A Tiny Bit Not Good

1559 Words / Prompt: Experiment

“I made you coffee.” 

Frowning, John turns and regards his flatmate. Sherlock never makes him coffee, tea, or anything else. And he’s smiling, which in itself is alarming—not that genuine smile that occasionally creeps through. It’s that creepy, sociopath smile.

“You never make coffee.”

“I just did. Don’t you like it?”

John takes a sip, only to be polite. “Ugh. I don’t take sugar.”

Disappointment pulls at the corners of Sherlock’s mouth. 

Well, no sense in letting a good deed go unrewarded. If encouraged, Sherlock might develop a habit of doing nice things. 

“It’s fine, Sherlock. I needed a pick-me-up.” John takes another sip. There’s a strange under-taste to the coffee. Probably decaf. “I appreciate the gesture.”

His mad flatmate studies him with a strange expression. He’s watching John’s mouth. Or maybe his throat. John takes another sip. Swallows.

He frowns. “You don’t usually make coffee.” His voice is unusually squeaky. “Ta for that.” When he says this, his voice breaks. 

“Scratchy throat,” suggests Sherlock. “Drink up.”

He drains the mug, and looks up at Sherlock. Bloody hell, he’s tall…  Reaching to set the empty mug on the counter, he finds it’s now above his head. Why is he on the floor? Everything is tall. 

He also notices that his dressing gown has fallen off and he’s standing in the middle of the kitchen, naked. 

As Sherlock takes the mug from his hand, John notices how small his own hand seems by comparison. He looks down at himself. Other things are small as well. 

“What did you do?” He looks up at his flatmate and understands that the coffee was not a nice gesture, the strange taste not a mistake, and the fact that he’s only three feet tall is— 

“An experiment.” Sherlock smiles in the way he does when he’s found something particularly interesting under the lens of his microscope. 

“You shrank me!”

“No, John. What purpose would that serve? I did not shrink you; I de-aged you.”

There are a number of questions that occur to John, but only one word makes it out of his mouth: “Fuck!”

If things can get worse, John thinks, they generally do. Especially when Sherlock is experimenting. The downstairs door bangs and Lestrade is taking the steps two at a time. The game is clearly afoot.

“Sherlock, I’ve—“ The DI stares at John. “Who’s this?”

“This is John’s nephew, Hamish.”

“Where’s John?” 

Sherlock picks his (naked!) flatmate up, jostles him on his hip. (Picks him up?!?) “He’s working today. I’m babysitting.” He plants a kiss on John’s forehead. “Isn’t that right, my little man?” 

“I’m not a baby.” His voice sounds high, petulant. “I’m not your little man.”

“Somebody’s cranky,” says Lestrade, grinning. “Maybe he needs a little N-A-P.”

“I can spell,” he tells the DI. “And I’m not taking a nap.” He turns his wrath on Sherlock, kicking his tiny feet against his hip. “Put me down, you fucking tit— now! I have to go pee-pee.”

Once potty-time is sorted, John is dressed in a tiny pair of corduroy trousers and a little beige jumper. The fact that Sherlock has these on hand shows more premeditation than John cares to think about. Once Sherlock has tied his shoes (John seems to have forgotten whether the bunny goes around the tree or into the hole), they head off to the crime scene. 

"tiny"!

Love, love, love de-aging fics and this one is superb. <3

No other we die on these hills (or put it in the tags)

Wish my brain luck

There were competing forces at work - to quote myself:

I think House MD was the last (hopefully) of shows to be Covert Bisexual Gaze. The show creator was very much My Self-Insert Character Is Very Very Astoundingly Straight; He Is So Cool and Misunderstood and Gets All the Hos. And the co-showrunner was all Tee Hee Hugh, I Mean House Is So Handsome and Rugged and Genius, Plus Have You Met Our Canonical Bi Girl We Are So Progressive.

But then certain writers and episode directors* and music-choosers* and cast members* and exec producers* were doing this other thing on the sly that gave the show a different feeling to it, and that’s what I’m calling the Covert Bisexual Gaze.

(Was RSL in on this? No, he was utterly oblivious, but I’m sure Hugh realized his Disney-prince looks and soft-focus gaze and autistic non-bro-ness were perfect for what they were going for anyway.)

*Including but not limited to someone whose name starts with "H" and ends with "ugh Laurie"

Every Sherlock Holmes adaptation I've seen so far (BBC cough cough) has made the infuriating AMATEUR mistake of pretending like Sherlock Holmes can do All That because he is just... so special?

Meanwhile good fellow Sir Doyle wrote, I shit you not, within the TWENTY first pages of a Study in Scarlet that Sherlock Holmes believed that thought deduction was a science that could be learned but could never be perfected. He wrote articles explaining to the "common man" how to begin learning deduction and says MANY TIMES throughout the stories that his reasoning isn't really so mysterious, that it's actually quite simple and logical. (Though he is obviously extremely smart and observant in the books, not to discredit that but it's Different you know)

Anyway Steven Moffat is a coward for making Holmes an arrogant edgelord with near-magic capabilities. ACD i love you and cherish you thank you for making Holmes be not insufferable and not perfect

Hooray Sherlock & Co for not doing this! The podcast has Sherlock actually fight against the notion that he's got a superpower no one else can achieve. ❤️ Go to docjwatsonmd on Twitter for more.

[sic] is my favorite editorial notation because of its inherent bitchiness.

