falling_voices: (Default)
[personal profile] falling_voices
Shamelessly stolen from [livejournal.com profile] fuyu_no_fuheiPosting the names of all the files in my Sherlock WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Choose one (or a few, I don't care), and I will post a random line or two.

In no particular order of completion, importance, or capitalization:

  • The Light Discontinued
  • Our Hugest Home
  • writer!john
  • Derringer Sky; android!sherlock
  • Somewhere From Mars
  • there's propaganda for you
  • the grand tour of europe
  • the Heart!verse (cardiac surgery)
  • John.txt
  • angst-ridden pre-reichenbach epic
  • dust off your converse (time to see the universe) (who!crossover)
  • TONC!deleted scenes
  • ETA, I forgot: TTSSish spy!au. 

... most of which are both non-descriptive and ridiculous. FML. Or my brain. Or my love for exclamation marks.

(Am now hunting down Downton Abbey season the second (which is apparently nowhere so far), fald;kalskal;sfa OH YOU BEAUTIFUL IDIOTS.)

Date: 2011-10-16 02:57 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] kim47.livejournal.com
Oooo... John.txt and angst-ridden pre-reichenbach epic?

Also, episode one, episode two, episode three, episode four :)

Date: 2011-10-16 10:14 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] falling-voices.livejournal.com


Sherlock makes a study of compromise. John is not averse to touching but he will be skittish if unwarned, temper frayed after work days; sometimes he is unselfconscious to the point of carelessness, regardless of the star like angry starbursts on his shoulder. Likes long, hot baths (luxury; after the army's communal showers; hot water shortage; necessity), does not care for being interrupted, once lobbed the soap at the opening door. But he bustles busily into Sherlock's shower without so much as a blush, helps him scrub the grit and the dirt of Thames water from his hair. Sherlock catalogues their touches — he learns the brush of fingers on his sleeve, he learns the shape of John's palm against his spine, coursing upward like an electric shock.

angst-ridden pre-reichenbach epic which will probably make a lot more sense if you know that it's meant to be a fill for this prompt:

Sherlock was curled in the windowseat, wedged tightly into a coil that bore no mathematical sense, and John leaned into the doorway wearily: they hadn't slept for thirty-seven hours, not eaten for twenty. There was not a cell in his body that did not scream to be shut down, his leg heavy and throbbing under his weight. He watched Sherlock in the dirty, greasy light the streetlamp outside their window poured into the hotel room — gaunt skinny sod with not a pound of flesh on his bones; John could have kissed every angle in his body. Sherlock's eyes were skittish, and flinched away from his.

Date: 2011-10-16 10:39 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] kim47.livejournal.com
WHOA I have been tracking that prompt I may just have to hound you until you finish it...

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Date: 2011-10-16 05:15 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] fuyu-no-fuhei.livejournal.com
I'll take writer!john and the Heart!verse, please!

Date: 2011-10-16 10:30 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] falling-voices.livejournal.com

He remembers Afghan stars: the patterns were strange and nameless, and they never took a map to them. When he doesn't dream of rifle fire he dreams of them, and the names he and the mates invented for them when they were smashed on the rooftops: the Bear and the Furbelow, the Cooking Pan, the Northern Wolf for the only Swedish boy in the regiment. They couldn't see the North Star, couldn't see Venus from where they were. John remembers glory from these nights, colour, juggling bottles that smashed and shook apart upon landing. The Swedish kid got killed in the morning, shoulder bones shattered, too much blood for keeping; John had his hands deep in his chest by two in the afternoon and couldn't save him at all.

Heart!verse, which is something of a prequel and sequel to i carry your heart with me:

One rainy week Sherlock keeps sixteen hearts in jars on the kitchen table, and John navigates around them — John maps out the table like a naval chart, sets down cups of tea around them like guiding stars. They're the hearts of sixteen policemen, and Sherlock is studying the effects on London crime and arrest rates, the number of petty offenders who escape their clutches for lack of a heart. Emotional response to minor robbery as compared to vicious murder. The flat fills with Chinese takeaway at night, the warm blue glow of the telly, and John's heart resting quiet in Sherlock's chest.


Date: 2011-10-17 01:26 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] ningen-demonai.livejournal.com
omg are you actually gonna write the surgery thing

i am so proud of my indirect contribution to this ♥

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Date: 2011-10-16 06:40 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] bathsweaver.livejournal.com
TTSSish spy!au!!!!!!!

Date: 2011-10-16 10:33 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] falling-voices.livejournal.com
TTSSish spy!au:

John is caught at the typists' — rows upon rows of secretaries on ancient typewriters, each looking up a fraction as he passed. He is transporting information from one office to another that night, and his heels clack too hard on the parquet slats, his nerves rattled by the last four white, flushed nights. He feels uneasy, overwrought, recently longing for sleep: he has been fully, absolutely awake for twenty-four hours. He is expecting the hand on his arm and the breath on the back of his neck, has been expecting them for one day and a half now, but they come as a surprise yet, a fierce electric jolt traveling his body.

