earlgreytea68: (Default)
OMG, everyone, it's been TEN YEARS. 

Here we go! Want a drabble? Leave a comment on this DW entry! Anonymous commenting should be enabled, so you shouldn't need a DW account. The first 24 people to leave a one-word prompt in a comment will get a drabble, posted one each day in December until Christmas. If you want to, you can also request specific characters/'verses. Prompts can be holiday-themed or not, depending on your whims and desires! 

Drabbles will be posted on DW (and thus cross-posted to LJ) and also to Tumblr. If you let me know your Tumblr username, I'll tag you on the Tumblr post so you're sure to see it! You can also remain anonymous, if you prefer. 

It's been a long and tiring year. I hope, whether you celebrate any holiday in December or none at all, you find as many little bits of light in the winter darkness as you can. 

earlgreytea68: (Sherlock Christmas)
For [livejournal.com profile] chocolamousse

“What are you doing awake?” Sherlock asked, where he was sprawled on the sofa staring at the ceiling.

“It’s cold in the bed,” said John.

Sherlock sighed heavily. “I suppose you would like me to join you.”

“No,” said John, who knew what he was on about.

“No?!” Sherlock sounded shocked.

“Just looking for a hot water bottle,” John said innocently.

Predictably, Sherlock was next to him instantly. “You won’t want the hot water bottle. I’m using it to hold O-negative blood at the moment. I’ll just have to come to bed with you, shall I?”

John smiled. “I suppose.”
earlgreytea68: (Sherlock Christmas)
For [livejournal.com profile] indybaggins

When Mycroft was young, the word “brother” had been bewildering to him.

“This is your brother Sherlock,” his mother had said to him, presenting him with a wrinkly, howling, red gnome.

Mycroft had wrinkled his nose and thought, That’s a brother?

The word “brother” was still just as bewildering to Mycroft. Sherlock was no longer wrinkly, no longer red, no longer gnome-like, although he still did plenty of howling. Now when Mycroft looked at him, he saw a stubborn, difficult, extraordinary, infuriating man, less certain of everything than he wanted to appear to be. And he thought, That’s a brother.
earlgreytea68: (Sherlock Christmas)
For [livejournal.com profile] verdant_fire

A fastball at a certain speed with a certain trajectory to a certain hitter under certain circumstances would be unhittable. A baserunner would steal a base with a certain level of knowledge about pitcher, catcher, angle of sunlight, and level of air resistance. An outfielder would rob a homerun, given a certain path to the wall, a certain moment at which to jump, a certain extension of his arm.

All these miracles could be reduced to mathematical equations. That was what they were at heart.

Sherlock knew of only one true inexplicable miracle in the world, and that was John.
earlgreytea68: (Sherlock Christmas)
For [livejournal.com profile] dellastreet1933

“You’re cold,” said John.

“I am not cold,” denied Sherlock.

“You know what helps keep you warm when you’re cold? A hat. You could put your deerstalker on.”

“I am not cold.”

“Yes, you are. You’re shivering.”

“No, I’m not, I’m… Shivering doesn’t necessarily mean I’m cold.”

“You’re right. I suppose you could also shiver because you’re scared—”

Sherlock scoffed.

“—or sexually aroused.”

Sherlock stared at him.

“You know what else keeps you warm when you’re cold?” said John, and slid closer.
earlgreytea68: (Inception)
For anonymous


Arthur hates the kitchen when Eames is away.


When Eames is there, they cook together, the same well-oiled machine they are in a dream. Arthur chops vegetables; Eames whips up a vinaigrette. Eames sears steaks; Arthur mashes potatoes. They work side-by-side, sharing herbs and spices, leaning over to taste each other’s in-progress dishes, sinking into salt-bitten kisses.


It makes Arthur feel pathetic but he can’t accomplish anything in the kitchen without Eames. All of his food is bland and unappetizing.


