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: (Mary Sutherland)
Rating 12 (vaguely obscene food references)

The Sherlock Holmes Picnic this year included a fabulous mystery competition that had us charging all over Regent's Park to solve a murder set in an AU in which Sherlock and John are real. In this AU, the Sherlock RPF picnic also took place in Regent's Park, featuring a cast of deluded and sometimes dangerous fans, many of whom you may recognise from the Fandom_Wank report.

Also present, however, was the world's most clueless Sherlock RPF fan, Miss Mary Sutherland. What follows is her account of the day.

(Note: this fic does not contain major spoilers for the murder mystery. It contains minor spoilers, but only in the way that a haystack contains a needle: as the results of the competition indicate, Mary Sue Sutherland can't spot an important clue if it comes along and bites her on the ankle).

From: Mary Sue Sutherland <>
To: SherlockHat [e-mail redacted]
Sent: Saturday, 20 July 2013, 22:24
Subject: Re: Sherlock picnic 2013

Dear Hat,

You said you wanted me to tell you the highlights of the Sherlock RPF picnic, so you could do another one of your parodies, but it was beyond parody this time. Going to a conference on the care of municipal archives sounds a lot more fun; I'd have gladly swapped places with you. But I've been going to the picnic every year, and having signed up for this year's one before Laptopgate, I thought it'd look suspicious if I didn't show up at all. My plan was to go along for a bit and then invent the need for an urgent trip to the Warburg Library if I decided to sneak off early.

I'd managed to keep a low profile online about Laptopgate (helped by the fact that even though I was recruit number 5 to CAMSIC, I'm still pretty much a no-name-fan in most quarters), but I knew I was going to have to take sides at the picnic. Which meant sticking up for Delstalker, even though you know what I think about her and about "Cold and Broken Hallelujah". (BTW, have you got any further with "You Don't Really Care For Fanfic, Do Ya?" It has to be finished, even if you then need to change your name and retreat into your archives for ten years to avoid the resulting flack).

That's the point, after all: Delstalker may have written a fic I loathe, but that doesn't mean she's responsible for people's over the top reactions to it. And I don't think it was trolling: she strikes me as absolutely sincere in her belief that Sherlock getting himself stupidly killed was the best kind of ending ever. (I do sometimes wish I could round up half of all fanficcers into re-education camps and explain to them that a good relationship involves two happy people treating each other without emotional cruelty, and why can't they write something like that for a change?)

But anyhow, you wanted to hear about the picnic. I ignored Annie's request for cupcakes, because there's only so much sugar anyone can eat, and I took along some cheese straws. Not in the shape of anything, because I am a writer, not a baker, and it was hard enough just avoiding burning them. I got there quite early, only to find no sign of Annie. But Del was there, so it was just as well I had my CAMSIC T-shirt on. Only, of course, she said it was last year's T-shirt and why didn't I buy this year's one from the store? I said I tried to make all my clothes last several years, and she said it showed (!!)

And then I got the expected interrogation about why I hadn't left comments on "Hallelujah" and what I thought of it. I gave her some vague reply about never being good at putting things in comments, and that I had found her fic very thought-provoking. I didn't say, obviously, that the main thoughts were "God, how much Sherlock would hate this romantic crap" and "John Watson writes more coherent paragraphs than Del". I really don't see why people want to turn Sherlock Holmes, who I know from meeting him is both brilliant and a prick, into some kind of emotional idiot. His eyes and his coat are really not the most interesting thing about him.

But anyhow, having, I hoped, satisfied Del, who wants acclaim from everyone, even someone she despises like me, I looked around to see who else was there. I spotted a rather uncomfortable looking bloke in a rugby shirt sitting in his own, so I wondered if he was a newbie and needed introducing to people. It turned out, however, that he was the legendary Charlie, who was a lot less appealing than Annie had made him out to be. In fact I can't really understand what she sees in him: he comes across as spectacularly boring. I also can't understand why she had thought it was a good thing dragging him along to the picnic and then abandoning him. Meeting a load of RPFers en masse isn't really a good idea for Muggles, especially when we were all starting to get hyped up on sugar and slash talk. I did manage to do Charlie one favour and divert Kate Kissinger from her obvious descent on him. Definitely taking one for the team, especially as she'd brought along penis-shaped cupcakes. (Don't ask! Please don't ask! I almost joined "They're Just Friends" on the spot from the squick alone).

