HC Bingo Fics
Title: What I Could Be
Fandom/Characters/Pairing: Sherlock (BBC), Sherlock/John if you squint
Prompt: "Falling"
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 821
Warnings: none?
Summary: When given another puzzle, one with consequences too close for comfort, Sherlock becomes desperate. Genius and Madness is a thin line to walk.
Sherlock does not view himself as superior. He knows it as a comparative fact. It is not his ego or self-evaluation. It is a measure of evidence that when it comes to intellect he is exceptional to most others. While his means are less than conventional-but really, what good is convention when it’s proven to be less than consistent-and he might not be labeled as such if your unit of measure was good will -he fully accepts his selfish tendencies-he finds his way of living to be much more effective use of one’s limited life.
His ways are not always the safest. What’s life without a little risk? Boring. Others might criticize his treatment of others. Of humans. It’s not that he hates people. He finds their ignorance vexing and entirely irritating. There are a good number whose lack of contribution to the world would leave him unaffected were they to not exist. But he doesn’t generally despise people. Life would be far too dull with only him in his own skull. The gambling he partakes on occasion with lives is not what it appears. He plays with patience to obtain the maximum amount of data possible until it reaches a twenty percent chance a client might be in danger. Hardly anything to worry about. Well, no, if he was honest, thirty percent is acceptable. Usually.
Not now. Now was different. He isn’t himself. He couldn’t afford to be. A dangerous man was forcing him into another game. He couldn’t underestimate him. He had to draw him out. This wasn’t about the world’s greatest consulting detective and his arch nemesis any longer. This was about a life-a very important one to probably few other than himself-that Moriarty was threatening one time too many.
“This old storyline? Oh no, Sherlock. This isn’t about repetition. No, because why would you suspect I would try the same trick? It would be below those of our caliber, yes? Besides. Your dear doctor here destroyed a very good suit of mine. It was quite rude. I think I really must repay the favor.” Sherlock’s first clenched as he squinted at the map of papers he crouched in.
He could hear Lestrade yelling in the background about the near death experiences others had come to because of Sherlock’s attempt to force his ‘piece forward’ in this newly devised game. He had to play. Every time he solved something in the wrong order-the sooner, John was given one less hour to live. The thought pounded in his head. For as irritating as the doctor could be-as much as any of them, though perhaps a bit less-Sherlock felt somewhat indebt. There was innocence to the doctor’s position that bugged him. He refused to use the term ‘attachment’. The accusations the inspector is inferring are blocked out.
They’re too similar to the words Sherlock has heard time after time. He’s no good, a ticking time bomb. He is a murderer in waiting. There is a small tickling fear when he barely lets a child free with only seconds to spare that he very well could be. What’s more ghastly to the inspector supervising him is that Sherlock’s concern lies not with the child. Sherlock has been blinded in that same annoying way he so frequently scoffs at.
The reality of his actions hit the evening after they bring John back home. It’s after Moriarty escapes. Again.
The papers that liter their flat becoming wads of ammunition as Sherlock’s fury and seemingly infinite frustration ripples over into his sporadic moments of energy. He’s angry, truly angry, at everything. When John finally catches his arms the taller man glares. He screams. He lays out every flaw he can find in the person he had spent his dwindling humanity to save. The doctor just waits.
“You’re not him.” John simply states, firmly, when he can at last get word in.
“Of course I’m not him! That wasn’t even a question of debate!”
“You will never be him.” John is reassuring him though his words would seem random. Sherlock would have dismissed them had he not learned that John had learned to read him in the slightest ways. Or, at least, when it seemed to matter.
“Oh come now you can’t possibly-“
“Yes. I can.”
“HOW! My actions weren’t particularly…admirable.” Sherlock sneers, wondering if perhaps he has already lost the sense of self that had always been his balance between his world and that of those with morals.
“Because you have someone to tell you when to stop. That’s what I’m here for, yeah? To keep your feet…relatively…figuratively…on the ground.”
