Fill: Pavlov's remote [3/4]
anonymous
October 18 2010, 17:30:04 UTC
“Sometimes, Anderson, I do genuinely marvel at how such a buffoon could enter the Force.”
There. His eyelids fluttered.
“The hair colour,” Sherlock continued, “is how the murderer deci... decides who to kill.”
Was he out of breath?
Suddenly, Sherlock threw himself away from the dresser and headed over to the body, crouching down to examine some minutiae only he could see. “Flame red hair, immolated. Fire. White blonde hair, strangled. Air. Brown hair... brown ha... oh for Christ's sake can't you connect the dots yourself for once?!”
The random outburst wasn't entirely unprecedented, but it certainly took them by surprise. Sherlock was curled into himself, face buried in his knees and hands clutching at his hair. Anderson was gawping. John was snickering, biting his fist to try and silence himself,
and his other hand was still in his pocket.
Sherlock moaned, and Lestrade knew.“John, Sherlock, can I have a word? Outside, please
( ... )
Fill: Pavlov's remote [4/4]
anonymous
October 18 2010, 17:31:45 UTC
Lestrade had somehow hit the whatever-it-was remote in John's pocket, and there was a very breathy shout from inside the flat, followed by a thump. Lestrade froze, eyes wide in horror. John slowly reached inside his pocket, as if in disbelief that that had actually happened
( ... )
Prompt: remote-controlled plug up sherlock's bum. at a crime scene. john's got the remote.
after a while, i bet lestrade would figure it out. gimme that mortifying talk.
Reply
Reply
Reply
There. His eyelids fluttered.
“The hair colour,” Sherlock continued, “is how the murderer deci... decides who to kill.”
Was he out of breath?
Suddenly, Sherlock threw himself away from the dresser and headed over to the body, crouching down to examine some minutiae only he could see. “Flame red hair, immolated. Fire. White blonde hair, strangled. Air. Brown hair... brown ha... oh for Christ's sake can't you connect the dots yourself for once?!”
The random outburst wasn't entirely unprecedented, but it certainly took them by surprise. Sherlock was curled into himself, face buried in his knees and hands clutching at his hair. Anderson was gawping. John was snickering, biting his fist to try and silence himself,
and his other hand was still in his pocket.
Sherlock moaned, and Lestrade knew.“John, Sherlock, can I have a word? Outside, please ( ... )
Reply
Reply
BRB dying laughing
*falls off chair and rofls*
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
:D It's my pleasure, dear. This amused me greatly to write, and I'm glad you enjoyed reading it too.
Reply
Reply
Reply
And that second last line pretty much demands a sequel ;)
Reply
Leave a comment