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22 December 2011 @ 12:38 pm
Sherlock BBC | John, Sherlock, Moriarty, Moran, Mycroft, Lestrade, Donovan, Sarah, OC's | PG-13 | disclaimer: the show and the characters aren't mine

A series of unrelated drabbles I wrote to try and get me back into writing. Mostly cracky, but there's some angst and fluff in there too.  Thanks to lizzledpink , lillyankh  and sciosophia  for their wonderful prompts.

Prompt: Pool

I can’t see. There’s dust everywhere; rubble everywhere. I search with my free hand – maybe, just maybe...There! A finger, a hand, a wrist...a pulse. I exhale in relief. Now to wait. I don’t let go of that pulse.

~ ~ ~

Prompt: Infestation of vampire rabbits

That’s not possible. It’s the very definition of impossible, surely? He can’t deny his own eyes. Senses are known to lie, but judging by the others’ expressions they see what he sees. The flat is filled with white, cotton-tailed rabbits; with white, cotton-tailed rabbits with fangs dripping blood. Anderson laughs and he can’t think of a witty retort. The world isn’t the same any more – an infestation of vampire rabbits.

“Probably beyond the RSPCA,” John says.

~ ~ ~

Prompt: Undercover costume party

John feels like an idiot. Fancy dress was never his thing; a tuxedo was bad enough. Sherlock insisted he just use his old army uniform, but that felt wrong on so many levels. His old army gear shouldn’t be cheapened by parties like this. So here he is dressed in a cowboy’s outfit, stetson and all. He feels like a fool. And where the hell is Sherlock? This is his case, after all; shouldn’t he be dressed up like a prat as well? It’s only then that he notices the person on the opposite side of the room – the person in the high heels and floaty red dress; the person with a suspiciously black, curly haired bob.

John mutters darkly about the bastard being able to pull off anything as he meanders his way across the room. He’ll take photos – oh there will be lots and lots of photos. He’ll send them to Mycroft. It’s the first real smile John’s had all evening.

~ ~ ~


He’s too late. His fucking leg was playing up and now he’s too late. Not too late to see them both go over; no, that would give him hope. Sherlock doesn’t do hope. He peers over the edge – it’s a long way down; too long a way down. Unsurvivable. He should feel grief, sadness; surely he should be crying? Why does he only feel empty? Why does he only feel pain?

There’s a gentle touch on his shoulder.

“Long way down.”

John spins round and punches Sherlock in the jaw.

“I thought you’d fucking died!”

“I thought you’d seen Indianna Jones and the Last Crusade? Useful film choice, that one. I may have to watch more of these films of yours.” With that he leaves John alone at the edge of the waterfall. John makes a note to remind Sherlock of the boy who cried wolf.

~ ~ ~

Prompt: California



“We’re going to California.”

“May I ask why?”

“You may and I may not answer.” To admit he just wanted a break from central Europe really wasn’t the reason a criminal mastermind would give for a sudden trip to California. In truth he’d noticed he was looking rather pale lately. A bit of sun, that’s all they needed.

Moran could come too. He could even do target practice legally over there. He’d have to swap the corpses for paper cut-outs, but we all have to make sacrifices. Sun, sea and sand with the odd designer suit shopping trip thrown in – it sounded like the perfect break from Sherlock’s incessant investigating. Really, some people just didn’t see the fun-side of a bomb threat these days.

“Start packing.”

~ ~ ~

Prompt: An object has suddenly and inexplicably turned blue

“What did you do to it?”

“Nothing! I told you, I came downstairs and it was like that. I swear I did not touch it. I know how much it means to you.”

Mycroft looked forlornly at the object in question. Lestrade had no reason to lie to him – he knew if he did lie Mycroft would just find him out anyway.

“I’m going to be laughed out of my own office. Look at it!”

“I kind of like it. Brings out your eyes.” Mycroft just glared at him. With a sigh he snatched up the hideously blue object and marched out the front door. His assistant’s first job of the day would be to find him a replacement umbrella – one that wouldn’t unexpectedly turn blue.

At 221B Sherlock enjoyed a celebratory dim sum with John over a job well done.

