"The Game is on" Fics
There are a couple of fics from The Game is On that I never archived here.
Title: Ghost in the Machine
Challenge: Challenge three round one - "Minor Characters"
Rating: PG
Warning: Minor character death (though to be fair we never saw her alive). Spoilers for PINK
Betaed: by filthgoblin who made it make sense.
I’ve never liked coming to London. Awful city. Should have known this would happen. My mum warned me. Should never have left Cardiff, not even for one night.
Please let them find me. Please let them find him.
---
I should be angry. Not sure why I'm not. Not sure why I'm anything to be honest. I thought I believed in an afterlife - one that was all clouds and harps and the like. But I must have lost my faith because I’m a little bit surprised to be anything at all, to be honest.
At least, I think I am. Would be, certainly, if I was in my right mind.
I should be angry. I don't feel angry. I don't feel anything much. I remember being furious and terrified and desperate, clawing at the floorboards, trying to leave a message. Then something like peace.
No. Not peace. Absence.
Besides those last few minutes, it's funny what I can remember. Every name, number, email address I think I've ever known. Thousands of texts and emails. People's faces, but only in photographs. And the only voice I can hear is my own, saying: "I can't answer the phone right now..." Also odd.
And Rachel. She's the key to it all somehow. If I want to remember anything, I have to remember her first.
It feels like she’s...protecting me?
Ah yes. My Rachel.
My password.
My phone.
Me.
I’m a ghost in the machine.
---
I’m still with him, I think. I know I’m moving. Fast. In a car. I can tell by my signal (and that’s another odd thought) and the ever unrolling map that seems to surround me wherever we go.
---
Here is a new thought. It’s meant to sound like one of mine but it isn’t.
“What happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must have blacked out…”
That’s not what happened. But I know those words like they’re part of me. It gives me something akin to pain. Like someone is trying to…edit me.
I think I’m losing myself.
---
My map says we’re at Northumberland Street. My clock says we’ve been here for 5 minutes 32 seconds. It doesn’t feel like long. It doesn’t feel like anything at all.
---
A voice. His voice. Inside me. Complaining. Asking for instructions. And another voice. Petulant and strange.
“Go to his flat then. 221B Baker Street. I assume I don’t have to give you directions, my darling.”
And they’re gone.
---
Another thought arrives. “Come with me.”
---
I’m fading. Fast. We’re still moving. Doubling back on ourselves. Feints and darts through twisty backstreets. Did anyone come with us?
I watch the route unspooling on my map. I think it’s the last thing I’ll ever do.
---
We’ve stopped.
---
We’ve not moved. It’s been 57 minutes 17 seconds.
I can’t hang on any more.
Battery Low
Shutting Down
---
Charging
---
I’m being read. All those memories. All those faces and names. I think I’d miss them if I still could.
Stop. Please stop.
One name stands out. ‘Mike.’ Among all the others, he’s unusual. I remember the time and date of hundreds of phonecalls for Mike, but I don’t have a single text message from him, or even his photograph.
I think we spent a lot of time together.
I think it was a secret.
---
One more thought-that’s-not-mine.
“Mike. Please call the Met. Police on 0207 203 9999. Ask for DI Lestrade”
I think that one would have brought me some peace.
---
Battery Low
Shutting Down
Title: Three Firsts
Challenge: Challenge one round one - "Firsts"
Rating: PG
Warning: Spoilers for the whole series
First the First
He was taking a risk with this trumped-up drugs bust, despite Sherlock vehemently protesting his (specific, temporary) innocence. He knew exactly what the odds were that they would end up finding something - some remnant tucked away under a seat cushion, between the leaves of a book, in the toe of a slipper. Not that Sherlock used the drugs anymore, except as a test of his self-control. The raid was a risk worth taking, though: Sherlock incarcerated might be no use at all but Sherlock unbound wasn't doing him many favours either.