Eames gets back and says Arthur has wasted away in his absence. Arthur smiles and leads him to the kitchen.
earlgreytea68: (Inception)
For BuckeyeCat

“I’m not saying I’m royalty,” says Eames on The Graham Norton Show, “but I’m not saying I’m not.”

Arthur sighs. “I tell him not to say things like that.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” Eames says negligently. “The Queen doesn’t mind.”

“You don’t actually know the Queen.”

“I know her in spirit.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Someday maybe the Queen will ring me up and ask me to redecorate Buckingham Palace.”

“And then someone will remind her that you’re the designer who wears orgy shirts—”

“That was one time.” Eames considers. “Wait. Do you think I’ve destroyed my chance at being knighted?”
earlgreytea68: (Christmas)
Fortuna and Sylvain stared at the thing Brem handed them.

“We made the entire meal,” said Fortuna faintly.

“Hey, I brought the apple pie,” protested Athena, chasing Tam under the table.

“Yes. Not Earth apple pie, though,” said Fortuna. “We were doing an Earth Thanksgiving. We asked for one thing. This isn’t Earth cranberry sauce, Brem. In fact…what is it?”

He is a sentient cranberry,” said Brem. “His name is Scott.”

“He’s…a very big cranberry,” said Sylvain.

“Advanced genetic tinkering. And he talks! So he’s just going to be saucy for us. Cranberry sauce. Get it?”

“Happy Thanksgiving,” said Matt.
earlgreytea68: (Sherlock Christmas)
“This is an important meal,” Sherlock told Angelo sternly.

“I’m not going to sabotage your stupid sodding meal,” sulked Angelo.

Good thing Angelo had a concept of indebtedness and the food was free, thought Sherlock.

Then John arrived and Sherlock forgot all about Angelo, because John was ecstatic.

He said, “What’s all this? Sting operation?”

“No, this is a celebration. Your first surgery.”

John grew even more ecstatic.

Sherlock beamed at him across the table. “You were there for my first triumph. Now we celebrate yours.”

“Will we shag against a wall later?” asked John cheekily.

“It’s possible,” demurred Sherlock.
earlgreytea68: (Sherlock Christmas)
“Oliver is very…precocious,” said the teacher delicately.

Sherlock frowned.

John tried to head off the disagreement. “Yes, he’s very—”

“Clever,” said Sherlock.

“He’s somewhat…outspoken,” continued the teacher.

“What does he say?” Sherlock demanded. “Does he say anything incorrect?”

The teacher paused. “He says some things that would be better left unsaid.”

“Yes,” said John. “We’re working on that.”

“We’re not working on that,” denied Sherlock. “By the way, your suspicions are correct: your husband is entertaining inappropriate thoughts about your best friend.”

The teacher’s jaw dropped.

“I think maybe the conference is over,” said John, and ushered Sherlock out.
earlgreytea68: (Christmas)
The TARDIS landed on a beach. The water in the ocean was the consistency of toothpaste but the white sand of the beach was familiar enough, and Rose spread out a towel and basked in the sun and enjoyed the relative calm.


“Having fun?”


Rose squinted up at the Doctor. “Yes. You didn’t say you were taking us to a beach planet.”


“No, I said a gumdrop planet. Which this is. The sand is sugar.”


“The sand is sugar?”


“Didn’t you taste it?”


“Why would I taste the sand? If the sand is sugar, what’s the ocean?”


“Frosting, of course.”
earlgreytea68: (Christmas)

Transport was troublesome when you didn’t have a TARDIS. You had to waste a lot of precious time worrying about it. He should have stolen the Doctor’s TARDIS. So it was that the Master found himself on a rooftop. One of those rooftops with a pool and a garden, in the middle of a city. He wouldn’t say he was stranded. Not exactly.

“Where’s your sleigh?”

The Master started and looked down at the little girl. “My sleigh?”

“It’s Christmas Eve and you’re on my rooftop. Aren’t you Santa?” She frowned. “Why aren’t you fat and jolly?”

The Master stared.
 


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