BBC's Sherlock/Doctor Who -- Second Fiddle (5/10)
Title: Second Fiddle (5/10)
Date Written: 4/29/11
Rating: PG-13/T
Word Count: 903
Fandom: BBC's Sherlock/Doctor Who
Disclaimer: Not mine, property of their respective owners
Characters/Pairings: John Watson/Donna Noble (yes. you read that right), Sherlock Holmes
Spoilers: None, really
Warnings: None
Author's Notes: I blame
midassa_in_gold for this, completely, utterly, and entirely. All of this. Thanks, as always, to my betas:
totally4ryo,
k8stamps, and
gingerlr. It's Friday, so time for another chapter!
"Oh, come ON, of course he's cheating on you! He's twitchy and tugging at his ear! Donna, you need to tell him. It’s been five months."
"Tell who what?"
It's mid-morning on Wednesday. John's off at work down at the surgery and the Doctor’s busy fighting with the TARDIS over something or other, leaving Donna to babysit the world's only consulting detective. Without a case to work on, he's addicted to crap telly shows, the ones that do paternity and lie detector tests and reveal the truth with long pauses, chair-throwing, and tears. Sherlock's wearing his coat and sitting with his feet up in the chair, so the moment that his mobile rings, his email dings, or Lestrade bursts into the apartment, he'll be more than ready to go. He's like a child waiting impatiently on his parents so he can go outside and play. "Tell him about you and the Doctor. See?!" he crows at the television as someone weeps into their microphone.
"You do know that the television isn't two way, right?" she jokes as she comes out of the kitchen, a mug of tea in each hand. "And there's nothing going on with me and the Doctor. We're just mates."
"You should tell John that you're traveling through time and space with your mate, who happens to be an almost a millennia old alien, in a blue 1940s police box that's really an alien spaceship that holds a larger dimension inside of it." And while Donna tries very hard not to drop the mugs, he continues. "And that you've gotten yourself tested and are on birth control, so you can have unprotected sex after he gets tested. Which he's probably done recently, since he gets his yearly physical, and as far as I know, you're the first person he's had sexual relations with since he got back from Afghanistan."
Donna carefully sets the tea down on the coffee table and sinks onto the couch. Her legs are shaking. "H-how did you know?"
"The estrogen from the pills has increased your breast size, as evidenced in the way your blouses have been falling. And your preference for sweet and salty foods two days directly before your cycle has shifted back a week. That you'd have gotten tested for any viruses is a logical conclusion, since any doctor would require a test before prescribing such medication."
Sherlock doesn't turn his attention away from the television screen. Damn her fair skin, she's blushing furiously and they both know it. "Not about that," she hisses. "About the other thing."
"About the nine hundred and forty-five year old Time Lord?" Sherlock scoffs. "He's not exactly subtle about it." Coming from the consulting detective, it's even more of an insult than he means it to be. "Even Lestrade should have figured it out by now."
"Lestrade thinks he's a madman," Donna points out.
"When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how mad it might seem, must be the truth. Oh, please, that kid doesn't even look like him. OR you, for that matter."
"Sherlock, for God's sake, at least turn the television off -- "
The curly haired detective finally turns to look at her, intense gaze boring into her. For a moment, she feels sorry for John; there's literally nothing you can hide from this man. He must be a monster to live with full-time. "He wants to take you on a holiday. I understand that's what... normal people do with their partners once they've reached a certain level of intimacy. Go away in an attempt to escape their mundane lives and get some excitement. Which, I would like to point out, is usually as predictable as their boring lives, just a different kind of predictable."
"What the hell is it with you and your vendetta against normal life?"
"It's bor-ing," Sherlock intones. "We don't do predictable. Not me, not John, and not you. I know that normal is sometimes a good escape for the pair of you, even if I don't understand why. But I know that it's not when you feel alive."
Despite herself, Donna smiles a little. "No." No use denying it. "But... It's when I feel at peace. When I'm with him."
"Which is why you should tell him." With that, Sherlock turns back to the telly. "Soon. He's supposedly got trust issues already, you don't need to exacerbate them."
"Supposedly?"
"He's trusted me from the first time I met him."
Donna nods and picks up one of the mugs of tea, cradling it in her hands. The familiar warmth seeps into her fingers, soothing her frazzled nerves a little. It goes cold in her hands, undrunk, as the television crowd hoots and boos at the show's guests. When she stands to go to the kitchen, Sherlock speaks again.
"I feel compelled to tell you that if you hurt him emotionally, I am not quite sure what action I will be forced to take in response," He's wrapped his long arms around his legs, hugging his knees to his chest.
Donna sighs deeply before reaching out to pat his shoulder. "Thanks for being a good friend, Holmes."
Sherlock looks over his shoulder, gaze pausing on her hand before looking up at her face. "Dimples," he finally says.