He saw the look on the new flatmate's face as it suddenly dawned: Sherlock is no paragon. He found himself almost feeling sorry for the guy. He wanted to give him a friendly warning, "Live with Sherlock, and this will be more or less business as usual, mate. And this is when he's clean." But John Watson hadn't wavered, hadn't gone over to the side of the Andersons and the Donovans. Instead, John had stood fast at the side of the man who had dragged him half over London only to abandon him at a crime scene.
Steadfast, he thought. That was exactly the word he was looking for. Steadfast, and with extremely high expectations. John Watson was going to be a hard man for Sherlock to live up to.
For the first time, DI Lestrade dared hope that Sherlock Holmes might one day be a good man.
First the Second
He had expected Doctor John Watson wouldn't respond to threats, insults or bribery, but had been pleasantly reassured - and a little surprised - that John's loyalty to Sherlock was so instant and unquestioning. But it was the moment when he heard John say "You don't seem very frightening," that he had to suppress the Holmes family's trademark grin. The man in front of him was not only brave, calm and resolute, he also had a generous streak of gallows humour. All qualities he would need if he was to spend any great amount of time with Sherlock.
Oh yes, he thought, the chap in front of him might look unassuming - but from his checks on army records, medical school transcripts, even psychiatrists’ notes, he already knew that there was little about John Watson that could be considered run of the mill. He finally permitted himself a small smile as he impressed upon John why it was in his own best interests to throw his lot in with Sherlock.
For the first time, Mycroft Holmes felt that his brilliant, infuriating brother might have someone worthy of his friendship.
First the Third
He heard of the death of his protégé with no great sorrow. The serial suicide gambit had served his purpose admirably - Sherlock Holmes was definitely intrigued now.
When he heard how his pet cabbie had died, however, that was when his pulse quickened. Who was this man, prepared to follow Sherlock, to defend him, even if it meant taking a life? How long could Sherlock, the man with arch-enemies instead of friends, prevent himself from becoming attached to a man that loyal? As the weeks passed and the relationship between Sherlock Holmes and John Watson raced from "flatmate" to "colleague" to "friend" he could barely contain his joy.
For the first time, Jim Moriarty knew exactly how to get to Sherlock Holmes.
Title: Ghost in the Machine
Challenge: Challenge three round one - "Minor Characters"
Rating: PG
Warning: Minor character death (though to be fair we never saw her alive). Spoilers for PINK
Betaed: by filthgoblin who made it make sense.
I’ve never liked coming to London. Awful city. Should have known this would happen. My mum warned me. Should never have left Cardiff, not even for one night.
Please let them find me. Please let them find him.
---
I should be angry. Not sure why I'm not. Not sure why I'm anything to be honest. I thought I believed in an afterlife - one that was all clouds and harps and the like. But I must have lost my faith because I’m a little bit surprised to be anything at all, to be honest.
At least, I think I am. Would be, certainly, if I was in my right mind.
I should be angry. I don't feel angry. I don't feel anything much. I remember being furious and terrified and desperate, clawing at the floorboards, trying to leave a message. Then something like peace.
No. Not peace. Absence.
Besides those last few minutes, it's funny what I can remember. Every name, number, email address I think I've ever known. Thousands of texts and emails. People's faces, but only in photographs. And the only voice I can hear is my own, saying: "I can't answer the phone right now..." Also odd.
And Rachel. She's the key to it all somehow. If I want to remember anything, I have to remember her first.
It feels like she’s...protecting me?
Ah yes. My Rachel.
My password.
My phone.
Me.
I’m a ghost in the machine.
---
I’m still with him, I think. I know I’m moving. Fast. In a car. I can tell by my signal (and that’s another odd thought) and the ever unrolling map that seems to surround me wherever we go.
---
Here is a new thought. It’s meant to sound like one of mine but it isn’t.
“What happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must have blacked out…”
That’s not what happened. But I know those words like they’re part of me. It gives me something akin to pain. Like someone is trying to…edit me.
I think I’m losing myself.
---
My map says we’re at Northumberland Street. My clock says we’ve been here for 5 minutes 32 seconds. It doesn’t feel like long. It doesn’t feel like anything at all.
