sirona_fics | Over to you, folks!

OKAY. OKAY. LAST POST TODAY, I PROMISE -- or should I say first post today, since it's after midnight here? GAH, I AM RAMBLING ALREADY. THIS WILL WORK JUST FINE, THEN.

I find myself in the strange position of having three--no, four--huge stories in the works. When I say huge, I'm thinking at least upwards of 10K, probably nudging closer to 20K and over. And I'm stumped. Just thinking about ALLLL THE WORDS I'm going to write for them makes me leery of sitting my arse down and getting to it; moreover, I can't seem to decide which one to focus on right now.

So. After much pondering, and deft enabling by

delicatale, to get my writing juices flowing I propose the following: PROMPT ME. I will write drabbles for as many prompts as I get ideas for, and that's a promise. I can't guarantee that every prompt will get filled, BUT I will do my absolute best for as long as I need this exercise. Now, it's half past midnight here right now, so this will happen tomorrow most likely, but. GO ON, YOU GUYS. I WANT TO WAKE UP TO A VERITABLE DELUGE OF PROMPTS! :D

Fandoms: Inception (Arthur/Eames), Sherlock (Sherlock/John, Mycroft/Lestrade (oh god)), H50 (Steve/Danny), XMFC (Charles/Erik), HP (Harry/Draco -- this one is for you,

altri_uccelli, if you fancy it! :))

I did this last year for Christmas, when anyone who wanted a Christmas drabble from me got one. I will very likely do that again this year, so think of this as a wee taster! :D

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Sherlock looks at John's slumped shoulders, the flat, pinched line of his mouth, and something cold and horrible curls up in his gut.

"I've disappointed you," he says, as neutrally as he knows how.

John laughs mirthlessly, doesn't bother denying what they both know. "That's good, that's a good deduction, that," he says bitterly.

John, disappointed in him. His blood, never his best friend, condenses to frozen sludge in his veins. "Don't make people into heroes, John, heroes don't exist; and if they did, I wouldn't be one of them," he snaps, levelly, striking back before John can say anything more, can drive it home just how little Sherlock could possibly hope to gain John's forgiveness, his affections. It was stupid, anyway, stupid to think of it. He should have seen it coming; should have snipped it in the bud. He could see that hero-worship grow in John, case after case, day after day, with every "That was amazing" that John let slip carelessly, uncaring what it meant, for himself.

He can't actually look at John after that, has to create a distraction, immediately, regain some worth. He focuses on the Pink Lady's phone, takes it up and starts typing, niggling at the clue until it gives up and reveals itself for him, gives him the means to see that look in John's eyes again.

He should have known better, an old addict like himself. He knows the signs; how has he let John slip so far under his skin that Sherlock craves him like he craves another hit, dreads John's disappointment like a month without a new case, has to push himself further and further just to have John look at him like that again, like he's worth something, like he's incredible, like he isn't just a pathetic excuse for a human being.

Which he is; he knows it. Everyone he's ever met can't be wrong, and John is just an anomaly, a wonderful, precious anomaly that Sherlock wants to protect, cultivate, never let down. But he can't. He isn't capable of that, of keeping something like that, nurturing it and having it for his own. How, how could John possibly have it so wrong; the dichotomy eats at him, aches somewhere behind his breastbone. How could John think Sherlock is the hero in this partnership? How could he not know what he is, how could he think so little of himself as to compare what he is to Sherlock? Sherlock wasn't lying when he told John that he would never be one of the heroes, but he was lying through his teeth when he said that heroes didn't exist, so plainly that he doesn't know how something didn't strike him down for it. Because it's blindingly obvious that heroes do exist -- he sees the proof every day; it lives with him, for goodness' sake, works with him, protects him, makes the world worth saving.

Over to you, folks!

Not much cop, this 'caring' lark, 1/2