marysutherland: (Wallpaper)
BBC Sherlock

Rating 12: Non-explicit het

Summary: All that remains for Sherlock to do is get out of hospital and into Appledore

Many thanks to Kalypso for betaing

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

It's not getting into Appledore that's the problem, Sherlock decides. )
marysutherland: (Sherlock in uniform)
BBC Sherlock

Rating 12: Non-explicit het

Summary: Sherlock's still having problems figuring out Mary Watson and Appledore

Many thanks to Kalypso for betaing

Part 1, Part 2

Another talk with Mary will probably allow some more deductions, but Sherlock has to wait, plan their next conversation correctly. )

Part 4
marysutherland: (JHW B&W)
The Go-Between

BBC Sherlock

Rating 12: Non-explicit het

Summary: Sherlock's learned some more about Mary from talking to her; now he needs to start making deductions.

Many thanks to Kalypso for betaing

Part 1

John's mood is increasingly filthy towards the end of the month and Sherlock can't immediately work out why. )

Part 3
marysutherland: (Sherlock and John)
The Go-Between

BBC Sherlock

Rating 12: Non-explicit het

Summary: Sherlock has to come up with a new plan to sort out Magnussen. But he also has to solve the problem of John and Mary.

Many thanks to Kalypso for betaing


Sherlock's second stay in hospital is much longer: several months, in fact. )

Part 2
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: (Sherlock and John)

BBC Sherlock

Rating: 12 (preslash)

Spoilers: For The Hounds of Baskerville

A sequel to There May Be Trouble Ahead, and Before They Ask Us to Pay the Bill.
Betated by the amazing Blooms84.

Summary: The Baskerville case may be solved, but Sherlock has other problems to consider.

Part 1



John works out about the drug the next morning, but he sounds almost resigned about the fact that Sherlock's been running experiments on him. )


Final story in the sequence: There may be teardrops to shed
marysutherland: (Default)

BBC Sherlock

Rating: 12 (preslash)

Spoilers: For The Hounds of Baskerville

A sequel to There May Be Trouble Ahead, and Before They Ask Us to Pay the Bill.
Betated by the amazing Blooms84.

Summary: Sherlock has a lot of things to worry about, before and after his trip to Dartmoor

"With your natural advantages, Watson, every lady is your helper and accomplice. What about the girl at the post-office, or the wife of the greengrocer? I can picture you whispering soft nothings with the young lady at the Blue Anchor, and receiving hard somethings in exchange. All this you have left undone."

"It can still be done."  – The Adventure of the Retired Colourman



Hard to kill an idea once it's firmly lodged in your head, Sherlock thinks on the long plane trip home from Karachi. Irene Adler is a saleswoman of desire, after all, and if you're around her long enough you can almost be persuaded there's something about sex worth buying.  )

Part 2

One bullet

Feb. 11th, 2012 01:56 pm
marysutherland: (Sherlock in uniform)

BBC Sherlock

Rating 12 (violence)

Spoilers: for The Reichenbach Fall

Betaed by the wonderful Small Hobbit

Pudupudu asked me at the SHAM2012 meetup to write Mycroft and Sherlock hurt/comfort. There may be slightly less comfort in this than she was hoping for, but that's Sherlock for you.


His death was going remarkably well, Sherlock thought. )

marysutherland: (JHW B&W)

BBC Sherlock

Rating: PG

Spoilers: for Hounds of Baskerville



John doesn't stop walking away when Sherlock tells him: "I don't have friends. I've just got one." Even though it's a brilliant line, and Sherlock knows it. He's spent his life getting away with murder – well, perhaps not murder, but some fairly close approximations - because he can always win people round. Molly, Mrs Hudson, even Gregory Lestrade: he always knows how to charm them just enough to make up for his previous bad behaviour.

John only stops walking when Sherlock tells him that he's helping solve the case. John doesn't find Sherlock charming. John thinks he's amazing, but also that he's an idiot. He points out sardonically when Sherlock's showing off or trying to be cool or been wrong in his deductions. So why does John stay? For the thrill? But he stays even when there's no case and Sherlock's brain is eating itself from the inside. And when the cases aren't exciting but horrifying, traumatic.