---
A voice. His voice. Inside me. Complaining. Asking for instructions. And another voice. Petulant and strange.
“Go to his flat then. 221B Baker Street. I assume I don’t have to give you directions, my darling.”
And they’re gone.
---
Another thought arrives. “Come with me.”
---
I’m fading. Fast. We’re still moving. Doubling back on ourselves. Feints and darts through twisty backstreets. Did anyone come with us?
I watch the route unspooling on my map. I think it’s the last thing I’ll ever do.
---
We’ve stopped.
---
We’ve not moved. It’s been 57 minutes 17 seconds.
I can’t hang on any more.
Battery Low
Shutting Down
---
Charging
---
I’m being read. All those memories. All those faces and names. I think I’d miss them if I still could.
Stop. Please stop.
One name stands out. ‘Mike.’ Among all the others, he’s unusual. I remember the time and date of hundreds of phonecalls for Mike, but I don’t have a single text message from him, or even his photograph.
I think we spent a lot of time together.
I think it was a secret.
---
One more thought-that’s-not-mine.
“Mike. Please call the Met. Police on 0207 203 9999. Ask for DI Lestrade”
I think that one would have brought me some peace.
---
Battery Low
Shutting Down
Title: Three Firsts
Challenge: Challenge one round one - "Firsts"
Rating: PG
Warning: Spoilers for the whole series
First the First
He was taking a risk with this trumped-up drugs bust, despite Sherlock vehemently protesting his (specific, temporary) innocence. He knew exactly what the odds were that they would end up finding something - some remnant tucked away under a seat cushion, between the leaves of a book, in the toe of a slipper. Not that Sherlock used the drugs anymore, except as a test of his self-control. The raid was a risk worth taking, though: Sherlock incarcerated might be no use at all but Sherlock unbound wasn't doing him many favours either.
He saw the look on the new flatmate's face as it suddenly dawned: Sherlock is no paragon. He found himself almost feeling sorry for the guy. He wanted to give him a friendly warning, "Live with Sherlock, and this will be more or less business as usual, mate. And this is when he's clean." But John Watson hadn't wavered, hadn't gone over to the side of the Andersons and the Donovans. Instead, John had stood fast at the side of the man who had dragged him half over London only to abandon him at a crime scene.
Steadfast, he thought. That was exactly the word he was looking for. Steadfast, and with extremely high expectations. John Watson was going to be a hard man for Sherlock to live up to.
For the first time, DI Lestrade dared hope that Sherlock Holmes might one day be a good man.
First the Second
He had expected Doctor John Watson wouldn't respond to threats, insults or bribery, but had been pleasantly reassured - and a little surprised - that John's loyalty to Sherlock was so instant and unquestioning. But it was the moment when he heard John say "You don't seem very frightening," that he had to suppress the Holmes family's trademark grin. The man in front of him was not only brave, calm and resolute, he also had a generous streak of gallows humour. All qualities he would need if he was to spend any great amount of time with Sherlock.
Oh yes, he thought, the chap in front of him might look unassuming - but from his checks on army records, medical school transcripts, even psychiatrists’ notes, he already knew that there was little about John Watson that could be considered run of the mill. He finally permitted himself a small smile as he impressed upon John why it was in his own best interests to throw his lot in with Sherlock.
For the first time, Mycroft Holmes felt that his brilliant, infuriating brother might have someone worthy of his friendship.
First the Third
He heard of the death of his protégé with no great sorrow. The serial suicide gambit had served his purpose admirably - Sherlock Holmes was definitely intrigued now.
When he heard how his pet cabbie had died, however, that was when his pulse quickened. Who was this man, prepared to follow Sherlock, to defend him, even if it meant taking a life? How long could Sherlock, the man with arch-enemies instead of friends, prevent himself from becoming attached to a man that loyal? As the weeks passed and the relationship between Sherlock Holmes and John Watson raced from "flatmate" to "colleague" to "friend" he could barely contain his joy.
For the first time, Jim Moriarty knew exactly how to get to Sherlock Holmes.