hrmm.

Mar. 17th, 2010 04:02 am
taleya: (Black Books (fic))
[personal profile] taleya
Lying on a couch with a laptop is rather problematic when you have a rat perched merrily on your stomach snoring. Trying to find a comfortable position for both yourself and the rat is even more so. Especially when she has absolutely no qualms about sticking sharp claws in places you don't want them to go if you even mildly displease her.

Bloody ingrate.

A meme! Gacked from [livejournal.com profile] charleygirl




Considering i've been going nuts on the kmeme, expect a pattern all bloody right...

Going from most recent and heading back....

1) Sherlock Holmes possessed a mind which - as he so often said himself - rebelled at stagnation. It craved input, challenges, activities to tax and divert. It was only when starved of this peculiar mental fodder that it would turn on itself in furious cannibalism, that he would turn to the insidious lure of drugs to occupy himself, a dark depression sweeping over him.




2) The country air was refreshingly brisk, and had brought a decidedly pleasing colour to Holmes' normally wane cheeks. His appetite had markedly improved - both gastronomically and in regards to other pleasures. All said and done, the impromptu holiday had been enjoyable indeed.




3) There is some editing in my works, I must confess. There are items that I have mentioned but not published, such as the Great Rat of Sumatra, a tale of an adventure which the world is not yet ready for.

No.

Here at least, I must be honest.




4) It was a surprisingly cheery morning for a London winter as I sat at the table in front of the bow window. Mrs. Hudson had assembled a delightful breakfast to match the day – bacon, eggs, and a fine piece of haddock in addition to the usual assortment of toast and fruits. My good mood could not even be darkened by the stack of Strand magazines beside the basket chair – evidently Holmes had been delving through my publications again, no doubt snorting derisively at my fancies with each turn of a page. He could not seem to let them lie, constantly decrying my efforts as sensationalised dramas rather than educational essays into his deductive methods, and yet more than once I have caught him pawing eagerly through a new issue the instant it arrived from my publishers.




5) I have often described my friend as a cold, calculating machine, but there are moments when he will show his softer side. These moments are few and far between, and all the more precious for their rarity. Behind the sharp gaze and eccentric mannerisms lies a heart as great as his intellect, and never was this clearer to me than on the occasion of my thirty-fourth birthday, when he somewhat awkwardly approached me holding a squirming bundle of fur.




6) I loathed this. I loathed it even as it excited me. The shouts, the very smell of money exchanging hands, hurried bets and the sweat of beer making my heart pound. I hated the fact that my friend was being reduced to this again, that he would be left bloodied and bruised, and all because of me.




7) I have observed quite often that Sherlock Holmes seems to be queerly fixated with things of an oral persuasion. When he is not puffing upon his pipe or smoking a cigarette his lean, clever fingers can often be found lingering at his lips.

This whole miserable debacle began with the case I had fancifully described as "The Speckled Band". We waited, long into the night in Miss Stoner's rooms, ears straining, every nerve a-quiver, waiting for the slow, sinuous hiss of Roylott's death adder making its way down the false bell-pull. Holmes did not allow himself to smoke - the scent would surely have betrayed our presence - and I can only conclude that it was this aforementioned oral need that brought forth the miserable events that were to follow.




8) It was, Watson reflected, a spectacularly singular occurrence.




9)The steamer began to pull away, the gangplank torn from the ship's side. I heard the scream of a woman and child as they were heedlessly toppled into the Thames before they could reach the safety of the ship breaking above the protests of those still waiting at the dock as she gained ground, her decks packed with white, terrified faces.

"MARY!" I could see her arms reach for me even as she was pulled away, my name a soundless cry on her own lips. I reeled against a bollard, shoved by the milling crowd and should have been pushed to the depths myself were it not for the strong grip of my friend holding me back.





10) "Distracting yourself can only lead to ruin, Holmes. There are times when you mind needs to be focused on a single task. It's not a failing, it's merely a fact."

"That does not apply to me." Holmes shook out the paper and began reading. "My mind functions on many levels, Watson. To deny it natural operation would be a crime in and of itself."

Watson watched him for a moment, finger stroking the side of his lips. "I bet you sixpence I can prove you wrong."





11) Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee...

The rosary beads slide over the pads of his fingers, cold, unforgiving. The light through the church window is pitiless. There is no salvation here, no redemption, he is steeped in sin, sinning even as he prays for forgiveness, mind full of grey eyes and lean hands, fond smiles and a brilliant mind.

How could this be wrong?




12) Warm tones, coloured by years spent abroad in finer climes. Brown-blonde hair, bleached by years of sunlight. Finer, darker hairs on moustache, neatly trimmed; long muscles, honed by years of use. Military man. Prim. Proper. Proud.

Debauched. Writhing.




13) Doctor John Watson was a contented man. He had a well-off practice, was widely respected in both the medical world and among society alike, and had a wife he loved dearly. However, like a fool to his folly, he all too often found his footsteps tracing back to the set of comfortable rooms upstairs at 221b Baker street.




