Fill: Yes, Precious 1/4
anonymous
January 6 2011, 17:29:03 UTC
(Sherlock/John, pg)
Sherlock wouldn't even take a turn carrying the one ring as they climbed the highest peak of Mount Doom, although maybe actually that was a good thing. Sherlock was stroppy enough without bringing evil, mind-controlling artifacts into the picture.
They'd acquired the ring from one Arlton Smeagol, which really ought to have been a tip-off. John was the one who sometimes got a bit out of hand with the online poker, yet it was Sherlock who in a fit of boredom had taught himself to count cards and wandered out into the night to enjoy this new accomplishment.
He'd come back late, smelling of cigarettes and dust, a faint but pleasant tang of whiskey on his breath. John was acutely aware of these sensory details, because Sherlock was also bloody invisible. Thus there wasn't a whole lot else to go on. It turned out, John knew Sherlock's exasperated sigh rather well (it meant something along the lines of, your minds are so, so tiny), so it didn't take him long to figure out what had happened.
“John,” Sherlock said, sounding pleased. “I appear to be invisible. The lightwave-bending properties seem to be tied to this ring. I won it at poker.”
“You don't appear to be anything,” John pointed out. “You've disappeared, actually.” Then the rest of Sherlock's musings sank in. “Oh bloody hell,” he said tiredly. “A ring? You'd better let me see it.”
Sherlock materialized inappropriately close to John, proffering a golden ring in one pale, long-fingered hand. John took a deep breath, tried to pretend he didn't like the way Sherlock smelled nearly as much as he did, and reminded himself that he was thirty-nine years old and faced with the possible extermination of humanity due to a surprisingly unfictional magical ring. His ridiculously awkward feelings for Sherlock could wait.
John took the ring, examining it carefully. So far, it was just a ring, but best to be sure. He reached for one of the scented candles he often burned to protect his nose from eau du mold experiment, dropping the ring right over the flame. “Bountiful Begonia,” the candle was called, and it was a rather violent shade of purple. The ring began to glow with a delicate inscription, and John groaned. “You couldn't have brought home a tarantula like a normal, self-respecting gambler?” he asked. Sherlock tried rather unconvincingly to look innocent.
“Oh he of pop-cultural idiocy,” John said, and admittedly he sounded a bit tetchy. “I don't suppose the words one and ring mean anything to you, when spoken in quick succession?”
“A singular ring,” Sherlock said, just as tetchily. “Which is to say, less than two rings.”
“Ugh,” John said. “I really do not have time to explain the plot of three incredibly long books to you. I haven't read them in years, anyway, I'd be sure to get the plots all muddled. Something about Tom Bombadil and barrow wights, I think. And a big spider. I suppose I could plant you in front of the movies while I try to figure this out, but I doubt you'd really pay attention. That Viggo's a looker, though.”
“I don't know what you're on about,” Sherlock said, which seemed genuine.
“I'll just keep this ring safe for now,” John said, and snatched up his laptop. “Go find something else to do. Make tea, perhaps? Or clean the kitchen. The kitchen would really like for you to clean it.”
Re: Fill: Yes, Precious 2/4
anonymous
January 6 2011, 17:32:33 UTC
Sherlock sniffed and wandered off to do, well, probably nothing resulting in delicious tea or kitchen- counters that were safe to lean against. Meanwhile, John opened a search window and carefully typed in,
Fires of Mount Doom location
He spent the next two hours scrolling through forum posts in which pandaluver354 and orlandosarseboy (regrettable name, although John understood the sentiment) argued furiously about whether it was to be found in central Ohio or somewhere in Australia. About halfway through, Sherlock ambled over and pickpocketed him for the ring, which might have worked if he hadn't immediately vanished after acquiring it. Fortunately, Sherlock was too lazy to get up off the couch once he'd lain down, so John didn't have any worries about finding him again if he needed to.
After scouring every post on the LOTRREAL_LOCATIONS blog and bemoaning its lack of tags, John gave up on trying to master LOLspeak and confiscated Sherlock's mobile. John was used to the possibly but probably not accidental groping he had to go through to divest Sherlock of it, and it wasn't so much more difficult when he was invisible.
