STRAIGHT - The New GAY
Prompt: Someone lays into some homophobic tossers - based on this video - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=in9SiDtJLaU&feature=player_embedded#!
“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Lestrade sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.
“Why not?” Sherlock asked, grinning from the field bench where John had him pinned, “We wouldn’t even have to be here if it wasn’t for you.”
“It’s hardly my fault the Superintendent ordered another physical,” Lestrade huffed, rubbing at his sweat soaked hair with the towel John provided him, “I never asked you to stay.”
“We have a case to discuss,” Sherlock replied, as he made yet another attempt at grabbing his mobile only to have John hold it high above their heads and push him back down on the bench, grinning playfully all the while.
“Are they still at it?!” Sally called as she jogged over, tugging a panting Anderson behind her.
“Indeed we are,” Sherlock replied, snatching at thin air again and receiving a placating kiss on the nose for his trouble, “And absolutely loving it, thank you very much.”
“Whatever,” she scoffed, before turning back to Lestrade and announcing, “Gregson says we gotta-“
However before she could finish, the sergeant was cut off by a loud chorus of jeers from behind her. Sherlock and John both groaned as a team of sneering footballers sidled into view from the back field, spitting and hissing like angry tomcats.
“Oi you fucking faggots!” one of them, the captain by the looks of it, bellowed, “Get the fuck off our field.”
“It’s a public area you moron!” Sherlock called, the grin that had been spread over his face all but gone.
“Yeah! And no one wants your sort hanging around here!” The captain bellowed back, prompting a loud round of buffoonish catcalls from his teammates. “This is man’s territory, you hear?!”
To anyone that knew them - it was beyond obvious that such behaviour would not be taken lying down, neither Sherlock nor John, nor Lestrade or Donovan was like that. Indeed, Lestrade had already grabbed a restraining hold of Donovan’s arm to keep both of them grounded, and John was refusing to get up from his position on top of Sherlock, affectively pinning the taller man and stopping him from doing anything stupid.
However, when Anderson strode forward and demanded to know what the hell the team thought they were talking about, nobody knew quite what to do.
“They don’t belong here mate!” one of the muddier men replied, glancing over at Sherlock and John before spitting hatefully at the ground.
“And why’s that?” Anderson asked, cocking his head to the side like he was genuinely baffled - although the clenching of his fists by his sides made his ruse clear.
“Cos they’re fucking poofters mate!” the captain bellowed again, “They aren’t real men are they? They’re not tough!”
“They’re not tough?” Anderson scoffed to himself, before crying out disdainfully, “They fuck men!! That’s hardly gay!”
The captain opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by Anderson, who cried, “I mean look at you - 6ft and what? 4 inches? And how big’s you girlfriend? 5ft 5? 6? They’re fucking full grown men! I’ll tell you which one of you I think is tougher.” And on that note, the sergeant spun on his heel and marched back over to the benches, where the rest of his party waited, grinning.
Unfortunately the footballers weren’t going to leave it at that.
“Oi! You’re a fucking Nancy-boy too, aren’t you?!” The captain yelled, stalking after Anderson.
Grinning, Anderson called over his shoulder, “Oh yes - absolutely. I’m the Nancy-boy and you’re thirteen men about to go and have a shower together. Now we’ve got that settled - go and suck an orange.”
The team was left blustering in his wake - faces reddening - some in outrage but most in mortification.
“What do you know?!” Lestrade chuckled as he clapped Anderson on the shoulder and the group got up to leave, “Straight’s the new gay I suppose.”
“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Lestrade sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.
“Why not?” Sherlock asked, grinning from the field bench where John had him pinned, “We wouldn’t even have to be here if it wasn’t for you.”
“It’s hardly my fault the Superintendent ordered another physical,” Lestrade huffed, rubbing at his sweat soaked hair with the towel John provided him, “I never asked you to stay.”
“We have a case to discuss,” Sherlock replied, as he made yet another attempt at grabbing his mobile only to have John hold it high above their heads and push him back down on the bench, grinning playfully all the while.
“Are they still at it?!” Sally called as she jogged over, tugging a panting Anderson behind her.
“Indeed we are,” Sherlock replied, snatching at thin air again and receiving a placating kiss on the nose for his trouble, “And absolutely loving it, thank you very much.”
“Whatever,” she scoffed, before turning back to Lestrade and announcing, “Gregson says we gotta-“
However before she could finish, the sergeant was cut off by a loud chorus of jeers from behind her. Sherlock and John both groaned as a team of sneering footballers sidled into view from the back field, spitting and hissing like angry tomcats.
“Oi you fucking faggots!” one of them, the captain by the looks of it, bellowed, “Get the fuck off our field.”
“It’s a public area you moron!” Sherlock called, the grin that had been spread over his face all but gone.
“Yeah! And no one wants your sort hanging around here!” The captain bellowed back, prompting a loud round of buffoonish catcalls from his teammates. “This is man’s territory, you hear?!”
To anyone that knew them - it was beyond obvious that such behaviour would not be taken lying down, neither Sherlock nor John, nor Lestrade or Donovan was like that. Indeed, Lestrade had already grabbed a restraining hold of Donovan’s arm to keep both of them grounded, and John was refusing to get up from his position on top of Sherlock, affectively pinning the taller man and stopping him from doing anything stupid.
However, when Anderson strode forward and demanded to know what the hell the team thought they were talking about, nobody knew quite what to do.
“They don’t belong here mate!” one of the muddier men replied, glancing over at Sherlock and John before spitting hatefully at the ground.
“And why’s that?” Anderson asked, cocking his head to the side like he was genuinely baffled - although the clenching of his fists by his sides made his ruse clear.
“Cos they’re fucking poofters mate!” the captain bellowed again, “They aren’t real men are they? They’re not tough!”
“They’re not tough?” Anderson scoffed to himself, before crying out disdainfully, “They fuck men!! That’s hardly gay!”
The captain opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by Anderson, who cried, “I mean look at you - 6ft and what? 4 inches? And how big’s you girlfriend? 5ft 5? 6? They’re fucking full grown men! I’ll tell you which one of you I think is tougher.” And on that note, the sergeant spun on his heel and marched back over to the benches, where the rest of his party waited, grinning.
Unfortunately the footballers weren’t going to leave it at that.
“Oi! You’re a fucking Nancy-boy too, aren’t you?!” The captain yelled, stalking after Anderson.
Grinning, Anderson called over his shoulder, “Oh yes - absolutely. I’m the Nancy-boy and you’re thirteen men about to go and have a shower together. Now we’ve got that settled - go and suck an orange.”
The team was left blustering in his wake - faces reddening - some in outrage but most in mortification.
“What do you know?!” Lestrade chuckled as he clapped Anderson on the shoulder and the group got up to leave, “Straight’s the new gay I suppose.”