I got about quarter of an hour of theories from Kate, which wasn't as bad as I expected, because I got her onto Mycroft. Since I've actually talked to him (you remember the affair of the dead cat fic), I'm quite prepared to believe the worst about him, however implausible. And I did quite like the idea that he was actually a lizard, though I'm not sure how that squares with him also being a descendant from the Merovingian royal family. (And frankly, Mycroft's a lot brighter than Clovis or Dagobert ever were).

After that, I managed to find I'm Not Your Shipper and SpeedyWoman and we had a nice peaceful chat about gender roles and the awesomeness of Mrs Hudson. Not Your said she was think of writing an AU in which it's actually Mrs Hudson who solves all the crimes using Sherlock as a front, because no-one takes older women seriously. (She thought of it as Miss Marple meets Remington Steele). I'm always a bit twitchy about RPF AUs, but she was making quite a lot of decent points about levels of reality which ties in with your ideas about parody and roman-à-clef as political weapons (because, of course, the personal is always political for women, isn't it? You can't hear the DS Donovan haters without realising that).

Anyhow, we had an intelligent and sensible conversation for quite a long time, which is completely unsuitable for parody by you, and then we got ambushed by Parma Violet, who apparently thinks that trolling online isn't enough and that a true troll works in person. I always find her mind-bendingly frustrating, because she makes one or two good points, but if you agree with her on those she thinks you are ripe for conversion to her whole worldview. There are options in between the people who want to kidnap John Watson and force him to write slash and those who are practically stalking John's girlfriends to prove he's not gay. (I almost suggested that Violet kidnap John and wire him to a plethysmograph to check that he wasn't, but that would be completely unethical. Though I am now tempted to write a fic in which Sherlock does that to John in order to get baseline data for some case and then gets a surprise at how John reacts to him. Or is that a borderline creepy thought? When I hang around too much with the other RPFers, it gets hard to tell).

I had presumed that Violet was targeting people at random, but it turned out she'd read my Clara fic (The Solitary Fish-Cyclist) in which I hypothesise that Sherlock might be asexual. I know I'm not the first person to suggest that, but I think I'm probably the only member of CAMSIC who has done so recently, so she was pleased about that. Until I pointed out that saying Sherlock was asexual when he might not be was no less disrespectful than saying he was gay when he might not be, unless you were automatically thinking that being gay was wrong. At which point we got the usual tedious attempt by Violet to prove she isn't a homophobe. (I always feel she's protesting a bit too much, though I've no idea why. Maybe she secretly lusts after Del?)

Violet lost interest in me after a bit, and I realised that this was because Annie had finally turned up, and the queue to talk to her was promptly developing. This is the bit where I get reminded of school, because Annie is the popular girl this year and you can see it driving Del wild that she's not top anymore. I've always hated that kind of cliquey stuff, so I went off to talk to Natasha. Whom I admire not because she's got a publishing deal, but because she's a genuinely good writer. I do my best not to envy her success, even though there are times when she makes me feel I want to delete all my work and start again from scratch. But our styles are just so different that I'm probably better off trying to write as well as I can as Mary Sutherland rather than be another Sedimentary clone. It certainly took Annie a long enough time to find her own voice after writing together with Tash.

Since I knew you'd want the gossip, I did ask Tash what was the deal about her having to take down her previous stories from the net, and got something of a rant. As you suspected, Annie is refusing to allow her to do that and the sticking point is the shared stories. I suggested to Tash that she just let Annie take the whole credit for them, but that didn't go down well. I suppose since "Sherlock on the Buses" is the fic that first captured Sherlock's voice, it's not surprising that Tash is reluctant to abandon her baby. But I think she will in the end, because the publishers are insisting on it, and there must be some way of buying Annie off (possibly even literally). Tash is sensible enough to realise that, surely?

I decided after a while that I'd better distract Tash from her (justified) complaints about Annie, so I asked her about cupcakes. She said she'd just brought some chocolate ones from Tescos (having had to go herself at the last minute to get them, because her husband had bought chocolate brownies instead). That made me feel less bad about the cheese straws and we got into a discussion of the best and worst of the homemade cakes. I thought the CAMSIC ones had actually been quite clever and I also liked the look of the ones with the green gun iced on the top (though that turned out to be peppermint, when I ate it, which isn't my favourite). Tash said Kiss' penis cakes had been surprisingly good and actually not as worrying as some of the other ones around. That surprised me, because most of the rest of the designs had been relatively tame: red pants and poison pills and moustaches and the like. But Tash said someone had come with a cupcake with Annie's name actually written on it in icing.

