John blinked and looked up from the telly as Sherlock dropped a box into his lap. ”Sherlock, what-“
“For a friend. Come on, John.”
John set the box down on the sofa and tugged a jumper over his head, smoothing it down. ”You’re actually leaving the apartment to deliver something? Voluntarily? In person?” He frowned. There had to be a catch. ”It’s not full of rotting flesh or maggots or something, is it? No, no, it’s not Anderson’s birthday today. Is it…” he hesitated, tongue swiping across his bottom lip as he mentally catalogued the upcoming holidays. Much too early for Christmas, so it had to be a birthday, but he couldn’t think of many people Sherlock would consider interesting enough to waste precious time on anything as menial as shopping. Himself and Mrs. Hudson, maybe. ”…are you trying to bribe Lestrade into giving us a new case? He’s still furious about that experiment with the vitreous humour in his coffee, you know, but I bet a genuine sounding apology from you would shock him long enough for you to steal some files.”
“Of course there’s no rotting flesh on it, John, don’t be ridiculous. I boiled it quite thoroughly before I wrapped it.” Sherlock was giving him that look that meant he was being trite and anything more that came out of his mouth would be immediately disregarded. ”Now come along, I need to deliver this to Mazarin.”
“That’s an unusual name.”
Sherlock immediately stiffened.
“Sounds like an internet screen name.”
The world’s only consulting detective swept out of the apartment. Not dramatically or in a huff, of course; such things were utterly beneath him. Never mind the coat that was cut specifically to flutter after him or the scarf he’d flung aggressively across one lanky shoulder as he went out the door. John merely rolled his eyes, so used to the theatrics that he no longer bothered to call out his flatmate’s behavior. ”So. Mazarin.” He caught up to Sherlock quickly, box tucked under one arm. ”I didn’t know you had online friends. Is that why you’re always stealing my laptop?”
“I read her blog,” muttered Sherlock, eyes firmly fixed on the road. Not that he was sulking, you know. Genius consulting detectives certainly don’t sulk. He was just very interested in the road and the way to her flat, despite already memorizing it.
John shook the box delicately, ear pressed against it.
“Sherlock…”
That was the we are about to have an uncomfortable conversation tone of voice, and Sherlock cringed. ”Yes, it’s a human skull, John, and yes, I got it from Bart’s with Molly’s permission and not anywhere you would object to, so please do not start.” John rubbed his temple as Sherlock shot a tentative glance back at him. ”She… may have mentioned recently on her blog that she’s been feeling burnt out lately. Not up to writing. I thought perhaps… I talk to our skull, you know… and, well…” He sighed. ”I don’t expect her to write more or to post it if she doesn’t feel like it, you know, so don’t give me some lecture about how I’m being selfish, John. I simply don’t want her to feel bored. I know what the boredom is like.”
John simply looked at the detective for a few moments. ”Alright,” he murmured. ”I guess she invited you over then, since you have the address. Let’s go drop this off.”
“Of course not, John. What use is it being related to Mycroft if you don’t take advantage of his abilities once in a while?” Sherlock’s lip curled up as John stifled a groan, and he wrapped one arm around the shorter man, pressing lightly as he turned onto a side street. ”Come on, then. We’ll deliver it together.”
((Happy birthday to mazarin221b! Many thanks for all of the lovely fanfiction you’ve contributed to the Sherlock fandom. Your writing was what first inspired me to participate in the fandom myself. I hope you’ve had a fantastic day!))
Things I should be doing:
- sleeping more often than every 3 days
- eating like a normal human being instead of having English muffins for 5 meals in a row
- work and job hunting
- cleaning the apartment before my mother visits
- going out and having a social life
Things I am doing:
- spending all night writing fills for the BBC Sherlock kinkmeme fanfic request threads
“Fine,” John huffed, feeling the chill of the air burning against his throat. It was enough to rouse him momentarily, but it wouldn’t last. They had crossed London three times that night, twice by cab and once on foot, Sherlock too impatient to wait for a car and John keeping pace until his leg twitched in protest. ”Fine, we can go look at the newest body, but not until I get coffee. I’m too old for this, Sherlock.”
The detective narrowed his lips and tapping one long finger against them. ”If I get you coffee at the crime scene, then will you cease these ridiculous complaints? Coffee is pointless, you know, since it will just wear off at those levels. We should really just get you some pills and—”
“I am not picking up any more of your bad habits, Sherlock. Enough is enough.”
Slowly, the corner of the world’s one and only consulting detective and the most delightfully infuriating man John had ever met’s lips tugged up, and instantly John knew he’d lost the argument. That smile said his mind was five steps ahead and had already drawn some brilliant, obvious-in-hindsight conclusion. Sherlock locked one arm with him.
“Come along, John. I’m sure I can re-appropriate Anderson’s coffee for you.”
