Irene Adler’s sister Laura realises rather jarringly that the world does not revolve around her.
[BEEP BEEP BEE-BEE-BEE-BEE-BEE-BEEP BEEEEEEEEEEEP]
Agent Eledhwen Elerossiel blinked and stared at the console. “Chrissy, there is something wrong with our console,” she accused.
“I didn’t do anything,” Agent Christianne Shieh retorted immediately.
“But there’s something wrong with it. It’s playing music.”
Christianne stared at the console, too. “Did you drip Glitter onto it or something?”
“Did that Suvian daughter of Jay and Acacia come near it?”
“…I hope not.”
“Then I have no bloody idea what could have happened.”
Eledhwen pouted. “Fix it.”
“Do I look like a DoSAT techie-person?” sniffed Christianne. “You could hit it. Maybe then it’ll beep properly.”
“Shall I hit it with my sword?”
“You’ll just dent your sword.”
Eledhwen glowered at her partner, obviously miffed that Christianne would think so lightly of Elven-forged swords that were eons older than her. But Christianne paid no attention to that, springing up and peering at the mission on the screen.
“Jadis in a block of ice,” she murmured.
“What? Another vampire in Battlestar Galactica?”
“I frakking wish it was.”
Eledhwen raised an eyebrow, urging Christianne to continue. The human Agent dragged a hand through her hair, undid her crimson ribbon, and sighed.
“Another change of fandom. I think the SO likes frakking with us,” she explained.
“And?” Eledhwen raised the other eyebrow.
“And we’re killing a Mary Sue in the BBC Sherlock fandom.”
“Ah, one of your new obsessions. You change them very often, don’t you?” Eledhwen grinned. “First it was, what, Naruto? And then Harry Potter, and then Lord of the Rings, and then Chronicles of Narnia, and then Battlestar Galactica –”
“Shut up; it’s not our fault the idiots beyond the fourth wall got lazy and –”
“And then you urged me to sign up with you as the primary PPC contact with the International Academy of Hetalia Fanfiction, which made some sense since my clone wanted to attack it but –”
“Ellie, shut up –”
“And for a moment you really liked Homestuck before you landed hard into BBC Sherlock. I’m impressed.”
“I could kill you right now.”
“Ah, but you’d miss having me pick up after you. And reminding you to feed Marley.”
Christianne sighed. “Yes, yes, fine. Fine. All right. Let’s discuss Laura Adler, shall we?”
“Apparently the unheard-of sister of Irene Adler, numbskull.” Christianne jabbed a finger at the console screen. “She manages to get John Watson and Sherlock Holmes interested in her.”
“How? Aren’t they completely opposite types of people?”
There was a pause. Christianne snickered at the implications. Eledhwen shook her head.
“Running around HQ calling everyone Holmes and Watson might be a Very Bad Idea,” she warned.
“Shut up, my dear Watson.”
“I’m taller than you; I ought to be Holmes.”
Christianne rolled her eyes. “I wear the deerstalker; I make the deductions.”
“You don’t have a deerstalker. And we ought to get this mission over with.”
Christianne deflated. “Point. So, humans?”
“Obviously.” Eledhwen began to (very neatly) pack their things. “Round out my ears and nothing for you – and don’t mess with my hair, either.”
“You Eldar and your obsession with hair.” Christianne rolled her eyes again and grabbed her pistol; it had been a very long hiatus and in the meantime she had become proficient with a gun. Eledhwen had, too. The elleth was much better at aiming, but considerably worse about the noise.
Eledhwen also grabbed her gun; with a wrinkle of distaste she polished it yet again to make sure no unnecessary fingerprints were on it. Christianne punched in the coordinates for the portal; shouldering their supplies, the two Agents stepped through.
“You messed with my hair!” Eledhwen screeched. Christianne frowned innocently.
“I did?” she asked innocently.
“Don’t deny it; you did.” Eledhwen huffed in anger and tugged at her suddenly-too-short hair. “What is this?”
