Sherlock eyed the blue box dubiously. Sure, it may have contained unknown technology, and sure, it may appear to be bigger on the inside, but there was no visible form of propulsion. He seriously doubted that the thing was space-worthy as its apparent owner, this strange man in a bow-tie, had claimed with conviction. John seemed to share Sherlock's train of thought, as he spoke up with a frown, "There's no way in hell this thing can blast off into space."
"No, no, of course not," the self-proclaimed Time Lord waved his hand as though shooing away such a silly notion. "It's not really a blast so much as... a rough intrusion into the time-space vortex. Much more of a shortcut, no atmosphere to deal with. Though with such a limited understanding of the concept, it really would be easier for me to just show you!" The Doctor threw both doors wide open and strode into the cavernous inside excitedly.
John peered into the box again, nearly disoriented by optical illusion, and turned back to wh
Giveaway prompt: Coffee
Sherlock glanced over at John, who was plugging away at the busy-work Sherlock had assigned him. They had to make it through this pile of lab notes in order to find the discrepancy between those stored in the computer systems at Bart's. The small detail, whatever it would prove to be, was the key to locating the lost inheritance of their client and his niece. The two flatmates had already been pouring over the tiny, handwritten notes for the past two days, working nonstop through the nights. (John had called in sick from work.)
A brief pause found John in the kitchen, making himself a beverage. Coffee, Sherlock guessed, before the rich aromas reached him in the sitting room. John drank tea to relax, but coffee to keep himself awake. This usually only ever happened during a case, as otherwise he was quite keen on getting his self-prescribed eight hours.
Giveaway prompt: Crayon
Sherlock had been holed up in the Bart's lab for almost half the night, going from equipment to body to writing boards and back. Any normal person would have been exhausted by now, but Sherlock was absorbed in his work, not even realizing just how much time had passed. All that mattered was the evidence, that he must find and catalogue it all without missing anything which may prove crucial later on.
A small pang in his stomach made him pause to consider the last time he'd eaten. Had it been two days ago? Three? He supposed that the rush on this case was not as severe as it usually was, perhaps it was time to introduce some calories. One swift text later, and John was on his way with Chinese takeout, with extra sugar-doughnuts, as always.
The diminutive doctor reeled as he came upon the sight of the lab in which Sherlock had spent the majority of the past week. His small scribbles of numbers, computations, and other observations covered the walls and writing boards. Where the ink in th
Giveaway prompt: Ikea
John was at work when he overheard excited mumblings about a new store opening nearby. "IKEA," they'd called it, and the name meant nothing to the doctor who had been overseas and concerned with other things for so long. Upon further inquiry he had been told that it was a Swedish furniture store, specializing in self-assembled furniture and other cheap housewares. John spent the rest of the day picturing his and Sherlock's flat, wondering whether they needed anything badly enough to warrant a trip out to the suburbs where the store had been erected.
"Sherlock," he had called upon arriving home, (the man was fussing over his honey samples in the kitchen again) "I think we need a couch. It won't always do to have just the two chairs in the sitting room, don't you think? For company?"
"We don't have company," Sherlock replied, without extracting himself from the microscope, "We have clients. They can continue to use the kitchen chairs."
"And what about your brother, eh?" John stood over S
Giveaway prompt: Disseminate
In the weeks that had followed the dismissive (and false) news reports, John had dealt with his pain in a method which was both private and public at the same time. Taking up a disguise, a respirator, and a can of yellow paint, he had done his best to disseminate the #believeinsherlock propaganda throughout the entire city, covering the skate parks and abandoned power plants, and as he grew bolder and angrier, the tube stops and the sides of buildings, until finally he found himself running away from a fresh stencil on the side of Kitty Riley's corporate office building.
The most astonishing thing John had found, apart from the level of sheer exhilaration the tagging brought to him, had been when his yellow paint had been joined by the signatures and slogans of others. His #believeinsherlock now went hand in hand with a red #moriartywasreal, and eventually, a green #trustyourinstincts. (John had had to look that one up, to make sure it was part of his war) (Was it a war?) The campaign
Giveaway prompt: Addiction
Sherlock bent over the lab set of his most recent addiction, the tobacco ash having been exhausted in every last type and possibility. The latest case they had just solved had left Sherlock with a lingering interest in Entomology; it had been a thrill to be able to trace a location by the species of butterfly, or the contents of honey, and Sherlock could see the practicality of using insect behavioural patterns as important markers. They would be a useful resource in future cases, should any particulates of that sort be found again.
The obsessive detective, in his spare time between cases, had already worked his way through cataloging the more-than-thousand species of Lepidoptera; he had sorted them by ease of identification and proximity to London. Now he had started on the honey, testing countless samples for their chemical makeups and other marking factors. John didn't mind this one so much, it was less delicate and left the flat smelling of warm honey every time Sherlock booted up
The two Londoners had unknowingly pinned a Gallifreyan against a brick wall in a dark alley. Having caught him suspiciously breaking into a high-tech facility, Sherlock feared that the tall, gangly man in the tweed jacket had been another member of Moriarty's web. John, not familiar with the technology contained in the stranger's little green-bulbed instrument with extendable claws, had pointed his gun at him for a sense of safety.
"Whatever went wrong," pleaded the man, both hands in the air against the wall, "I can assure you with... um.. about eighty six percent certainty that it wasn't me. Probably."
John wrinkled his nose at Sherlock in confusion. "Who are you?" he demanded of the stranger, lowering his gun by a couple inches.
"I'm the Doctor," he claimed, eyes darting back and forth between the darkly-clad man whose cheekbones he could sympathize with, to a shorter blond man who would almost remind him of the Master's last form if not for his kind, tired eyes.
"Yeah right," snort
Giveaway prompt: Sonata
John had finally settled in with his laptop and a fresh mug of tea, ready to relax for the rest of the night and update his blog. A fresh coat of snow was slowly making its way down through the black sky, a soft fog creeping in at the sides of the window which Sherlock stood at, an equally calm expression on his face as his bow sang through the piece he'd been remembering for the past five minutes or so. Tartini's violin sonata in G minor had been his pick of the night, a somber but soothing piece famous for its trills. Sherlock lost himself in thought and the music, the two combining into one as his reflections on the freshly-solved case fell into a shape resembling how the sonata appeared to him in his head. Another short trill here, that had been the burrs he'd spied on the hem of the murderer's trousers. A descending arpeggio there, that was the hill on which they had found the original scene of the murder. Sherlock slowly dawdled his way to the end of the piece, mentally wrapping
Giveaway prompt: Asparagus
Sherlock wandered out of his bedroom as the sun sank over the tops of buildings, sending a fierce orange line of light into their sitting room. John had been clattering about in the kitchen for some time, having been building up tonight's special dinner for the past week as he made preparations and gathered ingredients. An initial sniff at the resulting aromas alerted Sherlock to an oily fish, salmon or perhaps tuna steaks. Tinged with an herb a second sniff confirmed dill. The tuna, then. Sherlock paced slowly into the kitchen and snuck up behind the little chef to peer over his shoulder. "Remarkable," he grinned near John's ear, "how much effort you'll put into a special occasion."
John only smiled, no longer spooked by the sudden appearances behind him Sherlock so enjoyed making. "Yeah, well, maybe if you take me to such gorgeous locations with every case, you'll find yourself rewarded with this kind of dinner more often. Watch out," he warned, backing up a few inches to open