Meme-fic!
Finally, FINALLY, I'm writing again, and since I have a bunch of mini-prompts from that meme back in May, I'm going to start on those.
igrockspock prompted me with:
1. #7 and #12 fight a zombie invasion together.
2. #8 and #1 get into a fist fight. What's the fight about, and who wins?
3. #2 and #11 have a drink together.
John stared down at the milling horde of undead. “Please, please tell me you have a contingency plan for this, Mycroft,” he said, clenching his left hand.
“I'm sorry, John. Had I known there was going to be a zombie outbreak today, I would have at least informed you to bring a change of clothing. I'm sure there are people looking into this, but as the last time there was a problem with walking dead was in 1869, it may take awhile for the authorities to properly deal with it.” Mycroft actually looked perturbed, standing at a different window and leaning slightly on his umbrella.
“Ah, well, at least there's tea,” sighed John, turning away from the window and sitting down in an inappropriately comfortable armchair. He vaguely felt as if there should be nothing comfortable with an honest-to-God zombie mob collected outside the building.
“True, and I think perhaps a cup or two while we plan our way out would be an excellent idea,” Mycroft agreed, taking the other chair. “I find myself supremely incurious as to my brother's earlier activities, I suppose that's a silver lining.”
~~~~~
“...okay, so as long as we can get to the roof we should be fine,” John said, pulling out his gun and automatically checking it.
“Presuming no-one else has barricaded themselves up there, yes,” said Mycroft, standing up and straightening his jacket. He then twisted the handle of his umbrella, and pulled out a short sword.
John did a small double-take. “Well, that explains a few things,” he remarked.
“Only a few.” Mycroft smiled enigmatically. “Shall we?” he asked, for all the world as though they were going to go for a stroll in Regent Park.
John threw open the door and immediately found a target (headshot, double-tap - that silly American flick at least had a good set of rules). He kicked the body aside, then dashed toward the stairs, Mycroft hot on his heels. The sword flashed as Mycroft beheaded another undead that had gotten a bit too close, and they raced up the stairs, shooting and hacking their way through the molasses-slow bodies. Twice John had to shoot a zombie off Mycroft, and once Mycroft got entirely too close to John with his sword (although to be fair, the zombie had been entirely too close as well).
“How many bloody flights does this place have?!” John gasped, slamming in his last clip. Why Mycroft had kept ammo in his office, John didn't know, or frankly want to know, but the extra clips had come in handy.
“Only two more, we should be ablAAAH!” John shot another zombie that had clawed at Mycroft's leg. “Hem. Able to make it, I think,” Mycroft panted.
“God I hope you're right,” John groaned, tagging another zombie up ahead.
~~~~~
The iron door slammed and locked quite satisfyingly behind them as they flung themselves against it. “Mr Holmes? Oh thank God!” The woman who was not Anthea flung herself at her boss, looking completely tattered. “Only five others have made it, but Torchwood says they should be able to eradicate the infected downstairs in half an hour if we can just hold out.”
“Infected?” John repeated, looking alarmed. “Hang on, does that mean - “
“No, it does not,” Mycroft interrupted, frowning. “Janine, honestly, correct terminology is a key part of our work.”
“Sorry, sir,” she said, blushing. “The bodies, I mean.”
“At least there's some good news then,” Mycroft sighed, absently wiping his sword on his leg. “Do we at least have weaponry in case they get through?”
“A few things, yes,” said Anthea/Janine, and John found himself looking past her to some exotic- and lethal-looking machinery. He grinned. At least a zombie invasion got him access to fun new toys, from the look of it!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The small, sweet-looking Asian woman bowed before stepping onto the mat. Temperance also bowed and joined her. “Toshiko Sato,” the Asian woman said.
“Temperance Brennan,” she replied.
