drinking games and fanfiction yup
So last night, Abbii, Steph and I got a Chinese and played the Jane Austen drinking game.
We added some of our own rules, including Giggling, Annoying characters, and Gratuitous Sexuality. We watched Becoming Jane, which meant that whenever James McAvoy was on the screen we all shouted GRATUITOUS SEXUALITY and whenever it was anyone else we shouted ANNOYING CHARACTER.
Anyway, afterwards, when we’d drunk enough to feel sick just from the pure quantity of alcohol, we decided to try doing some drunk writing. The prompt was ‘Jeeves and Sherlock meet’ because we’ve been watching a lot of Jeeves and Wooster and Sherlock recently. Abbii’s is here and you should read it because it’s brilliant even without the drunk aspect.
Here’s mine. It’s finished, and unedited since 2am last night. Enjoy!
(If you haven’t heard of Jeeves and Wooster, its a program from the nineties with a young Stephen Fry and Hugh Laurie. Hugh Laurie is Bertie Wooster, a lovely but kind of dense gentleman, and Fry is his super clever butler, Jeeves, who gets him out of lots of slapstick scrapes and unwanted engagements to anyone who isn’t Jeeves. That’s, er, pretty much all there is to it, so you can read this even if you haven’t seen the show. )
title: Never assume
characters/pairings:Jeeves/Wooster (preslash), Sherlock/John (established relationship)
In which Wooster is a fanboy, Jeeves is jealous, John is exasperated and Sherlock gets what he deserves I own nothing
notes: This is the result of a Strawberry and Lime Kopperburg, two Crabbies ginger beers, a glass of biscotti baileys, and about 4 strawberry and cream flavour vodka shots. Sorry. Note that because I wrote this drunk, it has a strange logic in that Jeeves and Wooster live in the twenties, and at the same time Sherlock and John live in modern times, and they all hang out. Also, Bertie randomly owns an iPad.
Jeeves looked down his nose at the man passed out on the floor and sniffed with satisfaction. Bertie was fluttering his hands aimlessly over the man, pressing a fresh handkerchief against his nose to stop the flow of blood.
“I’m so sorry,” he was saying, “I don’t know what’s got into my man! He’s never done anything like this before. I would have said Jeeves wouldn’t punch anyone in his life. This is utterly out of character!”
Bertie cast a disapproving, shocked, and-Jeeves thought-slightly impressed glance at him, and the man stirred, sitting up. John Watson, who had been stroking the man’s hair while glaring daggers at Jeeves, pulled him against his shoulder, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
Jeeves heard him murmur, “You kind of deserved that, Sherlock,” against his skin. The man grunted, passed the blood soaked handkerchief to Wooster without looking, and stood up.
Jeeves pursed his lips, and then held out a hand to help him up. Sherlock looked at it, and then took it. He didn’t meet Jeeves’ gaze. He adjusts his coat collar, and then grabbed Jeeves’ hand again in a firm shake.
“Would you like to get a drink?” he asked, awkwardly.
Jeeves smiled, breaking the blank facade he’d perfected after years of being a Personal Gentleman’s gentleman. He shook back, and then nodded.
“It would be an honour, Mr Holmes.”
“Sherlock, please.”
They left for the local pub, leaving John and Bertie blinking at each other in confusion.
EARLIER THAT WEEK
Jeeves was adjusting Bertie’s bowtie as he collected him from his club. He was slightly dishevelled after a few hours away from Jeeves’ protecting presence, hair sticking up and the smell of alcohol on his breath.
“Jeeves, you are lovely,” he slurred, slinging a hand over his shoulder. “So wonderfully clever. Smart is the new sexy, you know. I read that on John’s blog.”
Jeeves shifted away, avoiding the disapproving gaze of the consierge. “...John, Sir?” he asked as he led him out of the front door.
“My new friend. He was here the other day, visiting Mycoft- you know, the one with that hot assistant? She is nice. I wouldn’t mind if Aunt Agatha insisted I marry her. I can’t remember her name, though.” He muttered to himself, flinging his arm once again around Jeeves’ neck, oblivious to their surroundings.