He texted Mycroft. HELP. SHERLOCK WON THE ONE RING AT POKER. MUST THROW INTO FIRES OF MOUNT DOOM BUT CANNOT LOCATE ON GOOGLE MAPS. ASSISTANCE PLEASE BEFORE RING WIGHTS APPEAR.
The capslock seemed to add the appropriate tinge of seriousness.
Ten minutes later two first class tickets to Hawaii and a map were pushed under the upper door of the flat, accompanied by a note. One brother to irritate them all, it read. Underneath, Mycroft had added in a hasty but still elegant scrawl, Don't get killed. Wights drive Mitsubishis these days.
John wandered back into the living room, still frowning at the note. It occurred to him that Sherlock had been invisible for rather a long time, and it was actually quite an evil ring. “Whatever idiotic notion you're getting,” he directed at the couch, “Kindly forget it.” He strode over and felt down the line of Sherlock's arm, blushing all the while. Really, how had Sherlock managed to drape his arm over every part of his body that John had ever wanted to touch. Well, not every part, but quite a few good bits. John was sweating a little by the time he found Sherlock's ring finger and yanked the ring off. Sherlock appeared, looking a strange combination of smug and testy.
“I was using that,” he said.
“I think you were napping,” John replied. “I definitely heard a snore.”
“You did not,” Sherlock said in an outraged tone.”
“Fine, fine,” John said. “I can see you're turning into Gollum already. No, don't ask me to explain that,” he added, at Sherlock's impatient noise. “Just go pack. Hiking clothes, if you've got any. We're going on vacation.”
So now they were climbing a mountain that didn't exist on google maps until a few hours ago, Sherlock complaining all the while about the state of his Dolce and Gabbana shoes.
“I told you we were climbing a mountain of death and horror,” John pointed out for the third time. He was wearing very sensible hiking boots that, joy of joys, even matched the tasteful chain upon which he'd strung the one ring. It was these little details that mattered.
They'd been climbing the mountain for three days, ducking behind shrubs and tufts of tall grass whenever particularly orcish looking tourists wandered by. John had convinced Sherlock to carry their little folding tent by hinting that he could experiment on the light fixtures once they got home if they survived this mission. In return, Sherlock was being surprisingly agreeable, even stopping without complaint for second breakfast every day. John was rather surprised that neither of them had become unusually bad-tempered as a result of being in close proximity to the ring for so long. Evidently the evil powers of the ring were no match for the daily trials of living with Sherlock. Also, the ring, defeated by Sherlock's powers of sarcasm, seemed to be having some sort of inverse effect in which Sherlock had become shockingly sweet.
Re: Fill: Yes, Precious 3/4
anonymous
January 6 2011, 17:35:17 UTC
“Is your shoulder bothering you?” Sherlock asked, as they finished a particularly wicked stretch of the trail. “Shall I massage it for you? I would be more than happy to massage it for you.”
“You know, it doesn't seem appropriate to take advantage of whatever evil forces are making you behave kindly,” John said regretfully. A massage would be rather nice, especially from Sherlock. “If you still want to after we destroy the ring,” John compromised, “That can be arranged.”
“Oh, I will,” Sherlock said earnestly. “It is one of my greatest aspirations to give you comfort. Among other things.”
“Now I know the ring's affecting you,” John muttered, and silently rolled his eyes at his own ridiculous blushing.
In the end, destroying the ring was rather anticlimactic, although John vaguely remembered feeling the same way about how it had happened in the books. There wasn't even any frantic Gollum to try and stop them, just Sherlock pouting and saying, “I haven't nearly exhausted the scientific potential of the ring, John. If you'd just allow me to run a series of tests--”
“No,” John had said firmly, and flung the thing into the fires of Mount Doom. “Now call Mycroft and get us a helicopter or something.”
For once in his life, Sherlock did as he was told.
“You know,” John said, as they waited for their ride, “I'll almost miss that thing. It made you rather a good Samaritan.”
Sherlock didn't speak for a moment, and when John glanced over at him, he was blushing furiously. “What?” John asked.
Sherlock coughed. “I, er,” the rest came out in a rush, “MeantwhatIsaidabouthemassageandall.”
