marysutherland: (Default)
BBC Sherlock

Rating 12 (non-explicit femslash)

Summary: There seems to be some confusion about Lady Smallwood's full name


“I should probably explain my rules-“

“Shouldn’t we introduce ourselves properly first? I do know who you really are, Mrs Norton and I presume you’ve identified me.”

“Of course, Lady Smallwood. Or would you prefer Elizabeth, since this is an intimate session?”

“Alicia, please. I use my middle name nowadays. After far too many years of ‘Elizabeth’ or sometimes even, God help us, ‘Lizzie’. My fault, I suppose, getting born in 1952.”

“But you still used the name?”

“George liked it, and so did the constituents, unfortunately. But George is gone, so I can put an end to ‘Lady Elizabeth Smallwood’. And fortunately my mother also liked ballet.”

 “Hence Lady Alicia Smallwood?”

“Who is something of a merry widow, in a careful way. Well, after George’s disgrace, my escutcheon’s rather blotted already. These things rub off on you, as it were. But let me make myself clear, Irene. I am aware that reports of your death have been exaggerated, but I believe some of my colleagues are not. I presume you’d like to keep it that way? So please don’t do anything rash."

“Mutually assured destruction?” The Woman smiles.

“Followed by a little detente,” Alicia replies. “By the way I won a Commonwealth medal on the balance beam, and am still surprisingly flexible. So you can be imaginative with the bondage.”
marysutherland: (ZT)
BBC Sherlock

Rating: 12 (implied het)

Minor spoilers for Series 3

Sarah is surprised to get a phone call about John after all this time, but the woman who contacts her is insistent.

"I believe you previously employed him as a locum," she says. "We're thinking of taking him on, so I need to ask how you'd rate his performance."


"Would you say it was excellent, good, adequate or unsatisfactory?"

Their form almost certainly doesn't have a tick-box for Falls asleep at work, but brilliant if you're attacked by Chinese gangsters.

"Adequate," Sarah says firmly.

"And his bedside manner?"

We never got quite as far as my bed, but I suspect his performance there would have been excellent.

"Adequate," Sarah says. "No, good. He gets on well with people."

"So he's able to cope with difficult colleagues?"

"Yes, excellent at that."

"I did wonder about problems in his last job. Dr Watson said the man he worked for had gone away unexpectedly..."

"I heard about it," Sarah says. "John was working privately with a consultant. I think he was very much appreciated."

"So overall, you'd recommend Dr Watson?"

"Definitely." Though Sarah supposes she should give them some warning. "John's been a soldier as well, so he's quite glamorous in his own quiet way. You should possibly keep him away from any staff at your practice who are feeling a bit bored."
marysutherland: (Sherlock and John)

BBC Sherlock

Rating 12 (major character death)

Spoilers for His Last Vow

It's obvious to DI Dimmock what's happened. )
marysutherland: (Mark Gatiss)
BBC Sherlock
Rating 12 (gen, deviousness)
Spoilers for 3.01 (The Empty Hearse)

Summary: It's Bond Air all over again. )

marysutherland: (Anthea)
BBC Sherlock
Rating 12 (non-explicit femslash)
No spoilers for Series 3

Notes: this was inspired by A Strange Adventure by fengirl88 and is a different take on the controversial opera described in that.

The advantage of working for Mycroft Holmes is that he often gets offered hospitality by his contacts, and when he doesn't want the latest treat, he passes it on to Anthea. And two free tickets to the opera means she can take Ella out somewhere; they've had to cut back recently, with their current financial situation.

The disadvantage is there's normally a reason why Mycroft doesn't want his gifts and Anthea's now realising what it is. ENO is less stuffy than Covent Garden and she'd thought Ella would enjoy Die Fledermaus. But she should have known that ENO and Strauss is a conceptual disaster waiting to happen.

Anthea's spotted Mycroft's pet policeman in the audience, so the director might yet get arrested for crimes against taste. And though she's cringing at every new revelation, Ella is surprisingly unruffled as she consults her programme at the interval.

