FIC: Can't See The Forest For The (Family) Trees [Sherlock/DW Crossover, Sherlock/Eleven, PG]
Title: Can't See The Forest For The (Family) Trees
Fandom: Sherlock BBC
Pairings: Sherlock Holmes/Eleventh Doctor
Rating: PG
Word Count: 570
Summary: Response to prompt at sherlockbbc-fic for Clara as the 'other one' mentioned in HLV. Cracktastic.
"John," Lady Holmes chirped brightly "My sons tell me you're a doctor."
John took a hasty swallow of his wine and started to answer but apparently it wasn't intended as a question because she continued on.
"Isn't that young man..."
"Mummy," Mycroft cut in smoothly "I thought we weren't talking about him anymore. You know how it upsets her." He finished with a smug flattening of his lips that might, on anyone else, have been a smile.
It made him look rather like a tortoise, thought John. Or else one of those terrifying smiley tortoise-like things they have in the reptile house. The ones that look like they might bite of your toes just for shits and giggles.
"She isn't here." Declared Sherlock, with a decisive stab of his fork. "And anyway, I rather liked talking about him. He was interesting. He drew it out, clicking the "t" against his front teeth. John looked at Sherlock curiously.
That clicking 't' means interesting like a murder, interesting like a serial killer, interesting like Irene A-
"She thought so too, and even more so when sat in the front seat of Daddy's Bentley with his trousers around his knees. Although I rather think that she imagined she would have been the one in the passenger seat. Well, I say 'in the passenger seat', but I really I think you were halfway across the-"
"RIGHT," said John, a little more loudly than he had intended but really "who wants another glass of wine?"
"If Mycroft insists on taking us on this trip down memory lane" called a voice from the doorway, "we're going to need something stronger".
There was a tap-tap-tap of sharp heels down the room. They came to a halt behind John and bemused, he glanced up to see a young woman with standing beside him. She looked at him for a long moment with Mycroft's measuring gaze, then smiled Sherlock's crooked smile and plucked John's glass from his hand.
She drained the glass and set it back on the table only long enough to pour another. She sipped it thoughtfully, sinking bonelessly into the empty seat beside John and pushed her own clean, empty glass towards him.
"I'm sorry," she said pointedly, looking not at John but at Sherlock, Mycroft and the Lady Holmes "where are my manners? I'm Clara, Clara Holmes. Well, I say 'Holmes' but-" she broke off to glare at the server hovering by her plate. "I don't suppose you have any fish fingers?"
"John" John offers with a nervous cough, ignoring the odd change of topic "Doctor John Watson."
"Doctor?" Clara turned back to him with renewed interest "I do like a Doctor. Though," she added thoughtfully "not so much as Billy does. Which of the cars will it be this time, Bill?"
Bill? John wondered while to his right Sherlock hunched down in his seat,looking pleadingly at his monther.
"Clara!" Lady Holmes cried reproachfully "That is hardly appropriate for the dinner table."
"That's what he said." Mycroft mumbled into his glass and John stared disbelievingly, not noticing Sherlock's blush or Clara's wicked giggle.
"Mycroft!" came the (now expected) scolding from the head of the table. "And for Heaven's sake" Lady Holmes sighed and glanced at Clara's empty plate and mostly empty wineglass, "please eat something."
"And that," Sherlock enunciated carefully, having switched his wineglass for whiskey tumbler shortly after Clara's grand entrance "is what I said."
Fandom: Sherlock BBC
Pairings: Sherlock Holmes/Eleventh Doctor
Rating: PG
Word Count: 570
Summary: Response to prompt at sherlockbbc-fic for Clara as the 'other one' mentioned in HLV. Cracktastic.
"John," Lady Holmes chirped brightly "My sons tell me you're a doctor."
John took a hasty swallow of his wine and started to answer but apparently it wasn't intended as a question because she continued on.
"Isn't that young man..."
"Mummy," Mycroft cut in smoothly "I thought we weren't talking about him anymore. You know how it upsets her." He finished with a smug flattening of his lips that might, on anyone else, have been a smile.
It made him look rather like a tortoise, thought John. Or else one of those terrifying smiley tortoise-like things they have in the reptile house. The ones that look like they might bite of your toes just for shits and giggles.
"She isn't here." Declared Sherlock, with a decisive stab of his fork. "And anyway, I rather liked talking about him. He was interesting. He drew it out, clicking the "t" against his front teeth. John looked at Sherlock curiously.
That clicking 't' means interesting like a murder, interesting like a serial killer, interesting like Irene A-
"She thought so too, and even more so when sat in the front seat of Daddy's Bentley with his trousers around his knees. Although I rather think that she imagined she would have been the one in the passenger seat. Well, I say 'in the passenger seat', but I really I think you were halfway across the-"
"RIGHT," said John, a little more loudly than he had intended but really "who wants another glass of wine?"
"If Mycroft insists on taking us on this trip down memory lane" called a voice from the doorway, "we're going to need something stronger".
There was a tap-tap-tap of sharp heels down the room. They came to a halt behind John and bemused, he glanced up to see a young woman with standing beside him. She looked at him for a long moment with Mycroft's measuring gaze, then smiled Sherlock's crooked smile and plucked John's glass from his hand.
She drained the glass and set it back on the table only long enough to pour another. She sipped it thoughtfully, sinking bonelessly into the empty seat beside John and pushed her own clean, empty glass towards him.
"I'm sorry," she said pointedly, looking not at John but at Sherlock, Mycroft and the Lady Holmes "where are my manners? I'm Clara, Clara Holmes. Well, I say 'Holmes' but-" she broke off to glare at the server hovering by her plate. "I don't suppose you have any fish fingers?"
"John" John offers with a nervous cough, ignoring the odd change of topic "Doctor John Watson."
"Doctor?" Clara turned back to him with renewed interest "I do like a Doctor. Though," she added thoughtfully "not so much as Billy does. Which of the cars will it be this time, Bill?"
Bill? John wondered while to his right Sherlock hunched down in his seat,looking pleadingly at his monther.
"Clara!" Lady Holmes cried reproachfully "That is hardly appropriate for the dinner table."
"That's what he said." Mycroft mumbled into his glass and John stared disbelievingly, not noticing Sherlock's blush or Clara's wicked giggle.
"Mycroft!" came the (now expected) scolding from the head of the table. "And for Heaven's sake" Lady Holmes sighed and glanced at Clara's empty plate and mostly empty wineglass, "please eat something."
"And that," Sherlock enunciated carefully, having switched his wineglass for whiskey tumbler shortly after Clara's grand entrance "is what I said."