Mini Crack Fill! #3a
anonymous
August 13 2011, 11:27:13 UTC
More? Yes. I'm glad you like this kind of crack! So, obviously the challenge mentioned is the one from this week's episode. ________________________________
John feels the mattress dip as a wiry body crouches at the head of his bed, jostling him awake with bony elbows and long legs. He grumbles, rolling away from the intruder and curling into a ball.
“You do know that it was my suggestions that helped you win.”
“Yesh, Shurlock.” John murmurs sleepily, his tongue not seeming to work properly at four in the morning. He shoulders the blankets higher, tugging them around his neck and snuggling deeper into their warmth, desperately chasing sleeping.
There was no point starting a row when John is beyond exhausted. He had quickly realised that when it came to Sherlock, it was always going to be much easier to just play along.
Sherlock stays quiet for a moment, mulling over John’s response.
Just as sleep seems obtainable, even with a lanky designer attempting to occupy his bed, the man speaks up again. “I think they are going to do a team challenge next.” John rolls back over to glare at Sherlock. The look is lost in the darkness. “I hate team challenges.”
“Sure,” John whispers back, his voice rough, “hateful things, teams. Right, now shush…” He blindly reaches up to press his hand over Sherlock’s mouth.
It actually works.
And if Sherlock allows the hand to linger before peeling it off, John does not say anything.
The next morning John is nowhere near surprised that the designers are in fact being split into teams of two. What does manage to surprise him are the terrifying models on stilts towering above the group as they strut down the catwalk. Oh, and the fact that Sherlock has been paired with Anderson while John, who has immunity, is saddled with the oldest Project Runway contestant to date, Mrs. Hudson.
At least Sherlock will not be bored by the challenge. Infuriated, possibly, but decidedly not bored.
Sally, who lucked out by getting Lestrade for a partner, snickers all the way to the workroom.
The most shocking thing, John thinks, is that Sherlock does not utter a single word the entire day.
Not when they are sketching. Not when they are fitting their models and discussing concepts. Not even when Anderson pulls out a bolt of neon chartreuse fabric at Mood. Although, John has it on good authority that Sherlock apparently tore the fabric out of the designer’s arms and swatted him over the head with it before taking the money and purchasing a much darker pallet.
It is quite impressive how bossy and demanding the man can be even while totally silent.
John, on the other hand, seems to get along famously with his partner. While the two had not really spoken prior to the challenge, they essentially agree on everything and even if Mrs. Hudson’s design aesthetic is a bit dated, at least her sewing is impeccable. They work fast, completing the garment with a half hour to spare. So John goes to quietly keep Sherlock company in the sewing room while Anderson ruches the bodice beyond recognition.
At the end of the day John notes that there are several ‘interesting’ and ‘bold’ garments being constructed around the room. Many of them ignoring Tim’s sage advice to avoid the much dreaded ‘costume’ realm.
When the group returns to the flats, John tries in vain to draw out a few words from Sherlock. Nothing works and he remains eerily silent. John frets the whole night, his sleep fitful and full of nightmares.
When it comes time for the runway show, the updated kimono John and Mrs. Hudson produced is smashing, though it only qualifies the pair to move onto the next round. Sally, thanks to Lestrade’s gracious offer, is the sole winner of the challenge with their perfectly editorial pantsuit.
Sherlock and Anderson are not as lucky.
Though Sherlock seems to have found his voice again, defending his work ethic and choices while explaining the insanity of Anderson’s aesthetic and their inability to compromise. He also points to the tailoring of the skirt and pants.
Re: Mini Crack Fill! #3b
anonymous
August 13 2011, 11:29:13 UTC
“I just don’t get it boys,” Michael Kors sneers, gesturing to the dark purple monstrosity that seems to totally engulf the stilt walker. “She looks like a sad California raisin.”
“It was totally dead in the water.” Nina taps her scorecards against her knee, disappointment etched on her face.
“I love the colour, Sherlock,” Heidi begins with a smile toward Sherlock. “But what woman wants that much bunching around their boobs?”
Everyone is piled into the greenroom together while the judges deliberate. John scoots closer to Sherlock, pressing their thighs together as Anderson loudly berates him from across the room. Most of the fellow designers are smart enough not to get involved in the fight. A few people like Sarah roll their eyes while others like Dimmock and Molly just ignore the outburst.
Sherlock’s clever hands are clasped together between his knees, his back curved as he leans forward to stare unblinkingly at the linoleum floor.
“Freak is the only reason you had a dress to send down the runway!” Sally steps in to defend Sherlock when Anderson begins whining about being thrown under the bus during their interrogation.
“Sally.” Lestrade tugs her elbow, attempting to pull her back onto the couch.
“No, it’s true!”
When a PA comes to escort them back onto the runway, John feels the heavy weight of a pale hand press against his thigh as Sherlock slowly rises. The designer spares John one unreadable glance before slipping through the door.
Apparently, the only thing that saves Sherlock are his hands. They warn him, demand more, expect more, but compliment his tailoring all the same.
Sherlock walks back to the greenroom on stiff legs, still reeling from his brush with elimination. His brilliance in serious question, the genius of his vision thrown off kilter. He slumps onto the couch beside John with a heavy sigh, his head falling to rest on the other man’s shoulder.
Anderson is sent home.
That night, when Sherlock climbs onto his bed, John does not roll away. Instead, he pulls back the blankets and wraps an arm around his friend’s thin chest.
Re: Mini Crack Fill! #3b
anonymous
August 13 2011, 11:55:02 UTC
Awwww, your Mini Crack Fills are so much fun and really are a great blend with Sherlock and Project Runway. If you have any more ideas in this 'verse then please reveal them here!!
