drabbles: Sherlock, Avatar the Last Airbender, WC/HL, SN
Title: fair image for whom happily I die
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: spoilers for all 3 eps
Pairings: John/Sherlock
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 230
Point of view: second
Prompt: twitterpaited
Dr. John Watson shot a man for your brother when he barely knew Sherlock. He refused money without knowing how much, and he helps Sherlock even when it inconveniences him. It inconveniences him a great deal, you know.
Dr. John Watson killed a man for Sherlock. He risked his own life to protect Sherlock. You understand the appeal of Sherlock, of course. There is a very short list of things you wouldn’t do for your brother, and that is only because they are impossible according to current laws of existence. (You’re working on that.)
But Dr. John Watson is ordinary. Physically, he is ordinary; mentally, slightly above average; and though he is very loyal, he’s also unforgiving.
According to everything you know, he should have left Sherlock sometime in the first week-instead, he followed Sherlock to a murderer and shot the man dead. And he stayed through two kidnappings and a bomb on his person and a million small slights and annoyances and the violin for days at a time.
You know your brother better than anyone. You love him above all else. And still, you could not cohabitate with him.
But Dr. John Watson can, and Dr. John Watson does, and you hope Sherlock never commits an act that Watson finds unforgivable. If you have to vanish the man for breaking your brother’s heart, Sherlock will be most annoyed.
i
Title: Draw not up seas to drown me
Fandom: Avatar the Last Airbender
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: takes place before Zuko joins the gaang
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 300
Point of view: third
Prompt: dam
Toph wakes up a little while before dawn and at first, she doesn’t know why. Aang wakes next, mumbling, “Wha?”
Sokka and Katara sleep on until Toph realizes what’s going on and shouts, “Get up, get up!”
But there’s no time, no time at all. Aang panics and tries to hold back the giant wall of rushing water, and Katara hurries to his aid, but it’s no good.
So Toph reaches and yanks, and the ground explodes up, and the water roars as it passes by, and passes by, and passes by.
So much water. She can feel it and hear it, raging against the ground.
"What happened?” Sokka asks, shuddering. Momo chatters, shaking in Aang’s arms, and Appa groans, agitated. Katara pats his side, shushing him.
“A dam burst,” Toph says, trying to be calm as a stone. “A long way away. But the water…”
“It’s angry,” Aang murmurs. “Out of balance. Cooped up for a long time. So angry.”
Toph looks; a town lies directly in the water’s path. She reaches again, and tells the earth to rise. A cliff rushes into existence, making a gulley into a bowl. It’ll be years before the water can get through.
Sokka takes Katara’s trembling hand and Toph feels them look over the edge, into the water still raging by. “Thank you,” he says quietly. “Toph, thank you.”
Katara is still shaking. “The water,” she says. “It’s so angry. Like the Ocean Spirit.”
Toph feels the water find her new wall and lash against it. The water rages, but her earth stays firm, and Aang buries his face in Momo’s fur.
"It’ll be okay,” Sokka promises them all, and he sounds so sure.
But Toph can feel the tremor in his heart, and knows he thinks that might be a lie.
i
Title: You come with the dead who people my dreams
Chapter: 6
Fandom: Highlander/White Collar
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: AU; future!fic
Pairings: none
Rating: PG13
Wordcount: 570
Point of view: third
Prompt: Moz realizing that Neal is older than him
parts 1-5
Moz has heard of Methos, of course. Most immortals think he’s a myth, a fairy tale like unicorns and dragons. Moz isn’t sure what to believe, but he knows that Neal thinks Methos is real.
Neal. He misses that kid. Moz watches over the Burkes until they both die (Suit on the job, Mrs. Suit in an accident), and then he moves on from New York. Goes to a Tibetan monastery and takes a breather, tries to find his peaceful center again.
It’s been a couple of years when he feels the buzz. He resolves not to panic, but it gets closer, and then he can pick out two separate ones, and maybe they’re here for sanctuary, too, but what if they’re not?
