zOMG JOHN'S A TREE!ext_341334January 16 2011, 22:08:10 UTC
So... In the second part of this fic, John is contemplating what it would be like to turn into a tree.
Based off of this, I now have a mental image of John turning into a tree because he's just sick of things, and Sherlock being all like "Oh noez! Thees ees worse than mai skull!" Because he cannot take the John!Tree around to crime scenes with him.
Yeah... >__>
Anywooz, I would adore it if John had a moment of weakness while the coppers (L/SD/A because I think they are adorable as friends of SH/JW) and Sherlock (and, by extension, John) are chasing a bad guy, and get's depressed, turning into a tree. (Maybe the bad guy/gal talks at him, bringing up his failures?)
Sherlock manages to get the tree to Baker Street (Mycroft), and talks to it. Constantly.
Bonus points if John becomes human, and he feels 'healed' because of TREE POWER!*
*Or, ya know, the fact that there are people who care for him- Sherlock. Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, Sarah, Clara, Anthea, Mycroft, Moran, Molly, Anderson, Donovan.... They all come talk to him while he'
( ... )
Re: Filled - What is this I don't even...blacktabletJanuary 23 2011, 23:57:40 UTC
Oh. Oh, that was. *hugs it to heart and smiles happily* That was really, really beautiful, and in so few words too. Wonderful work; I especially loved the ending.
Re: zOMG JOHN'S A TREE!kikainausagiMarch 5 2011, 04:41:08 UTC
Er. So, I may have two thirds of a story written about this prompt... except that I kind of ignored everything except the "John turns into a tree" bit. There's implied Sherlock-angst? And it's not really crack at all? (Well, except the tree bit. Let's just call it magical realism.) I'll post it anyway, even though it diverges rather sharply from your original idea.
(Captcha says "Badmi this" which is... scarily accurate. Yes, Mycroft, I am apologizing. XD)
Fill: Quercus robur [1/3]kikainausagiMarch 5 2011, 06:44:12 UTC
You can also just read this over at my journal. The poem is "The Oak" by Alfred, Lord Tennyson.
Live thy Life, Young and old, Like yon oak, Bright in spring, Living gold;
The first time it happens, one morning in early spring, it is entirely by accident.
John is jogging along, keeping up with Sherlock's long-legged stride; Sherlock muttering wildly about something related to the case, John shivering and regretting his decision not to wear a jumper. It ought to be warm - the sun is out and shining brightly, but the light is pale and anemic and there is a biting wind that steals all warmth. They are somewhere in the north-east of Hampstead Heath, and, judging from the chain link fence posted all over with "Trespassers Will Be Prosecuted" signs, somewhere they are not supposed to be. Business as usual, then, John thinks, tucking his hands deeper into his pockets.
Sherlock holds up one hand - stop - and John does. For a moment, sheltered from the wind by a ruined, moss-grown wall, John can feel the sunlight seeping warm and
( ... )
Re: Fill: Quercus robur [1b]kikainausagiMarch 5 2011, 06:46:26 UTC
Oh hey, look at that html fail. *headdesk*Being a tree, John discovers, is really quite nice. It is a calm, quiet sort of existence - during the day, he basks in the sunlight, and at night, listens to the owls in his branches singing to the moon. There is no stress, no worrying about the rent or the chip-and-pin machines, no psychosomatic limp, no aching shoulder, no trembling hand
( ... )
Re: Fill: Quercus robur [1c]cuddlyinsaneMarch 5 2011, 07:50:23 UTC
irk? one of my cats (i has two), no matter what time, or who it is, will promptly seat his happy-self into a preson's lap while they are watching the t.v., and insist that you pet him while he purrs like a motorboat.
Based off of this, I now have a mental image of John turning into a tree because he's just sick of things, and Sherlock being all like "Oh noez! Thees ees worse than mai skull!" Because he cannot take the John!Tree around to crime scenes with him.
Yeah... >__>
Anywooz, I would adore it if John had a moment of weakness while the coppers (L/SD/A because I think they are adorable as friends of SH/JW) and Sherlock (and, by extension, John) are chasing a bad guy, and get's depressed, turning into a tree. (Maybe the bad guy/gal talks at him, bringing up his failures?)
Sherlock manages to get the tree to Baker Street (Mycroft), and talks to it. Constantly.
Bonus points if John becomes human, and he feels 'healed' because of TREE POWER!*
*Or, ya know, the fact that there are people who care for him- Sherlock. Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, Sarah, Clara, Anthea, Mycroft, Moran, Molly, Anderson, Donovan.... They all come talk to him while he' ( ... )
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So glad you liked it!
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Thanks!
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This is your brain on KINK MEME.
That's what this is. ^___________^
Mycroft says: "dichles artistic".
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wut.
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(Captcha says "Badmi this" which is... scarily accurate. Yes, Mycroft, I am apologizing. XD)
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*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･'(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*
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Live thy Life,
Young and old,
Like yon oak,
Bright in spring,
Living gold;
The first time it happens, one morning in early spring, it is entirely by accident.
John is jogging along, keeping up with Sherlock's long-legged stride; Sherlock muttering wildly about something related to the case, John shivering and regretting his decision not to wear a jumper. It ought to be warm - the sun is out and shining brightly, but the light is pale and anemic and there is a biting wind that steals all warmth. They are somewhere in the north-east of Hampstead Heath, and, judging from the chain link fence posted all over with "Trespassers Will Be Prosecuted" signs, somewhere they are not supposed to be. Business as usual, then, John thinks, tucking his hands deeper into his pockets.
Sherlock holds up one hand - stop - and John does. For a moment, sheltered from the wind by a ruined, moss-grown wall, John can feel the sunlight seeping warm and ( ... )
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before John has one of his completely illogical fits
Yes, because turning into an oak tree is a completely logical fit!
Yay Heart of Oak reference! And the cat!
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Keeping newts in the bathtub is also completely logical. Just ask Sherlock.
The cat is kind of my family's late kitty. He was entirely sure all laps everywhere were his.
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