Sherlock AU Playlist
Becky's birthday present part I!
In honor of our f!Sherlock/f!Watson writings, I thought I'd throw together a quick playlist. These songs totally vary wildly in seriousness.
Sherlock Playlist
Regina Spektor - Après Moi
"Someone is dying here today," Sherlock said, her tone monotonous and matter-of-fact. Moriarty nodded in agreement, his ever present smile still on his face. "It's not going to be me."
"So confident?" Moriarty snapped, and Sherlock could see the cracks there now, the effort it took for him to keep from shouting at her like an uncivilized beast. The true, pathetic nature behind the mastermind. Irene was right.
"There are bigger things than you in the world, Jimmy. I can't die," Sherlock replied, still in her fact-listing mode. Her confidence bordering offensive.
"Because of your little pet? The one that went scampering away to help someone who wasn't you? How romantic--and repulsive," Moriarty spat.
"Not quite," Sherlock told him, "but good enough."
"I've never just been 'good enough!' Don't give me that!" Moriarty objected.
"But that's the reason why you'll never get it," Sherlock whispered, and instead of hiding the sound, the acoustics of the Reichenbach falls seemed to echo it, repeating it into Moriarty's ears until he finally broke and charged at her.
HoneyHoney - Little Toy Gun
"Do I really have to wear this?" Jo asked, glaring down at her cleavage.
"Absolutely," Sherlock dismissed, eyeing the slit up her thigh with a critical eye. "Maybe we should--"
"You are not making that slit any higher," Jo cut off, frighteningly automatic and matter of fact. It was strange how much one could accept, even come to expect after a few months living with a diabolical genius for a roommate. Except Sherlock wasn't diabolical--at least, Jo didn't think so.
"Anyway, it's all for a good cause," Sherlock repeated, looking a bit peeved at Jo's denial but backing off. She had adapted too, learning which battles she would win with Jo. Unfortunately, Sherlock probably only kept her peace because those outnumbered the ones she lost. "You're saving a life."
"By dressing in embarrassingly revealing clothes and seducing a man I'm not interested in?" Jo echoed her reaction from earlier, because it was still unbelievable.
"Absolutely," Sherlock reaffirmed.
"Right, then. Off I go," Jo consented after a pause, grabbing her fur shrug off of their dingy couch.
"Wait!" Sherlock called after her, once she was already halfway down the stairs. "Don't forget this."
Jo stared at the gun in its holster, hanging carelessly from Sherlock's hands. Sometimes, she wondered how this had become her life. "Right. Thanks. Bye." Turning around, she fled from the house.
It'd be absolutely no good if Sherlock saw her grinning.
2Cellos - Smooth Criminal
He had always had a flair for the dramatic. It was part of the reason why so many people liked him. Unassuming Jim Moriarty in the office, criminal mastermind throwing lavish slave parties at home. Or, rather, other people's homes. He wasn't that stupid.
And he wasn't dumb enough to bring a CD player just so that he could listen to his favorite strings compositions while he killed someone. That didn't mean he couldn't enjoy the music his target was putting on.
"Scotch?" his companion asked. The sinful businessman, suspicious of everyone and so stupid. He had recently outlived his usefulness, and Moriarty was ready to be done with him.
"Just a finger or two," he agreed, his usual winning smile on.
"Anyway, we have to talk about this Moriarty. This is getting too dangerous, and I don't like it. I know we've made a lot of money in the past, but... do we have to keep selling these students? Can't we get poor orphans or something else that people won't miss? We came so close to being captured with that one Slavic girl... It's just not worth my livelihood," the man complained, holding out the two tumblers. Moriarty picked one, his palm drifting inconspicuously over the other.
"Well, that's much too bad. Very regretful business," Moriarty agreed, taking a sip of his whiskey as the other man drained his glass.
The crescendo of the strings covered the sound of the crystal tumbler breaking. Moriarty stood up, straightened his clothes, and walked out of the house without a look back.
The Cast of American Idiot - Favorite Son
Contrary to what Sherlock thought, Mycroft had worked hard for his current position. Long hours, careful work, and at least a few years worth of planning to get the right people knocked off so that he could be noticed. It was all very dastardly and difficult.