“Mozzie,” a voice cuts into his thoughts. A voice he knows.
“Neal?” he asks, standing, and yes, it’s Neal. Someone’s with him, slightly taller but slouching, dark hair, pale skin.
“Hey, Moz,” Neal says. “This is my brother, Matt.”
His brother Matt, another immortal, the one he ran to, and the Neal smiling at him is not the scared kid who fled headhunters three decades ago.
“You conned me,” Moz says. “Very well, might I add.”
Neal ducks his head, still smiling, and now Brother Matt grins, proud as an older brother should be.
“In my defense,” Neal says, “when I met you, I’d been running the con for over four hundred years.” He shrugs. “It was the best way to stay safe-pretend to be harmless, pretend to be young.”
“That’s what I do,” Moz says. “How I’ve gone unnoticed.” He studies Neal for a moment, looks at the beautiful smile and the brilliant eyes. “How did I not know?”
Matt steps forward, so Moz focuses on him. His buzz is muted; he feels young, younger than Neal. “My brother,” Matt says, and his accent is impeccable, as common and unnoticeable as Neal’s, “learned from the best, Marco.”
Moz stares up at him, at his smirk and those dark eyes that shift shade as he watches. This man is old-he knows it in his bones. Old, and knows Moz’s name, who he was before he died five centuries ago. Taught Neal a flawless con, and dealt with a pack of headhunters.
The muted buzz intensifies for a moment exploding out with enough power to knock Moz off his feet.
Sprawled on the floor, blinking spots out of his eyes, Moz says, “Methos.”
Neal helps him up and Methos-a legend, a nightmare, someone Neal told him more than once was fact-tells him, “The kid and I owe you a favor, Marco.”
The kid Methos calls him. But Neal must be old.
"You still looking for quiet?” Neal asks.
Moz shakes his head.
“We’re going to run a con on the Watchers,” Methos says.
“Watchers,” Moz scoffs. “Bunch of Peeping Toms.”
Neal chuckles, then continues, “The plan was, I’m Adam Pierson’s teacher. Adam was a Watcher himself, then taken under Duncan MacLeod’s wing, till they had a falling out. The Watchers know me as Nate Calston, and I’m fairly low-key.” Neal grins at Moz. “But if you join us, we can both be your students. I’ll still be slightly older, of course, to keep eyes off Matt.”
Moz looks at Neal, then Methos. Their grins are identical. “Why not,” he says. “It won’t be boring.”
“No,” Neal says, while Methos smirks. “I can promise, it will not be boring.”
i
Title: I wanna grow something wild and unruly
Chapter: ii
Fandom: Supernatural
Disclaimer: not my characters; just for fun. title from The Dixie Chicks
Warnings: AU; pre-series
Pairings: John/Mary
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 230
Point of view: third
Prompt: egghead
part 1
The dragonet stayed close to Dean. Mary smiled at how careful her little boy was; the dragonet was much more likely to hurt Dean than the other way around. Even his baby talons and fangs were sharper than any blades. But the dragonet kept his claws tucked under whenever Dean picked him up and carted him around like a kitten.
The dragonet was green, dull or bright depending on his mood. He ate anything Dean gave him, so Mary made sure to have a talk about appropriate food.
When the dragonet was two weeks old, he shifted for the first time, becoming a human infant. His hair was the same dark shade as John’s and his eyes fluctuated between bright green and Dean’s own hazel.
John kept watching the dragonet in human form, but Sammy-as Dean called him-didn’t change back.
So John and Mary had a new son, a powerful ally that would be raised as Dean’s brother.
Then the dark dragon visited and Mary’s wards weren’t enough, and John-would he keep Sammy without her to explain the Bond? In her last moment before the fire twisted and locked, Mary saw Dean holding a six-month-old human infant and the shadow of bright wings over both.
Yes, she knew in that moment. Sammy was Dean’s and Dean was Sammy’s, and nothing could tear them apart now.