I have lost my mind.
Both alternates were very good suggestions. After I stared at them for a little while I went with lemonsareinplay and then realized that hunt_the_lemon was brilliant and set that up as well. I went with a journal rather than a community so that each lemon can have its own tracking post.
Now I need to decide if I want to do a test run with some real lemons before setting loose some of the more sturdy, wooden variety. Perhaps I'll devote one journal to live specimens and the other to wooden.
This is all litlover12's fault, by the way, because when she said - Oh my gosh, you played Hunt the Lemon in real life! (Sort of.) YOU ARE AWESOME!! - My brain apparently decided that I must go to the next level, and I am now planning on scattering Cabin Pressure-advertising lemons all over and hoping a few people will obligingly reposition or hand off said lemon and report back.
Anywho...
Gran smiled happily as she surveyed her enthralled audience. She cleared her throat again, and everything else stilled in response. “Now, since he has confirmed his interest in our endeavour, and being a soldier himself, I wondered if our own Doctor Watson might condescend to accept the role of Benedick. I believe this would emphasize the warm welcome we wish to extend to him in joining the family and taking such good care of our Sherlock.”
The room buzzed with whispers and gasps and bursts of scattered applause, and all eyes turned once again to him. Mycroft, who he hadn’t noticed before, cleared his throat and began, “Gran -,” but John’s mind was already racing and it very definitely didn’t seem like something he ought to refuse, so he broke in and assured everyone, “I’d be happy to. Love to, in fact. Much Ado, great show. That’s a really warm gesture, thanks!”
Gran beamed at him again. “Wonderful. Now then - ,”
Mycroft’s tone was gentle when he cut her off, “Sherlock, do come in. John has just kindly agreed to play Benedick in next year’s Production.”
Sherlock, who had apparently either been passing the door or intending to join this mass gathering, was framed in the doorway and went completely still for a split second; his eyes grew wide. “Oh, John, no; you don’t have to do that.”
“No, no. I want to,” he assured his friend.
In response, Sherlock began picking his way across the room, looking like a giant water bug as miniscule patches of floor were uncovered by shifted hands and knees to allow his progress on tiptoe. “No, really, John. It would be better if you ceded the honour to someone else.”
He reached John’s side and dropped awkwardly into a crouch next to his chair. John leaned over slightly and hissed in his ear, “It’s a warm gesture in order to welcome me to the family, you git. I can’t just say no.”
Just as intensely, Sherlock insisted, “You really don’t want to do this, John, trust me. It’s quite elaborate; everyone takes it extremely seriously.”
John rolled his eyes. “I will read the play a couple of times beforehand, you know. I’m not an idiot; I know the story, this isn’t a big deal. I don’t get stage fright; we put on a panto in uni once.” When Sherlock didn’t look convinced, he continued reassuringly, “Honestly, it’s fine if they want to put a sword belt round my waist for a couple of hours and product into my hair. I can’t respond to ‘welcome to the family’ with ‘bugger off, thanks but no thanks’; it’s your Great Gran for heaven’s sake, Sherlock!”
Sherlock regarded him intently for a moment and then his eyes lit with humour. For a second, John thought he might giggle. He certainly spoke through a bit of one when he asked, “You’re determined, then? Nothing I say will convince you otherwise?”
“Yes, I am determined; and no, you cannot talk me out of it,” he responded with finality.
Sherlock nodded. “Very well.” John noticed that his mouth twitched into an amused grin. He rose to his feet. "I humbly request the role of Beatrice."
Now I need to decide if I want to do a test run with some real lemons before setting loose some of the more sturdy, wooden variety. Perhaps I'll devote one journal to live specimens and the other to wooden.
This is all litlover12's fault, by the way, because when she said - Oh my gosh, you played Hunt the Lemon in real life! (Sort of.) YOU ARE AWESOME!! - My brain apparently decided that I must go to the next level, and I am now planning on scattering Cabin Pressure-advertising lemons all over and hoping a few people will obligingly reposition or hand off said lemon and report back.
Anywho...
Gran smiled happily as she surveyed her enthralled audience. She cleared her throat again, and everything else stilled in response. “Now, since he has confirmed his interest in our endeavour, and being a soldier himself, I wondered if our own Doctor Watson might condescend to accept the role of Benedick. I believe this would emphasize the warm welcome we wish to extend to him in joining the family and taking such good care of our Sherlock.”
The room buzzed with whispers and gasps and bursts of scattered applause, and all eyes turned once again to him. Mycroft, who he hadn’t noticed before, cleared his throat and began, “Gran -,” but John’s mind was already racing and it very definitely didn’t seem like something he ought to refuse, so he broke in and assured everyone, “I’d be happy to. Love to, in fact. Much Ado, great show. That’s a really warm gesture, thanks!”
Gran beamed at him again. “Wonderful. Now then - ,”
Mycroft’s tone was gentle when he cut her off, “Sherlock, do come in. John has just kindly agreed to play Benedick in next year’s Production.”
Sherlock, who had apparently either been passing the door or intending to join this mass gathering, was framed in the doorway and went completely still for a split second; his eyes grew wide. “Oh, John, no; you don’t have to do that.”
“No, no. I want to,” he assured his friend.
In response, Sherlock began picking his way across the room, looking like a giant water bug as miniscule patches of floor were uncovered by shifted hands and knees to allow his progress on tiptoe. “No, really, John. It would be better if you ceded the honour to someone else.”
He reached John’s side and dropped awkwardly into a crouch next to his chair. John leaned over slightly and hissed in his ear, “It’s a warm gesture in order to welcome me to the family, you git. I can’t just say no.”
Just as intensely, Sherlock insisted, “You really don’t want to do this, John, trust me. It’s quite elaborate; everyone takes it extremely seriously.”
John rolled his eyes. “I will read the play a couple of times beforehand, you know. I’m not an idiot; I know the story, this isn’t a big deal. I don’t get stage fright; we put on a panto in uni once.” When Sherlock didn’t look convinced, he continued reassuringly, “Honestly, it’s fine if they want to put a sword belt round my waist for a couple of hours and product into my hair. I can’t respond to ‘welcome to the family’ with ‘bugger off, thanks but no thanks’; it’s your Great Gran for heaven’s sake, Sherlock!”
Sherlock regarded him intently for a moment and then his eyes lit with humour. For a second, John thought he might giggle. He certainly spoke through a bit of one when he asked, “You’re determined, then? Nothing I say will convince you otherwise?”
“Yes, I am determined; and no, you cannot talk me out of it,” he responded with finality.
Sherlock nodded. “Very well.” John noticed that his mouth twitched into an amused grin. He rose to his feet. "I humbly request the role of Beatrice."