A bunch of short Sherlock meme fills.
So, it's been kind of quiet from me on the fic front, but in order to maintain what little sanity I have during the most insane time at work, I needed to write something, so I've been lurking around on the Sherlock Meme again over the past month or so, doing micro and mini fills. Here are the ones I'm willing to admit to at this point in time.
Several short meme fills, mostly dialog, mostly untitled.
Disclaimer: I disavow all claims of ownership or origination of this world and its characters.
PROMPT: Sherlock unintentionally drops three band names into a deduction.
Rating/Warning: Gen, PG, Dialog.
"The number of five pound notes in the wallet plus the way they are folded indicates that our victim is a frequent patron of strip clubs. The screensaver and desktop theme of his computer supports this quite graphically. He had quite an obsession with bare naked ladies. This- What?"
"Just. Bare Naked Ladies?"
"Must you be puerile? Don't interrupt. Now. The murderer lives very nearby, no more than three doors down."
"Heh."
"What?"
"Sorry. Three Doors Down. Hm."
"Yes. Now, this isn't his first murder, too tidy. He'll kill again, very soon. I would say we have no more than three days grace before-"
"Oh come on!"
"What?"
"Three Days Grace?"
"Yes, four at the most... What?"
-
PROMPT: this is a test.
WARNING: DARK. Second-person view of depression, suicidal thoughts. DO NOT READ IF THIS MIGHT ADVERSELY AFFECT YOU.
Rating: Gen, R
This is a test.
You can sit here and do nothing or you can go back to sleep, back to the nightmares where your friends die and die and die and you can't stop it, you can't ever stop it because they are taking you away, taking you where you can't help, where you are a useless and broken thing kept out of the way, a broken little man in a little brown box.
Or you can wait three hours doing nothing so you can take your useless bloody leg and your useless bloody self out to useless bloody appointments with useless bloody therapists who tell you to write the nothing nothing nothing that is your life into text on a screen no one will read.
Or you can take yourself out.
Stop being a drain on the NHS and everyone around you, take one bullet and save the taxpayers thousands of dollars in pensions and pills and useless therapists and wretched little bedsits full of nothing. But you won't, because your friends are back there, fighting to survive without any help from you. The only thing you can do here is survive.
So you wait. You take yourself out to the appointment and then to the park, and from the park, you take yourself into the future.
This was a test. Had you failed, you would already be dead.
-
PROMPT: Sherlock joins the organ donor register. But requests that they do not take his heart. That is Johns.
Title: not the same title as that song from Titanic
Rating/Warning: Slash, PG-13. Schmoop, dialog involving mortality.
"Don't be ridiculous, Sherlock! What would I do with it, have it bronzed?"
"If you like."
"You could save someone's life with that, and in all honesty, if you- if you were to die..."
"We all die some day, John. It's called mortality; you must have encountered the concept in medical school."
"I know that, you daft wanker! On some far future day, if you were dead... I can't think of anything I'd rather know than that your heart is still beating. Whoever it's in."
"Sentimental."
"And leaving me your internal organs for posterity isn't?"
"You may have a point."
"I do. I know your heart belongs to me, you show me every day. And mine belongs to you, but you aren't getting it after I die."
"I'm not?"
"There's no need to pout!"
-
PROMPT: John puts his back out and has to spend a whole weekend lying on the living room floor. Sherlock finds this inconvenient, mainly because he keeps almost tripping over him while he's pacing/thinking.
Rating/Warning: Gen, PG. Bad housekeeping, dialog.
"Could you not pace elsewhere?"
"There is close to 800 square feet of floor space in this flat, on two stories, and only one sitting room in which I can pace. Could you not lie elsewhere?"
"Can't get up the stairs to my room, the stairs up to this level nearly did me in. Not enough room in the bathroom, not going to lie on the kitchen floor as it'd be safer to lie on the floor of a biochemical weapons factory-"
"I keep telling you, John, I only weaponised that by accident."
"Doesn't matter, not lying on the floor in there. That leaves the sitting room."
"What about my bedroom?"