14) "Well that seemed rather anticlimactic." Watson sat his hat upon the rack above the carriage seats and settled himself down, propping his cane against the window sill as the train began to leave the station.

"It had to happen, sooner or later. Law of averages does state that as clichéd as it may sound, sometimes the butler really *is* responsible." Holmes threw himself carelessly into the couch beside him, toeing off his boots.




15) Watson dropped his paper in disgust. "That damned cat is back again."




16) The streets were bedlam. I fought my way through panicked hordes, an endless stream of terrified refugees, wounded and unwounded alike, half-dressed and shrieking, wide-eyed with hysteria. Women clutched their crying children to their breasts, men fired wildly over their shoulders with revolvers - others simply ran, faces fixed firmly to the ground.




17)He is not gentle. That is not his way. He is powerful, feared, but these things are of little meaning to him. He is not a fleet officer for the power such things bring, or for the material gain. A bastard son of a Vulcan rape, he seeks answers for questions he cannot name, an undefined void that calls to the stars.

And his skills are needed.




18) He was going to throw up. No, seriously. This time he meant it. Observe the Amazing Human Vomit Cannon in action. Right after he cleaned out the goats nest that had taken up residence in his mouth. And died. McCoy dragged an arm over his face in a futile attempt to block out the too-bright sunlight and groaned.

Sweet Jesus what did he drink last night?




19) "Soon get you home! And you can close that coat again!"

Two hearts.

It shouldn't drive him the way it does, but the simple feel of two hearts, healthy, whole under his hands excite him far more than they should. Gallifreyan cardiovascular system. Gallifreyan body. Gallifreyan mind under that funky little hat, alive, whole, not scarred and broken. Memories of a time when his race travelled the stars and time itself, ridiculously ornate robes, pompous ceremony, the glorious poofy snottishness of the Time Lord race.




20) "Will it stop, Doctor? The drumming? Will it stop?"

In a twisted sort of way he's glad Martha has left him. It makes things easier, in the long run. Secrets and tales and games he no longer has to play.




21) It was the smell that hit them first.

Death. Decay. The inevitable ending of flesh. It surrounded the Doctor and Martha the instant they set foot out of the TARDIS, making them both recoil from the force. He'd been aiming for a holiday spot, but seemed to have overstepped the mark a little. Or maybe the TARDIS had other ideas. She seemed to be doing that a lot lately. Maybe he needed a bigger hammer. 'Course Martha had to deal with the odd stinky cesspit now and then, she wasn't on a holiday ride anymore. Mind you it was a bit hard for her to enjoy anything when she was...shrieking and kicking at something pawing at her ankle?




22) "This is a terrible idea you know," the Doctor shrugged out of his coat and tossed it carelessly on the console floor behind him.

"Yes." Turlough's hands were loosening his tie, quicksilver movements of slender fingers below blue eyes that never left his face.

"It can never work," his jumper followed his coat, the motion awkward, a little hurried with need.

"Oh, I know." A shrug of the shoulders, black jacket following the motion to whisper to the ground.

"We shouldn't be doing this at all."




23) He's not allowed to remember.

It was a rule she set down the morning after. He was there, she was there, their friends the genitals were on display and clothing was noticeably absent. Conclusions had been reached - remarkably accurate conclusions - although Bernard routinely wakes up in strange places and strange beds with bite marks and bruises in unusual places and no memory of what the hell happened, she has a better recollection of what goes on and where.




24) Striped ties and pale skin. Cream coats and gasping lips.

He doesn't want to do this. This is...wrong. Even in his confused state, mind crippled and weak he understands this on some level. This is wrong. He mustn't do this. He mustn't do this.




25) He'd expected pain. He'd expected blood.

He just hadn't expected so much.









Conclusion: Dinosaurs.

Date: 2010-03-16 05:28 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] pontisbright.livejournal.com
WHERE IS 23 I WANT IT I WANT IT NOW!

The pattern is: you induce wibble with great aplomb. *nods*

Date: 2010-03-16 05:39 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] taleya.livejournal.com
You've bloody well read it! Remember? You made a happy comment on usage of the word "blarging" :P

http://taleya.livejournal.com/301964.html#cutid1

Date: 2010-03-16 05:40 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] taleya.livejournal.com
Holy shit, that's actually the post where you friended me

*sticks nose in air* glad to see it was such a momentous occasion in your life *sniffs pointedly*

Date: 2010-03-16 05:58 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] pontisbright.livejournal.com
Haha, you know, I was sitting here right after I commented thinking 'I bet I've read it already'. Don't take it personally dearest, I can't remember anything I've written at the minute. Need to sleeeeep. And woooooork. There really should be a system for doing both of those at once...

(I was completely right about the blarging. And the jam. JAMJAMJAMJAM.)
Edited Date: 2010-03-16 06:01 pm (UTC)

Date: 2010-03-16 06:18 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] taleya.livejournal.com
THERE IS ALWAYS TIME FOR JAM!

And porn. Which I am writing. And about to post. Mwahhaha. So go read a case of slight misunderstanding already, 'cos it's about to hit the climax.

Hur hur.

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