Fill: Ourselves as Others See us - 1grassleNovember 7 2010, 18:10:52 UTC
O wad some Power the giftie gie us To see oursels as ithers see us! Robert Burns
(It’s tropetastic!)
“Come on, John! We’re losing them!”
But John slowed a little, not so much due to their customary knee-weakening, lung-tightening back-alley, pan-rooftop flight, but because his new-found literary leanings were making him not only mentally narrate but editorialise events as they unfolded.
What’s the collective noun for fangirls? Flock? Too…ecclesiastical. Fuckload? Too…rude. Gaggle? Doesn’t illiterate.
“Meep!”
The involuntary sound, caused by John reacting to Sherlock grabbing his wrist bruisingly hard to drag him onwards, would not be going into his blog. Neither would the cavalier way Sherlock shoved him against the high wall, boosted him up, then vaulted up himself to spring down the other side, and stare with icy disdain at the customers enjoying an early-evening drink in the trendy gastropub courtyard.
“Bit of help here?”
In seeming afterthought Sherlock grabbed the back of John’s belt where John was still hanging from the top of the wall by his fingertips and flailing about with his legs, and hoisted him down. John brushed his jeans, removing the earth from the hanging baskets he'd left swinging like thuribles in his wake, and tried to look cool, as befitted the winner of the Best of British Blogger award. He did his best rueful face and bashful shrug at the audience.
“Don’t tell me. It’s time for the kissing = invisibility cloak gambit? Where you throw yourself on me and our lip-lock makes our pursuers miraculously flee by? I wouldn’t even write it, it’s such a tired old cliché.”
“No. It’s time for an even more geriatric cliché.” Sherlock smirked down at him, the smile not reaching his lips, never mind his eyes. “We’re going to lock ourselves in a small, enclosed space until danger has passed.”
He re-grabbed John’s wrist and yanked him through the courtyard, down a passage, picked the lock of a door marked STAFF ONLY, and hurled him inside. He locked the door behind them and pushed John up against it.
The only noise was their panting, and there was no light, or Sherlock didn’t turn it on to avoid detection. Instead the scrape of a match zinged out, and the small halo of light revealed Sherlock right up in John’s space.
“This is all your fault. You and your bloody blog. You could have used a cyber name or given me one, but oh no. You had to create this monstrous regiment of women, these hyenas in petticoats, who spaniel us at heel.”
The sibilant hiss next to his ear seemed to be doing something strange to John, making him forget to point out Sherlock’s mixed literary plundering. He really hoped it wasn’t the deep voice against his ear or the breath against his skin or the expensive cologne scent up against his nose that was making him come over a bit squirmy. He'd prefer it was the Nordic Pine air freshener on the sink. He prayed it was. He stared dazedly at Sherlock, who glared back.
“Ow. Bugger.”
Sherlock shook his hand where the match had burnt down. The light coming in through the frosted window was enough to show his light-coloured eyes, still furious and promising payback, and John cast around for a means of defusal.
“The popularity could be from that newspaper article about spending at the Yard, which mentioned you. You know, ‘Time to Vet the Met?' And you didn’t mind at first, when the gifts started to trickle in, did you? You liked that new box of resin. And the pot of skull polish. You enjoyed burning that model of the solar system someone sent you.”
The eye-melting stench of burnt plastic had hung about the flat for days. John hadn’t complained once.
“It’s also nice never having to go out for milk, tea, or beans anymore now a care package arrives once a week. Oh, and the scarves. You like the scarves."
“Only the shop-bought ones. The hand knits are too lumpy. Present company not excepted. I believe the unevenness of the knitting correlates to the degree of instability of the knitter. I’m contemplating making a study of the matter.”
“See? That’s nice. And you enjoy correcting the Comments on the blog, and the fanmail we receive. Gives you something to do between cases.”
Re: Fill: Ourselves as Others See us - 2grassleNovember 7 2010, 18:18:31 UTC
“I have plenty to do between cases just figuring out alternative routes to places I need to get to.”
John wiped the sweat off his forehead. He knew Sherlock enjoyed the thrill of the chase, but not being the quarry, or the fact that all this was having an impact on his behaviour. What else could he use in his favour?
“Well, you liked it when the fanclub pranked Anderson, that custard pie at the crime scene…oh God; you arranged that, didn’t you?”
“I might have. To some extent. Shh!”
They listened to the blood-curdling sounds of a squeeing mob barrelling in and then a horrifying altercation outside.
“I think that tall, dark-haired bloke in the long coat must have got mistaken for you, Sherlock.”