Sherlock would not approve. Neither, maybe, would their mother. But Mycroft had grown up watching his father, the simple civil servant. Had faced down his bullies back when he had been a chubby kid who was just figuring out that maybe he would never like girls and then Sherlock's when she decided she'd never be normal, she'd never conform. They hadn't had a bad life--as evident by the way Sherlock went on her way, sticking her noses everywhere without a thought to the consequences--but they hadn't had a great one either.
But they deserved one, Mycroft thought. Sherlock was a brilliant detective, and even if he didn't approve of the danger or the mingling with unsavory characters, she deserved her new found fame. Their mother, long-suffering widow who now lived cloistered in their old, inherited manor, deserved better than the many years she spent struggling to get by.
So he made himself the favorite son of the government, the most powerful man alive. It wasn't a perfect trade off, wasn't the same as having his family, but it was better than what they had had and he had kept his promise.
Guster - Demons
"Are you all right?" Matt shook his head to clear it, looking over at Mycroft's questioning expression.
"I'm fine," Matt dismissed. "Sorry--the debriefings are always a bit..."
"Tedious? Absolutely. But I pay you to take notes so that I don't have to," Mycroft reminded him, but gently, jokingly. Mycroft knew he'd do his job well.
"Yes, sir," Matt replied obediently, smiling to show that he got it. Mycroft just nodded and continued walking away from the conference room.
"New secretary, Mycroft?" asked a voice, and Matt froze, only his eyes moving to faithfully find the newcomer.
"Oh, yes. Still breaking him in," Mycroft returned companionably. He hadn't stopped moving.
"Well, I hope he's everything you hoped he would be. I know you've wanted one for a while," the other joked.
Mycroft just threw a smile over his shoulder. He glanced quickly at Matt, who resisted the urge to jump and lengthened his strides to catch up with his new boss.
Once they were a respectable distance away, Mycroft slowed his walk and turned an appraising eye on him. "You don't much like Jim Moriarty, do you?"
"I've never really talked to him before," Matt replied.
"And I don't suspect you'll have much chance to talk to him now," Mycroft replied, apparently approving enough of his response.
He wasn't sure if what he felt was relief or dread.
Crash Test Dummies - Superman
"Time to go home! Lestrade? ... Greg. It's time to go home." Lestrade lifted his drooping eyes from his paperwork.
"Just a few more forms, Emma. You head on first," he dismissed her as kindly as he could.
"But..." But his new DS was smarter than that. "Don't stay too long," she scolded, closing the door with a harsh bang that was just loud enough to tell him that she wasn't pleased.
But going home wouldn't have made it any better. Maybe Emma would have been happier with him, but he would have returned to his empty flat and... what. Lain their in the dark, trying not to think of autopsy photos and dead bodies? Once someone got to DI, things generally didn't shake him, but there were days...
And today had been a bad one.
He took a deep, shuddering breath and tried to get his eyes to focus on his paperwork again. He was signing the fiftieth page in triplicate when the phone rang.
"This is the British Government. We are attempting to take a survey today..."
Lestrade couldn't help the smile that broke across his face. He leaned back in his chair, taking in the entire rehearsed message. He waited for the appropriate pause before greeting his constant caller, "Hello Mycroft."
Mozart L'Opera Rock - Tatoue-Moi
Arsène almost couldn't believe he was doing this. Avoiding his coming of age wasn't new--he had been trying to put off his next heist forever, despite the constant scowling of his oncle. But he could have been avoiding it in the clubs, in the discothèques, in the bars. Instead, he was sitting on a building with the most infuriating British teenager he had ever met. Not even her femininity made up for her rudeness, because her beauty was completely buried by the force of her personality.
"My father was in the government," she divulged, and Arsène wanted to tell her that he didn't care! That people didn't tell these things to strangers! But the latter was more of a truth than the former. He did care, and maybe some of her beauty wasn't so much buried by her tactless nature as it was accentuated.
"So was mine," he shared in return.
"Really? What did yours do? Mine was a minor government official. A lowly civil servant, I guess you could say."
"Mine stole things," he replied. And that was dangerous. That was much too true.
"Like... intelligence?" she asked.
"Like... everything," he corrected. And this was maybe the time for her to turn on him. She had told him she had wanted to become a detective. Wouldn't any good detective turn in a thief?
"... Interesting," she replied, and she really did look interested, her eyes shining with the aid of Paris' lights and her smile growing even more cocky. "Teach me," she said.
Arsène couldn't help his returning grin. Sherlock Holmes was the most interesting woman he had ever met.