The referee signaled the beginning of the match. Instantly the women began to circle each other, bouncing slightly on their feet. Temperance tried a kick to the leg, but Toshiko evaded it easily and swung at her face. Blocked, her other hand came in for a swift jab to the ribs. Temperance was already moving away, but the fist shoved her a bit further than she'd intended. She let the momentum feed into a roundhouse. Toshiko ducked and lunged in with an uppercut. Dancing away, Temperance smiled. Not as sweet as she looks!
The fight lasted a couple more minutes. Temperance was honestly surprised she lasted that long. Toshiko was incredibly fast and her stamina was clearly higher than Temperance's, and it wasn't very long before she got inside Temperance's guard. A whirlwind of jabs briefly stunned her, though she tried to grab onto the other woman and throw a few knee shots in. The world spun, and then she was on her back. Toshiko was grinning down at her. Temperance decided to stay on the ground.
~~~~~
“So what did you find out?” Booth asked as Temperance poured a bottle of water over her head.
“While she definitely has the skill to kill our victim, it's highly unlikely she'd do so. There were a number of times she could have struck harder and didn't; Toshiko clearly knows how to gauge her striking force. Also,” she paused and brushed a piece of dripping hair out of her face, flashing a quick smile, “I'm woefully out of practice.”
Toshiko came over with a towel, which she offered to Temperance. “Are you all right? I'm sorry if I was a bit hard on you in there, I'd assumed you'd fought more.”
“No, I'm fine, thanks. Where did you say you're from?”
“Cardiff. I'm only in DC for a few days for work. I'm glad there was a gym out here I could visit, it's been awhile since I had a good match,” Toshiko said, rubbing another towel over her own dripping hair.
“So...you weren't in town on Thursday,” Booth interjected. Both women turned to look at him, Toshiko looking surprised and Temperance exasperated.
“I already told you she's not our killer, Booth,” Temperance said.
“Oh, the Cassidy murder?” Toshiko asked. It was the agents' turn to look surprised at her. “That's one of the reasons I'm here, I'm supposed to look into it. You're the local agents on the case?”
Booth exchanged glances with Temperance. Toshiko laughed a little. “I'm guessing you...didn't get the memo.”
“No, not really,” Temperance replied. Booth's phone beeped at him, and he checked it, his eyebrows managing to find a few more millimeters to go up his forehead.
“Uh, Bones? We're...off the case.”
“Sorry,” Toshiko said, looking a bit embarrassed. “But as long as you're here, can I ask you some questions?”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Mind if I join you?”
Sherlock turned a little to see the lovely, exotic woman who had just recreated the crime scene for them yesterday. “Angela Montenegro...from the Jeffersonian? We met yesterday,” she added, waving a little. Sherlock flicked his eyes over her, then held a hand out toward the seat next to him. Since her marriage was quite happy, it seemed unlikely she was attempting to chat him up.
“That was really incredible, what you did,” she said, sliding into the seat and signaling the bartender. “I'll have...the Gnarly Vines cab sab.”
“You sound like John,” he replied, taking a sip of his vodka tonic.
“Is that your boyfriend?” she asked. “He's really cute, you're a lucky man.”
Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Colleague,” he corrected, then, “Friend.”
“Mmmm-hmm,” Angela said, raising her eyebrows skeptically. Her wine arrived, and she took an appreciative sip.
“Why is everyone obsessed with hooking us up?” Sherlock half-demanded.
“It's the way you look at each other, honey. People aren't used to men having relationships like that that aren't sexual,” she offered. “It's the way our culture works.”
“Ugh,” Sherlock muttered, raising his glass again.
“I'm guessing you don't do the relationship thing that often?” Angela asked. She leaned toward him a little, propping her elbow on the bar and resting her head on one hand.
“I find no point in it. Relationships are messy, complicated, and end poorly entirely too often,” Sherlock pronounced with finality.
Angela looked sympathetic. “So John's the closest you have. Well, people are going to make assumptions then.”
“They do little else,” he said, glowering at his drink.
