guided him up to now, and another change of perspective.

"Don't speak, just do it."

John had no clue how he was supposed to do a thing like that and what had inspired Sherlock to tell him to do it in the first place.

Nevertheless he tried to concentrate on embracing it.

The detective kept his silence for almost five minutes, so he had time to try to do it properly.

The more he concentrated, the warmer he felt, it was odd, it really felt like a sponge pressing down on his front the more he focussed on it.

"Now move your focus to the bed of pebbles at the water line, they are… agitated by the water. It causes quite a bit of noise, a low rumble as well as an intense high sound. The latter is a sizzling, grinding high pitched noise, not sure your hearing is good enough to receive it. Try to listen to them at once."

Sherlock waited a moment for his flatmate to follow.

"The rumble is accompanied by the clattering that millions of stones create by their movement. We are lying on top of this, it also caused vibrations that can be felt to the core of the bones. The blood flow feels the rumbling, too, every beat of your heart intensifies perceiving the restless movement beneath."

John gulped.

It was an odd feeling indeed, he wasn't sure what the blood had to do with it, but his body was a bit agitated by the rumbling, it felt a tiny bit threatening.

When he tried, he needed quite some time until he was able to hear or feel the high sounds Sherlock described. His hearing had probably not improved with explosions and gunfire in a war zone. People usually underestimated how loud war really was… and how madding silence could be after a fight or an emergency. It had made him sick sometimes, both the noise and the silence.

He also noted Sherlock now used the word 'you' in his descriptions constantly.

"This is always here. There has been no day for hundreds of years where these stones haven't travelled up and down this beach. It is a constant noise and movement and it will go on for a long time… hopefully…I will take this sense memory with me and it will not leave me… My version of sensations can be a source of intense pleasure…" He took a deep breath, "But right now it's upsetting my stomach."

John could hear him sit up, aware that Sherlock must experience it all much more intense than usual due to the focus he directed at sensing and putting it into words.

He waited and heard the other man take a few deep breaths.

Before John could ask if they should stop, Sherlock continued to speak, his voice a bit rougher.

"Breathing moves the stones under your back, the grinding noise is very low in comparison to the force that moves the stones at the waterline, some of it sounds… clicking."

John could feel and hear the stones move with his respiration.

"Every wave that crushes into the shore makes the ground shake with the impact, feel it."

The moment John directed his focus on it, it was suddenly shatteringly loud.

He felt it, the cacophony of the moving stones and the crashes of the impacts, blown up by the full body focus.

After the initial shock, he smiled, this was an extraordinary sensual journey.

"The waves create a stir of air, shoving it in our direction, intensifying the smell and the humidity in the air in waves. When the water changes direction and rolls back down the waterline the sounds change, the contrast of the silence after the impact of the wave feels… empty."

Sherlock stayed silent for another two or three minutes, then continued to speak.

"I can smell your after shave and detect your body heat next to me, like an oval bubble of a temperature difference."

John tried to sense Sherlock's warmth like that, too, but failed. He also failed to smell any of the products Sherlock used, which was no wonder because they are in general almost odourless from John's point of view, though he knew Sherlock chooses them by their scent.

"The wind just changed direction… Someone is cooking in the houses on the shore… steaks and fried potatoes."

John mentally shook his head.

He had seen the houses in the distance and there was another strip of sea between them and the small row of buildings, as well as the dune of stones behind them.

"There is also a women walking somewhere, cheap and nasty perfume."

John giggled.

"I know you can't, but be aware that I sense all of that at once, not like you. You probably moved from one sensation I described to the next, following my lead, not keeping them all in one moment. Try to bring it all into focus as a whole."

"Blimey… it's intense," John knew he wasn't managing to imagine it all at once, but it was a quite strong experience nevertheless.

"Welcome to my world."

They kept their silence for another few minutes and John tried again to keep it all in focus at the same time.

"I can also taste you in the air around me, it's almost an intrusion into your private space… I sometimes feel like..."

Sherlock stopped, and John sensed the struggle, when he couldn't find the words he went on.

"Try to keep all the sensations in the front of your mind, don't shove them away. The sounds of the sea, the intense rhythm of the waves, the crash is a relief of power… the mind can push bad things out of the system, work them free. The sound guides the movement."

John frowned, wondering where he had lost the path.

