Koyaanisqatsi

Goodbye LJ

2013-01-01T06:05:43Z

This is the first post I've made on LJ in over a year and will be the last one I make here.

I post my fic on AO3.

Any journal posts I make are on DW.

I have let my paid LJ account expire which means I am subject once again to the ads :P

To keep my flist short for browsing I will be "defriending" anyone I already follow on AO3 or DW or elsewhere. Don't take it personally! Additionally, there are some who have moved into other fandoms that I don't participate in - I am sure you won't miss me!

Dreamwidth is free and ad-free; come join us if ever you get sick of LJ!

Aubreyad Fanart Icons

2012-01-29T05:51:46Z

Icons from some of our many talented Aubreyad artists!

Lots of slashy goodness and humour. Nothing too explicit, but not entirely safe for work, either (the last one is a 'stern view' of the boys :-)

Also note that some of the links to the full images from which the icons were taken may contain NSFW images as well. Click at your own risk! :D

By bbshrimp

From Advent Calendar 2011, Day 8

By johanirae

From Sketch

From Kiss me, Stephen

From Afternoon Siesta

By latin_cat

From TLOM

From Sun and Moon*

*alright, not technically Aubreyad, but close enough ;-)

By rosemarylane

From Distraction

By wicked_warrior aka steampunk_girl on deviantArt

From Sketch

From Paradise

From Afternoon Discovery

From Diana

Closeup:

What Jack sees when he looks at Diana:

From Trapped

From XXIX

From Two Tender

By tootsiemuppet

From Duetto

From Sleep...

From Sketch

From Jack at Sea

From Brigid

From Sketches

Stephen and Aspasia

Aspasia

Stephen and Potto

Exasperated

Stephen in wig

From Jack/Stephen/Diana		From Sunshine

From Sketches

First meeting

Debauchery

From Christmas Calendar 2010

Steampunk Jack

Jack in his bath

By jacquesmoineau

From Sketch

If you use any of these, please credit the artist (no need to credit me).

Collection of Sherlock Crack

2011-11-08T06:41:26Z

April may be the cruellest month but November's the most depressing.

Need cheering up? Here's a collection of all the random cracky ficlets and things I have left littered about the Sherlock fandom.

Some of these are pretty clear responses to prompts, but others have a more convoluted evolution. If you're curious, keep working up the parent thread, or else just ask ;-)

As always, comments (there or here) = :D :D :D

If a joke is told in a forest, and none of the trees fall down laughing, is it still funny?

From thegameison_sh:
Honey for Honey
On Souvenirs, Lack Thereof
Team Cute
Untitled, because I am crap at titles

From sherlockbbc_fic:
Gen
Ballet mini-fill mini sequel (mine's just the micro mini sequel :-)
Can't Write
Lighten up
Blogging for Science
Basic Astronomy
Wrong x5
Mycrepillar
Mycroft Always Wins

NSFW
angrysex with tea
OT3
ASIP quotes The first comment in this thread and many of the succeeding ones are not mine. The whole thread's hilarious - worth reading if you haven't yet. My comments are the ones titled: "The Great 'Gasm (lame contribution)"; "More TBB QUOTES" and "More TBB contributions".
Relax and Enjoy It
NSFW Picture Mycroft
Stamford's funeral

Brit Speak Cheat Sheet

2011-08-13T20:13:31Z

A language resource for Americans in British fandoms (such as Sherlock :-)

Brit Speak Cheat Sheet

The following is my attempt to track and remember to use the British equivalents for various terms and expressions that come up when writing fic in the Sherlock fandom. It is not anything like comprehensive and I expect there are plenty of mistakes. PLEASE HELP IMPROVE IT! Comment with additions, corrections, what-have-you. Rants, pet peeves, all welcome :-) Also links to anything like this that already exists.

Links:
sh_britglish
British to American
British slang
Americanisms
Britishisms
Explanation of doctors in the army in Britain:
Part 1
Part 2

links to more resources

Note: Many of the terms on the 'American' side are also used in Britain. They are listed to provide Americans other options for British terms.

American	English
General grammar/phrases
gotten	got
a couple things	a couple of things; a few things
(go to/at) the hospital	(go to/at) hospital (no 'the')
go do (something)	go and do (something); go to do (something); do something (leave out 'go')
On the weekend	at the weekend
Spelling/related words
-or (color, flavor, etc.)	-our (colour, flavour, etc.)
-ize (recognize, realize, etc.)	-ise (recognise,realise, etc.)
-er (center, theater)	-re (centre, theatre)
airplane	aeroplane
counterclockwise	anti-clockwise
program	programme
ad, advertisement	advert
ton	tonne
fetus	foetus
pedophile	paedophile
encyclopedia	encyclopaedia
pajamas	pyjamas
while	whilst or while
among	amongst or among
whine	whine or whinge
normalcy	normality
accounting	accountancy
Household/buildings
apartment	flat
studio	bedsit
projects	council estates
first floor	ground floor
second floor	first floor
driveway	carriageway
realtor	estate agent
for rent	to let
Kitchen
stove	hob
counter	work top
refrigerator	fridge
napkin	serviette
garbage	rubbish
trash can	bin
dumpster	skip
Bath
bathroom	loo
restroom	toilet, Ladies/Gents
washroom	cloakroom
toilet paper	loo roll, bog roll
bathtub	bath
washcloth	flannel
Tylenol, acetominophen	paracetamol
band-aid	plaster
Bedroom
nightstand	bedside table
comforter	duvet
closet	cupboard
linen closet	airing cupboard
crash	kip
crib	cot
Main
living room	sitting room
flashlight	torch
television	telly
tv show	programme
vacuuming	hoovering
advice column	agony
Dear Abby (advice columnist)	agony aunt
Clothing
sweater	jumper
pants	trousers
zipper	zip
fly	flies
vest	waistcoat
undershirt	vest
garters	suspenders
suspenders	braces
shorts (underwear)	pants
panties	knickers
sneakers	trainers
soccer cleats	football boots
cleats	studs
ballet flat	pump
pump	court shoe
custom-made, tailor-made	bespoke
Food
cookies	biscuits
candy	sweets
dessert	pudding
pudding	custard
french fries	chips
potato chips	crisps
pickles	gherkins
soda	pop
soda water	soda
Jello	jelly
jam, jelly	jam
pie: US usually sweet	UK usually meat
sausage	banger
eggplant	aubergine
expiration	expiry
Out and about/shopping/recreation
sidewalk	pavement
elevator	lift
call up	ring
cell phone	mobile
go shopping	go to the shops
convenience store	newsagents
stand in line	queue, stand on queue
bills (cash)	notes
store	shop
shopping cart	trolley
grocery bags	carrier bags
self-checkout	chip-and-PIN machine
ATM	cash point
bar	pub
movies	cinema
rain check	put off; postpone
bachelor party	stag do
bachelorette party	hen party
stroller	pram
fanny pack	bumbag
soccer	football
vacation	holiday
Transport
transportation	transport
public transit	public transport
subway	tube
cab	taxi
taxi driver	cabbie
driver's license	driving licence
hood	bonnet
trunk	boot
truck	lorry
gas	petrol
gas pedal	accelerator
blocks	[not used]
traffic circle	roundabout
highway, freeway	motorway (M-#)
State Route (highway)	A roads (A-###)
2-lane road	single carriageway
4-lane road	dual carriageway
driveway	drive
fire truck	fire engine
Medical
clinic	surgery
temp	locum
EMT	paramedic
ER (emergency room)	A&E (accident and emergency); casualty
911	999
psych file	psychiatrist's notes
psych eval	psychological evaluation
injured people	casualties
Planned Parenthood	Marie Stopes
private insurance	free: NHS; dental/optometry still cost
US public insurance: Medicare for the elderly, Medicaid for the poor
People
mom	mummy, mum
dude	bloke
buddy	mate
chick	bird
hot (good-looking)	fit
transient	rough sleeper
bum	tramp
retiree	pensioner
Senior citizen, elderly	old people
lawyer/attorney	solicitor – office/legal papers
lawyer/attorney	barrister – appears in court
co-signer	co-signatory
redhead	ginger
Insults
make fun of	take the mick(ey)
stupid	dim
pretentious	ponce, toff
jerk	berk, prat, git, numpty, twat, twit
ass	blighter, bugger, tosser, wanker
homophobic insults	pouff, bender
crazy (as an insult)	nutter
Expressions
period	full stop
fixed/arranged	sorted
get pissed (angry)	go spare, lose your rag
mess (this room's a mess)	tip
hey	oi
not OK	not on
like/good at	keen
like/has hots for	fancy
pleased	chuffed, well done up
Sex terms
butt	bum
ass	arse
balls	bollocks
kissing	snogging
jack off	wank
knock up	get pregnant
have sex	shag
fanny	butt
pussy	fanny
Swearing
shit	shite or shit
crappy	ruddy
shitty	bloody
yanking someone's chain	taking the piss
Miscellaneous
aluminum	aluminium
file	notes
mail	post
School
math	maths
ballpoint pen	biro
eraser	rubber
prom	formal dance/ball
study	revise
Police
carry guns	do not carry guns
bullet-proof vests	stab vests
police department	police station
	More info on UK Police
Legal
tax break for married people	no tax break
broadcast tv funded via ads	tv requires paying your licence
civil union or same-sex marriage	civil union legal
permitted in a few states
dog tags	Identification discs (returned upon discharge)

