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12-Character Meme Ficlet: Something Borrowed, Something Blue (G; Abby Sciuto, John Sheppard & Sherlo
Still doing the 12-character Meme. This one's... a bit crackier than the last. The next one scares me a bit, but that's not for today.
2. [2-John Sheppard] and [5-Sherlock] are saying their vows when the doors are thrown open and [11-Abby Sciuto] marches in demanding that the ceremony stop because [11-Abby] is in love with [5-Sherlock] and cannot let them marry [2-John]. Does [5-Sherlock] go back to [11-Abby] or stay with [2-John Sheppard]?
Title: Something Borrowed, Something Blue
Rating: G
Fandoms: Sherlock/SGA/NCIS (Sherlock Holmes, John Sheppard & Abby Sciuto)
Author’s Note: Again not betaed and again not adult-rated. There isn’t even a real pairing in this one because... well, I just couldn’t go there. (Yes, I said it. You can even quote me. Take out any one of the three and I might’ve been able to manage but... no.) Still not mine and still not for profit.
“Stop!” Abby threw her hand against her forehead, palm out. “Sherlock, I cannot let you marry John!” Abandoning the pose, she ran closer to the altar. “I can keep my love for you secret no longer!”
John turned quizzically toward her, his eyes narrowing as they took in her lace and skull ensemble. She let her eyes dart over his dress blues in return.
Sherlock drew in a sharp breath. Abby took the beat he needed to stare at the Baroque fru-fru behind them and to marvel at the idea of Sherlock getting married in not just a church, but a cathedral. Around them, St Paul’s seemed to hold its collective breath.
Voice soothing, John said, “Ma'am, I think you have the wrong ceremony. I’m sure we can sort this out...”
Sherlock stepped between John and Abby, aborting the Colonel’s reach for her arm. “Abigail,” Sherlock began, “we talked about this.”
“Yes, Sherlock,” Abby said pointedly, “we did.” She drew in a quick breath and brought her voice back up so it could be clearly heard by the back row. “But things change, Sherlock.” Abby rolled her eyes somewhat desperately toward the front pew and its line of USAF officials. Stomping her foot for effect, she added “I will not deny my true feelings any longer!” Enunciating each word clearly she added, “It simply Will. Not. Work.”
Eyes going comically wide, John turned his back on the assemblage. Sherlock grabbed his arm in what might have been a reassuring hold, if it hadn’t been tight enough to ruin the line of John’s jacket. Abby winced in sympathy before she remembered herself.
Louder than she really intended, she continued, “Everyone knows your future as a Sheppard will result only in your ruin!” She spun around, her arms expansively indicating the entire gallery. “Even your distant-but-esteemed colleagues, Doctors Watson and McKay, agree!”
Sherlock grabbed her waist and drew her in, all without letting go of John’s arm. Into her ear, sotto voce, he said “Do lose the faux British creeping into your voice, Abigail. We get the point.”
Aloud, Sherlock wailed, “Do not make me choose, Abigail!”
John nearly choked, but never let it be said the USAF doesn’t come through. He got with the program and slapped Sherlock’s face, hard. Color bloomed across perfect cheekbones almost immediately, and Sherlock worked his jaw conspicuously.
“The time for choice,” John spat out, “was months ago, you bastard!”
“John...”
Shrugging Sherlock’s grip off, John stormed away down the aisle. The officials in the front row watched him go, and so did Abby; it was a nice view and she really had no idea what else she was supposed to do.
Into her ear, Sherlock whispered, ”Spoon,” which made absolutely no sense in a church full of people, but she leaned back into him nonetheless. Much growly-er, he repeated, ”Swoon, you silly woman,” then nearly dropped her when she went gratefully limp in his arms.
Lestrade moved forward then, finally abandoning his best man post, his eyes trying to burn a hole straight through Sherlock. Abby could feel them even with hers closed. Sherlock singsonged “lay-ter” at the DI, and Abby heard the poor man harruff softly. Reluctant sympathy filling his voice, he said, “Let’s get you out of here, Sherlock.”
She felt Sherlock stiffen and his hold on her became awkward and tenuous. Out of the side of her mouth, abby whispered, “Pick. Me. Up.” Sherlock did, and Lestrade took his arm gently and led them off down the aisle.
As St. Paul’s doors closed behind them, Lestrade asked, “So, are you finally going to tell me where John is then? John Watson, I mean?”
Sherlock closed his eyes. “Not in this galaxy, Detective.”
“Right,” Lestrade scoffed, too busy hailing a cab to see the desperation in Sherlock’s eyes . “If you won’t tell me, we’ll just have to see if Mrs Hudson can help you pick up the pieces of this tragic love affair, then.” A cab pulled up obligingly and Lestrade opened the door and ushered them inside, guiding Abby’s “unconscious” head into the car with the assurance of long habit.
Sherlock had scooted to the far side, but Lestrade only leaned in far enough to catch Sherlock’s eyes and said, “I hope she can--I honestly do--because I’m done.”
Dismissing Sherlock completely, Lestrade said, “”221B Baker Street, please,” to the driver, shut the door, and thumped the roof of the cab before stepping back from the curb.
Abby watched Sherlock watch Lestrade as the cab pulled away and determined to find another way to get the man through the gate. This had been an idiotic plan from the start, anyway.
