Possibly, I'm Insane

For kassna 

“A marshmallow is never just a marshmallow.”

This is the kind of thing that Nureyev says as if it’s deep and profound, following it up with a look.

Rita falls for this look like a dead fish flopping on a pier. She nods thoughtfully and regards the marshmallow in contemplative silence before asking, “So what is the marshmallow in this case?”

Nureyev opens his mouth to say more nonsense but Juno doesn’t wait for it. “It’s a marshmallow!” he exclaims. “It’s just a marshmallow! The perp had a fondness for s’mores!”

Nureyev, after a moment, mouths daddy issues at Rita.

For anonymous

“I don’t see why he even needs to know how to drive,” Sherlock proclaims.  

“It’s a useful life skill. You never know when it might come in handy. Plus, he isn’t Mycroft. He won’t be driven around by dodgy black cars for the rest of his life.”

Sherlock considers. “He could be. I could talk to Mycroft about it. He’d support it.”

“Nope.” Sometimes the simplest way to put his foot down is the best, John has found.

“Well. Don’t think you’re teaching him. You’re a terrible driver. You miss everything important on the road. You’ll give him bad habits.”

For anonymous.

Tennyson wants bigger Christmas decorations.

“My friend Baxter has a reindeer as tall as his house,” he informs Patrick.

Patrick says to Pete that night, “Have you heard your son’s thing about how we need bigger Christmas decorations?”

“My son?” Pete echoes. “Are you going to blame this on me?”

“Mr. ‘Hand-Crafted Ghoul on the Front Lawn for Halloween’? Yes. I’m blaming you for this.”

Pete shrugs. “I like the idea of the really tall reindeer. We should have something really tall around this house.”

“You’ll want a sixteen-foot Christmas tree next.”

Pete brightens.

“Who is decorating that?” Patrick demands.

For anonymous

“It’s like riding a bike,” is what Patrick tells Pete when he’s trying to convince him.

“Really? Have you tried riding a bike lately? It’s not all that easy. It’s a terrible saying.”

“It’s a figure of speech. Maybe you should try writing some of your own figures of speech that you like better. Hint, hint.”

Pete takes a deep breath, hesitating.

“Look, the reunion sex was amazing last time, you said so yourself.”

Pete laughs. “I did, didn’t I? You see, it’s not like remembering how to ride a bike so much as remembering how to ride other things.”  

“It’s like riding a bike,” is what Patrick tells Pete when he’s trying to convince him.

“Really? Have you tried riding a bike lately? It’s not all that easy. It’s a terrible saying.”

“It’s a figure of speech. Maybe you should try writing some of your own figures of speech that you like better. Hint, hint.”

Pete takes a deep breath, hesitating.

“Look, the reunion sex was amazing last time, you said so yourself.”

Pete laughs. “I did, didn’t I? You see, it’s not like remembering how to ride a bike so much as remembering how to ride other things.”  

For auntiesuze 

Harrison is on the organizing committee for the radio station’s holiday party.

Drew decidedly is not. He refuses to enable this annual event.  

“The theme is ugly sweaters,” Harrison announces, bouncing with enthusiasm.

“Isn’t that the theme every day at the radio station?” Drew responds.

“Ha ha,” says Harrison. “Look! I bought you one!”

Harrison shows Drew a truly hideous sweater.

Drew stares at it. “I have to wear that?”

“Well,” Harrison says smugly, “if you wanted to have a say in what you had to wear to the holiday party, you should have joined the organizing committee like me!”

For anonymous

Patrick’s not sure any of them actually like coffee, given how much sugar is in the drinks that get handed out daily by whoever is the first of them to be up.

This is never Patrick, he’s never the first one awake.

Patrick remarks, “Pouring sugar packets directly into our mouth would be quicker and cheaper.”  

“It’s not about the sugar,” Pete tells him, “it’s the caffeine.”

Patrick watches him slurp up whipped cream enthusiastically. “Is it?”

Pete laughs. “Do you know how to make us fancy coffee drinks? That would be useful.”

“Should have been a barista,” Patrick muses.

For mellowmanatee

“What is it?” Sherlock asked, sniffing the glass suspiciously.

“It’s eggnog,” Lestrade replied, amused. “Never had eggnog before?”

“When I was little,” John said, “I thought it was eggsnog.”

“And that you had it whilst snogging? Like mistletoe?”

“No, that it was made by eggs snogging.”

“How can eggs snog?” Sherlock demanded severely. “They don’t have mouths.”

“I was a kid, Sherlock.”

Sherlock scoffed, like even a child should have realized eggs don’t have mouths. He said, “What’s it made of?”

“You can’t tell the chemical composition just by taking a sip?” Lestrade asked sarcastically.

Sherlock took a sip. “Maybe.”

For anonymous

Patrick buys jellied eels at the store.

“You didn’t seriously like those things,” Pete insists. “Put those back.”

“What? They weren’t that bad.”

“They were disgusting. It’s just that you don’t have a sensitive mouth. Like me.”

“I got you some cream cheese and Cheetos, too. I’m not going to make you eat the jellied eels.”

“But here’s the most important question,” says Pete. “Are you going to make me eat some spotted dick?”

“That depends on two things,” Patrick replies thoughtfully. “Can your sensitive mouth handle it?”

“Usually,” Pete answers promptly.

“And is it actually spotted?”

“Do freckles count?”

For anonymous

He should have known that when Eames said he wanted reindeer for Christmas, he meant real reindeer. They already have river hallways and an indoor forest.

Arthur looks at the reindeer in their courtyard. “Where did you even get it?”

“Money talks,” Eames says, so apparently now they’re involved in underground reindeer trafficking.

“But what are we going to do with it? We can’t keep a reindeer!”

Eames pouts. “You said I could have a reindeer!”

“I thought you meant a fake one covered in white lights!”

Eames considers. “We could put lights on its antlers, actually. There’s an idea.”

It turns out I need two more prompts. If you didn't sign up before, here's your chance!

For anonymous

Pete is sitting in his car waiting for it to warm up because there’s ice on his windshield.

He’s on the phone with Patrick while he waits.

“It’s weird,” he says.

“What is?” Patrick asks.

“When we met it was so hot all the time, and now it’s freezing.”

“That’s how time works,” Patrick replies drily. “Seasons change.”

“Yeah, but…I’m shivering. You’ve never seen me shiver before. Isn’t that weird? And I can’t believe that. I feel like you know everything about me, but you’ve never seen me in winter.”

“Something to look forward to,” Patrick says after a moment.