“I think that was Hugh Dancy.”
“Oh, pity. I liked him in Black Hawk Down.”
“You would. I suppose you liked his midnight black, boyishly rumpled curls, and penetrating, quicksilver eyes.”
“What? I never said that.”
“The Comments did. As did that fan fiction forum which started up.”
John felt both proud and ashamed of the situation which had arisen and escalated Sorcerer’s Apprentice-style.
“It’s getting beyond a joke, I admit. Any tall, dark, and handsome bloke in a greatcoat and wearing his scarf in a Chelsea knot is stalked and molested.”
“Nice to know you think I’m handsome, John. But yes, pauvre petit Louis Garrel did leave an awfully acerbic comment for you after that incident when he was in London last week.”
“I’m glad I don’t read French.”
Well, merde means-”
“Don’t bother. I’m still getting over the pasting I got when Jonathon and Edward Saxby held me down so Alexander could thump me.”
“Why would the Saxby twins help their little brother do that?”
“They’re sick of him whining he’s not getting any extra attention like they’ve been. Not as tall, apparently. I read that some tall, good-looking dark-haired men are even dyeing their hair ginger to escape the mobs.”
It must have been a trick of the dim light which made Sherlock look a bit shifty at that.
“Only Alfons and Adrie Kennis, so far. And they’d probably have done it anyway, messing about with skulls as they do,” came his mumbled response. There was a beat before he rallied to the counterattack:
“Mrs Hudson’s getting browned off now. She’s threatening to put the rent up. She got her hopes up when so many prospective tenants wanted to see round 221C all of a sudden, but then she realised it was a ruse.”
“She’s OK with it, Sherlock. They’ve given her her own Advice Column in Saga Magazine. Plus she was invited on Graham Norton.”
“I forbade the latter. I won’t have her mixing with overly camp, posturing Irishmen.”
“Oh. Still, Mrs Turner’s envious. Hell, I’m envious! You get the young girls - you’re fangirl-friendly. I’m oestrogen bait, apparently.”
“Yes, you are rather mumtastic.”
The sudden beeping startled John and trained to do so, he made a grab for Sherlock’s phone. The darkness and proximity confused him: he got Sherlock’s groin instead. There was a loaded silence.
“That’s new. I do wish you wouldn’t read the fanfic, John. You know it gets you worked up. Thankfully, we’re summoned.”
“You want me along as well?”
“Why, yes, Boswell. Events need chronicling. Get that gorgeous arse of yours in gear and come on.”
John was no Sherlock Holmes, of course, but even he could deduce Sherlock had been at the fanfic himself. To some extent.
“That is, when you’ve worked out how we’ll be able to get there.”
Re: Fill: Ourselves as Others See us - 2grassleNovember 8 2010, 07:38:58 UTC
I was too dim to understand I had a journal! Now I know, I'll try to use it.
I'll try to copy the links to the pages where I filled the prompts.
This prompt was: The reason for Sherlock's and Mycroft's rivalry holds more surprises than John can handle. "Mycroft is still bitter because I slept with his wife." "His wife!?" "Ex-wife. He likes to imply that my nephew looks more like me than him." "Nephew? He has a son... wait, have you... is he your...?" "What do I know? It's not as if his mother actually let's me see him." "Wait, wait! What was it you said about starting stories at the end? Tell me the whole thing properly." (Quite cracky.) http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/3114.html?thread=8476970#t8476970
Re: Fill: Ourselves as Others See us - 2lal111November 8 2010, 07:56:51 UTC
Now that you've mentioned it - I've read them all!!! The kid!fic was amazing. That's exactly how I see Sherlock's spawn. Date sideways - was a bit difficult to me, since English is my third language and some of the references escaped me. And a glimpse of Lisbon was amazing. I haven't yet reached Portugal in my travels yet and your story for me was not only about Sherlock, but about the country too!
Re: Fill: Ourselves as Others See us - 2grassleNovember 8 2010, 08:10:38 UTC
They are a bit Brit-friendly, but I'm glad you enjoyed them! (I'll try to scale it back on the next chapters of this one.) Your English is bloody impressive. I can't even write well in my second language.
I wanted to make the Acelin story a lot longer - it had so much potential. But it would have been illogical that at some point no one simply asked the mother who the father was, or took a DNA sample!
Portugal is well worth a visit! I was trying to convey the languid, seductive vibe of early-Autumn Lisbon in particular, but the comedy took over.