(via @batmantaking-hobbits2gallifrey )

yk what i hate though. is when i find a meme and im like THIS IS SO [cool intimidating mutual i never talk to] I SHOULD SEND IT TO THEM but then i remember ive never talked to them ever and so i cant just like give them a meme out of the blue and so the meme just withers and rots in my camera roll 😔

Reblog if a mutual who's never spoken to you can randomly send you memes that made them think of you.

Oh the dread. Call it innocence. Call it being blissfully unaware. The plot holes are many, and they be coming. I like to think as my job being learning how to invent convincing lies on command while bullshitting my way through a story that would otherwise not make sense without the literary smoke and mirrors, so to speak. Also, learning how to distract your readers from the leftover plotholes (since every writer has them) and to bring out that oh-so-sweet "Suspension of Disbelief".

Navigating plot holes can get much more chaotic if you're writing fanfiction. You're not only juggling your own plot holes, but the plot holes of the OG author. Fun shit, that is. At least if canon compliance is your jam in the moment.

Call me the Municipal Works Department the way I love filling plot holes. And character holes. (Not like that. Well, not always like that.)

Writing as puzzle-solving! I adore it.

More photos shared by Rachel on her IG.

Still so happy that Rachel is generous in sharing "behind the scenes" glimpses with us. Her dress is gorgeous 😍 I love the way it shows off her tattoo.

Cake

1146 words / Prompt: Laugh

Have some cake. It's my birthday.

Sherlock picks up his fork and examines the slice of cake before him. It’s yellow, with thick white icing and colourful sprinkles. 

John and Molly have already tasted their pieces and are talking about something. John makes a teasing remark about hearing aids. Apparently Sherlock has missed the question.

“Hm?”

John smiles at him. It’s a fond smile, but a sad one. Sherlock tries to remember the last time John looked happy. It’s been ages, he thinks. Even the smile on his face now isn’t truly happy. 

His wedding, maybe. He did smile a lot that day, but there was something ragged underneath. A kind of exhausted cheer. The days leading up the event were hectic, but it was worth it to give John and Mary a joyous day. Maybe it was relief Sherlock saw in those wedding smiles. Glad to have the big day go well, ready to wake up to a new life. 

The day Rosie was born, John’s smile was incredulous, full of wonder. But Sherlock could see he was terrified, too. It was the day it all became real, irrevocable. There was no going back for him and Mary. Nor for Sherlock. John was a father, and had responsibilities.

Unmingled joy. That’s what Sherlock is trying to remember. 

That was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done.

And you invaded Afghanistan.

It was the first time he heard John helpless with laughter. They’d stood inside the front door, leaning against the wall, giggling at the ridiculousness of what they’d just done, running through alleys and across rooftops. Welcome to London.

It was the moment when he first realised he wanted to kiss John. He wanted to hear that giggle of surrender again. To laugh every day with John and keep him forever.

It might have lasted, if Sherlock hadn’t created a problem that could only be solved by dying, leaving John alone for two years. 

He’d dreamed of coming home, hearing John laugh at his brilliant resurrection. He’d been so intent on that, he hadn’t realised. It may have been necessary to go away, but his return wasn’t as brilliant as he’d dreamed.

Well, then. Neither of them has been happy.

“You haven’t even tasted it,” John is saying. 

“Oh.” He lifts a bite to his mouth, smells vanilla, feels the icing melt on his tongue. “Delicious.” It is, and he takes another bite, even though he’s not hungry. 

John is smiling at him. 

He can’t stop thinking about John’s tears, just a half an hour ago in the flat. 

I’m not the man you thought I was. 

It’s not okay.

Well, it is what it is. John hasn’t been happy for a long time, he thinks. 

Though they never spoke of it, he knows John had mixed feelings about the marriage. A part of him loved Mary, but even though he forgave her, he never forgot:  what have I ever done… my whole life… to deserve you?

Mary wasn’t supposed to be like that. But she was. 

Sherlock wasn’t supposed to come back, but he did. 

John was supposed to be happy. He wasn’t.

Sometimes he thinks John might have been happy if Sherlock had stayed dead. He would have got over his best friend dying in front of him. He would have married and lived in the suburbs with his wife and child. His wife wouldn’t have shot Sherlock, and she wouldn’t have died, trying to protect him. He wouldn’t be raising his child alone. 

He eats his cake silently, pressing his fork into the last crumbs. 

“You’ve been quiet,” John says as they walk back to 221B. 

“Hm.” 

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!

Where is the happy tears emoji?????

Obscurity by UrbanHymnal is an amazing, beautiful story where John can only express himself through echolalia (repeating phrases others have said or, in John's case, others have written). He muddles along with his disability, and then he meets Sherlock Holmes.

Summary: Because words were magic, because they only would come out when they had the right feel and sound, he couldn’t say simple things like: Dad, leave Harry alone for once or Hey, Amy, do you fancy coming out to dinner with me?

ETA: Had the wrong link for the fic, sorry! Corrected now.

there’s such an unbelievable multitude of this type of (straight) woman who’s like “when he mentions a ‘she’ 😡🥺👀” “when he calls some girl his ‘friend’ 👀👀🔪” etc and this person is like a different species to me. this person is a space alien. this type of person makes me feel like amy adams in arrival

a man’s female friends are like a car’s warranty. a woman has vouched for this guy’s ability to be normal. you should be kissing her on the mouth for her service

You get it

Ok but no seriously. One of my husband's best friends in college was a woman (actually two were, but I'm thinking of one in particular), and it's been SUCH a blessing. He came to me pre-installed with "see women as human beings"!!! Shout out to Amy!

You live in a house decorated according to your url. What does it look like

Dee is short for "dirty" so...