kink meme fills (Sherlock Holmes 2009)
But don't get your hopes up; there's no smut here. old_blueeyes, I finally held up my end of the bargain.
Quite Like Clockwork; Mary, Irene, G, CRACK
The gears went 'round and 'round, and a tinny tune played from the bottom of the device. Mary was more intrigued by the top, however, where two figures spun in a stiff wooden dance. She carefully prodded the one in the top hat with a gloved finger. "It does look just like John, doesn't it?"
Miss Adler nodded encouragingly. "And the other? Look carefully at the face, Miss Morstan. I thought it quite resembled --"
She was cut off by a knock at the door. "Mary? Are you ready yet?"
"That would be my mother," Mary said, apologetic, and thrust the wind-up toy back to Miss Adler. They were quite nice little figurines, carved and painted so prettily, and the similarity really was rather striking... "It's a lovely music-box."
Miss Adler smiled. She had the sort of smile that a fox might, just before pouncing upon an unsuspecting rabbit. It might have been somewhat frightening, if it had been directed toward Mary. "Consider it an early wedding gift," she said, and pushed the music-box back into Mary's hands. Then she opened the window once more, and climbed out onto the roof. "Give my regards to your John!"
"I will," Mary said, faintly, and then smiled down at the dancing figurines. She turned the key a few more times, and left the wooden John spinning his black-haired wooden partner. The resemblance really was quite uncanny.
Older on the Inside; Watson/The Doctor, PG, crossover crack
Watson had to give credit where credit was due; the unclothed man beneath him took Holmes' unannounced arrival well in stride. Holmes, on the other hand, was staring quite bewilderedly at him, in a way that suggested some form of acquaintance between the two.
He shook it off quickly, and adopted one of his rather manic grins. "Ah, it seems you two have finished up then. Trousers?"
"I'm terribly sorry about this," Watson said, climbing off and accepting the trousers Holmes held out to him. "Evidently my roommate has forgotten the purpose of knocking."
"We-e-ell, this is hardly the worst situation I've ever been in." There was something off about the man's accent, but also something very, very familiar. Watson couldn't place a finger on it. His voice wasn't the only aspect of him that rang a bell, either.
"Doctor?" Holmes cut in, and smiled quite broadly once more when both men turned in acknowledgement. "Ah, yes, I thought so. I suppose you're right on schedule, then. You've just come from a lovely dinner with that fellow who thought he was you, what was his name again? Lake! Jackson Lake! And then you spent some time walking along the Thames to clear your mind, where you met the charming Doctor Watson, and thus..."
"Does this have a purpose?" Watson asked.
"How did he know that?" the Doctor demanded.
"I deduced it from the state of your shoes," Holmes replied, smugly. "Mud from along the Thames, also upon Watson's, and--"
"Hang on," cut in the Doctor, "You're me, aren't you?"
"What?"
"When you rule out the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth," Holmes said. Watson was fairly certain he was quoting himself. But what the Doctor was saying made absolutely no sense. If anything was impossible -- Holmes and the Doctor were not the same man.
Though they did seem strikingly similar. The Doctor had seemed terribly familiar...
"But that's incredible! You mean I'm going to be Sherlock Holmes someday? The Sherlock Holmes?"
"Can someone please explain what's going on here?" Watson asked, loudly. Both Holmes and the Doctor turned to look at him, the Doctor vaguely guilty, Holmes just amused.
Then the Doctor grins. "Oh, it's elementary, my dear Watson," he began.
"You know, I'm fairly certain I've never said that since," Holmes interjected, mostly to himself.
"We're a time traveler," the Doctor continued. "Apparently someday I come back to London -- lovely century, this, I can see why -- and use my not-inconsiderable knowledge to benefit humanity in slightly different way than usual. And then I end up rooming with a fellow I once shacked up with. I don't suppose you two..."
"Not as such," Holmes replied.
"Not yet," Watson corrected. Which seemed to be the proper response, as both Holmes and the Doctor burst into identical, exuberant grins.
...
