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Writing Meme

Meme stolen from capt_spork and suzie_shooter (which probably means I should post this twice but I'm not going to...).

The first TEN people to comment get to request that I write a drabble/ficlet on any Sherlock pairing/character of their choosing.*

In return, they have to post this in their journal, regardless of their ability level.**

(1)  suzie_shooter Sherlock/Lestrade    Coffee
(2)  kalypso_v   Harry/Sarah with a side order of horrified!John Water
(3) capt_spork    Sherlock/Lestrade or just Lestrade   Sauce
(4) bedamn   Harry/Clara  Juice
(5)  blooms84    John  Tea
(6) misanthropyray   dark!Sherlock/John  Absinthe
(7) shehasathree Sherlock/John or John+Sherlock  Milk
(8) the_thinktank   John/Lestrade Barack
(9) ginbitch   Lestrade/Maurice  Madeira
(10) stellary Mycroft/Lestrade  Pop

* it has to be Sherlock because I don't write in any other fandom - but yes, you can ask for Lestrade/Maurice, or for characters mentioned but not yet seen (e.g. Harry, Clara).

**except that I am doing the suzie_shooter variation on the meme, in which this is not compulsory.


Mar. 13th, 2011 01:41 am (UTC)

“Just an orange juice for me,” Harry says, glowing with virtue.

And the band played Believe It If You Like, Clara thinks stonily.

Harry's face falls. “You never let up, do you?”

“What?” Clara says. “I'm supposed to fall on your neck now just because you ask for orange juice?”

She's been here too often before. Even when she couldn't work out where the vodka was stashed, she knew it was there. She'd taken a swig once from Harry's glass by mistake, spent the next minute and a half choking. Harry always did like it strong.

Which at first had seemed just part of that larger than life quality she had. Irresistible, till you find out the hard way what it means.

She remembers that description of the drinker's smile that made her think of Harry: that fire-exit smile ... absolving and untouchable and tenderly alight. Bloody good novel, but she hadn't been able to finish reading it. She'll go back to it another time. Maybe.

It's all so shiny and glorious at the start –

the flood of excitement, soaking everything, incredible, inexhaustible, the grip of Harry's thighs around her neck squeezing the life out of her

till one day you find there's no air left and no space to move in and you don't understand when your life became a trap.

You hope against hope that the good times will come back, if only you could do the right thing. But there is no right thing, only a narrowing array of bad choices.

She doesn't understand even now why she couldn't walk away. Why she had to wait to be left, had to accept Harry's rejection and blame as the price of her escape. All she knows is that she's not going back.

If that is what Harry wants. Clara's still not sure why she wanted to meet.

“I've been clean for months now,” Harry says.

“Congratulations,” Clara says, trying not to sound sarcastic.

(Don't think about what Luke said about the drying-out clinic: people will do anything rather than change, they will literally die rather than change.)

“I'm seeing someone,” Harry blurts out.


“Yes?” Clara says, as neutrally as she can. She's not going to ask for details; just hopes she can escape without them.

“It's Sarah,” Harry says.

Clara runs through the faces of friends and acquaintances in her head, but nothing matches the name.


Harry looks uncomfortable. “Sarah Sawyer. John's ... colleague.”

John's ex-girlfriend. Running true to form there, then.

The effort of not saying it means she's silent too long: she sees Harry's face crumple with hurt.

“You just can't be pleased for me, can you?” Harry says. “Because it didn't work out with us you don't want me to be happy with someone else.”

“Oh, Harry–” But it's too late.

"I don't know why I bothered," Harry says venomously. “You have never known how to love. Never.”

Orange juice is stickier than wine, Clara thinks, watching the liquid run down Harry's face. She puts Harry's empty glass carefully back down on the table and picks up her coat and handbag.

“Goodbye, Harry,” she says, getting up to go. “Goodbye, and good luck.”

Edited at 2011-03-13 01:44 am (UTC)
Mar. 13th, 2011 09:28 pm (UTC)
Re: Juice
GAH! This is amazing writing - dark and tight and intensely painful to read. You do write the most amazing angst you know? I love the image of the sticky juice at the end and dear God, lines like this:

till one day you find there's no air left and no space to move in and you don't understand when your life became a trap.


*creeps under her shock blanket*
Mar. 13th, 2011 09:41 pm (UTC)
Re: Juice
thank you so much! as you know, I was very unsure about this one, so I'm really glad you liked it.

(sorry about the shock blanket!)
(Deleted comment)
Mar. 14th, 2011 12:44 am (UTC)
Re: Juice
oh thank you! yes, that belief is one I know too well. I had such doubts about this piece, but I'm reassured by your response as well as bedamn's and ginbitch's.


scallop voices


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