"This place is nice because it is possible to experience the wildness of the sea, not the domesticated nature that is around us in London. This is true and an unstoppable force. The taste of life."

The doctor struggled to understand the sudden and almost philosophical switch to musing about life.

"Nature has its own rhythm, it's intense but soothing, not too fast and not too slow. There are people who would describe this as the music of nature. Sounds can be an intense source of pleasure."

A moment later he huffed in disappointment.

"What is it?"

"I hear cars."

"Well, this country is not big enough so one could really get away from civilisation. You should go to New Zealand if you have the chance, it's gorgeous. Maybe I'll visit Robert again some time, you should come then."

"That is the one you visited with the doctor?"

"Her name is Sarah, Sherlock, Sarah. And yes, we visited him."

" I don't do holidays."

"Why not?"

"Dull. I'd go mad having nothing to do. Never liked vacations as a child, I did fear I might get insane, although our parents tried to entertain us, it was never enough."

John could animatedly imagine that.

"That was long ago, maybe today you could relish things that were boring in your youth."

John could almost hear Sherlock roll his eyes, he tried to keep his level of focus on their 'experiment'.

He found he liked doing this, it was an insight he had long hoped for.

"I can hear the birds," John directed his friend back to the world of sensations he was still trying to float in.

Or had Sherlock deliberately moved out of the session because it had become too intense?... or because he was really disturbed by the cars and the sounds of civilisation, unable to ignore them?

"Yes, how many different voices?"

"You mean like species or individuals?"

"I hear the individuals but you should be able to hear at least… four different species."

John tried to concentrate.

There were seagulls, at least one.

Then there were tiny birds in the distance, chirping, at least two, they were arguing somewhere.

"Sometimes it is good to perceive all this," Sherlock muses. "But usually the only way to do it is in solitude and with many precautions to prevent overload. Sometimes I need it to be overwhelming and painful."

"Does my presence spoil the experience? I mean when we were at the shoreline, on the rocks in august, was it less good because I was there?"

"No."

"Why not?" John was curious, of course he had his own thesis why, but he wanted Sherlock to think about it, or try to express it.

"I don't know… Because it's you."

"Oh," John raised his eyebrows and opened his eyes to look at his friend. He winced, the dim light was suddenly too bright and he was blinking into the cloudy sky.

"You just gave me a… gift… This was something special, thank you."

"It was awful… but I never though I could put this in words… or that someone might want to hear it. I learned to hide my sensations because they are too much, it was a frightening storm when I was a child. This is what I experience every second of every day and I can't pause it, can't stop it, can't dim it."

"Sherlock, to know about this - having experienced it a bit like you do - it enriches my life… and it probably did the same for your parents, though they might have seldom expressed it, because you suffered from it. Feel encouraged to tell me what you sense… and feel free to communicate if it gets too much."

"What I just explained is the 'normal' perception. But sometimes it gets more intense, when I deliberately decide to go there, into the sensation, or feeling, whatever you want to call it. I am able to immerse myself in a different way. Unleashed, it can be overwhelming and I need either solitude or someone who I can trust absolutely, which I haven't had before, so this is new for me… When I was a child it frightened me how lost I could get by experiencing. I needed to pull myself out by force sometimes. Sensing can be a flush or exhilaration, but it rarely happens in the right circumstances and I can't trust the situation enough to let go - open the gates to the input."

"Why are you so careful about it? What happened?"

"As you already know I might get physically sick, suffer breathing problems or bad headaches. The intensity of the sensations can also cause emotions to go wild, the turbulences make me lose my footing…"

"What?… What does that mean?"

"No comment."

John felt he had been granted enormous insight and didn't poke further. This was a lot for one day and if Sherlock didn't want to talk about it, he'd respect that. The slightly out of character remarks Sherlock had made showed the doctor how uneasy with the topic he was, and how inexperienced when it came to express emotions and feelings. But he had tried even though it was hard.

What John had been given today was a precious thing and he'd keep it carefully. He was sure there were a lot of things he hadn't even grasped and that needed further thinking.

"I want to go back," Sherlock said and stood up.

John picked up two pebbles from where they had sat and slipped them into his chest pocket, then followed. They were of intense different colours but very smooth; he wanted a reminder of this event.

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A/N:

Ask google pictures for a picture of the beach, it is a remarkable piece of nature. Unfortunately I've never been there or to the UK at all.

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