So...Wendy and I did this thing...With a Bit RL Thrown in for Good Measure
I still live, though my sinuses don't really feel like it. Being sick and not at home for it really really suck. Sneezing, coughing, alternating chills and heat...all add up to an awesome day here on my business trip of epicness. But that's not really why I wanted to post. I wanted to share something :)
Wendy and I committed fic, but it's fic that can only be found in a fanzine (for one year, at least). You can find the details here: Pyramind Press: Sherlock Fanzine. Our story is called "The Kindest Word" and is leading off the 'zine. You can find it in person at Media West or you can order online.
Teaser below the cut for our fic The Kindest Word:
“You’re not allowed to die on me, got it?” John snarls as he presses his hands onto the wound. The doctor in him wants to despair; there are so many injuries. Most worrying is the gut shot, which would be bad enough on its own, but is worse given Sherlock’s been through days of ill-treatment and maybe even brutality. His friend has lost so much blood. The man in him dares to continue to hope.
Sherlock’s eyes open a sliver-it shouldn’t even be possible, but Sherlock does so enjoy shoving impossible out the door. “Wouldn’t... dream of it.” He goes still.
John bites back a sob and presses harder, praying for someone to find them in time.
***
Now I'm heading back to curling up under blankets and wishing for tea. Hope everything's going well for everyone out there in LJ-land.
Wendy and I committed fic, but it's fic that can only be found in a fanzine (for one year, at least). You can find the details here: Pyramind Press: Sherlock Fanzine. Our story is called "The Kindest Word" and is leading off the 'zine. You can find it in person at Media West or you can order online.
Teaser below the cut for our fic The Kindest Word:
“You’re not allowed to die on me, got it?” John snarls as he presses his hands onto the wound. The doctor in him wants to despair; there are so many injuries. Most worrying is the gut shot, which would be bad enough on its own, but is worse given Sherlock’s been through days of ill-treatment and maybe even brutality. His friend has lost so much blood. The man in him dares to continue to hope.
Sherlock’s eyes open a sliver-it shouldn’t even be possible, but Sherlock does so enjoy shoving impossible out the door. “Wouldn’t... dream of it.” He goes still.
John bites back a sob and presses harder, praying for someone to find them in time.
***
Now I'm heading back to curling up under blankets and wishing for tea. Hope everything's going well for everyone out there in LJ-land.