Post a little weensy excerpt from as many random works-in-progress as you can find lying around. Who knows? Maybe inspiration will burst forth and do something, um, inspiration-y.
If I actually posted bits from as many WIPs as I have, we would be here all day. So I've chosen ones likely to get finished at some point. Maybe.
Q forced to stay with Mycroft
[Trevelyan] was eating what looked to be a mixture of Curiously Cinnamon and Curiously Strawberry cereal out of a small mixing bowl.
"You do realize you're no longer in university?" Mycroft said.
"The PhD behind my name would suggest that," Trevelyan agreed. "However, it also suggests that I'm a grown-up, and therefore can do what I like."
"Touché," Mycroft said. He got out an apple from the fridge and sat down at the island to peel it. "But perhaps you should use your prerogative to make more sensible choices than eating children's cereal in the middle of the night in your pyjamas."
"When you put it like that, it does seems a bit juvenile," Trevelyan said. "I just want to finish this programme. Then I'll lie down for a bit."
"You were a doctor then," Arthur said. "Good for you. It's a tough job, I imagine. You see the worst all day."
"You were in the front lines, I think you had it worse than me," John said. "What regiment were you?"
"Royal Fusiliers," Arthur said, proudly.
"Fifth Northumberland," John said.
"Well, we're practically neighbours, then," Arthur said.
"S'a bit weird, isn't it?" John said. "That we're both soldiers and they're both detectives?"
Arthur nodded, thoughtfully. "Well, I suppose it takes a certain sort of person to be a solider," he said. "And it takes a certain sort of person to be a detective. And so...perhaps if one soldier and detective get along, then it makes sense that another solider and detective would get along, too."
John considered this. "I don't think I really get along with Sherlock," he said. "I think I sort of endure."
Arthur laughed, loudly. "Yes, well that's what us soldiers do, I suppose," he said. "We endure."
Alec/Molly meet the family fic
Alec felt panic rising up. "Is anyone else coming?" he asked. He should have noticed sooner how much food was being prepared. Too much for four people. Enough for many people.
"Perhaps, I don't know for sure," Gigi said.
"Who did you invite?" Alec asked.
"No one, I just mentioned on Facebook--"
"Gigi!" Alec said. "This is supposed to be a small dinner. I don't need the whole herd here."
"Everyone is very anxious to meet Molly," Gigi said. "It's been ages since you've brought a girl to meet us; not since Samantha, and that was nearly five years ago now, and you didn't even date anyone again for over a year after you broke up. We're dying to know what she's like."
"She's shy," Alec hissed. "She's shy and quiet, and she's going to be trampled."
Thing that might be a Trio/Abby fic or may be edited to be a fic where Mycroft and Abby interact because people keeping asking for that
Mycroft tapped another crayon with his umbrella. "Is that orange?" he asked.
"Green," Abby said.
"Now, where's the orange one then?" Mycroft asked.
Abby picked it up and showed him. "Orange," she said.
"Oh, I see," Mycroft said. "You are a very a smart young lady."
"I draw flower," Abby said. "You draw flower?"
"I'm not very good at flowers," Mycroft said, sounding genuinely regretful, as though it were something he'd struggled with. "I'm better with people. Perhaps you could draw me a flower?"
Abby shook her head, and went back to her work, making Mycroft laugh. He looked over his shoulder to John, who was staring at him incredulously.
"Yes?" he said.
"Sorry, I just didn't expect you to be good with kids," John said.
"Well, as I said, I do have some experience with small children," Mycroft said, flicking his eyes over to where Sherlock and Trevelyan argued on the sofa.
Bond and Q trapped in a collapsed building
(Q is a bit shocky, so that's why he's so chattery)
"I hope you're not claustrophobic," Bond said.
"Oh, not at all," Q said. "Actually, I'm claustrophilic. I used to be locked in cupboards as a child. This is rather cozy."
"Oh. Yes. That sounds bad, doesn't it?" Q said, after Bond's silence dragged on a little. "No. It was recreational, not disciplinary. And voluntary. Mostly."
Bond quirked an eyebrow. "Recreational confinement?" he asked. He began to rip strips off of his shirt, and removed his belt, trying to get some supplies together to splint Q's leg.
"Yes. It was a sort of game. I had to pick the lock to get out," Q explained. "It's not as bad as it sounds, I swear. I should probably stop speaking about it. What about you?"
"I was never locked in a cupboard as a child," Bond said. "Several times as an adult, but not as a child."
"No, I meant claustrophobia. Are you claustrophobic? No, of course you aren't, you used to work in submarines. Look, we're in a Triangle of Life." Q pointed upwards to where the stairs had collapsed against the back wall, creating a sort of roof that kept the ceiling from falling further.
"A what?" Bond asked, a bit behind on Q's rapid subject changes.
"Clearly you don't get viral e-mails," Q said.