Elementary Fanfic: Eine Kleine Nachtmusik (JWP #31)
Title: Eine Kleine Nachtmusik
Fandom: Elementary
Alternate Postings: AO3
Rating/Content: PG13, silliness, likely ooc
Warnings: none
Word Count: 415
Disclaimer: Not my world.
Notes: Written for watsons_woes July Writing Prompt #31: Once More With Feeling: Involve music. I have zero knowledge of the floorplan of Sherlock's Brownstone, please excuse any ruptures in the time-space continuum. I also do not intend to disparage the instrument, it's just I figure Joan has some childhood resentment built up toward it.
Summary: Joan Watson has had enough.
Eine Kleine Nachtmusik
This is it, Joan thought as she lugged the heavy instrument down the stairs, trying not to remember the expression on her mother's face when she'd asked for the hated childhood device. This is war.
Dawn was barely hinting outside, the faint orange light brightening the windows coming from more than just the street lamps. Sherlock had been up all night last night. With power tools. And watermelons, or something equally wet and splattery and Joan wasn't squeamish, but she was really hoping it was just watermelons.
Awkwardly, she shrugged into the straps of the instrument and peered into the kitchen. It was clean, almost too clean, and smelled... not like watermelons. At all.
Joan growled and stomped the rest of the way to Sherlock's room.
A small voice in the back of her head kept chirruping that as a Sober Companion it was part of her job to model acceptable behaviour, and that while petty vengeance was one step wrong, acquiring equipment and laying in an advance plan for revenge the next time Sherlock annoyed her enough to think screaming and throwing things was a good idea was a few miles of steps wrong.
Joan growled again and told the small reasonable chirruping voice in her head to stuff it.
After a brief cautionary listen in case Sherlock had managed to bring in any friends under the cover of the splattery kitchen noises, Joan flung open the door.
Sherlock's head popped up from the pillows, hair tousled, blinking muzzily. "Joan. Hello."
Joan hoisted her accordion and began to play the Chicken Dance song in the loudest and most annoying way possible.
Sherlock just sat in bed, blinking at her through the entire song.
"So," Joan said when she'd finished, huffing a little, feeling a combination of ridiculous, juvenile, and vengeful, letting the heavy instrument sag against her chest. "Now you know what it feels like to be kept awake by horrible noises."
Sherlock tsk'd. "Nonsense. You play quite well."
Joan felt her face go blank. "What."
"You must have been playing for years as a child to retain the memory of how to play Der Ententanz at that speed to this day, despite your obvious lack of recent practice." Sherlock leaned back against his pillows, folding his hands behind his head. "I also find a good polka invigorating. Do you know anything from Prodaná nevěsta?"
Joan emitted a shrill noise of pure frustration that was absolutely not a scream before slamming Sherlock's bedroom door and lugging her accordion back upstairs, snarling all the way.
-.-.-
(that's it)
Post Notes: This story brought to you by the factoid I recently heard that Lucy Liu plays the accordion. She probably doesn't hate it, could be really good at it, and almost certainly never uses her accordion-playing abilities to try to punish people that annoy her.
Fandom: Elementary
Alternate Postings: AO3
Rating/Content: PG13, silliness, likely ooc
Warnings: none
Word Count: 415
Disclaimer: Not my world.
Notes: Written for watsons_woes July Writing Prompt #31: Once More With Feeling: Involve music. I have zero knowledge of the floorplan of Sherlock's Brownstone, please excuse any ruptures in the time-space continuum. I also do not intend to disparage the instrument, it's just I figure Joan has some childhood resentment built up toward it.
Summary: Joan Watson has had enough.
Eine Kleine Nachtmusik
This is it, Joan thought as she lugged the heavy instrument down the stairs, trying not to remember the expression on her mother's face when she'd asked for the hated childhood device. This is war.
Dawn was barely hinting outside, the faint orange light brightening the windows coming from more than just the street lamps. Sherlock had been up all night last night. With power tools. And watermelons, or something equally wet and splattery and Joan wasn't squeamish, but she was really hoping it was just watermelons.
Awkwardly, she shrugged into the straps of the instrument and peered into the kitchen. It was clean, almost too clean, and smelled... not like watermelons. At all.
Joan growled and stomped the rest of the way to Sherlock's room.
A small voice in the back of her head kept chirruping that as a Sober Companion it was part of her job to model acceptable behaviour, and that while petty vengeance was one step wrong, acquiring equipment and laying in an advance plan for revenge the next time Sherlock annoyed her enough to think screaming and throwing things was a good idea was a few miles of steps wrong.
Joan growled again and told the small reasonable chirruping voice in her head to stuff it.
After a brief cautionary listen in case Sherlock had managed to bring in any friends under the cover of the splattery kitchen noises, Joan flung open the door.
Sherlock's head popped up from the pillows, hair tousled, blinking muzzily. "Joan. Hello."
Joan hoisted her accordion and began to play the Chicken Dance song in the loudest and most annoying way possible.
Sherlock just sat in bed, blinking at her through the entire song.
"So," Joan said when she'd finished, huffing a little, feeling a combination of ridiculous, juvenile, and vengeful, letting the heavy instrument sag against her chest. "Now you know what it feels like to be kept awake by horrible noises."
Sherlock tsk'd. "Nonsense. You play quite well."
Joan felt her face go blank. "What."
"You must have been playing for years as a child to retain the memory of how to play Der Ententanz at that speed to this day, despite your obvious lack of recent practice." Sherlock leaned back against his pillows, folding his hands behind his head. "I also find a good polka invigorating. Do you know anything from Prodaná nevěsta?"
Joan emitted a shrill noise of pure frustration that was absolutely not a scream before slamming Sherlock's bedroom door and lugging her accordion back upstairs, snarling all the way.
-.-.-
(that's it)
Post Notes: This story brought to you by the factoid I recently heard that Lucy Liu plays the accordion. She probably doesn't hate it, could be really good at it, and almost certainly never uses her accordion-playing abilities to try to punish people that annoy her.