In honor of our f!Sherlock/f!Watson writings, I thought I'd throw together a quick playlist. These songs totally vary wildly in seriousness.
Sherlock Playlist
Regina Spektor - Après Moi
Click to view"Someone is dying here today," Sherlock said, her tone monotonous and matter-of-fact. Moriarty nodded in agreement, his ever present smile still on his face. "It's not going to be me."
"So confident?" Moriarty snapped, and Sherlock could see the cracks there now, the effort it took for him to keep from shouting at her like an uncivilized beast. The true, pathetic nature behind the mastermind. Irene was right.
"There are bigger things than you in the world, Jimmy. I can't die," Sherlock replied, still in her fact-listing mode. Her confidence bordering offensive.
"Because of your little pet? The one that went scampering away to help someone who wasn't you? How romantic--and repulsive," Moriarty spat.
"Not quite," Sherlock told him, "but good enough."
"I've never just been 'good enough!' Don't give me that!" Moriarty objected.
"But that's the reason why you'll never get it," Sherlock whispered, and instead of hiding the sound, the acoustics of the Reichenbach falls seemed to echo it, repeating it into Moriarty's ears until he finally broke and charged at her.
HoneyHoney - Little Toy Gun
"Do I really have to wear this?" Jo asked, glaring down at her cleavage.
"Absolutely," Sherlock dismissed, eyeing the slit up her thigh with a critical eye. "Maybe we should--"
"You are not making that slit any higher," Jo cut off, frighteningly automatic and matter of fact. It was strange how much one could accept, even come to expect after a few months living with a diabolical genius for a roommate. Except Sherlock wasn't diabolical--at least, Jo didn't think so.
"Anyway, it's all for a good cause," Sherlock repeated, looking a bit peeved at Jo's denial but backing off. She had adapted too, learning which battles she would win with Jo. Unfortunately, Sherlock probably only kept her peace because those outnumbered the ones she lost. "You're saving a life."
"By dressing in embarrassingly revealing clothes and seducing a man I'm not interested in?" Jo echoed her reaction from earlier, because it was still unbelievable.
"Absolutely," Sherlock reaffirmed.
"Right, then. Off I go," Jo consented after a pause, grabbing her fur shrug off of their dingy couch.
"Wait!" Sherlock called after her, once she was already halfway down the stairs. "Don't forget this."
Jo stared at the gun in its holster, hanging carelessly from Sherlock's hands. Sometimes, she wondered how this had become her life. "Right. Thanks. Bye." Turning around, she fled from the house.
It'd be absolutely no good if Sherlock saw her grinning.
2Cellos - Smooth Criminal
He had always had a flair for the dramatic. It was part of the reason why so many people liked him. Unassuming Jim Moriarty in the office, criminal mastermind throwing lavish slave parties at home. Or, rather, other people's homes. He wasn't that stupid.
And he wasn't dumb enough to bring a CD player just so that he could listen to his favorite strings compositions while he killed someone. That didn't mean he couldn't enjoy the music his target was putting on.
"Scotch?" his companion asked. The sinful businessman, suspicious of everyone and so stupid. He had recently outlived his usefulness, and Moriarty was ready to be done with him.
"Just a finger or two," he agreed, his usual winning smile on.
"Anyway, we have to talk about this Moriarty. This is getting too dangerous, and I don't like it. I know we've made a lot of money in the past, but... do we have to keep selling these students? Can't we get poor orphans or something else that people won't miss? We came so close to being captured with that one Slavic girl... It's just not worth my livelihood," the man complained, holding out the two tumblers. Moriarty picked one, his palm drifting inconspicuously over the other.
"Well, that's much too bad. Very regretful business," Moriarty agreed, taking a sip of his whiskey as the other man drained his glass.
The crescendo of the strings covered the sound of the crystal tumbler breaking. Moriarty stood up, straightened his clothes, and walked out of the house without a look back.
The Cast of American Idiot - Favorite Son
Contrary to what Sherlock thought, Mycroft had worked hard for his current position. Long hours, careful work, and at least a few years worth of planning to get the right people knocked off so that he could be noticed. It was all very dastardly and difficult.
