Fic: Drabble Bingo - Card #1
Title: Drabble Bingo - Card #1
Author: brate7
Fandom: Sherlock BBC
Rating: PG
Word Count: 921
Note: Originally posted at team_mycroft, a subset of thegameison_sh.
Drabble: "toy"
John avoided looking to the side as he followed Sherlock up the stairs. He didn't want to see the devastation on the parents' faces.
Stepping into the nursery, John kicked something, and heard it skitter across the floor. He looked down at a toy train, and couldn't help replacing it to its original position.
Sherlock didn't bother looking up from his examination of the crib.
"Well?" John asked softly, hesitant to disturb the abnormal quiet.
"Obviously the child's mother killed it. The father is taking the blame."
"Good Lord."
"Oh, don't worry; it was an accident."
"Doesn't make it okay."
Drabble: "orienteering"
John tries to read the sign above him. His eyes don't seem to be working correctly. And wasn't there something he was supposed to be doing?
Sherlock, his mind supplies.
John had gotten away, but he knew where they'd taken Sherlock. Now he needs to find Lestrade and tell him.
Why was he having such difficulty navigating the streets? It seems harder the further from Sherlock he goes. Perhaps he's going the wrong way?
No. There are flashing lights up ahead. That meant police. Police meant Lestrade.
"John, you're bleeding!"
Before he loses consciousness, John says what he needs to.
Drabble: "parade"
Sherlock scowled at the parade of police officers invading his flat.
"You're not going to find anything," he assured them. John had made get rid of the last of his substances. All that remained were his box of nicotine patches and the twelve-year-old Macallan he'd stole from Mycroft, which he wasn't about to drink.
Though, it would make an extraordinary Molotov cocktail.
"Where is it, Sherlock?" Lestrade asked. "We know you took the bear."
"Is that what you wanted?" Sherlock shrugged. "I gave it to Smitty."
Lestrade sighed. "It's never easy with you, is it?"
"Where's the fun in that?"
Triple drabble: "vote"
John Watson huddled in the shadows of the bridge, trying to keep his hands warm by rubbing them together. It wasn't working. Beside him, seemingly impervious to the cold, Sherlock Holmes eyed his prey.
"We need to follow that man back to his gang in order to catch them all," Sherlock whispered excitedly.
"I vote we just call Lestrade and have his team take care of it."
"Don't be silly; you don't get a vote." Sherlock's eyes shone in the darkness. "Coming, John?"
John sighed, thinking longingly of his warm bed and a hot cup of tea. "Let's go," he said.
***
"This is your fault, you know," Sherlock said, trying to wiggle out of their bindings.
"My fault? How can this be my fault? I told you to call Lestrade, I told you we were getting too close, and I told you that he'd seen us."
"Exactly."
"Don't talk to me right now."
***
"Now's our chance."
"To escape?" John asked hopefully.
"Of course not. We need to observe these men and find the source of the guns."
"While leaving us in mortal danger."
"Stop being dramatic; it doesn't suit you."
***
"Are you happy now?" John asked. He eyed the Rottweiler warily.
"Ecstatic," Sherlock drawled.
***
John isn't sure if he wants the answer to this question, but he can't contain his curiosity. "Why did you have a bone hidden in your coat?"
"In case it was needed. And it was," Sherlock added smugly.
John had been right; he didn't want the answer.
***
"You go right and I'll go left," Sherlock ordered, taking off with a hop.
John watched him go, then walked into the nearest workspace.
***
"You called the police," Sherlock accused.
"I did."
They stood back as the officers rounded up the gang members.
"This is your fault."
John smiled.
One sentence: "thread"
Sherlock knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that if he tugged on the right thread, Moriarty's whole web would unravel.
Drabble: "octavo"
Sherlock took in the room at a glance.
Wall to wall bookshelves lined with octavo tomes--interesting, but not relevant.
A jacket tossed onto the back of an armchair.
A pair of boots tucked under the end table.
Cushion on the settee facing backwards.
Remains of a meal: curry from the corner shop.
Two empty wine bottles but only one glass.
Quickly, he mentally organized his observations, rooting out the important information in order to reach his conclusion.
"You will find the body underneath the recent construction at Richardson's conservatory."
Hopefully, the next case would be more of a challenge.
Drabble: "sudden"
John eyed the sudden drop through the open door. Luckily, Sherlock had grabbed the collar on his jumper and pulled him back before he had plunged into the darkness beyond. "Why would anyone in his right mind build a house like this?"
"You've answered your own questions, John. No one in their right mind would."
"This is the last time I pursue a magical madman through his mansion."
"I wouldn't be so sure of that," Sherlock said, "but I approve of your alliteration."
"Just what I wanted to hear."
"If you're done messing about, what's say we catch this madman."
Drabble: "quick-step"
[courtesy of the wonderful mrwubbles, who filled in my last square...thank you so much!]
Lestrade's badge didn't impress them.
John crouched in the shadows created by a Babylonian statue Sherlock had declared was fake. He clenched his jaw as Sherlock dart from column to column. The idiot was drawing their fire so John, with his limited ammunition, could pinpoint and dispatch the counterfeiters.
Concrete shards exploded by Sherlock's head. He twisted away in a flurry of coat tails, an energized gleam in his eyes; a quick-step with death that looked inappropriately graceful.
John cocked his gun and drew a bead on the first man.
When they survive this, he was going to throttle Sherlock.