Notes on British Education:*
Primary (4-11): infant (4-7), junior or middle (7-11)
Secondary (11-16 or 11-18): Last two years are not compulsory; often called sixth form (lower and upper). They can be done at the same secondary school or at college. I believe this when the A-levels are done.
There are also grammar/comprehensive systems but I don't have details.

University
First class, 2.1 and 2.2 degrees are with honours. e.g. BA Hons, BSc Hons etc.
A "pass" is an ordinary degree without honours. Some universities grant Starred Firsts to outstanding students. A "double first" can refer to first-class honours in two separate subjects, e.g., Classics and Mathematics

Cambridge and Oxford have many terms specific to their university/colleges.

Undergraduate (bachelor) degrees normally take 3 years (4 in the US).
Masters degrees normally take 1 year (1 or 2 in US).
A PhD takes 3-4 years of full time study.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/British_undergraduate_degree_classification

Medical Education
The first medical degree is called MB/ChB (Bachelor of Medicine and Surgery). This is a five year degree that you begin straight from high school. Although it's not a doctorate, you can call yourself "Doctor" once you get it.

MD is a post-graduate degree, equivalent to a PhD in other fields. Watson might have one (the original Study in Scarlet was subtitled “Being a Reprint from the Reminiscences of John H. Watson, MD, Late of the Army Medical Department”) but he wouldn't need one.

He would, however, need to be at least an associate member of either the Royal College of Physicians (RCP) or the Royal College of Surgeons (RCS). The former is more likely for the simple reason that he still calls himself "Dr" - for historical reasons, when you gain full membership in the RCS you drop the "Dr" and go back to being plain "Mr"/"Ms" -- regardless of how many doctorates you also hold. British surgeons wear their "Mr" as a badge of pride, and can actually get quite offended if you call them "Doctor".

*These notes are taken from comments that I lost track of :(

See comments on this post below for much more information, clarification, discussion of regionalisms, etc.

Regarding regionalisms: I made this post because I am in the Sherlock fandom, so the focus is on terms that those characters would use. They are mostly white males in their 30's to 40's, living in London, with a range of class backgrounds from working to upper. People with details about how any Sherlock characters would speak are welcome (including older women like Mrs. Hudson, or any of the range of minor characters)! As is anybody with info about Brit-speak anywhere; just know that if your comment is more about speech in another part of Britain, or what is now in use among young people (for example), I may not add it to the list. Also, it's hard to put in a lot of detail and context in the list, so information along those lines can be found in the comments below :-)

Thank you all commenters for helping grow the list and make it accurate! I plan to continue updating the list with your additions, even if it take me a while to get to it :-)

Writer's Block: Growing pains

2011-08-08T20:14:03Z

Don't die. Suicide is no fun :P

On a somewhat lighter note, I learned how to be a little more considerate and less selfish. Unfortunately, this process only took effect upon my first being quite selfish and inconsiderate of others, so I have many regrets regarding my interactions with others.

On the other hand, I'm now much more understanding of the self-centeredness, selfishness, and lack of consideration displayed by many adolescents. Been there, done that :-/

Writer's Block: Parlez-vous francais?

2011-08-05T19:03:22Z

I don't 'know' any other languages than English. I do enjoy languages, and etymology - I enjoy recognizing how word in different languages are related.

'Chess' comes from the same root as 'Shah', meaning 'king'.

Coffee: cafe: kaffe: kafa: kava: java: joe

I've studied Spanish (4 years - the only other language I can formulate sentences in :-), Russian (2 years), Welsh (1 college year, in Wales), Chinese (6 weeks :-)

I remember telling my mother when I was 11 or so I wanted to study Welsh. She said, "Hmmm... depends if your school offers it." My high school didn't, surprisingly :-)

English	Spanish	Russian	Welsh	Chinese
one	uno	odin	un	yi
two	dos	dva	dau	er
three	tres	tri	tri	san

sans accent marks, sorry

Sherlock Fic: Patchwork

2011-07-13T05:38:04Z

For thegameison_sh

Patchwork
Poem 1

Note: All texts are quotes

rosy: several poems by Sappho

green: Tao Te Ching by Lao Tsu

blue: Song of Songs (King James Bible)

yellow: the album The Beekeeper by Tori Amos

blush: "Undo It" by Carl Phillips

Attic Window

Moriarty You burn me, remembering those things we did in our youth. But you have forgotten me, like the sweet-apple reddening high on the branch... Neither for me the honey nor the honeybee. And I say to you someone will remember us in time to come...	Sherlock My methods are easy to understand and perform, yet no one knows or practices them. My actions are disciplined. Those that know me are few. Truthful words are not beautiful.
Sherlock Ever desireless, one can see the mystery. Darkness within darkness. The gate to all mystery.	John Stand up and look at me, face to face, my friend, unloose the beauty of your eyes.

Ninepatch

John He’s equal with the Gods, that man who is across from you, close enough to sip your voice’s sweetness. My tongue freezes. Blind, stunned, the sound of thunder in my ears. Shivering with sweat, cold tremors over skin, I turn the colour of dead grass, and I’m an inch from dying.	John The sexiest thing is trust.	Sherlock Love shook my heart, like the wind on the mountain troubling the oak-trees.
Moriarty I'm in my war you're in yours: do we fight for peace as they take another piece of us? Will you let my darkness invade you? I laid my weapons down with my pistol fully loaded, a hunted man to my root, will it end or begin?	Sherlock I can see: we'll drown anyway— why not in colour?	Sherlock With a strut into the room, with his hat cocked sure defiantly he said, “I have heard that you can play the way I like it to be played.” I said, “I can play anyway that you want. But first I want to know is it sweet the sting 'cause I am inching ever closer to the tip of this scorpion's tail.”
Lestrade There is no greater catastrophe than underestimating the enemy.	John I sleep, but my heart waketh: the voice of my beloved saying, “Open to me, my undefiled: for my locks are filled with the drops of the night.” I opened; but he had withdrawn and was gone: my soul failed when he spake: I called him, but he gave me no answer.	Mycroft Teaching without words and work without doing are understood by very few.