“Slow down,” John said carefully, “Now repeat that, please.”
Sherlock glared at him. “I meant what I said,” he repeated, exaggeratedly slowly, “About the massage. And everything else.”
Re: Fill: Yes, Precious 4/4
anonymous
January 6 2011, 17:36:40 UTC
“Ah,” John replied. “Ah. Well that makes my behavior a lot less inappropriate then, so good. Although we really didn't need to go on a death-defying quest in order for me to feel this way.”
Sherlock was now doing a rather gratifying impersonation of a fish out of water. “We--” he said, in a choked-off kind of way. “We didn't?”
John very slowly and deliberately closed his eyes, counted to three, and then opened them again. “Sherlock,” he said warningly, “Is there something you would like to tell me? No, let me rephrase that. Whatever it is you do not want to tell me, do so immediately.”
Sherlock looked down at the ground in an expression of innocence that would have fooled absolutely nobody. “I just,” he said. “I thought you might need a little push to realize your very understandable feelings for me and my shocking return of said feelings,” he said. “I thought maybe a bit of excitement and near-death might show you that social norms are ridiculous and that gender is unimportant when compared with rings of doom. Besides, letting Mycroft destroy it would've been so boring.”
“Sherlock” John said. “I was the treasurer of the queer straight allies group at uni, my sister is gay, and I've been feeling you up for months, much to my chagrin. You don't think you could have just told me?”
Sherlock turned an even deeper shade of scarlet. “One doesn't, er,” he muttered, “Talking about feelings is so, well, I mean...” He trailed off, looking very intently down at his dusty shoes.
“Oh, Sherlock,” John said tiredly, and scooted closer. “I would very much like to kiss you, but rest assured we are going to have a long conversation about first dates and magical artifacts, all right? I don't want to wake up in Neverland just because you can't bring yourself to ask me to dinner. We go out to dinner all the time, anyway.”
“That seems an acceptable compromise,” Sherlock said. “Now, I believe you promised kissing, yet you haven't delivered.”
“I'm a man of my word,” John said, and leaned in, cupping his hands around Sherlock's face. He was dusty and grimy and his hair was more tangled than John had ever seen it. He looked absolutely delightful. “This is probably more dangerous than ring wights,” John said, and then he kissed Sherlock, who made an utterly delightful noise and kissed him back, all slow and soft and sweet. “One detective to rule them all,” John said, against Sherlock's mouth, and Sherlock smiled.
“Consulting detective,” he corrected, between kisses. “And there's only one of me, so I'll just have to rule over the metro police.”
“Thankfully,” John said, “You already do. There's the helicopter. Let's make out so Mycroft will make that horrible beleaguered face at us. I know how you like causing that.”
Re: Fill: Yes, Precious 4/4
anonymous
January 6 2011, 17:46:45 UTC
I can die now. Life, she is complete.
"Also, the ring, defeated by Sherlock's powers of sarcasm, seemed to be having some sort of inverse effect in which Sherlock had become shockingly sweet." You are effing brilliant with this reversal!
“One detective to rule them all,” “Consulting detective,” he corrected, between kisses. “And there's only one of me, so I'll just have to rule over the metro police.”
Re: Fill: Yes, Precious 4/4captainswayJanuary 6 2011, 18:29:29 UTC
Ahahahahahaha, oh my goodness. Laughing too much to say anything remotely intelligent.
This was cute and hilarious. I do have to say though, I think my favourite part was John freaking Googling where Mount Doom was. xD And then Mycroft's response... oh man.
Re: Fill: Yes, Precious 4/4blamethecupcakeJanuary 6 2011, 22:09:51 UTC
Oh my good the whole thing about the wrights driving Mitsubishis and can not find Mount Doom on Google Maps killed me. Loved it and will continue to do so forever!
