Shamaël Posted January 28, 2017 Share Posted January 28, 2017 Hello everyone! This is a first attempt at drabbles (I’ve never done this before but I love the idea), as I have finished my Sherlock fic and my Secret Santa. I can’t write very short things (I’ve tried but I really can’t), so I’m afraid I’ll have to divide some of them in two or three parts (that’s the case for the 3 first drabbles I’ve written, which make one short story). I apologize in advance for the probable angst in some drabbles (the first one, for instance, isn't exactly funny). I’ll do my best to write some lighter things too. The main fandoms will be (of course) Star Trek and Sherlock, but also Harry Potter, James Bond (I just love Q too much), The Big Bang Theory (I can’t possibly write angsty drabbles for this fandom, can I? ), and maybe other films such as Star Wars or Indiana Jones. I always listen to music when I write, so I'll just give you some titles in case you'd like to have a musical atmosphere while reading it... Comments are of course appreciated! As usual, if I make some mistakes, please be indulgent but feel free to tell me, I am really willing to improve my English (this is partly why I'm writing some fics on this forum). 1) Evidence – 2) Fatality – 3) Nightmare – 4) Lies – 5) Experiment – 6) Addicted – 7) Dust – 8) Threat – 9) Lullaby – 10) Engagement – 11) Shadow – 12) Nostalgia – 13) Eternal – 14) Goodbye – 15) Stumble – 16) Remorseful – 17) Unfold – 18) Health – 19) Starve – 20) Last dance – 21) Contempt – 22) Careful – 23) Cheating – 24) Punctual – 25) Naked – 26) Chocolate – 27) Divided – 28) Under pressure – 29) Superstition – 30) Machine – 31) Sacrifice – 32) Numb – 33) Forget – 34) Whistle – 35) Tactile – 36) Now – 37) Heartbeat – 38) On my mind – 39) Butterflies – 40) Fake – 41) Rhythm – 42) Panic – 43) Desire – 44) Morgue – 45) Contagious – 46) Hush – 47) Ashes – 48) Beautiful – 49) Try again – 50) Ring – 51) I know – 52) Open your eyes – 53) Effort – 54) Whispered – 55) Sheltered – 56) Spring – 57) Alone – 58) Guess – 59) Erratic – 60) Lost – 61) Meant no harm – 62) Music – 63) Killing – 64) Tomorrow – 65) Snore – 66) Starlight – 67) Run – 68) Winners and losers – 69) Friend – 70) Blood – 71) Confusion – 72) Chalk dust – 73) Alive – 74) Breathing – 75) Hide – 76) Untouchable – 77) Fire – 78) Involved – 79) Glass – 80) Hope – 81) Gloves – 82) Missing – 83) Worst day – 84) Locked – 85) Calling – 86) Agony – 87) Fighting – 88) Garden – 89) Isolation – 90) All I ask – 91) Compromised – 92) Soaked – 93) Tissues – 94) Full moon – 95) Solve – 96) Nosebleed – 97) Cuddle – 98) Jealous – 99) Shield – 100) Rain 1 - Worst day Fandom : Sherlock BBC Sneezing person: Mycroft Holmes Reason: illness Warning: mention of drugs and overdose (well, this is Sherlock after all) Music : The Unforgiven (Metallica) This was probably one of the worst days of his life – and his life already had had his share of not good, bad and very bad days. The hospital had called him at 3:00 on the morning. They were not sure Sherlock was going to wake up. And the only thing he could do was to hold Sherlock’s hand and hope he would wake up. The fact that he had indeed awaken didn’t make the whole situation less horrible. His brother was a junkie. He had been on drugs for four years. Ten hours ago he had almost died from an overdose. And Mycroft had not seen this coming. Oh, yes, incidentally he had learnt that Sherlock had created a “mind palace” where he could bury his emotions and feelings, an imaginary place he could take refuge in to avoid being hurt, parting himself from reality. And on top of all that, Mycroft now had to deal with the policeman who had found his little brother dying in the street. He wasn’t exactly mentally fit for this confrontation. Not after all that had been said between Sherlock and himself during that last half hour – too much personal things, too much sentiment, just… too much. He needed to pull himself together, but he felt exhausted and unable to do so. He wasn’t fit physically either, after this restless night. He was cold. He was unwell. He was sick, in every sense of the word. He just wanted to leave and hide. Yet he had to face the sergeant who was waiting for him on the other side of the door. And he was to blame for that too. He had been tired enough to let a still high Sherlock “play” with the man, scanning him and deducing everything he could, instead of just saying “thank you for saving my life”, like any normal person would have done. The elder glanced one last time at Sherlock. He was so thin and pale that Mycroft shivered. How could he be so blind? How could he not see what was going on before his eyes? Did he refuse to acknowledge the obvious because he did not want to deal with the aftermath? He sniffed discretely, feeling a suspicious dampness in his nose. The icing on the cake, to make this day even worse, would be a cold, right now. - Are you going to be all right? Sherlock gave him an incredulous and contemptuous look. - Mycroft, I am in a hospital. How could I be all right? The younger tossed in his bed, turning away from him, crawling back and locking himself into his mind palace, where nothing and no one could ever reach him. Mycroft knew he wouldn’t come out for a long time. And certainly not for his brother. The elder Holmes sniffed again and fumble in his pockets to retrieve his handkerchief and blow his nose to be at least presentable before the man who had just saved his brother. But there was no handkerchief in any of his pockets, because he had left in a hurry – he had even forgotten his umbrella. Yes, this was the worst day of his life, because only this could explain and excuse such an unforgivable carelessness. He never forgot neither his umbrella (you never know when such an item can be useful, so better carry it with you all the time) nor his handkerchief (he knew too well he would probably need it during the day). He scanned the room in search for a tissue, but there was none. Another sniffle, a bit harder and louder, was necessary to clear his nose and prevent it from running. He certainly would not wipe it neither with his sleeve, nor with any part of any of his clothes, let alone with his hands. Definitely not. He was not Sherlock, who had always loved spreading his germs. He had his dignity. He sniffed for the fourth time and was rewarded by a bout of cough. Yes, that was definitely a cold, but for the time being, everything was under control. He could only hope that it would remain under control until the discussion with the policeman was over. He waited a few seconds, trying to put back his usual mask, but anticipating that the confrontation wasn’t going to be pleasant, and left the room. In the corridor, the sergeant was waiting. Which was logical, after all, since Mycroft had asked him to do so, after his brother’s little performance. Despite his fatigue and concern, he smiled and hold out his hand to the man in front of him. - Thank you for waiting, sergeant…? - Lestrade. - I am Mycroft Holmes. Once again, thank you for my brother. The policeman shrugged. - It was only my duty. Mycroft was about to comment on that fact (he knew a lot of policemen who certainly would not have stopped a manhunt to take a junkie to the hospital), but his nose chose this precise moment to interfere in the conversation, so he wisely decided