Because he's helping other people, of course. Louise Mortimer barely knows John, but it's him she begs to stop Henry Knight, not the police. So John goes out and disarms an unstable man with a gun, because that's what he does. John stays, Sherlock realises, because of people like Henry. People who desperately need someone to rely on who is kind as well as brave.

marysutherland: (Wallpaper)

BBC Sherlock

Rating: 12

Spoilers: major for Scandal in Belgravia

Summary: for those of this who didn't like the ending of Scandal, the full story can now be revealed...

Special thanks for spontaneous betaing by Blooms84 and late-night discussions with Fengirl.


Sherlock still wasn't certain who the British Prime Minister was, but he was now much better informed about Pakistani politics, thanks to Ali Khan of Baker Street Balti.  )

marysutherland: (Harry the Historian)

Happy Christmas to Blooms84

BBC Sherlock

Rating: U

Prompt: Harry (the historian) and Sherlock, last word bloom/blooms


"How can you n-not have heard of Ulysses?" Harry protested. "I'm not expecting you to have read it, but it is a landmark of m-modernist literature."

"I know nothing about literature," Sherlock replied, smiling.

"It shocked p-people when it appeared. The British and American authorities banned it."

"Is it still banned?" That sounded more promising.

"N-no, they lifted the restrictions in the 1930s."

"Hence no longer a book provoking criminal activities, hence not my area."

There was a look on Harry's face that reminded Sherlock of John discussing the solar system. Followed by an even more alarming expression. Harry was a lecturer, after all, and she'd obviously decided this was a teachable moment.

"Why do I need to know about Ulysses?" he protested half-heartedly; knowing he'd be on firmer ground if he hadn't just spent forty minutes explaining what could be deduced from a five line e-mail.

"Because one day," Harry said triumphantly, "you'll get a case where someone claims as an alibi that they were in Dublin on 16th June and you will kn-know they're lying because they haven't mentioned the Bloomsday celebrations."

"Which involve?"

"Book readings, pub crawls. People dress up."

Moriarty was a Dubliner. Perhaps it might be useful information.

"And why's it called Bloomsday?"

"After the central character of Ulysses," Harry began. "A man called Leopold Bloom..."

marysutherland: (Sherlock in uniform)

Happy Christmas to Xitheta

BBC Sherlock

Rating: PG

Prompt: Sherlock/John, last word bridge

Inspired by ACD's The Dying Detective


Sherlock frequently relied on John forgiving him, but it wasn’t working this time.

“I go away and you do this to Molly?” John said in disgust.

“It was for a case!”

“You made her think you were dying.”

“She’s simply incompetent.”

“No, she trusted you, didn’t realise you’d swapped the blood samples.”

“They showed I had a fatal disease, yet she didn’t insist on intensive care.”

“You begged to stay in 221B, so you could die in peace. Asked her to bring Culverton Smith over, so you could ask his advice.”

“And still she wasn’t suspicious. Nor was Smith, so I caught him red-handed. He was, of course, a murderer.”

“You took advantage of Molly, Sherlock.”

“What a quaint turn of phrase.” Why did it stir echoes? John was still glaring at him.

“Sometimes I think you are a sociopath.”

“You know I’m not.” Sherlock’s memory abruptly located the long-forgotten song:

Here am I with all my bridges burned
Just a babe in arms where you’re concerned
So lock the doors and call me yours
Coz you took advantage of me.


He understood that lyric now, the vulnerability love could bring. So maybe...

“If I apologise to Molly-“ he began.

“It’d be a start,” John said.

The first step to re-establishing John’s trust, Sherlock thought. Starting to build a new bridge.



Ella Fitzgerald singing "You Took Advantage of Me

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.”

Aftermath

Nov. 17th, 2011 01:08 pm
marysutherland: (Sherlock and John)
BBC Sherlock:

Rating: PG

Spoilers: for ACD's Scandal in Bohemia. It's his Irene Adler, not the Series 2 version

Irene Adler had defeated him and Sherlock felt wretched. Yesterday, when the king had come to congratulate him, he'd managed calm, with a hint of sarcasm. Asking for the photo of Irene rather than the king's ring had shown style, he thought. And even after the singularly dim monarch had left, he'd still kept up a vague kind of magnanimity, the thin illusion that he could be a good loser. For John's benefit, of course.

