simonejester (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
simonejester) wrote2013-05-07 11:41 pm
simonejester) wrote2013-05-07 11:41 pm
Sherlock Fic Quotes #17 (Mostly SFW)
Ships this post: Sherlock/John (3), Mycroft-centric gen (3), Greg/Mycroft (4)
"I was right about the countryside," Sherlock pants, half-smiling.
John grins widely. "Oh, la di da, Sherlock was right about something, sound the alarms, prepare the cannon salute, polish the dress uniforms and ready the ceremonial sabers. What, you want a biscuit every time you're right about something? There would be no biscuits left in the world. Be a dear and call nine nine nine? My hands are full."
--
It's morning, according to the light, which is a honey colour Sherlock associates with bees who have been mucking about with clover as opposed to, say, buckwheat or lavender or alfalfa.
The light, Sherlock realizes, it quite flattering to the arm he is observing.
Sherlock is beset with a strange feeling of deja vu. Didn't he wake up yesterday with an army doctor, and now, again, does this mean the process is to be repeated, the sleeping tangled together ad infinitum? If so, is that a reward for all the cases he's ever solved in his life, and if he keeps solving cases and keeps Moriarty at bay, will he continue to have a living breathing John in his bed?
Their bed? Could it be their bed now?
--
"God," John whispers, "I'm getting off just from you staring at me, you mad git. Permission to make my first wish?"
"Granted."
"I don't want to be the only naked man in this bed."
John, the sleuth thinks, is a clever fellow. Sherlock unties his drawstring and obliges, followed by his shirt. He sends them down to be with John's clothing on the floor. He likes to think of them there, together, mingling, while he and John do the same on the bed above.
--All the Best and Brightest Creatures, by (AO3)wordstrings, (Sherlock/John)
===
“Why is he so wild?” she says mildly. Mycroft can indistinctly hear screaming from outside, the poor gardener being accosted once more, caught up in one of Sherlock’s worse fits. The weather is warm and he is young and temperamental.
“I can only imagine,” Mycroft says, licking his index finger and noisily flipping the page.
“You were never like this as a child.”
“Yes, well, I’m not him.”
Mycroft’s mother smiles fondly at this, but her eyes are still fixed onto her youngest son. There is always a warmth to her when she watches him, a satisfaction that at least one of them has broken out of complacency to become wild and thoroughly untamable.
Heir apparent, is Sherlock Holmes, whose mother gazes at him with a hope, a benediction.
“No, you’re not, are you,” she whispers.
Mycroft returns to his reading.
--
What Sherlock suffers through bouts of boundless activity and wild anger, Mycroft suffers in lonely silence.
--
“School can go to hell.”
Mycroft lets out a long, weary breath of stagnant air. “My dear boy, you really must stop expecting the rest of the world to bend to your every whim and eccentricity,” he says.
“Why shouldn’t they?” Sherlock spits. “I’m better than the rest of the world.”
Quietly, Mycroft tips his torso forwards and says, “No. You are not. Neither of us are. We are not ‘above it all,’ Sherlock, we are smack in the middle of it.” He curls his eyebrows and frowns. “You are still a human being, after all.”
Sherlock sneers and stuffs his hands into his trouser pockets. A princeling with one eye on the throne and the other in the clouds. His expression is dark and Mycroft knows it all too well. “You’re just jealous,” Sherlock says. “Because I’m not afraid to be me and you’re too afraid to be you.”
A strange and hollow ripple runs from the top of Mycroft’s head to the tips of his fingers. He swallows and blinks, swallows. And. Blinks.
“Being human sounds dreadfully dull anyhow,” Sherlock continues. “What are people good at other than eating and shitting and having sex with each other—”
“Sherlock.”
“It’s true and you know it.”
It is, and he does, but that doesn’t make it sting any less.
--Sonata Form, by (LJ)cj_ludd18, (Mycroft-centric, Sherlock, gen)
===
“Make yourself absent!”
“Make yourself an adult.”
“Sounds like you two know each other pretty well.”
Two heads whipped around to find a very amused Lestrade standing a few steps away enjoying their performance.
“Go away. If you approach more closely, you might become tainted by his villainous exudate and lapse into a meddlesome and useless existence reminiscent of his own.”
“Now I’m guessing you’re related. This your kid brother, Sherlock?”