not to say a word and sniffed quietly instead. That was indeed a wise decision, because the next moment he felt a tingling sensation in the back of his nose – and he knew that he was not going to be able to keep it under control. - I have a few questions to ask you, the sergeant added. First you have to explain what your brother is playing at. - What are you talking about, sergeant Lestrade? Mycroft said politely, hoping the congestion in his voice was not too obvious. - I am talking about what your brother did not ten minutes ago. Saying all these things about me, my life, my wife, my job, the case I’m working on… Do you realise it sounds very suspicious? The eldest Holmes sighed inwardly, not daring to perform such an action for real, because his nose, considering its state, would strongly disagree and manifest its disagreement in a messy way. This was the result of Sherlock’s little games. Now he had to explain to a potentially, even probably obtuse policeman their family situation, his brother’s mental specificities (and, incidentally, his own abilities), and no doubt his reward would be in the best case a dubious look, in the worst case disbelief and maybe even insults. He was used to it, but it was becoming tedious. For the moment, he needed a tissue or something similar if he didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of sergeant Lestrade. And he needed it as soon as possible. - Of course, he answered, always affable (politeness had always been his best weapon). But wouldn’t you rather discuss this over a coffee? His voice hitched a bit on the last word. Not now, he silently pleaded while he felt his breath starting to hitch and the pressure increasing in his sinuses. For the first time in his life, he blessed the awfully long build-up which invariably preceded his nasal outbursts when he had a cold. If he managed to get to the cafeteria without sneezing, he would hopefully find something – anything – to blow his nose before the inevitable happened. They didn’t say a word during their five-minutes way to the hospital cafeteria, which suited Mycroft perfectly, because he would have been almost unable to speak (for God’s sake, he was already almost unable to breathe). He was also grateful for the fact that, as long as they walked side by side, the man couldn’t see his twitching nostrils and teary eyes. Sherlock had always mocked the “weird faces” his elder brother unavoidably made when he had to sneeze and Mycroft was not especially eager to make a fool of himself in front of a man he was going to fight with verbally in the next minutes. He managed to order a black tea in his almost normal voice and grabbed a napkin on the counter. The tickling in his sinuses had become almost unbearable and his breathing was absolutely not under control anymore. He hated the way his sneezes progressively settled in his nose, crawling along his nasal cavities but denying him the final release during agonisingly long minutes. He hated those sharp inhales and those shuddering exhales, which came in and out of him against his will, preventing him from concentrating on anything else. While the sergeant was sitting, the elder Holmes swiftly put his tea on the table and turned to face the wall, raising his ridiculously small napkin in front of his nose to catch the explosion. He didn’t have to wait a long time, as though the sneeze had had pity on Mycroft and waited for him to be ready. - Hishh’tchh! Mycroft wrapped his nose in the rough fabric and blew, trying not to draw attention on him. Then he turned towards the policeman and sat in front of him. - Apologies, he said, squeezing the damp napkin in his right hand and hoping he was not going to need it again. - Bless you, Lestrade answered politely (which was a good surprise; Mycroft liked good manners, even when it came from someone he potentially disliked). Well, now, maybe you could tell me… The elder Holmes held up one finger to motion the man to wait a moment. He was not able to speak, let alone to apologise for such a rude interruption, because the itch had returned with full power. He turned on his side to sneeze as far as possible from the sergeant and pressed the crumpled napkin under his nose, his left hand leaning on the table for support while he pitched forwards. - Heh… Esh’schuhh! Hehtchuhh! Hih’ISSHchhuh! Hh’ETCHHuh! Finally, the tickle abated and he was able to breathe normally (through the mouth, of course, since his nose was completely stuffed, but that was an improvement). He straightened on his chair, not daring remove his right hand – and the protection of the thin and already drenched napkin – from his nose, not daring look at the sergeant, cheeks burning with humiliation. Suddenly, he felt something crawling under his left hand and a voice reached his ears. - Here, take mine. He glanced at the policeman, who was handing him his own napkin in a very natural way. He didn’t seem particularly disgusted or derisive. Mycroft thankfully took the small square and blew his nose, releasing an awful gurgling noise which made him cringe and wish he was a hundred miles away. - Thank you, he managed to say. I am afraid I forgot my handkerchief. Lestrade nodded in sympathy and fumbled in his pockets. He finally retrieved a half-empty pack of tissues and put it on the table, near Mycroft’s cup of tea. - Use them if you need, I have another box in my car. Mycroft wanted to thank him again (he was sincerely grateful for the gesture which saved him from humiliation – just after these dreadful build-ups, the most horrible thing when he was ill was the amount of bodily fluids his nose was able to release, hence the need to always have a handkerchief at hand), but the man cut him off, opening hostilities. - Well? He asked, not too harshly but not too gently either. How could your brother read all this from me, just by looking at me? - Was he wrong about anything? - No. Absolutely not. That’s what makes this little trick even weirder. Mycroft repressed a cough. - There is no “trick” in his deductions, I assure you. I can, if you wish, “read” as easily any of the doctors, patients or visitors in this room. The policeman rolled his eyes and sneered. - Do not try to divert my attention from your brother, Mr. Holmes. Ah. Maybe the man wasn’t as obtuse or stupid as Mycroft had first thought. In this precise circumstances, it didn’t suit him. Of course he was trying to divert the sergeant’s attention from his stupid little brother. He spent his whole life diverting attention from Sherlock. And it was a full-time job. There was no time left for entertainment – and no time left for being ill, he thought wearily, feeling another tickle in his nose. Link to comment
Subtly Clashing Wishes Posted January 28, 2017 Share Posted January 28, 2017 This a great start to your drabble thread! I love the long build up in your story to Mycroft sneezing. Much like his own long build ups. Hmm.... And now you have left us on the precipice... teasing us just like Mycroft's sneezes tease him. You are wonderfully wicked. Bit of editing... only because I know you want to improve your English. 1 hour ago, Aliena H. said: But don’t you rather speak in front of a coffee? But wouldn't you rather discuss this over a coffee? I am definitely looking forward to reading more of your drabbles for all of your fandoms. Link to comment