"I see someone still loves Freud," Ella announces. "He's misunderstood him completely, of course, but that's probably the point."

"It is?"

"It's the director's vision that matters, everyone else just exists to serve his genius. A common pattern."

"We don't have to stay," Anthea says hastily, because she can sense where this is going.

"It's OK," Ella says more cheerfully, "but next time perhaps we should pick something ourselves, not just accept your boss's bribes."

marysutherland: (Mary Sutherland)
ACD Sherlock/Flanders and Swann crossover

Rating PG

Summary: Why does a strange case in a Sussex village leave Sherlock Holmes baffled?

For fengirl, with whom several months ago I discussed the possible existence of Sherlock/Flanders and Swann crossover fic.

"My dear Watson, your visit is opportune," Sherlock Holmes announced. )

For those who do not know the song inspiring this, it is Bedstead Men.
marysutherland: (Rupert)
BBC Sherlock

Rating: PG

Summary: Lestrade may be baffled, but it'll all come out in the wash.

Inspired by Small Hobbit's The Bogus Laundry Affair

He is a big, powerful chap, clean-shaven, and very swarthy— something like Aldridge, who helped us in the bogus laundry affair. – Lestrade's letter to Sherlock Holmes, The Adventure of the Cardboard Box.

"Surely it's obvious where the drugs were being distributed?" Sherlock announces, and Lestrade somehow doesn't yell at him. They found the body of Aldridge, the Drug Squad's informant, twelve hours ago, and Sherlock is his last hope.

"It can't be Forster Street," he says patiently. "Pub's been watched for a fortnight, and it's clean. Aldridge must have been stringing them along."

"Of course it's not the Ferret and Fudge," Sherlock exclaims, "Why would anyone think that? This was bulk distribution, Lestrade. The collectors had to be able to take substantial packages away unobtrusively. Which is why you should be investigating the Speedy Laundry Co at the other end of Forster Street."

"A bogus laundry company?"

"You'd be amazed at how much cocaine you can hide in a duvet cover." A frown from John, standing beside Sherlock. Bet he'll be checking 221B's airing cupboard when he gets home.

"It's possible," Lestrade tells Sherlock. "But we've got no evidence that Aldridge ever used the laundry."

"Haven't we? Describe the man."

"Big bloke, black hair, dark complexion–"

"–It wasn't a dark complexion, but ingrained grime," Sherlock breaks in. "You smell, but you do not observe. The dead man's body was filthy, yet his clothes reeked of fabric conditioner. We're looking for a murderer, Lestrade, who has access to large quantities of Lenor Summer Breeze."

Note: Small Hobbit has also now written a longer ACD case based on the reference: The Case of the Bogus Laundry.
marysutherland: (Mark Gatiss)

This has been lurking for ages, and I thought I ought to post it at last.

ACD Sherlock/Parade's End

Rating: 12

Diogenes Club, May 1920

My dear Sherlock,

Please excuse me breaking in on your retirement, but I have had a request from my previous Department which seems to require the sort of legwork that has always been more your forte than my own. My friends are interested in re-employing a former government official, but they need to be assured first of his soundness.

Getting down to business: the fellow's name is Christopher Tietjens, once the bright hope of the Department of Imperial Statistics. He left there under a cloud at the start of the War, and after a chequered army career, is now living in your neck of the woods down in Sussex, engaged in the second-hand furniture trade. He's of decent Yorkshire stock, but according to some of the gossip going round, he's a pimp, a wastrel, and possibly even a traitor. I need you to investigate and find out the truth about him. I'm not expecting him to be a saint, but I don't want any more boodlers in the Service. I rely on you to find out the truth about the matter.

your affectionate brother,


PS: By soundness, I mean of course financial and political. Provided Tietjens can keep his mouth shut, I see no need to worry about his current possession of a mistress and bastard.  

marysutherland: (Mark Gatiss)
BBC Sherlock

Rating: U

Summary: Mycroft's CCTV viewing has changed since Sherlock's death.

