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This weeks superwholockthecomic challenge is 20 minutes, write/draw/whatever. So of course I wrote. And it came out superwoodlock. Man this thing is kinda awful, but, um, here…

John had his gun out as they entered the warehouse. It looked like any other warehouse in this district of London, but Sherlock insisted this was the right one. They moved down the hall as quiet as they could, passing into a main area with aisles of boxes and who knew what. “What we need is here?” Asked John, looking around. “Where is it?”

“This way,” said Sherlock, taking the lead and moving quickly down the rows as if he knew exactly where he was going, which he probably did. They heard shouting and John took off running towards it, wondering just what he would find as he skidded around the corner

Not this. To the left side stood three people, one in a battered trenchcoat, to the other side stood a team of five, lead by a man in an antique greatcoat. There were far too many guns out. He froze and started backing up, but of course Sherlock had every desire to be in the middle of a firefight. “What is this?” he asked loudly. All the guns turned to point at them.

John sighed and raised his hands, pointing his gun at the ceiling. “We’re just here after a package,” he said.

“So are we,” growled the green eyed man to his left. The taller one put a hand on his shoulder.

“We got readings here,” said the one in the greatcoat.

“So we might all be after the same thing. Perhaps this could be done with fewer weapons?” asked John.

“Like you’re one to talk,” sneered the green eyed one. A soldier, maybe, but not a regular one, thought John.

“You’re Jack Harkness,” said Sherlock, from behind him. “Which means that’s Torchwood. And you two are the Winchester Brothers, Dean and Sam.”

Everyone was staring at Sherlock, which wasn’t entirely unusual. Jack holstered his gun first and the rest of his team followed along. Then the Winchesters slowly lowered theirs. He gave the brothers a smile. “Wrong foot, clearly.”

“You’re American,” said Dean.

“Well, common misconception, pretty eyes.” grinned Jack.

Dean started to pull his gun again, Sam put a hand on his arm. John shook his head. “Let’s just find this thing, probably be easier if we worked together.”

“I have it,” said Sherlock, waving a small box.

“We’ll need that for Torchwood to analyze,” said Jack.

“No way,” growled Dean.

John backed towards Sherlock. “Is the term ‘finder’s keepers’ appropriate?” asked Sherlock.

John shot him a look. “Not if we want to get out of here in one piece.”

“Pity.”

Dean moved towards John and Sherlock. John brought his gun up but suddenly Dean dropped. Sam pointed his gun at the Torchwood team. Ianto held up the tazer. “He’ll be fine in a minute.”

John cracked a smile, liking the young man immediately. Dean groaned and sat up. Sam went to his side to help him up.

Jack watched the pair with a devious smile. “I think perhaps we should all just go somewhere for a pint and sort this out.”

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This weeks theme for fanwork friday is jack and castiel, so I wrote a ficlet. Spoilers for Children of Earth, as this is set right at the end of it:

Lou brought three more drinks over to the table in the corner. The man in the military coat barely looked up as he set them down. He hadn’t moved from the darkened corner for a few days. Lou had brought him some snacks and water he’d hardly touched. It was easy for him to see the heavy grief that weighed the man down, but he knew better than to ask. Besides, Jack Harkness was an old family friend; he could stay as long as he wanted to.

“Dad?” his son called him over and he took a moment to look at him. Despite all the fear of a few weeks ago, his son was fine and that was the important thing. As he walked away from the table he didn’t notice Jack watching the boy while Lou put a hand on his shoulder and guided him into the back.

One in the bar did notice. Nobody had seen him come in or paid him any attention as he walked over and slid across from the fixture in the dark corner. Jack’s eyes narrowed. “What do you want, Castiel? I’m not exactly on good terms with your boss right now.”

Castiel watched him as he picked up one of the drinks. “Is this your plan for the foreseeable future?”

Jack gave a short, bitter laugh. “You got any better ideas?”

“I do actually. There is a war coming, we need allies.”

Jack’s eyes went dark. He leaned forward. “No.”

“There are demons walking free, and a greater power rising.”

For a moment Jack looked about to throw the bottle at him. “Haven’t I done enough?” he asked brokenly, then turned away, but not before the raw heartbreak showed on his face. “No. I’m not a hero. I stayed too long here.” His hand moved to his wrist, but he no longer had the manipulator, lost in the explosion that had destroyed Torchwood, his home, and himself.

Castiel watched as he drew the coat a little closer around himself, gathering his armor. “I know you have suffered great losses.”

“You couldn’t begin to understand,” said Jack quietly.  He picked up the closest bottle and chugged the rest of it, aware of Castiel’s eyes on him.

“Gwen Cooper has your device,” said Castiel.

Jack put down the bottle hard enough to rattle the table. He took a breath. “Good, then I can get off this rock.” He pushed himself vertical, slightly unsteady.

Castiel put a hand on his arm, but Jack batted him away. “No. You’re not taking this pain, you’re not making me sober. I don’t want to owe you a damn thing.” He dropped money on the table and made his way out. The night sky spread above him with a thousand twinkling promises. He pulled out his phone and started texting directions to Gwen.