AngelEyes Posted January 29, 2017 Share Posted January 29, 2017 An excellent start to a new thread. I'm very much looking forward to. 11 hours ago, Aliena H. said: And on top of all that, Mycroft now had to deal with the policeman who had found his little brother dying in the street. Don't worry, Lestrade is good! 11 hours ago, Aliena H. said: - Mycroft, I am in a hospital. How could I be all right? True 11 hours ago, Aliena H. said: But there was no handkerchief in any of his pockets, because he had left in a hurry – he had even forgotten his umbrella. Oh no! Must be the end of the world! 11 hours ago, Aliena H. said: - Bless you, Lestrade answered politely (which was a good surprise; Mycroft liked good manners, even when it came from someone he potentially disliked). Well, that's a good start. 11 hours ago, Aliena H. said: - Do not try to divert my attention from your brother, Mr. Holmes. Ah. Maybe the man wasn’t as obtuse or stupid as Mycroft had first thought. Definitely not! Looking forward to seeing where this goes! Link to comment
cally Posted January 31, 2017 Share Posted January 31, 2017 On 28/01/2017 at 4:44 PM, Aliena H. said: Mycroft liked good manners, even when it came from someone he potentially disliked Well, of course he does. I look forward to seeing someone else's take on Mycroft. Link to comment
Shamaël Posted February 2, 2017 Author Share Posted February 2, 2017 @Sanguine Cheerful Worrier: Thank you for the comment and the edit (I changed the sentence in the last part)! I must confess that build-up is something I really, really like... @AngelEyes: Thanks for the always nice comments! Yes, this is the end of the world for Mycroft (his umbrella is a part of himself, and now that I have seen Skerlock's last season, I understand why...) @cally: Thanks! Yes, politeness is important to Mycroft, that's something I think we all share in our head canons... (I'll try to update every week and to vary the fandoms (except when my story is to long and has to be cut... ). I'm working on a James Bond drabble right now.) Lestrade's point of view was quite difficult to write, but I really wanted to try it. 2 - Guess (continuation to 1 - Worst day) Fandom: Sherlock BBC Sneezing person: Mycroft Holmes Reason: illness Warning: same as the previous one Music: Danse macabre “dance of death” (Camille Saint-Saëns) - I have very eclectic musical tastes. Mycroft (was that a real first name? Lestrade doubted it) Holmes might be a stubborn man, the sergeant assumed when he saw him discretely pointing at a woman seated not far from them. All Gregory wanted was an answer to his question, but the guy wanted to play some more. - Have a look at that woman at the table just on our left, he said very quietly – and his voice sounded a bit unsteady. She is a cook in the hospital cafeteria, eating before she has to serve the patients for rush hour. She’s got at least a child, an infant, and she is not very rich. Of course, Lestrade knew what his interlocutor was attempting to do, and he also knew he should have refocus the discussion over his brother, but there was something strangely thrilling in this deduction game. The policeman didn’t know how the other man could have “read” their neighbour with a simple glance. He wasn’t even sure Holmes wasn’t making guesses and talking nonsense to divert his attention from Sherlock (another strange name, by the way). He should have cut him off, but the man intrigued him, he couldn’t deny it. - She’s dressed as any visitor, he finally countered, entering the game in spite of himself. Are you taking a guess hoping I would forget what I first asked you? He regretted his question as soon as he had asked it. That was not why he was here. Wasn’t he able to conduct a proper examination? It seemed that the man in front of him had casted a spell on him. He wanted to get what he wanted and leave, but he just couldn’t. Mycroft Holmes had a faint smile, followed by a sharp inhale and a nose wrinkle. - This is certainly not a guess. Sherlock and I do not guess. Look at the access pass showing from the woman’s left pocket, he explained patiently. This is the same logo for all the hospital staff. But she doesn’t wear her serving clothes, so she must be off duty for the moment. However, she eats in the cafeteria, which means that her day is not over – otherwise she would have left back home. The food here is not exactly appealing. He had made that last dry comment with a disgusted look towards his tea. Lestrade couldn’t help but smile. His espresso wasn’t great, but it was okay. But surely this Mr. Holmes had other standard than his – the suit he was wearing costed at least a month of his own wages. He paused in his monologue and breathed unsteadily, as if fighting back a sneeze, before coming back to his explanation, voice more or less under control. - Her hands are slightly red because she’s been cooking beetroots – you can see the starters from here, if you bend a bit on your left. He also have… ehhh… a stain on her back. She probably didn’t notice it, or was unable to make it disappear, but it’s unquestionably – hih… hehhh… aahhh… This time, he was cut off in the middle of a sentence, breath hitching, and he hastily retrieved a tissue from the pack Gregory had put on the table, dabbing his nose with it. - I apologise for the disturbance. The man was almost too polite, and it generally arouse the sergeant’s suspicion and made him wonder what the person wanted from him, but in this case, he suspected Mycroft Holmes was always polite. Not that he didn’t want anything from him, but he certainly had other ways to get it. It was obvious that this man wasn’t just anybody – Lestrade knew he was powerful and potentially dangerous, and that wasn’t a guess. A gut feeling, maybe, but his gut feelings were usually reliable. - I was saying that this stain was unquestionably traces from an infant’s milk regurgitation. Her pull-over is worn, and her shoes have had better days, therefore she is not very rich. Hospital cooks are not very… huh… very well paid. Gregory had to admit he was impressed. That was quite a deduction – and he did not doubt that it was the truth. Now that his interlocutor had pointed them out, he could see in the woman’s body all the details which, put together, explained the conclusion. He looked at Holmes and was struck by the sudden stiffness of his posture – not that he had been relaxed before, but he was now so tense that he seemed about to break, as if he was gearing up… for what? - That’s a wonderful gift you have! He exclaimed genuinely, and he saw a hint of surprise, and maybe relief, in the man’s eyes. If I may ask, what do you do for a living? I mean, you and your brother? (He certainly wasn’t going to drop the topic Sherlock, not after what the junkie had told him about the murderer he had been hunting for days.) - I work for … hih-hheh-ahhh… Once again, he raised his hand a few inches from his face, once again, his eyes half-closed, his mouth parted, but the second after he blinked and sighed. - I work for the government in a minor position. EHhh… Ex-excuse me… I… Hehhh… Holmes was obviously endeavouring to regain some control, but Lestrade could have told him that it was a lost cause. He looked rather ill, now that the sergeant observed his face more closely. - Hh’IESHHuh! Ehh… Hhh-huh’ITSCHCHH! The man remained for some seconds