Sherlock MEME Fic: What if you were Sherlock's Flatmate.
This was written for a meme prompt, in an attempt to jump-start my fic brain again. The saner thing would be to post this anonymously so no one would ever know it was me ever, but for various reasons detailed under the cut, I'm posting it here.
Title: Sherlock and Me: An Adventure in Deliberate Author Insertion
Fandom: Sherlock 2010
Rating/WARNINGS: Gen. PG-13 plus profanity. DELIBERATE AUTHOR INSERTION. Conversation format. Ridiculous.
A/N: So, there's a prompt over at that meme thing. "What if you were Sherlock's flatmate?" So here it is. Deliberate author insertion ahoy. I'm not purple-haired or magical and every factoid is the unvarnished-but-possibly-lightly-dusted truth, and I suspect I'd be a bit less mouthy if I was really being strapped to a bomb. And I'm outing a couple personal details not many of you know here, but I think I'm okay with it. I could have posted this anonymously, but I wanted to be able to delete it all if I chickened out later, so if this disappears, then forget everything about it. It's all in conversation format (my speaking style isn't British and is occasionally not grammatically sound) and I swear a lot, particularly around Moriarty. Also there is a bit of crack here and there. And deepest and most abject apologies to John Watson. And Arthur Conan Doyle. And everybody ever.
Sherlock and Me: An Adventure in Deliberate Author Insertion
~
Bits of Study in Pink
"Hi, a friend of mine said you're looking for a flatmate?"
"...I only got the eviction notice this morning. I haven't told anyone... My brother sent you."
"No, my friend kind of knows your brother though. They meet at conferences and stuff once in a while."
"I'm not having one of my brother's plants as a flatmate."
"What? I haven't met your brother. My friend said your brother'd said you were looking for someone to share rent. I only just immigrated to the UK, so I don't know anyone except people from online, so... I mean it's up to you, dude. I keep to myself, I promise I don't bite, and worst case scenario, it gives us each a place to stay 'til we figure out something better."
"Hm. If Mycroft pays you anything, I get half."
"Nobody's paying me! I haven't even met your brother!"
"You will. Don't settle for less than four figures a month."
"I'm not gonna spy on you!! Jeez!"
-
"Oh, hey, a skull! Cool!"
"That's not what most people say."
"I'll bet! Wanna see my sword?"
-
"So what all does being an assistant entail?"
"What?"
"You said you need an assistant. Do you need someone at this crime scene who can do, like, actual forensics, or just someone to, I dunno, ask the stupid questions, hold things and not puke? 'Cause I grew up on a farm and I've also seen dead people. And I can do stupid questions like a hot damn."
"I really don't think-"
"You know, if I'm stuck alone here, I might clean. Like, really clean. Maybe organize."
"...oh all right, fine. Come on."
-
"I need you to send a text."
"Sure. How?"
"...You've never sent a text?"
"Nope. Cheapass phone. There's a thing on the web that you can send a text with though, right?"
"Eugch."
-
"Hey!"
"Why did you just slap my arm?"
"The killer's a cab driver!"
"What? Why?"
"Just trust me, it's a cab driver!"
"On what basis?"
"I saw it on CSI once-"
"Don't talk to me."
"-and it makes sense! From the evidence! Sherlock! Seriously, it makes sense! ...crap. I never should have mentioned CSI."
-
"This way! Come on!"
"...you are shitting me, dude! You go on ahead, I'd only slow you... down. Aaaand he's gone. CALL ME IF YOU GET KILLED!! Dammit, I need to get a car!"
-
"Hey. Hey! He's getting- He got into a cab! Sherlock, you dumbass!"
"Yeah, he does that. You'll get used to it."
"No, no! The killer's probably a cab driver! I bet that was him! Or her!"
"...Really?"
"It all fits, Inspector! I saw it on... um... well... uhhhh... Heh."
"Did Sherlock tell you it could be a cab driver?"
"...yeeeeess?"
"Christ, bloody idiot never tells us anything he can stick his foot into himself. Right! After him!"
"Whew. Yay."
- -
Assorted Day In The Life Scenes
"Is this one of your reciepts or is it evidence?"
"Evidence. I don't keep reciepts."
"You should if it's a business expense. All the cabs you take for starters"
"No point."
"Really? How do you claim expenses against your business income when you file your tax return then?"
"I don't."
"You don't claim business expenses or you don't file taxes?"
