[identity profile] cyphersushi.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] comment_fic
Greetings and welcome to the week's end! As usual we celebrate that with a Free For All!

Go nuts but remember the rules!

* No more than three prompts from one fandom
* No more than five prompts in a row
* No spoilers in your prompt until a week after air-/publicationdate. <-- Important! If you wonder if what you are about to post is a spoiler it probably is. Be respectful to your fellow fans, ok! If your fill contains spoilers please warn accordingly.
* If your prompt is filled you can leave another one.

Examples:
Conan the Barbarian (2011), Conan/Random Male Character, Strength is attractive
X-men FC/Leverage, Charles/Nate, Battle of the Brains

Enjoy and have fun!
From: [identity profile] jaune-chat.livejournal.com
"God, do you have to let him in?"

Anderson was being "polite" this time; one could only hear his complaints from one building over instead of three. Lestrade sighed and shook his head.

"Give it a rest, Anderson," he said. It was the approximately the sixty-fifth time he'd said that in Sherlock's hearing, which was far less than Anderson had been complaining.

Good. It meant the job was going well.

Sherlock bent over the corpse, examining the wear patterns on the soles of the shoes, then the splash of mud on the cuffs of his jeans. Hmmm, yes, definitely been running when he fell but... He checked the hands. No hand abrasions. Red marks on the wrists. Wearing gloves, the killer took them off afterward. Why? Evidence on the gloves. What?

John batted Sherlock's cheek to get his attention, and Sherlock looked up from his study to look at his shoulder, where his sandy tan-and-cream cat was gazing intently at the left shoulder.

"Yes? Your opinion?" Sherlock asked. John jumped down and circled around until he could sniff the shoulder. With a faint yowl, he batted at it until a small fragment of wood came free from the seam, faintly colored in dark red.

"Ah, broke furniture over him during the break-in, did he? Lestrade!" Sherlock raised his voice. "Check the hospitals for a five-foot tall man being treated for partial impalement with wood from one of the victim's dining-room chairs. He will have a pair of men's leather gloves in his right-hand pocket that are marked with his blood, but are too large for him to wear," Sherlock said, not bothering to hide a smile as Anderson, in the background, turned interesting colors watching John walk along the victim's back.

"You're sure, Sherlock?" Lestrade said, writing down everything regardless.

"Don't be absurd. John Watson is never wrong about these things, is he?" Sherlock asked, standing calmly as John leapt onto his shoulder and rubbed his head against Sherlock's temple.

Anderson got the look that he had just swallowed a live frog, and Sherlock figured it was about time to leave before he began to foam at the mouth.

After all, he and John wanted to keep doing this for years to come.

"No," Lestrade agreed. "Sherlock, why the cat?"

"He pays more attention than any five of your staff, he listens, never interrupts unless there's something of importance, and is far better groomed than three-quarters of London's population. Can Anderson better that?"

Lestrade wisely did not answer, only nodded in resignation as Sherlock and John strode off through the streets of London.

"Now John, I believe we had an appointment at the fish and chip shop, yes?"

John purred in contentment and curled his tail around Sherlock's neck.
From: [identity profile] onechairleft.livejournal.com
This is kind of brilliant and completely hilarious... and still somehow in-character for all concerned... even John. (Though perhaps not the sitting-on-his-shoulder bit)

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