Fandoms 1 and 2
I edited a prompt editor I found online to generator random combinations of fandoms and prompts - this is a necessary explanation for some of the fics that I will come up with during this 40fandom.
Fandom: Elementary/Minecraft
Rating: G
Word Count: 380
Watson dropped her bag on the kitchen table and carefully eyed the room. It looked too clean. She peered into the living room - also too clean. With her trip to her parents, Sherlock had been free to concoct whichever ridiculous schemes he deemed necessary, and Sherlock never tidied up after himself.
As she started to climb the stairs she heard Sherlock shout; it was a pained and twisted cry that had her legs powering to take the steps two at a time until she reached Sherlock’s door and threw it open.
She had never heard Sherlock scream before.
“What the hell is going on?”, Watson squinted into the dark of the room, lit only by the computer monitor in the corner. Sherlock peered blearily at her through the darkness and Watson wrinkled her nose - it smelt like teenage boy...teenage boy who hadn’t yet learnt the importance of deodorant.
“What...are you doing?”, Watson asked, crossing the room to open the curtains and a window.
“Watson...you’re back”, Sherlock mumbled.
“Yes. And you are?”
“I...I was just”, Sherlock waved at the screen in front of him and Watson took a step closer. There was a small, brown haired man - if that’s what those pixels were meant to represent - stood in a pixelated field.
“I thought you didn’t play video games”, Watson said.
“I just...it’s rather intriguing actually - it’s like lego but in digital form, and less blocky”, Sherlock ran one hand over his gaunt face and pressed the pause button.
“Is this why you shouted a moment ago?”, Watson perched on the end of Sherlock’s bed.
“A creeper got me”, Sherlock stretched, his body groaning in protest. Watson opened her mouth to ask what a ‘creeper’ was but decided against it.
“Captain Gregson wants us, he couldn’t get hold of you - he said he spoke to you on Monday?”, Watson got up again and grabbed Sherlock’s bathrobe from the back of his door.
“Right, right”, Sherlock stood up with a wince and accepted the robe from Watson and begrudgingly accepted her practically pushing him out of the room and towards the bathroom, “He wanted me to look into some cold cases of theirs. I said I would after I finished my game...wait...what day is it?”
“Wednesday”
Fandom: Resident Evil/Dying Light
Rating: PG-12
Word Count: 260
The woman on the other side of the room had seen death.
Not just natural death - as unpleasant as that might be - no...she had seen the same kind of death as me. She had seen suffering, seen terror...lost people. I fiddled with the paperclip, still unduly smug about having smuggled it past security. She avoided looking at me. I didn’t blame her.
The scars didn’t make for pleasant viewing.
I sometimes wondered if I would rather have turned - been put out of my misery by a passing merc with a gun.
No time to wonder now.
She looked pristine - her skin wasn’t married, wasn’t marked. I wondered how someone could see combat and come out undamaged.
“You know why we’re here?”, my voice was rough, my throat sore. She looked up, and in those eyes, I finally saw the scars - every bit as permanent as ones marked in the skin.
“We’ll find out soon enough”, her voice was quiet, smooth, and strangely unidentifiable. I wouldn’t remember it, not matter how much I wanted to.
“Were you in Harran too?”, I thought I would have remembered someone like her. Then again, I had once thought many things. She smiled and shook her head,
“Raccoon City”, and when I shrugged she smiled again, “All you need to know is the whole damn world’s gone to hell”.
I wanted to ask what she meant but before I could the doors slid open, and she was gone, taken by men in dark suits with copy-paste haircuts, and I was alone again.
Fandom: Elementary/Minecraft
Rating: G
Word Count: 380
Watson dropped her bag on the kitchen table and carefully eyed the room. It looked too clean. She peered into the living room - also too clean. With her trip to her parents, Sherlock had been free to concoct whichever ridiculous schemes he deemed necessary, and Sherlock never tidied up after himself.
As she started to climb the stairs she heard Sherlock shout; it was a pained and twisted cry that had her legs powering to take the steps two at a time until she reached Sherlock’s door and threw it open.
She had never heard Sherlock scream before.
“What the hell is going on?”, Watson squinted into the dark of the room, lit only by the computer monitor in the corner. Sherlock peered blearily at her through the darkness and Watson wrinkled her nose - it smelt like teenage boy...teenage boy who hadn’t yet learnt the importance of deodorant.
“What...are you doing?”, Watson asked, crossing the room to open the curtains and a window.
“Watson...you’re back”, Sherlock mumbled.
“Yes. And you are?”
“I...I was just”, Sherlock waved at the screen in front of him and Watson took a step closer. There was a small, brown haired man - if that’s what those pixels were meant to represent - stood in a pixelated field.
“I thought you didn’t play video games”, Watson said.
“I just...it’s rather intriguing actually - it’s like lego but in digital form, and less blocky”, Sherlock ran one hand over his gaunt face and pressed the pause button.
“Is this why you shouted a moment ago?”, Watson perched on the end of Sherlock’s bed.
“A creeper got me”, Sherlock stretched, his body groaning in protest. Watson opened her mouth to ask what a ‘creeper’ was but decided against it.
“Captain Gregson wants us, he couldn’t get hold of you - he said he spoke to you on Monday?”, Watson got up again and grabbed Sherlock’s bathrobe from the back of his door.
“Right, right”, Sherlock stood up with a wince and accepted the robe from Watson and begrudgingly accepted her practically pushing him out of the room and towards the bathroom, “He wanted me to look into some cold cases of theirs. I said I would after I finished my game...wait...what day is it?”
“Wednesday”
Fandom: Resident Evil/Dying Light
Rating: PG-12
Word Count: 260
The woman on the other side of the room had seen death.
Not just natural death - as unpleasant as that might be - no...she had seen the same kind of death as me. She had seen suffering, seen terror...lost people. I fiddled with the paperclip, still unduly smug about having smuggled it past security. She avoided looking at me. I didn’t blame her.
The scars didn’t make for pleasant viewing.
I sometimes wondered if I would rather have turned - been put out of my misery by a passing merc with a gun.
No time to wonder now.
She looked pristine - her skin wasn’t married, wasn’t marked. I wondered how someone could see combat and come out undamaged.
“You know why we’re here?”, my voice was rough, my throat sore. She looked up, and in those eyes, I finally saw the scars - every bit as permanent as ones marked in the skin.
“We’ll find out soon enough”, her voice was quiet, smooth, and strangely unidentifiable. I wouldn’t remember it, not matter how much I wanted to.
“Were you in Harran too?”, I thought I would have remembered someone like her. Then again, I had once thought many things. She smiled and shook her head,
“Raccoon City”, and when I shrugged she smiled again, “All you need to know is the whole damn world’s gone to hell”.
I wanted to ask what she meant but before I could the doors slid open, and she was gone, taken by men in dark suits with copy-paste haircuts, and I was alone again.