The challenge- Take the nearest book to you and write something with it in. Crossovers, fusions, or just someone is reading it or it is the murder weapon, or the title or a quote could be your prompt.
Bonus: no S/J (only because of my pairing preferences, feel free to ignore)
Hmm, i don't actually like this much. Hope you get more, better, fills OP!
"NO!"
"Sherlock?" John ran worriedly into the sitting room, "What is it? What's the problem?"
"This is the problem." Sherlock threw the book at the coffee table, dislodging a mound of papers. Before sitting back up and crossing his arms huffily. John picked the book up out of interest, epecting some scientific journal with an offensive typo or something. What actually greeted him was;
Harry Potter and the Deathly Heallows
"You're reading Harry Potter?" He asked, mouth hanging open a little in shock.
"Obviously."
"What's the problem then? I liked the ending, so if it's that..."
"No, it's just; How did Dumbledore get the Elder Wand?"
"What?" This was a pretty surreal conversation, John felt like he was going to wake up any moment. "He won it off that Grindlywart didn't he?"
"Grindlewald, John. Get it right. And how? How could he win it off him when the wand's suppose to be unbeatable John stood in the doorway for a moment, surveying the angry
( ... )
So... Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy fusion (with a dash of Cabin Pressure), because this really was my nearest book, so how could I resist? Just a bit of a perfect coincidence, don't you think?
Warnings: Written on my iPhone so don't expect it to be perfect.
---
Sherlock Holmes didn't exist; if you looked deep enough that is. And if you ever got that far, well, lets just say you never got any further.
Sherlock Holmes died. He fell. Rather tragic, really. But it had to happen.
***
Martin Creiff didn't exist either. But that was ok. He wasn't needed for too long.
***
John Watson does exist. His life is real.
That's why no one ever suspects him, even though he's the one you need to look out for.
***
The man called Sherlock is one of the finest the Circus has, but John is the one they call in when things need cleaning up.
---
I haven't read the whole book yet, but my head twisted this into shape with the single knowledge that its a spy novel...so, yes there are probably inaccuracies, hope you don't mind them.
Itty Bitty Fill
anonymous
November 13 2011, 19:41:53 UTC
"Sherlock?" John called as he staggered up the steps, weighted down my groceries. "Sherlock, a little help--!" He arrived in the sitting room, only to find Sherlock dead asleep on the sofa, a book splashed on his chest, rising and falling ever so slightly with his breath. "Oh of course," mumbled John with good natured grumpiness, "the one time you're actually asleep..." With a sigh, John deposited the shopping in the kitchen and went to Sherlock with the intention of covering him with a blanket, as that was exactly the fussy type of mother henning thing Sherlock pretended to hate. He plucked the book from his friend's chest and turned it over. Et j'ai vu quelquefois ce que l'homme a cru voir!*, he read, and he smiled. "Fair enough," he murmured, and pulled the blanket up around Sherlock's shoulders.
*What other men have only thought they'd seen, I've seen!
This is my very very first fill, so I hope it doesn't suck! The book was the collected poetry of Arthur Rimbaud, en français.
The Zombie Survival Guide, Part 1
anonymous
November 13 2011, 20:53:17 UTC
Book: The Zombie Survival Guide Warning: Violence toward the end.
Class Three Outbreak. It had once been a warning so terrifying that it sent a chill down the spine of anyone who heard it. Now, a Class Three Outbreak seemed like paradise in comparison to the current state of affairs. There were very few survivors but among them was Sherlock Holmes. However, he did not feel like much of a survivor. The word implied that the worst was behind him, relegated to memory but in Sherlock’s mind, the battle would never be over. The world that Sherlock remembered had ceased to exist once the virus began its treacherous dissemination. Every single day, he was at war with the living dead
( ... )
Re: The Zombie Survival Guide, Part 2
anonymous
November 13 2011, 20:58:58 UTC
Sherlock stood just as the first one kicked down the door with its leg and the air was filled with the unmistakable stench of necrotic flesh. The second one closely followed the first, slower and less agile but still a threat. Two, Sherlock thought. He’d taken on six at once so although two presented somewhat of a challenge, he knew that was capable of besting his enemies.
He flattened his body against the edge of the doorway, out of their line of vision. Sword or shotgun? He knew all along that the shotgun was not the most ideal firearm for his specialized brand of hunting but it was far superior to any other gun he possessed. The shotgun would almost guarantee that he’d kill them both, but he’d have to reload quickly. The sword was much more precise and he knew that if he timed things just right, he’d be able to decapitate both of them with one swift swipe. Sometimes his kills were so magnificently heroic that he wished there was someone he could share them with, but he only had himself to impress with his deadly theatrics
( ... )
Fill. Bel Canto (Ann Patchett)diminuaNovember 13 2011, 21:48:33 UTC
Sherlock smiled to himself as he turned the pages of the book over, considering its qualities as a Christmas present for his older brother. The good thing was it did look like the kind of book Mycroft would want to read - a winner of the Orange prize for fiction the previous year, an opera singer heroine, a political protest. All things Mycroft would normally enjoy.
