Sherlock 100 11/100 #67 Snow
Title: Snowpocalypse
Fanart or Fanfic: Fanfic
Characters: Sherlock/John Mycroft
Prompt: (This prompt is brought to you by the Queensland floods, and the fact that one of the SES guys looks like Sherlock in glasses)
London becomes a disaster zone. John, obviously, would try to help, and would probably get Sherlock to help too. John can lend his skills as a medic, but what can Sherlock help with?
Bonus points for: Sherlock making a public announcement, the disaster being something natural, not massive loss of life)
Word Count: 1150
Spoilers: Series one
Rating: PG 13
Summary: A nasty blizzard has hit London. John drags Sherlock out to help the relief efforts.
Author's Notes: Woot!
Disclaimer: Don't own Sherlock or John
Warnings: None here. Comedic Sherlock being an arse about a natural disaster, perhaps?
ZWIP. THUNK.
“Bored.”
CLICK. ZWIP. THUNK.
“God, this is intolerable…”
RUSTLE. ZWIP. PING. THUD.
“Damn…”
John came downstairs to see what was making all the strange little noises. He found Sherlock lying upside-down on the armchair, his legs on the headrest and his upper body dangling over the floor. He was holding something that looked like feathered pens in his left hand and staring up at the ceiling. John followed his line of sight to see three darts stuck to the plaster ceiling.
Sherlock took aim with one of his last two darts just as John had an outburst of fury. “Sherlock! Are those the poison darts you told me were for decoration only?? Are you throwing them at the ceiling above your body??” He snatched the last two out of Sherlock’s limp fingers. “What the hell, mate? I mean, just…no. This just will not do.”
Sherlock mumbled something and slid onto the floor bonelessly.
“Sorry, what was that?” John asked wondering what he was going to do about the darts.
“I’ve been stuck in these rooms for three bloody days because of the blizzard,” Sherlock groused from the floor. “I think I’m starting to go a little mad…”
John rolled his eyes. “You poor, poor thing,” he grumbled. “People are literally freezing to death outside, and you in your comfortable flat with the nice fireplace are bored. Maybe the city should start a fund drive to help you.”
Sherlock tilted his head to look at John. “Do you think they would?”
John was about to answer that when he found a stray dart that Sherlock had lost. Sticking up through the bottom of his shoe. Calmly, John plucked the lethally poisonous implement out of his shoe and placed it with the others. He pulled Sherlock up off the floor by his collar causing a choked yelp of protest, and dragged him to his disorganized bedroom.
“Put on clothes,” John ordered. “Warm clothes. We’re going out.”
Sherlock forgot why he was protesting and practically dove into a pile of shirts. Within five minutes, he was bundled up tightly and joined John at the bottom of the staircase.
~*~
“You didn’t tell me this is what we’d be doing,” Sherlock complained. John had brought him to a Red Cross emergency service center to help feed and clothe the homeless and those who had been suffering from the blackout. Sherlock had been stationed at a supply wrap, putting together packages of blankets, donated coats, and non-perishable food kits.
“Doesn’t it feel good to do something for others who need help?” John asked.
“No,” Sherlock said. “It feels cold.”
“Well, I am going to help in the first aid center. I’ll come back for you when it’s time to leave.”
“I probably won’t still be here,” Sherlock informed him.
John raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t try wandering out in the blizzard by yourself,” he warned. “Plus your hand might get cold without me holding it.” With a flirtatious wink, John left Sherlock to wrapping up care kits.
Sherlock lost himself in the monotony after awhile, as even deducing whom each coat had belonged to lost its novelty after the fifth one.
That’s when the unthinkable happened. “Sherlock, so good to see you out helping the poor. I never thought I’d run into you at one of these things.”
Sherlock gritted his teeth. “Mycroft.”
Mycroft, in a long-sleeved t-shirt, came out of the shadows to loom in front of Sherlock. “I assume John is over in the medical tent?”
“Yes,” Sherlock said. “What are you doing here?”
“Don’t be silly, I organized this entire operation,” Mycroft answered. “You know my position entails a lot of charity work.”
Sherlock gave him a sarcastic smile. “I’m sure it does. Never hurts to get good publicity, does it?”
“Speaking of publicity…”
“No.”
“Well, I have this task--”
“Absolutely not.”
“I think you’ll do it.”
“What are you doing? Trying to play mind games with me? I think you’ll lose.”
