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Sherlock/Gossip Girl Round Robin Fic (aka the only way I can get Frances to write Sherlock fic)
I just know some of you are dying to write a Sherlock/Gossip Girl round robin fic. Know it. Today is your lucky day! See, ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
goldy_dollar and I started writing one (a haunted house is involved and everything!), but quickly decided that we shouldn't be hogging all the fun. Okay, we got stuck.
mrv3000 wrote:
Thengoldy_dollar wrote:
goldy_dollar and I started writing one (a haunted house is involved and everything!), but quickly decided that we shouldn't be hogging all the fun. Okay, we got stuck.mrv3000 wrote:"BORED."
John sighed. One would think that by now Sherlock would have some other words he could yell across the flat. He could try 'I'M A PRAT.' John was pretty sure he wouldn't get tired of that any time soon.
"JOHN. DO SOMETHING."
The yellee sighed again. "You know, my mum always said that only boring people get bored."
Sherlock looked absolute daggers at him and opened his mouth to most likely fire off a long list of rude things about his mum. EVASIVE MANEUVERS.
"Sherlock, this might be interesting," John tried, quickly cutting Sherlock off by pulling up an email. "Someone -- a Blair - not sure if that's a woman or a bloke -- needs your help about an inheritance in Chichester. A large manor--"
"DULL. Really, John? What makes you think I'd even begin to consider dabbling in inheritance nonsense? Unless there was a murder. Was there a murder?" Sherlock perked up slightly.
"Hmm. Doesn't mention murder, but it does say the manor's haunted. Might have been a murder to get the haunting, you know." John grinned. "Always loved a good ghost story."
Sherlock flopped on the sofa. "Fine."
"Wait. Seriously?"
"Yes, fine. This most likely only rates a 2 -- superstitious people are rather hysterical in more than one sense -- but GOOD GOD I AM BORED."
John silently cheered and pondered just how much tea to pack.
Then
goldy_dollar wrote:"I'm not going in there."
Somehow, even though she wobbled unsteadily on heels that were slowly sinking into the lawn, Blair managed to aim a perfectly formed pout in his direction.
Dan was unmoved. A six hour overnight flight to England would be a big test for any new relationship. For theirs it was practically deadly.
"Blair," he said. "Your great-aunt left you this house. If you can call a building with three stories and 26 bedrooms a 'house.' Look, there are even gardeners outside. Paid staff. You'll feel right at home."
The pout turned into a narrowed eye squint. "Don't distract me," she said. "I know full well what's inside that house. Death."
"Okay now you're just being dramatic. Let's just go inside and -"
"Surely you overheard my mother last night. The house is haunted. Dark shadows in front of windows, lights flickering in the middle of the night. Mysterious animal deaths in the area? I'm not going in there. At least, not without a a priest and some holy water." She grabbed his arm. "Dan, let's just go into town and find the nearest church. It won't take us that long."
Dan sighed. "Blair."
She crossed her arms. "Save it, Humphrey. I told you. I'm not going in there."
Dan studied her, torn between his irritation and finding her completely adorable.
Just another day in his life, then.
"Okay, fine," he said. "Stay out here."
Without another word, he grabbed his suitcase and strode across the lawn.
"WAIT!" Blair shouted behind him. "Humphrey!"
He turned around and Blair ran - well, more like trotted with her arms waving, given her choice in footwear - towards him.
"Fine," she said. "But we're not staying overnight."
He smiled. "Deal. And who knows? It might give me material for my next book."
"Better not," she muttered.
She perked up when they reached the front of the house and a middle-aged, very stout woman in an apron came out to meet them.
"You must be Miss Blair," said the woman, in a heavy accent. "I'm so sorry for your loss. Lady Eloise always spoke very highly of you."
Blair held up a hand. "Did I ask for a life story? No. You'll find my suitcase in the car we parked in the driveway. Thank you."
Blair swept past the woman. Embarrassed, Dan tried to send her an apologetic smile, but she simply muttered "I can see the family resemblance" and gestured to someone outside.
Dan followed Blair into the parlor, whispering, "Blair, I know you're on edge, but you don't have to abuse the -" before stopping mid-sentence. There was a long, lanky man dressed in a black button up coat standing next to the banister.
"What did I tell you," said Blair, rounding on Dan. "HAUNTED. SEE."
"Excuse me?" said the man.
"What?" said Dan.
"Nobody is that pale," said Blair. She gestured at the man. "Not a LIVING person, anyway. Told you. Haunted."
The man stepped forward. "You people need more help than I thought."
"Oh, and he's a rude ghost." She pointed a finger at Dan. "We should have gone to a priest."
"Blair, I really don't think he's a ghost."
Blair's eyes ticked from Dan, to the man, and then back again. She folded her arms across her chest. "Okay. I accept that maybe you're just a freakishly pale man. What do you want?"
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MICHELLE, I HOPE YOU'RE TAKING NOTES, BECAUSE YOUR GUILT TRIP WAS A POOR EFFORT.
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Now he ships Elena/His Next Companion.
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It needed to be said.
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....she's not Sherlock?
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Meanwhile John and Sherlock, no longer dead, were staring at each other with arms crossed due to a disagreement about the amount of tea John should pack. In order to distract Sherlock, John leaned over and kissed him. While Sherlock recovered John zipped the case shut and Sherlock simply eyed him but said nothing. (This is rare for Sherlock so let us all bask in this moment of Sherlock silence.)
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