“A pixie cut.”
“Har har, very funny. Give me back my hair, you Orc-kissing arsehole.”
“I don’t kiss Orcs,” Christianne replied mildly.
Eledhwen threw up her hands in a ‘getting real tired of your bullshit’ way and seized the D.O.R.K.S from her partner, pressing a series of buttons to get her hair back. Christianne took the opportunity to pilfer Eledhwen’s Polaroid and take pictures of the street they were standing on. Sue or not, Generic Surface Belgravia was still very pretty.
“There’s the Sue, paying the cabbie,” she noted, nudging Eledhwen, who was pocketing the disguised-as-a-blueberry-muffin D.O.R.K.S. “Fortunately we just missed the author’s notes –”
“Why? How bad are they?” Eledhwen looked at the Words, and winced. “Ah.”
“Look! Another fabulous chapter! I take all the exclamation points I could have used in the story and stick them into the notes! Yay!” Christianne clutched her head. “Can ‘having annoyingly cheerful author’s notes’ be a charge?”
Eledhwen snorted. “Fine by me.” They followed the Sue into Irene Adler’s house, hiding quickly to prevent themselves from being seen. “I think further on there’s a random bit character we’ll have to deal with.”
“There’s technically two, but I don’t think Abigail ever physically shows up. Officer Rooney, on the other hand…”
“He could be recruited,” pointed out Eledhwen. “I mean he doesn’t show up past the first chapter, really.”
At that moment, John Watson made his entrance. Morbidly curious, Eledhwen pulled out her Canon Analysis Device and pointed it at the army doctor.
It gave a piercing screech; Eledhwen nearly dropped the device and cursed DoSAT for not giving it a mute button.
[John Hamish Watson. Human Male. Canon. Out of Character 69.99999% CHARACTER RUPTURE!]
“Jegus, turn that thing down!” Christianne hissed as Eledhwen shoved the screaming Canon Analysis Device into her pack, ducking into the parlour to avoid the startled glances of the Sue and her prey. “It’s not that hard to know John’s pretty much out of it for this fic; you don’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to –”
Speak of the devil and the devil shall appear – at that moment, Sherlock Holmes made his dramatic entrance into the fic by stumbling down the stairs.
“Wow, it’s like he got drop-kicked out of the mothership,” Christianne breathed. Eledhwen poked her head out of the parlour and sniggered at the sight. Ah, the Mary Sue shouldn’t have described his face as “alien-like”.
Some strange misconceptions were passed around; the Mary Sue was obviously mistaking Sherlock and John for burglars – and as soon as that happened, Scotland Yard burst in.
“It’s funny how she thinks they’re being arrested for burglary when there are incapacitated Americans in the parlour,” Christianne groused as their bit character Officer Rooney stepped in. “I think she ought to sort out her priorities.”
“Never mind that; what about the sudden compression of dialogue?” Eledhwen clutched her head at the pressure, as Officer Rooney started extolling the virtues of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.
“Of course they didn’t! Sherlock Homes is a Consulting Detective for goodness sakes! He’s solved thousands of cases for us; of course he didn’t do this.”
“I dunno, is it opposite day? There are just so many things wrong with that statement,” complained Christianne as Officer Rooney marched the Sue out of the door. “Can we just kill her or something?”
“We need more charges,” Eledhwen reminded.
“I might snap,” Christianne threatened.
“No, you won’t.”
“Yes, I will.”
“I’ll get you some chocolate.”
“Resorting to bribes? You’re horrible.”
“Point.” Christianne sighed, and looked at the Words. “We’ll get her at Christmas, because she’s drop-kicked Jeanette into a convenient plothole for some reason. Let’s go deal with Officer Rooney.”
Officer Rooney, aside from being a patronising little shit – at least in Laura’s eyes – and an avid believer of Sherlock Holmes, didn’t have much that made him stand out as a bit character. Unable to find any charges to justify killing him, Eledhwen and Christianne cornered him at the Yard and sent him through a portal into their Response Centre.