~ ~ ~

Prompt: Romantic declarations of love at the wrong time

So far things hadn’t gone as badly as John thought they would. Sure, Sherlock had been moaning about it for weeks beforehand but the examination itself had actually been rather stress free. The prostate exam, on the other hand, was bound to be anything but. John was a professional – he’d done prostate exams before; knew there was nothing to be embarrassed about, but he’d never had a patient like Sherlock Holmes. Best to get it over with – the sooner it was done the sooner they could move on, John could sign off on his medical examination and they’d go back to normal. Of course nothing with Sherlock could ever be so simple.

They were halfway through the examination – John’s latexed, well lubricated finger still in a rather intimate area of Sherlock’s anatomy – when out of nowhere Sherlock simply said

“John, I think I love you.”

John was positive he was never going to do another prostate exam for as long as he lived.

~ ~ ~

Prompt: John, Sherlock, Mycroft, a small child and a paintbrush

“I thought I asked for help painting the drawing room?”

Three grown men looked guiltily around the room, shuffling their feet. Contrarily, the seven year old girl standing amongst them had a massive grin on her face, paintbrush still in hand.

Someone – Merissa suspected a collaborative effort, but with Sherlock as the main overseer – had smeared paint across Mycroft’s forehead and overalls. In what had most likely been retaliation, both Sherlock and John were also covered head to toe in paint, white paint specks now decorating their hair. Little Katrina had somehow managed to come out of it all relatively unmarked – whether that was due to her size or the grown men’s sense of chivalry she could only guess.

“Look, Grandmummy,” Katrina cried, painting John’s, Sherlock’s and Mycroft’s shoes with her brush before adding the last drops to her own cheeks.

“One afternoon,” she said to Sherlock and, by way of association, John. “I asked you to supervise her for one afternoon so you could help her paint the room not yourselves. And you,” she rounded on Mycroft. “You’re her father. What kind of behaviour is this to teach a child?”

“Sorry, Mummy.” The apology came from two mouths. John just stood in mute acknowledgement of the reprimand.

“Come along Katrina, let’s tidy you up. The rest of you clean up this mess.” With that she swept from the room, a delighted Katrina skipping at her side.

~ ~ ~

Prompt: Sally/Sherlock (this one didn’t quite follow the prompt)

It had been a mistake. She knew that now; if she was honest with herself she knew it back then as well. She always seemed to end up with the wrong man – there had been Sherlock and now there was Anderson. Both of them married to others (even if Sherlock’s better half wasn’t a person), both of them lacking the emotional attachment she so craved. All she wanted was someone who cared about her, for her; that she wouldn’t have to return home to an empty flat; fridge filled with leftover take away every day. It didn’t seem like too much to ask.

There was no way to know what her future held. No way to see the beautiful, dark-haired man who would one day be suspected of manslaughter; who would one day be cleared of all charges. No way to see the beautiful boy she drove to school each morning and saw every evening when she came home from work. There was no way to know that the lessons she’d learned from Sherlock, from Anderson, would one day lead to this. There was no way to know that one day she would have everything, but still Sally Donovan dreamed.

~ ~ ~

Prompt: Sherlock/Sarah; Sherlock is surprised; “you look lovely”

Sherlock walked out in his bespoke tuxedo, John two paces behind in his own tux. Sherlock hated formal events such as this, but there was no way around it when he had a case to solve. Scanning the room for his suspect his gaze fell on the woman confidently striding towards them. She wore a floor length, deep blue dress which showed off her figure beautifully; her mousey brown hair was artfully tousled and draped across one shoulder. He recognised her and so did John.

“Sarah.” John greeted her with a smile. “I’ll go get us some drinks.” With that he headed over to the bar leaving the two of them alone.

“Any progress with the case?” Sarah asked.

“You look lovely,” Sherlock blurted out. Sarah blushed and fingered her hair, embarrassed.

“Oh, um, thank you.” She smiled. “You know, John might be a while with those drinks.” Sherlock looked over at the bar and saw the mass of people crowding around the bar. “Would you like a dance to pass the time?”

Sherlock just nodded and followed her out onto the dancefloor.