Memeage Again

[awanderingbard]

Once again stolen from guardian_chaos

Pick a trope from this list and provide a fandom/pairing, and I’ll tell you something about the story I’d write for that combination (i.e. write a snippet from the story or write not!fic or tell you the title and summary for the story I would write)

1. rule 63/presentation play/sex and/or gender-bending.
2. bodyswap
3. drunk!fic
4. huddling for warmth
5. pretending to be married
6. secretly a virgin
7. amnesia
8. cross-dressing
9. forced to share a bed
10. truth or dare
11. historical AU
12. accidental-baby-acquisition
13. apocalypse fic
14. telepathy
15. High School / College AU

I'm happy to tackle any of these, but will likely make all 13's happy and any smuttish prompts will probably stay Gish.

Comments

[guardian-chaos.livejournal.com]

Platonic Lestrade/Sherlock + 9, please! Can be at any time in their aquaintanship, though it would be interesting if it took place when Sherlock was still struggling with a drug habit.

[awanderingbard.livejournal.com]

I tried to go a happier route and it didn't work, so I went darker. Warnings for a withdrawal scenario. I hope this is okay! It's sort of a fic snippet, or something. Set early in their relationship.

When Sherlock Holmes stopped pestering him about cases, Lestrade wanted to be pleased. He wanted to be thrilled that the complete nutter wasn't following him around and being a genius and getting in the way. He wasn't though. He was just worried.

He was worried enough that he went to Sherlock's flat. And when he couldn't get an answer at the door, he used his warrant card to get the landlord to open it up for him. What he found was not a pretty sight.

"How long has it been?" Lestrade asked, crouching down beside Sherlock, who was tucked up against a wall, hitting his head lightly against it over and over again.

"Twelve hours," Sherlock replied, not looking at him. "I've been on a bit of a binge. I want to stop now."

"Okay, that's good," Lestrade soothed. "Do you need to go to the hospital?"

"No," Sherlock said. "But... I'm having a bit of trouble distinguishing what reality is. So... if you could... "

"I'll stay," Lestrade said. "And I'm real. See, you can feel my hand on your shoulder. I'm going to help you to bed, okay?"

Sherlock nodded. Lestrade didn't like him so pliant and cooperative. He wanted to be yelled at and be told he was an idiot. He wanted a manic, insane genius who drove him crazy and worked miracles.

Sherlock's bedsit was tiny and what wasn't the bed was basically a lab. Lestrade helped him to the bed and got him settled on it.

"I may ramble," Sherlock warned him.

"You do that anyway," Lestrade said.

Sherlock nodded. "I have a tendency to be paranoid," he added. "And... afraid."

"I won't tell anyone," Lestrade promised.

He looked around and found that there was literally nowhere else to sit that wasn't covered in science equipment. He moved around to the other side of the bed and settled in for a very long night.

Edit: There were a couple of things in this have been bothering me since I posted it, so I've edited because picky author is picky. Don't mind me. *sweeps up letters into a dust pun and slinks away*

[joonscribble.livejournal.com]

#7 for Due South!

[awanderingbard.livejournal.com]

Hopefully it will be apparent, but in case it's not, it's RayK in this.

"That is a wolf!" Ray shouts, dancing back from the car.

The aforementioned wolf follows him, wagging its tail enthusiastically and barking at him. Do wolves bark? Maybe. Just before they swallow you whole.

"Dief has been very worried about you," The Mountie says, as though this is a perfectly normal thing. "I've explained to him that he wasn't allowed in the hospital for hygienic reasons, but I'm afraid he found that rather insulting."

Ray is now backed up against the wall of the hospital and the wolf is still coming for him. To his surprise, it starts licking his hand. "It's playing with me," he says. "It's luring me into a false sense of security and then, bam! I'm a wolf sandwich. You don't want me, uh, I'm very skinny and all... you know, sinew and stuff. I'm wiry. Plus, I have a head injury. That won't taste good."

"I'm afraid bargaining won't help, Ray," The Mountie says.

"Why not?"

"He's deaf."

[rodlox.livejournal.com]

hmmm....Sherlock & John/Anthea, either #5 or #9.

[awanderingbard.livejournal.com]

Went for 5 with a bonus Sherlock cameo.

"We should probably have ri--" John was cut off as Mycroft's assistant produced velvet jewelry case and flicked it open to reveal a pair of matching wedding bands. "Right. Good. Great." He took the men's ring and slid it onto his left hand. It fit perfectly and John was slightly creeped out by how much planning Mycroft seemed to have put into this operation. "And are we going by a pseudonym, or are you Mrs Watson?"

"Mrs Watson will be fine," she said, pausing briefly in her texting to put the other ring on her finger.

"I should probably know your real name then, because I'm not being one of those soppy husbands who calls their wife 'Mrs Watson', or darling or something," John said.

She smirked down at her mobile. "What did I say my name was the first time we met?" she asked.

"Uh, Anthea," John said.

"Really? Well, Anthea will be fine then," she said, looking amused.

"You'll need to be put that away," John said, as the car rolled to a stop in front of the hotel where the hostage was being held. "Because I would hope that we could find better entertainment on our honeymoon than you texting all the time."

"You seem to have a very high opinion of your stamina," she said.

"I could show you sometime and you can decide for yourself," he offered.

His mobile beeped and he looked down at it to find that Sherlock had texted.

Stop flirting - SH

John sometimes marvelled at Sherlock's ability to sense when he was trying to get laid and put a stop to it.

[rodlox.livejournal.com]

mwahaha! (though i bet Sherlock bugged Watson's clothes just in case)

awesome tale you've told. thank you.

>and you can decide for yourself,"
seems equitable.

>It fit perfectly and John was slightly creeped out by how much planning Mycroft seemed to have put into this operation.
Mycroft probably views it as a modern-day Mincemeat. that or Mycroft's planning a trial run for the real wedding of either John or Anthea.

a splendid storylet.