“It's the nature of the beast, sweetie. People used to ask me about Brennan, too. I'm glad she and Seeley finally got their differences worked out - I mean, I like her, and she can be a knockout, but Brennan is way too intense for me,” Angela laughed.
“You prefer your women to be more artistic,” Sherlock said. “Also more sentimental.”
Angela looked taken aback for a minute, then chuckled. “Well, that's not the way I'd put it, but yes,” she agreed. “And now I'm with Hodgins, which means I'm not looking for anybody else.”
“Not that that would stop others,” Sherlock drawled.
“The ring does help, but you're right,” Angela sighed, drinking a bit more wine. “But anyway, I doubt you're really interested in my love life. When do you guys leave?”
“Tomorrow evening. John wants to go sight-seeing as long as we happen to be here and there aren't any pressing cases back home.” Sherlock smiled a little, remembering the polite strop John had had when Sherlock had tried to change their tickets to an earlier flight.
“Nice of you to indulge him, I doubt playing tourist is really your thing,” Angela said.
“Well, the Jeffersonian has some fascinating exhibits, it would be a pity to neglect seeing them before we leave,” Sherlock said a little dismissively.
“Indeed it would,” she agreed, hiding a smile in her wineglass. “Well, here's to a mystery unlocked.”
“And probably another overly-dramatised blog with a silly name,” Sherlock said, clinking his glass with Angela's.
“He could always name it after the rhyme,” Angela suggested.
“What, the Musgrave Ritual? While accurate, it still smacks of the occult,” Sherlock sniffed. “Although it would be slightly less silly than the Speckled Blonde.”
“I think maybe you should leave the naming to me,” a pleasant tenor said near the door. They both started up, and John grinned at them both. “Angela, a pleasure. Is he behaving himself?”
“No complaints here,” she replied. “You guys should probably crash soon if you're going to spend tomorrow in the museums, though.”
“Not tired,” Sherlock announced, and flagged down the bartender. “Vodka tonic, a pint of lager, and another glass for the lady.”
John walked over and sat down on Angela's other side. “Why not,” he sighed, “the jet lag can't get much worse.”
igrockspock prompted me with:
1. #7 and #12 fight a zombie invasion together.
2. #8 and #1 get into a fist fight. What's the fight about, and who wins?
3. #2 and #11 have a drink together.
John stared down at the milling horde of undead. “Please, please tell me you have a contingency plan for this, Mycroft,” he said, clenching his left hand.
“I'm sorry, John. Had I known there was going to be a zombie outbreak today, I would have at least informed you to bring a change of clothing. I'm sure there are people looking into this, but as the last time there was a problem with walking dead was in 1869, it may take awhile for the authorities to properly deal with it.” Mycroft actually looked perturbed, standing at a different window and leaning slightly on his umbrella.
“Ah, well, at least there's tea,” sighed John, turning away from the window and sitting down in an inappropriately comfortable armchair. He vaguely felt as if there should be nothing comfortable with an honest-to-God zombie mob collected outside the building.
“True, and I think perhaps a cup or two while we plan our way out would be an excellent idea,” Mycroft agreed, taking the other chair. “I find myself supremely incurious as to my brother's earlier activities, I suppose that's a silver lining.”
~~~~~
“...okay, so as long as we can get to the roof we should be fine,” John said, pulling out his gun and automatically checking it.
“Presuming no-one else has barricaded themselves up there, yes,” said Mycroft, standing up and straightening his jacket. He then twisted the handle of his umbrella, and pulled out a short sword.
John did a small double-take. “Well, that explains a few things,” he remarked.
“Only a few.” Mycroft smiled enigmatically. “Shall we?” he asked, for all the world as though they were going to go for a stroll in Regent Park.
John threw open the door and immediately found a target (headshot, double-tap - that silly American flick at least had a good set of rules). He kicked the body aside, then dashed toward the stairs, Mycroft hot on his heels. The sword flashed as Mycroft beheaded another undead that had gotten a bit too close, and they raced up the stairs, shooting and hacking their way through the molasses-slow bodies. Twice John had to shoot a zombie off Mycroft, and once Mycroft got entirely too close to John with his sword (although to be fair, the zombie had been entirely too close as well).