Bright Hopes

Sherlock After a bitter quarrel, some resentment must remain. What can one do about it?		Sally Lucky me I guessed the kind of man that you would turn out to be. Now I wish that I'd been wrong.
Mycroft You must go must flee for they will hunt you down.	John I haven't moved since the call came. I stare at the wall knowing on the other side the storm that waits for me. How could I forget what you said about Love taking over your life was not in your plan.
	John I sought him, but I found him not. The watchmen that go about the city found me. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples: for I am sick of love.

Log Cabin

John I beg you, weaver of snares, don’t shatter my heart with fierce pain, but come now, if ever before you heard my voice, far off, and listened. Free me from aching care: You, be my friend.
Moriarty Thought I had a witness to this crime. Thought we were on the same side of Becoming. Thought I heard you whispering murder. Thought this witches brew was more than bullet-proof. But words are like guns when you shoot the moon. Then the judges called in a witness. Thought I was a witness you could turn to, not in.	Sherlock Set me as a seal upon thine heart: for love is strong as death. Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it.		John A familiar voice, “Hi. Surprise. I've been searching, trying to find you.” I couldn't speak; my hands reached for
	Sherlock Beneath the apple branches, cold clear water sounds. Breezes flowing like honey: Come to me here, taking nectar in golden cups mixed with a festive joy, and pour.	John Sherlock for that grove-within-a-grove that desire has so long looked like
	John The voice of my beloved! “Rise up, my fair one, and come away. For lo, the winter is past, the rain over and gone; the flowers appear on the earth; the time is come.”

Sherlock Fic: From the personal blog of Dr. John H. Watson

2011-06-01T22:36:45Z

THE PERSONAL BLOG OF

Dr. John H. Watson

3rd August

The Adventure of the Fishing Detective

Nothing much going on right now. Evidently even the criminal element of London goes on holiday in the summer. So I thought I'd write about a curious incident that occurred a few months ago.

DI ~~Lestrade~~ was enjoying a rare opportunity to go fishing at a favourite haunt of his when his quiet was disturbed by some boisterous play from a group of lads at a nearby ground-fed pool. At first, he tried to ignore them, but he began to realise that their voices were vaguely familiar. He crept over to investigate, keeping himself hidden, and recognised them as a streetgang from Brixton, one of whose mates had been recently banged up for a good long spell. They were taking turns leaping over the pool, alternately encouraging each other and laughing at the failures. There was nothing illegal in this, though it seemed very odd to him. With nothing to be done about it, he went back to his fishing, and eventually the group left.

When he'd packed up for the day, he was still puzzled by the men's activities, and went over to investigate the now-deserted area. He didn't find much, except for an odd-looking device, apparently home-made, whose intended purpose he couldn't work out. It looked somewhat damaged or incomplete anyway, and had evidently been discarded. He also unearthed a few metal coils of varying sizes nearby, but nothing further.

On his way back home, the DI stopped by Baker Street to tell Sherlock his story, to see if the consultant could make anything of it. He had hardly finished talking before Sherlock started to scoff and make some of his usual derogatory remarks about the idiocy of the world in general and the Met in particular. He tossed the device and the other bits of metal to me, asking me what observations I had, but I must admit I could make nothing at all of the whole situation.

My flatmate looked incredulously from me to the DI, and said, “But it's obvious! Do you really not see? Well, if you can't unravel even this minor mystery it's no wonder you have nothing to show for your day of fishing but one middling specimen that won't even provide an adequate tea for your family – and that's after throwing back several others for being too small.”

(At this point ~~Lestrade~~ protested, saying the fish had been spooked by the antics at the pool, and that the distraction had put him off his game. Neither of us bothered to enquire how Sherlock knew what our colleague had caught. No doubt it was the splash patterns on his trousers, together with the drops of something on his shirt that may possibly have been curry sauce.)

Sherlock finally enlightened us. Obviously, the gang were planning an attempt to free their comrade from prison. The device was designed to be slipped into his cell door's locking mechanism, making it appear to be securely closed whilst actually preventing the lock from engaging properly. Besides the various locked doors throughout the prison, there were other physical difficulties in the escape route, hence the need to practise jumping, particularly under conditions of poor footing and slippery landings. All this made the pool a reasonable choice, as they could generally pass for a group of lads enjoying a bit of simple fun.

Obviously.

5 comments

So, John, you could put this way, right? – Last SPRING, a detective discovered some unsavoury men meeting at a SPRING. From the DI's report, Sherlock deduced they planned to SPRING their mate from prison using a SPRING to disable the lock, and then SPRING over obstacles during their escape. But the conspirators were thwarted because they did not expect a policeman to SPRING up at their little tryst and SPRING a leak in their plans.

Harry Watson 03 August 13:21

Ha ha, Harry. Very funny.

John Watson 03 August 13:25

It is funny! SPRING prisoners with SPRINGS by SPRINGING in the SPRING!

AHAHAHAHAHA!

Harry Watson 03 August 13:28

John, much as I abhor your tendency to focus on the least instructive aspects of the cases whilst completely overlooking the scientific aspect of my deductions, may I take this opportunity of expressing my gratitude that it is at least you who writes up these notes, and not your sister? Her 'wit', if it can be called that, flows in a very thin stream indeed.

Sherlock Holmes 03 August 13:41

My wit SPRINGS eternal!

ROTFLMAO!!!

Harry Watson 03 August 13:45

written for thegameison_sh prompt 'spring'.

Many thanks to my awesome beta feroxargentea!

Sherlock Fic: Triptych

2011-05-03T22:12:13Z

Fandom: Sherlock
Wordcount: 684
Beta: the glorious gloria_scott
Originally written for thegameison_sh

Summary: Memories and regrets at the final moment of The Great Game.

Triptych

Go, said the bird, for the leaves were full of children,
Hidden excitedly, containing laughter.

'I imagine that probably my answer has crossed yours .'
“No one wants you, boy.”

”She loves me! I keep her safe!”

“No one wants a child who fights all the time.”

”I fought to keep her safe!”

“You destroy things. You hurt other people.”

”I take care of my sister! I love her!”

“Your sister's new family will love her and take good care of her, child. You won't have to worry about her any more.”

”Don't take her from me! Don't take her away!”

… to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.

His aim moved to the vest.
“You're just a kid like me! How do you know all that?”

“I look at things and then I think about them and I figure it out. It's easy.”

“You can't learn everything just by looking and thinking! You have to be taught.”

“I teach myself.”

“Well, if you already know everything, what are you going to do when you grow up?”

“Same as what I'm doing now.”

“What – looking and thinking? That's it?”

“What else is there?”

… Shrieking voices
Scolding, mocking, …

The vest off, but still trapped--
“I'm going to be a ballerina when I grow up.”

“I'm going to be a soldier and shoot all the ballerinas. Bang! Bang! Bang-bang-bang!”

“I'll compose new ballets, too. People all over the world will come just to see me.”

“When I'm a soldier I'll go all over the world and shoot all those people. Bang! Bang! Bang!”

“You're so mean! Why do you want to kill everybody?”

“I don't! I'm going to be a doctor and make everyone better again.”

“Silly! You can't be a soldier shooting people and a doctor healing them – that's stupid!”

“No it's not! Yes I can! When I grow up I'll do anything I want!”

Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future,
And time future contained in time past.
…
Point to one end, which is always present.

A brief glance to confirm--
He'd never wanted to procreate. He was sufficient unto himself. Like the other instincts of the body, desire for children was a distraction.

Now the thought flashes upon him: When he is gone, who will observe? Who will understand?

Who will know that looking and thinking are enough?

… the door we never opened
Into the rose-garden.

He returned the look with a short nod.
He'd had goals and he'd focussed on them.

He was busy and active. Life proceeded to plan. Well, as much as anyone's does.

He'd always thought there would be time. More time. Enough time.

Time for football and swinging in the garden.