I said that must be April, and was she really still trying to get Annie involved in her Mystrade community? I think April must have asked everyone to come and help her with it now: she even tried to get me involved at one point, although I've always made it clear to her what I think about Mycroft. (And yes, that is another reason why I was trying to avoid April even before the laptop affair. Good deduction, that. Because though I do feel a bit sorry for her – she has a rotten time in RL – she is completely unsuitable for any community except care in the community).

I'm sorry, that's getting very bitchy, but Flame's combination of intensity and helplessness always makes me uncomfortable. But Tash was saying that Annie now has another over-enthusiastic follower. I don't know where she finds them all. There was foxycop getting all peculiar about her and then April, and even Parma Violet, in an odd way, is more obsessed than Annie than you'd expect, given that Del's still head of CAMSIC. The new one is called something unmemorable, like Fan29, and no-one knows who she is, but Tash advised Annie to block her when she started posting repeatedly on all of Annie's fics.

I asked the obvious question about whether Fan29 was really a sock puppet of Annie, but Tash said no, it was definitely someone else, because she was obviously more medically knowledgeable than Annie. I asked her how she knew that, and she had some complicated argument about Annie getting details of blood-flow in The Software Engineer's Thumb completely wrong and Fan29 trying to defend her, even though she obviously knew the difference between venous and arterial bleeding. Honestly, if you want to know all the sordid details, you should probably e-mail Tash. I kept on getting the feeling that she had more to spill about Annie if I'd just known the magic words. Anyhow, the main point is that Annie has another huge fan and there will doubtless now be further ructions in the fandom about who is Annie's Best Friend Forever.

By that point I was starting to get a headache, because the whole thing was so complicated that it needed diagrams. You enjoy these kind of fights: I don't. Though I suppose that if I'm in a fandom devoted to a man who is always convinced that he and he alone is right and possessing no social tact whatsoever, I shouldn't be surprised if that influences the fans. I decided I'd sit down and relax and not over-think things, and I managed to find some people who were perfectly happy to discuss Dr Watson's apparent problems in reading a calendar correctly. (What is it with that man and his inability to get to grips with dates? Double-entendre entirely intended).

So I was finally unwinding and then along came the sugary straw that broke the camel's back. Someone had made cupcakes decorated with a crossed out "RPF", alongside an almond. A person conducting a feud via cakes with a nut on the top; doesn't that kind of food fight just sum up Sherlock RPF? I had to get out of there before it did my head in completely.

I didn't even stop to say goodbye to Not Your and SpeedyWoman and the rest – and Annie was still far too busy to approach and thank for organising the picnic. I was across the Clarence Bridge practically at a run, and when I looked at my watch as I left Regent's Park I saw it was 2 p.m. I'd managed fractionally under two hours talking to Sherlock RPFs and I was already worrying about my sanity. I headed for Baker Street tube, staying well clear of Speedy's, and went straight home.

E and E were still out on their cycling trip when i got back, so I did what you've been urging me to do and watched a couple more episodes of The White Queen on the BBC iPlayer. Funny how RPF is suddenly completely acceptable when it's all heterosexual and about dead royalty, isn't it? But I didn't spot the actor you claim looks like DI Lestrade. Are you sure you're not just making that up? I can't believe that any upper class twerp called Rupert and playing a lord is going to look much like the Silver Fox of the Yard. Will have to stop for the moment because it sounds like the cyclists returning and I'd better hear how they got on.

10 pm

The two Es ended up cycling for 32 miles, though they didn't get a swim because the tide in the Wash was too far out. I'm not sure Big E will ever be able to move again. I just said I'd left the picnic early because I got a bit tired talking to people and he didn't ask further. He's much happier if I don't mention the word "slash" and I know he always worries about me going off to these events. Still, I suppose this year's was relatively uneventful; no bizarre accidents or near-death experiences, unlike previous years. Even Laptopgate seems like a storm in a cupcake now I'm back home. Doubtless if you read all the LJ accounts of the picnic, you'll find there were more arguments after I'd gone, but it's all small stuff. Basically the fandom is about celebrating friendship and dreaming of being clever enough to solve crimes and we can all do that. On that cheery note I'll leave you, and good luck with finding something lurid enough for your next fandom parody.


