caffienekitty (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
caffienekitty) wrote2010-08-21 12:14 pm
caffienekitty) wrote2010-08-21 12:14 pm
Entry tags:
Sherlock Fic: Two short Comment-Meme Fills
I posted these anonymously on the meme; I am now de-anonning and claiming credit. Minor edits from anon posting. No spoilers for the episodes.
Disclaimer:The characters and world of Sherlock do not belong to me.
#1
Title: A Little Bit of DIY
Rating/Warnings: GEN, PG-13, mild gore and violence
Prompt: John Watson, Action-Medic.
John regretted not wearing a tie for the first time in his life. Or a belt, blasted jeans. He kept pressure on the wound deep in the woman's thigh but too much blood was still seeping out between his fingers. It was a mixed blessing she'd fallen unconscious.
"Tourniquet, tourniquet, I need a bloody- SHERLOCK, GET BACK HERE I NEED YOUR SCARF!"
"Busy!" Sherlock's faint voice and footsteps echoed around the underpass as he chased their quarry.
"Right," John gritted, "Not a problem, I'll just deal with it." He kept pressure on, wondering if he could unravel his jumper one-handed. But that would take too long, she'd bleed out. And it was ludicrous.
"That's not very nice," came the voice of the man Sherlock had been chasing. "Messing with a man's work."
"Oh for- SHERLOCK, HE'S BACK HERE! HE'S CIRCLED 'ROUND!" John glared into the darkness. "I don't have time for you now!"
The man detached himself from the shadows, knife glinting, the woman's blood staining his suit. "I worked hard on that one, and you're interfering with my work."
"Look, you rabid nutter-" John glanced up to see the man's tie swinging from his neck. "Ah, perfect!"
With one hand keeping pressure on the wound, he pulled out his pistol and shot the man in the knee.
The man screamed and toppled, losing his grip on his knife as he clutched his knee and fell towards John.
"Thank you," John said as he dropped the gun, snatched off the man's tie, and tied a quick tourniquet.
The man groaned and cursed, scrabbling in the dirt for his knife.
Hands freed from their duty, John picked up the gun again. "Ah, no, that's quite enough of that."
The man resumed clutching his knee and cursing.
"John?!" Sherlock's voice echoing again.
"It's all right, Sherlock! I've got him!" With two fingers tracking his patient's pulse, John kept the gun trained on the man.
"You've ruined my leg you bastard!"
"With good care that will heal well enough for you to take part in the prison Olympics. But you do have two knees and sundry other painful areas in which to get shot. Now, let's chat." John aimed at the agonized man. "Where are you keeping the others?"
- - -
(that's all for that one)
#2
Title: A Pleasant Friction
Rating/Warnings: ... um. Not nearly what it sounds like from the title. I'm calling this SQUINT, but, well, opinions will vary. Might be OOC-ish at the end. PG for musings on the nature of sex and sexuality.
Prompt: Sex is boring.
Sherlock's never seen the point of sex. Oh, the continuation of the species, certainly, but 94.5% of all sexual activity is non-procreative in nature, either by contraception or by sheer impossibility of impregnation. It certainly doesn't warrant the attention it gets. From what he's seen, all of popular media is obsessed with sex or sexuality. All it is is friction applied to specific nerves to mimic the act of procreation and thus trigger the reward system evolved to ensure the species doesn't die out for lack of progeny.
Love, also pointless, beyond its consideration as a motive. Another reward system to trick primates into forming a social group to support the survival of offspring. More chemicals in the brain. And yet almost every piece of music written throughout history is in some way based on the concept of love or sex. Murderers kill their lovers, their lovers' lovers, fits of rage, jealousy, envy, want. Why would anyone write songs to that? Pointless.
All this... activity, murder, jealousy, hormones, brain chemicals, friction, all based on the evolutionary imperative to procreate, and support the results of procreation.
Children are not something Sherlock thought he would ever be personally involved with the generation or care-taking of. Therefore no point to any of it, not for him. The refutation of evolution.
He looks across the kitchen at John. John stands over the toaster with a butter knife at the ready, tousle-headed and muzzy in his striped pajamas. He scratches his hip and gripes about the lack of milk.
Sherlock weaves his fingers together and rests his chin on them, wondering if his sociopathy will keep them from being allowed to adopt.