Time for holidays at the shore, building sandcastles, teaching how to swim.

Time for reading at bedtime and tucking-in.

Time for a wife and children and a family.

Looks like he is out of time.

… that which is only living
Can only die.

'Everything I have to say has already crossed your mind. '
He'd worked so hard to be safe. His body still intact, his mind as sharp as ever. His heart burnt out long ago.

Safety was an illusion.

No one was safe, ever. He didn't endanger people; he only ripped away their illusions because he could see the truth beneath. Everyone else is so blind.

He had listened to her gushing, her absurd plans for children “~someday~”. He'd easily caught the image from her – their obvious brown hair, their brown puppy-dog eyes in their pale kittenish faces.

The perfect circle mother father daughter son. Another illusion. Even he could not make that happen, keep it safe. Best not to be fooled. Reveal the lie, now.

With no heart he cannot feel the loss of something that could never be.

Go, go, go, said the bird: human kind
Cannot bear very much reality.

Note: Lines in italics only are from T. S. Eliot's Four Quartets

Poll! Sherlock fic feedback

2011-04-16T23:02:18Z

I know some people don't like to leave comments on fic - don't know what to say, or don't have anything positive to say. So I thought I'd try offering a poll for people who like ticky-boxes better than coming up with a brilliant and helpful comment :-)

If you like reading Sherlock fic, I have one here (gen case!fic) for you. You can respond in the old-fashioned way, of course, or use the simple poll below. Thank you!

View Poll: Case!Fic Feedback

Sherlock Case!Fic: Pride Goeth Part 3

2011-04-05T15:50:50Z

Title: Pride Goeth
Fandom: BBC's Sherlock
Rating: canon-level violence, no sexual content
Length: 3250 words
Summary: Lestrade's in trouble. Donovan asks Sherlock to help.

Part 1 here
Part 2 here

Part 3
Once again, Sally found herself climbing the stairs of 221B. This time her heart was somewhat lightened. The wheels of justice were grinding slowly, too slowly, as always, but Lestrade should be released by morning, or the wrath of Donovan would be felt. Sally dwelt on this thought, and not on what she was planning to say during this visit.

“All right, Fr– Holmes, we got your man, and forensics can place him in both flats. Now do us a favour and explain what the hell is going on?!”

Sherlock smiled benevolently and rose gracefully from his lounging position in his chair. John rolled his eyes. The Dramatic Reveal – Sherlock's favourite part.

The murderer had been a young man at the time of the Princesses' visit, taking care of his little brother. He'd become involved in a brawl just outside a pub, knocking a man senseless. As the police arrived, he took to his feet, but not before noticing something shiny on the street by the fallen man. It was a brooch – a pretty valuable-looking thing. He stuck in his pocket and ran off to fetch his brother from school.

The bobbies caught up with him there. He didn't mind being nicked for a street fight – that'd blow over soon enough – but he didn't want to lose the brooch. He stuck it in what he thought was his brother's clay figurine, left to harden at the school.

Turned out some of the brawlers were in the gang that organised the jewellery theft. The police couldn't connect him with them – how could they? He wasn't involved. But worse for him, the man he'd knocked down died without regaining consciousness. Now he was in for manslaughter.

Still, if he was patient, he'd be rich when he finally left prison. The brooch was safe. He told his little brother (who'd had to go into care when he went to prison) to keep the clay figure safe for him. That it mean something to him. The importance the boy put on the piece imprinted itself on Melissa, and she treasured it as a keepsake of her foster-son, whom she loved dearly whilst he lived with her, as she did all her kids.

Hadley's murderer tracked her down easily enough once he was released. When he went to break the figurine, she tried to stop him – he pushed her away, she lost her balance and struck her head – hard. But it was all for nothing – the brooch wasn't there. He must have put it in the wrong damn piece.

He remembered that a kid named Lestrade had been in the same class as his brother – a copper's kid: he had made sure his brother didn't mess with her. So Lestrade's place was the next one he went for. First he broke anything that looked liked a child's handiwork, but gradually he grew frustrated and started smashing everything.

None of that would have mattered, because in fact the clay figure had broken long ago, and the brooch had fallen out. Perhaps the brooch landed in a box full of other items, where it lay unnoticed. Gabriella'd had her dad fix the broken figurine, but didn't discover the brooch until much later.

John had on his usual awestruck face, but before he could put in his typical “Brilliant!” or “Fantastic!” Sally spoke. “Sherlock, I know you think we're jealous of you, down at the Yard. But we're not. We're proud of you. If you come to New Scotland Yard tomorrow, there's no one, from the Commissioner to the youngest constable, who wouldn't be honoured to shake your hand.”

It cost her something to say it, yet she knew it was true. She was proud of him. He might be a freak – he was a freak – but he was their freak. And he came through for them, every time. For Lestrade's sake, she'd swallow any amount of pride to tell Holmes so himself.

John saw only calm sincerity on her face, her head held high as ever. Sherlock looked at her blankly for a moment, and then turned away, back to John. He met John's eyes for a second, and John saw his face quiver. Sherlock moved quickly to the window, twitched aside the drapes. He sniffed, started to speak, and then cleared his throat. “Thank you. Apparently you – “ he started to turn back towards Sally, when he caught John's eyes again. “Yes, thank you. John, you will want to write up your blog whilst the details are still fresh in your mind, lest they slip away. Good night, Sally. Should any interesting case arise I would be happy to give you a hint or two towards its solution.”

A/N: A much shorter version of this was submitted for the March challenge of thegameison_sh. This fic was in part inspired by two prompts from sherlockbbc_fic: No sir, we're proud of you and Consultants.

Sherlock Case!Fic: Pride Goeth Part 2

2011-04-05T15:47:42Z

Title: Pride Goeth
Fandom: BBC's Sherlock
Rating: canon-level violence, no sexual content
Length: 3250 words
Summary: Lestrade's in trouble. Donovan asks Sherlock to help.
Part 1 here

Part 2
“You've already examined the brooch,” said John, as Sherlock bent over it with his instruments. “Do you think you might have overlooked something?” John knew the answer – “of course not” – but he was still upset about the detective's harrying of the Chief Inspector and was not above needling him.

“Gabriella did not pick this out of a prize box,” Sherlock responded. John wondered how that was an answer.

“It would just add to the mystery, how it could have ended up amongst a set of baubles,” John agreed.

“She couldn't remember where or how she obtained it. You saw how her face lit up at just the photo – would she really have forgotten where she first saw it, if she'd picked it out herself? No. She found it one day amongst her things and assumed it arrived the way of many of her other trinkets.”

“Are you back to Lestrade now? Jesus, Sherlock!” John paced the room, visibly annoyed. Sherlock kept working. John watched as he took samples from some of the toys and broken figures. “What are you doing?” he asked.

Sherlock heaved the sigh of the long-suffering and mumbled something about “idiots” which John chose not to hear.

The door to the evidence lab opened. “What the hell!” exclaimed Anderson as he entered the room. “Why are you – ” Before either of them could respond, Anderson corrected himself. “Oh, sorry, my mistake. With all that broken crockery I thought you were messing about in one of my cases.”

Sherlock looked up sharply. “What case? You have a case involving broken ceramics?” It was phrased as a question but sounded more like a demand.

Anderson was taken aback. “Well, yes, as a matter of fact, it was a clay figure – ”

“And there was a murder? You only work on homicides. Why did no one tell me about this!” Sherlock moved to stand directly in front of Anderson, crowding him. “What murder? I need the file, now!”

Anderson described the case as they went to retrieve the file. “Nice middle-aged lady. Lived alone, a couple of cats. Morbidly obese, but harmless. Neighbours liked her well enough, didn't cause any problems. No enemies, no rough people coming round. Not many visitors at all. There was a bit of a struggle, but she couldn't have put up much of a fight, not in her condition. Nothing stolen from the flat, just a few figurines broken during the fight. Why would anyone want to kill her?”