“And stay there!” Christianne shouted at the flabbergasted copper as she closed the portal. Eledhwen snickered, but the smile on her face quickly faded when they were jarringly shoved into the next scene at the Yard. The Sue was moping around in the interrogation room, obviously putting up a huge stink about being cooped up with ‘stale doughnuts’ and ‘old coffee’.
“Spoiled brat,” sniffed Christianne as she pilfered all the doughnuts.
“Apparently she’s being an arse to the Yard,” Eledhwen noted as she took a sip of the old coffee and retched, quickly binning it at the next opportunity. “And apparently Anderson’s been promoted to Detective Inspector or something.”
“How? He works in forensics, but that doesn’t make him an inspector!” Christianne clapped a hand to her forehead. “How?!”
“She says she really liked writing Anderson’s dialogue, but all he gets is one line. It’s ridiculous. And why in all of Arda would John want to talk to her?”
“Because he’s been drugged with Aura of Smooth.”
“I wasn’t intending for you to answer my question, Chrissy.”
“Oh, you’ve mastered the art of asking rhetorical questions. Congratulations,” deadpanned Christianne, smirking as she bit into her doughnut. Anderson and John entered the interrogation room; John talked to the Sue, and for some strange reason invited her back to his flat.
“Do you think Sues are like vampires?” Eledhwen wondered as the chapter ended with another eardrum-shattering Author’s Note.
“Canon-sucking leeches? Sure.”
“Well, yes, and the idea that they can’t cross thresholds unless you’ve invited them in.”
“I doubt that; there was that one Sue who got dropped into the Victorian-era Sherlock Holmes’s bed.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
Christianne checked the Words and groaned. “Someone’s certainly full of themselves,” she whined. “This fic isn’t fabulous at all.”
“I wasn’t aware that you could have ‘alarmingly behaviour’,” remarked Eledhwen mildly.
Christianne snorted. “Do you think the authoress is trying to play a game to see how many adverbs she can fit into a paragraph?”
“We could use it as a drinking game,” Eledhwen replied. “I brought some Dorwinion wine.”
“How on Earth –”
“Black market; don’t ask.” Eledhwen winked, opening her pack and tossing a bottle at her partner. “We can portal to Baker Street and camp out in 221C.”
“I love you,” Christianne replied with a completely straight face.
“That’s odd; I distinctly remember you saying you’d kill me earlier.”
“That was before you told me you had Dorwinion.”
Eledhwen laughed, and opened the portal.
“Ay ‘ate you.”
“You really ought to figure out your feelings for me,” Eledhwen deadpanned.
They’d gone through half a bottle of the very strong Elf-wine, and Christianne was one drop away from passing out. But then again, considering that they were taking a sip for every adverb in the ensuing chapter…
“You could take two ships for every moment the Shue turnsh John into a block uh-wood,” Christianne mumbled drowsily. “Then id be fair. You’d be jusht ash drunk ash me.”
“Dorwinion has gotten the better of Elves before,” Eledhwen replied, mentally berating herself for forgetting just how mouldy and damp 221C was. How on earth could Mrs Hudson survive knowing the state of this flat?
“Doeshnt mean dat dish ish fair,” whined Christianne, slumped against the mouldy wall. Eledhwen cringed. “Ay ‘ate you.”
“Ah, yes, another poncy Elf comment,” sighed Eledhwen as she scanned the words. “Well, chapter’s over, in any case. Laura clearly thinks that she’s special, but I am certainly not seeing what it is that draws her away from the rest of London’s silly vapid human females – Chrissy?”
Christianne had, at that moment, fallen asleep. Eledhwen shook her head, thankful that Dorwinion at least provided deep and Sue-free dreams. Although with the Hobbit movie coming out, that might not be the case very soon…
She rummaged in her bag for the bedrolls and spread them out perfectly parallel to each other, and then laid her partner out on one of them as best she could, making sure her partner’s limbs were set tightly to her sides. Then, the elleth grabbed her notebook (which was already full of scribbly charges) and left 221C to check up on 221B.