Re: Fill: Ourselves as Others See us - 2grassleNovember 7 2010, 21:57:15 UTC
Glad you like it! I don't have a journal.I'm not very Internetty, just someone who started writing after a long gap, inspired by Sherlock and this place!
(It’s tropetastic!)
“Come on, John! We’re losing them!”
But John slowed a little, not so much due to their customary knee-weakening, lung-tightening back-alley, pan-rooftop flight, but because his new-found literary leanings were making him not only mentally narrate but editorialise events as they unfolded.
What’s the collective noun for fangirls? Flock? Too…ecclesiastical. Fuckload? Too…rude. Gaggle? Doesn’t illiterate.
“Meep!”
The involuntary sound, caused by John reacting to Sherlock grabbing his wrist bruisingly hard to drag him onwards, would not be going into his blog. Neither would the cavalier way Sherlock shoved him against the high wall, boosted him up, then vaulted up himself to spring down the other side, and stare with icy disdain at the customers enjoying an early-evening drink in the trendy gastropub courtyard.
“Bit of help here?”
In seeming afterthought Sherlock grabbed the back of John’s belt where John was still hanging from the top of the wall by his fingertips and flailing about with his legs, and hoisted him down. John brushed his jeans, removing the earth from the hanging baskets he'd left swinging like thuribles in his wake, and tried to look cool, as befitted the winner of the Best of British Blogger award. He did his best rueful face and bashful shrug at the audience.
“Don’t tell me. It’s time for the kissing = invisibility cloak gambit? Where you throw yourself on me and our lip-lock makes our pursuers miraculously flee by? I wouldn’t even write it, it’s such a tired old cliché.”
“No. It’s time for an even more geriatric cliché.” Sherlock smirked down at him, the smile not reaching his lips, never mind his eyes. “We’re going to lock ourselves in a small, enclosed space until danger has passed.”
He re-grabbed John’s wrist and yanked him through the courtyard, down a passage, picked the lock of a door marked STAFF ONLY, and hurled him inside. He locked the door behind them and pushed John up against it.
The only noise was their panting, and there was no light, or Sherlock didn’t turn it on to avoid detection. Instead the scrape of a match zinged out, and the small halo of light revealed Sherlock right up in John’s space.
“This is all your fault. You and your bloody blog. You could have used a cyber name or given me one, but oh no. You had to create this monstrous regiment of women, these hyenas in petticoats, who spaniel us at heel.”
The sibilant hiss next to his ear seemed to be doing something strange to John, making him forget to point out Sherlock’s mixed literary plundering. He really hoped it wasn’t the deep voice against his ear or the breath against his skin or the expensive cologne scent up against his nose that was making him come over a bit squirmy. He'd prefer it was the Nordic Pine air freshener on the sink. He prayed it was. He stared dazedly at Sherlock, who glared back.
“Ow. Bugger.”
Sherlock shook his hand where the match had burnt down. The light coming in through the frosted window was enough to show his light-coloured eyes, still furious and promising payback, and John cast around for a means of defusal.
“The popularity could be from that newspaper article about spending at the Yard, which mentioned you. You know, ‘Time to Vet the Met?' And you didn’t mind at first, when the gifts started to trickle in, did you? You liked that new box of resin. And the pot of skull polish. You enjoyed burning that model of the solar system someone sent you.”
The eye-melting stench of burnt plastic had hung about the flat for days. John hadn’t complained once.
“It’s also nice never having to go out for milk, tea, or beans anymore now a care package arrives once a week. Oh, and the scarves. You like the scarves."
“Only the shop-bought ones. The hand knits are too lumpy. Present company not excepted. I believe the unevenness of the knitting correlates to the degree of instability of the knitter. I’m contemplating making a study of the matter.”
“See? That’s nice. And you enjoy correcting the Comments on the blog, and the fanmail we receive. Gives you something to do between cases.”
Reply
John wiped the sweat off his forehead. He knew Sherlock enjoyed the thrill of the chase, but not being the quarry, or the fact that all this was having an impact on his behaviour. What else could he use in his favour?
“Well, you liked it when the fanclub pranked Anderson, that custard pie at the crime scene…oh God; you arranged that, didn’t you?”
“I might have. To some extent. Shh!”
They listened to the blood-curdling sounds of a squeeing mob barrelling in and then a horrifying altercation outside.
“I think that tall, dark-haired bloke in the long coat must have got mistaken for you, Sherlock.”
“I think that was Hugh Dancy.”
“Oh, pity. I liked him in Black Hawk Down.”
“You would. I suppose you liked his midnight black, boyishly rumpled curls, and penetrating, quicksilver eyes.”