Stick art: "polyandry"
[obviously I am not an artist, so...]
Author: brate7
Fandom: Sherlock BBC
Rating: PG
Word Count: 921
Note: Originally posted at team_mycroft, a subset of thegameison_sh.
Drabble: "toy"
John avoided looking to the side as he followed Sherlock up the stairs. He didn't want to see the devastation on the parents' faces.
Stepping into the nursery, John kicked something, and heard it skitter across the floor. He looked down at a toy train, and couldn't help replacing it to its original position.
Sherlock didn't bother looking up from his examination of the crib.
"Well?" John asked softly, hesitant to disturb the abnormal quiet.
"Obviously the child's mother killed it. The father is taking the blame."
"Good Lord."
"Oh, don't worry; it was an accident."
"Doesn't make it okay."
Drabble: "orienteering"
John tries to read the sign above him. His eyes don't seem to be working correctly. And wasn't there something he was supposed to be doing?
Sherlock, his mind supplies.
John had gotten away, but he knew where they'd taken Sherlock. Now he needs to find Lestrade and tell him.
Why was he having such difficulty navigating the streets? It seems harder the further from Sherlock he goes. Perhaps he's going the wrong way?
No. There are flashing lights up ahead. That meant police. Police meant Lestrade.
"John, you're bleeding!"
Before he loses consciousness, John says what he needs to.
Drabble: "parade"
Sherlock scowled at the parade of police officers invading his flat.
"You're not going to find anything," he assured them. John had made get rid of the last of his substances. All that remained were his box of nicotine patches and the twelve-year-old Macallan he'd stole from Mycroft, which he wasn't about to drink.
Though, it would make an extraordinary Molotov cocktail.
"Where is it, Sherlock?" Lestrade asked. "We know you took the bear."
"Is that what you wanted?" Sherlock shrugged. "I gave it to Smitty."
Lestrade sighed. "It's never easy with you, is it?"
"Where's the fun in that?"
Triple drabble: "vote"
John Watson huddled in the shadows of the bridge, trying to keep his hands warm by rubbing them together. It wasn't working. Beside him, seemingly impervious to the cold, Sherlock Holmes eyed his prey.
"We need to follow that man back to his gang in order to catch them all," Sherlock whispered excitedly.
"I vote we just call Lestrade and have his team take care of it."
"Don't be silly; you don't get a vote." Sherlock's eyes shone in the darkness. "Coming, John?"
John sighed, thinking longingly of his warm bed and a hot cup of tea. "Let's go," he said.
***
"This is your fault, you know," Sherlock said, trying to wiggle out of their bindings.
"My fault? How can this be my fault? I told you to call Lestrade, I told you we were getting too close, and I told you that he'd seen us."
"Exactly."
"Don't talk to me right now."
***
"Now's our chance."
"To escape?" John asked hopefully.
"Of course not. We need to observe these men and find the source of the guns."
"While leaving us in mortal danger."
"Stop being dramatic; it doesn't suit you."
***
"Are you happy now?" John asked. He eyed the Rottweiler warily.
"Ecstatic," Sherlock drawled.
***
John isn't sure if he wants the answer to this question, but he can't contain his curiosity. "Why did you have a bone hidden in your coat?"
"In case it was needed. And it was," Sherlock added smugly.
John had been right; he didn't want the answer.
***
"You go right and I'll go left," Sherlock ordered, taking off with a hop.
John watched him go, then walked into the nearest workspace.
***
"You called the police," Sherlock accused.
"I did."
They stood back as the officers rounded up the gang members.
"This is your fault."
John smiled.
One sentence: "thread"
Sherlock knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that if he tugged on the right thread, Moriarty's whole web would unravel.
Drabble: "octavo"
Sherlock took in the room at a glance.
Wall to wall bookshelves lined with octavo tomes--interesting, but not relevant.
A jacket tossed onto the back of an armchair.
A pair of boots tucked under the end table.
Cushion on the settee facing backwards.
Remains of a meal: curry from the corner shop.
Two empty wine bottles but only one glass.
Quickly, he mentally organized his observations, rooting out the important information in order to reach his conclusion.
"You will find the body underneath the recent construction at Richardson's conservatory."
Hopefully, the next case would be more of a challenge.
Drabble: "sudden"
John eyed the sudden drop through the open door. Luckily, Sherlock had grabbed the collar on his jumper and pulled him back before he had plunged into the darkness beyond. "Why would anyone in his right mind build a house like this?"
"You've answered your own questions, John. No one in their right mind would."
"This is the last time I pursue a magical madman through his mansion."
"I wouldn't be so sure of that," Sherlock said, "but I approve of your alliteration."
"Just what I wanted to hear."
"If you're done messing about, what's say we catch this madman."
Drabble: "quick-step"
[courtesy of the wonderful mrwubbles, who filled in my last square...thank you so much!]
Lestrade's badge didn't impress them.
John crouched in the shadows created by a Babylonian statue Sherlock had declared was fake. He clenched his jaw as Sherlock dart from column to column. The idiot was drawing their fire so John, with his limited ammunition, could pinpoint and dispatch the counterfeiters.
Concrete shards exploded by Sherlock's head. He twisted away in a flurry of coat tails, an energized gleam in his eyes; a quick-step with death that looked inappropriately graceful.
John cocked his gun and drew a bead on the first man.
When they survive this, he was going to throttle Sherlock.
Stick art: "polyandry"
[obviously I am not an artist, so...]