“Sherlock’s not big on housekeeping,” John muttered apologetically, and she gave him an incredulous look.
“Yeah, no kidding,” she said, rising from her seat. “Do you think he’d mind if I just took a look?” she asked, and he gaped at her.
“Uhm, yeah, go ahead,” he said after a pause, looking completely stunned.
“Forgive me, Laura, but the chances of the Valar learning how to break dance are infinitely higher than the chances of John being impressed by your curiosity,” Eledhwen muttered to herself as she tiptoed into the flat to watch John and Laura flirt shamelessly with each other across the kitchen table. “And where in Eru’s green Arda did you ever show that you had a taste for adventure? I’ve seen Hobbits far more adventurous than you.” Granted, the Hobbits she had seen all had to have somewhat of a taste for adventure, if they’d bothered to stray so far from the Shire that they ended up in Rivendell. So her basis of comparison was slightly skewed.
“Wait, so you’re at the pool, with Sherlock pointing a gun at the bomb that was strapped to your chest, and his phone starts playing the Bee Gees?” Laura cried, laughter bubbling out of her throat as she finally relaxed the death-grip she’d had on the leather armrests for the last few minutes of John’s tale.
“Yes!” John shouted, laughing so hard tears of mirth threaten to spill over his blonde lashes. “It was literally the most terrifying, most hilarious moment of my life,” he gasped. “I mean it was terrible at the time, but now…good god, Sherlock thought it was so annoying but I think it’s fucking priceless,” he laughed, and Laura got the feeling that he didn’t get the chance to express his mirth this freely as often as he’d like to—not specifically because of Sherlock, but because of the life he’d lived.
Eledhwen groaned and clapped a hand to her forehead. “No. No, absolutely not. People died in that game; John nearly died in that game!” For a moment she wished that Christianne was there to share the pain. But no, the human had to be a lightweight when it came to Elven wine…
“Damn you,” she muttered to her partner in absentia, jotting down the charges furiously. “I hope you’re happy.”
When Eledhwen returned to 221C, though, Christianne was anything but happy. In fact, she was groaning in agony and clutching her head.
“I hate you,” she reiterated.
“Do be more original.” Eledhwen helpfully handed her some Bleeprin. Christianne scarfed down the pills eagerly, sighing in bliss.
“I will get you for that, though.”
“You’ve done it already, and admirably.” Eledhwen cringed. “I had to put up with a chapter’s worth of her internal monologue which seems to accompany every single one of her lines. Consider yourself well-revenged.”
“So that’s the last time I’m ever drinking on the job,” Christianne groused as she clambered to her feet shakily. “Isn’t the POV shift supposed to happen right about now? “
Eledhwen looked up at the ceiling. “Oh, yes, that chapter of Sherlock whining internally about Laura and how ~speshul~ she is.”
“How do you pronounce the tildes? I’d love to know.” Christianne took the notebook from Eledhwen and checked the Words, adding to the charge list as she saw fit. “And do you have any idea how the title plays into the story at all? There’s definitely no smoke going around, or a snow storm, or –”
“Don’t question it,” Eledhwen suggested sagely. “Why don’t we skip ahead? I’ve had quite enough of her vapid lack-of-personality to last me until Christmas.”
“You yourself said we can’t skip all the way to Christmas.”
“We’ll skip ahead to when Jim Moriarty breaks into her house, then.” Eledhwen grabbed the Remote Activator and pounded in the coordinates. “At least then we’ll get somewhere interesting.”
“What’d we miss, then?” Christianne wondered as they appeared in Laura’s house and quickly took cover.
“Check the Words,” Eledhwen replied, plopping onto a nearby couch. From Laura’s bedroom the sounds of The Strokes could be heard, accompanied by Suvian humming.
