Sherlock 100 13/100 #77 What?
Title: Conversations in Sleep
Fanart or Fanfic: Fanfic
Characters: Sherlock/John
Prompt: The funny thing about fanfics is how they treat sleep-talking.
You don't declarations of love and lust in real life, usually. I mean, think of the weird s*** you dream.
That weird s*** is what you are saying.
So, what would a sleep-talking Sherlock or John say? Sometimes, if you have two sleep-talkers within earshot of each other, they can have very bizarre, non-linear conversations.
So, one of the flatmates can be observing the other, or they can be 'conversing' while Mycroft spies, going O-o the whole time.
Word Count: 508
Spoilers: Series one
Rating: PG 13
Summary: Sherlock andn John have a conversation while they're sleeping...
Author's Notes: Woot!
Disclaimer: Don't own Sherlock or John
Warnings: I wrote this while drunk. I'm still drunk. That means I proofread it drunk.
It’s half three in John and Sherlock’s bed. Not just in their bed, in the whole city, of course.
As amazing a feat as it is to have Sherlock sleeping in the bed with him, it wouldn’t surprise John at all that it’s half three in the afternoon when the two of them are dead to the world, Sherlock trying to sleep-cuddle John’s leg, and John trying to sleep-push him out of the bed. Not that sleep-John has an issue sharing a bed with his mad lover. But Sherlock is so damn possessive, he can be like a tumor on your thigh.
Neither of them admits to being a sleeptalker in the daytime, and John won’t own up to his sleepwalking, although he once found himself about to urinate in his closet.
Sometimes, when conditions are right, the minds of Sherlock and John (and their voices and ears too) make an unconscious almost-connection.
This is one of those times.
“John…grind up exactly 8 metacarpals for the paste…”
“No…I’m making candles…make your own paste…”
“It’s so important, John…hand me that rabbit carcass.”
“I’m covered in wax right now. Can’t help you.”
“Go to the bath…you smell.”
“I don’t smell. I don’t hear or see either.”
“Stop touching me. I have to concentrate. Mycroft, I will put my femur through your skull if you don’t move.”
“No you won’t. No he won’t, Mycroft. It’s okay…”
“Dead rabbit! Now!”
“My arm is made of Legos…”
“My hand is made of garlic butter…”
“Don’t be insane…”
“Porpoises.”
“I feel like I’m flying away…”
“Porpoise meat.”
“Sherlock, I’m floating away from the earth! Grab my foot!”
“Your Lego foot?”
“No, my regular foot…”
“I don’t like swamp water…it tastes like feet. And smelly things.”
“Don’t drink it. Who told you to drink it?”
“You’ve made a lot of candles in here…”
“I know. Be proud of me one time?”
“No.”
“Do we have anymore snakes?”
“What kind of drinks?”
“Why do I want snakes anyway? Ahh! There’s one now! It’s on my leg!”
“O-N-O-M-A-T-O-P-O-E-I-A. Onomatopoeia.”
“Frisky biccies.”
“Mmm…want that.”
“Take off your clothes.”
“I want to seeeeeee.”
“First your shirt…shirt comes off…”
“I can see our house from here…it’s beautiful behind the volcano…”
“Goodbye pants…hello butt.”
“Don’t touch my butt…”
“It’s not your butt. It’s my butt.”
“Oh. Okay, you can touch that.”
“Zip zap. I want my belly to come back…”
“I’ll get it for you.”
“Don’t go, Sherlock! It’s not safe to get off the boat…”
“We are now entering Foxtrot.”
“Lady…Blackberry in a purse…”
“The Sierra Club. Make a difference with your local environmental agency.”
“Egret…”
“Arf arf…”
“…”
“Oh crumb…”
“Tea and crumpets…”
“Lepidoptera…”
“Felix blade.”
“Richard blade.”
“Goin to the library…”
“Rascal Javier.”
“…blueberry…”
“…kidney stones…”
“…meat…”
“Porpoise meat…”
…
Marill: Ok, well, I thought the prompt was funny and I am very drunk as I finish writing this. I’m going to go ahead and post it, as I have laughed hard enough to frighten away every animal in my house. I hope I haven’t lost my mind.