Ficlets: Harry Potter, BBC Sherlock/Doctor Who
Title: The Things We Swore We'd Never Say
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: one-sided Severus/Lily, Rowle, Nott, Regulus
Spoilers: DH
Rating: PG-13 for one f-bomb
Prompt: and you have your choices / and these are what make man great / his ladder to the stars / but you are not alone in this / and you are not alone in this / as brothers we will stand and we'll hold your hand / hold your hand ( here on the At The Close meme)
"Lily -- hey, Lily--" His hand closes around her wrist and she spins in surprise, her expression sharpening as she focuses on his face.
"I said leave me alone, Sev," and her arm is jerked from his grasp. It cuts right to his heart -- not the words; they cause their own pain -- but the tone, that angry how-fucking-dare-you tone that he's only ever heard her use on Potter. To think that she's put him on the same level with that scumbag, it's--
"I'm sorry," he tells her, and he's told her before but there's nothing else to say.
Green eyes narrow, dart down to his outstretched arm that he never dropped. "If you ever try to touch me again, Sev-- if you ever try to apologize again, if you even so much as look at me this summer-- so help me I will hex you into next week and then some, underage wizardry be damned. Is that clear, or do I need to shove it into that big greasy nose of yours?" Her voice wavers a little near the end, the things he never thought he'd hear from her rolling off her tongue, but she stands firm, and he guesses it's only fair. He opens his mouth, says nothing, and she spins on her heel and vanishes into the mist and the crowd.
Behind him, the train whistle screams and it occurs to him that his trunk is still on board, but he can't really be bothered to care.
A hand lands on his shoulder. "You did the right thing," Rowle says, with only a hint of the ever-present sneer in his voice. Then he ruins it by adding, "Filth like her won't last much longer anyway."
"She was only dragging you down, Severus," Nott agrees. "Did you really think the Dark Lord would let you in while you track mud in on your boots?"
"Come with us," offers Black -- Regulus, not that mutt of Potter's. "We're your brothers now."
Severus strains his eyes, hoping for one final glimpse of red hair through the fog, but she's long gone. She's been lost to him for a while now, he just wasn't able to see it.
Now he turns and joins his brothers in the fight for greatness.
*
Fandom: BBC Sherlock/Doctor Who
Characters/Pairings: John, Ten, Sherlock; past John/Mary
Spoilers: None
Rating: PG
Prompt: Basically John is the Doctor's son. Which might explain some of his behavior--he's used to Mad, eccentric geniuses after all. How would living with Sherlock be any different? ( here on the kinkmeme)
When John comes back with the shopping and realizes that the door to the flat won't open, his first thought is, Bloody hell, what's Sherlock done this time?
When he finally manages to edge it inwards enough to slip inside (abandoning the food on the stoop in the process) and sees what was blocking it in the first place, his first thought is, Bollocks. His second thought is, Please, God, let Sherlock not be home.
Squeezing between the wall and the big blue box in the common area is a tighter fit than the door was, but he gets past and then takes the stairs up to 221B two at a time. The door swings open before he reaches it.
"There you are," the man in John's flat says cheerfully. "We haven't blown anything up yet, don't worry."
"It's you, then," John says, his mouth twisting slightly. "New face." And pinstripes, good God.
"Yes, you missed a few."
"How long has it been for you?" John asks, shrugging out of his jacket as he brushes past the Doctor.
"Oh, decades." John doesn't have to turn around to picture the slightly pained expression on the Time Lord's new face. It's always the same. "How are you, John?"
"Fine." The fair-haired man's voice is sharp.
"And you tell me to be nicer to Mycroft." Sherlock is sprawled on the sofa, his head and neck draped over the arm to view the pair at the door.
"Sherlock." John smiles tightly at his flatmate. "I left the shopping on the stoop. Would you mind going to fetch it for me?"
Sherlock's eyebrows raise towards the floor. "If you want me out of the room for a private chat, John, you need only to say so." He rolls from the sofa and pats his skull before vanishing out the door. His footsteps can be heard all the way down to the hall.
"I hope for the TARDIS's sake that you didn't leave her door open."
"As if I would," the Doctor scoffs. "He's brilliant, though, your friend. Deduced half my life from this tie and my left trainer."
"Yes, he does that." Operating on hospitality auto-pilot, John moves into the kitchen and puts the kettle on, only just remembering to check for spare body parts before filling it. He bins the half dozen fingernails and turns to eye the Doctor, now leaning on the doorframe between the kitchen and the sitting room, Sherlock's skull in his hands. "Is there a reason you're here?"