But now, twenty-four hours later, all that had run out, and he was down to the bitter dregs. John had gone off to the surgery, hurriedly fitting in an extra shift – if Sherlock had taken the ring, they could have paid this month's bills easily, he needed to think more carefully next time. Sherlock had spent the day on his couch, brooding, barely able to move, simply ignoring Mrs Hudson when she popped in. It was the usual post-case lethargy, but multiplied tenfold because he'd been beaten. He couldn't look at the new cases piling up in his inbox yet. Not till he could regain his own genius.

His work, after all, required the sustaining of illusion – not just the pretending to be someone else that was a normal part of his trade, but the illusion of infallibility. To himself, above all. He'd had a client recently who throughout their interview had repeatedly removed and replaced a ring on her finger, some kind of nervous tic. And Sherlock had abruptly found his mind racing back to the case of the Pink Lady – Jennifer Wilson – and the sudden realisation that maybe she hadn't had a string of lovers after all. You could never think of all the possibilities. If you tried you'd end up paralysed, unable to function at the speed required. He used logic, but he also sometimes had to guess, and he had to trust that he would guess right. Because if he didn't, people might die. No – if he didn't guess right, John might die.

But he was the great Sherlock Holmes, wasn't he? He was cleverer than almost everyone else; there was no-one else like him in the world. He had to re-find that man, re-inhabit that glorious confidence. Tonight, though, the weariness of his own fallibility weighed him down.

John had eventually come home and made them supper, and Sherlock had eaten it, because if he was eating there was an excuse for him not talking that wasn't simply sulkiness. And then he'd gone up and lain on his bed, still fully clothed, and John, after a while, had come and lain beside him. John had talked for a bit about his day at the surgery, and Sherlock had thought about showing interest, and decided it wasn't worth it. At last John had fallen silent, just lying there, ruffling Sherlock's curls. Because John was tired as well; he'd been rushing halfway across London on the case, and he hadn't a day off to recover.

Maybe sex was the answer, Sherlock thought, but he knew it wasn't. Neither of them had the energy for what he needed, the mad explosion of physical sensation, the frenzy that would blot out the pain in his mind, stop him caring for a moment about his own failure. Maybe if John was younger, sexier? But it wasn't John's fault that he looked how he looked. On the good days, his body seemed just right to Sherlock, fitting snugly together with his. But tonight, all he could see were John's imperfections: the poorly-defined bone structure, the lines, the wrinkles. The signs of an ordinary man.

Irene's photo had been Photoshopped a little, obviously, but she was still remarkably beautiful in real life. What would it be like to have her beside him now, not John? Not to sleep with – he had no sexual interest in her – but to talk to. That alert, active mind brought to confront his once again: that would be a worthy challenge for them both. The chance to dissect her character, confirm his analysis of the secrets of her success.

He'd tell her that analysis, but she wouldn't be alarmed. Nothing he could say would disconcert her: that was part of her allure to men, he felt sure. She was always ready to pretend so that that her lovers did not have to, could rest content in their own delusions of adequacy. Like that crowned idiot she'd recently been toying with.

No, he told himself, as John's hand reached across and stroked his side. He didn't need Irene Adler. He had everything he needed; it just required recapturing the desire for them. But not tonight. Tonight would just have to be got through. He sighed.

"I'm sorry it's bad," said John. "Anything I can do to help?"

"No," he replied, and then forced himself to say. "I'm tired, I'll have a bath, go to sleep, see if dreaming can unscramble my brain."

Even that much of an explanation was hard, but he felt it was necessary. It was part of what being with someone involved, he'd come to realise, responding to them.

"OK," said John. "I'll go and watch telly for a bit, but let me know if you need me." He sat up, smiling – the lines round his eyes even more visible – and said: "Sleep well. I love you."

Something else that being with someone involved: responding to their affection. "I love you, too," he said, closing his eyes. Just at the moment, it was a lie, of course, but it wasn't the worst lie he'd ever told.  And tomorrow, maybe he would be able to be the man John wanted him to be. Stranger things had happened.
 

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