Prompting Part XXIX

[sherlockbbc_fic]

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Comments

[anonymous]

I'd love to see a version of Pregnant! Fem!John, where she actually gets sent home from the army for being, erm, in a family way. No rape, please.

Bonus: it's early on in the pregnancy and she's on showing yet, so even Sherlock doesn't realize right away.

RTYIs most welcome. ^_^

[imagination_sta]

Fill: At Right Angles (1a/?)

[anonymous]

Sorry for general WIP-ness and sucky quality of this fill. Also, Molly's a bit OOC...but I figure it's AU anyway, so what the hell...It was only three days late. Three days, but she’d been as regular as clockwork since the age of fifteen. And anyway, it was easy enough for a doctor like her to sneak a test kit from the medical storeroom-there were always plenty to be had. Pregnancy was one complaint they rarely had to deal with in the tiny camp hospital

Fill: At Right Angles (1b/?)

[anonymous]

He pushed open the door leading to a brightly lit lab, full of state-of-the-art equipment. Joan barely stopped herself from whistling as she took in gleaming post mortem tables, ventilated formulin mixing unit, and stainless steel dissecting benches. There was even an overhead projector, presumably for teaching purposes, and a bunch of brand-new electronic apparatus she didn’t recognize from her days as a student. “Bit different from my day,” she commented, stepping inside

Fill: At Right Angles (1c/?)

[anonymous]

“Er…thanks,” Joan said uncertainly

[imagination_sta]

a!a

[anonymous]

Thank you! I hope you like the next bit :)

Fill: At Right Angles (2a/?)

[anonymous]

Joan didn’t see Sherlock again for another several days, and when she did it was entirely by accident-on his part, at least. She was fairly sure he’d gone out of his way to stay away from her up until then

Fill: At Right Angles (2b/?)

[anonymous]

She moved to the opposite side of the table, so the body lay between herself and Sherlock. It was a woman, a few years younger than herself, with dyed blonde hair and a slender build. Unwillingly, she looked down at the woman’s fingernails. She could see what Sherlock meant: the woman’s thin, tapered fingertips were tinted a dark blue-purple, indicating circulation failure and advanced oxygen deprivation before death-a known side effect of some drugs and strong painkillers, but certainly not the only explanation.

When she looked up again, Sherlock was watching her. “What?”

“What’s your opinion, doctor?” he asked.

She frowned at him. “Of?”

“The body.” Another eyeroll. “You are a licensed medical professional, are you not

Fill: At Right Angles (2c/?)

[anonymous]

“Do you know if she takes any medicines regularly?” Joan asked, struggling to follow the detective’s garbled explanation. “If there was a change in her normal regime

Re: Fill: At Right Angles (2c/?)

[anonymous]

But it's never lupus!

Joking aside, I'm looking forward to more of this. I don't know if I was relieved or disappointed that Molly's husband was Greg and not Jim from IT. Probably the former.

a!a

[anonymous]

Woohoo, love House. ^_^

So glad you're liking it! Yeah, I'm not sure if I'm going to bring Moriarty into the story...I think Joan's got enough on her plate as it is, but we'll see...

Fill: At Right Angles (3a/?)

[anonymous]

After that, Joan saw Sherlock nearly everyday. He was never predictable, and always turned up at the most inconvenient moments. He would come in late in the evening, when Molly had already gone home, or in the middle of a staff meeting, or during lunch hour. And he pestered her with texts constantly: What’s the average fluid intake of a 22-year-old adult male? How many muscles do cats have in each ear? How much fentanyl would it take to kill a 68kg woman? He even texted her over the weekend, asking her to come in and open up the lab for him. Its Sunday. The morgue is closed on Sunday, she texted back.

That’s why I’m texting you. SH

i don’t work on Sundays.

People die on Sundays too. SH

It’s not like theyre going anywhere.

But she got up and went to Bart’s anyway. “This better be a damn serious emergency,” Joan grumbled when she arrived at the employee’s entrance at the back of the hospital to find Sherlock already waiting. “Midsomer Murders was on

Fill: At Right Angles (3b/?)

[anonymous]

Joan had gotten so used to Sherlock’s company, that when her mobile rang much later that night she groaned into her pillow and lifted the mobile to her ear without hesitation.

“Goddammit Sherlock, it’s one o’clock in the morning, what do you want?”

“Uh…Joan?”

Joan sat up. The hesitant voice on the other end of the line wasn’t Sherlock. Come to think of it, he always texted, never called. “Bill?”

“Sorry to wake you,” Bill said apologetically. “I know it’s late, but I needed to talk to you.”

He was speaking in hushed tones, like he was trying not to wake someone up. Three guesses who, Joan thought grimly. And there’s no need for the first two. “I thought we went over this,” she replied instead, sighing

Fill: At Right Angles (3c/?)

[anonymous]

“Yeah.” That was exactly the thought that had been running through her mind back then, as she’d stared down at that ominous little pink cross. You’re getting old. This might be your only chance.“Thanks

Re: Fill: At Right Angles (3c/?)

[thispe]

Brilliant, love it. Can't wait for more <-shameless hint