“And you read your friend’s blog, Sir?” Jeeves prompted, trying to move past the subject of some woman’s earlobes.
Wooster coughed, and climbed into the taxi after a gentle nudge.
“Ah, yes. He has this wonderful blog. His boyfriend is awfully clever, just like you. I bet you’d like him. I often get the feeling you are just longing for a good conversation. It must be terribly dull, you know, having to listen to me natter about nothing when all the time you are thinking such complicated thoughts.”
Bertie looked sad, and Jeeves felt it necessary to assure him that wasn’t the case. “I think no such thing, Sir. You are perfectly satisfactory company, and a lot more intellectually stimulating than a few other acquaintances I could mention.”
Bertie hummed, and continued, “Anyway, this man. John’s partner. He solves mysteries. Murders, kidnappings, that sort of terrible happenstance. He’s quite the super thinker. He can tell all sorts of things from just looking at a bloke!”
Jeeves hummed his interest, disapproving of Bertie’s awestruck expression. “Indeed, Sir.”
Bertie turned to him in surprise. “Jeeves, you are using that voice. You say that when you really mean, ‘What codswallop, Sir’. What ever is the problem?”
“I have to cast my doubts upon this man’s claims. I should think he means he can make a lot of assumptions from a person’s clothing, Sir. You can’t know for certain anything. I should think that method of detection is highly chancy, Sir. It doesn’t seem to me a good way of solving something of such high importance as murder.”
Bertie blinked at him. “Well, Jeeves! I don’t know about how good a method it is, or whatever it was that you said, but I can prove that it works! As I was saying, this blog is utterly brilliant. I keep checking it before I go to sleep at nights.”
“Is that what you are doing with that iPad, Sir. I often wondered.” Jeeves commented.
Bertie blushed, bright smudges high on his cheeks, and cleared his throat. Don’t think about the drawings, Bertie thought. He doesn’t need to know you draw pictures of him ironing. “Yes, Jeeves. Well, I’m kind of a fan. He solves lots of things. The police even take him on to help with their cases! He must be very good at it, however bad his method is, for the police to take him on. What do you say to that?”
“If pressed, I would say I should like to meet this man, Sir.”
Bertie was silent, staring out the window at the passing London streets. He didn’t say anything further until they entered the flat, although Jeeves thought he looked oddly pleased with himself for someone who had just received a telegraph from his cousin blackmailing him into a visit the next weekend.
Three days later, Bertie told Jeeves amid his chatter as he was dressing that there would be two extra for dinner. Jeeves said “Yes, Sir,” and added it to his mental list of reminders, kneeling down to tie Bertie’s shoes. He was distracted further from the event as Bertie required his urgent help getting some overdue library books back from his Aunt without her notice.
Over lunch he remembered the event, and left Bertie playing a new tune on the piano to get extra portions of chicken from the butchers. He returned to find Bertie on his mobile, absently tapping out Minnie the Moocher on the piano.
“Yes, Six will be fine. I told Jeeves and he has no idea what I’m-“ Bertie saw Jeeves and stopped talking instantly, a guilty expression crossing his face. Jeeves frowned- Bertie Wooster was not a man who kept secrets, especially not from his Personal Gentleman’s Gentleman. The only time he attempted such a thing was regarding his little sketching hobby, and Jeeves didn’t see what the problem with those was anyway. He was a perfectly fine artist.
Bertie’s problem was that he was too easy to read- even for a normal person, let alone that Friend of John’s he apparently so admired. Jeeves was disgruntled, not just by the thought of there being something about Bertie he didn’t know, but especially by the thought of Bertie’s little ‘Smart is the new sexy’ crush. He returned to the kitchen to prepare tea and leave the chicken to marinade, adjusting his timings for the six o’clock arrival, also taking the liberty to make some additional arrangements for the dinner. He had a sinking suspicion he knew what Bertie’s secret was going to turn out to be.