"You mentioned something about a blue box," Watson ventures, some time after the Doctor has cleared out. Some time after, because as soon as they had the rooms to themselves scarcely ten seconds passed before Watson took three steps over and pushed Holmes into the nearest wall. Taking care of Holmes' reaction took flatteringly little time, and then Holmes sagged against him and brought them both to the floor, on their knees. This is where they are now.
"I did no such thing," Holmes says. "Don't argue, Watson; I have a very good memory."
"Your other self, then." Watson shrugs, still more than a little bewildered by the whole scenario, but stiff upper lip and whatnot. He has weathered far more confusing things than Sherlock Holmes being a time-traveler who in a previous persona or life traveled back to several hours ago and proceeded to sweep Watson completely off his feet. Despite his rather powerful feelings for Holmes. But then, if they were indeed the same man, perhaps because of them.
This actually may be the most confusing thing that has ever happened to him. But he'll be damned if he tells Holmes this. Assuming Holmes doesn't already know.
"Did he?" Holmes lowers his head to prod the side of Watson's neck with his nose. "Don't believe everything you hear, Watson."
"Are you suggesting I ought not to trust you, then?" Watson chuckles, then bats Holmes' face away. "He -- you said that you travel in it. Through time."
"Time and space, my dear fellow, not merely time."
"Is that how you do it, then?" Watson asks. "When you make your brilliant deductions, have you simply gone back to see for yourself?"
Holmes raises his eyebrows, looking quite hurt. "Watson! I thought you knew me better. That would take all the interest out of it." His hands are wandering, fiddling with Watson's collar; Watson deigns to let it slide. "I'm taking a sabbatical from time traveling, anyway," Holmes continues.
Watson has questions in regards to that, looking from the curious, perpetually-excited Doctor to the moody, manic Holmes. Something must have happened, something to cause him to make that change, something to cause him to lose interest in the whole universe beyond his home at 221B. But if Holmes is telling the truth -- and in this case, there's no reason to believe otherwise -- there will be time for that later. Much later.
So all he says now is, "And to think: all this time, I've been despairing of your knowledge of the stars and planets. But you know more than anyone else on this earth, don't you?"
"It's as effective a disguise as any," says Holmes dismissively. "I daresay Her Majesty would be less than happy to see me back in her Empire."
There's a story behind that, too, and Watson will ask it. But not just yet.
Worn; Holmes/Watson, G, no warnings
You linger in front of the hook your jacket hangs from. There are two hooks, but the other one is bare; Watson's coat is of course elsewhere. More often than not, Watson's hook is empty like this, these days. Inconvenient, to return for it only to leave again. It probably looks out of place in the empty house at Cavendish Place. But eventually it will fit there, possibly better than it fits here. It will hang next to Mary's coat, then. You'll probably hang a scarf on the extra hook. Perhaps you'll just remove it from the wall entirely. You'll have no need of it anymore.
You've been avoiding meeting Mary. The object of Watson's affections, she must be a study of the reversal of all your flaws, an embodiment of all the things Watson wishes from the world. She's perfection, she's exactly what Watson needs, exactly what you could never possibly be or become. She must be something so beyond you that you never could have stood a chance. She cannot possibly be human, for what Watson asks of you is more than any human can deliver.
But what you're afraid of and the reason you have avoided Mary thus far is that she isn't the woman you've pictured. That perhaps she's easily distracted, or forgetful; perhaps she has some regrettable habit that allows her to relate to Watson's gambling; perhaps she speaks too quickly and Watson has to ask what she means. If she's at all like you --
You couldn't bear that.
The facts: Watson is in love, and his love is requited. Watson, though not part of high society, is an entirely respectable fellow, and this matters to him. Watson is putting great energy into moving into a new home, with little apparent regret for leaving the old one behind.
There is also the matter of your love for him, but that is neither requited nor respectable, and entirely immoral besides. The motives behind your desperation to keep him here, with you, are hardly the sort of thing you can communicate to him. So he will snap at you, you will be unable to explain yourself, you will touch him on the arm as you cross his path and he will never object but he will never return the favour.
Your conclusion: you are meeting Mary Morstan tonight, and the meeting will likely break you in an entirely new manner.