Sherlock would not approve. Neither, maybe, would their mother. But Mycroft had grown up watching his father, the simple civil servant. Had faced down his bullies back when he had been a chubby kid who was just figuring out that maybe he would never like girls and then Sherlock's when she decided she'd never be normal, she'd never conform. They hadn't had a bad life--as evident by the way Sherlock went on her way, sticking her noses everywhere without a thought to the consequences--but they hadn't had a great one either.
But they deserved one, Mycroft thought. Sherlock was a brilliant detective, and even if he didn't approve of the danger or the mingling with unsavory characters, she deserved her new found fame. Their mother, long-suffering widow who now lived cloistered in their old, inherited manor, deserved better than the many years she spent struggling to get by.
So he made himself the favorite son of the government, the most powerful man alive. It wasn't a perfect trade off, wasn't the same as having his family, but it was better than what they had had and he had kept his promise.
Guster - Demons
"Are you all right?" Matt shook his head to clear it, looking over at Mycroft's questioning expression.
"I'm fine," Matt dismissed. "Sorry--the debriefings are always a bit..."
"Tedious? Absolutely. But I pay you to take notes so that I don't have to," Mycroft reminded him, but gently, jokingly. Mycroft knew he'd do his job well.
"Yes, sir," Matt replied obediently, smiling to show that he got it. Mycroft just nodded and continued walking away from the conference room.
"New secretary, Mycroft?" asked a voice, and Matt froze, only his eyes moving to faithfully find the newcomer.
"Oh, yes. Still breaking him in," Mycroft returned companionably. He hadn't stopped moving.
"Well, I hope he's everything you hoped he would be. I know you've wanted one for a while," the other joked.
Mycroft just threw a smile over his shoulder. He glanced quickly at Matt, who resisted the urge to jump and lengthened his strides to catch up with his new boss.
Once they were a respectable distance away, Mycroft slowed his walk and turned an appraising eye on him. "You don't much like Jim Moriarty, do you?"
"I've never really talked to him before," Matt replied.
"And I don't suspect you'll have much chance to talk to him now," Mycroft replied, apparently approving enough of his response.
He wasn't sure if what he felt was relief or dread.
Crash Test Dummies - Superman
"Time to go home! Lestrade? ... Greg. It's time to go home." Lestrade lifted his drooping eyes from his paperwork.
"Just a few more forms, Emma. You head on first," he dismissed her as kindly as he could.
"But..." But his new DS was smarter than that. "Don't stay too long," she scolded, closing the door with a harsh bang that was just loud enough to tell him that she wasn't pleased.
But going home wouldn't have made it any better. Maybe Emma would have been happier with him, but he would have returned to his empty flat and... what. Lain their in the dark, trying not to think of autopsy photos and dead bodies? Once someone got to DI, things generally didn't shake him, but there were days...
And today had been a bad one.
He took a deep, shuddering breath and tried to get his eyes to focus on his paperwork again. He was signing the fiftieth page in triplicate when the phone rang.
"This is the British Government. We are attempting to take a survey today..."
Lestrade couldn't help the smile that broke across his face. He leaned back in his chair, taking in the entire rehearsed message. He waited for the appropriate pause before greeting his constant caller, "Hello Mycroft."
Mozart L'Opera Rock - Tatoue-Moi
Arsène almost couldn't believe he was doing this. Avoiding his coming of age wasn't new--he had been trying to put off his next heist forever, despite the constant scowling of his oncle. But he could have been avoiding it in the clubs, in the discothèques, in the bars. Instead, he was sitting on a building with the most infuriating British teenager he had ever met. Not even her femininity made up for her rudeness, because her beauty was completely buried by the force of her personality.
"My father was in the government," she divulged, and Arsène wanted to tell her that he didn't care! That people didn't tell these things to strangers! But the latter was more of a truth than the former. He did care, and maybe some of her beauty wasn't so much buried by her tactless nature as it was accentuated.
"So was mine," he shared in return.
"Really? What did yours do? Mine was a minor government official. A lowly civil servant, I guess you could say."
"Mine stole things," he replied. And that was dangerous. That was much too true.
"Like... intelligence?" she asked.
"Like... everything," he corrected. And this was maybe the time for her to turn on him. She had told him she had wanted to become a detective. Wouldn't any good detective turn in a thief?
"... Interesting," she replied, and she really did look interested, her eyes shining with the aid of Paris' lights and her smile growing even more cocky. "Teach me," she said.
Arsène couldn't help his returning grin. Sherlock Holmes was the most interesting woman he had ever met.