"Both."
"Dude. You're gonna audited one of these days and they will rightfully screw you six ways from Sunday."
"Mycroft can deal with it."
"He probably can but really whether you like it or not you are running a business here. You get income, you've gotta declare it and pay taxes and stuff."
"Eugch."
"I know, trust me. Look. You do a lot of cool things, I'm mostly useless, but if you want, I can - god I can't believe I'm doing this - I can try and do your bookkeeping."
"But I don't keep reciepts."
"Start. Stuff 'em in a pocket and give 'em to me once in a while and I'll keep track of things."
"And pass them to Mycroft."
"How many times do I have to tell you I'm not spying on you!!! Now, have you thought about business cards?"
-
"You hungry?"
"No."
"Darn. I made a cake, but I don't think I should let Mrs. Hudson see it, she might cry. It's kind of an experiment. "
"...Oh?"
"I was aiming for cake but it's turned into a sort of cross between a pudding, I mean custard, whatever you call it, thing, and a fruit salad."
"So it's a trifle?"
"Nooooo... It's... a bit like an edible brick. But squishy, and translucent. Ish. At least I think it's edible. There's fruit in it."
"...Fine. I'll try some, but only in the name of science."
-
"Do you perchance have a lethal allergy to Fairy liquid?"
"Hm? Sorry, what?"
"The washing up. It's teetering."
"Yeah, so? I wash the dishes I use, Sherlock, you get to wash the ones you use."
"I don't use that many dishes."
"You do if you never wash them. And lab equipment counts as dishes, and dishes used as lab equipment count as dishes. I'd probably clean your lab stuff wrong anyway. We really need a dishwasher."
"What I need is an autoclave."
"That too. Don't put my evil plotting goblet in it though, the stars might melt off."
"...There was never any danger of you cleaning on the day we looked at this flat, was there?"
"Nope."
- -
Bits of Great Game
"BORED!"
"God, I know. Hey, have you ever played Robo-Rally?"
"What?"
"It's a game. Little robots in a factory shooting each other. Kind of a racing thing. An exercise in spatial thinking or something. With widget compressors."
"...Why?"
"Because you're bored and I don't want to end up spackling again."
"Eugch."
"I'll go get the box."
"You're certain you don't own any loud ranged weapons?"
"Positive."
-
"So... the, uh, head. In the fridge."
"Yes?"
"Is there a valid scientific reason for it to be in there?"
"Why? You don't even use that fridge, you use that mini one you bought that you keep in your room."
"Just humour me."
"I'm doing a study of coagulation rates of saliva-"
"At fridge temperatures?"
"More consistent than room temperature and the related rates can be extrapolated from the gathered data."
"Ah. Okay then."
"Fine. Not that I require your approval or would have done anything differently if I didn't have it."
"...Was it a violent death?"
"What?"
"Guy in the fridge, did he die a violent death?"
"No. Heart failure."
"Ah. Well. I guess that's good."
[*minutes later*]
"What are you doing?"
"It's not what it looks like."
"You are groping my severed head."
"Not groping really, just, um. Making sure he's not in there anymore."
"You've had the door open and are risking warming up the sinus cavities with the heat of your hands and altering my results. What do you mean 'not in there'?"
"I don't really believe in ghosts, technically, but I've seen a few things and-"
"Ghosts. You've been to crime scenes and been relatively sensible. Why have you lost your sense now?"
"Because he's in my fridge-"
"Your fridge is upstairs."
"Our fridge, the fridge, whatever. Inside my walls. He's got a face and a brain and he's on my turf. Just wanna take precautions is all."
"It's that bloody American show you watch, isn't it? The one with the demons and angels and nonsense. It's rotted what little brain you had."
"No, no. Well, not much. Look. I'm just gonna put down a drip tray in there, pour some salt around the fridge and we'll call it done. Okay?"
-
"The bomb vest won't fit, my dear. You're too fat. You'll explode like a watermelon though, that'll be fun. Too bad no one will see it."
"Look you scrawny little fucker, I would fall over on you and squash you flat right now if you didn't have goons with guns. You're gonna use me to blow up a swimming pool, whatever, fine, you don't have to be an asshole about it."
"Such language! Not exactly ladylike are you?"
"And people think Sherlock's the one with amazing observational skills."
"Be as brash as you like, dearie, you aren't fooling anyone. You're shaking."