in a bending position, as if waiting for another sneeze, but as none came, he blew his nose and straighten on his chair. - Bless you. - Thank you. - You never considered joining the police? The sergeant asked, coming back to the previous topic. Mycroft Holmes sniffed and took a sip of his tea. The wince which followed was almost comical in its exaggeration – surely it couldn’t be that disgusting… - No. I believe I am rather useful in the place I hold and I hate… legwork. Staying in an office all day long suits me perfectly. - What about your brother then? Do you think what he said about the murderer is true? The younger Holmes had not only deduced everything he could about the sergeant, he had also said everything he had noticed about the case he was investigating on. In the street where he had stumbled and fallen, completely drugged, almost unconscious and about to die, he had apparently seen the criminal the police was chasing – and he had noticed things about him. Very useful things, Lestrade thought. For instance the fact that the murderer was a maniac who would never abandon his usual itinerary. It sounded very convincing and corroborated the sergeant’s intuitions. But how could he be sure that it wasn’t the delirium of a drug-addict? - Yes, I am absolutely certain he is right. My brother and myself have gotten into the habit of observing people around us and deducing things about them, which seems strange at first sight, but I assure you that this is perfectly reliable. Sherlock is quite talented for that “game”, as you called it earlier. - So you believe that… that if I come back to that dead end where your brother saw the murderer, I… - You won’t be ridiculous, Mycroft promised. And you’ll catch your man. A coughing spell prevented him from adding anything, and he muffled it in his tissue. Gregory sighed and stroked his face. Could he trust these men? He knew nothing about them, but something in him told him that they weren’t just boasting – they were right about everything. And if he was mistaken, well, things wouldn’t be worse than they already were. - Well, trying will cost nothing. I’m out of my depths in… - Heehh’Essshhhh! Mycroft Holmes suddenly jolted forward, without any warning, and almost failed to catch the unexpected sneeze in the tissue he had kept in his right hand. - Bless you. This one snuck up on you, didn’t it? The man tried to answer, but all he could manage was unintelligible syllables. - I… Heh… It… Hah… EEhhh… HhhhETSCHH! He turned hastily on the right side. - I am… hihhh… truly sorry. May I take another of your tissues, please? Lestrade couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Was the man serious? - I already told you you could use the whole pack. You seem to need them more than I do, he added when he saw the man’s chest heaving again and his look become unfocused. - Hh’IESHHuh! Hheeh’IESHHhh! The sneezes were not very loud, but they made his whole body shiver, and Lestrade found himself thinking Mycroft Holmes would better be in bed. Well, that’s probably where he would be if the sergeant had not insisted on getting answers right now. He didn’t feel terribly guilty though – he had the odd and completely irrational feeling that this conversation was important. Holmes hastily grabbed another tissue and clamped it over his running nose. - Bless you again. That’s a hell of a cold you’ve got. (The man didn’t answer and seemed almost embarrassed, so Lestrade dropped the matter – not that he was particularly interested in Mycroft Holmes’ health, he just wanted to be polite.) You didn’t tell me why your brother didn’t join the police. The elder Holmes finally removed the tissue from his face. - What makes you think he did not? he asked, looking sharply at the sergeant. After all, there are cocaine addicts amongst the policemen as well. - No, I didn’t mean… It’s just that… Your brother doesn’t… Well, I don’t know how to explain, but… He didn’t know what to answer. He knew what he thought, but was unable to explain it. His interlocutor cut him off gently. - Are you taking a guess? He asked with a half-smile. Lestrade shook his head. - No, it’s more like… intuition – but I imagine that’s not a concept you believe in. - On the contrary, sergeant Lestrade. I am pretty sure that was not a guess. You deduced that Sherlock is not a policeman, but you did not understand the unconscious reasoning which lays behind your conclusion. You are sure of it but you cannot explain why. Call it intuition if you want. Intuition is something quite common, but it comes from very deep within our reasoning, so deep that we do not understand it. My brother and I have trained ourselves to understand the link between effects and causes; we systematized our deductions and elaborated a kind of key for understanding everything around us. It has become a reflex – and it is efficient, I assure you. Instinctively, Lestrade believed him. It was a very curious impression – as if he had known during all his life that such men existed. He would have given ten years of his life to be granted such an extraordinary power, but he didn’t feel envy. Being more intelligent than anyone in the world did not make you the happiest person. After all, the younger had almost died from an overdose… - I understand, he nodded thoughtfully, aware that Mycroft Holmes expected an answer. That’s fascinating. (His interlocutor looked at him in disbelief, but he really meant it. The whole discussion was fascinating. Why did these two men never considered working in the police? They would have done miracles.) But what happened to your brother? Didn’t he find a way to use his skills? Mycroft Holmes wanted to answer, but instead he turned away to sneeze once more. - Huhh’IHHtscchh! There was only one tissue left in the pack and Gregory wondered absentmindedly if it would be enough for the end of their conversation. What conversation? He immediately wondered to himself. You have what you wanted, why do you linger? Why indeed. That was a good question. Link to comment
Subtly Clashing Wishes Posted February 5, 2017 Share Posted February 5, 2017 Oh, I like this from Greg's POV. It leads to things like this... On February 2, 2017 at 8:44 AM, Aliena H. said: Mycroft Holmes had a faint smile, followed by a sharp inhale and a nose wrinkle. I had to stop at that bit for a moment and savor the image. On February 2, 2017 at 8:44 AM, Aliena H. said: - Heehh’Essshhhh! Mycroft Holmes suddenly jolted forward, without any warning, and almost failed to catch the unexpected sneeze in the tissue he had kept in his right hand. Oh dear, that would not do at all! Given his usual pattern that was very uncharacteristic. I'm sure Mycroft hoped Greg didn't notice... On February 2, 2017 at 8:44 AM, Aliena H. said: - Bless you. This one snuck up on you, didn’t it? Well, no such luck. Your explanation of intuition was very well reasoned and well explained. I like to think Greg Lestrade is a rather intelligent, intuitive person and only looks stupid when he is hanging out with the Holmes brothers. I get the sense there will be more conversation. And I, like Greg, wonder if that last tissue is going to be enough. Link to comment
matilda3948 Posted February 5, 2017 Share Posted February 5, 2017 I love these!! I always get a resurgence of Sherlock feels after a new season. Link to comment