“That’s proven so effective when you foolishly let yourself be snatched.” Sherlock snaps with a little less venom.
“It will be. Besides, I don’t intend on doing that again.” They both know intentions are useless. They also know there are some things even a genius and a not-so-idiotic-human can predict.
Title: Through the Rough
Fandom/Characters/Pairing: Hockey RPS (Flyers), Danny Briere/Claude Giroux, Briere boys
Prompt: "cuddling"
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1148
Warnings: homophobia
Summary: When they finally come out to the world, things don't go quite as they had hoped. Everything has a cure
It wasn’t supposed to go like this. It was supposed to work out. Things were supposed to be okay.
The management had responded positively. They had given support to two of their primary players. Lavy had been the one to approach them, encourage them to talk to the higher powers, in the first place. The teammates they considered themselves close with had been supportive. They had done everything they could to make this as easy as possible for the others and the organization.
There had been no grand statement. There had been no scandalous reveal or interview shocker. They hadn’t even confirmed it, but they also weren’t going to let rumors spread around. They had handled the truth concerning their relationship come out natural.
Claude hadn’t moved back into the Briere household. Claude and Danny had agreed that a move would have to be permanent. Danny couldn’t put his children through something so familiar to what they had been a part of before. That didn’t mean Claude didn’t find himself sleeping over more often than not. He held the other’s hand in public-though that took some time for him to adapt to. Danny used endearments when talking about him that he had been so careful about before. “My” boys became “Our” boys again. The casual dates for appearances ceased. They attended events together that weren’t promotional.
They had finally come out when someone, a fan event, had the courage to be blunt and address the topic no one talked about seriously.
“You seem really close on and off the ice. I imagine you’ve gotten your fair share of ribbing for it. But you seem to take it in stride. It’s encouraging. Would you be supportive of a teammate if they were to tell you that their chemistry with another team member was more than talent?”
“Absolutely.” Danny said without missing a beat, smiling coyly. “They’d be in good company.”
“Would the organization be?”
“Well, they haven’t kicked us out yet.” Claude piped in. “The guys have been really amazing too.”
The last sentence obliterated any remaining doubt. The moderator filtered questions back to the game. That didn’t stop the mob post interview. It had taken two minutes to reveal themselves. It took thirty seconds prior to exiting the building for the harsh reality of the situation to come crashing down around their shoulders.
Car tires were slashed. Ticket holders were canceling renewals. Jerseys were burned. Vandalism became a new problem at the practice facility. The opposing teams had new fuel for their taunts-which rarely weighed down on them. Claude’s family hadn’t known-much to Danny’s horror-and completely withdrew from him. A few teammates weren’t so settled with the truth being out in the public. Danny had come home to broken windows.
Still they held their ground. They weren’t stupid. They had known the risks. Each day it became a little harder to deal with the constant onslaught of hate. There were those who still stood by them. But sometimes there was just enough negativity to keep them from being able to think of ‘when this settles down’. It was getting to such a severity that trade rumors were running along the mills.
They could live. They would deal-as much as it sucked. There was one thing that was unacceptable. Mistreatment of the children crossed a line of all tolerance.
Carson came home with his eye dark and his lip swollen around a rather deep cut. Danny flared in anger. The emotion turned to tears as he fell to his knees as he grabbed for his middle child. Carson, for all his thirteen years, clung back. Cameron was retelling the story to Claude who watched, his heart sinking. The boy was often stuffed into the middle of decisions because of his birth order. As much as it must hurt his pride to break down and let his father hold him so tenderly, the two stayed huddled in the hallway for a solid amount of time.
Later that night, when Claude and Danny sat wordlessly on the couch lost in their thoughts, Claude played with a dangerous idea. Or rather, it was the last one he wanted to think about. He had to fix this.
“This is my fault.” Claude whispered. “The boys… you… wouldn’t have to go through this if I wasn’t here.”
