Fill: Arachnophobia (1a/1)sudipalMarch 27 2011, 17:38:59 UTC
Hope this is close enough to what you wanted...
One.
After a long day of working at the clinic and coming home to a disaster-area of a flat, John finally sat down to relax in his armchair, his eyes slowly closing until he was only half-conscious. A few moments later, he felt a small tickle on the back of his hand. Without opening his eyes, he reached out his other hand to scratch. When he made contact, however, he felt something small and squirming between his fingers. His eyes suddenly popped open, and he stared at the huge spider crawling on top of him. He screamed, threw the spider as far away from him as he could, and jumped out of his seat, running to the kitchen, repeating, “Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god!” under his breath like a mantra.
Sherlock immediately ran out of his bedroom, very tense and alert. He looked around to find John in the kitchen, holding his left shoe in his right hand, and psychosomatically brushing at his jumper with his other hand.
“What happened?” Sherlock asked him.
“There was a spider,” said John, a shaky finger pointing toward the armchair.
Sherlock looked at John, then at the armchair, then back at John. “A spider?” he repeated.
“It was huge! It might even have been a baby tarantula.”
“I guarantee you, John,” said Sherlock. “That it is quite unlikely to have been a tarantula.”
“You didn't see it...” John mumbled.
“I'm going back to my room,” said Sherlock. “Call me if this spider learns to carry a gun and goes on a shooting spree... Oh, and we're out of milk.”
John was left alone again, still holding his shoe. He sighed, put it back on his foot, and went to his bedroom, all the while glancing around the room to see if he could spot any more spiders. It took him an extra two hours to fall asleep that night.
Two.
Lestrade had contacted Sherlock to help with the investigation of a series of murders where the bodies were all being dumped in public areas, which is why John was currently standing a short distance away from the main path of a small park on a cool Spring day.
John watched Sherlock as he bent over the latest body. Asphyxiation had turned the victim's face a ghastly shade and left sickening bruises around her neck. She was left naked, her entire body exposed to the rainfall from last night, and the stench would have made a weaker-stomach empty its contents upon the first whiff. Between Afghanistan and the ER, however, John had seen worse.
He decided to lean against a nearby tree as he listened to Sherlock explain about the victim's recent history.
Out of the corner of his eye, John noticed something move along the tree. “Fucking hell!” John yelled, jumping back as far away from the tree as possible. It took John a moment to realize that Sherlock had stopped speaking and that all eyes were on him.
“Sorry, sorry,” he said.
“Care to share with the class, John?” Lestrade asked him.
“It's nothing,” he mumbled. “Just a spider...” He could hear the snickering, and swiftly turned around to give the death stare to some of the police officers.
Lestrade, however, was silent and turned back to Sherlock to continue what he was saying.
For the next few weeks, whenever John followed Sherlock down to the precinct, he'd find the occasional big, plastic spiders and fake cobwebs placed along his path.
Fill: Arachnophobia (1b/1)sudipalMarch 27 2011, 17:39:36 UTC
Three.
“You're arachnophobia is irrational, you know,” Sherlock said one day.
“What?” said John, turning to look at his flatmate, who was lying on the sofa.
“Though some of the genus might prove harmful if bitten, it is unlikely that you'll come across one of those kind in London. Any that you see crawling around the flat are most likely benign; quite useful, in fact, in ridding us of other, more pesky bugs.”
“I know all that,” said John. “I know it makes no sense. I just really don't like them at all. It's normal for people to be afraid of something silly, like heights or the dark. Even Indiana Jones hates snakes.”
“Who?” asked Sherlock.
“Okay,” said John. “Next movie night, we're watching the Indiana Jones trilogy... Not the horrendous fourth one, though.”
“More pop culture...” Sherlock groaned.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, and then John moved to stand up and go to the kitchen to make some tea. As he began to rise, Sherlock spoke up again. “I'm not a fan of clowns.”
“What?” asked John.
“Clowns,” Sherlock repeated. “They're a bit creepy, don't you think?”
“I suppose...” said John, smiling to himself. Sherlock rarely ever talks about himself, and to admit to a weakness... well, that was completely unexpected. To know that the great Sherlock Holmes could have an irrational fear made John's not seem so terrible after all. Still, he heard citrus made a great natural spider repellent.
Re: Fill: Arachnophobia (1b/1)andrea_deerMay 1 2011, 20:49:40 UTC
Considering how scared of spiders I am, I feel so sorry for John *hugs Johny* and I still think he's total BAMF, cause this first spider was still somewhere out there and yet John managed to fall asleep. I need to see the spider's body to calm myself at least a bit. (Me? Cruel? Never. I hate killing spiders. It's just that I hate them being alive even more.) (Perhaps it's for the better I don't mind clowns, killing them would be more problematic.)
Loved the fic. Loved John. Loved the Yard full of assholes who think they're funny. Hated the spiders. Brrr.