“Ah, avoidance tactics, Suvian angst, Aura of Smooth, and Sherlock questioning his sexuality like a preteen girl on the internet.” Christianne rolled her eyes. “Dates, self-insertive details, Sherlock pining after John in sexual ways, Suvian distortion of the universe to better facilitate a threesome… what else is new?”
“Self-absorption,” Eledhwen pointed out as she calmly watched Jim Moriarty pop out of nowhere into the house, as if he was a Potterverse wizard. “Forget my earlier statement about Mary Sues being vampires. They’re obviously sponges.”
Christianne sniggered. “That might be truer than you think. Lacking a brain? Check. Soaks up all the attention? Check. But then you’d be comparing Mary Sues to Spongebob Squarepants, and that won’t do.”
“He is rather annoying, though.”
The Mary Sue suddenly made her appearance down the darkened hallway, entering the kitchen. Moriarty followed her.
“I’d hoped you hadn’t forgotten me,” he said, tucking his hands into the pockets of his immaculately tailored suit as he continued to come closer.
“Why are you here?” she asked, suddenly defensive as something John had said long ago clawed its way to the front of her brain. Jim waited patiently as realization slowly washed over an exhausted Laura, her face twisting in anger.
“And the Mexican Standoff begins,” mocked Christianne. “I forget that there’s been technically a four-month lapse between this and the first part of the fic. Is that charge-worthy?”
“Not necessarily,” Eledhwen shrugged. “But then again, I can hardly be bothered to care. Temporal distortions it is.”
“You’re Jim Moriarty—the one who’s been terrorizing John and Sherlock, who’s killed all those people,” she choked out, not wanting to believe the man who’d crept into her flat was actually a deranged murderer, but knowing it was true.
“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” deadpanned Christianne. “Tell us something we don’t know.”
“I thought the authoress already established that Laura and Jim knew each other,” Eledhwen remarked.
“Perhaps not in his criminal capacities,” Christianne reasoned. “Oh hell, am I trying to excuse a Suefic? Shoot me now.”
“The world doesn’t revolve around you,” Jim said suddenly, the hairs rising on Laura’s arms as she realized his words could be interpreted as a response to her thoughts.
“Yes, I know; it revolves around Irene,” Laura spat out far more bitterly than she’d intended.
The two Agents groaned at that.
“Lies and slander,” muttered Christianne venomously. “The world does revolve around you – or at least this world does, because everything is suddenly about you-you-you –mmf!”
Eledhwen shushed, her hand clapped firmly over her partner’s mouth. As Jim Moriarty started strangling the Mary Sue, the elleth made a mental note to add ‘ruining Jim’s not-getting-his-hands-dirty modus operandi’ to the list
Granted, it was a pity that Moriarty didn’t finish the job.
“Gee, I wish you could have MURDERED THE MAIN CHARACTER,” complained Christianne as the author’s notes died away and Laura started dialling John’s number. “It would save us a lot of trouble.”
“Don’t. She’ll come back, obviously. If Sherlock could do it, so could she,” Eledhwen reasoned. Christianne groaned, rubbing her temples and scowling at the ceiling.
“Why on earth…” she whined as she checked ahead on the Words, “would Sherlock deign to spend a portion of his brainpower to note what she’s wearing? Provocative librarian? Give me a bloody break.”
Within moments, those words played out and the two Agents had to portal out of the flat to avoid being caught by Sherlock and Laura. This time, Eledhwen didn’t even need to whip out the CAD to know just how out of character he was.
“So she seduces Sherlock in about five seconds or something. That has to be some sort of record,” Christianne remarked as they lolled about outside the flat, Eledhwen reading ahead for charges and Christianne watching the generic people walk by. “I think your CAD might have died with him.”
Eledhwen laughed. “If it hasn’t died yet, it will by the time we get to the Christmas chapter.”
Christianne groaned, checking the Words as well. “No, dear sweet baby Jesus, no. Bisexual polyamourous Sherlock – just no. No.”