Mary Sue


From: MGH [e-mail redacted]
To: AZ [e-mail redacted]
Sent: Sunday, 21 July 2013, 04:34
Subject: Re: Death of Annabel Keele


I know I told you to get GCHQ checking yesterday's PRISM data urgently regarding the demise of Ms Keele, but why on earth did you send me this? The NSA's algorithms may not be smart enough to recognise that I could not possibly want to read anything by Ms Sutherland, but you ought to know that by now. Even if she had been on the scene at the relevant time, she would not have observed anything of use; she never does.

Let me make this clear: I want accounts by people alert enough to spot what actually happened and I want them immediately. We have to get this death solved before the media pick up on the Sherlock connection. He obviously cannot be involved in the case himself, given that "Death by Squee" is now a recognised phenomenon, and the police have already shown themselves to be thoroughly untrustworthy in this matter.

Provided I can get reports from as many of those present at the picnic as possible, I have no doubt I will be able to solve the case promptly: it is only the legwork involved that keeps me from being a detective genius. Prancing around Regent's Park for three hours in summer is not my idea of fun. What I need now is not sentimental tosh about friendship from a short-sighted academic: send me a gigabyte's worth of RPF gossip and not only will I find the murderer, I may have the opportunity to close down CAMSIC at last. And you know what I'm prepared to do to achieve that.


PS: the above e-mail does, however, confirm that your betaing for Ms Delamare has been a considerable success. I remain grateful that you persuaded her to the "tragic" rewrite of Chapter 96 of "Hallelujah"; we may yet destroy the RPFers from within. That is, if they don't all slaughter each other first!
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)
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 (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: (Wallpaper)
Sherlock BBC

Rating 12 (implicit slash)

Spoilers: for A Scandal in Belgravia

Summary: Sherlock doesn't notice everything.

"I trust your brother is as good as you claim," Harry Pointdextre said, once he and Mycroft were alone. "Can't say he has much to recommend him otherwise."

"No?" Mycroft said, raising an eyebrow. "Which was doubtless why you were surreptitiously checking him out during our conversation? I thought Dr Watson would be more your type."

"Excellent chap, but far too short. You know my tastes, Mycroft. But I'm not sure it's quite the thing to tease your little brother if he is inexperienced in the bedroom department."

"I wanted to distract him from deducing your preferences. But Sherlock's not a virgin; he's simply given up sexual encounters."

"Can hardly be for lack of offers, I'm sure. From either side of the fence."

"He claims he prefers to focus on the life of the mind. I suspect it's more that he's hopeless at sex. No quicker passion-killer than someone realising that their partner's mind is currently focused on bloodstains. Multitasking is not advisable on those occasions."

"Well, let's hope he can still sort out Miss Adler and deal with those photos. Thanks for your help, as well, Mycroft. And, under the circumstances, if you'd like a quick tour of the palace's private rooms, I'd be happy to show you round now."

"I'd be delighted. Starting, one presumes – hopes – in your bedroom."

marysutherland: (Mark Gatiss)

BBC Sherlock

Rating: U

Spoilers for The Reichenbach Fall

"Why me?" Mycroft demanded, when Sherlock told him his request.

"The joy of redemption, Mycroft," Sherlock replied, mockingly. "After all, you stitched me up with that journalist. You need this, you know, or you won't sleep at night."

"I could have arranged your entire demise, if you'd asked."

"Of course. You specialise in reusing corpses, don't you? But, as you see, I've managed that side myself, with some help from my friends. I'm giving you this minor role in my plan as a favour."

"For which you will expect repayment, naturally."

"Naturally. Dying is easy, staying dead requires more resources. So are you going to do it? Or do I cut you out of the loop entirely?"

"I don't see how we can make this work. John will recognise me."

"You'll be well disguised, and he'll be in shock. Henry Knight's mind created a monstrous hound, because it seemed more plausible than the truth. John won't believe it could be you, so he won't see you."

"I'm frankly not sure I can manage it."

"It's a simple enough task. A twelve-year-old could do it. In fact, I still have the scars from where you did do it to me."

