Mini Crack Fill #2
anonymous
July 30 2011, 02:21:50 UTC
AN: I couldn't stop myself from writing another scene. I hope you like it, OP! I blame the premier of season 9 last night for the crack that are these fills. ___________________________________________________
“John, why are you helping him so much?” Sally asked, staring up at the longsuffering designer. After the last challenge he had made the mistake of ‘befriending’ Sherlock Holmes. And now the poor designer was being punished for it by being forced to stand on a stool, trussed up in bright red wool that Sherlock swore would somehow be manipulated into a full-length coat. He had been stranded there for a good quarter of an hour while Sherlock hurried back and forth between the sewing room, weaved between other contestant’s work stations (perhaps hoping to get a better view of his masterpiece) and generally made an arse out of himself on national television.
“He said he works better when he has someone to talk to.” John started to fidget, pulling at the folded cuffs of the garment.
“John!” Sherlock snapped from across the room where he was surreptitiously borrowing a few choice buttons from Lestrade.
“That doesn’t explain why he had you put the coat on.” She poked him in the side with a pair of scissors. “Plus, I’m sure talking to a skeleton would be just as adequate for that freak.”
“Just leave it, Sally.” John looked down at her and realised just how nice being as tall as someone like Sherlock must be for situations like this. He thought he cut quite the intimidating figure standing five inches taller than normal. But, regardless of how threatening his tone or height or facial expression may have been the ridiculous mass of red wool piled around his neck make it hard to take anything he said seriously. “He promised to help me with my dress.” John admitted sheepishly. “He has the same measurements as my model.” He cleared his throat, glancing at Sherlock who was now making a box with his forefingers and thumbs-perhaps trying to imagine how beautiful the coat would look on the cover of Marie Claire. “Almost.” John gestured to his own chest and Sally rolled her eyes.
“What did I say about moving?” Sherlock asked harshly, coupling it with a stern look as he quickly crossed the room in five long strides. “Sally.” He nodded curtly to the woman before picking up the hem of the coat and pinning it just belong John’s knee.
“Good luck.” Sally sighs, returning to her asymmetrical blouse.
“Thank you.” Sherlock and John look at each other as they both finish speaking. John was the first to look away, glancing down at the pale hands clutching blood red fabric.
“Are you almost finished?” Sherlock jabs him in the thigh with a pin.
A half hour later, Sherlock twirled in front of the full-length mirror near John’s workstation. His eyes lit up as he watched the rich, white dress float around his legs. A slight blush crept up the back of John’s neck as he stepped closer, helping Sherlock slip on the dark green satin blazer. Long fingers thread the one button and smoothed the fabric down. John touched his elbow gently, turning the other man to check the way the satin clung to the curve of his lower back and shoulders.
“Unexpected.” Sherlock murmured with the ghost of a smile on his lip before listing off all the alterations he would make to each piece.
Re: Mini Crack Fill #2ningen_demonaiAugust 6 2011, 09:52:59 UTC
Oh, that is adorable. Don't watch the fashion show myself (t-shirt and jeans for me, thanks), but I kinda want this universe to exist. Will you write more? It's rather brilliant. ♥
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“John, why are you helping him so much?” Sally asked, staring up at the longsuffering designer. After the last challenge he had made the mistake of ‘befriending’ Sherlock Holmes. And now the poor designer was being punished for it by being forced to stand on a stool, trussed up in bright red wool that Sherlock swore would somehow be manipulated into a full-length coat. He had been stranded there for a good quarter of an hour while Sherlock hurried back and forth between the sewing room, weaved between other contestant’s work stations (perhaps hoping to get a better view of his masterpiece) and generally made an arse out of himself on national television.
“He said he works better when he has someone to talk to.” John started to fidget, pulling at the folded cuffs of the garment.
“John!” Sherlock snapped from across the room where he was surreptitiously borrowing a few choice buttons from Lestrade.
“That doesn’t explain why he had you put the coat on.” She poked him in the side with a pair of scissors. “Plus, I’m sure talking to a skeleton would be just as adequate for that freak.”
“Just leave it, Sally.” John looked down at her and realised just how nice being as tall as someone like Sherlock must be for situations like this. He thought he cut quite the intimidating figure standing five inches taller than normal. But, regardless of how threatening his tone or height or facial expression may have been the ridiculous mass of red wool piled around his neck make it hard to take anything he said seriously. “He promised to help me with my dress.” John admitted sheepishly. “He has the same measurements as my model.” He cleared his throat, glancing at Sherlock who was now making a box with his forefingers and thumbs-perhaps trying to imagine how beautiful the coat would look on the cover of Marie Claire. “Almost.” John gestured to his own chest and Sally rolled her eyes.
“What did I say about moving?” Sherlock asked harshly, coupling it with a stern look as he quickly crossed the room in five long strides. “Sally.” He nodded curtly to the woman before picking up the hem of the coat and pinning it just belong John’s knee.
“Good luck.” Sally sighs, returning to her asymmetrical blouse.
“Thank you.” Sherlock and John look at each other as they both finish speaking. John was the first to look away, glancing down at the pale hands clutching blood red fabric.
“Are you almost finished?” Sherlock jabs him in the thigh with a pin.
A half hour later, Sherlock twirled in front of the full-length mirror near John’s workstation. His eyes lit up as he watched the rich, white dress float around his legs. A slight blush crept up the back of John’s neck as he stepped closer, helping Sherlock slip on the dark green satin blazer. Long fingers thread the one button and smoothed the fabric down. John touched his elbow gently, turning the other man to check the way the satin clung to the curve of his lower back and shoulders.
“Unexpected.” Sherlock murmured with the ghost of a smile on his lip before listing off all the alterations he would make to each piece.
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