"Yeah, well, guns and bombs and imminent real world death. What makes you think Sherlock gives a shit about me anyway?"
"You've lived in the same flat with him for three months and haven't run away screaming."
"Pft. Please. It's just body parts and chemistry. I've slept with scarier things than him."
"...Oh really...?"
"No, I am not sleeping with Sherlock Holmes! God!"
-
{Say "Evening."}
"Sherlock! Dude! You brought my sword! That's fucking awesome! Should've brought the dagger though, it's sharper."
"What? What are you doing here?"
{I SAID REPEAT EXACTLY WHAT I SAY OR I'LL SET OFF THE BOMB!!!}
"Yeah right, like you'd still be inside the building if you were gonna blow it up, dickweasel. Plus you wouldn't go to all this trouble and then shoot your wad early."
"Who are you talking to?"
"Your greasy little bomber shithead. He's lurking in the girl's change room- OW!"
{The bomb might not be real but the sniper is, dearie.}
"Fuck a goddamn duck!"
-
"Ug. Hi."
"Hi."
"Did, uh, did I just-"
"Swear like a sailor and defy a man who'd attached a supposedly explosive device to you, resulting in you getting shot by a sniper, followed by quite a bit of pandemonium? Yes."
"Oh."
"That was genuinely stupid."
"Yes. Yes it was."
"Possibly the stupidest thing I've seen recently, and that includes Anderson."
"I really shouldn't make heat-of-the-moment decisions based on shaky meta theory."
"Based on what theory?"
"Nothing. Never mind. Heh. I think I went into RPG character mode for a bit back there. I used to play overconfident and impulsive characters."
"Dangerous."
"Yeah, failed that reality check big time. So he got away?"
"Yes."
"Shit. I'm sorry."
"I'll catch him. Only a matter of time. How's the arm?"
"Hurts like nine kinds of Hell."
"It will feel worse when the adrenaline wears off."
"I know. Crap."
"It's barely more than a graze. I am glad you aren't badly injured."
"Heh. Gee, thanks for that."
"I'd-"
"Lemme guess. You'd be lost without your bookkeeper?"
"No. I was going to say I'd hate for you to bleed all over the cab. They double the rates for damages to the upholstery."
"Bastard. Gimme back my damn sword."
- - -
(that's all there is, and all there will ever be good god. *facepalm*)
Title: Sherlock and Me: An Adventure in Deliberate Author Insertion
Fandom: Sherlock 2010
Rating/WARNINGS: Gen. PG-13 plus profanity. DELIBERATE AUTHOR INSERTION. Conversation format. Ridiculous.
A/N: So, there's a prompt over at that meme thing. "What if you were Sherlock's flatmate?" So here it is. Deliberate author insertion ahoy. I'm not purple-haired or magical and every factoid is the unvarnished-but-possibly-lightly-dusted truth, and I suspect I'd be a bit less mouthy if I was really being strapped to a bomb. And I'm outing a couple personal details not many of you know here, but I think I'm okay with it. I could have posted this anonymously, but I wanted to be able to delete it all if I chickened out later, so if this disappears, then forget everything about it. It's all in conversation format (my speaking style isn't British and is occasionally not grammatically sound) and I swear a lot, particularly around Moriarty. Also there is a bit of crack here and there. And deepest and most abject apologies to John Watson. And Arthur Conan Doyle. And everybody ever.
Sherlock and Me: An Adventure in Deliberate Author Insertion
~
Bits of Study in Pink
"Hi, a friend of mine said you're looking for a flatmate?"
"...I only got the eviction notice this morning. I haven't told anyone... My brother sent you."
"No, my friend kind of knows your brother though. They meet at conferences and stuff once in a while."
"I'm not having one of my brother's plants as a flatmate."
"What? I haven't met your brother. My friend said your brother'd said you were looking for someone to share rent. I only just immigrated to the UK, so I don't know anyone except people from online, so... I mean it's up to you, dude. I keep to myself, I promise I don't bite, and worst case scenario, it gives us each a place to stay 'til we figure out something better."
"Hm. If Mycroft pays you anything, I get half."
"Nobody's paying me! I haven't even met your brother!"
"You will. Don't settle for less than four figures a month."
"I'm not gonna spy on you!! Jeez!"
-
"Oh, hey, a skull! Cool!"
"That's not what most people say."
"I'll bet! Wanna see my sword?"
