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20 September 2012 @ 11:17 pm
Memeage Again  
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.
Current Mood: cheerfulcheerful
The Writer They Call Tay: SHERLOCK: Sherlock cameoawanderingbard on September 21st, 2012 01:12 pm (UTC)
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*

Edited at 2012-10-15 11:05 pm (UTC)