wheresmycow: (sherlock01)
Oh lord, oh lord. It's OOC as all get out, but hilariously so. I may have startled the cat awake with the high-pitched gigglesnorts.

Sherlock Holmes' Diary, a Sherlock/Bridget Jones' Diary fusion by [livejournal.com profile] errantcomment

January 29th. Nicotine patches 5 Cigarettes 7 (Well) Flatmates 1? (Don’t want to discuss it)

1240 Text from Mike: "May have found you flatmate. Old friend from uni. Missed lunch for this so don't mess it up!" God knows who it is. Some dull middle-management type I imagine. Text back: "Fine. Will be as charming as you like."

1400 Oh my. Sitting in Molly’s office with soothing cup of tea. John Watson. Oh my.
I didn’t mess it up.
I think. I mean. Oh no.
He’ll come I think. Why wouldn’t he?
I mean, oh lord. Here’s the thing.
I
He

1430 Mike came in. "What the hell was that?"
"I don't know what you mean." Liar.
"If that's you trying to be charming I'd hate to see what you'd be like driving someone off!' He folded his arms.
"I just- look, it's fine. He'll come. He might even stay." Mike gave me a long look.
"Well, he'd better. The missus's eyes still glow red at the mention of your name." Not a joke.
Got John Watson's number (oh my) off Mike. Wonder if it would be stalker-ish to text him right now. Probably.
wheresmycow: (Default)
I have a serious weakness for what the fandom calls BAMF!John stories, and Apotheosis, by mad_maudlin, is one of the better ones out there. In an interesting twist of "The Adventure of the Empty House" it's John, not Sherlock, who disappears for three years.

"Moriarty," the colonel behind the brigadier said, when John clearly wasn't processing. "He's been categorized as an international terrorist and a threat to national security."

"We are doing what we can by conventional methods," the brigadier continued. "But as you've probably guessed by now, taking down Moriarty will require unconventional methods as well."

"Why me?" John thought to ask.

The brigadier tilted his head to one side, oddly dog-like. "Because you have had three months of training in the methods of Sherlock Holmes, but none of his flaws," he said. "Because you have an uncomplicated love of country and a strong moral code, which allow you act independently and reliably. Because you have a personal investment in making Moriarty pay for what he's done."

"How long do I have to decide?" John asked, because he was alert enough to know he really wasn't competent to be making these decisions on this much medication.

"Forty-eight hours," said the colonel.

While I would like to see a sequel to this, perhaps about how John tries to re-integrate yet again into civilian life given everything he's experienced, I would love to see a parallel fic from Sherlock's POV. Someone has to explain Geneva.
wheresmycow: (Default)
I'm not entirely sure how this happened, but I have developed an inordinate, ridiculous love for Merlin/Arthur modern AU fics. And I haven't even started on Series 3 yet.

Timshel, by ems
Merlin is definitely supposed to work for Arthur, but spends most of his time mocking Arthur's dress sense, berating him via IM with Morgana, sending Gwen capslock-filled emails about him and, most of all, trying not to fall in love with the shiny-shoed ponce. Arthur, meanwhile, is definitely supposed to be taking over his father's company some day, but instead spends most of his time scowling at Merlin, making lists about him, trying to find excuses to fire him and, most of all, trying to pretend he is totally not head-over-heels for the jumped up little upstart. Someone's got to make some difficult choices eventually, and this can only lead to one thing: angst. Or hilarity. Or, embarrassingly enough, self-discovery.

Note: Set aside a weekend for Merlin marathon.
wheresmycow: (Default)
by trawling through [livejournal.com profile] sherlockbbc_fic and lo, I found this anonymous gem of hilarity:

Narrative Causality (A Sherlock/Discworld fic; in which Stamford plays an unappreciated part and Mycroft presumes the laws of gravity are laws for everybody else.)
wheresmycow: (Default)
I was doing my laundry and I turned around and got a faceful of fried spinach.

It was good. Unexpected, but good.

I wish my mother would stop these ambush force-feeds, though. She's like an overexcited Luftwaffe squadron jumping the gun on the Blitz.