-
"So what all does being an assistant entail?"
"What?"
"You said you need an assistant. Do you need someone at this crime scene who can do, like, actual forensics, or just someone to, I dunno, ask the stupid questions, hold things and not puke? 'Cause I grew up on a farm and I've also seen dead people. And I can do stupid questions like a hot damn."
"I really don't think-"
"You know, if I'm stuck alone here, I might clean. Like, really clean. Maybe organize."
"...oh all right, fine. Come on."
-
"I need you to send a text."
"Sure. How?"
"...You've never sent a text?"
"Nope. Cheapass phone. There's a thing on the web that you can send a text with though, right?"
"Eugch."
-
"Hey!"
"Why did you just slap my arm?"
"The killer's a cab driver!"
"What? Why?"
"Just trust me, it's a cab driver!"
"On what basis?"
"I saw it on CSI once-"
"Don't talk to me."
"-and it makes sense! From the evidence! Sherlock! Seriously, it makes sense! ...crap. I never should have mentioned CSI."
-
"This way! Come on!"
"...you are shitting me, dude! You go on ahead, I'd only slow you... down. Aaaand he's gone. CALL ME IF YOU GET KILLED!! Dammit, I need to get a car!"
-
"Hey. Hey! He's getting- He got into a cab! Sherlock, you dumbass!"
"Yeah, he does that. You'll get used to it."
"No, no! The killer's probably a cab driver! I bet that was him! Or her!"
"...Really?"
"It all fits, Inspector! I saw it on... um... well... uhhhh... Heh."
"Did Sherlock tell you it could be a cab driver?"
"...yeeeeess?"
"Christ, bloody idiot never tells us anything he can stick his foot into himself. Right! After him!"
"Whew. Yay."
- -
Assorted Day In The Life Scenes
"Is this one of your reciepts or is it evidence?"
"Evidence. I don't keep reciepts."
"You should if it's a business expense. All the cabs you take for starters"
"No point."
"Really? How do you claim expenses against your business income when you file your tax return then?"
"I don't."
"You don't claim business expenses or you don't file taxes?"
"Both."
"Dude. You're gonna audited one of these days and they will rightfully screw you six ways from Sunday."
"Mycroft can deal with it."
"He probably can but really whether you like it or not you are running a business here. You get income, you've gotta declare it and pay taxes and stuff."
"Eugch."
"I know, trust me. Look. You do a lot of cool things, I'm mostly useless, but if you want, I can - god I can't believe I'm doing this - I can try and do your bookkeeping."
"But I don't keep reciepts."
"Start. Stuff 'em in a pocket and give 'em to me once in a while and I'll keep track of things."
"And pass them to Mycroft."
"How many times do I have to tell you I'm not spying on you!!! Now, have you thought about business cards?"
-
"You hungry?"
"No."
"Darn. I made a cake, but I don't think I should let Mrs. Hudson see it, she might cry. It's kind of an experiment. "
"...Oh?"
"I was aiming for cake but it's turned into a sort of cross between a pudding, I mean custard, whatever you call it, thing, and a fruit salad."
"So it's a trifle?"
"Nooooo... It's... a bit like an edible brick. But squishy, and translucent. Ish. At least I think it's edible. There's fruit in it."
"...Fine. I'll try some, but only in the name of science."
-
"Do you perchance have a lethal allergy to Fairy liquid?"
"Hm? Sorry, what?"
"The washing up. It's teetering."
"Yeah, so? I wash the dishes I use, Sherlock, you get to wash the ones you use."
"I don't use that many dishes."
"You do if you never wash them. And lab equipment counts as dishes, and dishes used as lab equipment count as dishes. I'd probably clean your lab stuff wrong anyway. We really need a dishwasher."
"What I need is an autoclave."
"That too. Don't put my evil plotting goblet in it though, the stars might melt off."
"...There was never any danger of you cleaning on the day we looked at this flat, was there?"
"Nope."
- -
Bits of Great Game
"BORED!"
"God, I know. Hey, have you ever played Robo-Rally?"
"What?"
"It's a game. Little robots in a factory shooting each other. Kind of a racing thing. An exercise in spatial thinking or something. With widget compressors."
"...Why?"
"Because you're bored and I don't want to end up spackling again."
"Eugch."
"I'll go get the box."
"You're certain you don't own any loud ranged weapons?"
"Positive."