At promptly six, the doorbell rang, and Jeeves left the kitchen to answer it. Bertie sat up, putting down his iPad and looking smug and slightly pleased with himself. Jeeves filed this away in the ‘Bertie is acting oddly again’ folder as further evidence that his suspicions might turn out to be correct, and pulled open the door.
Waiting on the other side was a short, grey haired man, wearing a smart raincoat and looking down the hall. Jeeves cleared his throat. The man turned to look at him, smiling softly, and held out his hand.
“Jeeves, I presume?” Jeeves took the hand in astonishment- it wasn’t often Bertie’s guests greeted him as equals. “John Watson,” the man added, and then looked back down the hall.
“Sherlock, come here!” Jeeves leaned out the door, looking down the hall, and dropped John Watson’s hand. Slouched against the wall and sulkily typing into a mobile was a tall, dark haired man in a stunningly well cut coat. Jeeves instantly approved of the man’s attire.
The man looked up, scowling at John. “John,” he whined, pulling up his collar and slotting the phone in his pocket. “I’m bored.”
“Sherlock,” the man hissed, looking apologetically at Jeeves. “I told you, this is what you get for lying about your own death and making the newspapers and all your friends mourn you. You have to put up with doing what I want to do once in a while. Lestrade hasn’t text you in a week and it’s better than sitting around the flat shooting holes in the walls. And it’s no use doing the collar thing to get out of it, it won’t work this time.”
“Not even the cheekbones?” He said with horror, sucking in a breath to make them more prominent with a hopeful air.
John rolled his eyes. “If you used them less often, perhaps, but their effect had to wear off eventually.”
“Liar,” Sherlock said smugly, and Jeeves was distracted from John’s choked reply as the full force of the man’s gaze was thrown on him. The tall man’s eyes flicked up and down Jeeves’ body, lingering for an uncomfortably long time on his suit buttons. Then he said, quirking an eyebrow, “Well. Perhaps this will be interesting after all.”
Jeeves raised an eyebrow back, and pushed down his inappropriate reply about the man’s ungentlemanly behaviour, stepping back to allow thement rance. “Sirs, would you allow me to take your coats?”
Sherlock stalked past, head twisting as he surveyed the room, pulling off his scarf and flicking it over Jeeves’ shoulder. The coat shortly followed, along with a muttered, “I hope the library didn’t charge too much.” Jeeves’ facade almost broke, but he managed to restrain his flummoxed react to a slight quiver of his left eyebrow. Sherlock smiled with satisfaction and helped himself to a glass of brandy, gulping it down in one.
John unzipped his own coat more sedately, passing it to Jeeves with an embarrassed smile. “Sorry. But I warned Bertie what you were letting yourselves in for.”
“No need to apologise, Sir, I am sure. Your friend is perfectly responsible for his own actions. Would you care for a drink?”
John asked for a gin and tonic, which Jeeves made as he watched Bertie greet John with the same genuine enthusiasm he lent to everyone he met, like a puppy utterly overcome with joy to see their owner return home.
Sherlock dropped over a chair, rolling his eyes at the two and then fixed his gaze back on Jeeves. Jeeves ignored him, passing John the drink and listening to Bertie’s proud explanation of his guest’s presence.
“Jeeves, this is John Watson. I was telling you about him, remember? You said you would like to meet his friend-“ Bertie gestured to Sherlock, who was still staring at Jeeves with a disturbing smirk on his face, “-and I thought that was a jolly good idea. I thought you two would hit it off straight away like a shot. You are both so clever and I always feel so guilty that I can’t give you a proper discussion you always want!”
Bertie paused, looking proudly at Jeeves, and after a moment, Jeeves, who was having a sinking feeling Bertie’s touching gift might not turn out as pleasing as he hoped, replied. “Thank you, Sir, it was a very considerate thought.”
Bertie beamed, settling down on the sofa with the drink Jeeves proffered, and offering John a seat beside him. There was an awkward moment when everyone stared at Jeeves, and then he gingerly sat down himself, feeling like a guest in his own territory. John cleared his throat, and turned to Bertie, asking him quietly about his latest book. Jeeves reluctantly turned to Sherlock, who was still staring avidly at him.