“Oh very good. I have not seen him rendered speechless since our cook’s young daughter gave him a kiss. I believe they were five at the time and he required a full day to recover from the shock. It remains in memory as the most restful day of my life. Mycroft Holmes, at your service. And I do have the misfortune of being the elder sibling.”
“Really, you’re his older brother? Huh… well, that explains a lot.”
“Oh? Do clarify.”
“Well, the little bastard obviously suffers from a massive inferiority complex and now I understand why.”
Mycroft prided himself on never being caught off guard, but nothing was stopping the bark of laughter that escaped his lips and the one that followed upon seeing Sherlock’s vermillion and very indignant expression.
--
“Yeah, well, I think you’re not giving me the full story, but that’s ok. It’s only our first meeting after all.”
“And if we have a second?”
“Well then… may have to apply some of my own deductive powers and dig a little deeper.”
“Is that a challenge, Detective Inspector Lestrade?”
“Why do I get the feeling you really like a good challenge?”
“Oh, you are intuitive, aren’t you. Very well, I shall toss down the gauntlet when next we meet and we shall see how successful you are at navigating my labyrinth of lies and subterfuge.”
“I’ll bring my compass and flashlight, then.”
“Excellent. Shall we say this evening?”
“Sounds great, I…”
Both men stared at each other with wide eyes and tried to put together the pieces of how they suddenly agreed to a night out after knowing each other for five minutes.
--First Impressions, by (t)eventhorizon451, (Greg/Mycroft)
===
"Gregory. I am very glad that you did send me those messages. And I understand imbibing alcohol to cope with the pain. I would simply feel better if you were not alone when you did it. So come over and you may help yourself to my liquor cabinet, as much as you wish, but please try to stop before you become sick on anything nice."
Greg laughed. He was certain that Mycroft didn't own anything that wasn't nice.
"What if I do?"
"Then I will clean you up and put you to bed and tomorrow I will glare at you most fiercely."
"Sounds fair. Okay, let's go."
--
"Interesting choice." Greg told him around a mouthful of noodles as he recognized what film Mycroft had started playing.
"I'm sorry, I haven't seen the film adaptation. Is it not good? We can watch something else."
"No, this is good."
"Then why interesting?"
"Because I felt like I had to comment on your choice?"
"Well, I found it interesting that you own The Importance of Being Earnest."
"Really, why?"
"Because I felt I had to comment on your selection."
--because i love you)last night, by (AO3)krisjo, (Greg/Mycroft)
"I was right about the countryside," Sherlock pants, half-smiling.
John grins widely. "Oh, la di da, Sherlock was right about something, sound the alarms, prepare the cannon salute, polish the dress uniforms and ready the ceremonial sabers. What, you want a biscuit every time you're right about something? There would be no biscuits left in the world. Be a dear and call nine nine nine? My hands are full."
--
It's morning, according to the light, which is a honey colour Sherlock associates with bees who have been mucking about with clover as opposed to, say, buckwheat or lavender or alfalfa.
The light, Sherlock realizes, it quite flattering to the arm he is observing.
Sherlock is beset with a strange feeling of deja vu. Didn't he wake up yesterday with an army doctor, and now, again, does this mean the process is to be repeated, the sleeping tangled together ad infinitum? If so, is that a reward for all the cases he's ever solved in his life, and if he keeps solving cases and keeps Moriarty at bay, will he continue to have a living breathing John in his bed?
Their bed? Could it be their bed now?
--
"God," John whispers, "I'm getting off just from you staring at me, you mad git. Permission to make my first wish?"
"Granted."
"I don't want to be the only naked man in this bed."
John, the sleuth thinks, is a clever fellow. Sherlock unties his drawstring and obliges, followed by his shirt. He sends them down to be with John's clothing on the floor. He likes to think of them there, together, mingling, while he and John do the same on the bed above.
--All the Best and Brightest Creatures, by (AO3)wordstrings, (Sherlock/John)
===
“Why is he so wild?” she says mildly. Mycroft can indistinctly hear screaming from outside, the poor gardener being accosted once more, caught up in one of Sherlock’s worse fits. The weather is warm and he is young and temperamental.
“I can only imagine,” Mycroft says, licking his index finger and noisily flipping the page.
“You were never like this as a child.”
“Yes, well, I’m not him.”
Mycroft’s mother smiles fondly at this, but her eyes are still fixed onto her youngest son. There is always a warmth to her when she watches him, a satisfaction that at least one of them has broken out of complacency to become wild and thoroughly untamable.