- - -
(That's it for that one too. *koff*)
There's a couple others I've posted anon but I'm not brave enough to claim credit for those, and I'm not as happy with them in terms of the writing.
Disclaimer:The characters and world of Sherlock do not belong to me.
#1
Title: A Little Bit of DIY
Rating/Warnings: GEN, PG-13, mild gore and violence
Prompt: John Watson, Action-Medic.
John regretted not wearing a tie for the first time in his life. Or a belt, blasted jeans. He kept pressure on the wound deep in the woman's thigh but too much blood was still seeping out between his fingers. It was a mixed blessing she'd fallen unconscious.
"Tourniquet, tourniquet, I need a bloody- SHERLOCK, GET BACK HERE I NEED YOUR SCARF!"
"Busy!" Sherlock's faint voice and footsteps echoed around the underpass as he chased their quarry.
"Right," John gritted, "Not a problem, I'll just deal with it." He kept pressure on, wondering if he could unravel his jumper one-handed. But that would take too long, she'd bleed out. And it was ludicrous.
"That's not very nice," came the voice of the man Sherlock had been chasing. "Messing with a man's work."
"Oh for- SHERLOCK, HE'S BACK HERE! HE'S CIRCLED 'ROUND!" John glared into the darkness. "I don't have time for you now!"
The man detached himself from the shadows, knife glinting, the woman's blood staining his suit. "I worked hard on that one, and you're interfering with my work."
"Look, you rabid nutter-" John glanced up to see the man's tie swinging from his neck. "Ah, perfect!"
With one hand keeping pressure on the wound, he pulled out his pistol and shot the man in the knee.
The man screamed and toppled, losing his grip on his knife as he clutched his knee and fell towards John.
"Thank you," John said as he dropped the gun, snatched off the man's tie, and tied a quick tourniquet.
The man groaned and cursed, scrabbling in the dirt for his knife.
Hands freed from their duty, John picked up the gun again. "Ah, no, that's quite enough of that."
The man resumed clutching his knee and cursing.
"John?!" Sherlock's voice echoing again.
"It's all right, Sherlock! I've got him!" With two fingers tracking his patient's pulse, John kept the gun trained on the man.
"You've ruined my leg you bastard!"
"With good care that will heal well enough for you to take part in the prison Olympics. But you do have two knees and sundry other painful areas in which to get shot. Now, let's chat." John aimed at the agonized man. "Where are you keeping the others?"
- - -
(that's all for that one)
#2
Title: A Pleasant Friction
Rating/Warnings: ... um. Not nearly what it sounds like from the title. I'm calling this SQUINT, but, well, opinions will vary. Might be OOC-ish at the end. PG for musings on the nature of sex and sexuality.
Prompt: Sex is boring.
Sherlock's never seen the point of sex. Oh, the continuation of the species, certainly, but 94.5% of all sexual activity is non-procreative in nature, either by contraception or by sheer impossibility of impregnation. It certainly doesn't warrant the attention it gets. From what he's seen, all of popular media is obsessed with sex or sexuality. All it is is friction applied to specific nerves to mimic the act of procreation and thus trigger the reward system evolved to ensure the species doesn't die out for lack of progeny.
Love, also pointless, beyond its consideration as a motive. Another reward system to trick primates into forming a social group to support the survival of offspring. More chemicals in the brain. And yet almost every piece of music written throughout history is in some way based on the concept of love or sex. Murderers kill their lovers, their lovers' lovers, fits of rage, jealousy, envy, want. Why would anyone write songs to that? Pointless.
All this... activity, murder, jealousy, hormones, brain chemicals, friction, all based on the evolutionary imperative to procreate, and support the results of procreation.
Children are not something Sherlock thought he would ever be personally involved with the generation or care-taking of. Therefore no point to any of it, not for him. The refutation of evolution.
He looks across the kitchen at John. John stands over the toaster with a butter knife at the ready, tousle-headed and muzzy in his striped pajamas. He scratches his hip and gripes about the lack of milk.
Sherlock weaves his fingers together and rests his chin on them, wondering if his sociopathy will keep them from being allowed to adopt.
- - -
(That's it for that one too. *koff*)
There's a couple others I've posted anon but I'm not brave enough to claim credit for those, and I'm not as happy with them in terms of the writing.