Re: Fill: Yes, Precious 4/4ext_341334January 7 2011, 01:13:18 UTC
THANK YOU!!!! This was SERIOUSLY awesome! Though I do have one question, and that could just be a difference between where you and I are from~ XD
I always thought that they were Ring Wraiths, not Ring Wights. (~_~);
Again, though, it could just be the difference between my books and yours. XD
P.S. Favorite line I've got to admit was this one: "HELP. SHERLOCK WON THE ONE RING AT POKER. MUST THROW INTO FIRES OF MOUNT DOOM BUT CANNOT LOCATE ON GOOGLE MAPS. ASSISTANCE PLEASE BEFORE RING WIGHTS APPEAR." I really need to find an excuse to text people with that now. XD
Re: Fill: Yes, Precious 4/4lisztfulJanuary 7 2011, 07:41:45 UTC
Author here:
Yep, you are exactly right! I realized I'd mixed up the names about two seconds after I posted, at which point it was too late to do anything about it. Barrow wights vs. ringwraiths, that's what tripped me up. John's not the only one who hasn't read the books in years!
Sherlock wouldn't even take a turn carrying the one ring as they climbed the highest peak of Mount Doom, although maybe actually that was a good thing. Sherlock was stroppy enough without bringing evil, mind-controlling artifacts into the picture.
They'd acquired the ring from one Arlton Smeagol, which really ought to have been a tip-off. John was the one who sometimes got a bit out of hand with the online poker, yet it was Sherlock who in a fit of boredom had taught himself to count cards and wandered out into the night to enjoy this new accomplishment.
He'd come back late, smelling of cigarettes and dust, a faint but pleasant tang of whiskey on his breath. John was acutely aware of these sensory details, because Sherlock was also bloody invisible. Thus there wasn't a whole lot else to go on. It turned out, John knew Sherlock's exasperated sigh rather well (it meant something along the lines of, your minds are so, so tiny), so it didn't take him long to figure out what had happened.
“John,” Sherlock said, sounding pleased. “I appear to be invisible. The lightwave-bending properties seem to be tied to this ring. I won it at poker.”
“You don't appear to be anything,” John pointed out. “You've disappeared, actually.” Then the rest of Sherlock's musings sank in. “Oh bloody hell,” he said tiredly. “A ring? You'd better let me see it.”
Sherlock materialized inappropriately close to John, proffering a golden ring in one pale, long-fingered hand. John took a deep breath, tried to pretend he didn't like the way Sherlock smelled nearly as much as he did, and reminded himself that he was thirty-nine years old and faced with the possible extermination of humanity due to a surprisingly unfictional magical ring. His ridiculously awkward feelings for Sherlock could wait.
John took the ring, examining it carefully. So far, it was just a ring, but best to be sure. He reached for one of the scented candles he often burned to protect his nose from eau du mold experiment, dropping the ring right over the flame. “Bountiful Begonia,” the candle was called, and it was a rather violent shade of purple. The ring began to glow with a delicate inscription, and John groaned. “You couldn't have brought home a tarantula like a normal, self-respecting gambler?” he asked. Sherlock tried rather unconvincingly to look innocent.
“Oh he of pop-cultural idiocy,” John said, and admittedly he sounded a bit tetchy. “I don't suppose the words one and ring mean anything to you, when spoken in quick succession?”
“A singular ring,” Sherlock said, just as tetchily. “Which is to say, less than two rings.”
“Ugh,” John said. “I really do not have time to explain the plot of three incredibly long books to you. I haven't read them in years, anyway, I'd be sure to get the plots all muddled. Something about Tom Bombadil and barrow wights, I think. And a big spider. I suppose I could plant you in front of the movies while I try to figure this out, but I doubt you'd really pay attention. That Viggo's a looker, though.”
“I don't know what you're on about,” Sherlock said, which seemed genuine.
“I'll just keep this ring safe for now,” John said, and snatched up his laptop. “Go find something else to do. Make tea, perhaps? Or clean the kitchen. The kitchen would really like for you to clean it.”
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Fires of Mount Doom location
He spent the next two hours scrolling through forum posts in which pandaluver354 and orlandosarseboy (regrettable name, although John understood the sentiment) argued furiously about whether it was to be found in central Ohio or somewhere in Australia. About halfway through, Sherlock ambled over and pickpocketed him for the ring, which might have worked if he hadn't immediately vanished after acquiring it. Fortunately, Sherlock was too lazy to get up off the couch once he'd lain down, so John didn't have any worries about finding him again if he needed to.