Sherlock said under his breath, “How long were you in prison for?” and took another mouthful of his drink. Jeeves sighed, unfastening a button at his throat, and said, “Yes, how is Mycroft?”
Sherlock almost spluttered, Jeeves saw with satisfaction, but he managed to swallow his drink without ruining the upholstery, and pursed his lips.
“You know my brother?” Sherlock asked reluctantly, sounding like a child who was being made to apologise before they were allowed pudding.
“Indeed, Sir. I am surprised you couldn’t surmise as much from my attire. Or did you miss the state of my heels?”
Sherlock leaned forwards, and Jeeves crossed his legs helpfully. “Ah, yes.” Sherlock said after a moment. “His housekeeper bakes very good scones, doesn’t she?”
“She does indeed,” Jeeves continued, feeling pleased that he was holding his own with the man. Perhaps Bertie would lower his opinion of the man after today. “Although personally I wouldn’t know. Bertie’s Aunt says they are extremely satisfactory.”
Sherlock froze, then scrunched his face up tightly. He acted very childlike when he didn’t get his way, and John must have a hard time living with the man. He shut his eyes, eyelids quivering, and Jeeves watched with pleasure. The room fell silent as John and
Bertie turned to look at the man. John had a stunned expression on his face, presumably at the fact that Sherlock was still in the room after John’s attention had left him for several minutes. Bertie looked delighted to see his hero deducing in his own living room, and Jeeves felt another wave of smugness at what was about happening. This was going perfectly.
After a long moment, Sherlock said in an almost inaudible monotone, “I don’t understand.”
Jeeves said, “Assumptions are terrible, don’t you agree?”
“What.” Sherlock said softly.
“When Mr Wooster was telling me about your methods, ‘The Science of Deduction’ I thought it sounded extremely unreliable. I thank you for proving it to me firsthand.”
Sherlock gritted his teeth, and stood up, brushing down his trousers, refusing to speak, but John questioned, “Sorry, what just happened?”
“I’m sorry, Sir, allow me to explain-“
“Nothing happened, John, we should leave now,” Sherlock interrupted quickly, heading to the door and pulling on his coat. Jeeves had to admit that despite his fallibility, his taste in style was unerring. John looked back to Jeeves, eyebrows raised.
“I may have tested him a little, Sir. Before his arrival, I took the liberty of changing a few aspects of my person and surroundings to give a skewed impression. I would apologise for my dishonesty, but I think the condition of my clothing is of concern to no one but myself- and my employer, of course,” he added with a nod to Wooster, who was looking at him open mouthed.
“You mean to say- my man outwitted Sherlock Holmes?!” Wooster said in a voice saturated with admiration. Jeeves adjusted his sleeve, letting a small smile touch his lips.
“Mr Holmes did indeed fall for my plan as intended, Sir.”
John coughed in surprise, and then let out a stunned chuckle, which quickly turned into a full bodied laugh. Sherlock glared at him in disgust, and stepped back towards the men.
“It’s a stupid trick. It doesn’t count as a mistake if someone sets me up! It’s completely irrelevant to my job! A corpse isn’t exactly going to put varnish smudges on their shoes are they, John? ....John!”
John was still laughing, leaning on Wooster’s shoulder to hold himself up. Bertie was still staring at Jeeves in awe, and Sherlock sniffed at the pair.
“Well, I can still deduct all I want and I bet it’s correct. Mr Wooster here for example- a well bred man, high moral code, relies on his relatives for financial support but lets them walk all over him-”
“That’s enough, Sir,” Jeeves interrupted in outrage, but Sherlock continued to talk over him.
“-rather stupid, has managed to fall in love with his butler-“
Jeeves felt himself flush, vision turning red in defence of his employer and stepped forward. Without restraint, he punched Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective and object of one Bertram Wooster’s affection, right in the nose.