Sherlock Holmes of House Vernius. The name was worthless here in Sietch Tabr on Arrakis. His training in the weirding way and observation skills was still useful amongst the Fremen, but Mycroft’s superior Truthsaying was less so. His older brother’s abilities were prevalent in the political forest, not the desert wasteland of Dune.

Still, the planet was not without it’s upsides. The Freman accepted (albeit grudgingly) the two exiled brothers after the Naib’s son insisted. Sherlock thought Jhon had the bluest eyes he had ever seen - even after he met the rest of the Fremen in the sietch. Jhon found them after their week long journey to no-where in the middle of the desert. He brought them to his home and let them use one of his many rings to get water. Sherlock didn’t think water could taste so sweet.

Sherlock learnt that the water rings were the currency of the Fremen, and Jhon was considered ‘rich’. They called him El-Sayal, or ‘rain of sand’. He was one of the best worm riders in the entire sietch and would often go riding for his own enjoyment, either coming back relaxed and mellow or with a whole new collection of bodies for the deathstill as well as supplies. The rain of sand… that brings moisture.

He crept out late at night to find Jhon holstering his maula pistol before pulling the maker hooks from his Fremkit. Jhon was riding again tonight. Sherlock made a fast decision and rushed out to his friend as quietly as he could.

‘Take me with you,’ he demanded once he reached Jhon.

Jhon turned in surprise. ‘What?’

‘You’re going sandriding. I want to go with you.’

Jhon snorted. ‘You haven’t even taken the sandriding trial, Baz. I’m sorry, but not now.’

Baz. Jhon’s Fremen name for Sherlock. Falcon. Sherlock thought it fit, at least, much better than the whispered Mahdi from others around the sietch when they thought he couldn’t hear them. He hated it. He was no more their prophetic saviour than Mycroft was, and as much as it pained him, he felt Mycroft would be better suited to that role. Yes, they were born on another planet of a Bene Gesserit mother who trained them in the organisation’s ways, but so were many other people. Sherlock personally thought it would be Victor of House Atreides. Jhon told him there was a good chance either of Holmes brothers could be the Fremen Mahdi despite what Sherlock insisted.

Sherlock didn’t let Jhon deter him from his current purpose. ‘You are capable of carrying multiple corpses with you as you ride back to the sietch. Surely you can take one living body outside of it.’

Jhon stilled for a moment, considering Sherlock’s words, before sighing. Sherlock knew he won their argument - again. He prudently kept his triumphant grin off his face as Jhon turned back to face him. The Fremen man pointed a finger in Sherlock’s direction and said seriously, ‘If you really wish to do this, you must follow everything I say. Immediately. Without talking back.’

‘Of course.’ His grin finally broke through when Jhon pulled out a thumper from the kit.

————

When he was atop the sandworm, clutching at Jhon and watching the dawn rise in front of them, Sherlock never felt more alive.

Sherlock Holmes of House Vernius. The name was worthless here in Sietch Tabr on Arrakis. His training in the weirding way and observation skills was still useful amongst the Fremen, but Mycroft’s superior Truthsaying was less so. His older brother’s abilities were prevalent in the political forest, not the desert wasteland of Dune.

Still, the planet was not without it’s upsides. The Freman accepted (albeit grudgingly) the two exiled brothers after the Naib’s son insisted. Sherlock thought Jhon had the bluest eyes he had ever seen - even after he met the rest of the Fremen in the sietch. Jhon found them after their week long journey to no-where in the middle of the desert. He brought them to his home and let them use one of his many rings to get water. Sherlock didn’t think water could taste so sweet.

Sherlock learnt that the water rings were the currency of the Fremen, and Jhon was considered ‘rich’. They called him El-Sayal, or ‘rain of sand’. He was one of the best worm riders in the entire sietch and would often go riding for his own enjoyment, either coming back relaxed and mellow or with a whole new collection of bodies for the deathstill as well as supplies. The rain of sand… that brings moisture.

He crept out late at night to find Jhon holstering his maula pistol before pulling the maker hooks from his Fremkit. Jhon was riding again tonight. Sherlock made a fast decision and rushed out to his friend as quietly as he could.

‘Take me with you,’ he demanded once he reached Jhon.

Jhon turned in surprise. ‘What?’

‘You’re going sandriding. I want to go with you.’

Jhon snorted. ‘You haven’t even taken the sandriding trial, Baz. I’m sorry, but not now.’

Baz. Jhon’s Fremen name for Sherlock. Falcon. Sherlock thought it fit, at least, much better than the whispered Mahdi from others around the sietch when they thought he couldn’t hear them. He hated it. He was no more their prophetic saviour than Mycroft was, and as much as it pained him, he felt Mycroft would be better suited to that role. Yes, they were born on another planet of a Bene Gesserit mother who trained them in the organisation’s ways, but so were many other people. Sherlock personally thought it would be Victor of House Atreides. Jhon told him there was a good chance either of Holmes brothers could be the Fremen Mahdi despite what Sherlock insisted.

Sherlock didn’t let Jhon deter him from his current purpose. ‘You are capable of carrying multiple corpses with you as you ride back to the sietch. Surely you can take one living body outside of it.’

Jhon stilled for a moment, considering Sherlock’s words, before sighing. Sherlock knew he won their argument - again. He prudently kept his triumphant grin off his face as Jhon turned back to face him. The Fremen man pointed a finger in Sherlock’s direction and said seriously, ‘If you really wish to do this, you must follow everything I say. Immediately. Without talking back.’

‘Of course.’ His grin finally broke through when Jhon pulled out a thumper from the kit.

————

When he was atop the sandworm, clutching at Jhon and watching the dawn rise in front of them, Sherlock never felt more alive.

sigtryggr:

so I found myself listening to the soundtrack from the Dune miniseries (seriously that miniseries might actually be perfect if you like Dune and haven’t seen that thing what are you still doing here go watch it and eugh fuck that David Lynch 80s monstrosity okay I know some people like it and I am baffled) and a Paul Muad’dib happened

any other Dune fans here? or am I alone in my nerdery 

#I got halfway through the third book and stopped because what the fuck a nine year old was hitting on a seventeen year old what is this #and I loved Alia in the second one so why the hell did she go nuts and possessed in the third what it made no sense

HAHA, this! I tried finished Children of Dune twice already and I just can’t do it. It bores me to tears. I read the ending and I was really just… what even.

But the first two books. Fucking love them.

holmesiandeduction:

fuckyeahdementia:

the old spice must flow