:D your icon is amazinnnng

Date: 2011-10-16 11:45 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] bathsweaver.livejournal.com
It's amazing because it's TRUE (and shareable and made by [livejournal.com profile] jackshoegazer ;P).

EEEE, TTSS!SherlockBBC! I am so excited--thanks for this peek!

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Date: 2011-10-16 06:53 pm (UTC)
ext_82470: (Default)
From: [identity profile] maikichelorrain.livejournal.com
The grand tour of Europe for me, please <3

Date: 2011-10-16 10:35 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] falling-voices.livejournal.com
the grand tour of europe (a post-Reichenbach!au):

In the afternoon of May 20th, 2015, Sherlock Holmes starts down the steps of the British Museum and walks neatly into the arms of a dead man.

John Watson is wearing a green pullover and a pair of faded jeans, comfortable and solidly unremarkable dark shoes. John Watson is carrying a duffel bag over his uninjured shoulder, resting fingers upon the straps, looping in the metal buckles; his skin is tanned, more so than before, his hair sun-streaked — longer around the temples. John Watson will be thirty-eight in a matter of six weeks, and the crinkles around his eyes draw whiter lines into his skin. Two years and eleven months ago, John Watson toppled over a cliff and into a waterfall in Switzerland.

Date: 2011-10-16 11:21 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] airynothingness.livejournal.com
Ooh, I hope this gets written! I love John!Reichenbach AUs as much as I hate the Sherlock!Reichenbach ones. Because BAMF.

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Date: 2011-10-16 11:40 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] bathsweaver.livejournal.com
Oh. My. God.

Yes. And thank you.

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Date: 2011-10-16 06:56 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] fireblazie.livejournal.com
dust off your converse (time to see the universe) (who!crossover)


Date: 2011-10-16 10:48 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] falling-voices.livejournal.com
dust off your converse (time to see the universe), which, uh, won't make sense if you don't know it's meant to fill this prompt (HELLO META):

One day, John Watson wakes up and shifts effortlessly into something new. He stands in front of his mirror, examines his body: 5'7'', blue eyes, tired face, left shoulder shattered into starbursts, sweet leg, dusty blonde hair. Good chest, better hands — surgeon's hands — nails, neatly trimmed, square fingertips, slightly calloused, mostly ambidextrous but favouring his left. Good. Had better, but had worse.

221B is a real place again, and it is familiar and warm; there is a kitchen now, and the living-room is smaller, rectangle, two windows stretching up on the far wall. It sits purring in John's ribcage like the word home.

"Ah, there you are," says Sherlock Holmes, framed in the bow window, and dear god the man is tall again. Looking brilliant again. He keeps his hands in his pockets, appraising John with a quick, sharp glance, and oh but he's missed this. "Mm. Yes, that'll do."

"Sherlock," says John, and there's adoration in the crowfeet around his eyes when he smiles like this.

/way more than a paragraph ahahah

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Date: 2011-10-16 07:45 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] ningen-demonai.livejournal.com
Always interested in TONC!deleted scenes and TTSSish spy!au. :D I would pick all of them if you would actually write them. >>

Date: 2011-10-16 10:59 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] falling-voices.livejournal.com
Ahaha, you can pick more. It's the writing more than what I've already done that's in jeopardy :/

TTSSish spy!au, to complement the bit that's up there:

"Tell me about Sebastian Moran," Sherlock says.

John tenses carefully, shoulders tight and pulled in. He blinks, rapid sweep of eyelashes grown dark and long under the stark, overhead lamp. His face has a stranger's angles, the grime of the last few days spent Underground unshaven on his cheeks, eyes made quite incredibly blue in his darkened features.

Sherlock is running on thirty-six hours without sleep or food and nothing but twelve nicotine patches in quick succession — he feels slightly giddy, fascinated like a child. He watches John's face for the sweetest flinch, the slight clench of his mouth, yes, that one, the soft drag of his tongue across his lips. Available data.

TONC deleted!scenes IN WHICH LESTRADE GIVES SHERLOCK THE TALK (no, not that talk. the other talk.):

[livejournal.com profile] let_us_trade

Hey, great picture. I like the way you emphasized the muscles best.

Uh, by the way, about John. I mean, I know the two of you have talked before and all, but I heard that you'd been paired up for the [livejournal.com profile] holmes_big_bang, yeah? just, yeah, be nice to him, okay? He's a great guy. Try to not make him run him off screaming.