Anonymous asked(Star Trek!) Bones hoisted the board over his shoulder, grateful to have his toes in the sand under this gorgeous sky and not a care in the damn world; some might call it a midlife crisis, but running off to California with his best friend after his messy divorce was the best decision he’d ever made. There was just something about being out in nature and not trapped in the city grind… Glancing behind him, Bones rolled his eyes - “Jim, stop ogling those coeds, for christsakes you’re old enough to be their father!”
Anonymous askedArthur skidded to a stop as he dropped down on his knees on the middle of the stage and flung out his arms, holding the pose while the other actors whirled around him once more before flouncing off stage left. Merlin paused behind the curtain to push irritably at the bananas dangling off his hat, and grabbed his lover by the wrist once the curtain fell. ”You know,” he hissed, “there are better ways to come out to your family than to get yourself cast as Lancelot!”
Anonymous asked“Finnnnnn, did you get that memo, the one on the TPS reports - because you know I give you so much latitude here, but really, that’s such a simple request, you know, and it is policy now, so I just have to ask of course—”
Finn silently screamed as he tried to counter the desire to strangle his boss and watch his lips turn even bluer with fantasies; that waitress he had met yesterday with the pink hair seemed friendly, maybe if they kept seeing each other they could take some much-needed vacation and take a road trip. ”Yes,” growled Finn, “the reports, I’ll take care of the reports right now.”
Someone Like You
Show: Merlin
Pairings: Arthur/Merlin, Merlin/Gwen, Arthur/Gwen
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Warnings: angst
Summary: Prompted by mrsvc and written for thetatteredendsofautumn’s birthday.
Inspired by Adele’s song “Someone Like You;” Merlin is sent away on a mission for Camelot and returns to find that it’s the day of Arthur and Gwen’s wedding. He’s crushed.
Disclaimer: Song belongs to Adele and all Merlin characters belong to the BBC and their respective owners. I’m just playing with them.
I heard that you settled down
That you found a girl and you’re married now.
I heard that your dreams came true.
Guess she gave you things I didn’t give to you.
Old friend, why are you so shy?
Ain’t like you to hold back or hide from the light.
I hate to turn up out of the blue uninvited
But I couldn’t stay away, I couldn’t fight it.
I had hoped you’d see my face and that you’d be reminded
That for me it isn’t over.
Never mind, I’ll find someone like you
I wish nothing but the best for you too
Don’t forget me, I beg
I remember you said,
“Sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead,
Sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead,”
Yeah.
You know how the time flies
Only yesterday was the time of our lives
We were born and raised
In a summer haze
Bound by the surprise of our glory days
Nothing compares
No worries or cares
Regrets and mistakes
They are memories made.
Who would have known how bittersweet this would taste?
Merlin had known that something was up when Arthur had asked him to deliver a package to the druids. Running errands was a waste of his time and abilities, and while he might appear to outsiders to be nothing more than Arthur’s servant, he knew that the king had more respect for his talents to use him for a job that could be done by one of the knights’ squires. Still, it wasn’t his time that he was angry about but the fact that Arthur wasn’t being honest with him. If there was a valid reason for him to be the one to deliver this parcel, the least the man could have done was tell him so that he wouldn’t be running across the countryside getting drenched and wondering if he’d slighted or otherwise angered his mercurial friend.
No, he hadn’t, Merlin decided. They argued occasionally, of course – Arthur’s temper wouldn’t have it otherwise when he was passionate about something – but if an offense grave enough to ship him out of Camelot had been committed, they would have had words. He wouldn’t just be trekking around in the damned middle of nowhere over a box.
Biting his lip with frustration, Merlin squinted at the field. Had he already walked through here? This looked too familiar. He grasped the map in his satchel and pulled it out so quickly that the box came tumbling out as well, bouncing once on the soggy ground before rolling into the bushes. The warlock pressed two fingers to his brow, massaging the tension out with a shaky breath. He was making this trip longer in his frustration. Arthur’s odd behavior was to be expected. He’d only lost his father a month ago, a sudden death that had landed him on the throne earlier than any of them had anticipated, and what sort of a friend would he be if he couldn’t deal with Arthur being a bit more difficult than usual if that was how he handled it? Yes – if Merlin could just put it out of his mind for a few days, he could drop off the box and return to Camelot to get the whole thing sorted out.
On that thought…
The box had sunk down into the muck, and Merlin tried to lace his fingers together under the ooze so that he could pull it out without damaging any of the delicate inlay on the top before giving up and just tugging on the lid. He wasn’t expecting to break the latch in his haste, or to see the single scrap of parchment that lay inside.
“Don’t hate me.”
It was Arthur’s handwriting, and it stole the air from Merlin’s body.
Suddenly, all he could think of was getting back to Camelot as quickly as possible before the weight that had settled into his chest crushed him from within.
