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“Gregory this is not a laughing matter. I need my mobile.” Mycroft glared at the inspector, but the silver haired man was kicked back in a patio chair, grinning at him with a drink in his hand despite the fact that it wasn’t even noon.
“We’re on vacation, Mycroft. I did warn you what would happen if I caught you on it.”
Greg was being utterly insufferable.
I got this World War II AU idea from a staying with cousins prompt on a prompt list and, well, it turned into this:
Only now Mycroft was sending him away too. He’d told Sherlock London wasn’t safe, that he’d be fine with great-aunt Mabel, that he’d be home before he knew it. But Sherlock knew he wasn’t certain. The war wasn’t going very well so far and there were rumors even among his schoolmates that the Germans could be bombing London within months.
“When you get off the train Mr. Harris will be waiting for you,” said Mycroft. “Write me,”
For the record Sherlock is thirteen and he was in the care of Mycroft because their parents were busy with other things related to the war.
I was looking at pics of actors in drag yesterday and I had a mighty need to write Greg Lestrade in drag, so here’s a teaser:
“You should wear heels more often, you’ve got the calves for it.”
John turned to glare at Greg but stopped. The inspector was standing in a curly brunette wig, red halter top and a tight leather skirt that immediately made John want to adjust himself if he wasn’t already tucked.
Greg caught him staring and took a step back, drawing John’s attention to sexy heeled boots. “Been a while, but glad to see I still got it.”
Started the second of chapter of ‘It Doesn’t Usually Start with a Wedding.’ Yeah slightly more than six.
Sherlock ruffled his hair as he looked in the mirror. It was half-seven in the morning, earlier than he usually was about, but he hadn’t given John a specific time. And given that John was a military man, eight in the morning was his most likely time of arrival. The flat was in need of a tidy, but he made some effort at straightening the magazines and making sure the experiments were mostly put up. He turned the kettle on and took one last look around the flat before heading downstairs.
Ridiculous, really. John was an alpha, after all. No doubt he’d find an omega soon enough and settle down. But in the meantime, he could be a great asset to the work
I’m kicking around the idea for a semi-sequel to Mycroft’s Choice, that’s johnlock. John’s an alpha. And it’s more than six, but I like this scene:
John could tell right away that the man was omega. And bonded. But he carried himself just as proudly as any alpha. John stood at parade rest, looking past his shoulder as if about to be dressed down by a superior officer.
He felt his eyes on him, probing, searching, maybe even seeing more than Sherlock had. He ignored the vulnerability and waited for him to speak. “What is your association with Sherlock Holmes?”
“Met him yesterday,” said John, voice steady.
“And moved in with him today. He is a beta, you know.”
John shifted his gaze to meet his eyes. “So? You’re an omega. It doesn’t matter to me what my flatmate is.”
Working on the third chapter of Mycroft’s Choice:
A man stepped into his path: “I see you decided to come back.” Mister Williams was an alpha through and through and had never gotten along with Mycroft. If anyone was making jokes about omegas behind his back, it was Williams.
“Of course,” he made a move to go around him.
Williams leaned into his space and sniffed. “Bonded, finally. Suppose that means you’ll be quitting to have babies soon?”
Working on a fic that’s a bit about Sherlock’s PTSD, trying to anyway. Slightly more than six sentences:
John walked into what might have once been a ballroom, all large expanse of floor. Sherlock moved past him, out towards the middle of the room. He smiled a little at the graceful steps, visible even in the dim light. Ever since his return, Sherlock had been tight, tense, wound. But for the moment he looked free, even moving among the dust.
Suddenly Sherlock’s steps faltered. Without thought, John hurried towards his side, and perhaps that was the fatal mistake. Sherlock turned and put a hand out in warning a moment before the floor gave way and they plummeted into darkness.
I’m still processing, but I started a fic that ignored the very end of tonights episode and has John rescuing Sherlock from Eastern Europe.
John moved down the street, hat pulled low over his eyes. The gun was heavy at his back, but his steps were steady. He didn’t speak the language, but he didn’t need too as he spotted the lanky blonde coming out of the brick building. A few more steps and he bumped into him. The man turned and there was a moment their eyes met and he saw the taller man’s eyes go wide with recognition.
Just then a van pulled up next to them and the door opened..
I’m still kicking at the next chapter of Ilium, here’s the start of it, slightly more than six:
John’s breath hitched as they crossed into the station. He itched to have his gun. Instead he pushed his hands deeper in his pockets. After so long on the outskirts of society it wasn’t quite right to be around so many police. Donovan looked him over as they headed for Lestrade’s office and he turned away from her gaze, focusing on the dark coat in front of him and the confident stride. A radio squawked and he nearly stumbled, catching himself just in time.
“You all right?” asked Donovan.
“He’s fine,” said Sherlock, ushering him into the office.
I’ve had this one sitting unfinshed for a bit, maybe it’ll encourage me to finish it. It’s omegaverse alpha/alpha johnlock:
“I can hardly believe you’ve talked me into this,” said John, for the fifth time that afternoon.
“It’s working perfectly fine,” said Sherlock evenly, ducking his head as someone else turned towards them.
John growled at the stranger and the person quickly hurried on. “You just had to pick up the omega heat pheromones, didn’t you?”
“I told you, the containers were not clearly labeled. The black market isn’t known for the most meticulous handwriting.