“Claude. Stop it.” Danny warned.
“I should accept the trade offer, Danny. I should distance myself. At least for a little while.” He offered. “The kids need stability. You need to be near them. They’re going to move one of us at this rate. You’re not uprooting your life because of me.”
“NO!” The middle child, coming around the corner in time to hear the conversation, responded quickly. “You’re not leaving Claude.”
“Claude’s leaving?” The eldest nearly dropped the drink he had in hand. Cameron looked on in shock having tagged along.
“If you leave, they win. I would have stood up to Larson for nothing! I would have got my ass handed to me for giggles. You’re staying here, do you hear me?” Carson growled, coming closer.
“They’re not you! They don’t live your life. They don’t get a say in how you live it! They don’t get to decide it, and you don’t get to tell us what makes us happy. So just shut up!” Danny doesn’t have the heart to correct Carson. He hasn’t seen him this upset in years.
Claude swallows hard and reaches out to pull the middle child to him. Carson clings on like he had with his father. He holds on. This time the others come over. Even Caelan in his fourteenth -and thus far too old for such levels of affection- found his way into the pile. Cameron forgot that he’s supposed to be like his brothers and regresses a few years as he works his way into Claude’s lap some how.
Danny surprised himself when he found himself smiling. Somehow he ended up at the bottom of this pile with his arms wrapped around his ginger and his clones. His lover’s head tucked below his neck while his legs tangled between others. The position couldn’t be comfortable, but it left Claude surrounded by snuggling Brieres. The image, or maybe something Cam says, pulled out a small giggle from the other man. Danny placed a kiss to Claude’s head as the others hold on seeming determined to ride this trend out.
It might not be okay. But it will be. This is why they had taken the chance, after all. Their family. This glorious feeling of his boys wanting Claude to be a part of their lives as much as their father did was overwhelming. This complex knot of limbs was their anchor. They were the focus. They were the motivation. They, and this crazy knot of limbs and smiles, would make everything okay.
Someday. Hopefully.
Maybe tonight.
Fandom/Characters/Pairing: Sherlock (BBC), Sherlock/John if you squint
Prompt: "Falling"
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 821
Warnings: none?
Summary: When given another puzzle, one with consequences too close for comfort, Sherlock becomes desperate. Genius and Madness is a thin line to walk.
Sherlock does not view himself as superior. He knows it as a comparative fact. It is not his ego or self-evaluation. It is a measure of evidence that when it comes to intellect he is exceptional to most others. While his means are less than conventional-but really, what good is convention when it’s proven to be less than consistent-and he might not be labeled as such if your unit of measure was good will -he fully accepts his selfish tendencies-he finds his way of living to be much more effective use of one’s limited life.
His ways are not always the safest. What’s life without a little risk? Boring. Others might criticize his treatment of others. Of humans. It’s not that he hates people. He finds their ignorance vexing and entirely irritating. There are a good number whose lack of contribution to the world would leave him unaffected were they to not exist. But he doesn’t generally despise people. Life would be far too dull with only him in his own skull. The gambling he partakes on occasion with lives is not what it appears. He plays with patience to obtain the maximum amount of data possible until it reaches a twenty percent chance a client might be in danger. Hardly anything to worry about. Well, no, if he was honest, thirty percent is acceptable. Usually.
Not now. Now was different. He isn’t himself. He couldn’t afford to be. A dangerous man was forcing him into another game. He couldn’t underestimate him. He had to draw him out. This wasn’t about the world’s greatest consulting detective and his arch nemesis any longer. This was about a life-a very important one to probably few other than himself-that Moriarty was threatening one time too many.
“This old storyline? Oh no, Sherlock. This isn’t about repetition. No, because why would you suspect I would try the same trick? It would be below those of our caliber, yes? Besides. Your dear doctor here destroyed a very good suit of mine. It was quite rude. I think I really must repay the favor.” Sherlock’s first clenched as he squinted at the map of papers he crouched in.
