Welcome! (Prompting: part i)
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This is a fic prompting meme based around the BBC series Sherlock, written by Stephen Moffat & Mark Gattis.
( Read more... )
Prompts from this post can be filled on the Overflow Post
This is a fic prompting meme based around the BBC series Sherlock, written by Stephen Moffat & Mark Gattis.
( Read more... )
“‘Stately Homos!’ What’s it like in your tiny little brains? It’s so obvious. We get homosexual aristocrats to model at their stately homes! The attention is on the upper classes with all this royal wedding fever bollocks, and they’d model for free, just to see their houses in the mag!”
“Brilliant!” breathed John.
“You might be on to something there,” replied Lestrade. “Travel is doing something on the best statelies for have-it-away weekends…you could link in to that…”
Sherlock scowled for England. He hated fitting in with anyone. He had his “I’ll see you, and I’ll raise you” face on.
“Look at these.”
He pulled swatches of frothy fabric from his portfolio-bag one after another. Lestrade hoped to fuck that Sherlock wasn’t going through another amateur conjurer phase. The last Milan Fashion Week had been bad enough. He’d never forget the look on Lily Cole’s face when Sherlock had produced an egg out of her…well, best not think about it. He stared at the scraps of lace, organza, silk, satin, tulle, all in shades of cream, off-white, white, ecru and light fawn. Sherlock sighed in exasperation.
“In keeping with the rash of weddings bursting like pustules in the wake of the royal nuptials, I propose we get high-profile brides to model some of the excruciatingly awful lace doily, loo roll cover dresses we’ve been sent. I also suggest their fiancés are included in the photos.”
“And no doubt you’ve got a name for this theme?”
“Indeed. ‘Pearls before swain.”’
“That’s brilliant! Extraordinary, quite extraordinary!” John seemed to like it.
Sherlock was going though his usual post-idea self-doubt and angst, muttering, “That’s clever. Is it clever? Why is it clever?” He spied an elderly female figure crossing outside the door and called, “Ah, Mrs Hudson! Any coffee?”
“Sherlock!” hissed Lestrade. “For the last time, I don’t know who you think that is, but she is actually the owner of this bloody building!”
The lady in question poked her head round the door. “I’m your landlady, not your housekeeper, you lanky tosser. Make your own fucking coffee.” She flounced off in a cloud of magenta, plum and violet.
“Sherlock?” John asked in concern. Sherlock seemed to have been struck dumb - Lestrade wasn’t complaining - and was staring after the woman, his eyes glazed and his mouth half open.
“Don’t you see!” he yelled to all and sundry. “Purple!”
“Pur-”
“What’s it like not being me? It must be so relaxing! She’s cleverer than you lot, and she’s-purple! Our next spread - ‘purple reign!’”
“I could shoot that, yeah,” agreed John, and Lestrade wished someone would come along and shoot him. Put him out of his misery. It would be a mercy killing. And no doubt Sherlock would look down at him and sneer, “Merci beaucoup.”
And, God help him, there was the winter issue to start planning soon. He’d heard a rumour that Sherlock was planning a mood piece in the Amazon rainforest to showcase the latest stick-thin models wearing the latest Christmas season clothes. And Lestrade betted, just betted, the mad git was planning on calling it “Jungle Belles.”
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...Oh lord. This is amazing, and I love you for the whole thing. zOMG.
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“I could shoot that, yeah,” agreed John, and Lestrade wished someone would come along and shoot him.
That line ♥ I love its awful pun-ness.
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WIN!!!
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