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guardian_chaos
Tell me about a story I haven't written, and I'll give you 1-3 sentences of or about it.
guardian_chaosTell me about a story I haven't written, and I'll give you 1-3 sentences of or about it.
awanderingbard
no subject
Date: 2012-06-28 09:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-06-28 09:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-06-29 03:06 am (UTC)[subliminal]: write it, write it, write the whole fic, write it, write it. . . [/subliminal]
no subject
Date: 2012-06-29 12:29 pm (UTC)Shortish, because I don't know enough about African politics to make it too detailed. Also, I'm not sure whether have a grasp of Sherlock's interior monologue yet. But here you go:
The Holmes Revolution
There were times when you could go too deep into character and Sherlock Holmes might have reached that point. He wasn't aware of this though, because he was so drunk that he couldn't quite remember what he was really supposed to be doing. He was fairly sure it wasn't riling up a bunch of rebels until they put him on their shoulders and stormed the president's estate, though.
Nevertheless, he was currently somewhat draped over the disposed dictator's personal throne while the aforementioned rebels celebrated around him. Sherlock watched with a dispassionate eye, finding their antics annoying. Earlier that evening, he had successfully translated Churchill's 'we shall fight them on the beaches' speech (something he didn't even know he had stored in his hard drive) into the local language, but now couldn't seem to find the right words for 'take these naked women away', 'no, I don't want your goat' or 'shut the hell up'. No matter, someone had brought him a full bottle of the illegal alcohol he'd been consuming all evening. The rest was just details.
Sherlock woke up with a small, off-key orchestra tuning in his brain. He opened one eye and found the sun streaming through an aeroplane window. He moaned and closed his eye again.
“Oh, you're awake,” his brother's voice said. Just what Sherlock never wanted to hear when he was hungover. “How lovely. I'm so glad you didn't die of alcohol poisoning.”
Sherlock had several good comebacks for that, but couldn't seem to make his mouth move to use them. He tried opened his eyes again, reaching out and closing the blind on the window. Then he moved his gaze to Mycroft, who sat primly in the seat opposite. He glared and felt satisfied that his point had been made.
“A coup, Sherlock, really?” Mycroft went on, with a sigh. “When normal people get intoxicated, they have unprotected sex with strangers. They drive cars when they shouldn't. They take embarrassing photos of themselves and post them on the internet. But you, you overthrow governments.”
Sherlock now attempted to sit up in his seat, moving slowly so that he didn't jar the orchestra too much. “They were ripe for a revolution,” he said, managing to find his tongue. “It would have happened anyway. Don't tell me you weren't expecting it.”
“Yes, but it wasn't supposed to happen until next month,” Mycroft said. “We've had to move everything up. It's very inconvenient.”
“I'm so sorry to interfere with your plans for world domination,” Sherlock said, slumping down in his seat again. He spied a pair of sunglasses on the conference table nearby. He reached out, but his arms were slightly too short to get hold of them.
“What I don't understand,” Mycroft said, getting up and retrieving the glasses for him. Sherlock scowled at the help and refused to put them on. “Is how you managed to overthrow an entire regime without a single person being killed. The worst injury was to a 90 year old man, who broke a hip dancing.”
“I think I might have advised a peaceful revolution,” Sherlock said.
“I suppose that's something.”
Sherlock curled up in his seat, pulling his coat over him like a blanket and getting ready to go back to sleep. Then Mycroft said those dreaded words:
“Mummy is very disappointed in you.”
Sherlock felt a modicum of guilt at this, but it quickly went away. “You shouldn't have told her.”
“It was on the news, Sherlock,” Mycroft said. “I managed to keep your name out of it, but Mummy knows you well enough to recognize your handiwork.”
Sherlock frowned and then shook his head dismissively. This was a bad idea. The orchestra didn't like to be shaken. “Did I solve the case?” he asked.
Mycroft shifted uncomfortably. “Yes,” he said.
Sherlock smiled and put on the sunglasses. “Well then, brother, I don't know why you're so upset.”
no subject
Date: 2012-06-30 05:37 pm (UTC)I'm glad no one was seriously hurt. I can totally imagine Mycroft's face during this. And Sherlock's.
Thank you!