She looks up at the screen. "Yup. That baby's got the same ones in her cheeks that her Dad does."
Date Written: 4/29/11
Rating: PG-13/T
Word Count: 903
Fandom: BBC's Sherlock/Doctor Who
Disclaimer: Not mine, property of their respective owners
Characters/Pairings: John Watson/Donna Noble (yes. you read that right), Sherlock Holmes
Spoilers: None, really
Warnings: None
Author's Notes: I blame
midassa_in_gold for this, completely, utterly, and entirely. All of this. Thanks, as always, to my betas:
totally4ryo,
k8stamps, and
gingerlr. It's Friday, so time for another chapter!
"Oh, come ON, of course he's cheating on you! He's twitchy and tugging at his ear! Donna, you need to tell him. It’s been five months."
"Tell who what?"
It's mid-morning on Wednesday. John's off at work down at the surgery and the Doctor’s busy fighting with the TARDIS over something or other, leaving Donna to babysit the world's only consulting detective. Without a case to work on, he's addicted to crap telly shows, the ones that do paternity and lie detector tests and reveal the truth with long pauses, chair-throwing, and tears. Sherlock's wearing his coat and sitting with his feet up in the chair, so the moment that his mobile rings, his email dings, or Lestrade bursts into the apartment, he'll be more than ready to go. He's like a child waiting impatiently on his parents so he can go outside and play. "Tell him about you and the Doctor. See?!" he crows at the television as someone weeps into their microphone.
"You do know that the television isn't two way, right?" she jokes as she comes out of the kitchen, a mug of tea in each hand. "And there's nothing going on with me and the Doctor. We're just mates."
"You should tell John that you're traveling through time and space with your mate, who happens to be an almost a millennia old alien, in a blue 1940s police box that's really an alien spaceship that holds a larger dimension inside of it." And while Donna tries very hard not to drop the mugs, he continues. "And that you've gotten yourself tested and are on birth control, so you can have unprotected sex after he gets tested. Which he's probably done recently, since he gets his yearly physical, and as far as I know, you're the first person he's had sexual relations with since he got back from Afghanistan."
Donna carefully sets the tea down on the coffee table and sinks onto the couch. Her legs are shaking. "H-how did you know?"
"The estrogen from the pills has increased your breast size, as evidenced in the way your blouses have been falling. And your preference for sweet and salty foods two days directly before your cycle has shifted back a week. That you'd have gotten tested for any viruses is a logical conclusion, since any doctor would require a test before prescribing such medication."
Sherlock doesn't turn his attention away from the television screen. Damn her fair skin, she's blushing furiously and they both know it. "Not about that," she hisses. "About the other thing."
"About the nine hundred and forty-five year old Time Lord?" Sherlock scoffs. "He's not exactly subtle about it." Coming from the consulting detective, it's even more of an insult than he means it to be. "Even Lestrade should have figured it out by now."
"Lestrade thinks he's a madman," Donna points out.
"When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how mad it might seem, must be the truth. Oh, please, that kid doesn't even look like him. OR you, for that matter."
"Sherlock, for God's sake, at least turn the television off -- "
The curly haired detective finally turns to look at her, intense gaze boring into her. For a moment, she feels sorry for John; there's literally nothing you can hide from this man. He must be a monster to live with full-time. "He wants to take you on a holiday. I understand that's what... normal people do with their partners once they've reached a certain level of intimacy. Go away in an attempt to escape their mundane lives and get some excitement. Which, I would like to point out, is usually as predictable as their boring lives, just a different kind of predictable."
"What the hell is it with you and your vendetta against normal life?"
"It's bor-ing," Sherlock intones. "We don't do predictable. Not me, not John, and not you. I know that normal is sometimes a good escape for the pair of you, even if I don't understand why. But I know that it's not when you feel alive."
Despite herself, Donna smiles a little. "No." No use denying it. "But... It's when I feel at peace. When I'm with him."
"Which is why you should tell him." With that, Sherlock turns back to the telly. "Soon. He's supposedly got trust issues already, you don't need to exacerbate them."
"Supposedly?"
"He's trusted me from the first time I met him."
Donna nods and picks up one of the mugs of tea, cradling it in her hands. The familiar warmth seeps into her fingers, soothing her frazzled nerves a little. It goes cold in her hands, undrunk, as the television crowd hoots and boos at the show's guests. When she stands to go to the kitchen, Sherlock speaks again.
"I feel compelled to tell you that if you hurt him emotionally, I am not quite sure what action I will be forced to take in response," He's wrapped his long arms around his legs, hugging his knees to his chest.
Donna sighs deeply before reaching out to pat his shoulder. "Thanks for being a good friend, Holmes."
Sherlock looks over his shoulder, gaze pausing on her hand before looking up at her face. "Dimples," he finally says.
She looks up at the screen. "Yup. That baby's got the same ones in her cheeks that her Dad does."