Soon they were in the murdered woman's home. Sherlock spoke his observations aloud, “She lived alone, no immediate family, never had any children, not much in the way of extended family either – but look at this: photos of children on the walls, children's artwork, crafts.”

Sherlock swished through the flat. “And here in the pantry – a high-chair, not used in months – years. Boxes half-filled with nappies, different sizes. In the cupboards we have bottles, toddler's cups, dusty, pushed all the way back, not used for years, again.”

In the sitting room a chest of drawers was filled with puzzles and games, less dusty for having been in the drawers, but showing all the signs of formerly well-loved items now lying neglected.

“She wasn't expecting to run a day-care, this flat is much too small. She never had kids living here, all the kids' things have been left untouched since she moved in. But why did she have them in the first place, if she never had children? Didn't take care of extended family's kids – didn't have any. And why bring all this lot with her? She thought she'd be taking care of kids again – why else keep nappies and a high-chair? but didn't know their ages, had to be prepared – Foster parent! She was a foster parent! Not here, she planned to, but didn't, don't know why, doesn't matter – ” Sherlock swirled back to the photos on the wall and punched in Donovan's number on his mobile.

“Sally. You are looking for the older brother of a child fostered by Melissa Hadley several years ago, in Ireland. The child had lived in London, but was sent to Ireland and ended up in Hadley's home. The older brother has been in prison since just after the theft of the brooch and was released only recently. He murdered Hadley and ransacked Lestrade's.”

Sherlock stopped talking, listening to Donovan. “No, I know she's not a carer – not here. In Ireland! But the child had lived here before being sent there. No, I don't know why! What does it matter? Listen, Hadley likely cared for a number of children, but not many of them will have older brothers whose prison terms coincide with the dates I just gave you. Do your job and get on it!”

Sherlock swept out of the flat, looking smug. John trailed after him, looking bewildered. Situation normal, then.

Part 3

Sherlock Case!Fic: Pride Goeth (full version)

2011-04-05T15:36:05Z

Title: Pride Goeth
Fandom: BBC's Sherlock
Rating: canon-level violence, no sexual content
Length: 3250 words
Summary: Lestrade's in trouble. Donovan asks Sherlock to help.

I wrote case!fic!

Much thanks to my excellent beta feroxargentea

Pride Goeth

Detective Inspector Sally Donovan had not seen Sherlock Holmes in over five years, which suited her just fine. She'd been overjoyed at her promotion, not least because it involved a move to the Fraud Squad, away from interactions with Holmes. She missed Lestrade, of course, and her teammates, but she'd heard that since his promotion to DCI, Lestrade bullied the DI's who reported to him to invite the Freak in on cases whenever they were stalled. She was glad to be well out of it.

Only the direst of circumstances would see her trudging up the stairs to 221B.

"Hello, Sally, how pleasant to see you again after all these years," sneered Sherlock with patently false cheer.

Sally declined to waste any time on pleasantries or bickering. "Lestrade's in trouble. He needs your help."

"Is he? Why does he not contact me himself?" Sherlock dropped his facetiousness but seemed untroubled by the news. Yeah, still a freak, Sally thought. And Lestrade thinks he's a mate.

"He can't," Donovan said. "He's in the nick."

On their way to the Yard, Donovan explained. “Lestrade was at work; his flat was empty. A neighbour heard a lot of crashing noises, thumping about, and called the bobbies. They come, sirens blazing, and the intruder got away. Left the place a tip. The officer on scene called Lestrade, and got his permission to begin searching for clues to the identity of the intruder and why he'd broken in to wreck the place. Lestrade came as soon as he could, to determine if anything'd been stolen. Well,” Donovan paused, looking sidelong at Sherlock and John, “that's when everything went tits-up. Stuff had been broken all over the flat – the sitting room, the kitchen, the spare bedroom – which was where Lestrade's daughter stayed, when she visited. So the officers were searching everywhere too. In the second bedroom they found a box of stuff – girl's stuff, must have been the daughter's. And in it was a brooch. A diamond brooch that looked an awful lot like the one lost when the Monaco royal family visited London years ago.”

Sherlock leant back against the seat and groaned. He remembered Lestrade telling him about it. A Detective Sergeant at the time, Lestrade had been part of the team providing security during the visit. He had also helped investigate the theft of a large quantity of the jewellery brought along by the princesses. The investigation identified the conspirators behind the heist and recovered most of the jewellery; all but one piece – a diamond brooch, which remained lost. Until now, apparently.

“It's been verified as the genuine article. Lestrade was arrested.” Donovan stopped. She was afraid the tears would come if she kept speaking, and she wasn't going to break down in front of the Freak. They wouldn't even grant Lestrade bail – an exemplary officer! Not even a violent crime! But, “too great a flight risk”. Too high-profile a crime is what they meant. Too political, too embarrassing for the Met. Bad enough they'd failed to recover it in the first place, then for one of their own to be found with it – too horrible to contemplate. Sally was glad she at least could be certain Lestrade was not guilty. If it had been an officer she didn't know, she'd have felt disgusted by the whole thing.

At the Yard, Sherlock examined the ring, which was being held as evidence until the trial. “Trace bits of powder,” he observed, inspecting the settings that held the gems.

“Yeah, dust. Everything in the box was dusty. Stuff must have been in there for years.” Donovan shook her head. “The whole flat was covered in dust, from everything that was broken.”

Sherlock turned to the other evidence bags, which did indeed hold great quantities of broken figurines and crockery. “Some of these have been broken before, and repaired,” he noted.

“Yeah, but none of it's worth anything. Just sentimental stuff, Lestrade told me. Stuff his daughter'd made, or given him.”

“Hmm. Has the intruder been found? Any reason why he broke in just to break a bunch of worthless junk and not steal anything?”

Donovan stared at him. “No. Look, no one gives a toss about that now! That's a petty crime at this point. Whoever he was and whatever he was doing, he didn't leave a million-pound brooch in a dusty box in Lestrade's daughter's room!”

Sherlock just smirked back, insincerely. “Shall we talk to Lestrade now?”

Lestrade was carefully composed, his face like a mask. It was painful to see him so tense and remote. “I've no idea how it could've come to be there. None at all. The whole thing makes no sense.”

“Can you think of anyone in particular who'd be likely to break into your home and smash things up?” John asked

“No. Even when someone gets mad at a copper, they usually do something more threatening, or leave a note. This seems like random hooliganism. But that doesn't make sense either. Why my flat? There's been nothing like this in the neighbourhood.”

“Some of the broken items have been repaired before,” Sherlock said.

“Yeah, with a kid around, stuff's always getting broken. If she really liked it, she'd come crying to me and I'd glue it back together again.”

“What does your daughter say about the brooch?” asked Sherlock.

Lestrade stared at him, as did everyone else. “She's got nothing to do with this! How can you think – My God, she was just a child at the time!”

“Nevertheless, the brooch was found in a box of her possessions, am I correct?”

“Well, yes, but it's still absurd! I probably boxed all that stuff up myself at some point, cleaning up.”

“You saw the brooch, picked it up and tossed into a box without a second thought?”

Lestrade looked away for a moment, struggling to master himself. “You just leave my daughter alone. She had no more to do with this than I.”

“My dear Chief Inspector, I never doubted it for a moment.”

Lestrade gaped. “Next you'll be accusing me!”

“Did you have anything to do with the theft?”

Everyone leant back from Sherlock at his perfectly serious expression.

“No I bloody well did not! I thought – I know there's a lot in the Met who assume I'm... That I did take it. Plan it. Save it for God knows what – or when. Give it to my ten-year-old for a birthday present! But you – ” Lestrade broke off and looked away again. “Never mind.”

