I am full of madness (or, a fic prompt post)
Stolen from nix_this, because . . . turnabout is fair play? IDEK. I think just because I'm crazy. XD
The first ten people to comment in this post get to request that I write a drabble/ficlet of any pairing/character of their choosing. (Fair warning, though: if you choose a pairing I'm not into myself, your return will likely be shorter. XD) In return, ( Read more... )
The first ten people to comment in this post get to request that I write a drabble/ficlet of any pairing/character of their choosing. (Fair warning, though: if you choose a pairing I'm not into myself, your return will likely be shorter. XD) In return, ( Read more... )
Teeth grinding, I snatched up the phone, stabbed Ignore, and tossed it back down.
"Just answer the bloody thing," Sathrana said, lifting her head to glare at me. I picked up my novel again.
"No."
She sighed and put her head back down. "You're being childish."
"No, I'm simply refusing to enable him any longer."
"That's the sixth text in twenty minutes. Maybe he's out on a case."
"He hasn't had a case in over a week. Why do you think he's entertaining himself by torturing me like this?"
"He might need you."
I snorted. "Need me to make him a cuppa, maybe, because he can't be bothered to do it himself."
Po pi po pi po po pi po!
Ignore.
"If you're not going to answer it, why don't you just turn the damned thing off?"
"The hospital might call." I turned a page without quite taking in the whole thing. I'd read this one before, anyway. "Or Sarah. Or any number of other people; I do have a life beyond this flat and Sherlock Bloody Holmes, you know."
"At least change the ringtone. It's not like he's put a deadlock seal on the thing."
"What have we talked about, with the Doctor Who references?" I turned another page. "And no."
"Why not?"
Po pi po pi po po pi po!
Ignore.
"Because this way, every time he texts I remember why I'm annoyed with him."
Sathrana rolled her eyes. "Oh, yes. Not being childish in the least."
"You know full well that we're far too inclined to forgive him in the normal course of things."
"And you know full well why we do that."
"Go chase a snake," I said irritably.
"Go find me one to chase," she retorted. "Maybe the girl who works down the chip shop at the corner."
"What?" I was startled enough at the suggestion to drop my book. "We don't even like her. And the feeling's more than mutual. Do I really have to remind you that we don't tend to get on well with anyone who has a snake daemon?"
"Now, that's just prejudiced."
"It's fact. Unless you can name a single one we have gotten on with."
"How many times do I have to tell you that getting on with someone isn't a necessary precursor to getting off with them?"
"I can't believe this," I muttered. "And that's hardly answering the question, is it?"
Reply
"Bloody Sherlock!" I stabbed Ignore so hard this time that I heard something inside the phone give a worrying creak.
"Her daemon was eying us the last time time we were in," Sathrana pressed. "I know they'd be interested. We'll fight, you'll fuck, and we'll all end up a hell of a lot more relaxed."
"You're filthy."
"And you need to get laid."
She was right, of course, which was the most frustrating part. With the war, and the injury, and the PTSD, and the madness that apparently came part and parcel with being Sherlock Holmes's flatmate, it had been entirely too damned long since I'd had the relief of anything beyond my own hand. Things with Sarah were still murky at best. Still . . .
"Remind me how, exactly, we got on this subject?" I asked wearily, and as if on cue:
Po pi po pi po po pi po!
The phone sat on the bed, bright synthesized music jangling cheerily on when I made no move to silence it. I stared at the thing, and an odd buzzing sensation began at the back of my head. Sherlock. Bloody irritating presumptive infuriating Sherlock, who had changed the ringtone for his incoming calls and texts to the most profoundly maddening thing he could find. Because, he said, setting a ringtone to something pleasant made people hesitate longer before answering. Sherlock, who was texting me, despite being sat downstairs, for what was pretty well certainly a thoroughly useless reason.
I could picture him clear as day, lounging on the sofa, long pale fingers flying across the keys without his bothering to look, trying to summon me like I was a faithful bloody hound. Only the work of moments to go downstairs, pin him against the cushions and tell him exactly what I thought about his little sociopsychological experiment. I could imagine the look of surprise on his face, the feel of his body tensing beneath me, his--
My phone fell silent, jarring me back out of my thoughts. Sathrana was staring knowingly from me to it and back again. Her tail twitched once, twice, and I snatched the phone from the bedspread before she could pounce on it.