AngelEyes Posted February 9, 2017 Share Posted February 9, 2017 On 2/2/2017 at 7:44 AM, Aliena H. said: - No, it’s more like… intuition – but I imagine that’s not a concept you believe in. - On the contrary, sergeant Lestrade. I am pretty sure that was not a guess. You deduced that Sherlock is not a policeman, but you did not understand the unconscious reasoning which lays behind your conclusion. You are sure of it but you cannot explain why. Call it intuition if you want. Intuition is something quite common, but it comes from very deep within our reasoning, so deep that we do not understand it. My brother and I have trained ourselves to understand the link between effects and causes; we systematized our deductions and elaborated a kind of key for understanding everything around us. It has become a reflex – and it is efficient, I assure you. I love this part. It's a great explanation of intuition and it suits Greg quite nicely. Link to comment
Shamaël Posted February 9, 2017 Author Share Posted February 9, 2017 On 05/02/2017 at 2:05 PM, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: I like to think Greg Lestrade is a rather intelligent, intuitive person and only looks stupid when he is hanging out with the Holmes brothers. Yes, that's exactly what I think - and what I like in the show. In Conan Doyle's books, Lestrade isn't really intelligent, but Gatiss and Moffat changed the character and I really like it. I wanted to develop a bit that character and show that he could be intuitive, as intelligent as any other man and above all very human. (And I always welcome edits, of course!) On 05/02/2017 at 7:56 PM, matilda3948 said: I always get a resurgence of Sherlock feels after a new season. So do I... I've been rewatching the first season and reading some ACD's short stories and yes, I'm definitely in love with Sherlock. @AngelEyes: Thank you so much for your continuous support!!! This is te last part of this short Mycroft-Lestrade story. I've planned to write at least 3 more featuring these characters, but the next drabble will be Star Trek (yeah, I know, it was a very long time...) because I'm stuck with James Bond and Q... And Jim wanted to join the party, so I just let him do what he wanted. 3 - Hope (continuation to 1 - Worst day and 2 - Guess) Fandom : Sherlock BBC Sneezing person: Mycroft Holmes Reason: illness / allergies, who knows with Mycroft Holmes ? Warning: same as the previous one Music: Wonderful life (Black) – I just LOVE this song and the “no need to run and hide” seemed appropriate here. Mycroft was completely taken aback, and it was not something he was used to. From the beginning of the confrontation with sergeant Lestrade, he had prepared for the inevitable reaction, which Sherlock had to face daily, each time he tried to exhibit his abilities to anyone. The elder Holmes never displayed his skills in public, precisely to avoid being accused to be a boaster or / and a psychopath. But instead of scoffing at him, or looking at him in disbelief, or yelling at him, or leaving in anger, the sergeant had stared at the cook, then at his interlocutor, and whistled and expressed his admiration. He seemed genuinely curious and open-minded, which had encouraged Mycroft to play the politics of sincerity. Well, relative sincerity, of course – after all, it’s hard to say to a complete stranger that you work for the MI5, for the MI6 and for almost every Ministries, especially when every single thing you do is classified. In fact, the conversation had almost turned out to be friendly. It was at the same time thrilling and suspicious. Now that the sergeant had had his answers about the murderer Sherlock had seen, why did he linger? There was something Mycroft didn’t understand here, and it bothered him. - Apologies, he said when he finally managed to get his nose under control (for how long, he didn’t know, but it was better than nothing). You see, the problem with my brother… Mycroft wavered. What could he say, what was he allowed to tell to this complete stranger? He felt oddly drawn by the man, who was not the stupid policeman he was expecting to fight against. He seemed so… understanding and benevolent – and, even if he wasn’t willing to admit it, sympathy was something even Mycroft Holmes needed sometimes. Not often, but sometimes. And he had to save Sherlock. No matter the price. And maybe this sergeant was the key to it. - My brother is not a very… sociable man. He has problems to communicate and it is very difficult, not to say impossible, for him to work in association with other human beings. He tried but the result wasn’t conclusive. That was an understatement, Mycroft thought. Any sane and normal individual ran away from Sherlock after two minutes in his company. - What a pity! Lestrade said, apparently sincere. - However, if… Mycroft blamed himself for hesitating again. His brother’s mental health, his brother’s life were at stake. If he didn’t find a way to divert his mind from his addiction, to give him something more attractive than the cocaine, Sherlock was going to die, that was as simple as that. - If…? The sergeant encouraged him. That man was an enigma. Was he really trying to help him? And why? And of course it was when his breath started hitching again, which made his request all the more weird. - Well, if… hhehh… If you catch that man, in that dead end, maybe you could… hih… you could… hheh-huh-EHH… He was sure he was going to sneeze and took the last tissue in the sergeant’s pack, but the tickle lessened, remaining in his nose, a bit too annoying to be ignored, but certainly not powerful enough to trigger an expulsion. - Sorry. What I mean is that, if you have the proof that my brother is not only a delirious junkie… hahh… maybe you have some unsolved or problematic cases… huh-heh-hhhh… He felt stupidly ill-at-ease, and not only embarrassed by that stupid sneeze which wouldn’t come out. He was never ill-at-ease though, so why now? Asking such things to the man who had just saved Sherlock seemed a wrong way to thank him. Since when did Mycroft Holmes ask for help, anyway? And asked for it to Scotland Yard? Since he was desperate was the right answer, but he was not sure he was ready to accept it. - Are you asking me to share the police data with your brother? Lestrade said, staring at him in disbelief and even shock. He could have threaten the man, of course. He could have tried to bribe him. But he was almost sure that anger and contempt would be his only response. He always felt disarmed in front of honesty – and Lestrade was honest, that was obvious. He had let go a murderer to save an anonymous junkie in a desert street. He had come back the day after at the hospital to see how the young man was doing. He was more than honest, he was kind – and how do you deal with a kind man when you are yourself out of normal human relationships? - I don’t know, Mycroft answered with sincerity, briefly closing his eyes in exhaustion. I was just… looking for a solution. Any solution. The itch had returned and he needed all his strength of will not to sniff thickly or rub his nose or do something stupid which would just delay the final release he now desperately hoped would come very soon. - You think your brother… - Hehh’ISSHH! Lestrade paused and blessed him once more, waiting for the fit to subside before carrying on with his question. That