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“You are absolutely not allowed to die on me, Sherlock. I refuse to play Benedick opposite anyone else.”

“Christ, John, I can hardly die with my doctor right beside me; unless you’re changing your own verdict and admitting to incompetence in that area?”

It was a decent attempt at condescending if not witty, but John could hear the pain in his partner’s voice and his worry ratcheted up a notch. A doctor he may have been, but they were stranded God knows where in the middle of the Scottish Highlands, they were on foot, it was swiftly getting dark, the temperature was already turning chill, and Sherlock was bleeding like a stuck pig. There wasn’t much even a very good doctor experienced in dealing with battlefield conditions could do in their present circumstances. He wasn’t even happy allowing Sherlock to move, but leaving him lying on the ground applying pressure to his wound as he slowly bled to death didn’t seem a truly viable fucking alternative.
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Those of you on my flist who may run across this and don't do the sex thing in fic - I'm really sorry. I promise this isn't going to be a regular thing. Also, there is no actual dirty talk in this entry, just talk about how I'm attempting to type some dirty talk.

An hour before I'm obligated to post this thing I'm realizing a couple things. One: I should have stayed closer to my wheelhouse and knocked out a John/Sherlock piece despite my natural disinclination to go there. Two: I need to throw the practicalities out the window. Normally I'm big on covering my ass motivation-wise - explain how and why he went into that room, don't just pop in for no reason. This, however, is not sexy. I'm 1000 words in and they're still fully clothed. Spending the next 500 describing the disrobing isn't really the point. The motivation is that they would like to have sex now please and thank you. End fancy stuff. It's pornography. It exists to be titillating. I've done more than I needed to do by holding off on the porn for almost 1000 words.

I really should have quit when I typed in the joke and couldn't stop snickering...I do, however, feel I am being taught a valuable lesson in writing smut.


Feb. 9th, 2013 09:48 am
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I'm pretty sure the 'new' photobucket is messing with my moods...I'm going to have to move those or otherwise remedy...

OK - what I actually popped on here to say is:

1. Thank you for all the advice. I really appreciate it. I will now proceed to circle my possibilities warily and try to overcome the fact that in RL I'm quite shy.

2. It is official. I cannot write anything without attempting to be funny during the course of it. Because, despite my last post, I had previously signed up for a 24 hour porn challenge (Yes, I know, this is unprecedented for me. We'll just have to see if I'm any good at it.) and that's the only other thing I'm allowed to work on - full stop (see, right there->.) It's actually quite good timing, really. I was prompted. I have 24 hours to produce a story. Done. On with other projects. So anyway, Holmes and Watson with the end result of porn. Fab. I am the only person inserting humor into this equation, I really am.

I am also now procrastinating and I have actual things to accomplish before 4pm which don't involve writing porn, so I'm hitting 'post' now and attempting to get on with both porn and life.
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and anyone who was looking forward to reading it: I will eventually finish the Person of Interest/Bond/Sherlock/Cabin Pressure story.

Right now, however, I need to narrow my focus. I need to finish this Sherlock epic, I need to start this original story now that I've been inspired by an idea, and I need to write my piece for ACD Holmesfest (which is requiring ridiculous research). *nods* This is what I am going to do. I am not going to start or commit to anything else until I have accomplished these three things.

There - there it is in scary typing - and I was once very wisely advised: trust the scary typing.

Trust the scary typing. = Follow through on the scary typing.

Next interlude will be up soon. Dancing is hot on its heels as I am expecting to experience actual English Country Dancing tomorrow.

Guys, on a related note, I am scarily uncoordinated. I did, once upon a time, take ballet and tap, but clearly I didn't do so long enough to benefit and become graceful in any sense of the word. I'm vaguely considering trying to attempt to remedy this. It would also be nice to try and enforce some regular exercise, so what do we think? Yoga? Pilates? Actual dance lessons of some sort? In the end it will have to be something nearby and ridiculously convenient if there is any chance of my following through. Having to commit to a class would also probably help. Thoughts and advice are very welcome.
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The dance lesson chapter begins in chaos. That works, but I have to corral it all in for the actual lesson. I don't, however, have enough room in the flat for said lesson.