“What? I never said that.”
“The Comments did. As did that fan fiction forum which started up.”
John felt both proud and ashamed of the situation which had arisen and escalated Sorcerer’s Apprentice-style.
“It’s getting beyond a joke, I admit. Any tall, dark, and handsome bloke in a greatcoat and wearing his scarf in a Chelsea knot is stalked and molested.”
“Nice to know you think I’m handsome, John. But yes, pauvre petit Louis Garrel did leave an awfully acerbic comment for you after that incident when he was in London last week.”
“I’m glad I don’t read French.”
Well, merde means-”
“Don’t bother. I’m still getting over the pasting I got when Jonathon and Edward Saxby held me down so Alexander could thump me.”
“Why would the Saxby twins help their little brother do that?”
“They’re sick of him whining he’s not getting any extra attention like they’ve been. Not as tall, apparently. I read that some tall, good-looking dark-haired men are even dyeing their hair ginger to escape the mobs.”
It must have been a trick of the dim light which made Sherlock look a bit shifty at that.
“Only Alfons and Adrie Kennis, so far. And they’d probably have done it anyway, messing about with skulls as they do,” came his mumbled response. There was a beat before he rallied to the counterattack:
“Mrs Hudson’s getting browned off now. She’s threatening to put the rent up. She got her hopes up when so many prospective tenants wanted to see round 221C all of a sudden, but then she realised it was a ruse.”
“She’s OK with it, Sherlock. They’ve given her her own Advice Column in Saga Magazine. Plus she was invited on Graham Norton.”
“I forbade the latter. I won’t have her mixing with overly camp, posturing Irishmen.”
“Oh. Still, Mrs Turner’s envious. Hell, I’m envious! You get the young girls - you’re fangirl-friendly. I’m oestrogen bait, apparently.”
“Yes, you are rather mumtastic.”
The sudden beeping startled John and trained to do so, he made a grab for Sherlock’s phone. The darkness and proximity confused him: he got Sherlock’s groin instead. There was a loaded silence.
“That’s new. I do wish you wouldn’t read the fanfic, John. You know it gets you worked up. Thankfully, we’re summoned.”
“You want me along as well?”
“Why, yes, Boswell. Events need chronicling. Get that gorgeous arse of yours in gear and come on.”
John was no Sherlock Holmes, of course, but even he could deduce Sherlock had been at the fanfic himself. To some extent.
“That is, when you’ve worked out how we’ll be able to get there.”
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It gets even crackier when they reach the crime scene. I don't know where it's coming from.
Have you read my other fics, she pimped shamelessly?
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Фе your journal, I presume?
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I'll try to copy the links to the pages where I filled the prompts.
This prompt was: The reason for Sherlock's and Mycroft's rivalry holds more surprises than John can handle.
"Mycroft is still bitter because I slept with his wife."
"His wife!?"
"Ex-wife. He likes to imply that my nephew looks more like me than him."
"Nephew? He has a son... wait, have you... is he your...?"
"What do I know? It's not as if his mother actually let's me see him."
"Wait, wait! What was it you said about starting stories at the end? Tell me the whole thing properly." (Quite cracky.)
http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/3114.html?thread=8476970#t8476970
This prompt is about John being tired of Sherlock crashing his dates and telling him he can only tag along if he brings his own: a double date. (Pure, unabashed crack.)
http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/4076.html?thread=10496748#t10496748
This prompt is about Sherlock in your home town, or wherever you call home. (I tried to make it lyrical; it came out crack-filled.)
http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/2727.html?thread=10001319#t10001319
I hope you like them!
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The kid!fic was amazing. That's exactly how I see Sherlock's spawn.
Date sideways - was a bit difficult to me, since English is my third language and some of the references escaped me.
And a glimpse of Lisbon was amazing. I haven't yet reached Portugal in my travels yet and your story for me was not only about Sherlock, but about the country too!
Reply
I wanted to make the Acelin story a lot longer - it had so much potential. But it would have been illogical that at some point no one simply asked the mother who the father was, or took a DNA sample!
Portugal is well worth a visit! I was trying to convey the languid, seductive vibe of early-Autumn Lisbon in particular, but the comedy took over.
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(The comment has been removed)
I don't have a journal.I'm not very Internetty, just someone who started writing after a long gap, inspired by Sherlock and this place!
Reply
(The comment has been removed)
(I only learnt how to put italics into the posts last week. And that involved being really nice to John from IT. Sadly, no Jim in our IT.)
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