Re: Fill: Arachnophobia (1b/1)whomii2May 2 2011, 03:07:50 UTC
Thought this was a great story. Also thought people should be a little more sympathetic. Not a great fan of spiders but somewhat ok with them if they are outside my comfort zone (hanging stationary somewhere rather than crawling toward me). My college roommate managed to infect me with her minor phobia though. She couldnt stand them at all, which made me the designated spider-killer. Just as i would be sneaking up on the spider with a shoe, she would let out a shriek from behind me, i would totally miss the spider which would start to scurry away and we would both end up on top of the bed clinging to each other and wondering where the little monster got to.
Re: Fill: Arachnophobia (1b/1)nejemJuly 17 2011, 16:33:26 UTC
It was surprisingly refreshing to see Sherlock being the one a little more considerate of John's phobia out of everyone else (although Lestrade didn't join his colleagues in the mocking jokes, I'll give him that :D)! Loved this fill, nice work!
One.
After a long day of working at the clinic and coming home to a disaster-area of a flat, John finally sat down to relax in his armchair, his eyes slowly closing until he was only half-conscious. A few moments later, he felt a small tickle on the back of his hand. Without opening his eyes, he reached out his other hand to scratch. When he made contact, however, he felt something small and squirming between his fingers. His eyes suddenly popped open, and he stared at the huge spider crawling on top of him. He screamed, threw the spider as far away from him as he could, and jumped out of his seat, running to the kitchen, repeating, “Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god!” under his breath like a mantra.
Sherlock immediately ran out of his bedroom, very tense and alert. He looked around to find John in the kitchen, holding his left shoe in his right hand, and psychosomatically brushing at his jumper with his other hand.
“What happened?” Sherlock asked him.
“There was a spider,” said John, a shaky finger pointing toward the armchair.
Sherlock looked at John, then at the armchair, then back at John. “A spider?” he repeated.
“It was huge! It might even have been a baby tarantula.”
“I guarantee you, John,” said Sherlock. “That it is quite unlikely to have been a tarantula.”
“You didn't see it...” John mumbled.
“I'm going back to my room,” said Sherlock. “Call me if this spider learns to carry a gun and goes on a shooting spree... Oh, and we're out of milk.”
John was left alone again, still holding his shoe. He sighed, put it back on his foot, and went to his bedroom, all the while glancing around the room to see if he could spot any more spiders. It took him an extra two hours to fall asleep that night.
Two.
Lestrade had contacted Sherlock to help with the investigation of a series of murders where the bodies were all being dumped in public areas, which is why John was currently standing a short distance away from the main path of a small park on a cool Spring day.
John watched Sherlock as he bent over the latest body. Asphyxiation had turned the victim's face a ghastly shade and left sickening bruises around her neck. She was left naked, her entire body exposed to the rainfall from last night, and the stench would have made a weaker-stomach empty its contents upon the first whiff. Between Afghanistan and the ER, however, John had seen worse.
He decided to lean against a nearby tree as he listened to Sherlock explain about the victim's recent history.
Out of the corner of his eye, John noticed something move along the tree. “Fucking hell!” John yelled, jumping back as far away from the tree as possible. It took John a moment to realize that Sherlock had stopped speaking and that all eyes were on him.
“Sorry, sorry,” he said.
“Care to share with the class, John?” Lestrade asked him.
“It's nothing,” he mumbled. “Just a spider...” He could hear the snickering, and swiftly turned around to give the death stare to some of the police officers.
Lestrade, however, was silent and turned back to Sherlock to continue what he was saying.
For the next few weeks, whenever John followed Sherlock down to the precinct, he'd find the occasional big, plastic spiders and fake cobwebs placed along his path.
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“You're arachnophobia is irrational, you know,” Sherlock said one day.
“What?” said John, turning to look at his flatmate, who was lying on the sofa.
“Though some of the genus might prove harmful if bitten, it is unlikely that you'll come across one of those kind in London. Any that you see crawling around the flat are most likely benign; quite useful, in fact, in ridding us of other, more pesky bugs.”
“I know all that,” said John. “I know it makes no sense. I just really don't like them at all. It's normal for people to be afraid of something silly, like heights or the dark. Even Indiana Jones hates snakes.”
“Who?” asked Sherlock.
“Okay,” said John. “Next movie night, we're watching the Indiana Jones trilogy... Not the horrendous fourth one, though.”
“More pop culture...” Sherlock groaned.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, and then John moved to stand up and go to the kitchen to make some tea. As he began to rise, Sherlock spoke up again. “I'm not a fan of clowns.”
“What?” asked John.
“Clowns,” Sherlock repeated. “They're a bit creepy, don't you think?”
“I suppose...” said John, smiling to himself. Sherlock rarely ever talks about himself, and to admit to a weakness... well, that was completely unexpected. To know that the great Sherlock Holmes could have an irrational fear made John's not seem so terrible after all. Still, he heard citrus made a great natural spider repellent.
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Loved the fic. Loved John. Loved the Yard full of assholes who think they're funny. Hated the spiders. Brrr.
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Camel Spiders anyone? *shudders*
I know they aren't harmful to humans but just the thought of coming across a spider that damn big is enough to give me the screaming mimis.
Which is also why I'm never going to Tazmania. Ever. Huge ass cave spiders that can't tell the differance between a house and a cave.
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