You reach up to the brass hook. You put on your jacket.
Quite Like Clockwork; Mary, Irene, G, CRACK
The gears went 'round and 'round, and a tinny tune played from the bottom of the device. Mary was more intrigued by the top, however, where two figures spun in a stiff wooden dance. She carefully prodded the one in the top hat with a gloved finger. "It does look just like John, doesn't it?"
Miss Adler nodded encouragingly. "And the other? Look carefully at the face, Miss Morstan. I thought it quite resembled --"
She was cut off by a knock at the door. "Mary? Are you ready yet?"
"That would be my mother," Mary said, apologetic, and thrust the wind-up toy back to Miss Adler. They were quite nice little figurines, carved and painted so prettily, and the similarity really was rather striking... "It's a lovely music-box."
Miss Adler smiled. She had the sort of smile that a fox might, just before pouncing upon an unsuspecting rabbit. It might have been somewhat frightening, if it had been directed toward Mary. "Consider it an early wedding gift," she said, and pushed the music-box back into Mary's hands. Then she opened the window once more, and climbed out onto the roof. "Give my regards to your John!"
"I will," Mary said, faintly, and then smiled down at the dancing figurines. She turned the key a few more times, and left the wooden John spinning his black-haired wooden partner. The resemblance really was quite uncanny.
Older on the Inside; Watson/The Doctor, PG, crossover crack
Watson had to give credit where credit was due; the unclothed man beneath him took Holmes' unannounced arrival well in stride. Holmes, on the other hand, was staring quite bewilderedly at him, in a way that suggested some form of acquaintance between the two.
He shook it off quickly, and adopted one of his rather manic grins. "Ah, it seems you two have finished up then. Trousers?"
"I'm terribly sorry about this," Watson said, climbing off and accepting the trousers Holmes held out to him. "Evidently my roommate has forgotten the purpose of knocking."
"We-e-ell, this is hardly the worst situation I've ever been in." There was something off about the man's accent, but also something very, very familiar. Watson couldn't place a finger on it. His voice wasn't the only aspect of him that rang a bell, either.
"Doctor?" Holmes cut in, and smiled quite broadly once more when both men turned in acknowledgement. "Ah, yes, I thought so. I suppose you're right on schedule, then. You've just come from a lovely dinner with that fellow who thought he was you, what was his name again? Lake! Jackson Lake! And then you spent some time walking along the Thames to clear your mind, where you met the charming Doctor Watson, and thus..."
"Does this have a purpose?" Watson asked.
"How did he know that?" the Doctor demanded.
"I deduced it from the state of your shoes," Holmes replied, smugly. "Mud from along the Thames, also upon Watson's, and--"
"Hang on," cut in the Doctor, "You're me, aren't you?"
"What?"
"When you rule out the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth," Holmes said. Watson was fairly certain he was quoting himself. But what the Doctor was saying made absolutely no sense. If anything was impossible -- Holmes and the Doctor were not the same man.
Though they did seem strikingly similar. The Doctor had seemed terribly familiar...
"But that's incredible! You mean I'm going to be Sherlock Holmes someday? The Sherlock Holmes?"
"Can someone please explain what's going on here?" Watson asked, loudly. Both Holmes and the Doctor turned to look at him, the Doctor vaguely guilty, Holmes just amused.
Then the Doctor grins. "Oh, it's elementary, my dear Watson," he began.
"You know, I'm fairly certain I've never said that since," Holmes interjected, mostly to himself.
"We're a time traveler," the Doctor continued. "Apparently someday I come back to London -- lovely century, this, I can see why -- and use my not-inconsiderable knowledge to benefit humanity in slightly different way than usual. And then I end up rooming with a fellow I once shacked up with. I don't suppose you two..."
"Not as such," Holmes replied.
"Not yet," Watson corrected. Which seemed to be the proper response, as both Holmes and the Doctor burst into identical, exuberant grins.
...