“How many bloody flights does this place have?!” John gasped, slamming in his last clip. Why Mycroft had kept ammo in his office, John didn't know, or frankly want to know, but the extra clips had come in handy.
“Only two more, we should be ablAAAH!” John shot another zombie that had clawed at Mycroft's leg. “Hem. Able to make it, I think,” Mycroft panted.
“God I hope you're right,” John groaned, tagging another zombie up ahead.
~~~~~
The iron door slammed and locked quite satisfyingly behind them as they flung themselves against it. “Mr Holmes? Oh thank God!” The woman who was not Anthea flung herself at her boss, looking completely tattered. “Only five others have made it, but Torchwood says they should be able to eradicate the infected downstairs in half an hour if we can just hold out.”
“Infected?” John repeated, looking alarmed. “Hang on, does that mean - “
“No, it does not,” Mycroft interrupted, frowning. “Janine, honestly, correct terminology is a key part of our work.”
“Sorry, sir,” she said, blushing. “The bodies, I mean.”
“At least there's some good news then,” Mycroft sighed, absently wiping his sword on his leg. “Do we at least have weaponry in case they get through?”
“A few things, yes,” said Anthea/Janine, and John found himself looking past her to some exotic- and lethal-looking machinery. He grinned. At least a zombie invasion got him access to fun new toys, from the look of it!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The small, sweet-looking Asian woman bowed before stepping onto the mat. Temperance also bowed and joined her. “Toshiko Sato,” the Asian woman said.
“Temperance Brennan,” she replied.
The referee signaled the beginning of the match. Instantly the women began to circle each other, bouncing slightly on their feet. Temperance tried a kick to the leg, but Toshiko evaded it easily and swung at her face. Blocked, her other hand came in for a swift jab to the ribs. Temperance was already moving away, but the fist shoved her a bit further than she'd intended. She let the momentum feed into a roundhouse. Toshiko ducked and lunged in with an uppercut. Dancing away, Temperance smiled. Not as sweet as she looks!
The fight lasted a couple more minutes. Temperance was honestly surprised she lasted that long. Toshiko was incredibly fast and her stamina was clearly higher than Temperance's, and it wasn't very long before she got inside Temperance's guard. A whirlwind of jabs briefly stunned her, though she tried to grab onto the other woman and throw a few knee shots in. The world spun, and then she was on her back. Toshiko was grinning down at her. Temperance decided to stay on the ground.
~~~~~
“So what did you find out?” Booth asked as Temperance poured a bottle of water over her head.
“While she definitely has the skill to kill our victim, it's highly unlikely she'd do so. There were a number of times she could have struck harder and didn't; Toshiko clearly knows how to gauge her striking force. Also,” she paused and brushed a piece of dripping hair out of her face, flashing a quick smile, “I'm woefully out of practice.”
Toshiko came over with a towel, which she offered to Temperance. “Are you all right? I'm sorry if I was a bit hard on you in there, I'd assumed you'd fought more.”
“No, I'm fine, thanks. Where did you say you're from?”
“Cardiff. I'm only in DC for a few days for work. I'm glad there was a gym out here I could visit, it's been awhile since I had a good match,” Toshiko said, rubbing another towel over her own dripping hair.
“So...you weren't in town on Thursday,” Booth interjected. Both women turned to look at him, Toshiko looking surprised and Temperance exasperated.
“I already told you she's not our killer, Booth,” Temperance said.
“Oh, the Cassidy murder?” Toshiko asked. It was the agents' turn to look surprised at her. “That's one of the reasons I'm here, I'm supposed to look into it. You're the local agents on the case?”
Booth exchanged glances with Temperance. Toshiko laughed a little. “I'm guessing you...didn't get the memo.”