"They're saying it's lutramania," Anthea told John, as she handed him Mycroft's medical notes.

"Is that a diagnosis?" John replied, flicking through the file, "or a posh psychiatric way of saying 'there's something wrong but we don't know what'?"

"Some kind of fixation, they think. Mr Holmes' mind has become obsessed by a single idea."

"He was OK at Sherlock's funeral."

"That was before they found the CCTV footage from Barts," Anthea replied. "It was then that he finally seemed to realise that Sherlock was dead. He played the tape repeatedly. Then he started playing it backwards, so Sherlock would rise from the pavement and soar back up to the roof alive."

"Oh shit," John said. "That does sound bad."

"We were desperate to distract Mr Holmes," Anthea went on. "Sid Paget found something from a CCTV feed near Wapping, thought it might soothe him. Mr Holmes watched the clip forty-six times non-stop, and then demanded more footage. Said he had to find out what happened to the otter family, whether they were safe."


"Otters. They've returned to a lot of rivers in England now. Including, apparently, the Thames."

"But why does Mycroft want to watch CCTV footage of otters?" John demanded.

"I asked him that," Anthea replied. "And all he said was that they reminded him of his brother."

Note: This was inspired by a recent episode of the BBC wildlife programme Springwatch which included CCTV footage of urban otters.
marysutherland: (Rupert)
BBC Sherlock

Rating: 12 (het)

Summary: DI Lestrade has a new case. How baffling will it be?

Note: I was re-reading ACD's The Adventure of the Noble Bachelor recently and Inspector Lestrade seemed particularly clueless in that case. I decided to make amends to his modern version.

When Lestrade heard that an American heiress had disappeared during her wedding reception in London, his first thought was a publicity stunt. Once he'd met Lord St. Simon, though, he was pretty certain that Hatty Doran had got cold feet just too late. Easier ways of picking up a title nowadays than marrying a moralising twerp.

He had to have the Serpentine dragged, of course, once they found the wedding dress, even though it was probably a decoy. If you wanted to drown someone in London, everyone knew that you used the Thames. Nothing conclusive in the text message left on Hatty's phone from "FHM". Hatty would surely know all about Flora Millar from the tabloids; unlikely she'd go off to meet St. Simon's former mistress only after she'd married him.

Next stop was tracing where the text had come from: mobile last used in a posh hotel in Northumberland Avenue. Bit more digging and Lestrade was playing a call on Francis H. Moulton. Only surprise was that he was Hatty's first husband, who'd supposedly been killed by guerrillas while mining gold in Colombia.

"Get back to the States as quick as you can," he told the pair, "before I have to arrest you for something. I can hold St. Simon for a few days, tell him Scotland Yard are baffled."

marysutherland: (Sherlock and John)

BBC Sherlock

Rating: 12 (violence)

Summary: Someone's bound to get hurt when Sherlock turns up again.

Mycroft sighed. He should have foreseen the consequences, of course. John Watson's "bad days" occupied a substantial section in the files they had on him. Push him too far and a violent streak would emerge.

Sherlock's melodrama had hardly helped. If there was an art to breaking bad news gently, there must surely also be one to breaking good news. Simply turning up alive in your only friend's flat was not recommended. And it had just gone downhill from there. There were first aid techniques for dealing with faints; Sherlock could have Googled them. Splashing alcohol down a man's throat was not a sensible option.

Sherlock had been eager to talk, of course. Gabbling on about how Molly had helped him fake his own death and his adventures in the last three years. No time spent asking what had happened to John. And then the final disaster. He could still hear Sherlock's voice on the tape: I had to confide in Mycroft in order to obtain the money I needed. Sherlock had trusted the brother he was at odds with, but not his only friend.

Mycroft sighed again, and then winced. So now he was banned from the Diogenes Club. Though really, it was most unreasonable to insist that a member must remain silent while he was having his nose broken.

marysutherland: (Mary Sutherland)
ACD Sherlock/Dr Who crossover

Rating: U

Spoilers: for Series 7 of Dr Who

I still remember the one time I disconcerted both Holmes and his brother. They were sitting in the Diogenes Club studying mankind as usual, when a sunbaked man with greying hair strode past the window, laden with packages.

