Prompt Fic: Sherlock BBC
We got several clusters of prompts to write a fic: I decided to try to use all the prompts, in order. (They are italicized.) Fun!
Title: Night In
Fandom: Sherlock BBC
Pairing(s): Sherlock/John pre-anything
Rating: G
Word Count: 569
Set # & Words Used: I used them all!
“Let’s not mess about with the law, Sherlock, yes? Why not just go file the report at the station? You’ll have to do it sometime,” John called from the kitchen. Sherlock barely flicked his eyes from the microscope. “If by ‘law’ you mean ‘Lestrade,’ John, I absolutely refuse to cater to his absurd strategy of containment.” He raised his hand in a dismissive wave. “You can’t know me at all if you’d think I would.”
John stood for a moment at the entrance to the sitting room, then strolled toward Sherlock, depositing a mug of tea on the table. “I’d say I know you as well as anyone does, despite our almost complete lack of…” His voice trailed off into a shrug. Sherlock looked up this time, cocking an eyebrow as he watched John take his seat by the fire, his hair glowing gold in the flickering light. Sherlock glanced out the window at the darkening sky, and decided to turn the tide.
Reaching under the table for the bottle of Scotch, he went and sat in the chair opposite John. “I simply can’t do any more close work this evening,” he said in a studiously idle tone. “My mind is awash with annoying facts and observations.” He placed long fingers over his eyes, then peered between them. “Talk to me, John. Tell me the mundane doings of your day; perhaps that could serve as a palate cleanser.” He lolled back in the chair, but his eyes were brightly fixed on the man opposite. “Yeah?” John shifted in his chair. “All right then, well, I did have a bit of a day with the cleaners, getting the woollen jacket done, good old thing.” Sherlock suppressed a grimace at the thought of said jacket, but made an encouraging sound. “Then, way home, would you believe, a cat stuck in a tree by the park, managed to coax her down, right enough.
“Picked up a package for Mrs. Hudson from her crony at the bakery-didn’t look like baked goods, curious-then had to stop a young mischief-maker throwing a pebble over the roof at the corner; helped a foreign chap read the bus schedule, trying to get to the university. Just your average London afternoon.” He nodded happily, drained his tea, and held out the mug toward Sherlock, gesturing toward the bottle in his hand.
Mundane indeed, but it occurred to Sherlock as he reached over to pour the Scotch, he would gladly, and most surprisingly, endure daily such tedium to see that smile on John’s face. Blinking slightly at this realization, he murmured, “Kind of you to be a guide to the lost, to those about to make a mistake, and such a general dogsbody to the City of London. Making sure everything is ‘right as rain.’ ” He tried for a slightly ironic tone, but even he could hear the fondness. John paused mid-swig and his eyes shone with surprise. “Well, then, ta, mate,” he said softly, raising his mug. “Not such a robot when it comes to nice feelings after all.” Their eyes locked for a few long seconds, then both looked away. “So, not going to the Yard, what’s on for tonight then?” asked John, reaching for the paper. Sherlock poured them both another splash of Scotch. “I was thinking about a quiet night in,” he said softly, as he set down his mug and went to get his violin.
Title: Night In
Fandom: Sherlock BBC
Pairing(s): Sherlock/John pre-anything
Rating: G
Word Count: 569
Set # & Words Used: I used them all!
“Let’s not mess about with the law, Sherlock, yes? Why not just go file the report at the station? You’ll have to do it sometime,” John called from the kitchen. Sherlock barely flicked his eyes from the microscope. “If by ‘law’ you mean ‘Lestrade,’ John, I absolutely refuse to cater to his absurd strategy of containment.” He raised his hand in a dismissive wave. “You can’t know me at all if you’d think I would.”
John stood for a moment at the entrance to the sitting room, then strolled toward Sherlock, depositing a mug of tea on the table. “I’d say I know you as well as anyone does, despite our almost complete lack of…” His voice trailed off into a shrug. Sherlock looked up this time, cocking an eyebrow as he watched John take his seat by the fire, his hair glowing gold in the flickering light. Sherlock glanced out the window at the darkening sky, and decided to turn the tide.
Reaching under the table for the bottle of Scotch, he went and sat in the chair opposite John. “I simply can’t do any more close work this evening,” he said in a studiously idle tone. “My mind is awash with annoying facts and observations.” He placed long fingers over his eyes, then peered between them. “Talk to me, John. Tell me the mundane doings of your day; perhaps that could serve as a palate cleanser.” He lolled back in the chair, but his eyes were brightly fixed on the man opposite. “Yeah?” John shifted in his chair. “All right then, well, I did have a bit of a day with the cleaners, getting the woollen jacket done, good old thing.” Sherlock suppressed a grimace at the thought of said jacket, but made an encouraging sound. “Then, way home, would you believe, a cat stuck in a tree by the park, managed to coax her down, right enough.
“Picked up a package for Mrs. Hudson from her crony at the bakery-didn’t look like baked goods, curious-then had to stop a young mischief-maker throwing a pebble over the roof at the corner; helped a foreign chap read the bus schedule, trying to get to the university. Just your average London afternoon.” He nodded happily, drained his tea, and held out the mug toward Sherlock, gesturing toward the bottle in his hand.
Mundane indeed, but it occurred to Sherlock as he reached over to pour the Scotch, he would gladly, and most surprisingly, endure daily such tedium to see that smile on John’s face. Blinking slightly at this realization, he murmured, “Kind of you to be a guide to the lost, to those about to make a mistake, and such a general dogsbody to the City of London. Making sure everything is ‘right as rain.’ ” He tried for a slightly ironic tone, but even he could hear the fondness. John paused mid-swig and his eyes shone with surprise. “Well, then, ta, mate,” he said softly, raising his mug. “Not such a robot when it comes to nice feelings after all.” Their eyes locked for a few long seconds, then both looked away. “So, not going to the Yard, what’s on for tonight then?” asked John, reaching for the paper. Sherlock poured them both another splash of Scotch. “I was thinking about a quiet night in,” he said softly, as he set down his mug and went to get his violin.