Sherlock Fanfic: A Measure of Revenge (JWP #24)
Title: A Measure of Revenge
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Alternate Postings: AO3
Rating/Content: PG13, silliness, minor Sherlock whump
Warnings: none
Word Count: 260
Disclaimer: Not my world.
Notes: Written for watsons_woes July Writing Prompt #24: Quote for the Day. "Use [a specific quote] at the beginning, middle or end today." Quick and silly. Horribly pretentious title misquoted from Henry VI.
Summary: Household accidents are quite common in general, but their frequency in 221B Baker Street might skew the statistics a little.
A Measure of Revenge
The lamp in John's room flickered along with the charge indicator on his laptop. He glanced at the lamp, wondering if there was an imminent power cut, but then a yelp came from the kitchen. John's internal 'emergency/triage maths processor' came online then, adding 'flickering lights' to 'Sherlock yelping' and getting 'what's he done to himself now' just as John burst through the door of his room and rattled down the stairs to the kitchen.
"Sherlock?" he said, looking around the seemingly empty and dark room. The fuse must have blown. Their poor beleaguered 'for science only' kettle lay on its side on the counter, dribbling and smoking.
A groan came from the floor. John dashed around the table to see Sherlock laying on the floor.
"Sherlock!" John knelt beside his flatmate, examining him for injuries. Slight burn on his hand, hair far floofier than usual. Pulse tachycardic and a little arrythmic but coming down to within normal range even as John took Sherlock's pulse.
Sherlock grunted and squinted down at John's fingers at his wrist. "Why are you holding my hand?" he mumbled.
"I'm taking your pulse, you berk," John said, keeping his fingers on Sherlock's wrist. "I warned you that the things you do to that kettle are not the things it was designed for. Kettle's taken its revenge on you now."
"Revenge? What?" Sherlock tried to lever himself upright.
John put his other hand on Sherlock's chest and pushed him back to the floor. "Lay still! You'll live, but you've had a bad shock."
Sherlock snorted and said, "Nothing shocks me, I'm a scientist," before passing out.
-.-.-
(that's it)
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Alternate Postings: AO3
Rating/Content: PG13, silliness, minor Sherlock whump
Warnings: none
Word Count: 260
Disclaimer: Not my world.
Notes: Written for watsons_woes July Writing Prompt #24: Quote for the Day. "Use [a specific quote] at the beginning, middle or end today." Quick and silly. Horribly pretentious title misquoted from Henry VI.
Summary: Household accidents are quite common in general, but their frequency in 221B Baker Street might skew the statistics a little.
A Measure of Revenge
The lamp in John's room flickered along with the charge indicator on his laptop. He glanced at the lamp, wondering if there was an imminent power cut, but then a yelp came from the kitchen. John's internal 'emergency/triage maths processor' came online then, adding 'flickering lights' to 'Sherlock yelping' and getting 'what's he done to himself now' just as John burst through the door of his room and rattled down the stairs to the kitchen.
"Sherlock?" he said, looking around the seemingly empty and dark room. The fuse must have blown. Their poor beleaguered 'for science only' kettle lay on its side on the counter, dribbling and smoking.
A groan came from the floor. John dashed around the table to see Sherlock laying on the floor.
"Sherlock!" John knelt beside his flatmate, examining him for injuries. Slight burn on his hand, hair far floofier than usual. Pulse tachycardic and a little arrythmic but coming down to within normal range even as John took Sherlock's pulse.
Sherlock grunted and squinted down at John's fingers at his wrist. "Why are you holding my hand?" he mumbled.
"I'm taking your pulse, you berk," John said, keeping his fingers on Sherlock's wrist. "I warned you that the things you do to that kettle are not the things it was designed for. Kettle's taken its revenge on you now."
"Revenge? What?" Sherlock tried to lever himself upright.
John put his other hand on Sherlock's chest and pushed him back to the floor. "Lay still! You'll live, but you've had a bad shock."
Sherlock snorted and said, "Nothing shocks me, I'm a scientist," before passing out.
-.-.-
(that's it)