"I wanted to talk to you. The TARDIS is getting lonely, maybe you and Sherlock--"
"No," John cuts him off sharply. "Absolutely not."
"What happened last time--"
"What happened last time was my wife dying in my arms. Do you remember how long we'd been married? Two weeks. Do you remember how many people attended her funeral? One."
And there's that expression again, the guilt-stricken pity-me look as he turns the skull from the mantelpiece in his hands. "I am sorry about Mary, John."
"If you were sorry--" John begins, then cuts himself off before he can say anything rash. The kettle sings, and he reaches for the pot. "Black?"
"The tea was never quite right after you left."
John's eyes flash as he thrusts the tray into the Doctor's arms. "Sitting room."
Sherlock has reappeared in the flat, quickly rescuing the skull before returning to his task of disassembling something he could only have gotten from inside the TARDIS.
"I picked the lock," he says, answering the unspoken question. "Have a good talk?"
"Oh, yes. You're doing that wrong, by the way. If you remove the green piece before the blue and the chartreuse there's a one-in-seven chance of blowing up the universe."
Sherlock's eyes light up in a way that signals imminent chaos and John sighs, doling out the tea. "Don't encourage him."
"So, the bees." The Doctor blows gently across the surface of his mug. "You think their disappearances have something to do with aliens?"
"Oh, undoubtably." Sherlock sets down the pieces to his new toy, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. "The seemingly random dips in the populations, all at or around the same time as an attempted invasion. The lack of scientific answers, although that's nothing new. It all points to extraterrestrial involvement."
"I never thought of it like that. Brilliant!"
--
"John?" The ex-army doctor turns to glance at the never-army Doctor. The taller man has his head out the TARDIS door, and the floor vibrates with her engines as she waits to take off. She never did like landing inside. "If you ever get bored of staying in one place . . ."
The side of John's mouth quirks. "Believe me, I won't get bored here."
The Doctor smiles briefly, then falters. "You're happy here, right?"
"Yeah, Dad." Definitely a small smile now. "I'm happy."
"Good. That's good. Now, I'd better go change my tie before someone else tells me to stop lying about my age." The Doctor disappears into the TARDIS and the TARDIS disappears into thin air, leaving John alone with a quirky flatmate upstairs and a slightly traumatized landlady down the hall.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: one-sided Severus/Lily, Rowle, Nott, Regulus
Spoilers: DH
Rating: PG-13 for one f-bomb
Prompt: and you have your choices / and these are what make man great / his ladder to the stars / but you are not alone in this / and you are not alone in this / as brothers we will stand and we'll hold your hand / hold your hand ( here on the At The Close meme)
"Lily -- hey, Lily--" His hand closes around her wrist and she spins in surprise, her expression sharpening as she focuses on his face.
"I said leave me alone, Sev," and her arm is jerked from his grasp. It cuts right to his heart -- not the words; they cause their own pain -- but the tone, that angry how-fucking-dare-you tone that he's only ever heard her use on Potter. To think that she's put him on the same level with that scumbag, it's--
"I'm sorry," he tells her, and he's told her before but there's nothing else to say.
Green eyes narrow, dart down to his outstretched arm that he never dropped. "If you ever try to touch me again, Sev-- if you ever try to apologize again, if you even so much as look at me this summer-- so help me I will hex you into next week and then some, underage wizardry be damned. Is that clear, or do I need to shove it into that big greasy nose of yours?" Her voice wavers a little near the end, the things he never thought he'd hear from her rolling off her tongue, but she stands firm, and he guesses it's only fair. He opens his mouth, says nothing, and she spins on her heel and vanishes into the mist and the crowd.
Behind him, the train whistle screams and it occurs to him that his trunk is still on board, but he can't really be bothered to care.
A hand lands on his shoulder. "You did the right thing," Rowle says, with only a hint of the ever-present sneer in his voice. Then he ruins it by adding, "Filth like her won't last much longer anyway."
"She was only dragging you down, Severus," Nott agrees. "Did you really think the Dark Lord would let you in while you track mud in on your boots?"
"Come with us," offers Black -- Regulus, not that mutt of Potter's. "We're your brothers now."
Severus strains his eyes, hoping for one final glimpse of red hair through the fog, but she's long gone. She's been lost to him for a while now, he just wasn't able to see it.
Now he turns and joins his brothers in the fight for greatness.
