Sherlock Fanfic: An Investigation of 'My Future Life' by Johnny Watson (JWP 2015 #13)
Title: An Investigation of 'My Future Life' by Johnny Watson
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Alternate Postings: AO3
Rating/Content: PG, silly, fandom references, includes graphic.
Warnings: none
Word Count: 590
Disclaimer: Not my worlds.
Notes: Written for watsons_woes July Writing Prompt #13: A Tale Foretold. Kind of subverted the prompt, oops.
Summary: Sherlock is shocked by John's ability to predict the future at the age of seven.
An Investigation of 'My Future Life' by Johnny Watson
"John?" Sherlock's voice was oddly strained.
John glared at the vaguely familiar yellowed scribbler in Sherlock's hands. "You've been rummaging in my things again!? Where did you even find that?"
Sherlock dismissed John's displeasure with a wave of his hand. "Your sister dropped off a few boxes from storage. It was accidental. I was looking for your birth certificate."
"You were what?"
"I find this... disconcerting," Sherlock carried on, ignoring John in favour of scowling at the scribbler. "From the age of the paper and the fading of the pencil, as well as of course the overall horridness of the spelling and grammar, although I'd say your penmanship may have actually gotten worse-"
"Oi!" John made a grab for the scribbler but Sherlock jerked it out of reach and continued.
"You obviously wrote what is on this page at approximately the age of seven."
Glowering, John crossed his arms. "Yes. Fine. I was around seven when I wrote in that. Daily journal writing, all the kids in class had to do one every day and the teacher reviewed them. Whatever you've found to scoff at, I was seven. It's not going to be high literature. Give it back."
"John." Sherlock looked up with a frankly unsettled expression. "When you were seven years old, you wrote about me."
John blinked. "...I did what?"
"You wrote here that when you grew up, you'd spend your life running around with a brilliant man, solving people's problems and 'beating up bad guys'.
"That's hardly a definitive description of life with you, Sherlock." John shook his head.
"No, there's more. Here: 'He will outsmart the bad guys and I will beat them up and we will make all the bad guys go to prison.'"
John snorted. "Oh, well! Dead on, that is."
"You've even specifically mentioned fake paintings in this, like that supernova painting business. Most children wouldn't be aware of art forgery at the age of seven." Sherlock glanced at John. "You don't have any artists or curators in your family."
"No..." John felt the beginnings of a memory surfacing, something about copies of the Mona Lisa, but couldn't quite catch it.
"You've described this man as being tall, brilliant, - mad, but whatever," Sherlock flapped an indifferent hand, "with curly hair and a scarf. My hair does tend towards curling and the scarf goes without-"
The penny dropped. "Oh! Oh god!" John nearly doubled over laughing.
"What?"
"Ahem. Erm. Sherlock." John grinned, catching his breath. "That's a description of the Doctor."
Sherlock's face was quite blank. "What doctor?"
"The Fourth Doctor."
"The fourth doctor you'd had as a child?" Sherlock frowned. "Were you ill?"
"No, not the fourth physician doctor, the Fourth Doctor doctor."
Still blank.
He can't not know... "Tom Baker? Teeth and curls? Inordinately long scarf? Police Box? Time travel, rubber suit monsters with a zip up the back, all that?"
Sherlock's brow furrowed. "You're speaking utter nonsense John. Are you feeling alright?"
"It's Doctor Who, Sherlock!" John couldn't say he was shocked, but he was taken aback that Sherlock didn't even recognize the name. "Science fiction TV serial, been running on and off in one form or another since the sixties? Really popular around when we were children, recently enjoying a resurgence? Practically an international ambassador of British pop culture now?"
"Ah." Sherlock sniffed. "Pop culture. I never pay any attention to it."
John snatched his scribbler away from Sherlock. "Well then, since there's nothing doing otherwise today except you rooting around in my personal effects..." He smirked evilly and reached for his laptop. "We have some education ahead of us now, don't we?"
As John opened iTunes, Sherlock looked faintly horrified.
-
(Several hours later...)
"John. Are you saying that at seven years old, you wanted to be Romana?"
"Shut up."
-.-.-
(that's it...except for wee!John's journal page replicated below (click to enlarge))
[Wee!John's handwriting is being represented by the BPChildLefty font]
(...and I very nearly had wee!John be psychic after all by having him draw the Fourth Doctor with a scarf he wouldn't be wearing until the following year! XD)
Notes: I've taken a rough ballpark guess at John's age and birthdate. The specific Classic Who Series John's childhood school exercise is based on is Season 17, which aired between September 1979 and January 1980, with Tom Baker, Lalla Ward, and a whole lot of crack. ("Looooord Niiiiiimooooooon!"). This is also set in a fantastical fictional universe where ALL the Classic Doctor Who episodes are readily available through iTunes. ;-P
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Alternate Postings: AO3
Rating/Content: PG, silly, fandom references, includes graphic.