"What about your bedroom? Isn't it mythical?"
"I have a bedroom. It has a floor on which you can lie and be out of my pacing path."
"...You know, I think I'd rather risk you kicking me in the head."
"What? Why?"
"Your bedroom floor? Is it visible?"
"Yes. Mostly. I think. Does it matter?"
"A bit, yeah, as lying flat on my back usually requires what I'm lying on to be flat as well and not covered with bundles of newspaper and bits of interestingly shattered glass."
"That's in the kitchen."
"So is your floor clear then?"
"I can make it clear. You can lie on the floor in my room in perfect tranquility, and I can pace unimpeded."
"... There's nothing living in your bedroom is there?"
"No."
"Formerly living?"
"...No?"
"Let's hope then. Nothing disturbing under the bed?"
"Why on earth should you care what's under my bed."
"I'm going to spend the next several hours staring at it while I'm lying on the floor, more than likely."
"Ah. Yes. Well. I'll check."
"No noxious chemicals in the carpeting?"
"My room is fine, John. It's not a torture chamber or a tip."
"Really."
"...I'll go clear the floor."
"I'll start trying to stand. That should give you most of an hour to clear up."
-
PROMPT: [Graphic. Reposted under cut.]
Rating/Warning: Gen, PG-13. Mild lewdness used as a deterrent against a sibling, dialog.
"I've found your camera, Mycroft. Very clever, wiring it into the mains so I can't disconnect it myself without blacking out half the street. Turn it off."
"Why would I do that?"
"I can make you turn it off."
"I don't really think- What are you doing?"
"Can't a man undulate in the privacy of his own flat? Or the hypothetical privacy of his own flat?"
"You're being childish."
"Isn't it warm today! Hm. I do believe my privates could use a good airing-"
"I'll switch it off!"
"Good."
"If you get attacked by another ninja assassin, you'll have to deal with it yourself."
"I look forward to it."
-
PROMPT: Alternately, were-sheep John would be hilarious.
Rating/Warning: Gen, PG. Graphic. Pun. ACD reference. CRACK.
I'm so sorry. It wouldn't leave me alone.
- - -
(And that's it. The rest can stay anonymous in the wilds of the meme.)
Several short meme fills, mostly dialog, mostly untitled.
Disclaimer: I disavow all claims of ownership or origination of this world and its characters.
PROMPT: Sherlock unintentionally drops three band names into a deduction.
Rating/Warning: Gen, PG, Dialog.
"The number of five pound notes in the wallet plus the way they are folded indicates that our victim is a frequent patron of strip clubs. The screensaver and desktop theme of his computer supports this quite graphically. He had quite an obsession with bare naked ladies. This- What?"
"Just. Bare Naked Ladies?"
"Must you be puerile? Don't interrupt. Now. The murderer lives very nearby, no more than three doors down."
"Heh."
"What?"
"Sorry. Three Doors Down. Hm."
"Yes. Now, this isn't his first murder, too tidy. He'll kill again, very soon. I would say we have no more than three days grace before-"
"Oh come on!"
"What?"
"Three Days Grace?"
"Yes, four at the most... What?"
-
PROMPT: this is a test.
WARNING: DARK. Second-person view of depression, suicidal thoughts. DO NOT READ IF THIS MIGHT ADVERSELY AFFECT YOU.
Rating: Gen, R
This is a test.
You can sit here and do nothing or you can go back to sleep, back to the nightmares where your friends die and die and die and you can't stop it, you can't ever stop it because they are taking you away, taking you where you can't help, where you are a useless and broken thing kept out of the way, a broken little man in a little brown box.
Or you can wait three hours doing nothing so you can take your useless bloody leg and your useless bloody self out to useless bloody appointments with useless bloody therapists who tell you to write the nothing nothing nothing that is your life into text on a screen no one will read.
Or you can take yourself out.
Stop being a drain on the NHS and everyone around you, take one bullet and save the taxpayers thousands of dollars in pensions and pills and useless therapists and wretched little bedsits full of nothing. But you won't, because your friends are back there, fighting to survive without any help from you. The only thing you can do here is survive.