He could hear Lestrade yelling in the background about the near death experiences others had come to because of Sherlock’s attempt to force his ‘piece forward’ in this newly devised game. He had to play. Every time he solved something in the wrong order-the sooner, John was given one less hour to live. The thought pounded in his head. For as irritating as the doctor could be-as much as any of them, though perhaps a bit less-Sherlock felt somewhat indebt. There was innocence to the doctor’s position that bugged him. He refused to use the term ‘attachment’. The accusations the inspector is inferring are blocked out.
They’re too similar to the words Sherlock has heard time after time. He’s no good, a ticking time bomb. He is a murderer in waiting. There is a small tickling fear when he barely lets a child free with only seconds to spare that he very well could be. What’s more ghastly to the inspector supervising him is that Sherlock’s concern lies not with the child. Sherlock has been blinded in that same annoying way he so frequently scoffs at.
The reality of his actions hit the evening after they bring John back home. It’s after Moriarty escapes. Again.
The papers that liter their flat becoming wads of ammunition as Sherlock’s fury and seemingly infinite frustration ripples over into his sporadic moments of energy. He’s angry, truly angry, at everything. When John finally catches his arms the taller man glares. He screams. He lays out every flaw he can find in the person he had spent his dwindling humanity to save. The doctor just waits.
“You’re not him.” John simply states, firmly, when he can at last get word in.
“Of course I’m not him! That wasn’t even a question of debate!”
“You will never be him.” John is reassuring him though his words would seem random. Sherlock would have dismissed them had he not learned that John had learned to read him in the slightest ways. Or, at least, when it seemed to matter.
“Oh come now you can’t possibly-“
“Yes. I can.”
“HOW! My actions weren’t particularly…admirable.” Sherlock sneers, wondering if perhaps he has already lost the sense of self that had always been his balance between his world and that of those with morals.
“Because you have someone to tell you when to stop. That’s what I’m here for, yeah? To keep your feet…relatively…figuratively…on the ground.”
“That’s proven so effective when you foolishly let yourself be snatched.” Sherlock snaps with a little less venom.
“It will be. Besides, I don’t intend on doing that again.” They both know intentions are useless. They also know there are some things even a genius and a not-so-idiotic-human can predict.
Title: Through the Rough
Fandom/Characters/Pairing: Hockey RPS (Flyers), Danny Briere/Claude Giroux, Briere boys
Prompt: "cuddling"
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1148
Warnings: homophobia
Summary: When they finally come out to the world, things don't go quite as they had hoped. Everything has a cure
It wasn’t supposed to go like this. It was supposed to work out. Things were supposed to be okay.
The management had responded positively. They had given support to two of their primary players. Lavy had been the one to approach them, encourage them to talk to the higher powers, in the first place. The teammates they considered themselves close with had been supportive. They had done everything they could to make this as easy as possible for the others and the organization.
There had been no grand statement. There had been no scandalous reveal or interview shocker. They hadn’t even confirmed it, but they also weren’t going to let rumors spread around. They had handled the truth concerning their relationship come out natural.
Claude hadn’t moved back into the Briere household. Claude and Danny had agreed that a move would have to be permanent. Danny couldn’t put his children through something so familiar to what they had been a part of before. That didn’t mean Claude didn’t find himself sleeping over more often than not. He held the other’s hand in public-though that took some time for him to adapt to. Danny used endearments when talking about him that he had been so careful about before. “My” boys became “Our” boys again. The casual dates for appearances ceased. They attended events together that weren’t promotional.
They had finally come out when someone, a fan event, had the courage to be blunt and address the topic no one talked about seriously.
“You seem really close on and off the ice. I imagine you’ve gotten your fair share of ribbing for it. But you seem to take it in stride. It’s encouraging. Would you be supportive of a teammate if they were to tell you that their chemistry with another team member was more than talent?”
“Absolutely.” Danny said without missing a beat, smiling coyly. “They’d be in good company.”