After scouring every post on the LOTRREAL_LOCATIONS blog and bemoaning its lack of tags, John gave up on trying to master LOLspeak and confiscated Sherlock's mobile. John was used to the possibly but probably not accidental groping he had to go through to divest Sherlock of it, and it wasn't so much more difficult when he was invisible.
He texted Mycroft. HELP. SHERLOCK WON THE ONE RING AT POKER. MUST THROW INTO FIRES OF MOUNT DOOM BUT CANNOT LOCATE ON GOOGLE MAPS. ASSISTANCE PLEASE BEFORE RING WIGHTS APPEAR.
The capslock seemed to add the appropriate tinge of seriousness.
Ten minutes later two first class tickets to Hawaii and a map were pushed under the upper door of the flat, accompanied by a note. One brother to irritate them all, it read. Underneath, Mycroft had added in a hasty but still elegant scrawl, Don't get killed. Wights drive Mitsubishis these days.
John wandered back into the living room, still frowning at the note. It occurred to him that Sherlock had been invisible for rather a long time, and it was actually quite an evil ring. “Whatever idiotic notion you're getting,” he directed at the couch, “Kindly forget it.” He strode over and felt down the line of Sherlock's arm, blushing all the while. Really, how had Sherlock managed to drape his arm over every part of his body that John had ever wanted to touch. Well, not every part, but quite a few good bits. John was sweating a little by the time he found Sherlock's ring finger and yanked the ring off. Sherlock appeared, looking a strange combination of smug and testy.
“I was using that,” he said.
“I think you were napping,” John replied. “I definitely heard a snore.”
“You did not,” Sherlock said in an outraged tone.”
“Fine, fine,” John said. “I can see you're turning into Gollum already. No, don't ask me to explain that,” he added, at Sherlock's impatient noise. “Just go pack. Hiking clothes, if you've got any. We're going on vacation.”
So now they were climbing a mountain that didn't exist on google maps until a few hours ago, Sherlock complaining all the while about the state of his Dolce and Gabbana shoes.
“I told you we were climbing a mountain of death and horror,” John pointed out for the third time. He was wearing very sensible hiking boots that, joy of joys, even matched the tasteful chain upon which he'd strung the one ring. It was these little details that mattered.
They'd been climbing the mountain for three days, ducking behind shrubs and tufts of tall grass whenever particularly orcish looking tourists wandered by. John had convinced Sherlock to carry their little folding tent by hinting that he could experiment on the light fixtures once they got home if they survived this mission. In return, Sherlock was being surprisingly agreeable, even stopping without complaint for second breakfast every day. John was rather surprised that neither of them had become unusually bad-tempered as a result of being in close proximity to the ring for so long. Evidently the evil powers of the ring were no match for the daily trials of living with Sherlock. Also, the ring, defeated by Sherlock's powers of sarcasm, seemed to be having some sort of inverse effect in which Sherlock had become shockingly sweet.
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“You know, it doesn't seem appropriate to take advantage of whatever evil forces are making you behave kindly,” John said regretfully. A massage would be rather nice, especially from Sherlock. “If you still want to after we destroy the ring,” John compromised, “That can be arranged.”
“Oh, I will,” Sherlock said earnestly. “It is one of my greatest aspirations to give you comfort. Among other things.”
“Now I know the ring's affecting you,” John muttered, and silently rolled his eyes at his own ridiculous blushing.
In the end, destroying the ring was rather anticlimactic, although John vaguely remembered feeling the same way about how it had happened in the books. There wasn't even any frantic Gollum to try and stop them, just Sherlock pouting and saying, “I haven't nearly exhausted the scientific potential of the ring, John. If you'd just allow me to run a series of tests--”
“No,” John had said firmly, and flung the thing into the fires of Mount Doom. “Now call Mycroft and get us a helicopter or something.”
For once in his life, Sherlock did as he was told.
“You know,” John said, as they waited for their ride, “I'll almost miss that thing. It made you rather a good Samaritan.”
Sherlock didn't speak for a moment, and when John glanced over at him, he was blushing furiously. “What?” John asked.
