SATURDAY FREE-FOR-ALL

[havemy-heart.livejournal.com]

I apologize for the lateness of the post. Today is a free-for-all which means any prompt in any fandom. Basically, anything goes today :)

Just remember the rules:

No more than 3 prompts per fandom
No more than 5 prompts in a row
No spoilers in prompts, period
If your fill contains spoilers, please warn and leave plenty of space

Make things easy for the codemonkeys:

Teen Wolf, Derek/Stiles, graduation night
Merlin, Arthur/Merlin, "Why is everyone looking at me like that?"
Suits, Harvey/Mike, tequila? never again
The Fast and the Furious, Dom/Brian, family

theme=freeforall

Comments

[meatball42.livejournal.com]

Sherlock, John & or / Sherlock, Sherlock is blinded on a case. Whether it's temporary or permanent is author's choice.

Sherlock's Eyes

[(Anonymous)]

Sherlock's phone rang. The consulting detective played a few notes on his violin. His phone rang again. He turned away from the sound and faced the window. A third ring. John Watson slammed down his newspaper in frustration.

"Are you going to get that?"

"No."

"Why the hell not? It's obviously important, this is the fourth time it's rung in five minutes. It could be Lestrade! It could be a case, get you out of this boredom you've been suffering ever since that explosion!"

Sherlock swung away from the window, his sightless eyes glaring irritably at the space above John's left shoulder. "Or it could be my brother, calling me with another are-you-all-right and an offer to use half the treasury to get me surgery." With a swoop, he once more drew his bow across the strings, and John, who at this point was nearly violin-immune, had to cringe at the ferocity of the ill-pitched note. "Besides," Sherlock added, plopping petulantly into his armchair, "It wouldn't be Lestrade, he knows I prefer to text."

John gaped at the blind man. "You prefer to-- you--" He punched the arm of the chair. "DAMMIT SHERLOCK!" In two steps, he crossed the room, snatching up the phone, but by the time he'd picked it up, it had finished ringing. He sighed.

"Oh, don't be so upset," came the low, infuriating chuckle. "If it's anyone worth paying attention to or Mycroft, they'll call /you/ next."

Sure enough, John's phone started ringing two seconds later. It was Lestrade. Knowing he'd never get Sherlock to willingly talk on the phone, he put the speaker on and let Lestrade describe the details of the case to both of them.

"Brilliant," Sherlock replied as soon as he had the details, childish delight playing across his lips. "We'll be there as soon as we can." Without waiting for Lestrade's reply, he hung up and crossed towards the door. He tripped over a loose edge of the carpet, and John had to steady him.

"We? I have a date with that girl from the library."

"She's a closeted lesbian. Besides, I need my eyes."

"They're in the cabinet above the sink, I think."

"Don't be ridiculous, you know what I mean." He grabbed John's arm with one hand and made for the door, grabbing for his coat in completely the wrong direction. Not that he knew this of course -- John grabbed it and handed it off to him so smoothly that even Sherlock Holmes couldn't tell. Or perhaps he was just so intent on making sure John didn't run away that he didn't pay proper attention to his surroundings; a theory heavily supported by his tumbling down the steps several seconds later, pulling John with him. Neither was badly hurt, but it was painful to both of them how much Sherlock had lost his former grace since their last case -- not that either of them would ever admit it.

"You are the worst pair of eyes I've ever had," Sherlock said, breaking the tension.

"That means a lot coming from someone who puts them in the microwave," John replied with a straight face. For a moment they kept their composure, and then Sherlock giggled and no force on Earth could keep the smile off the doctor's face.

Re: Sherlock's Eyes

[(Anonymous)]

"So... um... where should I start?" John peered at the dead girl in front of him.

"Tell me the important things."

"I don't know what to look for!"

"Then tell me everything."

"Okay, um, she's got pretty bad acne--"

"Not that, that's not important."

"But you said--"

"Start with the obvious things, the things that you would notice if you were an ordinary detective."

