#he'll drink wine with his roommate at midnight if they're having bad days

[mostweakhamlets]

Fears: Millennial AU WIP

A very rough WIP for my millennial/vlogger AU. It’s very rough and will be on AO3 after polishing! NOT A BBC SHERLOCK FIC. 

Summary of AU: John Watson starts making video blogs about Sherlock Holmes after he gets no credit in the Jefferson Hope case (from the novel A Study in Scarlet). Holmes, however, has failure after failure without proper support from the police and without enough experience. They’re just millennials killing the police industry. But really, they’re poor and young. Someone help them. 

It’s meant to be a late-coming-of-age AU set between the seven year gap in canon--before the The Sign of the Four and after A Study in Scarlet. 

They had started putting aside money every week to make sure they had enough to keep little luxuries in the apartment. They found the cheapest wine that they both liked and always kept at least one bottle in the fridge, opening it when they had particularly rough days.

"I don't know what I'm doing anymore."

The best way to open to one another was to be a little tipsy. Holmes especially found it easier to talk after a couple glasses of wine.

"Scotland Yard is always a step ahead of me, and they keep taking credit for my work."

They sat across from each other, curled up in their chairs. It was nearing midnight. The sky was dark, and the television was on a late night news channel that was repeating the same depressing news from that evening. Watson could have been asleep already, but they had an unspoken agreement that they had to stay up for each other during these nights. It was cathartic to be up so late in their quiet apartment when the rest of the city was still running like it had all day. It gave Watson a sense of security and growing camaraderie. Maybe a little youth, too, which too often felt like it was slipping from his fingers at the end of his 20s.

"They'll have to stop someday," he said.

"What if they don't? That's what I'm worried about. What if I'm constantly losing credit for work."

They would hardly talk about these times, though. It was too sensitive, and the conversations could only exist in these conditions. But at these times, they let go of whatever they needed to.

"I want to hear that you're scared."

Holmes looked up. His eyes were glassy and didn't understand. Didn't want to understand. He built up so many walls Watson knew from the first day they met. It would take work to break them down to see the vulnerability that he knew Holmes had. It would take time. Holmes was so afraid of looking powerless. Revealing his worries deepest fears would unravel everything he had crafted for himself. To protect himself. From the manipulative eyes of criminals and police offers. From anyone who could break him down for their benefit.

He looked at Watson almost like a kid.

"Tell me that you're scared," Watson repeated.

"Why?"

"Because you need to hear it from yourself."

Holmes rolled his eyes.

"I'm serious. When was the last time you admitted you were scared of something?"

"Fears are for children."

"Sherlock, you're never going to outgrow having fears."

He pressed his knuckles to his mouth.

"I'm afraid still," Watson said.

"I don't mean that no adults have fears," Holmes said. "I mean that I don't have fears because I'm not going to waste my time excessively worrying about things that may or may not happen and that may not even be in my control. I deal with things as they happen. I worry as they happen. I won't waste my time with hypotheticals."

"That's bullshit. You have to be afraid of something. Everyone is. You can't control it."

Watson leaned over to pour more wine in his own glass. He sat back and watched Holmes. The more he drank, the harder it was for him to hide from Watson.

"I'll tell you what I'm afraid of."

Bargains worked sometimes.

"I think I know what you're afraid of."

"What am I afraid of?"

"That you've wasted time. You tried a military career, and that didn't unfold like you wanted it to. Now you're struggling to find a practice to work in, and you're uncertain where to go because you're worried you're going to get stuck in a career you settled for."

"That's generic. That could be anyone about to turn 30."

"Is it wrong?"

Watson sighed. "No."

"See? Fears are pointless. You're not going to get stuck because you spent years studying to be a doctor, and now that you are one, you're either going to be consumed by regret regardless of your career path or your going to be satisfied because you learned how to take care of people and see them in a different way. It's a gift, John. But the fear of living in constant disappointment isn't going to help you. Almost everyone else has that fear, so the herd mentality drives to think that there's a much higher chance of it happening that what there really is."

Holmes was clever, and his words brought an odd comfort to Watson. But the self-righteousness of it made Watson dismiss any truth he said.

"I'm afraid of becoming an alcoholic."

Holmes bit his lip.

"One of the first things you knew about me was that my brother was an alcoholic," Watson said. "In my first year of university, I had to take a psychology class. My professor told us that addiction is genetic, and ever since then I've been afraid that I'm going to be an alcoholic like my brother."

"And other family?"

"My dad. When he was younger."

Holmes was quiet. Sometimes it took him a little time to process heavier emotional conversation. Watson was patient. He knew that silence wasn't an indicator of anything bad.

"I'm afraid that dropping out of university was an irreparable mistake."

They so rarely talked about Holmes dropping out of school. It never seemed like a big deal to Watson. When it came up for the first time, he had just shrugged and said, "It doesn't work for everyone."

"I could have had a degree in forensics and maybe have the Yard take me more seriously. And maybe have more resources or connections... and maybe be more successful by now."

"Do you think you would have worked for the police?"

"No!"

The somber moment was lost, and Watson broke into a smile at Holmes's disgust.

"So if you were still going to be an unconventional detective, why go about getting there in a conventional way? I'm sure you've taught yourself more than you could learn in a classroom. Besides, degrees don't really mean anything. They're just paper that says you satisfied requirements. What matters with a degree is that you learned something. And I think that you've learned plenty--and about things that the Yard knows nothing about. So why should the paper matter? The Yard'll realize that you're valuable to them and that papers don't mean anything."

Holmes's face was red from either the wine or Watson's compliment.

"What happened tonight?"

"Lestrade doesn't want me involved in his new case. I think promotions are being decided soon, and he doesn't want anything interfering with his minuscule chance of becoming a DCI."

"He'll get over it when he doesn't get promoted."

"But it'll still be my fault somehow." Holmes drained the last of his wine. "If something goes great, the inspectors get the credit. If something goes wrong, it's all on me. The only time they were almost willing to give me credit was when you made a video about the Jefferson Hope case."

"Really? That worked?"

"You didn't realize that when it became popular, the Yard would be in hot water for not giving me credit? It was hilarious. You scared them."

Watson straightened up. "I scared them?"

"It was almost a PR scandal."

"What if I uploaded more about your cases?"

"Do what you want."

"They might get a little more attention drawn to you rather than the Yard."

Holmes was drowsy from the wine. Watson could tell by the way he sank back into his chair and grinned.

"You can always come with me when I go out for cases. If clients don't mind, you can sit in on meetings. And maybe an appearance at Scotland Yard would bully them into letting me in on more interesting cases."

"Alright. I'd love to. I'm not doing anything else with my time."

"We can split the pay 50/50."

Watson would have done it for free. "We'll talk about it later. You don't make enough to split it."

"But either way we'll be partners."

The word made Watson's heart swell.

"Partners," he echoed.

He left his unfinished wine on the coffee table and walked to Holmes. He offered a hand and helped Holmes to his feet.

If their drinking sessions didn't end with a resolution, they would normally drink until they could come up with a superficial one under the deceptive haze of alcohol. It wasn't a bad way of coping. They never thought of it that way because eventually the need for drinking lessened. Eventually they were able to sit together and talk over dinner or in front of a camera if it was entertaining.

Eventually they were closer and warmer.