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lucleon:

Uy!

Antonio Caparo

(Source: fuckyeahdonniedarko, via asphyxion)

atlinmerrick:

They’re not the prettiest shoes he’s ever seen. Then again, when he first saw them John had been living at 221B for fifty-two days and hadn’t taken much notice of high heels, well, ever.
Because none of his girlfriends wore heels. Not one. If John thinks about it, he’s pretty sure it’s because in heels each of them would have been taller than he, and maybe they thought that would matter to him. Or maybe it mattered to them.
Except that’s not the point.
The point is that when John first saw the violin heels all those years ago he’d barely known Sherlock a couple months and so he didn’t associate the shoes with his flatmate, though he did amuse himself wondering what kind of song Sherlock might compose on such a strange instrument. Would it be fast, like the staccato beat of a quick stride? Or mournful, like the dark world in which he so often moved?
John remembers he’d grinned, moved on, flight of fancy forgotten.
And then time passed and flatmates became lovers became fiancés became husbands, and five years on John happened across those odd heels again, and though they weren’t the prettiest shoes he’d ever seen—no grand bows, gems, or jewel tones—John bought them for his lithe love.
And that’s when Sherlock showed him the kind of song you compose on such an instrument.
The tune begins a cappella, the vocalist one tall man laughing, amused by his strange and silly gift.
The song then becomes a capriccio piece with the quick and lively clatter of heels across a bedroom floor.
Soon thereafter the tune shifts into something for two voices, singers achieving a fine harmony of high giggles and low murmurs.
The piece then moves in slow and stately progression to something almost hymn-like, reverent and hushed. By far the longest portion of the song, this section is full of the soft susurration of fingers across flesh, of whispers against the fine shell of ears.
Eventually the tune ramps to its staccato and atonal conclusion, one singer’s voice breathy and profane as he comes, the other dark and loud as he follows long minutes after.
The violin heels aren’t the prettiest shoes either of them have ever seen, no, definitely not, but in the end beauty finds a way, it always does.
Dvancecinco thought these shoes needed a fic to go with them; I did too. Story: Atlin Merrick; Shoe submission: A Cumberbatch Of Cookies; Shoe designer: Kobi Levi.