Re: Mini Crack Fill! #3b
anonymous
August 13 2011, 23:10:52 UTC
Thank you so much! I'm really glad you like them. I have a few ideas about where it could go but I think I wanna see what the next challenge (this thurs) and then maybe write something based on that? Haha, I could have a whole Sherlock in P Runway universe running parallel to the current season. :D
Re: Mini Crack Fill! #3b
anonymous
August 13 2011, 12:13:20 UTC
I don't know anything about Project Runway (or fashion!), but I'm still really enjoying these, and I wouldn't mind seeing many, many more mini fills. :D
Re: Mini Crack Fill! #3bcatgirlpoisonAugust 19 2011, 18:05:22 UTC
Oh, you wrote more. I love these little moments with Sherlock and John, they would be such a great team as designers. I would love to see more, I can enjoy this while I watch the show.
________________________________
John feels the mattress dip as a wiry body crouches at the head of his bed, jostling him awake with bony elbows and long legs. He grumbles, rolling away from the intruder and curling into a ball.
“You do know that it was my suggestions that helped you win.”
“Yesh, Shurlock.” John murmurs sleepily, his tongue not seeming to work properly at four in the morning. He shoulders the blankets higher, tugging them around his neck and snuggling deeper into their warmth, desperately chasing sleeping.
There was no point starting a row when John is beyond exhausted. He had quickly realised that when it came to Sherlock, it was always going to be much easier to just play along.
Sherlock stays quiet for a moment, mulling over John’s response.
Just as sleep seems obtainable, even with a lanky designer attempting to occupy his bed, the man speaks up again. “I think they are going to do a team challenge next.” John rolls back over to glare at Sherlock. The look is lost in the darkness. “I hate team challenges.”
“Sure,” John whispers back, his voice rough, “hateful things, teams. Right, now shush…” He blindly reaches up to press his hand over Sherlock’s mouth.
It actually works.
And if Sherlock allows the hand to linger before peeling it off, John does not say anything.
The next morning John is nowhere near surprised that the designers are in fact being split into teams of two. What does manage to surprise him are the terrifying models on stilts towering above the group as they strut down the catwalk. Oh, and the fact that Sherlock has been paired with Anderson while John, who has immunity, is saddled with the oldest Project Runway contestant to date, Mrs. Hudson.
At least Sherlock will not be bored by the challenge. Infuriated, possibly, but decidedly not bored.
Sally, who lucked out by getting Lestrade for a partner, snickers all the way to the workroom.
The most shocking thing, John thinks, is that Sherlock does not utter a single word the entire day.
Not when they are sketching. Not when they are fitting their models and discussing concepts. Not even when Anderson pulls out a bolt of neon chartreuse fabric at Mood. Although, John has it on good authority that Sherlock apparently tore the fabric out of the designer’s arms and swatted him over the head with it before taking the money and purchasing a much darker pallet.
It is quite impressive how bossy and demanding the man can be even while totally silent.
John, on the other hand, seems to get along famously with his partner. While the two had not really spoken prior to the challenge, they essentially agree on everything and even if Mrs. Hudson’s design aesthetic is a bit dated, at least her sewing is impeccable. They work fast, completing the garment with a half hour to spare. So John goes to quietly keep Sherlock company in the sewing room while Anderson ruches the bodice beyond recognition.
At the end of the day John notes that there are several ‘interesting’ and ‘bold’ garments being constructed around the room. Many of them ignoring Tim’s sage advice to avoid the much dreaded ‘costume’ realm.
When the group returns to the flats, John tries in vain to draw out a few words from Sherlock. Nothing works and he remains eerily silent. John frets the whole night, his sleep fitful and full of nightmares.
When it comes time for the runway show, the updated kimono John and Mrs. Hudson produced is smashing, though it only qualifies the pair to move onto the next round. Sally, thanks to Lestrade’s gracious offer, is the sole winner of the challenge with their perfectly editorial pantsuit.
Sherlock and Anderson are not as lucky.
Though Sherlock seems to have found his voice again, defending his work ethic and choices while explaining the insanity of Anderson’s aesthetic and their inability to compromise. He also points to the tailoring of the skirt and pants.
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“It was totally dead in the water.” Nina taps her scorecards against her knee, disappointment etched on her face.
“I love the colour, Sherlock,” Heidi begins with a smile toward Sherlock. “But what woman wants that much bunching around their boobs?”
Everyone is piled into the greenroom together while the judges deliberate. John scoots closer to Sherlock, pressing their thighs together as Anderson loudly berates him from across the room. Most of the fellow designers are smart enough not to get involved in the fight. A few people like Sarah roll their eyes while others like Dimmock and Molly just ignore the outburst.
Sherlock’s clever hands are clasped together between his knees, his back curved as he leans forward to stare unblinkingly at the linoleum floor.
“Freak is the only reason you had a dress to send down the runway!” Sally steps in to defend Sherlock when Anderson begins whining about being thrown under the bus during their interrogation.
“Sally.” Lestrade tugs her elbow, attempting to pull her back onto the couch.
“No, it’s true!”
When a PA comes to escort them back onto the runway, John feels the heavy weight of a pale hand press against his thigh as Sherlock slowly rises. The designer spares John one unreadable glance before slipping through the door.
Apparently, the only thing that saves Sherlock are his hands. They warn him, demand more, expect more, but compliment his tailoring all the same.
Sherlock walks back to the greenroom on stiff legs, still reeling from his brush with elimination. His brilliance in serious question, the genius of his vision thrown off kilter. He slumps onto the couch beside John with a heavy sigh, his head falling to rest on the other man’s shoulder.
Anderson is sent home.
That night, when Sherlock climbs onto his bed, John does not roll away. Instead, he pulls back the blankets and wraps an arm around his friend’s thin chest.
(End #3)
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