Possibly, I'm Insane

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. 

For 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.

For 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.

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?”

“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.

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.”