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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.

Comments

fengirl88
Apr. 4th, 2011 01:24 pm (UTC)
Milk


It's a mystery John can't solve. One of many. They're always out of milk these days, even though Sherlock takes his coffee black, two sugars, and his tea with lemon. Can't work out for the life of him what Sherlock is doing with it, though he must be up to something. Experiments, probably. John groans.

Life with Sherlock is a hell of a lot more fun than life on his own. Though that wouldn't be hard. Before he met Sherlock he was staring at the walls. Trying not to start climbing the walls. Trying not to think about the gun in the drawer. Now life is full of adrenalin highs and chases and all manner of craziness, and he loves it. More than he should, probably.

But sometimes – just sometimes – he'd like a bit of normality. Like there to be milk in the fridge when he gets home from work dying for a cup of tea.

He's back earlier than expected today – the last patient of the day had rung earlier to cancel her double appointment – and he's about to call out to Sherlock when he hears him talking to someone. Talking in a way Sherlock never does, with a caressing note in his voice that makes John's gut clench with jealousy. Not good. None of his business. Sherlock had made it perfectly clear he wasn't interested in John, the first time they had dinner at Angelo's, when John made such a fool of himself he still goes hot and cold all over when he remembers it. John, I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work and while I'm flattered by your interest...

Sounds like he's cheating on his work now, though.

“So gorgeous, aren't you, look at you lying there.”

Oh bloody hell. Trust Sherlock to have no sense of boundaries about where he has sex. Couldn't he just have dragged her off to his bedroom?

If it is a her. Might be a him, and somehow that feels worse. Which makes no sense at all.

John wrenches the door open and strides into the sitting-room, prepared to start shouting the odds. But the bitter reproaches and accusations vanish into thin air at the sight that meets his eyes.

Sherlock is sprawled on the sofa in his dressing-gown, a look of pure bliss on his face. And lying on his chest, purring loudly, is the little tortoiseshell cat from next door. An almost empty bowl on the coffee-table reveals at a glance the solution to the mystery of the disappearing milk.

Or at least a partial solution – this little creature can't possibly account for all the milk that goes missing. John wonders how many cats Sherlock is running and whether they know about each other, or whether it's like the pink lady and her string of lovers.

He shouldn't laugh, but he can't help himself. It's partly relief, and isn't that ridiculous, because really what concern is it of his if Sherlock –

Oh, right.

Just time to think Watson you bloody fool before Sherlock looks up, startled, and says accusingly “You're back early.”

“I know,” John says, and finds he's grinning idiotically all of a sudden. “Sorry to interrupt – I didn't realize you had company.”
fengirl88
Apr. 4th, 2011 01:30 pm (UTC)
Re: Milk

The little cat gives him an offended look, stretches itself and climbs down from Sherlock's chest, then jumps up onto the window sill and out through the open window

“Fuck!” John shouts in alarm, rushing over to peer out after it.

“It's all right,” Sherlock says, “she always does that. It's how she prefers to come and go.”

“Sherlock,” John says, not sure whether to laugh or shake him or possibly both, “how long has this been going on?”

Sherlock shuffles guiltily and says “Three weeks.”

“You could just have said you'd like us to get a cat,” John says.

That didn't come out quite the way he meant it to.

“That would be absurd,” Sherlock says defensively. “Anyway, it's perfectly obvious that you prefer dogs.”

“True enough,” John says, though he doesn't know how Sherlock worked that one out.

Should have known he'd be a cat person, he's so like one himself.

He wonders why Sherlock is looking at him like that.

“Doesn't mean we – you – couldn't have a cat,” John says. “I don't mind cats, quite like them really.”

Oh stop babbling, Watson.

Sherlock gets up off the sofa and takes a step towards him. He looks vulnerable, confused, the way John had thought he looked for a moment that night at Angelo's.

If John's wrong about it this time, it's going to be seriously awkward.

But doing stupid, reckless things seems to be in his DNA.

He twines his shaking hand in Sherlock's hair and pulls him down so he can reach his mouth. It's a clumsy kiss, a clash of lips and teeth and the angles are all wrong, but Sherlock is kissing him back, oh god, and it's the best thing ever.

Until the second kiss, which is even better.

Out of the corner of his eye John sees the little cat appear on the windowsill again. She takes one look at what's going on and turns away in disgust.

He'll make it up to her another time. Has to be worth at least a new cat toy.

He wants them to be on good terms if they're going to be sharing Sherlock, after all.

His last coherent thought, as Sherlock starts unbuttoning his shirt, is Must buy more milk.

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