So what do we think? Dance lesson at Bart's? The morgue is tempting but the acoustics would be pants and I'm not sure the work tables would be movable. The briefing room of New Scotland Yard? Other ideas are very welcome.

I've also realized I have enough characters involved that John can be spared the role of 'not exactly clueless but very definitely insecure student' in this installment. He won't be miraculously fantastic, but he can have some skillz and natural talent in this area.
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Seeking rather than offering. Does anyone have any favorites?
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I love how John Finnemore revealed the origin story of poor Martin's obsession with being Captain. I know that if you've heard the episode you didn't miss it. :-)
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Hm. So I've been gorging on Bunheads because I've been watching GG and feeling nostalgic. It's pretty much what I expected, and I'm mostly enjoying it. The dance sequences and Kelly Bishop are definitely my favorite bits. Sutton Foster is a fabulous Skinny Lauren Graham. If you think about any one aspect of it too hard it makes absolutely no sense at all. I'm pretty (strike that and make it 'seriously' - due to ep 7 on right now) disturbed about Boo's family life. So it's all sort of GG taken to the next level of ridiculousness.

The bits which are really, really surreal are the bits when it actually is Gilmore Girls - and they are in there. You honestly could cut them out and string together an entire episode of GG. I swear to you it is the same strummy la-la music. Despite hiring the same guy to compose - he is just reusing the strummy la-la music. That's a paycheck I'd like to get - being paid twice for the same product.

My feeling has been that the process of becoming a better writer involves learning subtlety. As much as I enjoy watching television written by ASP (and I do!!) she's definitely going the other way with it. I really wish Hubbel had stuck around a little longer. I think that show would have been more complicated and interesting.
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Guys - I wanted this to be its own post because this is so fabulous. [ profile] jobia offered me a piece of art (in return for the end bit of I Prefer to Text) and I asked for John's portrait -


- please have a look because I honestly cannot suss out how to get a preview into this space...sigh...technological difficulties surface when they are least convenient...

Please comment there because even though I am a comment slut, this artwork is fabulous and I am unbelievably excited that it is based upon what I wrote - seriously, I am Arthur, Steward of the Aeroplane. Please tell [ profile] jobia she is amazing.
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“Jesus! Did he have to make it life-sized?”

“Lestrade, watch that -,”


“What are you boys doing up there? Was that my wall?”

“No, Mrs Hudson,” three male voices chorused untruthfully.

Their awkward struggle to haul the gargantuan packing crate up the stairs continued significantly more quietly, muffled grunts aside, until Sherlock was forced to quickly jerk one of the corners he was in charge of rather forcefully and completely unexpectedly in order to avoid bashing his knee with the corner in question.

“Ouch! Christ, that was my chin!”

“Better than my knee.”

“Heartless bastard, you are. I should drop this right now and let you haul your own bloody crate about. Why the fuck did you have it sent to my office anyway?”

“Temper, temper, Lestrade.”

“Oi! I’d like to point out that forward motion is our friend. Greg, if you abandon your post now I’ll set him on you; I’ll refuse to come along on any Met cases for the next six months. Punch him later if you like, but haul the bloody crate right now.”
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Jan. 28th, 2013 05:35 pm
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He blushed again. “Thanks. It’s a little odd; I mean, who has their portrait painted these days?”

She smiled up at him. “Because the boys of Baker Street are so famously conventional?”

John reached for her hand and tugged her to standing. “Ha, ha. I seem to recall you charging a man in an attempt to drive a spear through him once upon a time. And on our first date!” he added in a scandalised tone. “You were lucky to get a second after that.”

“If you could find an actually murderous girlfriend Sherlock might find her interesting enough to share you with her.”

“Never going to happen. I’ve basically accepted it. I’m happy enough with the mad bastard as things stand.”

From across the room, Sherlock announced, “The keyboard is now in working order.”

“And it’s a good thing too, since I believe we’re about to dance around our sitting room for the amusement of all our friends and relatives.”