"Hey," Anderson cut in, "I already filled you in on all of that!"

"Yes," Sherlock replied, "But John is far more intelligent and observant--" (John was glad Sherlock couldn't see the way his face flushed at this. Sherlock smiled as he felt the increase of heat next to him at approximately John's face level.) "-- and I really can't listen to you talk for more than 2.946 seconds at a time, it puts me off."

"That's not--"

"Okay! Boys!" John cut in. He wondered when exactly he had started playing Mother to most of Scotland Yard, the world's only consulting detective, the British government, and even on one occasion the world's only consulting /criminal/. He couldn't ask Sherlock, because Sherlock would long since have deleted the information as a non-important titbit. In reality, Sherlock had at one time happened to know the exact date down to the second, and had had it filed away in the part of his brain devoted to information about John. This file had grown larger and larger in the back of his mind until he had realized that, while infinitely interesting, it was taking up space in his hard drive. He had spent a good portion of the next week writing it all down and currently had it saved in a USB drive he kept safely hidden inside his phone battery. He supposed it was gone forever now, or at least until Mycroft managed to convince him to artificially regain sight. Those documents were one thing he would /not/ let John read to him.

With a start, he realized John had been talking and that he couldn't afford not to listen to him. "Sorry, repeat what you said."

"From where?"

"From, 'okay, boys.'"

"For God's sake, Sherlock, pay attention."

"I'm all ears."

"That's not funny."

"Yes it is." Sherlock grinned. He could /feel/ the expression on John's face.

"All right, she's young, probably about 15, cause of death... can't really tell right now, there doesn't seem to be anything wrong with the body other than being dead, so probably something internal... she's handcuffed to the bed frame--"

Sherlock reached out to touch the handcuffs and John guided his hand.

"They're real," the detective commented.

"No signs of a struggle, though," Lestrade cut in, "which doesn't make sense. We've identified this girl as Leslie Cohen, and she was a karate black belt, she'd fight back."

"So either she was unconscious or already dead when she was handcuffed, or she thought they were fake and put them on willingly," John surmised.

"Precisely," Sherlock replied, "but if she put them on willingly, don't you think she'd start to struggle when she realized they were real?" He turned to where he thought Lestrade was and walked into the bed. John took him by the shoulders and led him to face the DI. "Lestrade, can you have the handcuffs taken off?"

Lestrade complied and together, John and Sherlock crouched over the dead body.

Re: Sherlock's Eyes

[(Anonymous)]

Lestrade complied and together, John and Sherlock crouched over the dead body.

"Any abrasions on her wrists?"

"No -- which means they can't have been put on while she was conscious, or if they were, while she was very weak, because otherwise she'd fight against them."

"Very good!" Sherlock seemed impressed. "You've been making some good deductions of your own lately."

"We're still on the obvious detective stuff."

"Obvious detectives notice. Usually they need me to connect the dots. You're dot-connecting on your own." There was a pause, and then Sherlock reached his hand out and ran it over John's brow. "Don't change your expression, John."

"Sher--Sherlock, what are you doing?" John fidgeted uncomfortably.

"Your face could be doing either of two things at this moment. I needed to determine which one it was doing."

"... right, okay then, have you figured it out."

"Yes."

"Than could you take your hands off my face, please?"

"Why?"

He felt John's eyes turn towards the back of the room, and he tuned his ears to find Donovan and Anderson whispering and laughing.

"Ah. Sorry." He dropped his hands and turned back towards the body. "Well, lets get going on the non-obvious, shall we?"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The case was closed, and John was helping his friend up the stairs. Sherlock bit his lip, waiting for it...

"You do realize you'd never have been able to solve that case if you hadn't known about her acne."

He released his lip. "Yes, John, I am aware that I may have overlooked what was important or not."

"So, I'm not such a bad pair of eyes after all?"

"Lestrade had to tell me about the boots."

My fic is in three parts

[(Anonymous)]

Check the replies to part 1.