*
Fandom: BBC Sherlock/Doctor Who
Characters/Pairings: John, Ten, Sherlock; past John/Mary
Spoilers: None
Rating: PG
Prompt: Basically John is the Doctor's son. Which might explain some of his behavior--he's used to Mad, eccentric geniuses after all. How would living with Sherlock be any different? ( here on the kinkmeme)
When John comes back with the shopping and realizes that the door to the flat won't open, his first thought is, Bloody hell, what's Sherlock done this time?
When he finally manages to edge it inwards enough to slip inside (abandoning the food on the stoop in the process) and sees what was blocking it in the first place, his first thought is, Bollocks. His second thought is, Please, God, let Sherlock not be home.
Squeezing between the wall and the big blue box in the common area is a tighter fit than the door was, but he gets past and then takes the stairs up to 221B two at a time. The door swings open before he reaches it.
"There you are," the man in John's flat says cheerfully. "We haven't blown anything up yet, don't worry."
"It's you, then," John says, his mouth twisting slightly. "New face." And pinstripes, good God.
"Yes, you missed a few."
"How long has it been for you?" John asks, shrugging out of his jacket as he brushes past the Doctor.
"Oh, decades." John doesn't have to turn around to picture the slightly pained expression on the Time Lord's new face. It's always the same. "How are you, John?"
"Fine." The fair-haired man's voice is sharp.
"And you tell me to be nicer to Mycroft." Sherlock is sprawled on the sofa, his head and neck draped over the arm to view the pair at the door.
"Sherlock." John smiles tightly at his flatmate. "I left the shopping on the stoop. Would you mind going to fetch it for me?"
Sherlock's eyebrows raise towards the floor. "If you want me out of the room for a private chat, John, you need only to say so." He rolls from the sofa and pats his skull before vanishing out the door. His footsteps can be heard all the way down to the hall.
"I hope for the TARDIS's sake that you didn't leave her door open."
"As if I would," the Doctor scoffs. "He's brilliant, though, your friend. Deduced half my life from this tie and my left trainer."
"Yes, he does that." Operating on hospitality auto-pilot, John moves into the kitchen and puts the kettle on, only just remembering to check for spare body parts before filling it. He bins the half dozen fingernails and turns to eye the Doctor, now leaning on the doorframe between the kitchen and the sitting room, Sherlock's skull in his hands. "Is there a reason you're here?"
"I wanted to talk to you. The TARDIS is getting lonely, maybe you and Sherlock--"
"No," John cuts him off sharply. "Absolutely not."
"What happened last time--"
"What happened last time was my wife dying in my arms. Do you remember how long we'd been married? Two weeks. Do you remember how many people attended her funeral? One."
And there's that expression again, the guilt-stricken pity-me look as he turns the skull from the mantelpiece in his hands. "I am sorry about Mary, John."
"If you were sorry--" John begins, then cuts himself off before he can say anything rash. The kettle sings, and he reaches for the pot. "Black?"
"The tea was never quite right after you left."
John's eyes flash as he thrusts the tray into the Doctor's arms. "Sitting room."
Sherlock has reappeared in the flat, quickly rescuing the skull before returning to his task of disassembling something he could only have gotten from inside the TARDIS.
"I picked the lock," he says, answering the unspoken question. "Have a good talk?"
"Oh, yes. You're doing that wrong, by the way. If you remove the green piece before the blue and the chartreuse there's a one-in-seven chance of blowing up the universe."
Sherlock's eyes light up in a way that signals imminent chaos and John sighs, doling out the tea. "Don't encourage him."
"So, the bees." The Doctor blows gently across the surface of his mug. "You think their disappearances have something to do with aliens?"
"Oh, undoubtably." Sherlock sets down the pieces to his new toy, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. "The seemingly random dips in the populations, all at or around the same time as an attempted invasion. The lack of scientific answers, although that's nothing new. It all points to extraterrestrial involvement."
"I never thought of it like that. Brilliant!"
--
"John?" The ex-army doctor turns to glance at the never-army Doctor. The taller man has his head out the TARDIS door, and the floor vibrates with her engines as she waits to take off. She never did like landing inside. "If you ever get bored of staying in one place . . ."
The side of John's mouth quirks. "Believe me, I won't get bored here."
The Doctor smiles briefly, then falters. "You're happy here, right?"
"Yeah, Dad." Definitely a small smile now. "I'm happy."
"Good. That's good. Now, I'd better go change my tie before someone else tells me to stop lying about my age." The Doctor disappears into the TARDIS and the TARDIS disappears into thin air, leaving John alone with a quirky flatmate upstairs and a slightly traumatized landlady down the hall.