(At least she's stopped looking at me as if I was about to keel over. I'm fine, Ma!)



Anyway. Today's Sherlock recs are two very well-done adaptations of the classic ACD stories "The Adventure of the Speckled Band" and "The Adventure of the Copper Beeches" by [livejournal.com profile] buffyaddict13:

The Adventure of the Spotted Ring, Part 1 and Part 2

"I was wrong," Sherlock said. "This is more of a two patch problem. We have several clues to focus on. The whistles, the fact Doctor Roylott doesn't want his stepdaughters to marry, the sudden house repairs, various homeless people traipsing about, not to mention Julia's reference to a ring and the fact Helen heard a metallic clang the night her sister died." He stabbed the air with a finger. "Maybe the noise was a shutter falling back into place."

"Or a murderous robot climbing down the chimney."

Sherlock looked at me, confused. His face brightened. "Oh. You were joking."

The Adventure of the Girl in the Attic, Part 1 and Part 2

Sherlock pushed himself into a sitting position. He pulled his dressing gown closed and regarded me with a look that said I was to be pitied.

"The days of my great cases are over, John. The criminal element has lost all ingenuity. Even Moriarty has let me down."

My eyebrows lifted. "You consider
that a problem?"

Sherlock ignored me. "Any day now,
The Science of Deduction forums will be rife with nothing but questions from hapless teenagers who have misplaced their iPods and mechanical pencils. From little old ladies who have lost their Siamese cats and reading glasses."

My friend's head rested on the back of the couch, he stared blankly at the ceiling. "I'm telling you, John. You are, right now, witnessing my final descent. I can already feel my brain atrophy. I am in the depths of endless boredom and despair."

He was certainly in the depths of
something.
wheresmycow: (Default)
The visible signs of the rash are gone, thank goodness -- but my hands still itch something awful.

I really should catch up on the shit-TON of work I left moldering on my desk during the Week of Pain but I can't bring myself to start on them. BORED! Hang on, why do I NOT have a Sherlock BORED! icon? I must fix this.

Okay, TMI over. Let's have something more cheerful:

The Art of Scheduling; or, How Mycroft Came To Realize He Was Well and Truly Fucked by [livejournal.com profile] igrab. It suited him, and he assumed it suited her for she'd never given any indication otherwise. (Mycroft/Anthea)

(I DID wonder about what looked like a wedding ring on Mycroft's right hand in A Study in Pink. Like everyone else, I'd assumed it was Mark Gatiss's real wedding ring and he'd just shifted it to his other hand. And then I watched that behind-the-scenes special that came with the DVD and he had one ring on each hand. So...okay, this paragraph really had no point, then.)

Anthea had the most infuriating habit of looking completely innocent when she was at her very most devious. He sighed. "There are times I find myself pathetically glad to have you on my side."

"I wouldn't dream of being anywhere else, sir."

He had turned to go, but that made him pause, and look back over one shoulder. His brow furrowed and he considered, once more, her motivations - her apparent lack of them, to the point of not even wanting a present to celebrate her date of birth. "You really don't, do you," he murmured, but it was more to himself than anyone else, and when she looked up, distracted, her eyes clearly seeing numbers and maps and far more important things than her somewhat astonished boss. It was simply a statement of fact, something he'd known for a long time but perhaps didn't fully understand until this moment.

This, here, was what she wanted. This life. His life, as a matter of fact. She'd played him like Sherlock's violin and that was all the present she'd needed.

(Maybe I should just put all these recs together in one post next time. ...Nah, I like sharing the stuff I like as soon as I find them.)
wheresmycow: (Default)
Seriously, I've been sick for almost a week; I'm stuck in bed with my laptop all day and I've run out of TV episodes to watch (except for Project Runway -- come on, little internet ninja pirate hamsters, where are you?). What else could I do?

Aptronyms by [livejournal.com profile] elapsedspiral. Mr Sherlock Holmes and Dr John Watson are characters created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle; Mr Sherlock Holmes and Dr John Watson are the unfortunate sods named after them (AKA a rather strange AU of 2010 Sherlock).