Donovan grabbed Sherlock's arm and took him to the door. “All right, Freak, you've done enough here. I should have known better than to ask for your help.”

“Not at all, Sally,” said Sherlock, smirking. “Consulting me was all you could do to save him.”

In the cab John spoke, “You know Lestrade's innocent, right?”

“Of course. He's not quite as stupid as that. He'd have disposed of it years ago if he had taken it.”

John leant back against the seat and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. After all these years with Sherlock you'd think he'd be used to it, but – “Bit not good, that.”

“What?” asked Sherlock, puzzled.

“Accusing him. Man feels horrible enough right now, as it is.”

“I didn't accuse. I asked.”

John stared at him. Sherlock shrugged and looked away.

After a while John asked, “Where are we going, anyway?”

“To see Lestrade's daughter.”

Part 2

Cracky Sherlock Poetry

2011-04-02T01:19:06Z

April is International Poetry Month.

In February the bonus challenge for thegameison_sh was to write a bad love poem. Well, anyone can write a bad poem, so the challenge garnered lots of entries. Here are my submissions, which are all filks of great poems (I'm so fail I can't even be original with my bad poetry). I present them along with their original forms, for those who'd prefer reading good poetry :-)

I have replaced
the plums
that were in
the icebox

with fruit
you can probably
safely
eat for lunch

Forgive me
an experiment
in food
poisoning

William Carlos Williams
This Is Just to Say

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

I have thrown out
the head
that was in
the icebox

and which
you were certainly
saving
for testing

Be angry
But 'twas decaying
Such stench
and so old

I heard a bee buzz when I loved; The stillness round my brain Was like the stillness in the air Between the London rain. The eyes beside had lit with blue, And breaths were gathering sure For that first onset, when the queen Be witnessed in her power. I willed away my logic, signed What portion of me I could make assignable,— then There interposed a bee, With gold, uncertain, stumbling buzz, Between the dark and me; And then the windows opened, and then I could observe to see.	Emily Dickinson I heard a fly buzz when I died; The stillness round my form Was like the stillness in the air Between the heaves of storm. The eyes beside had wrung them dry, And breaths were gathering sure For that last onset, when the king Be witnessed in his power. I willed my keepsakes, signed away What portion of me I Could make assignable,-and then There interposed a fly, With blue, uncertain, stumbling buzz, Between the light and me; And then the windows failed, and then I could not see to see.
How do I love thee? Let me ~~count~~ measure the ways. I love thee to the depth (8”) and breadth (22”) and height (5'8”) My ~~soul~~ arms can reach, when ~~feeling out of~~ logic not in sight For the ends of ~~Being~~ Brains and ideal ~~Grace~~ Genius. I love thee to the level of every ~~day's~~ night's Most quiet need, by sun and ~~candle~~ torchlight. I love thee freely, as men strive for ~~Right~~ Taxis; I love thee purely, as they turn from ~~Praise~~ Sense. I love with a passion put to use In my old ~~griefs~~ cases, and with my ~~child~~ adulthood's ~~faith~~ reason.	Elizabeth Barrett Browning How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and ideal Grace. I love thee to the level of everyday's Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light. I love thee freely, as men strive for Right; I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise. I love thee with a passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints, --- I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life! --- and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.
I have not had one word from him Frankly I wish I were high When he left, he laughed a great deal; he said to me, "This parting must be celebrated, Sherlock. I go eagerly." I said, "Go, and be bored within a week but remember (you know well) whom you leave shackled by ennui "If you forget me, think of our gifts to Hermes and all the cases that we shared "all the knit caps, Semtex vests, jumpers and scarves twined around your BAMF neck "rain and dust poured on your head and on hard floors bodies with all that they most dreaded beside them "while no voices chanted clues without ours, no crime solved in London without deductions..."	Sappho I have not had one word from her Frankly I wish I were dead When she left, she wept a great deal; she said to me, "This parting must be endured, Sappho. I go unwillingly." I said, "Go, and be happy but remember (you know well) whom you leave shackled by love "If you forget me, think of our gifts to Aphrodite and all the loveliness that we shared "all the violet tiaras, braided rosebuds, dill and crocus twined around your young neck "myrrh poured on your head and on soft mats girls with all that they most wished for beside them "while no voices chanted choruses without ours, no woodlot bloomed in spring without song..."
I think that I shall never look upon A poem lovely as Watson. A John whose hungry mouth is prest Against my lithe body's throbbing breast; A soldier that looks at criminals all day, And lifts his steady arm to slay; A doctor that may in surgery wear A sterile cap o'er his hair; Upon whose bosom scars have lain; Who intimately lives with pain. Poems by genius may be written, But only Mycroft could provide John Watson.	Joyce Kilmer I think that I shall never see A poem lovely as a tree. A tree whose hungry mouth is prest Against the sweet earth's flowing breast; A tree that looks at God all day, And lifts her leafy arms to pray; A tree that may in summer wear A nest of robins in her hair; Upon whose bosom snow has lain; Who intimately lives with rain. Poems are made by fools like me, But only God can make a tree.
The Love Song of J. Hamish Watson Let us go then, you and I, When the evening lights up the London Eye Like a corpse autopsied upon a table; Let us go, through memorised alleys and streets, The muttering retreats Of restless nights in overnight trains and cabs And Chinese restaurants and hospital labs: Streets that follow like a tedious argument Of unswavering intent To lead you to an overwhelming question. . . Oh, do not ask, "What is it?" I'll make all clear at the next visit. At the scene the police come and go Talking of my brilliance so. And indeed there will be time To wonder, "Do they ever think?" and, "Do I care?" Time to turn back and descend the stair, With the thick luscious darkness of my hair— [They will say: "How his hair curls like sin!"] My swirling coat, my scarf mounting firmly to the chin, My suit rich and modest, no adornment needed, no shiny pin— [They will say: "I envy his body so lithe and thin!"] Do I care If I solve the universe? In a minute there is time For deductions of rapidity which others find perverse. At the scene the police come and go Talking of my brilliance so. For I have known them all already, known them all; Have known the evenings, mornings, and nights yet, I have measured out my life with beakers and pipettes; I know the voices dying with a dying fall Beneath the traffic from outside the room. How can I not presume? And I have known the eyes already, known them all— The eyes that I've placed in jars in microwaves, And when they are captured, sprawling on a pin, When they are pinned and wriggling on the wall, Then how should I begin To explain all the results of my days and ways? How can I not presume? And would it have been worth it, after all, After the bombs, the arguments, the tea, Among the wreckage, among some talk of you and me, Would it have been worth while, To have deduced the matter with a smile, To have sorted the universe into a ball For an answer to some underwhelming question, To say: "I am a genius, come to the wretched, Come here to tell you all, I shall tell you all" If one, settling a blanket round his head, Should say, "That is not what I meant at all. That is not it, at all." And would it have been worth it, after all, Would it have been worth while, After the stakeouts and the suspects and the chase in streets, After the papers, after cups of tea, after the detritus along the floor— And this, and so much more?— It's impossible for you to hear what I mean! But as if a rolling suitcase threw dirt in splatters on a stocking: Would it have been worth while If one, settling on a chair or throwing off a coverall, And turning toward the window, should say: "That is not it at all, That is not what I meant, at all." No! I am not Prince Mycroft, nor was meant to be; I'm a solitary man, that consents to Hint toward progress, solve a scene or two Clue the police; no doubt, those simple tools, Self-assured, glad to be of use, Direct yet tactful, and meticulous; Full of clear sentence, not a bit obtuse; At times, indeed, almost obvious— Always, at times, the cool. I grow bored . . . I grow bored . . . I shall wear the bottoms of my pajamas more.	T. S. Eliot The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock (abridged) Let us go then, you and I, When the evening is spread out against the sky Like a patient etherised upon a table; Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets, The muttering retreats Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells: Streets that follow like a tedious argument Of insidious intent To lead you to an overwhelming question … Oh, do not ask, “What is it?” Let us go and make our visit. In the room the women come and go Talking of Michelangelo. And indeed there will be time To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?” Time to turn back and descend the stair, With a bald spot in the middle of my hair— [They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”] My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin, My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin— [They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”] Do I dare Disturb the universe? In a minute there is time For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse. In the room the women come and go Talking of Michelangelo. For I have known them all already, known them all:— Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons, I have measured out my life with coffee spoons; I know the voices dying with a dying fall Beneath the music from a farther room. So how should I presume? And I have known the eyes already, known them all— The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase, And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin, When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall, Then how should I begin To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways? And how should I presume? And would it have been worth it, after all, After the cups, the marmalade, the tea, Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me, Would it have been worth while, To have bitten off the matter with a smile, To have squeezed the universe into a ball To roll it toward some overwhelming question, To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead, Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”— If one, settling a pillow by her head, Should say: “That is not what I meant at all. That is not it, at all.” And would it have been worth it, after all, Would it have been worth while, After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets, After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor— And this, and so much more?— It is impossible to say just what I mean! But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen: Would it have been worth while If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl, And turning toward the window, should say: “That is not it at all, That is not what I meant, at all.” . . . . . No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be; Am an attendant lord, one that will do To swell a progress, start a scene or two, Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool, Deferential, glad to be of use, Politic, cautious, and meticulous; Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse; At times, indeed, almost ridiculous— Almost, at times, the Fool. I grow old … I grow old … I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