Merlin may not have been as well educated as Arthur, but it only took him one look at the path leading into Camelot to realize what had occurred while he was off delivering the – no, not delivering the package, he corrected himself, while he was off being distracted by Arthur’s all-too-deliberate head games. The trees lining the walkway were draped in garlands of flowers, too cheerful in their bright coloration to be in mourning for the last king, and too elaborate to not be Arthur’s doing.
As he crumpled to his knees on the path, a part of Merlin’s mind noted, as if he was observing himself from a distance, that he was torn between the brief moment of glee he felt at crushing the petals beneath him and destroying that tangible reminder of Arthur’s wedding festivities, and his irrational desire to burn them all.
As if erasing their existence would be enough to negate what Arthur had done.
Logically, he’d known this would happen, some day. His close friendship with Arthur and the moments they’d shared where it had boiled over into something more had been exhilarating, but he’d always known that Arthur would have to take a wife. Even if he never loved her – even if, some day, that connection they’d shared had grown to the point where they stopped denying it to one another – his duty as king would still require that he have an heir. Merlin might have magic, but he couldn’t just create a baby. He could provide what Arthur wanted, but not what he needed for his kingdom.
He’d thought he had more time than this, though.
That had been one of the reasons Merlin had turned down Gwen when she’d admitted her feelings for him. It had been tempting, the idea of a relationship with someone he cared for that would be simple, easy – allowed. They had become close friends, but when Merlin ran his hands through her hair, he had to pause when his fingers became stuck in the unexpectedly long strands, and when she kissed him, he had to bite down on his lip out of fear that the name that came out would be too revealing.
He cared for her too much, as a friend, to put her through that. Selfishly, though, he also cared too much about keeping Arthur close to contemplate all the potential consequences, so he pushed and he prodded, and listened and gave advice like a good, caring, altruistic friend. Gwen found herself more willing to tolerate Arthur’s rudeness knowing that someone as kind as Merlin saw something worthwhile in him, and Arthur found his confidence increased through Merlin’s encouragement. It was, however, the most selfish act he could commit short of somehow stealing Arthur away for his own. Gwen kept Arthur distracted from other women that he might otherwise court and kept him pining for her, giving him a reason to sabotage his father’s attempts to marry him off to a more noble match in hopes that the two of them might have a future together some day. Arthur’s frequent trips and time spent with Gwen were a good excuse for Merlin to spend time with both of them, and if that was what he could have, then he would hold onto it tightly. Merlin hadn’t expected Uther’s death, had resolutely pushed off thoughts of the day that Arthur might have the power to get rid of the laws preventing him from marrying a commoner like Gwen as something so far in the future that it wasn’t even worth considering.
Merlin wasn’t a fool. He’d known that what they had would always be a side note to some other relationship, and at least Arthur had chosen an amazing woman like Gwen who could support and love him without allowing herself to be overshadowed. Even in the first moment he’d begun to have feelings for Arthur, he’d known it would never be some sort of fairy tale romance, but he had thought he’d have more time to make memories with Arthur that he could hold onto after it ended. He hadn’t expected this tenuous bond between them to be ripped apart – but really, how did one say goodbye to a relationship that had never truly begun?
Merlin supposed he ought to be grateful that Arthur had thought to send him out of Camelot during the wedding. He hadn’t had to sit through flowery speeches and toasts at the wedding. Arthur had given him the opportunity to deal with this on his own terms rather than enduring it in public. He knew then though, with a sudden clarity, that there really were no options. He couldn’t abandon Arthur. He would stay away for a few more days, long enough to have delivered the box. Arthur would know better, but there would be no questions from anyone else, and he knew that they would never discuss the message.
He could feel the weight in his chest settle, condensing into something solid. He would stand by Arthur’s side each day until that weight pushed too hard to endure. The only legacy of their bond was in their own memories, and if that were the only place he had left within Arthur, then Merlin would stick around long enough to ensure that he could never be forgotten.
Looking for a beta reader!
Someone who is willing to Brit-pick when I work on Sherlock fanfic would also be appreciated. Drop a line in my ask box and let me know what series you’d be willing to read through (and also if you are okay with reading smut or not). I would be willing to trade some sketches as compensation if you’re willing to read and edit my work on a regular basis.
Hi!
This is Eileen’s blog for writing. I suspect that a great deal of this will be fanfiction, though there may be some original work as well and any art that I do for my fics. Personal posts will mostly remain on my main Tumblr; I’m just creating this because it’s a bit easier to manage and organize an archive if it doesn’t also have all my other art and reblogs and so on.
You can expect to see some smut here and queer relationships. I’ll put nsfw and trigger tags on anything that requires it.
I take requests/prompts if I have time!
My writing archive for fanfiction and original works.
This blog will contain some stories that are not safe for work, so read/follow at your own discretion! I always tag those with 'nsfw' and you can use Tumblr Savior to block that tag.