was wise, because Mycroft’s nose was not done. - Hiih’ESSHHheeh! Hhh-IESSHHhehh! The sneezes were more and more powerful, and less and less easy to control, even if he managed to keep them to an acceptable decibels level by muffling them in the tissue. He shuddered and forced himself to turn his attention back to his interlocutor, in spite of the increasing pressure in his sinuses. He had the very uncomfortable impression that his head was going to explode at any minute. - Please excuse be and carry od. Oh, and he was not even able to pronounce correctly one-syllabic words. How wonderful. - You think your brother takes drugs because he’s bored? Because he can’t use his skills and that his brain is under-exploited? Okay, not only the man was absolutely not obtuse, but he was also probably subtle and clever. Mycroft had no other choice but to lay his cards on the table and to offer Lestrade his last resource – absolute truth. That, when he would be able to speak, of course. - Hih’EhhhCCHHhih! Yes. I am sure that if Sherlock had an outlet, something he could keep his mind busy with, even from time to time, everything would be easier. As long as – heh… As long as he has been interested in his studies, he has not been interested in drugs. The elder Holmes didn’t want to think about what had happened afterwards. Four years, Mycroft. Four years and you saw nothing. - Well, listen… - Heh’ITSCHhh! If only he could stop sneezing. He suspected that, besides his obvious illness, there was in the room something he was allergic to – if this was only a cold, the sneezes would not come that fast (fast for him, of course – everything was relative) and so numerous. - … I think the best course would be to keep each other in touch. Can you give me your phone number? Sorry, what? Mycroft couldn’t believe his ears. He doubted he was able to think properly. This didn’t make sense. Maybe he was more ill than he had first thought. A police sergeant actually offered to help him? He released a last explosive sneeze in his now completely drenched tissue. - Huh’ITSCHCHH! You mean… - I mean I will see what I can do. The allusion was clear: if I catch the murderer where your brother said I would catch him. But of course the man would be where Sherlock had said he would be, Mycroft had no doubt about that. He was about to thank his interlocutor, but Lestrade cut him off: - I’d really want to help you, Mr. Holmes. There has been some drugs problems in my family too and I know how difficult it can be. So, if I can be of any help… Anyway. I call you later. I have to go now, he added with a half-sigh and a half-yawn. I have to face both my boss and my wife. Absolutely not obtuse, very subtle and much, much more compassionate than most men. Lestrade raised, and Mycroft mirrored him, shaking his hand willingly and even heartily (normally, he avoided all human contact, but with this man who really wanted to help both himself and Sherlock… well, that was different). - I don’t know how to thank you, Mr. Lestrade. I would like to offer you something, but… - But you deduced I would refuse it, and you’re right. I still believe in some things, you know, and honesty is one of them. I’ll be frank with you: I will try to ask your brother for advice about old and closed cases, but don’t expect for any miracles. I’m not a high-ranking member of Scotland Yard and I don’t want to do anything illegal. - I understand, Mycroft answered, handing him his visiting card. What you offer is already a lot. Lestrade shrugged again. - I fail to see why an intelligent and fully capable man should be left behind on the pretext that he’s different. But I am aware that not all people think like me, so I don’t promise anything. Good bye, Mr. Holmes. - Good bye and thank you, sergeant. Mycroft thoughtfully looked at Lestrade while he left the cafeteria. Then he sniffed thickly (the tissues were unusable, and, well, as things now stood, it made little difference), took his mobile phone off his pocket and pressed a button. - Anthea? - Sir? - I need all the data you can master about a certain sergeant Lestrade, Scotland Yard. - Yes, sir. Priority? - Number one. I will be at my office in half an hour and I want everything you have found out on my desk. - Yes, sir. Is that all? - Yes, that will be all. - Do you need cold medicine or antihistamines, sir? Anthea asked with her most professional voice. Mycroft wondered how she always knew when something was wrong with him. He was sure congestion could not be heard in his voice – ant yet, she knew. There was no point in trying to hide from her. That woman was efficiency personified. - Yes, please. Both. Thank you, Anthea. Maybe, after all, today would not be the worst day of his life. And maybe everything would be all right at the end. Link to comment
Shamaël Posted February 13, 2017 Author Share Posted February 13, 2017 4 - Spring Fandom : Star Trek (reboot) Sneezing person: James Kirk Reason: allergies Warning: none (I managed to write something ABSOLUTELY NON ANGSTY and I’m quite proud of it) Music: Breathe (The Prodigy) He should have loved spring. Really. Spring was a fantastic season. Sun, blue sky, girls with short skirts and happy smiles, love in the air… And trees. And freshly cut grass. And flowers. And pollens in the air. Lots of pollens. Everywhere. This was just another regular allergy day in James T. Kirk’s cursed life on Earth. He knew that if he hadn’t come back late last night (but the girl he had just met, Rosina, was really worth it), and therefore woken up late this morning, he would have had breakfast, brushed his teeth and seen the pack of antihistamines pills his best friend had kindly brought for him from the medical lab, and he wouldn’t feel so miserable right now. Because miserable was exactly how he felt. He decided to skip the last class of the day (anyway, xenobiology was not his favorite subject), knowing that the room in which it took place was a very dusty one. The simple mention, the simple thought of dust already made his eyes burn and his nose twitch, so skipping xenobiology was a good idea. He had miraculously managed to keep the sneezes at bay during half the day, carefully remaining inside, far from all the allergens Mother Nature was fond of spreading all over the city, as if she wanted to take her revenge against civilization – but his body was about to give up. A few hours ago, he had considered calling Bones, who didn’t work today, and begging him to bring him the medicine, but the sarcastic answer was inevitable – something like You suck, Jim, you have a head, use it instead of thinking with more intimate parts of your anatomy, you have a memory, don’t waste it in trying to remember the name of the girls you’re dating. And he wanted to be a doctor? Well, there was no chance Kirk would take him aboard his ship, when he would have a ship. Which couldn’t be too soon. A ship, after all, was hypoallergenic – a blissful place, no doubt. Jim braced himself and took a careful step outside the hall. The bright April sun immediately dazzled him, triggering something behind his burning eyes. And when he said something, he meant a sneeze, of course. - Hih’ZSCHHOO! He caught it into his cupped hands, desperately tried to stifle it, and masterfully failed, making that odd wheezing sound, his trademark when he had allergies – which was always between