“Pull back a little. The Sue’s about to go into her tortured past,” Eledhwen intoned drily. “And for some reason the authoress uses those words unironically. Unironically!”
“How on earth could Sherlock not have met her during those four months? Seriously.” Christianne banged her head against the wall of the flat. “End my misery, Ellie. Shoot me in the head.”
“Who’d put me out of my misery if I do?” Eledhwen retorted. They paused, and then simultaneously checked the Words.
“She can’t do that. She just can’t,” Christianne said suddenly.
“How. Why. No.” Eledhwen groaned, clutching at her notebook until her knuckles shone white.
“How dare she. How dare she use Sebastian Moran like that!” Christianne screeched, startling a few generic background people.
“It’s a bit odd, though, her calling her rapist ‘devilishly handsome’. I doubt anyone in a similar situation would have said as much.”
“How on earth are you taking this so calmly?” Christianne gasped, rounding on Eledhwen and butting firmly into her personal space, as if determined to find the symptoms of some unknown malady on the elleth’s face. “How? Tell me your secrets!”
“I’m taking solace in the fact that this is the chapter right before Christmas. Shall we go?”
Christianne took a step away from her partner, blinking owlishly. And then she grinned.
“Oh god yes.”
“Excellent.” Eledhwen beamed, opening a portal. “What was the phrase for this again? Ah, yes. Get in loser, we’re going sporking.”
Getting past a few pesky pieces of fabric would be easy; it was the prospect of winning her heart so that she wouldn’t feel so wrong about allowing him to explore her body that required a bit more thinking. He wouldn’t force her into doing anything against her will, of course; but he was confident that, if given enough time, he could easily make himself the object of her desire.
[Sherlock Holmes. Human Male. Canonononononononononcanonono bada bing 404 not my division that’s what people DO and I’ve got the moves like Jagger, divide by the number of hedgehogs and otters you have and BING-BING-BING! ERROR ERROR ERRORRRRRRR –]
Eledhwen stared at the CAD in horror.
“That out of character, eh?” Christianne remarked mildly.
“You’re taking this wonderfully well.” Eledhwen pocketed the dead CAD and strode up the seventeen steps into 221B. “Shall we?”
“Could be dangerous.”
“John was a soldier. He killed people.”
“This one is a breath away from Character Replacement, and Sherlock’s even farther gone than that. I’d say we’re pretty safe, Ellie.” Christianne drew her gun, and stormed into the flat. “All right, everyone put your hands where I can see them right now!”
“What’s going on?” John asked mildly. Eledhwen drew her gun as she entered as well, pointing it straight at Laura, who paled.
“Miss Laura Adler, stand and hear your charges,” snapped Eledhwen.
“What’s going on? What are you doing – charges?” John asked, suitably confuzzled.
“Elementary, my dear Watson,” Christianne stated pompously (Eledhwen groaned). “We are here to charge Miss Laura Adler on the following: being a Mary Sue, using self-insertion details like not liking chocolate, being the gratuitous uncanonical sibling of Irene Adler, causing personality ruptures in one John Hamish Watson and one Sherlock Holmes –”
“I have no idea how John Watson could ever have fallen in love with you, because you simply have nothing going for you,” interrupted Eledhwen.
“Or Sherlock Holmes, for that matter, because you are duller than pondweed and you lower our IQs every time you speak,” continued Christianne, “not to mention that he is a self-proclaimed high-functioning sociopath and suggested in canon to be asexual – or were you not paying attention to his ‘why would I want to have dinner if I’m not hungry’ line?”
“He’s also historically known to distrust women. Get your facts straight.”
Christianne coughed, and glared at Lestrade as the DI (and everyone else in the room) struggled not to come to Laura’s aid.