One of the most vivid memories he had from his childhood was of opening a copy of "The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes" by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Even now he remembered pouring over stories of thieves and crooks, villainy and deceit. He also recalled a lot of service revolver use and trap doors. At the heart of every story there was the sleuth himself, Sherlock Holmes, and his loyal companion John Watson. Sherlock, he remembered reading, was a tall dark-haired man with an eagle-eyed gaze and a hawk-like nose. He had a habit of being bitingly sarcastic and generally very witty. Watson, by contrast, was a long-suffering but brave and dependable man who balanced his detective friend's less appealing traits well. And together, he recalled, the pair had solved impossible crimes and gone on amazing adventures.

He had hated every single page of those books and the reason was readily understandable. It was, after all, somewhat unnerving at the age of seven to read that he was, apparently, a master of disguise, of the martial arts and of identifying soil types. It was very alarming to read how he fell down a waterfall in Switzerland and that he had an arch-enemy. People surely didn't
have arch-enemies.

And so at age seven, Sherlock Holmes came fully to appreciate how big a pair of prats his parents were for naming him after a fictional detective.

And the ENDING! Oh god, the ending...I laughed so hard I started coughing for about five minutes afterward. IT'S A HEALTH HAZARD.
wheresmycow: (Default)
Why yes, I am using my off-sick days to trawl for Sherlock fic.

It's Not The Violin, by [livejournal.com profile] sam_storyteller. Somewhere between Alejandro and the fistfight, John Watson became someone Sherlock Holmes would kill for.

Sherlock smiled a little, turning to him. "Anything you'd like me to play?"

"I don't know anything about music," John said. "I wouldn't know what to ask for."

Sherlock nodded and put his chin back to the violin, testing its tuning for a second before ripping into something fast and oddly familiar --

John burst out laughing again. "Is that Lady Gaga?"

"Is it? Is that artist or title?"

"Artist," John said. "How are you playing it without knowing what it is?"

"I heard it in a shop," Sherlock replied, managing to shrug without losing his place in the music. "It's not precisely subtle, but I suppose subtlety for the masses is overrated."

SHERLOCK PLAYING LADY GAGA ON THE VIOLIN. That alone is worth the price of admission. (It's not the only reason you should read this fic, though. It's the best fic depiction of the Sherlock-and-John bromance I have ever read.)

Bonus video: Bad Romance on violin (viola?)


Lady Gaga really works on strings, I see.
wheresmycow: (Default)
1. Padding by [livejournal.com profile] basingstoke. (Sherlock/Black Books) A shocking attack of bibliophilia.

"I WOULD LIKE TO PAY YOU ONE THOUSAND POUNDS," Sherlock said loudly and clearly.

Bernard silenced. He sat in the desk chair. "Manny."

"Yes, Bernard?" said the blond man.

"I grant you permission to sell this man a book."

"I think he wants more than one, Bernard!"

"ONE BOOK!" Bernard screamed.

2. Space Oddity by [livejournal.com profile] emmyangua. (Sherlock/Life on Mars/Ashes to Ashes) Sherlock Holmes was hit by an explosion in 2010 and when he woke up it was 1983. Gene Hunt isn't ready for a new DI yet, and doesn't know what he's in for.

"I don't know where you think you're going," snapped Gene. "But there's an empty desk out there—" a couple of empty desks, he thought bitterly, "and the scum of London isn't going to catch itself."

"But you're the police. It's your job to look into disappearances."

"
Our job, Detective Inspector," said Gene coldly.

The man stopped. He spent a moment delicately fishing about in his pockets and retrieved a warrant card. "Detective Inspector Sherlock Holmes," he read. "Metropolitan Police."

He closed the warrant card, replaced it in his jacket, and then—to Gene's surprise—laughed long and hard.
wheresmycow: (Default)
Dammit, I'm reading Deadpool 'fic and I. Can't. Stop. They're all fucking insane.

Archive of our Own is an Evil Timewaster Of Evil. AHLAVEIT

And here is the 'fic that got me started down this dark, evil path.

/shit, gotta get icons

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