In fact, of course, it would annoy him unspeakably - the characterisation of the politicians and police and protesters as all being horribly incompetent, the whole supposed hostage situation glaringly inaccurate to anyone who knew about these things.
Bonus: no S/J (only because of my pairing preferences, feel free to ignore)
Reply
"NO!"
"Sherlock?" John ran worriedly into the sitting room, "What is it? What's the problem?"
"This is the problem." Sherlock threw the book at the coffee table, dislodging a mound of papers. Before sitting back up and crossing his arms huffily. John picked the book up out of interest, epecting some scientific journal with an offensive typo or something. What actually greeted him was;
Harry Potter and the Deathly Heallows
"You're reading Harry Potter?" He asked, mouth hanging open a little in shock.
"Obviously."
"What's the problem then? I liked the ending, so if it's that..."
"No, it's just; How did Dumbledore get the Elder Wand?"
"What?" This was a pretty surreal conversation, John felt like he was going to wake up any moment. "He won it off that Grindlywart didn't he?"
"Grindlewald, John. Get it right. And how? How could he win it off him when the wand's suppose to be unbeatable John stood in the doorway for a moment, surveying the angry ( ... )
Reply
Oh, Sherlock...
Well done anon!
Reply
Lovely, by the way.
Reply
Warnings: Written on my iPhone so don't expect it to be perfect.
---
Sherlock Holmes didn't exist; if you looked deep enough that is. And if you ever got that far, well, lets just say you never got any further.
Sherlock Holmes died. He fell. Rather tragic, really. But it had to happen.
***
Martin Creiff didn't exist either. But that was ok. He wasn't needed for too long.
***
John Watson does exist. His life is real.
That's why no one ever suspects him, even though he's the one you need to look out for.
***
The man called Sherlock is one of the finest the Circus has, but John is the one they call in when things need cleaning up.
---
I haven't read the whole book yet, but my head twisted this into shape with the single knowledge that its a spy novel...so, yes there are probably inaccuracies, hope you don't mind them.
Reply
Well done, anon. This is extremely intriguing!
(reminds me, really must reread TTSS- it's a fabulous book!)
Reply
He arrived in the sitting room, only to find Sherlock dead asleep on the sofa, a book splashed on his chest, rising and falling ever so slightly with his breath.
"Oh of course," mumbled John with good natured grumpiness, "the one time you're actually asleep..."
With a sigh, John deposited the shopping in the kitchen and went to Sherlock with the intention of covering him with a blanket, as that was exactly the fussy type of mother henning thing Sherlock pretended to hate.
He plucked the book from his friend's chest and turned it over. Et j'ai vu quelquefois ce que l'homme a cru voir!*, he read, and he smiled.
"Fair enough," he murmured, and pulled the blanket up around Sherlock's shoulders.
*What other men have only thought they'd seen, I've seen!
This is my very very first fill, so I hope it doesn't suck! The book was the collected poetry of Arthur Rimbaud, en français.
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Warning: Violence toward the end.
Class Three Outbreak. It had once been a warning so terrifying that it sent a chill down the spine of anyone who heard it. Now, a Class Three Outbreak seemed like paradise in comparison to the current state of affairs. There were very few survivors but among them was Sherlock Holmes. However, he did not feel like much of a survivor. The word implied that the worst was behind him, relegated to memory but in Sherlock’s mind, the battle would never be over. The world that Sherlock remembered had ceased to exist once the virus began its treacherous dissemination. Every single day, he was at war with the living dead ( ... )
Reply
He flattened his body against the edge of the doorway, out of their line of vision. Sword or shotgun? He knew all along that the shotgun was not the most ideal firearm for his specialized brand of hunting but it was far superior to any other gun he possessed. The shotgun would almost guarantee that he’d kill them both, but he’d have to reload quickly. The sword was much more precise and he knew that if he timed things just right, he’d be able to decapitate both of them with one swift swipe. Sometimes his kills were so magnificently heroic that he wished there was someone he could share them with, but he only had himself to impress with his deadly theatrics ( ... )
Reply
*shivers* The atmosphere you've created is brilliant!
Reply
The good thing was it did look like the kind of book Mycroft would want to read - a winner of the Orange prize for fiction the previous year, an opera singer heroine, a political protest. All things Mycroft would normally enjoy.
In fact, of course, it would annoy him unspeakably - the characterisation of the politicians and police and protesters as all being horribly incompetent, the whole supposed hostage situation glaringly inaccurate to anyone who knew about these things.
This book would drive Mycroft bananas.
It was perfect.
Reply
Oh, Sherlock would. (And my headcanon may now include Sherlock carefully selecting books for his brother's Christmas)
Well done!
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