"Aren't you even the least bit curious?"
"No."
"I honestly don't know why you think you can lie to me."
"Oh, shut up."
I retrieved my book and found my place again, determined to get back to Dirk Pitt's adventures with the Fourth Empire and ignore any continued graphic and entirely unreciprocated fantasies I might be having about my gorgeous, brilliant, impossible wanker of a flatmate.
Which was, of course, when I heard quick, determined footsteps on the stairs.
Reply
Sherlock burst into my room without knocking, which at this point was so absolutely expected that I didn't even bother looking up from my book. He stood quietly for a moment, and I let him, pointedly finishing the page I was on before replacing my bookmark and blinking guilelessly up at him.
"Did you want something?"
Pale grey eyes swept the room as Rangessamin flew down from Holmes's shoulder to whisper something to Sathrana. Sherlock took in the sight of me reclined on my bed, Sathrana curled up beside me and nudging at Rangessamin's breast with the tip of her nose. When his gaze reached my phone, discarded by my knee, his eyes narrowed by a fraction; that was all the warning I had, and Holmes was quicker that my daemon by half. He snatched the phone up before I had even thought of moving, thumbing through the menu screen as his eyebrows climbed ever higher.
"Perfect working order." The look he turned on me was somewhere between baffled and impressed. "You've been ignoring me."
"Yes," I said, with what I felt was admirable calm. "I have."
His lips twitched, just the barest hint of what might possibly have been the first traces of a smile. "Why?"
"Possibly because I don't much fancy being turned into on of your experiments. Possibly because I took some offense at your trying to teach me to heel. Possibly," I sighed, suddenly more weary than angry, "because I just wanted a quiet hour or two to read my book."
Sherlock made a low, dismissive noise, his gaze flicking to the paperback in my hand like it was beneath his notice. "You're a reasonably intelligent man, as far as normal people go; I simply can't comprehend how you can enjoy that rubbish."
"I know you can't. But perhaps one day you'll learn that most people--people who aren't genius sociopath detectives--like to let their brains shut off every now and then."
Sathrana shifted to curl herself around Rangessamin, and I had to fight back a visible shiver at the sensation. The tilt of Sherlock's lips widened into a smirk.
"I am aware of that, John. Which is not to say that I understand or condone it, but I do at least acknowledge it. Which is why," he said, brandishing my phone, "I've been attempting to suggest alternative methods for doing so that won't also actively lower your IQ in the process."
I blinked up at him, my thoughts going fuzzy and slow for a moment as Rangessamin's beak began to sift through Sathrana's fur. "I . . ." I blinked again, and couldn't help the smile that began to form across my own lips. "What sorts of things?"
"Well now, if you'd bothered to read my texts, you'd know that, wouldn't you?"
"Sherlock," I protested on a laugh, and stood, holding out my hand. "Let me see."
"Ah-ah-ah." He withdrew the phone with a superior expression. "I'm afraid you've lost your phone privileges for the evening, John." And with that he turned and left again, Rangessamin, with obvious reluctance, disentangling himself from Sathrana to follow.
"Oi!" I called after him, though still more amused than annoyed.
"Make us some tea, won't you, John?" I heard him call back, and though I rolled my eyes at Sathrana in a pointed sort of way, we followed him down the stairs.
Tea did sound rather nice, after all.
Reply
(The comment has been removed)
I'd actually considered giving them different daemons, but decided that damn it, they're in the future but their souls are the same. XD
As far as Sathrana's vulgarity, I sort of feel like there's a bit of a disconnect between John's character as we see him and the fact that he was in the army. I figure at least some part of him picked up some vulgarity there (and yeah, we do see a bit in the second episode); might as well make it his daemon, I figured. :lol: Plus, the fact that his daemon's represented as female made playing with traditional gender reversals GREAT FUN!
And YES DAEMON CUDDLING! \o/ I actually now have a whole head-canon for this, involving Sherlock occasionally having sex and Rangessamin being bored and wandering off as far as he can. Because Sherlock's body is involved BUT HIS SOUL IS NOT ZOMG SYMBOLISM THIS SERIES HAS IT. Which is another reason I enjoyed making Ran and Sathrana all snuggly with each other, because John is special.
Reply
Leave a comment