"You mentioned something about a blue box," Watson ventures, some time after the Doctor has cleared out. Some time after, because as soon as they had the rooms to themselves scarcely ten seconds passed before Watson took three steps over and pushed Holmes into the nearest wall. Taking care of Holmes' reaction took flatteringly little time, and then Holmes sagged against him and brought them both to the floor, on their knees. This is where they are now.
"I did no such thing," Holmes says. "Don't argue, Watson; I have a very good memory."
"Your other self, then." Watson shrugs, still more than a little bewildered by the whole scenario, but stiff upper lip and whatnot. He has weathered far more confusing things than Sherlock Holmes being a time-traveler who in a previous persona or life traveled back to several hours ago and proceeded to sweep Watson completely off his feet. Despite his rather powerful feelings for Holmes. But then, if they were indeed the same man, perhaps because of them.
This actually may be the most confusing thing that has ever happened to him. But he'll be damned if he tells Holmes this. Assuming Holmes doesn't already know.
"Did he?" Holmes lowers his head to prod the side of Watson's neck with his nose. "Don't believe everything you hear, Watson."
"Are you suggesting I ought not to trust you, then?" Watson chuckles, then bats Holmes' face away. "He -- you said that you travel in it. Through time."
"Time and space, my dear fellow, not merely time."
"Is that how you do it, then?" Watson asks. "When you make your brilliant deductions, have you simply gone back to see for yourself?"
Holmes raises his eyebrows, looking quite hurt. "Watson! I thought you knew me better. That would take all the interest out of it." His hands are wandering, fiddling with Watson's collar; Watson deigns to let it slide. "I'm taking a sabbatical from time traveling, anyway," Holmes continues.
Watson has questions in regards to that, looking from the curious, perpetually-excited Doctor to the moody, manic Holmes. Something must have happened, something to cause him to make that change, something to cause him to lose interest in the whole universe beyond his home at 221B. But if Holmes is telling the truth -- and in this case, there's no reason to believe otherwise -- there will be time for that later. Much later.
So all he says now is, "And to think: all this time, I've been despairing of your knowledge of the stars and planets. But you know more than anyone else on this earth, don't you?"
"It's as effective a disguise as any," says Holmes dismissively. "I daresay Her Majesty would be less than happy to see me back in her Empire."
There's a story behind that, too, and Watson will ask it. But not just yet.
Worn; Holmes/Watson, G, no warnings
You linger in front of the hook your jacket hangs from. There are two hooks, but the other one is bare; Watson's coat is of course elsewhere. More often than not, Watson's hook is empty like this, these days. Inconvenient, to return for it only to leave again. It probably looks out of place in the empty house at Cavendish Place. But eventually it will fit there, possibly better than it fits here. It will hang next to Mary's coat, then. You'll probably hang a scarf on the extra hook. Perhaps you'll just remove it from the wall entirely. You'll have no need of it anymore.
You've been avoiding meeting Mary. The object of Watson's affections, she must be a study of the reversal of all your flaws, an embodiment of all the things Watson wishes from the world. She's perfection, she's exactly what Watson needs, exactly what you could never possibly be or become. She must be something so beyond you that you never could have stood a chance. She cannot possibly be human, for what Watson asks of you is more than any human can deliver.
But what you're afraid of and the reason you have avoided Mary thus far is that she isn't the woman you've pictured. That perhaps she's easily distracted, or forgetful; perhaps she has some regrettable habit that allows her to relate to Watson's gambling; perhaps she speaks too quickly and Watson has to ask what she means. If she's at all like you --
You couldn't bear that.
The facts: Watson is in love, and his love is requited. Watson, though not part of high society, is an entirely respectable fellow, and this matters to him. Watson is putting great energy into moving into a new home, with little apparent regret for leaving the old one behind.
There is also the matter of your love for him, but that is neither requited nor respectable, and entirely immoral besides. The motives behind your desperation to keep him here, with you, are hardly the sort of thing you can communicate to him. So he will snap at you, you will be unable to explain yourself, you will touch him on the arm as you cross his path and he will never object but he will never return the favour.
Your conclusion: you are meeting Mary Morstan tonight, and the meeting will likely break you in an entirely new manner.
You reach up to the brass hook. You put on your jacket.