"But I don't have the equipment."

"Oh, Mycroft, really. I'm sure your department's budget can run to buying you a BMX bike."

marysutherland: (Wallpaper)

BBC Sherlock

Rating PG

Spoilers for The Reichenbach Fall

"Why would Sherlock Holmes invent a master criminal?" the reporter asked.

"So he could defeat me and prove he was a genius," Moriarty said confidently.

"But he is a genius, isn't he?" she replied, smiling. "It wasn't you who planned the Crown Jewels raid, because you're just a hired actor, it was him. That's pretty impressive."

"His idea was that I was such an incredible master criminal that I could get away with crimes even when I was clearly guilty."

"So Mr Holmes rigged the jury?"

"Yeah, like he promised me."

"But presumably, he was going to catch you in the end: Moriarty, the bomber, the child abductor. Crimes that he'd carried out, but you would be blamed for. And you'd have to be found guilty this time, for him to win."

"I suppose so."

"You'd get a long sentence then, wouldn't you?"

"He said he'd get me out. Remember, he can open up Pentonville."

"And whose word could you possibly trust more than that of a fantasising homicidal genius? Or who would it be safer for you to tell a reporter about? You know," Hildy Johnson added. "I don't think our readers are going to swallow this one, to be honest. But don't worry, I'll give you the number of a reporter on the Sun, if you like, Mr Brook."

Note: Hildy Johnson is from His Girl Friday

marysutherland: (Sherlock and John)

BBC Sherlock

Rating 12+ (depending on your imagination)

Spoilers: Minor for Scandal in Belgravia. Inspired by a comment by Shoudboverthis.

"You're pick-pocketing Lestrade's phone now?" John said, when Sherlock gleefully produced it.

"He was being particularly irritating today."

"Well, maybe he's in a bad mood because his marriage has recently broken down, which would piss off anybody. And especially leave him feeling pissed-off with the person who's been providing a tactless running commentary on the disintegration of said marriage for months."

"But do you know why I pick-pocketed his phone now?"

"Because you're a git. A very clever git, but still a git." That was an easy deduction.

"To see what he's been saying to Mycroft."

John's jaw dropped. "Do I want to know?"

"Mycroft's been lusting after Lestrade for years. Now he's available, he'll try and make a move. I want to hear him being rebuffed." Sherlock opened the phone and started scrolling through the folders on it. Then his jaw dropped.

"I take it, then, Mycroft hasn't been rebuffed," John said eventually.

"There are photos of them together doing... things. I think my brain may be broken."

"Let's have a look," said John, and Sherlock handed the phone over. "Oh, that's not so bad, as long as you're careful. Done that sort of thing myself, actually."

"You have?" Sherlock demanded, in horror.

"Yeah, though you'd obviously have to be even more careful if you did it with another bloke."

marysutherland: (Mary Sutherland)
Happy Christmas to Warriorbot, who deserves a special 221B for getting Mary Sue Sutherland writing metafic.


Rating 15 (frankly alarming fiction)

It was December 15th and it was quiet.

"Too quiet," Lestrade said.

"On the streets?" Donovan asked.

"On the RPF meme. You've been monitoring it. What are they up to now?"

"Sure you wanna know?"

"Mistletoe and mince-pies? Sherlock uttering the phrase 'Happy Holidays'?"

"Rare pairing fest," Donovan replied. "Would you believe there are people out there wanting Moriarty/Anderson slash?"

"That'll pay Anderson back for posting photos of Mycroft on Tumblr," Lestrade said. "Just tell me no-one's imagining me with Sherlock again. It upsets My and John and I don't want any more writers damaged."

There was a particular intensity to Donovan's silence by now.

"Worse than that?" Lestrade demanded.

"Someone's requested Dark Lestrade/Dimmock, sir."

"Yes, but no-one's insane enough to write... Oh God, they haven't let Sutherland near the internet again, have they?"

"It's not just her, sir. They're all out again: Mary Sue, Foxycop and Warriorbot. The word on the tweet is they're collaborating now. And we've just intercepted this message." Donovan handed him the print-out gingerly, obviously unwilling to read it out.

Dear MSS, OK so we're agreed: Holmescest with voyeur Lestrade it is. I do the porn, you do the angst and Foxycop does the adjectives. Love 'Bot.