*****
2. [2-John Sheppard] and [5-Sherlock] are saying their vows when the doors are thrown open and [11-Abby Sciuto] marches in demanding that the ceremony stop because [11-Abby] is in love with [5-Sherlock] and cannot let them marry [2-John]. Does [5-Sherlock] go back to [11-Abby] or stay with [2-John Sheppard]?
Title: Something Borrowed, Something Blue
Rating: G
Fandoms: Sherlock/SGA/NCIS (Sherlock Holmes, John Sheppard & Abby Sciuto)
Author’s Note: Again not betaed and again not adult-rated. There isn’t even a real pairing in this one because... well, I just couldn’t go there. (Yes, I said it. You can even quote me. Take out any one of the three and I might’ve been able to manage but... no.) Still not mine and still not for profit.
“Stop!” Abby threw her hand against her forehead, palm out. “Sherlock, I cannot let you marry John!” Abandoning the pose, she ran closer to the altar. “I can keep my love for you secret no longer!”
John turned quizzically toward her, his eyes narrowing as they took in her lace and skull ensemble. She let her eyes dart over his dress blues in return.
Sherlock drew in a sharp breath. Abby took the beat he needed to stare at the Baroque fru-fru behind them and to marvel at the idea of Sherlock getting married in not just a church, but a cathedral. Around them, St Paul’s seemed to hold its collective breath.
Voice soothing, John said, “Ma'am, I think you have the wrong ceremony. I’m sure we can sort this out...”
Sherlock stepped between John and Abby, aborting the Colonel’s reach for her arm. “Abigail,” Sherlock began, “we talked about this.”
“Yes, Sherlock,” Abby said pointedly, “we did.” She drew in a quick breath and brought her voice back up so it could be clearly heard by the back row. “But things change, Sherlock.” Abby rolled her eyes somewhat desperately toward the front pew and its line of USAF officials. Stomping her foot for effect, she added “I will not deny my true feelings any longer!” Enunciating each word clearly she added, “It simply Will. Not. Work.”
Eyes going comically wide, John turned his back on the assemblage. Sherlock grabbed his arm in what might have been a reassuring hold, if it hadn’t been tight enough to ruin the line of John’s jacket. Abby winced in sympathy before she remembered herself.
Louder than she really intended, she continued, “Everyone knows your future as a Sheppard will result only in your ruin!” She spun around, her arms expansively indicating the entire gallery. “Even your distant-but-esteemed colleagues, Doctors Watson and McKay, agree!”
Sherlock grabbed her waist and drew her in, all without letting go of John’s arm. Into her ear, sotto voce, he said “Do lose the faux British creeping into your voice, Abigail. We get the point.”
Aloud, Sherlock wailed, “Do not make me choose, Abigail!”
John nearly choked, but never let it be said the USAF doesn’t come through. He got with the program and slapped Sherlock’s face, hard. Color bloomed across perfect cheekbones almost immediately, and Sherlock worked his jaw conspicuously.
“The time for choice,” John spat out, “was months ago, you bastard!”
“John...”
Shrugging Sherlock’s grip off, John stormed away down the aisle. The officials in the front row watched him go, and so did Abby; it was a nice view and she really had no idea what else she was supposed to do.
Into her ear, Sherlock whispered, ”Spoon,” which made absolutely no sense in a church full of people, but she leaned back into him nonetheless. Much growly-er, he repeated, ”Swoon, you silly woman,” then nearly dropped her when she went gratefully limp in his arms.
Lestrade moved forward then, finally abandoning his best man post, his eyes trying to burn a hole straight through Sherlock. Abby could feel them even with hers closed. Sherlock singsonged “lay-ter” at the DI, and Abby heard the poor man harruff softly. Reluctant sympathy filling his voice, he said, “Let’s get you out of here, Sherlock.”
She felt Sherlock stiffen and his hold on her became awkward and tenuous. Out of the side of her mouth, abby whispered, “Pick. Me. Up.” Sherlock did, and Lestrade took his arm gently and led them off down the aisle.
As St. Paul’s doors closed behind them, Lestrade asked, “So, are you finally going to tell me where John is then? John Watson, I mean?”
Sherlock closed his eyes. “Not in this galaxy, Detective.”
“Right,” Lestrade scoffed, too busy hailing a cab to see the desperation in Sherlock’s eyes . “If you won’t tell me, we’ll just have to see if Mrs Hudson can help you pick up the pieces of this tragic love affair, then.” A cab pulled up obligingly and Lestrade opened the door and ushered them inside, guiding Abby’s “unconscious” head into the car with the assurance of long habit.
Sherlock had scooted to the far side, but Lestrade only leaned in far enough to catch Sherlock’s eyes and said, “I hope she can--I honestly do--because I’m done.”
Dismissing Sherlock completely, Lestrade said, “”221B Baker Street, please,” to the driver, shut the door, and thumped the roof of the cab before stepping back from the curb.
Abby watched Sherlock watch Lestrade as the cab pulled away and determined to find another way to get the man through the gate. This had been an idiotic plan from the start, anyway.
*****
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LOL, *snort!* I don't know exactly what I missed of the whole why, but the images, too funny - Hmm, maybe that what I'll do once I finish laundry start S2 of SH =)
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Thanks for the cheer!
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No, seriously ::is ded::
::also has coffee on monitor::
The John S. in my head just glared at me and dead-panned "Yes. Why do you think I was going along with the plan?"