“No, not really,” Temperance replied. Booth's phone beeped at him, and he checked it, his eyebrows managing to find a few more millimeters to go up his forehead.
“Uh, Bones? We're...off the case.”
“Sorry,” Toshiko said, looking a bit embarrassed. “But as long as you're here, can I ask you some questions?”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Mind if I join you?”
Sherlock turned a little to see the lovely, exotic woman who had just recreated the crime scene for them yesterday. “Angela Montenegro...from the Jeffersonian? We met yesterday,” she added, waving a little. Sherlock flicked his eyes over her, then held a hand out toward the seat next to him. Since her marriage was quite happy, it seemed unlikely she was attempting to chat him up.
“That was really incredible, what you did,” she said, sliding into the seat and signaling the bartender. “I'll have...the Gnarly Vines cab sab.”
“You sound like John,” he replied, taking a sip of his vodka tonic.
“Is that your boyfriend?” she asked. “He's really cute, you're a lucky man.”
Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Colleague,” he corrected, then, “Friend.”
“Mmmm-hmm,” Angela said, raising her eyebrows skeptically. Her wine arrived, and she took an appreciative sip.
“Why is everyone obsessed with hooking us up?” Sherlock half-demanded.
“It's the way you look at each other, honey. People aren't used to men having relationships like that that aren't sexual,” she offered. “It's the way our culture works.”
“Ugh,” Sherlock muttered, raising his glass again.
“I'm guessing you don't do the relationship thing that often?” Angela asked. She leaned toward him a little, propping her elbow on the bar and resting her head on one hand.
“I find no point in it. Relationships are messy, complicated, and end poorly entirely too often,” Sherlock pronounced with finality.
Angela looked sympathetic. “So John's the closest you have. Well, people are going to make assumptions then.”
“They do little else,” he said, glowering at his drink.
“It's the nature of the beast, sweetie. People used to ask me about Brennan, too. I'm glad she and Seeley finally got their differences worked out - I mean, I like her, and she can be a knockout, but Brennan is way too intense for me,” Angela laughed.
“You prefer your women to be more artistic,” Sherlock said. “Also more sentimental.”
Angela looked taken aback for a minute, then chuckled. “Well, that's not the way I'd put it, but yes,” she agreed. “And now I'm with Hodgins, which means I'm not looking for anybody else.”
“Not that that would stop others,” Sherlock drawled.
“The ring does help, but you're right,” Angela sighed, drinking a bit more wine. “But anyway, I doubt you're really interested in my love life. When do you guys leave?”
“Tomorrow evening. John wants to go sight-seeing as long as we happen to be here and there aren't any pressing cases back home.” Sherlock smiled a little, remembering the polite strop John had had when Sherlock had tried to change their tickets to an earlier flight.
“Nice of you to indulge him, I doubt playing tourist is really your thing,” Angela said.
“Well, the Jeffersonian has some fascinating exhibits, it would be a pity to neglect seeing them before we leave,” Sherlock said a little dismissively.
“Indeed it would,” she agreed, hiding a smile in her wineglass. “Well, here's to a mystery unlocked.”
“And probably another overly-dramatised blog with a silly name,” Sherlock said, clinking his glass with Angela's.
“He could always name it after the rhyme,” Angela suggested.
“What, the Musgrave Ritual? While accurate, it still smacks of the occult,” Sherlock sniffed. “Although it would be slightly less silly than the Speckled Blonde.”
“I think maybe you should leave the naming to me,” a pleasant tenor said near the door. They both started up, and John grinned at them both. “Angela, a pleasure. Is he behaving himself?”
“No complaints here,” she replied. “You guys should probably crash soon if you're going to spend tomorrow in the museums, though.”
“Not tired,” Sherlock announced, and flagged down the bartender. “Vodka tonic, a pint of lager, and another glass for the lady.”
John walked over and sat down on Angela's other side. “Why not,” he sighed, “the jet lag can't get much worse.”