"Recently returned from South Africa," Sherlock announced. "Reunited with his lady love and buying her jewellery to make up for his absence."

"For his wife," Mycroft retorted. "A man of his looks wouldn't need something so expensive for a mere mistress. And the fellow's not being fighting Boers; his tread is that of a hunter, not a soldier."

"But his complexion–"

"East Indies rather than South Africa, I'd say. Note the curious tooth he wears as a talisman round his neck: no ordinary crocodile that, but an Oriental monster, surely."

"You're both wrong," I interjected. "The man's from East Africa and the jewellery boxes he carries contain riches intended for a foreign queen."

"How can you–" Mycroft began, but Sherlock interrupted.

"My friend has inside knowledge, I suspect. You know the gentleman, Watson?"

"I met him at the Travellers Club two nights ago," I said cheerfully. "His name is John Riddell and he had a yarn to tell rivalling the wildest tales of Professor Challenger. Indeed, of all the stories I have heard in my time, his is certainly the hardest to believe..."  

marysutherland: (Mark Gatiss)
BBC Sherlock

Rating 12 (implied violence)

Spoilers: for The Reichenbach Fall

Mycroft had to admit that Kitty Riley had a certain rat-like cunning. She could say anything about Sherlock's past, of course, now he was dead, but it had been ingenious to bribe someone to obtain an old school report.  What she'd found was certainly lurid enough for the red tops; no bland generalities from the eccentric masters at their public school.

"Holmes' intelligence is matched only by his obnoxious behaviour" from the maths master; Mr Hall in Classics commenting, "He would do well to remember the need for diplomacy as well as brilliance; crowing over the mistakes of others is hardly fair play." Next came the damning sentence scrawled by a housemaster: "The boy is frankly untrustworthy." And last of all, the headmaster's conclusion: "We feel that your son would be better continuing his schooling elsewhere. There is a curious lack of empathy visible, which has led to certain unfortunate incidents. A consultation with a child psychiatrist might be recommended."

"Not a pretty picture, is it, Ms Riley?" Mycroft said. "Hoping for another front page article, were you?"

Kitty didn't reply.

"A pity you didn't understand the difference between "Holmes major" and "Holmes minor," he went on, as she beat her hands vainly against the walls of the interrogation cell. "And so didn't spot that report didn't refer to my brother."   

marysutherland: (Rupert)
BBC Sherlock

Rating 12 (violence, implicit slash)

Spoilers: minor for series 2

It was Fengirl's second LJ birthday last week. I thought she needed some wet!Lestrade to celebrate.

Sherlock comes back from the dead after three months, because he's an impatient bugger. Also because you can't haunt your own grave for long before a wily old copper gets suspicious. After he catches Sherlock, Lestrade gives him a clip round the ear. Well, it starts as that. It's remarkable what Sherlock's picked up from three months doing nothing but watching people in churchyards.

"Colonel Moran," Lestrade tells Sherlock much, much later. "At the Olympics. With the air-gun. He's out to revenge Moriarty. Mycroft's got intelligence that he's targeting Zara." He expects to have to explain Zara. He's not expecting that Sherlock's deleted the very idea of London 2012.


Lestrade also expects that chasing all round Greenwich Park will go wrong, and sure enough, who ends up in the drink at a cross-country water jump? The muddy figure that he and Sherlock drag from its position half under the fence is oddly familiar. Kitty Riley, desperate for a royal scoop to regain her place on the tabloid front pages.

Lestrade's phone rings when they're drying themselves out; he listens as Mycroft splutters about appalling breaches of security.

"Moran fooled us," he tells Sherlock. "His target was at the main park."

"A man's dead," Sherlock replies, puzzled. "I'm happy, but why are you smiling?"

"Moran chose his target well. He shot Boris."
marysutherland: (Mark Gatiss)
BBC Sherlock

Rating: PG

Summary: Mycroft gets a nasty surprise when he visits John and Sherlock in Sussex.