“Someday, Jack, you will forgive yourself,” said Castiel.

“Yeah, well, guy like me, I have all the time in the universe.” He started walking down the dark country road. He felt the rush of angel wings and knew Castiel had gone. He squeezed his eyes shit and rubbed his temple. Definitely time to put this world behind him.

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This weeks challenge for Fanwork Friday was to write a versus story. Are you reading superwholock the comic? You should, it’s awesome. So anyway, I wrote Baker Street during “Army of Ghosts”/“Doomsday”. Mostly I really wanted to write John Watson vs. a Dalek:

Doomsday at 221B – The so-called ghosts have been appearing for months, but when one suddenly appears in 221B and takes Sherlock, it’s up to John to rescue him, with a little help from Mycroft.

teaser below the cut

John lowered the paper as the flickering image appeared in the flat. “It’s happening again, Sherlock.”

Sherlock grumbled from the kitchen. “Mycroft says it has something to do with Torchwood.”

“What’s Torchwood?”

Sherlock ignored the question and picked up a beaker of something green. John sighed and tried to ignore the apparition, sipping his tea instead.

The image started to coalesce. John set down his tea hard enough to rattle. The flat filled with the sound of clanging boots as John shot to his feet and went for his gun, heart in his throat. Breaking glass told him Sherlock was scrambling to get out of the way as the creature raised a menacing hand and pointed it at him.

John fired, then hit the deck as the bullet ricocheted off. The creature stomped towards Sherlock, cornered in the kitchen. Heart racing, John made a valiant effort to tackle it; he might as well try tackling an automobile for all the good it did.

Hitting the floor with a grunt, John heard a clang as Sherlock the creature with something. Searching for a weapon, John’s hand landed on a cricket bat they had lying around from a case. “Call Mycroft,” shouted Sherlock.

“Bit busy,” growled John, swinging the bat with all his might. The thing pivoted and backhanded John, sending him flying across the room into a shelf. John struggled to stay conscious. Sherlock’s feet kicked against the floor as the metal monster dragged him towards the door. John’s hand found the gun and shot it in the back, but still to no effect. Despite his efforts he passed out just as the creature went out the door with Sherlock in its hands.

continue on AO3

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This is a really terrible drabble. And it was longer, but I seemed to have accidently deleted it. Oops. So here’s the little bit I do have, for the superwholockthecomic fanwork friday: career change prompt.

Sam and Dean join Torchwood.

“Dean, Sam, where are you?” Jack asked into his com as he looked around the warehouse, gun at the ready.

“Second floor,” said Dean.

Suddenly there was the sound of gunfire. Jack ran up the stairs, knowing the rest of the team was right behind him. Dean stood over the alien while Sam crouched next to it. “What is it?” asked Sam.

Jack moved closer. Owen dropped next to Sam. Jack sighed. “We’ve got bigger problems. These come in pairs. Ianto, Dean, you better check out the third floor.”

Dean nodded and led the way up the stairs. Ianto checked for readings. “So you and Jack…” asked Dean. They’d only joined Torchwood a few weeks earlier.

“Not relevant to catching this alien,” said Ianto.

 “Right,” said Dean, moving around a corner.

“One hundred meters to the left,” called Ianto.

Dean moved ahead, looking for trouble. It found him first. There was a shout and Dean found himself knocked off his feet, gun skittering across the floor. Dean shoved at the large creature but before he could even shout for help a shot rang out.

He shoved the dead alien off himself as Ianto offered a hand up, suit not even wrinkled. Shaking his head, Dean took his hand as the rest of the team came running up. Ianto looked at Jack. “That’s sorted then.”

Jack grinned as he looked from Ianto to Dean and back again. “I think I like you two together.”

Ianto rolled his eyes and gave a long suffering sigh. Dean did his best to ignore the remark. “So now it’s clean up?”

“Yep. The really exciting part of our job.”

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Superwholockthecomic does fanart friday, and drabbles are okay.This weeks theme is “career change”. I have two ideas, so this is the first one. John as an Angel and Sherlock as a Hunter.

Sherlock  held a knife in his hand. He flipped it as he watched the strange blonde step closer. “What are you?” He hissed.

“I am an angel of the Lord,” said John drawing himself to his full height and meeting Sherlock’s eyes.

“Angels?” Sherlock scoffed. “No such thing.”

John stepped closer and Sherlock darted forward, plunging the knife into his chest. John held his eyes, not even flinching. “You are the one who observes, Sherlock.”

Sherlock stepped back, for once at a loss for words. John pulled the knife out and dropped it to the floor. “I am the one that raised you out of perdition.”

Sherlock shook his head as if seeking any other explanation. “I don’t have friends and I certainly don’t have an angel sitting on my shoulder.”

John closed the gap between them and reached up to touch Sherlock’s face. Sherlock flinched but met his gaze. “I have been here far longer than you realize.”

“Then why show yourself now?”

“There’s work to be done. You’ve never stepped back from a challenge before, will you start now?”

A tiny smile crossed Sherlock’s lips. “The game is afoot, then?”

“Far more than you realize.”