-
"So... the, uh, head. In the fridge."
"Yes?"
"Is there a valid scientific reason for it to be in there?"
"Why? You don't even use that fridge, you use that mini one you bought that you keep in your room."
"Just humour me."
"I'm doing a study of coagulation rates of saliva-"
"At fridge temperatures?"
"More consistent than room temperature and the related rates can be extrapolated from the gathered data."
"Ah. Okay then."
"Fine. Not that I require your approval or would have done anything differently if I didn't have it."
"...Was it a violent death?"
"What?"
"Guy in the fridge, did he die a violent death?"
"No. Heart failure."
"Ah. Well. I guess that's good."
[*minutes later*]
"What are you doing?"
"It's not what it looks like."
"You are groping my severed head."
"Not groping really, just, um. Making sure he's not in there anymore."
"You've had the door open and are risking warming up the sinus cavities with the heat of your hands and altering my results. What do you mean 'not in there'?"
"I don't really believe in ghosts, technically, but I've seen a few things and-"
"Ghosts. You've been to crime scenes and been relatively sensible. Why have you lost your sense now?"
"Because he's in my fridge-"
"Your fridge is upstairs."
"Our fridge, the fridge, whatever. Inside my walls. He's got a face and a brain and he's on my turf. Just wanna take precautions is all."
"It's that bloody American show you watch, isn't it? The one with the demons and angels and nonsense. It's rotted what little brain you had."
"No, no. Well, not much. Look. I'm just gonna put down a drip tray in there, pour some salt around the fridge and we'll call it done. Okay?"
-
"The bomb vest won't fit, my dear. You're too fat. You'll explode like a watermelon though, that'll be fun. Too bad no one will see it."
"Look you scrawny little fucker, I would fall over on you and squash you flat right now if you didn't have goons with guns. You're gonna use me to blow up a swimming pool, whatever, fine, you don't have to be an asshole about it."
"Such language! Not exactly ladylike are you?"
"And people think Sherlock's the one with amazing observational skills."
"Be as brash as you like, dearie, you aren't fooling anyone. You're shaking."
"Yeah, well, guns and bombs and imminent real world death. What makes you think Sherlock gives a shit about me anyway?"
"You've lived in the same flat with him for three months and haven't run away screaming."
"Pft. Please. It's just body parts and chemistry. I've slept with scarier things than him."
"...Oh really...?"
"No, I am not sleeping with Sherlock Holmes! God!"
-
{Say "Evening."}
"Sherlock! Dude! You brought my sword! That's fucking awesome! Should've brought the dagger though, it's sharper."
"What? What are you doing here?"
{I SAID REPEAT EXACTLY WHAT I SAY OR I'LL SET OFF THE BOMB!!!}
"Yeah right, like you'd still be inside the building if you were gonna blow it up, dickweasel. Plus you wouldn't go to all this trouble and then shoot your wad early."
"Who are you talking to?"
"Your greasy little bomber shithead. He's lurking in the girl's change room- OW!"
{The bomb might not be real but the sniper is, dearie.}
"Fuck a goddamn duck!"
-
"Ug. Hi."
"Hi."
"Did, uh, did I just-"
"Swear like a sailor and defy a man who'd attached a supposedly explosive device to you, resulting in you getting shot by a sniper, followed by quite a bit of pandemonium? Yes."
"Oh."
"That was genuinely stupid."
"Yes. Yes it was."
"Possibly the stupidest thing I've seen recently, and that includes Anderson."
"I really shouldn't make heat-of-the-moment decisions based on shaky meta theory."
"Based on what theory?"
"Nothing. Never mind. Heh. I think I went into RPG character mode for a bit back there. I used to play overconfident and impulsive characters."
"Dangerous."
"Yeah, failed that reality check big time. So he got away?"
"Yes."
"Shit. I'm sorry."
"I'll catch him. Only a matter of time. How's the arm?"
"Hurts like nine kinds of Hell."
"It will feel worse when the adrenaline wears off."
"I know. Crap."
"It's barely more than a graze. I am glad you aren't badly injured."
"Heh. Gee, thanks for that."
"I'd-"
"Lemme guess. You'd be lost without your bookkeeper?"
"No. I was going to say I'd hate for you to bleed all over the cab. They double the rates for damages to the upholstery."
"Bastard. Gimme back my damn sword."
- - -
(that's all there is, and all there will ever be good god. *facepalm*)