Crack fic written for archea2's Not-Porn Porn Fest

John had expected the bees when they retired to Sussex. He hadn't expected the compost. Though Sherlock had always been fascinated by decomposition, and the scientific analysis of rotting vegetation was surely better than having disintegrating thumbs in the fridge.

Sherlock was out in the garden now, carefully sorting yesterday's leftovers. John knew better than to interfere; he still hadn't been forgiven for putting orange peel in the wormery. So when the door-bell rang, it was him faced with Mycroft.

He wished yet again that the Secret Service had let Mycroft go after William V's little accident, but no-one in the public sector was allowed to retire before eighty now. So here was Mycroft boring on about the latest defence disaster: someone had walked off with a vital part of Britain's latest submarine.

"It was a chip," Mycroft said. "They swallowed it." John's eyebrows rose. "A silicon chip. My experts assure me some information may be recoverable by the thief even after throughput."

"Sherlock won't take the case," John told him. "You know he's retired for good."

"I'm sure I can persuade him," Mycroft said smugly, heading out into the garden.

John watched and waited, smiling. A smile that turned into a grin as he saw Mycroft retreating shortly afterwards, beaten back by an accurately thrown volley of slightly-used tea bags.

marysutherland: (Mary Sutherland)
BBC Sherlock metafic

Rating 12 (non-explicit but gratuitous violence)

Summary. In January, Morelindo very bravely organised a Sherlock meet-up in London, which I and many others attended and enjoyed. The result, however, of taking my alter ego anywhere was inevitable....

It was a tragic accident, everyone agreed afterwards. No blame attached to anyone. She wasn't the only one of the party to find the Hunterian Museum more disturbing than they expected. As the afternoon wore on, several of her friends had heard her say the arrays of specimens in jars were getting a bit much. But surely a haemophobic should have known to avoid the corner with the video playing? The one that showed surgery in glorious technicolour? She must have been feeling faint, they reckoned afterwards, gone to lean against the railings of the balcony. And somehow – how? -  toppled over them. She was a tall woman, a clumsy woman, perhaps leaning out too far to catch a glimpse of some of the exhibit cases stretching from floor to ceiling. Or perhaps she'd surreptitiously been trying to take an illicit photo?

An accident was surely the only possibility, even if it was hard to explain. No-one had noticed her right before her fall, among the crowds of visitors, but who would want to harm her? Who would choose to target a mildly eccentric middle-aged woman?

It was pure misadventure, surely. There could be no other possible reason why, between the display of fetal walruses and the skeleton of Charles Byrne, the Irish giant, there now lay Mary Sutherland's broken body.

marysutherland: (JHW B&W)

BBC Sherlock/Dr Who crossover

Rating: U

Summary: Dr Watson seemed a bit different that morning.

Sherlock woke up and realised that John was frying bacon. Correction: when he went into the kitchen, a tall woman with long dark hair and wearing John's clothes was frying bacon.

"Morning. Would you like an egg as well?" said the woman, looking round. Chinese-American, early forties, experienced rock climber. Her beautiful face spread into a familiar rueful grin. "Sorry about this. Woke up this morning and I'd been reprogrammed. Can't work out yet how to change back."

That was the disadvantage of having a Teselecta as a flatmate, of course.

"But it's just the transport?" Sherlock asked hastily.

John's grin broadened. "I'd forgotten how disappointing it is fondling your own breasts. I'm fine otherwise."

"Two eggs and lots of bacon," Sherlock said, reaching for his phone, and dialling a familiar number.

"Good morning, little brother." Mycroft's voice was particularly smug. He'd probably been up for hours, gloating over this latest bit of interference.

"What have you done to John?"

"Nothing significant. You don't think when I'd finally found a being who could cope with you, that I'd change anything significant about them, do you?"

"Then why is he looking like that?"