And one original haiku:

Bullets in the walls
severed head in the icebox
yet I love you still

All the Sherlock poems from the challenge.

If you are inspired to write any poetry yourself (good, bad or just plain ugly :-) feel free to share it here!

Sherlock Fic: The Game is On!

2011-03-26T01:23:52Z

Entries are posted for the March challenge over at thegameson_sh

There are many wonderful short fics to read!

What was Sherlock like as a kid? How did he and Mycroft develop into their current relationship? Want to see what's up with John and Sherlock later in life? Does Molly ever find true love? Does Lestrade?
What's Mrs. Hudson's life story? How did Sally decide to become a cop? When he looks back on his life as an old man, what does Mycroft think about?

All these questions and more are explored in this month's ficlets. Enjoy!

First Page
Second Page
Third Page
Fourth Page

And if you can possibly decide which three of all the many gems are best, vote!

Fanfic, Anyone?

2011-03-06T05:59:38Z

How to get me to write fanfic for you

(Follow the fake cut)

Sherlock Fic: When

2011-03-02T23:00:54Z

Sherlock ficlet written for thegameison_sh challenge
Warning: Child sex abuse, incest

When

“Just what did Mycroft do to make you hate him so much?” John asked Sherlock peevishly, after another tense visit involving altogether too much staring, umbrella-posturing, and violin abuse.

“I don't hate him for anything he did,” Sherlock replied.

***

When Sherlock was three, he knew he was amazing.

When Mycroft came home from school for holiday, Sherlock showed him all the amazing things he could do now. His brother smiled and laughed and was so proud. He said one day Sherlock might even be as amazing as Mycroft himself. Sherlock had no doubt of it.

When Mummy said it was time for nap, Sherlock was reluctant to go. Usually he didn't mind nap time because it provided an opportunity for thinking his amazing thoughts. But today Mycroft had to promise to come read to him before he would consent to go to his room. Not that he needed someone to read to him – he had been reading on his own half his life now – but having his brother to himself was lovely.

After Sherlock picked out the book for Mycroft to read, he undressed and lay down on his bed. Whilst waiting for his brother's arrival he played with himself idly – another amazing thing he learned recently. He had shown Mummy but she had just said, “Yes, dear, but it's improper to show other people or talk about it.” Sherlock was certain Mycroft would appreciate it for how amazing it was.

Mycroft did.

Throughout the holiday and all the ones that followed, Mycroft continued to show Sherlock even more amazing things.

When Sherlock was six, some of the things Mycroft was showing him seemed not so wonderful any more. Uncomfortable, even. At school adults talked about bodies being “private” and “not for sharing”. But Mycroft explained, “We're special, as you know, you and I. Amazing. More amazing than anyone else.” Sherlock nodded. He had noticed how different everyone else was, how slow. Boring. Even Mummy and Daddy, sometimes. Only Mycroft could still amaze him. “We're unique,” his brother continued. “Rules for others do not apply to us. We have a special relationship because there will never be any one else like us.” Mycroft smiled and held Sherlock closer. “You are my brother – my amazing brother – and I will always love you.”

When Sherlock was nine, he made a friend. Trevor was also nine, and about as slow as everyone else. But somehow not as boring. Certainly, he appreciated how amazing Sherlock himself was. That was the word the boy used, too, over and over: “amazing”. Sherlock smiled every time he heard it. Since Mycroft was away at school, Sherlock spent all his spare time with his new friend. He thought Trevor might enjoy the special activities Sherlock had learned from Mycroft. “Oh yeah,” his friend said, “playing doctor. I've done that, but my mum don't like it when I do.” This was much more than playing doctor, Sherlock explained, and showed him. He wasn't sure how much Trevor liked it, though. The boy didn't say to stop, but he never said amazing either.

When he rang up his friend's house the next day, the mum said her son wouldn't be able to play with Sherlock anymore.

When Mycroft next came home, Sherlock told him about Trevor. His brother gave him a pitying look. “Sherlock, did I not explain to you that this was for us alone? Your friend was an ordinary boy. A very nice boy, I'm sure, but ordinary. Don't try to share the special parts of yourself with people who will not understand.” Sherlock looked away. He had been lonely without his friend. “Come here,” said Mycroft. “I understand. Do you not realize it is the same for me? But we are lucky, remember, because we will always have each other.” Mycroft held him tight and told him over and over, “I love you. I will always love you.”

When Sherlock was eleven, Mycroft no longer came to his room.

When Sherlock asked him why, Mycroft gave him a small, pitying smile and said, “I have put away childish things.”

***

Sherlock did not hate Mycroft for anything he'd done.

He hated him because he'd stopped.

Sherlock Fic Meme Fill: Dr. Seuss Part 3

2011-02-24T21:37:15Z

Dr. Seuss' The Great Game
Part 1
Part 2

Part 3

Note: credit for the screencaps belongs to aithine

Sherlock Fic Meme Fill: Dr. Seuss Part 2

2011-02-24T21:24:38Z

Dr. Seuss' The Great Game
Part 1

Part 3

Sherlock Fic Meme Fill: Dr. Seuss

2011-02-24T04:59:09Z

In response to a prompt on sherlockbbc_fic

Dr. Suess' The Great Game
Part 1

Part 2

My First Poll!

2011-02-23T05:49:58Z

Help me create my LJ to-do list!

I haven't posted much lately because I've been feeling very unmotivated. Also because I can never seem to make up my mind what I should post. So I thought (brainstorm!) I would ask my flist - you! - what you would like to see.

Options

1. For the insmallpackages exchange I put up a bunch of music rec lists, but without attaching the actual songs because I did not know how to do that. I think I've figured it out, and can provide download links for at least some of the songs.

2. I've been working on a sort of brit-speak cheat sheet for myself now that I'm writing in the Sherlock fandom. Is anyone else interested in a home-grown American to British translator?

3. Mostly what I have been doing (instead of writing or posting) is reading Sherlock fic. I've made a pretty long and eclectic rec list. Anyone need yet another Sherlock rec list? Mine would be organized by theme, so you can get an idea about each one before clicking the link.

4, 5. The last two options are writing fic. Choices are Sherlock and Aubreyad.

Please select 5 for the item you'd like to see most, and 1 for the least favored. Thank you!