Heir apparent, is Sherlock Holmes, whose mother gazes at him with a hope, a benediction.
“No, you’re not, are you,” she whispers.
Mycroft returns to his reading.
--
What Sherlock suffers through bouts of boundless activity and wild anger, Mycroft suffers in lonely silence.
--
“School can go to hell.”
Mycroft lets out a long, weary breath of stagnant air. “My dear boy, you really must stop expecting the rest of the world to bend to your every whim and eccentricity,” he says.
“Why shouldn’t they?” Sherlock spits. “I’m better than the rest of the world.”
Quietly, Mycroft tips his torso forwards and says, “No. You are not. Neither of us are. We are not ‘above it all,’ Sherlock, we are smack in the middle of it.” He curls his eyebrows and frowns. “You are still a human being, after all.”
Sherlock sneers and stuffs his hands into his trouser pockets. A princeling with one eye on the throne and the other in the clouds. His expression is dark and Mycroft knows it all too well. “You’re just jealous,” Sherlock says. “Because I’m not afraid to be me and you’re too afraid to be you.”
A strange and hollow ripple runs from the top of Mycroft’s head to the tips of his fingers. He swallows and blinks, swallows. And. Blinks.
“Being human sounds dreadfully dull anyhow,” Sherlock continues. “What are people good at other than eating and shitting and having sex with each other—”
“Sherlock.”
“It’s true and you know it.”
It is, and he does, but that doesn’t make it sting any less.
--Sonata Form, by (LJ)cj_ludd18, (Mycroft-centric, Sherlock, gen)
===
“Make yourself absent!”
“Make yourself an adult.”
“Sounds like you two know each other pretty well.”
Two heads whipped around to find a very amused Lestrade standing a few steps away enjoying their performance.
“Go away. If you approach more closely, you might become tainted by his villainous exudate and lapse into a meddlesome and useless existence reminiscent of his own.”
“Now I’m guessing you’re related. This your kid brother, Sherlock?”
“Oh very good. I have not seen him rendered speechless since our cook’s young daughter gave him a kiss. I believe they were five at the time and he required a full day to recover from the shock. It remains in memory as the most restful day of my life. Mycroft Holmes, at your service. And I do have the misfortune of being the elder sibling.”
“Really, you’re his older brother? Huh… well, that explains a lot.”
“Oh? Do clarify.”
“Well, the little bastard obviously suffers from a massive inferiority complex and now I understand why.”
Mycroft prided himself on never being caught off guard, but nothing was stopping the bark of laughter that escaped his lips and the one that followed upon seeing Sherlock’s vermillion and very indignant expression.
--
“Yeah, well, I think you’re not giving me the full story, but that’s ok. It’s only our first meeting after all.”
“And if we have a second?”
“Well then… may have to apply some of my own deductive powers and dig a little deeper.”
“Is that a challenge, Detective Inspector Lestrade?”
“Why do I get the feeling you really like a good challenge?”
“Oh, you are intuitive, aren’t you. Very well, I shall toss down the gauntlet when next we meet and we shall see how successful you are at navigating my labyrinth of lies and subterfuge.”
“I’ll bring my compass and flashlight, then.”
“Excellent. Shall we say this evening?”
“Sounds great, I…”
Both men stared at each other with wide eyes and tried to put together the pieces of how they suddenly agreed to a night out after knowing each other for five minutes.
--First Impressions, by (t)eventhorizon451, (Greg/Mycroft)
===
"Gregory. I am very glad that you did send me those messages. And I understand imbibing alcohol to cope with the pain. I would simply feel better if you were not alone when you did it. So come over and you may help yourself to my liquor cabinet, as much as you wish, but please try to stop before you become sick on anything nice."
Greg laughed. He was certain that Mycroft didn't own anything that wasn't nice.
"What if I do?"
"Then I will clean you up and put you to bed and tomorrow I will glare at you most fiercely."
"Sounds fair. Okay, let's go."
--
"Interesting choice." Greg told him around a mouthful of noodles as he recognized what film Mycroft had started playing.
"I'm sorry, I haven't seen the film adaptation. Is it not good? We can watch something else."
"No, this is good."
"Then why interesting?"
"Because I felt like I had to comment on your choice?"
"Well, I found it interesting that you own The Importance of Being Earnest."
"Really, why?"
"Because I felt I had to comment on your selection."
--because i love you)last night, by (AO3)krisjo, (Greg/Mycroft)