ficlet: untitled random Clara, John and Sherlock conversation (Doctor Who/Sherlock)
Disclaimer: not mine
Fandoms: Doctor Who, Sherlock
Characters: Clara, Sherlock, John
Length: short (600 words)
Spoilers: Er, none, really, but season 3 for Sherlock.
Set: after Day of the Doctor; during His Last Vow
Notes: the problem with listening to bits and pieces of His Last Vow whilst previously listening to bits of Day of the Doctor is when the syntax/conversations meld into each other. Resulting in the following. And no, it really isn't anything but a bit of ridiculous fluff.
"You've got a girlfriend?"
"Yeah, I do."
"You don't have a girlfriend."
"I do, I do have a girlfriend."
Clara snorted, barely restrained herself from rolling her eyes and then dropped into Sherlock's chair. "I'll believe that when I see your first child."
"Oi," John objected from where he was poking at his laptop. "Not all of us need children to prove we're in a committed relationship."
"You do remember this is Sherlock we're talking about, right?"
"I am still here you know." Though why he was, when he clearly wanted to be elsewhere was anyone's guess.
Grinning at him, Clara shifted to sit sideways, her legs slinging over the arm of the chair. "So you are. Gonna get me a cuppa while you're sulking?"
"Not sure you'd want to drink it, he'll probably have done something like dipped an eyeball in."
"That was an experiment," Sherlock defended.
"That was you, speechless, after being asked to be my best man."
"At least it tasted all right."
"Gross. John," Clara turned to Watson, in an attempt to change the subject, "How's the new blog going?"
"Blog? What new blog?" Encrouching on everyone's conversations was a habit no one would break him of. Clara fought the urge to roll her eyes again and quirked her brows at John, wordlessly suggesting he ignore the other man.
"It's going."
"You mean it's not being written. You're lazing about in suburbia--" Sherlock paused, then continued, "Except, of course, when you're beating junkies up."
"That was a phase," suggested Clara. "He's over it now. Right?"
"Right." There was the possibility that John Watson was lying through his teeth. Neither of the other two people in the room were going to call him on it. He was lucky Mary wasn't around to poke his bubble of self-delusion. "Anyway. It's going. Well, I think."
"Well is good."
"Well is depressing."
"You can talk," Clara shot back at Sherlock. "You're depressing."
"Your pants are depressing."
"And now we've reached the level of children. Again." John gave them both a long-suffering look and returned to his laptop.
It was always a point of contention to John that Clara and Sherlock could reduce each other to the level of school-children. It was rather utterly fascinating as, at any other time, Clara was mature and clever and definitely an adult. But something about Sherlock just set her off, pulling her in the direction of a whiny and spoilt five-year-old.
His psychologist would probably have a field day with her.
"Shouldn't you be going?"
"Who?"
"Me?"
John refrained from covering his face with one hand, and gestured rudely at Sherlock. "Clara, you said you had a doctor to see or something. Remember?"
"Oh! Oh, right. Yeah. I should probably--" she hauled herself out of the chair with a gamine grin and pointed to the door. "Back later, maybe next week?"
"Coffee?"
"I thought you hated coffee." Sherlock was sulking again.
"No. I just don't like it burnt."
"Wednesday next," Clara inserted into their conversation. "Fiveish, yeah?"
"Sounds good. Take care."
It was always a wonder when Clara entered and exited their lives. As though she were some a-list celebrity, rather than a school-teacher, she popped in and out, almost with any sort of warning or pattern. John shook his head as he heard her clatter down the stairs in her new wedge heels that Mary had said were to die for last week.
"Nothing ever good comes of her visiting," Sherlock grumbled before he escaped to work on something in the kitchen.
-f-
Fandoms: Doctor Who, Sherlock
Characters: Clara, Sherlock, John
Length: short (600 words)
Spoilers: Er, none, really, but season 3 for Sherlock.
Set: after Day of the Doctor; during His Last Vow
Notes: the problem with listening to bits and pieces of His Last Vow whilst previously listening to bits of Day of the Doctor is when the syntax/conversations meld into each other. Resulting in the following. And no, it really isn't anything but a bit of ridiculous fluff.
"You've got a girlfriend?"
"Yeah, I do."
"You don't have a girlfriend."
"I do, I do have a girlfriend."
Clara snorted, barely restrained herself from rolling her eyes and then dropped into Sherlock's chair. "I'll believe that when I see your first child."
"Oi," John objected from where he was poking at his laptop. "Not all of us need children to prove we're in a committed relationship."
"You do remember this is Sherlock we're talking about, right?"
"I am still here you know." Though why he was, when he clearly wanted to be elsewhere was anyone's guess.
Grinning at him, Clara shifted to sit sideways, her legs slinging over the arm of the chair. "So you are. Gonna get me a cuppa while you're sulking?"
"Not sure you'd want to drink it, he'll probably have done something like dipped an eyeball in."
"That was an experiment," Sherlock defended.
"That was you, speechless, after being asked to be my best man."
"At least it tasted all right."
"Gross. John," Clara turned to Watson, in an attempt to change the subject, "How's the new blog going?"
"Blog? What new blog?" Encrouching on everyone's conversations was a habit no one would break him of. Clara fought the urge to roll her eyes again and quirked her brows at John, wordlessly suggesting he ignore the other man.
"It's going."
"You mean it's not being written. You're lazing about in suburbia--" Sherlock paused, then continued, "Except, of course, when you're beating junkies up."
"That was a phase," suggested Clara. "He's over it now. Right?"
"Right." There was the possibility that John Watson was lying through his teeth. Neither of the other two people in the room were going to call him on it. He was lucky Mary wasn't around to poke his bubble of self-delusion. "Anyway. It's going. Well, I think."
"Well is good."
"Well is depressing."
"You can talk," Clara shot back at Sherlock. "You're depressing."
"Your pants are depressing."
"And now we've reached the level of children. Again." John gave them both a long-suffering look and returned to his laptop.
It was always a point of contention to John that Clara and Sherlock could reduce each other to the level of school-children. It was rather utterly fascinating as, at any other time, Clara was mature and clever and definitely an adult. But something about Sherlock just set her off, pulling her in the direction of a whiny and spoilt five-year-old.
His psychologist would probably have a field day with her.
"Shouldn't you be going?"
"Who?"
"Me?"
John refrained from covering his face with one hand, and gestured rudely at Sherlock. "Clara, you said you had a doctor to see or something. Remember?"
"Oh! Oh, right. Yeah. I should probably--" she hauled herself out of the chair with a gamine grin and pointed to the door. "Back later, maybe next week?"
"Coffee?"
"I thought you hated coffee." Sherlock was sulking again.
"No. I just don't like it burnt."
"Wednesday next," Clara inserted into their conversation. "Fiveish, yeah?"
"Sounds good. Take care."
It was always a wonder when Clara entered and exited their lives. As though she were some a-list celebrity, rather than a school-teacher, she popped in and out, almost with any sort of warning or pattern. John shook his head as he heard her clatter down the stairs in her new wedge heels that Mary had said were to die for last week.
"Nothing ever good comes of her visiting," Sherlock grumbled before he escaped to work on something in the kitchen.
-f-