It is a morning at the end of December, 2018.
Your father comes into your room. “What have you been doing?” he asks. “I haven’t seen you for hours.”
“I was having a Sherlock marathon,” you tell him, and he nods, unsurprised.
He glances to where the four seasons of Sherlock are stacked beside you. “Did you watch all twelve episodes?” he asks.
Wild-eyed, you hold the Christmas mini-sode aloft. “No, sir. All thirteen.”
So this is apparently what I’m writing today:
The day started out as any other. John got out of bed to find Sherlock was already up and sitting at the table with his laptop. He rolled his eyes and turned on the kettle, yawning and stretching before rubbing his shoulder. Footsteps on the stairs made him turn. Sherlock frowned. “It’s Mycroft.”
John got out a teacup and the sugar, knowing what the elder Holmes liked. “Just come in,” said Sherlock, turned back to the computer screen.
Mycroft stepped in as John came out of the kitchen with the tea cup. He stopped and stared when he realized he was holding the hand of a little girl, maybe seven or eight, black hair, darker skinned but with bright blue eyes. She peered up at John and it was all he could do not to drop the cup. “Who’s this?”
“My names Joanna. My mom named me for my dad.”
Somehow John found a seat. Mycroft stepped forward and rescued the tea cup. “Her mother passed away recently in an auto accident. She left behind certain papers and I’ve verified the DNA match.”
John didn’t want to know how or why Mycroft Holmes had his DNA. Instead he smiled at the girl. “I’m sorry about your mum. Would you like a cup of tea?”
“Yes, please.”
Taking a breath he reached for her hand while Mycroft handed Sherlock some paperwork. “Don’t touch what’s on the table there, that’s one of Sherlock’s experiments. Did you have breakfast?”
She shook her head. He opened the fridge and she stared at the contents. “What does Sherlock do?” she asked in a hushed voice.
“He’s a detective, and a very good one. Just a little…odd, that’s all. You’ll get used to him. You can have my room upstairs.”
“Are you married?”
“No,” John got some eggs going. “Just friends.”
“Oh. Mum said you were a doctor too.”
“I remember your mum. She was a very sweet lady. I’m sorry I didn’t know about you sooner.”
“She told me you were in the army.”
“Well I was, then I got hurt and now I’m here.”
There are 400 million known galaxies in our universe. How can you know that and then care if someone sticks their cock up someone’s arse?
Russell Brand
(via oddball-mcextraordinaire)
awabubbles: #THIS MIGHT ALSO BE SOMETHING CAPTAIN JACK WOULD SAY #YES PLEASE #COCKS AND PUSSY LICKINGS ALL AROUND
I have a sudden random urge to write a parent lock where John has a previously unknown child. Maybe as a Christmas fic?
4, 25, 50, go!
4) Did you grow up in a small or big town? Did you like it?
I grew up in smaller towns. For the most part I liked the freedom. I used to walk to the library and church and all over. The only rules were to be home by dark, don’t get in a car with a stranger, and don’t go wandering the corn fields.
But on the downside, especially when I was in elementary, I wasn’t born there, so I was an outsider and very badly bullied.
25) Would you wear a rainbow jacket? A neon yellow sweater? Checkered pants?
Rainbow jacket yes. Neon yellow probably not. Checkered pants no way.
50) 5 awesome things about yourself. Brag away.
Um. Okay well: I have a published book, people like my fanfic, I grabbed John Barrowmans ass, I’m back in college pursuing a bachelor degree at 34 and uh, I’m decent at computer troubleshooting?