Sherlock coughed. “I, er,” the rest came out in a rush, “MeantwhatIsaidabouthemassageandall.”
“Slow down,” John said carefully, “Now repeat that, please.”
Sherlock glared at him. “I meant what I said,” he repeated, exaggeratedly slowly, “About the massage. And everything else.”
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Sherlock was now doing a rather gratifying impersonation of a fish out of water. “We--” he said, in a choked-off kind of way. “We didn't?”
John very slowly and deliberately closed his eyes, counted to three, and then opened them again. “Sherlock,” he said warningly, “Is there something you would like to tell me? No, let me rephrase that. Whatever it is you do not want to tell me, do so immediately.”
Sherlock looked down at the ground in an expression of innocence that would have fooled absolutely nobody. “I just,” he said. “I thought you might need a little push to realize your very understandable feelings for me and my shocking return of said feelings,” he said. “I thought maybe a bit of excitement and near-death might show you that social norms are ridiculous and that gender is unimportant when compared with rings of doom. Besides, letting Mycroft destroy it would've been so boring.”
“Sherlock” John said. “I was the treasurer of the queer straight allies group at uni, my sister is gay, and I've been feeling you up for months, much to my chagrin. You don't think you could have just told me?”
Sherlock turned an even deeper shade of scarlet. “One doesn't, er,” he muttered, “Talking about feelings is so, well, I mean...” He trailed off, looking very intently down at his dusty shoes.
“Oh, Sherlock,” John said tiredly, and scooted closer. “I would very much like to kiss you, but rest assured we are going to have a long conversation about first dates and magical artifacts, all right? I don't want to wake up in Neverland just because you can't bring yourself to ask me to dinner. We go out to dinner all the time, anyway.”
“That seems an acceptable compromise,” Sherlock said. “Now, I believe you promised kissing, yet you haven't delivered.”
“I'm a man of my word,” John said, and leaned in, cupping his hands around Sherlock's face. He was dusty and grimy and his hair was more tangled than John had ever seen it. He looked absolutely delightful. “This is probably more dangerous than ring wights,” John said, and then he kissed Sherlock, who made an utterly delightful noise and kissed him back, all slow and soft and sweet. “One detective to rule them all,” John said, against Sherlock's mouth, and Sherlock smiled.
“Consulting detective,” he corrected, between kisses. “And there's only one of me, so I'll just have to rule over the metro police.”
“Thankfully,” John said, “You already do. There's the helicopter. Let's make out so Mycroft will make that horrible beleaguered face at us. I know how you like causing that.”
And so they did.
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"Also, the ring, defeated by Sherlock's powers of sarcasm, seemed to be having some sort of inverse effect in which Sherlock had become shockingly sweet." You are effing brilliant with this reversal!
“One detective to rule them all,”
“Consulting detective,” he corrected, between kisses. “And there's only one of me, so I'll just have to rule over the metro police.”
AHAHAHA! How so awesome?!?!
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This was cute and hilarious. I do have to say though, I think my favourite part was John freaking Googling where Mount Doom was. xD And then Mycroft's response... oh man.
Sherlock, you're a goof. This was awesome. <3
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Love John ordering Sherlock about for a change: Go pack, we're going on vacation.
Mycroft is so much handier and more reliable than Galdalf!
particularly orcish looking tourists Aren't all tourists orcish?
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I always thought that they were Ring Wraiths, not Ring Wights. (~_~);
Again, though, it could just be the difference between my books and yours. XD
P.S. Favorite line I've got to admit was this one: "HELP. SHERLOCK WON THE ONE RING AT POKER. MUST THROW INTO FIRES OF MOUNT DOOM BUT CANNOT LOCATE ON GOOGLE MAPS. ASSISTANCE PLEASE BEFORE RING WIGHTS APPEAR." I really need to find an excuse to text people with that now. XD
And did I mention that it was adorable???
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Yep, you are exactly right! I realized I'd mixed up the names about two seconds after I posted, at which point it was too late to do anything about it. Barrow wights vs. ringwraiths, that's what tripped me up. John's not the only one who hasn't read the books in years!
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I loved it!
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