View Poll: To Do

Sherlock Fic Meme Fill: Fic Recs

2011-01-27T04:51:42Z

Sherlock, John, Mycroft, and Lestrade rec BBC!Sherlock fics...

A fill for this prompt.

JOHN: Fic recs? What's that? Oh, ah, well, I'm kinda busy these days, what with my job at the surgery, assisting Sherlock on his cases, and keeping house (since Mrs Hudson is NOT our housekeeper), so I just have time to write up my blog and not much to read “fan-fiction”. But a couple interesting ones have come my way and I've skimmed through them.

This one is what they call an “AU”, so it's obviously not a “true” depiction of life with Sherlock, but it sorta explains our relationship in a “metaphorical” way, if you follow me.

SHERLOCK: John is an idiot. This is established in what you term “canon”. Therefore, you would be wise to ignore anything he says. If one is interested in a “metaphorical” depiction of my relationship with my flatmate in a work of fiction set in an alternate universe, this item is much more illuminating. The Sherlock character rescues the John character from a hopelessly dull and tedious existence. Whilst “John” does possess one or two useful traits, it is clear that Sherlock is more intelligent, stronger, and generally more powerful.

JOHN: A vampire, Sherlock? Really? True, you're tall, pale, frequently nocturnal, wear a bloody dashing great cloak-er-coat, but still-- Well, speaking of what Sherlock tends to remind people of, there's this one about Sherlock being like a cat. But just read it until about half-way through. Then it gets, uh, kinda... weird. Yeah. Anyway, the part where I – I mean, the John in the story – uses the spray bottle on Sherlock – I lolled at that! If only that'd actually work...

SHERLOCK: John is an idiot. See above. And anyone who persists in imagining I resemble a feline, I offer this or this. Oh, and John, the term is LOL. All capitals. Already past tense.

JOHN: Oh, here's another one who thinks Sherlock's like a cat – look, more spray bottles!

SHERLOCK: Here.

JOHN: Oh, and here's the one that explains why Sherlock's so much like a cat.

SHERLOCK: Here...

JOHN: All right, Sherlock, I get it--

SHERLOCK: ...and here.

JOHN: THE INTERNET IS FULL OF PICTURES OF DOGS IN JUMPERS, OK GOT THAT!

MYCROFT: Depicting, even in a fictional setting, persons not known personally to the writer, in particular as regards their most intimate activities, is a morally dubious activity which would be beneath me to endorse in any way. However, whilst neither affirming nor denying any truth to the following, especially as it relates to the other person involved (whose involvement in said activities again I will neither credit nor refute), this “story” does describe a certain portion of my anatomy in a way that would be disingenuous for me to protest.

LESTRADE: Myc- That is, Mr. Mycroft Holmes has instructed me – Wait, I mean Mr. Holmes has specifically NOT instructed me to say nothing about these fan stories. But I just have to say that, that story he referred to? Not true. I mean, I'm not saying anything about the jacuzzi, or the wine, or how considerate a lover Myc-- Mr. Holmes is, because, how would I know? Right? But I do happen to know – rather I should say, I've been given to understand that, you know, size-wise, Myc-- Mr. Holmes is nothing, I mean, he's got nothing more than the average bloke, you understand. Just in that department. His jacuzzi is fantastic. If he's got one. I wouldn't know.

MYCROFT: I could refer you to this charming little tale. Of course you must understand that this is a work of fiction, and sadly not in the least accurate in the details. However, my little brolly and I do have quite a history together, and it is amusing to think of it as almost a companion, of sorts.

LESTRADE: Now this story, about how many times I've saved Sherlock's sorry arse, God's word, that is. The details, right, they might not be completely accurate. But the gist – that I've picked him up and cleaned him up and set him back on his feet a dozen times or more – that's the truth, all right. By being there for him and by letting him work my cases on occasion I've saved his life many times over. More than I can count. Thank God for John Watson. He can take over that part, I don't miss it a bit.

So all the stories that imply I've got, or ever considered getting, or would ever even want to consider thinking about getting, anything on with Sherlock? Forget them. It's bad enough I've got to work with the bloody git. Trust me, I don't spend a minute more in the man's company than I have to to get the job done.

MYCROFT: Please ignore the last remark made under my name. It was not authorized by me. Someone hacked into my account and conceived of playing this little “joke”. Naturally I do not have to inform you that the bit of fiction referred to is entirely fiction, not a hint of the true nature of things anywhere in it. Such technology does not exist and even if it did, a minor government functionary such as myself would not be in possession of it.

LESTRADE: Speaking of John, he's all right. I mean, as a mate. Nothing more. We catch a game now and then, maybe have a pint at the pub; but that's it. Nothing's ever happened between us. Not even that one time – absolutely nothing happened. Don't need to complicate friendship. Not worth it.

Don't ask me about him and Sherlock though. I don't know. I don't want to know. They can do whatever in their flat; just leave me out of it.

MYCROFT: If you enjoyed the little fairy tale I mentioned earlier, I can point you to another similar one. Again, no need to tell you the specific people, places, etc. are entirely from the writer's imagination!

LESTRADE: Finally, I'll just add that whoever wrote this? Well, clearly off their rocker. Not a true word in any of it. And it was just a dream, all right? How could they know what I dream about? They couldn't, that's how. SO STAY THE FUCK OUT OF MY HEAD, YOU BLOODY TOSSER, OR I'LL SIC MYC-- That is to say, I will alert the proper authorities.

MYCROFT: Again, I request you ignore the previous comment purporting to be from my account. I assure you the situation is now under control and there will be no recurrence. I do beg your pardon.

moriarty: i've read all the stories – all of them, yes! - and do you know what is the most amazing thing? they are all true! all of them! especially all the ones involving me! you people all know me so well! my fans!! i did do that. i did all of that. twice! hahahaheeheeeheeehahaheeheeeheeheehahah!!!

Master and Commander/BBC!Sherlock crossover

2011-01-24T00:15:05Z

For those on my flist who are fans of both BBC!Sherlock and Master and Commander: I posted a fic-fragment in response to a prompt on sherlockbbc_fic kinkmeme: Sherlock/Stephen bodyswap.

Christmas Again!

2011-01-17T18:04:15Z

jenavira filled my wish to have tall ship headers. And guess where she got the images? :-)

Check them out!

Flist Recs: BBC!Sherlock

2011-01-15T04:58:21Z

Awesome stuff people on my flist have done in the BBC!Sherlock fandom

Fic
_sofiej_
Hide and Seek The difficulty of finding a game to play with a 5-year-old genius.

cj_ludd18
Spilt Milk
The Wolf Waits Below

irisbleufic
Only Human
Drowning Man (first of a series) I have to rec this, because it includes references to T.S. Eliot's Four Quartets, which is my all-time favorite poem.
I Meet You There, and We Go Guaranteed to make you cry. Now with sequel.

mistyzeo
Coat Guaranteed to make you go "Awwwww..."

morelindo
Silent Night
Drink Tea and Carry On
word of the day drabbles
jumper

oxfordtweed
Learning To Care

pint_of_boyd
Scars in Service to the Body

sarlania
Away From Undying Lands
Four Riders and Revelations on Clifftop

shrewreader
Plumbing Paradox

Art/Visual Media
domaris68
Study in Pink icons

moony_mistress
Sherlock icons
icons from angrybeige's comics
MOAR angrybeige icons

sarlania
20in20 icons

sherlockiangirl
The Queen of Crack: If you are looking to laugh, just browse her journal. Or the hilarious comm mycroftpoppins, which she started and posts to regularly.
Sherlock Meets Mean Girls vid

Music
morelindo
FanMix: You Know My Name

If you are on my flist and create stuff in the BBC!Sherlock fandom and I didn't rec any of your stuff, it's because I didn't know where to find it. So please, tell me! Thanks!