So you wait. You take yourself out to the appointment and then to the park, and from the park, you take yourself into the future.
This was a test. Had you failed, you would already be dead.
-
PROMPT: Sherlock joins the organ donor register. But requests that they do not take his heart. That is Johns.
Title: not the same title as that song from Titanic
Rating/Warning: Slash, PG-13. Schmoop, dialog involving mortality.
"Don't be ridiculous, Sherlock! What would I do with it, have it bronzed?"
"If you like."
"You could save someone's life with that, and in all honesty, if you- if you were to die..."
"We all die some day, John. It's called mortality; you must have encountered the concept in medical school."
"I know that, you daft wanker! On some far future day, if you were dead... I can't think of anything I'd rather know than that your heart is still beating. Whoever it's in."
"Sentimental."
"And leaving me your internal organs for posterity isn't?"
"You may have a point."
"I do. I know your heart belongs to me, you show me every day. And mine belongs to you, but you aren't getting it after I die."
"I'm not?"
"There's no need to pout!"
-
PROMPT: John puts his back out and has to spend a whole weekend lying on the living room floor. Sherlock finds this inconvenient, mainly because he keeps almost tripping over him while he's pacing/thinking.
Rating/Warning: Gen, PG. Bad housekeeping, dialog.
"Could you not pace elsewhere?"
"There is close to 800 square feet of floor space in this flat, on two stories, and only one sitting room in which I can pace. Could you not lie elsewhere?"
"Can't get up the stairs to my room, the stairs up to this level nearly did me in. Not enough room in the bathroom, not going to lie on the kitchen floor as it'd be safer to lie on the floor of a biochemical weapons factory-"
"I keep telling you, John, I only weaponised that by accident."
"Doesn't matter, not lying on the floor in there. That leaves the sitting room."
"What about my bedroom?"
"What about your bedroom? Isn't it mythical?"
"I have a bedroom. It has a floor on which you can lie and be out of my pacing path."
"...You know, I think I'd rather risk you kicking me in the head."
"What? Why?"
"Your bedroom floor? Is it visible?"
"Yes. Mostly. I think. Does it matter?"
"A bit, yeah, as lying flat on my back usually requires what I'm lying on to be flat as well and not covered with bundles of newspaper and bits of interestingly shattered glass."
"That's in the kitchen."
"So is your floor clear then?"
"I can make it clear. You can lie on the floor in my room in perfect tranquility, and I can pace unimpeded."
"... There's nothing living in your bedroom is there?"
"No."
"Formerly living?"
"...No?"
"Let's hope then. Nothing disturbing under the bed?"
"Why on earth should you care what's under my bed."
"I'm going to spend the next several hours staring at it while I'm lying on the floor, more than likely."
"Ah. Yes. Well. I'll check."
"No noxious chemicals in the carpeting?"
"My room is fine, John. It's not a torture chamber or a tip."
"Really."
"...I'll go clear the floor."
"I'll start trying to stand. That should give you most of an hour to clear up."
-
PROMPT: [Graphic. Reposted under cut.]
Rating/Warning: Gen, PG-13. Mild lewdness used as a deterrent against a sibling, dialog.
"I've found your camera, Mycroft. Very clever, wiring it into the mains so I can't disconnect it myself without blacking out half the street. Turn it off."
"Why would I do that?"
"I can make you turn it off."
"I don't really think- What are you doing?"
"Can't a man undulate in the privacy of his own flat? Or the hypothetical privacy of his own flat?"
"You're being childish."
"Isn't it warm today! Hm. I do believe my privates could use a good airing-"
"I'll switch it off!"
"Good."
"If you get attacked by another ninja assassin, you'll have to deal with it yourself."
"I look forward to it."
-
PROMPT: Alternately, were-sheep John would be hilarious.
Rating/Warning: Gen, PG. Graphic. Pun. ACD reference. CRACK.
I'm so sorry. It wouldn't leave me alone.
- - -
(And that's it. The rest can stay anonymous in the wilds of the meme.)