“…”
~*~
“Remember, Sherlock, stick to the script,” Mycroft said cheerily, standing behind the small studio camera.
Sherlock stood in front of a blue screen, glaring his brother down. A public service announcement. Why not just tattoo his face and address on every London criminal’s forearm? Sherlock would make sure his brother never asked him to do something so ridiculous again.
“Hello. I’m with the British Red Cross Blizzard Relief Response. Just remember, that’s BRC BRRRRRRR. I’d like to talk to you about the very important issue of safety during this horrible event that’s probably going to kill all of you. I will be safe, of course, because I am not an idiot who would go trampling out into the snow and ice without an emergency kit and a spade. I also wouldn’t try to drive a car through 100 centimetres of frost. I will be warm and secure because I have the very rare ability to use my powerful brain. Most of you don’t have such an ability and you will perish. That is called natural selection. In case anyone actually is capable of understanding what I’m saying and following competent advice, I will now give a few tips about safety. First, stay inside unless you have to go out. Walking to a store for anything other than food will cause you to die. Second, don’t send your children out for your errands. They are even more susceptible to blizzard conditions and can become little frozen humans. I know that sounds cute, but really it’s just sad. If you don’t have heat in your home, sleep with a loved one, like I do. Body heat, and even physical intimacy or intercourse, can keep you and your partner safely warm. Additionally, it can give you something to do while you’re stuck indoors. Don’t start a fire inside your home unless it is contained in a real fireplace. Practically everything is flammable, especially human skin wrapped in newspaper. Finally, if you see me out on the streets, don’t ask me for any further advice because I will not help you. I’m very busy. And never ever try to touch me.”
“Cut,” said Mycroft.
~*~
John shrugged into his heavy coat as he located Sherlock in the supply tent. “How did you like charity work?” he asked.
Sherlock smirked. “I got to be on telly.”
“Really?” John said, looking impressed. “Did they interview you or something?”
“I got to let the city of London know my opinion of them.”
“Oh god…”
~*~
Marill: This was a little bit of having fun, but let’s not forget that there is a very real natural disaster in Queensland, Australia right now. If you can, lend a hand to those in need or visit one of the livejournal fic/art auction sites to bid on some lovely works by our community of Sherlock and other fandom enthusiasts!
Like the one Here!
Fanart or Fanfic: Fanfic
Characters: Sherlock/John Mycroft
Prompt: (This prompt is brought to you by the Queensland floods, and the fact that one of the SES guys looks like Sherlock in glasses)
London becomes a disaster zone. John, obviously, would try to help, and would probably get Sherlock to help too. John can lend his skills as a medic, but what can Sherlock help with?
Bonus points for: Sherlock making a public announcement, the disaster being something natural, not massive loss of life)
Word Count: 1150
Spoilers: Series one
Rating: PG 13
Summary: A nasty blizzard has hit London. John drags Sherlock out to help the relief efforts.
Author's Notes: Woot!
Disclaimer: Don't own Sherlock or John
Warnings: None here. Comedic Sherlock being an arse about a natural disaster, perhaps?
ZWIP. THUNK.
“Bored.”
CLICK. ZWIP. THUNK.
“God, this is intolerable…”
RUSTLE. ZWIP. PING. THUD.
“Damn…”
John came downstairs to see what was making all the strange little noises. He found Sherlock lying upside-down on the armchair, his legs on the headrest and his upper body dangling over the floor. He was holding something that looked like feathered pens in his left hand and staring up at the ceiling. John followed his line of sight to see three darts stuck to the plaster ceiling.
Sherlock took aim with one of his last two darts just as John had an outburst of fury. “Sherlock! Are those the poison darts you told me were for decoration only?? Are you throwing them at the ceiling above your body??” He snatched the last two out of Sherlock’s limp fingers. “What the hell, mate? I mean, just…no. This just will not do.”
Sherlock mumbled something and slid onto the floor bonelessly.
“Sorry, what was that?” John asked wondering what he was going to do about the darts.
“I’ve been stuck in these rooms for three bloody days because of the blizzard,” Sherlock groused from the floor. “I think I’m starting to go a little mad…”
John rolled his eyes. “You poor, poor thing,” he grumbled. “People are literally freezing to death outside, and you in your comfortable flat with the nice fireplace are bored. Maybe the city should start a fund drive to help you.”
Sherlock tilted his head to look at John. “Do you think they would?”