March and August, to be honest. - Hih… Aaaahhh-huh… Jim, breathe hitching, eyes half-closed, frozen on the steps of the Academy’s great entrance, fumbled into his pockets. He didn’t have tissues anymore, having used three packs in the last hour to rub and blow his profusely running nose, but he was almost sure he had a handker… - Huh’DZSCHHOOhh! Uh. This one had almost taken his throat and ears with it. But now he was able to blow his nose, now that he had found his handkerchief (not a very clean one, as he had used it to wipe some tomato sauce, but that was not the moment to be difficult), which was an improvement. Hopefully it would make the fierce tickle in his nose disappear. He sniffed carefully (he knew all too well that the slightest unexpected vibration could trigger another sneeze) and rushed downstairs up to the lawn which spread in front of him. Why the students’ rooms were on the other side of the campus was a mystery. Why someone had mischievously decided that the only way to have access to it would be a vast grassland followed by a tree-lined path was another. Did the other students have not allergies? A double sneeze was fine. Even great. He never sneezed in singles, rarely in doubles, and considered himself lucky when the fit stopped at three or four. When he reached the fifth nasal eruption, he knew that he had very few opportunities left to put an end to the fit. And if the sixth sneeze came out, there was no way it would stop there. As if this specific number had the secret power to make each sneeze trigger another sneeze, endlessly, as he would completely lose control over his own body. If he managed not to go past this number, it would be… all right… - IHHTZCHSHHh’aah! He didn’t pause and carried on over the sunny grass where some students had stretched out, enjoying the warmth. He recognized Uhura with two of her friends and immediately turned off not to make a fool of himself in front of her, with his dirty handkerchief, teary eyes and running nose. The itch in his sinuses grew fiercer and he rubbed the bridge of his nose with irritation. It was a bad idea, but the tickle was too strong to ignore. - Ahhh… Hih-hihh-hah… Ahhh-HAaahh’AhTZSCHAH! The deafening sneeze was immediately followed by another, and he was happy to have his handkerchief at hand, because this one was very wet. - Hhh’EHZSCHHhh! Okay, he had to stop now. He still could. He was in control. Control. Control… He almost saw the tiny pollen particles dancing in front of his eyes, playing cheerfully with him. But he wasn’t willing to play. He just wanted… ehhh… to be… left… ahhh… alone… - Huh’GZSCHHhah! He sighed. Not only he didn’t manage to hold back his sixth sneeze, but the sound had been even weirder than usual and some students now looked at him with amusement. Now that he reached this point, there was unfortunately no coming back. He didn’t believe in no-wins scenarios, but he had fought and lost so many times against his own histamine that he had to acknowledge his defeat. Speeding up, he geared up for the next outburst. Yes, he hated spring. ***** He liked spring. Spring was a nice, warm, cheerful season. The season of life. He had sat back to the window and let the sun warm his body while he was studying – Vulcan anatomy was a bit hard and there was very few chances he ever would have to take care of a Vulcan crewmate, for the good reason there was no Vulcan in Starfleet (not yet?), but he had to guard against all eventualities. And compared biology was fascinating. He considered himself very lucky during those few years at the Academy: he could study without pressure, since he already had his medicine doctorate, and take his time to increase his knowledge on subjects he really found interesting. Of course, he was still afraid to go into space, but after all, that was the point. Confronting his fears. Taking a new start. Feeling really useful. He took a sip of lemon ice tea and let out a satisfied sigh. The door suddenly opened but McCoy barely lifted his head to see his roommate close it behind him. He thought he had another hour of peace and calm before his friend would come back, but it seemed that today James Kirk wasn’t in the mood for studying. - Don’t tell me you skipped xenobiology once again? He asked, his mind still in his reading. No answer came, which was strange. Generally, Jim always answered – nonsense and stupidities, but that was still an answer. Bones reluctantly dragged himself away from his book and looked at the young man, who had leaned against the door. Then he sighed and rolled his eyes. - Don’t tell me you forgot your antihistamines? He asked severely, in his best doctor voice. In his defence, Jim tried to answer. He really, really tried, but it was useless. His eyes were completely swollen and tears continuously ran down his cheeks, his gaze was unfocused and his brow creased in a funny way while his chest heaved and fell, following the pattern of his erratic breathing. He was squeezing a disgusting handkerchief in his right hand and seemed unclear if he should use it or not. McCoy shook his head. This kid was going to be the end of him. - Just drop this unhygienic thing and use one of those, he said, rising from his chair and handing him the tissues box. Or several, he added with a grin. Jim, breathe hitching madly, did what the doctor told him (a big first) and caught the next double sneeze just in time in a handful of tissues. - Hh’EHZTSCHHahh! Ahhh-heh-HETZSCHHAHH! The strength of the expulsion made him stumble and Bones grabbed his shoulder. - This way, Jim. You look pretty bad. - Ehh… I look pretty bad? The young man asked in disbelief. I feel... ahhh… I feel awful. Do you ndow how bany tibes I’ve beed sdeezing od by way hobe? Leonard managed not to laugh at the less than perfect enunciation, but it was difficult. - Err… Considering how you sound, I’d say at least twenty, he answered, forcing him friend to sit on his bed and then heading to the bathroom. - Well, I don’t ndow byself. I lost hehh’HADDZZSCHHhsh! Snff - I lost cou’dt at twedty-ode. And I was dot yet half the way. Bones sighed again. He filled a glass of water and took the pills, which were at their rightful place, on the little shelf over the washbasin. - Couldn’t you… - Huhh’TZSHCHuh! - Couldn’t you just take it this morning? Why do I even bother to bring you efficient medicine from the lab if you don’t use it? You’re the worst patient I’ve ever had. If I become a medical officer, I’ll never work for you, you know that? - Bodes, please… Dod’t… ehhh… Don’t hit be whed I’b already od the grou’d. - I barely understand you. Blow your nose and gulp those damned pills down. - Wait… I think I’b… I’b godda sdeeze… agaid… Ehhh… Huh’IGZSCHHhsuh! Hih’HIGZSCHHhuh! He needed to blow his nose during almost a minute before he was able to keep it from running long enough to take the glass and the pills from the physician’s hands. - Thag you. I wish I were dead. McCoy hit him on the shoulder. The wheezing sound which came from his friend’s chest was concerning, but it served him right. Maybe a severe allergy fit would make him grow up and take care of himself? - Don’t be such a drama queen and lay down, he snapped. - If I lay downd, I’ll dot be able to breathe at all. - Just try, the doctor ordered. And close your eyes. The young man complied without a word – which meant he really