Warnings: none
Word Count: 590
Disclaimer: Not my worlds.
Notes: Written for watsons_woes July Writing Prompt #13: A Tale Foretold. Kind of subverted the prompt, oops.
Summary: Sherlock is shocked by John's ability to predict the future at the age of seven.
An Investigation of 'My Future Life' by Johnny Watson
"John?" Sherlock's voice was oddly strained.
John glared at the vaguely familiar yellowed scribbler in Sherlock's hands. "You've been rummaging in my things again!? Where did you even find that?"
Sherlock dismissed John's displeasure with a wave of his hand. "Your sister dropped off a few boxes from storage. It was accidental. I was looking for your birth certificate."
"You were what?"
"I find this... disconcerting," Sherlock carried on, ignoring John in favour of scowling at the scribbler. "From the age of the paper and the fading of the pencil, as well as of course the overall horridness of the spelling and grammar, although I'd say your penmanship may have actually gotten worse-"
"Oi!" John made a grab for the scribbler but Sherlock jerked it out of reach and continued.
"You obviously wrote what is on this page at approximately the age of seven."
Glowering, John crossed his arms. "Yes. Fine. I was around seven when I wrote in that. Daily journal writing, all the kids in class had to do one every day and the teacher reviewed them. Whatever you've found to scoff at, I was seven. It's not going to be high literature. Give it back."
"John." Sherlock looked up with a frankly unsettled expression. "When you were seven years old, you wrote about me."
John blinked. "...I did what?"
"You wrote here that when you grew up, you'd spend your life running around with a brilliant man, solving people's problems and 'beating up bad guys'.
"That's hardly a definitive description of life with you, Sherlock." John shook his head.
"No, there's more. Here: 'He will outsmart the bad guys and I will beat them up and we will make all the bad guys go to prison.'"
John snorted. "Oh, well! Dead on, that is."
"You've even specifically mentioned fake paintings in this, like that supernova painting business. Most children wouldn't be aware of art forgery at the age of seven." Sherlock glanced at John. "You don't have any artists or curators in your family."
"No..." John felt the beginnings of a memory surfacing, something about copies of the Mona Lisa, but couldn't quite catch it.
"You've described this man as being tall, brilliant, - mad, but whatever," Sherlock flapped an indifferent hand, "with curly hair and a scarf. My hair does tend towards curling and the scarf goes without-"
The penny dropped. "Oh! Oh god!" John nearly doubled over laughing.
"What?"
"Ahem. Erm. Sherlock." John grinned, catching his breath. "That's a description of the Doctor."
Sherlock's face was quite blank. "What doctor?"
"The Fourth Doctor."
"The fourth doctor you'd had as a child?" Sherlock frowned. "Were you ill?"
"No, not the fourth physician doctor, the Fourth Doctor doctor."
Still blank.
He can't not know... "Tom Baker? Teeth and curls? Inordinately long scarf? Police Box? Time travel, rubber suit monsters with a zip up the back, all that?"
Sherlock's brow furrowed. "You're speaking utter nonsense John. Are you feeling alright?"
"It's Doctor Who, Sherlock!" John couldn't say he was shocked, but he was taken aback that Sherlock didn't even recognize the name. "Science fiction TV serial, been running on and off in one form or another since the sixties? Really popular around when we were children, recently enjoying a resurgence? Practically an international ambassador of British pop culture now?"
"Ah." Sherlock sniffed. "Pop culture. I never pay any attention to it."
John snatched his scribbler away from Sherlock. "Well then, since there's nothing doing otherwise today except you rooting around in my personal effects..." He smirked evilly and reached for his laptop. "We have some education ahead of us now, don't we?"
As John opened iTunes, Sherlock looked faintly horrified.
-
(Several hours later...)
"John. Are you saying that at seven years old, you wanted to be Romana?"
"Shut up."
-.-.-
(that's it...except for wee!John's journal page replicated below (click to enlarge))
[Wee!John's handwriting is being represented by the BPChildLefty font]
(...and I very nearly had wee!John be psychic after all by having him draw the Fourth Doctor with a scarf he wouldn't be wearing until the following year! XD)
Notes: I've taken a rough ballpark guess at John's age and birthdate. The specific Classic Who Series John's childhood school exercise is based on is Season 17, which aired between September 1979 and January 1980, with Tom Baker, Lalla Ward, and a whole lot of crack. ("Looooord Niiiiiimooooooon!"). This is also set in a fantastical fictional universe where ALL the Classic Doctor Who episodes are readily available through iTunes. ;-P