Sarah’s eyebrows shot up. “What?”
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I'm hopeless, I really am. I'm trying to watch this neat game-ish-sortof radio show which John Finnemore was on (and on which he showed himself to be both very clever and up on events) but one of the other contestants was named Arthur ... let's just say I'm embarrassed about how long it took me to catch on to my brain's disconnect ... Why wasn't Arthur's voice responding to those inquiries?

I believe you should be able to access the episode in question via this link for a while yet.

ETA - it really is so terribly odd to hear JF being all intelligent and earnest whilst another voice is being called Arthur. Kudos to his understanding of the mechanics of comedy. He unfailingly identified his opponents' strategies of taking a funny true fact and building upon it to disguise the truth. Taking the time to dissect the frog of comedy has served him very well.
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ETA - Hm.  This was meant to decorate your friends pages, but it just ended up entertaining them.  Note to self, just because fonts paste properly into visual editor, they do not actually post properly.

Well, okay, well there’s, uh, there’s sixteen seats, so say two to a seat –

They’re good friends, these otters?

Let’s hope so. And one in each overhead compartment.

Always remembering to open them with care, because otters may have shifted during the flight.

And one under each seat?

Yes, good thinking!

But that’s where the lifejackets are.

That’s all right: otters can swim. Now, how many in the galley?

Um, four on the floor, two on the worktops? Well, it depends – are we carrying Carolyn and Arthur?

To wait on the otters? I think that would be an indulgence, frankly. I think we’d be better off replacing them with more otters.

So thirty-two in the seats, sixteen in the overhead lockers, sixteen under the seats, six in the galley … fifteen in the hold?

Oh, twenty easily, and six or seven in the aisle.

Call it seven.

So that’s what? Ninety-seven – and three in the flight deck! A hundred!


No. Not in the flight deck.


I don’t care how hypothetical it is, I’m not flying with a live otter in the flight deck!

I don’t see why not. Historically, very few hijackings have been carried out by otters.

I’m sorry, but I don’t think the Civil Aviation Authority would be too keen on the idea.

To be quite honest with you, Captain, I don’t think there’s a whole lot about this plane full of unsupervised otters the CAA is going to love.

Excerpt from Ottery St Mary which was written by John Finnemore.

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Hm. I'm listening to Edinburgh and now wondering how/where I order (the minute you walked through the door) bottles of Talisker...

The artist we all have to thank tumblrs here! More pictures and Sherlockian plushies to come!
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I was rereading January and wincing as I went. This makes me hope I'm improving as far as this writing thing goes.

On a Cabin Pressure note:

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It was morning, and the sitting room of 221B was uncharacteristically both silent and flooded with sunlight. Clad in pyjamas and dressing gown, Sherlock, of course, couldn’t see himself (or rather wouldn’t seek out his reflection unless prompted) but the abundance of natural light made him look ghostly, ethereal. His pale skin glowed and his eyes were no colour at all. This apparition sat, long fingers and slim hands steepled under his chin as he contemplated the dainty, decorative bottle which he had nicked out of his family’s attic the previous December.

It was sealed.

It was sealed with lead.

He found he was a little bit frightened of what it might contain.

The fear was what made it exciting.

Read more... )
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A tall, suave, good-looking gentleman (looks a bit like Daniel Craig, you know the type ;-) accidentally stepped into (And wasn’t she an attractive stewardess…) a significantly shorter (though no less good-looking) sandy-haired gentleman wearing a jumper which really did make every woman who saw him think, ‘Aw.’ (It was great camouflage for a man who was essentially a deadly weapon.). Startled, the two men turned to one another, each with an apology on his lips. Both apologies faded, though, as recognition dawned. The suave gentleman smiled suavely and the jumper-clad gentleman grinned in an adorable manner.


I have no idea if this belongs in my story but I am seriously cracking myself up over it. So, thank you, [ profile] kizzia, for suggesting Captain Watson and Bond are old army buddies.
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‘ m

n o t

h u n g r y .


L e t ’ s  h a v

e  d i n

n e



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