“Would the organization be?”
“Well, they haven’t kicked us out yet.” Claude piped in. “The guys have been really amazing too.”
The last sentence obliterated any remaining doubt. The moderator filtered questions back to the game. That didn’t stop the mob post interview. It had taken two minutes to reveal themselves. It took thirty seconds prior to exiting the building for the harsh reality of the situation to come crashing down around their shoulders.
Car tires were slashed. Ticket holders were canceling renewals. Jerseys were burned. Vandalism became a new problem at the practice facility. The opposing teams had new fuel for their taunts-which rarely weighed down on them. Claude’s family hadn’t known-much to Danny’s horror-and completely withdrew from him. A few teammates weren’t so settled with the truth being out in the public. Danny had come home to broken windows.
Still they held their ground. They weren’t stupid. They had known the risks. Each day it became a little harder to deal with the constant onslaught of hate. There were those who still stood by them. But sometimes there was just enough negativity to keep them from being able to think of ‘when this settles down’. It was getting to such a severity that trade rumors were running along the mills.
They could live. They would deal-as much as it sucked. There was one thing that was unacceptable. Mistreatment of the children crossed a line of all tolerance.
Carson came home with his eye dark and his lip swollen around a rather deep cut. Danny flared in anger. The emotion turned to tears as he fell to his knees as he grabbed for his middle child. Carson, for all his thirteen years, clung back. Cameron was retelling the story to Claude who watched, his heart sinking. The boy was often stuffed into the middle of decisions because of his birth order. As much as it must hurt his pride to break down and let his father hold him so tenderly, the two stayed huddled in the hallway for a solid amount of time.
Later that night, when Claude and Danny sat wordlessly on the couch lost in their thoughts, Claude played with a dangerous idea. Or rather, it was the last one he wanted to think about. He had to fix this.
“This is my fault.” Claude whispered. “The boys… you… wouldn’t have to go through this if I wasn’t here.”
“Claude. Stop it.” Danny warned.
“I should accept the trade offer, Danny. I should distance myself. At least for a little while.” He offered. “The kids need stability. You need to be near them. They’re going to move one of us at this rate. You’re not uprooting your life because of me.”
“NO!” The middle child, coming around the corner in time to hear the conversation, responded quickly. “You’re not leaving Claude.”
“Claude’s leaving?” The eldest nearly dropped the drink he had in hand. Cameron looked on in shock having tagged along.
“If you leave, they win. I would have stood up to Larson for nothing! I would have got my ass handed to me for giggles. You’re staying here, do you hear me?” Carson growled, coming closer.
“They’re not you! They don’t live your life. They don’t get a say in how you live it! They don’t get to decide it, and you don’t get to tell us what makes us happy. So just shut up!” Danny doesn’t have the heart to correct Carson. He hasn’t seen him this upset in years.
Claude swallows hard and reaches out to pull the middle child to him. Carson clings on like he had with his father. He holds on. This time the others come over. Even Caelan in his fourteenth -and thus far too old for such levels of affection- found his way into the pile. Cameron forgot that he’s supposed to be like his brothers and regresses a few years as he works his way into Claude’s lap some how.
Danny surprised himself when he found himself smiling. Somehow he ended up at the bottom of this pile with his arms wrapped around his ginger and his clones. His lover’s head tucked below his neck while his legs tangled between others. The position couldn’t be comfortable, but it left Claude surrounded by snuggling Brieres. The image, or maybe something Cam says, pulled out a small giggle from the other man. Danny placed a kiss to Claude’s head as the others hold on seeming determined to ride this trend out.
It might not be okay. But it will be. This is why they had taken the chance, after all. Their family. This glorious feeling of his boys wanting Claude to be a part of their lives as much as their father did was overwhelming. This complex knot of limbs was their anchor. They were the focus. They were the motivation. They, and this crazy knot of limbs and smiles, would make everything okay.
Someday. Hopefully.
Maybe tonight.