[livejournal.com profile] cons_detective


[livejournal.com profile] jumperfkr

[livejournal.com profile] let_us_trade, not that I don't appreciate the sentiment and all, but I think I can manage having a friend on my own? I've been in troll threads before and survived. :D

[livejournal.com profile] let_us_trade

Fair enough, mate. I just don't want trouble in the comm.

[livejournal.com profile] jumperfkr

Yeah, 's alright. We're getting on nice, actually. This is going to be a huge thing if we get our way.

[livejournal.com profile] w_harry

Ooo, kinky.

[livejournal.com profile] lass_sirene

Is this the fandom-y version of 'if you break his heart, I'll break you?'

... does that mean [livejournal.com profile] let_us_trade is officially the Fandom Dad now?

[livejournal.com profile] cons_detective

Oh for God's sake.

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Date: 2011-10-17 03:15 am (UTC)
nothing_to_say: (orli with a camera (aleeseeah))
From: [personal profile] nothing_to_say
Can see peek at the android!Sherlock fic? And maybe Somewhere From Mars, too? (oh god the choice the choice the choice why do I have to pick when I bit more of everything? >__>)

Downton Abbey is love. :D :D I watched the first half of S1 in the summer but I have the rest and S2 in my computer somewhere, just need time to sit down and watch them. D:

Date: 2011-10-17 03:17 am (UTC)
nothing_to_say: (pip about to fall (hotoko))
From: [personal profile] nothing_to_say
and I meant 'Can I peek'. *facepalm*

Date: 2011-10-17 10:27 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] falling-voices.livejournal.com
I rather adore Downton Abbey. I've just finished the first season, and will plunge right into the second tonight, thanks to [livejournal.com profile] kim47 upthread. /EXCITEMENT. Also:


Mycroft created him in 1976, with wild surmises of intellectual perfection — he based himself upon literary legends, and he read too much Shelley for Sherlock's comfort. The technology was essential and confidential, but it only acted as a sounding board for Mycroft's twisted creation fantasies. He gave him a human being's lifespan, but Sherlock will not age the same way: his bones will grow old and rusty, the wheels of his brain heavy and outdated, and one day his heart will very simply give out. He will be ninety, ninety-five. He calculated the exact date once, and deleted it the day after, but it sits murmuring in his backup disk, waiting for the day when he gets bored.

Somewhere From Mars:

Sherlock had very nearly asphyxiated to death in the river, and there was a crimson stain of half-dried blood across his throat, where he had had a knife blade pressed to, earlier tonight. He blinked languidly, moved as though his very bones had melted. His usual spare, bizarre elegance seemed wasted on him tonight, and John found that his own jaw was tight, his teeth gritted inexplicably in anger. Sherlock looked like a thing on fire.

They were a very long way from home. They had had a beautiful chase, and their quarry had taken them straight on to the East End, to the gritty alleys and back stories surrounding the wharves; the distance from home had settled dark and heavy in John's bones, and now it made his bad leg ache, made him irritable and hardened in the corners. He watched Sherlock frankly, plainly, and what he saw there made his heart stutter.

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Date: 2011-10-20 01:30 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] mikkary-bones.livejournal.com
You have so many WIPs and they all sound so good and I am so jealous ahhhh /touches

I'm really curious, thhough, about "Somewhere from Mars." :D

Date: 2011-10-20 04:40 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] falling-voices.livejournal.com
Hey, hey, you're the one who keeps writing fantastic asexual!Francis fics and making me purr with happiness every time. Stop being jealous, you've no reason to be. D: /hugs

somewhere from mars, btw:

He said, "Come on then," in a voice that sounded red and hot, made him ball his hands into fists and dig them deep in his jacket pockets. His knuckles were split and bloody, the meat of his palms scraped raw; there had been a fight, earlier, an assault led on by three rogue thugs. The contours and details of it were hazy against this — against Sherlock shaking water from his long body, the deep-etched happiness in the shape of his mouth. It was unearthly, the evening falling to tears, its colours dimmed into dark reds — the present minute alone remaining flushed and clear as day, carved behind his eyelids.

you would like sherlock fandom i think

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Date: 2011-10-21 02:18 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] butterfly1412.livejournal.com
AH~~ So this is what you have been up to all these days...:P

/here have a huge glomp because dammit it's been so long...

Date: 2011-10-21 09:19 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] falling-voices.livejournal.com

And yeah, that's pretty much all I've been doing, ahahaha. That said, you, of all people, should try watching Downton Abbey, it's just the sort of thing you'd like — and then we could sob together over Mary/Matthew, y/y? :D (aaaaalso, have you been following the newest White Collar season?)

come back into my liiiiiife i love you i miss you where are you

Date: 2011-10-26 03:54 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] falling-voices.livejournal.com
No but seriously, emails. Answer them.

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