“You are also charged with dropping Jeanette into a plothole, creating bit characters, turning Anderson into a detective, causing Scotland Yard to unwittingly trust Sherlock despite the very canonical distrust between the two, being an annoying brat to the Yard, randomly changing points of view and tenses, compressing dialogue, fucking with Moriarty’s modus operandi, causing events to eventuate solely for your own benefit without any semblance of plot or significant character development, employing melodramatics, fucking with canon relationships – to whit, one bromance between Sherlock Holmes and John Watson – turning Sherlock Holmes bisexual and polyamourous, abusing adverbs, misplacing modifiers, cruelty to the common comma –”
“Take a breath, Chrissy. You’re turning blue.”
Christianne heaved a breath. “Making John find the Great Game very hilarious despite the deaths involved, causing a love triangle between you, Sherlock, and John for no apparent reason, making everything in the universe revolve around you, causing Sherlock bloody Holmes to act like a lovestruck preteen drama queen over John and yourself, having a nonsensical title and annoyingly cheerful author’s notes, causing temporal distortions, taking away John Watson’s three continents-worth of experience with women, misusing Sebastian Moran as cause for gratuitous angst –”
“Dragging Sebastian Moran into the series just so you can defame him as a rapist –”
“And then using that to initiate sex with John –”
“Nauseatingly maudlin sex –”
“Nauseatingly maudlin prose, full stop.”
Eledhwen sighed. “Having a stupidly tragic past, and misusing the trauma of sexual abuse for cuddles and sex. For all of these violations of canon, you are sentenced to death. Any last words?”
Laura blinked. “I don’t understand –”
“Too bad.” Christianne giggled, and knocked her out with the butt of her pistol. “Let’s see how you like John Watson on one of his bad days.”
With a flicker of a portal, the two Agents and their unconscious Sue left the flat. Moments later, the nearby plothole spat out a supremely confused and miffed Jeanette, and the rest of canon carried on as scheduled.
The Modern Baker Street Fanfiction Academy was warming up to a Tuesday morning with the sounds of whining fanbrats as they all complained about their daily run. John Watson barked orders at them to continue running for every complaint received, and the mini-Hounds were looking for stragglers.
Into this mayhem appeared Eledhwen and Christianne, with Laura trailing behind them. The Sue’s eyes lit up at the sight of John in his fuzzy oatmeal-coloured jumper.
“John!” she cried happily, running towards him. But before she could get within a five-foot radius, Jawn the not-so-mini mini-Hound tackled her to the ground, growling and slobbering maniacally.
“That’s the Sue?” John Watson asked, tilting his head to the side as he observed Laura’s screaming.
“Oh, yes. All yours.” Christianne grinned at him. John raised an eyebrow.
“John, don’t you remember me?” whined Laura. “I’m the love of your life; I’m the not-so-ordinary girl you met at Irene’s; I’m –” she was cut off by more Jawn-slobber. “STOP IT! STOP DROOLING ALL OVER ME! EWWW! GET OFF! GROSS!”
Her complaints died down as John knelt down next to her, but her eyes only widened with fear as John glared at her.
“No, you’re not the love of my life or whatever the hell you just said. And if you think you can charm your way into my good graces, Sue, think again. I’ve been kept up all night by Sherlock’s incessant violin playing, and harassed all day by students hurling red pants at me. I am not in the mood to indulge you.”
“But John…” whined Laura.
John straightened up, beaming at Eledhwen and Christianne. “I think Sherlock will have fun dissecting her. Thank you.”
“Sorry, Miss Mary Sue; you’re not my division. Bye-bye!”
And as Jawn began to drag Laura into 221B Baker Street where a scalpel-happy Sherlock awaited, Eledhwen and Christianne opened a portal back to their Response Centre, where a very confused Officer Rooney was waiting.
“Well?” he asked, looking expectantly at them. “I waited.”
“Yes, you did,” Christianne remarked drily. “Come on, then. Let’s show you to the Marquis de Sod.”
[Author’s Notes: For the morbidly curious, here you go: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8145260/1/Last_Smoke_Before_the_Snow_Storm
To say the least, it was terrible. Apologies to moonstones42.]