Well that solved the problem of Mycroft's Christmas present, thought Lestrade. Just get him a gallon of brain bleach.

Notes: Lurking on the Sherlock Rare Pair fest there are indeed alarming things. Foxycop first appears in Going Down With This Ship by Warriorbot, and her legendary fic I'm not Your Sniffer Dog is here.

marysutherland: (Sherlock and John)

BBC Sherlock

Happy Christmas to flawed amythyst

Rating 15 (slash, crack)

Prompt: John/Sherlock, last word bandage

John supposedly had a good bedside manner, but strangely even his professionalism faltered when Sherlock and he were both naked.

“Hold still,” John barked again. “I need to clean the wound.”

“It stings!”

“Shouldn’t have left that ornament on the floor. I told you it was hazardous.”

“You said ‘tripping hazard’, not ‘falling onto and cutting your head open hazard’,” Sherlock retorted. Not that good a retort, but his head hurt.

“And what did I also say?” John replied patiently, as he reached into the first-aid kit. “About the kitchen table?”

“A really stupid place for sex. But when you came home and there I was on it-“

“Doing obscene things with extra virgin olive oil-“

“You didn’t say no, did you?” Sherlock smirked.

“The problem is,” John said wearily. “You’re irresistible and an idiot. It’s a dangerous combination.”

“If you hadn’t thrust so hard, we’d have been OK. And I did warn you.”

“You yelled, and I quote: ‘So near the edge, John’. I presumed that meant of an orgasm, not the table.” John’s voice now had a familiar rueful note, and Sherlock seized his chance.

“You said ‘you are irresistible’, not ‘you were’. So?”

“So, yes,” said John, “Mainly to distract you from the pain. But in bed this time. And only when I’ve finished putting on your bandage.”

marysutherland: (Mary Sutherland)

BBC Sherlock metafic

Rating 12 (tastelessness)

Warning: this was inspired by a discussion at a Sherlock meet-up in the autumn about limits on writing fanfic, during which two of my previous betas specifically said they would refuse to read any fic I wrote on this topic. This contains no graphic violence, but is nevertheless gratuitously offensive to cat-lovers.

Summary: Mary Sue Sutherland, hapless writer of RPF, has once again got herself into trouble.

Read more... )

marysutherland: (Mark Gatiss)
BBC Sherlock

Rating 12 (frankly alarming effects of fiction)

Crack metafic. Blooms84 wrote a hilarious fic Beta Call, in which Mrs Hudson writes RPF. She also made the rash comment that if I ever found her writing Merlin/Sherlock crossover, I should call an ambulance. This seemed more appropriate, somehow...

Mycroft sighed. It was fortunate that Greg’s texts were no longer monitored, because this one would doubtless have got the security analysts alarmed: )
marysutherland: (Mark Gatiss)
Since Blooms84 has been discussing her attraction to certain policemen and actors recently, a little something for her and others...

Warning: contains high levels of crack and sexual implications that British people may find alarming.

"I'm away for three days, Greg, and you end up in this, this orgy?"

"Wasn't supposed to be an orgy, My," Greg protested, holding his head. "S'pposed to be a drinking game."

"It was supposed to be the Police Federation Regional Intelligence Forum."

"DCI Luther, DS Ripley and me went to the session on rural crime, and the speaker had brought drinks for after. Short, slim guy called Hamish, absolutely gor...Scottish."


"Highland term, means very Scottish. He was from somewhere called Loch Dubh. Lot of whisky there. Well, there was once."

"Drinking games with a Gor-Scotsman. And then?"

"The Manchester delegation were all female, we thought we'd win easily."

"You attempted to out-drink some Mancunians, Greg?"

"Was getting friendly with DC Rachel Bailey, too. Till I realised if I didn't get away, I'd start a torrid affair with her and it'd end with a messy breakup and me trying to get her run over by a contract killer."

"So instead, Luther, Ripley, PC Macbeth and you returned to your bedroom. The tapes have been wiped, Greg. I wish my mind could."

"Sorry. Dunno what came over me."

"Best to forget it. Mistakes happen," Mycroft said resignedly. After all, his own obsession with the actor Michael Sheen had seemed harmless. Till yesterday he'd somehow ended up sleeping with Tony Blair.


marysutherland: (Default)

February 2017

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