John was about to answer that when he found a stray dart that Sherlock had lost. Sticking up through the bottom of his shoe. Calmly, John plucked the lethally poisonous implement out of his shoe and placed it with the others. He pulled Sherlock up off the floor by his collar causing a choked yelp of protest, and dragged him to his disorganized bedroom.
“Put on clothes,” John ordered. “Warm clothes. We’re going out.”
Sherlock forgot why he was protesting and practically dove into a pile of shirts. Within five minutes, he was bundled up tightly and joined John at the bottom of the staircase.
~*~
“You didn’t tell me this is what we’d be doing,” Sherlock complained. John had brought him to a Red Cross emergency service center to help feed and clothe the homeless and those who had been suffering from the blackout. Sherlock had been stationed at a supply wrap, putting together packages of blankets, donated coats, and non-perishable food kits.
“Doesn’t it feel good to do something for others who need help?” John asked.
“No,” Sherlock said. “It feels cold.”
“Well, I am going to help in the first aid center. I’ll come back for you when it’s time to leave.”
“I probably won’t still be here,” Sherlock informed him.
John raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t try wandering out in the blizzard by yourself,” he warned. “Plus your hand might get cold without me holding it.” With a flirtatious wink, John left Sherlock to wrapping up care kits.
Sherlock lost himself in the monotony after awhile, as even deducing whom each coat had belonged to lost its novelty after the fifth one.
That’s when the unthinkable happened. “Sherlock, so good to see you out helping the poor. I never thought I’d run into you at one of these things.”
Sherlock gritted his teeth. “Mycroft.”
Mycroft, in a long-sleeved t-shirt, came out of the shadows to loom in front of Sherlock. “I assume John is over in the medical tent?”
“Yes,” Sherlock said. “What are you doing here?”
“Don’t be silly, I organized this entire operation,” Mycroft answered. “You know my position entails a lot of charity work.”
Sherlock gave him a sarcastic smile. “I’m sure it does. Never hurts to get good publicity, does it?”
“Speaking of publicity…”
“No.”
“Well, I have this task--”
“Absolutely not.”
“I think you’ll do it.”
“What are you doing? Trying to play mind games with me? I think you’ll lose.”
“…”
~*~
“Remember, Sherlock, stick to the script,” Mycroft said cheerily, standing behind the small studio camera.
Sherlock stood in front of a blue screen, glaring his brother down. A public service announcement. Why not just tattoo his face and address on every London criminal’s forearm? Sherlock would make sure his brother never asked him to do something so ridiculous again.
“Hello. I’m with the British Red Cross Blizzard Relief Response. Just remember, that’s BRC BRRRRRRR. I’d like to talk to you about the very important issue of safety during this horrible event that’s probably going to kill all of you. I will be safe, of course, because I am not an idiot who would go trampling out into the snow and ice without an emergency kit and a spade. I also wouldn’t try to drive a car through 100 centimetres of frost. I will be warm and secure because I have the very rare ability to use my powerful brain. Most of you don’t have such an ability and you will perish. That is called natural selection. In case anyone actually is capable of understanding what I’m saying and following competent advice, I will now give a few tips about safety. First, stay inside unless you have to go out. Walking to a store for anything other than food will cause you to die. Second, don’t send your children out for your errands. They are even more susceptible to blizzard conditions and can become little frozen humans. I know that sounds cute, but really it’s just sad. If you don’t have heat in your home, sleep with a loved one, like I do. Body heat, and even physical intimacy or intercourse, can keep you and your partner safely warm. Additionally, it can give you something to do while you’re stuck indoors. Don’t start a fire inside your home unless it is contained in a real fireplace. Practically everything is flammable, especially human skin wrapped in newspaper. Finally, if you see me out on the streets, don’t ask me for any further advice because I will not help you. I’m very busy. And never ever try to touch me.”
“Cut,” said Mycroft.
~*~
John shrugged into his heavy coat as he located Sherlock in the supply tent. “How did you like charity work?” he asked.
Sherlock smirked. “I got to be on telly.”
“Really?” John said, looking impressed. “Did they interview you or something?”
“I got to let the city of London know my opinion of them.”
“Oh god…”
~*~
Marill: This was a little bit of having fun, but let’s not forget that there is a very real natural disaster in Queensland, Australia right now. If you can, lend a hand to those in need or visit one of the livejournal fic/art auction sites to bid on some lovely works by our community of Sherlock and other fandom enthusiasts!
Like the one Here!