"A little favour I'm doing for our American friends. I'll change him back later. But for now, Sherlock, I do hope that you and Joan Watson can be buddies."

marysutherland: (Default)

BBC Sherlock

Rating 15 (implicit femslash, sex pollen)

Spoilers: For Hounds of Baskerville

Summary: Someone has to clear up Dr Frankland's lab after his death.

There was a lot of clearing up to do after Dr Frankland's death, and it somehow didn't surprise Jacqui Stapleton that it was her having to do it. It was only the prospect of using her as a guinea pig, after all, that had persuaded Major Barrymore to keep her on at Baskerville.

But maybe this research was what Frankland's paperwork claimed it was: anti-viral hand sanitiser. She'd had the stuff on her skin for an hour now, and she hadn't had hives or hallucinations. She checked her watch; almost time for her counselling session.

Having Dr Mortimer – Louise – here was another of Major Barrymore's clever plans. Stop her talking about what she'd learned from Henry Knight and surreptitiously check that no-one else at Baskerville was barking. Good to have more women around the lab, Jacqui reckoned.

Her fingers tingled as she shook Louise's hand, and she heard a surprised gasp from her. Jacqui felt her pulse racing as she gazed into Louise's warm, dark, gorgeous eyes.

"Oh God," she whispered.


"Gay bomb," she said. "Hypothetical chemical weapon with strong same-sex aphrodisiac effect."


"Maybe Frankland cracked it."

"We'll need to experiment," Louise gasped, rubbing her face against Jacqui's palm. "Thoroughly."

"Yes," Jacqui breathed. "But I think we should sanitize the research results before we give them to Major Barrymore."

marysutherland: (Mark Gatiss)
BBC Sherlock/Cabin Pressure crossover

Rating 12 (implicit mass death)

Spoilers: For Scandal in Belgravia and Ottery St Mary

"You know," the man standing at the airport bar said to Mycroft, "I've flown a plane with a dead body on it before, but it's unusual to have all the passengers deceased before takeoff. One might even call it overkill."

Mycroft scanned him rapidly. Late fifties, divorced several times, currently in a subordinate position on a minor airline, but poise and self-belief still mostly intact. And infinitely corruptible.

"How can I make you realise you've misinterpreted the situation, Mr-?"

"Richardson. Douglas Richardson." Richardson's hand reached for his drink and managed to brush Mycroft's wrist on the way. "What did you have in mind as a memory solvent?" His voice now was low, enticing.

"Something bigger than your normal low-grade criminality. I could use a man who can make the most of his chances." Richardson smiled slowly. "But I need to know first whether I can trust you. Who was the other person with you when you found the corpses?"

"What other person?"

"You're too lazy to wander around peeking into other people's planes. Another man: interested in things around him – he found the bodies. But not very bright and easily led – you're here, not him. Is he a problem?"

"Don't worry about Arthur," Richardson replied. "He's back on Gertie now, carefully checking that we haven't got any rabid otters on board."


marysutherland: (Default)

BBC Sherlock

Rating U

Spoilers: For Hounds of Baskerville

Summary: Lestrade needs a break after the events at Grimpen.

Greg knew by the second day in Orlando that his holiday had been a mistake. Why had he come all this way when he already worked for a Mickey Mouse outfit back at home? It was boredom more than any great sense of duty that made him agree to do the job for Mycroft in Devon.

There had to be some mid-point though, between boredom and getting scared shitless by a bloody great dog. Followed by someone blowing himself up. It was a huge relief when he could pack Sherlock and John back off to London, away from the mad scientists.

The weather had abruptly turned horrible, and he didn't fancy Dartmoor anyhow. He drove down to Salcombe and the sea. It was grey and windy on the sands and it felt like home. He rolled his trousers up and paddled in the icy Atlantic waters and he could feel his tan fading. It didn't matter. Today he wanted a choc ice, occasional showers and not to worry about murderers. To pretend he was still a lad back in Weston, not a middle-aged, soon to be divorced plod.

No, he couldn't really forget that, but the grey sea still suited his mood, in its unwavering persistence. Sod all the flashiness of Florida; there was still nothing quite like a British beach.


marysutherland: (Default)

February 2017

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