Inbetween [1/3]
anonymous
July 30 2010, 12:51:55 UTC
Sorry, I couldn't quite get Sherlock close enough to do any head-butting. (Verbal head-butting, though, they do in spades. Always.) Hope it works for you despite that.
--
“I brought you a cup of tea.”
John dragged himself up to rest on his elbows, blinking blearily in the bright light from the landing that now fell directly across his face, and tried to work out what was wrong. Not the nightmares, not having woken drenched in sweat with blood behind his eyes - that was normal enough, although it was the first time in this house, in this bed. He had probably made half a grab towards the bedside table, also, the one that was too far away, where his revolver so pointedly wasn’t: so far, so normal
( ... )
Re: Inbetween [2/3]
anonymous
July 30 2010, 12:56:02 UTC
John stared at the mug of tepid liquid for a while, and then limped across the corridor - damn leg, never responded well to a nightmare - to the bathroom. He was limping back again when there was a tremendous crash from the kitchen, followed by an excitable volley of cursing
( ... )
Re: Inbetween [3/3]
anonymous
July 30 2010, 12:58:55 UTC
“I’m your flatmate, my dear John, not your landlady,” They both laughed for a moment, giggling like schoolboys, although when Sherlock came out with his second attempt at tea in his hand, he gave John a very careful look that the latter found even more uncomfortable than the one to which he had awoken.
“Stop trying to be perceptive at two fifty-three -“
“I’m always perceptive, I refuse to stop, and it’s two fifty-four -”
“Whatever, and don’t mind me, just go back to what you were doing. I shan’t disturb you now. Oh, and thanks for.” He lifted his mug in salute, shook out the paper, and settled back, pausing after a few seconds and glancing up to find Sherlock still staring at him. “Well?” he said.
“The tea,” Sherlock prompted.
“Is hot,” said John irritably, “so unless you want me to burn my mouth you will have to wait until it is three o’clock - or thereabouts,” he added quickly. He wasn’t sure if it was easier or harder to deal with Sherlock when he was awake or half-asleep, or whether feeling perfectly comfortable right here,
( ... )
Re: Inbetween [3/3]
anonymous
August 1 2010, 00:58:53 UTC
Thank you! Glad you liked.
(I'm sure in his mind tea has always arrived ready-formed, and the hows of making it just never interested him. I have my suspicions as to exactly what he did, but perhaps that'll have to be another fic ;)
Re: Inbetween [3/3]alone_dreamingSeptember 2 2010, 21:45:57 UTC
Absolutely, amazingly, indescribably perfect.
You've got the characterizations just right. I can see Holmes flailing about the flat looking distinctively frazzled about tea. Honestly, I'm not exactly sure he understands how to make tea. Probably hopes that if he puts the water and the leaves next to each other, they'll procreate.
--
“I brought you a cup of tea.”
John dragged himself up to rest on his elbows, blinking blearily in the bright light from the landing that now fell directly across his face, and tried to work out what was wrong. Not the nightmares, not having woken drenched in sweat with blood behind his eyes - that was normal enough, although it was the first time in this house, in this bed. He had probably made half a grab towards the bedside table, also, the one that was too far away, where his revolver so pointedly wasn’t: so far, so normal ( ... )
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“Stop trying to be perceptive at two fifty-three -“
“I’m always perceptive, I refuse to stop, and it’s two fifty-four -”
“Whatever, and don’t mind me, just go back to what you were doing. I shan’t disturb you now. Oh, and thanks for.” He lifted his mug in salute, shook out the paper, and settled back, pausing after a few seconds and glancing up to find Sherlock still staring at him. “Well?” he said.
“The tea,” Sherlock prompted.
“Is hot,” said John irritably, “so unless you want me to burn my mouth you will have to wait until it is three o’clock - or thereabouts,” he added quickly. He wasn’t sure if it was easier or harder to deal with Sherlock when he was awake or half-asleep, or whether feeling perfectly comfortable right here, ( ... )
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(I'm sure in his mind tea has always arrived ready-formed, and the hows of making it just never interested him. I have my suspicions as to exactly what he did, but perhaps that'll have to be another fic ;)
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“But then how would you be an Englishman, John? Taking your tea without milk.”
“I’d be an Englishman drinking tea at three o’clock in the morning when there isn’t any milk.”
XD;;;
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You've got the characterizations just right. I can see Holmes flailing about the flat looking distinctively frazzled about tea. Honestly, I'm not exactly sure he understands how to make tea. Probably hopes that if he puts the water and the leaves next to each other, they'll procreate.
:) So wonderful. Love it.
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