felt awful. Leonard went back to the bathroom and ran a cloth under cold water, then wringed it out before coming back near his friend, who had laid down and raised his hands in front of his face, waiting for another sneeze. - How-heh… How bady tibe before-huh… before… Ahhhh’Hih’ztCH! Sniff – before it takes Hih’aahztCHuh! effect? - Half an hour at least, Bones answered – and don’t complain, if you had taken the antihistamines this morning, you wouldn’t be in this state. You’re almost having an asthma attack. Jim jumped when the fresh cloth made contact with his burning eyes and sinuses, but almost immediately he let out a sigh of relief. - This is heaven. You’re the best. - Oh, really? Bones mocked him. I thought I was the worst physician on Earth – is it not what you said… - Hahh’ITSCHHHish! Sorry. You ndow I did’t beand it. What… What are you doi’g? Leonard had sat on the bed near his friend and was now slowly massaging his temples. - Just trying something my mother used to do when I was a kid. Is it soothing? - Oh yes, the young man sighed. But I might sdeeze od you if you’re too close. McCoy shrugged. - I’ll take the risk, he said, continuing rubbing gently the young man’s head. After all, I am a doctor. - Wait… I… Hehh… ahhhh… Do, false alarb, sorry. Please carry od. Bones chuckled. - So you’ll accept me as a medical member of your crew? What an honour. - I’ll do better thad that, Jim answered, moaning at the soft touch on his temples. I’ll ibbediately bake you by chief bedical officer, as sood as I ab id cobband. - As sood as you are id cobband? The physician sneered. Oh, I’d love to hear you giving orders on a starship bridge with this voice. You’re absolutely irresistible, but I wonder how your officers will manage to understand you. Jim brought back his hands over his face and let out an explosive sneeze in the tissues. Leonard hastily retreated his own hands. - Huh’IDGZSCCHHhah! Sorry, did I hit you? the young man asked, blowing hard. - It’s all right, Jimmy boy, I am unscathed. - But you know, when I am captain, I won’t be allergic anymore. There is no dust in a starship. No pollen. No allergen of any kind. No seasons – no spring. McCoy laughed and resumed his soothing circles on his friend’s temples. - Yeah, but I’m sure you’ll manage to get allergic to something on the first mission we’ll do together. I don’t know, crash into a pollen field on a weird planet or be attacked by hairy creatures whose fur will make you sneeze endlessly… - Well, that’s why I’ll need you near me by that time, Jim slurred, almost asleep. Bones smiled and fondly brushed the young man’s hair. Yes, being near him was something he could certainly do. Link to comment
AngelEyes Posted February 14, 2017 Share Posted February 14, 2017 Good old Lestrade. Solid and noble. Loved the 3rd part. And Kirk. Irresponsible, idiot. And dear Bones to the rescue. My favorite. Well, one of my favorites. 6 hours ago, Aliena H. said: A few hours ago, he had considered calling Bones, who didn’t work today, and begging him to bring him the medicine, but the sarcastic answer was inevitable – something like You suck, Jim, you have a head, use it instead of thinking with more intimate parts of your anatomy, you have a memory, don’t waste it in trying to remember the name of the girls you’re dating. LOL, probably accurate. 6 hours ago, Aliena H. said: A double sneeze was fine. Even great. He never sneezed in singles, rarely in doubles, and considered himself lucky when the fit stopped at three or four. When he reached the fifth nasal eruption, he knew that he had very few opportunities left to put an end to the fit. And if the sixth sneeze came out, there was no way it would stop there. As if this specific number had the secret power to make each sneeze trigger another sneeze, endlessly, as he would completely lose control over his own body. I love this. The sense of impending doom. LOL 6 hours ago, Aliena H. said: Yes, he hated spring. ***** He liked spring. Spring was a nice, warm, cheerful season. The season of life. I love the contrast between the two! 6 hours ago, Aliena H. said: McCoy shook his head. This kid was going to be the end of him. Pretty much! 6 hours ago, Aliena H. said: - Yeah, but I’m sure you’ll manage to get allergic to something on the first mission we’ll do together. I don’t know, crash into a pollen field on a weird planet or be attacked by hairy creatures whose fur will make you sneeze endlessly… Of course! But Bones will always take care of him! Link to comment
Subtly Clashing Wishes Posted February 16, 2017 Share Posted February 16, 2017 I have a bit of catching up to do. 1. Nice end to the introduction of Mycroft Holmes to Greg Lestrade. We all know Mycroft absolutely hated having to conduct such a conversation feeling so ill and sneezy. On February 9, 2017 at 4:55 AM, Aliena H. said: If only he could stop sneezing. He suspected that, besides his obvious illness, there was in the room something he was allergic to – if this was only a cold, the sneezes would not come that fast (fast for him, of course – everything was relative) and so numerous. I am not sure why but I just love the thought of an allergy attack on top of a cold. On February 9, 2017 at 4:55 AM, Aliena H. said: Lestrade raised, and Mycroft mirrored him, shaking his hand willingly and even heartily (normally, he avoided all human contact, but with this man who really wanted to help both himself and Sherlock… well, that was different). Aww... That's so nice shaking hands. Greg go directly the bathroom and wash your hands. 2. I, like @AngelEyes, really liked the juxtaposition of Kirk and Bones's attitudes towards Spring as well as the fact that neither, at first, is willing to serve with the other. On February 13, 2017 at 5:13 PM, Aliena H. said: - But you know, when I am captain, I won’t be allergic anymore. There is no dust in a starship. No pollen. No allergen of any kind. No seasons – no spring. So hopeful, Kirk is. But I think Bones is right there will be something that he'll be allergic too. Link to comment
Shamaël Posted February 18, 2017 Author Share Posted February 18, 2017 I know that this is not a fandom I had declared, but it just settled in my mind and refused to go away. I have to thank @Medowsweet for her fic "The trial", which I really liked, and @SleepingPhlox for her Secret Santa and the fic she wrote about Data (I've read it again and I really loved it), because they both made me want to write a robot fic. It wasn't something I really liked, but after reading those 2 fics, I reconsidered it... As I can't manage to write original characters, I just borrowed Daneel from Asimov's Robot series, because I love him so much... I hope there are not too many mistakes about Asimov's universe, because I've read it in French and I didn't find every vocabulary I needed in English. I don't know if this fandom can interest anyone but if it's the case, please let me know because I have a whole plot to continue this drabble... @AngelEyes and @Sanguine Cheerful Worrier: thank you so much for your comments, I don't know what I would do without you (well, yes, I know, I wouldn't probably write that much, and maybe not write at all...). I have some more Star Trek and Sherlock for you in case you don't know/like this fandom... 5 - Machine Fandom : Robots series (Asimov) Sneezing person: R. Daneel Olivaw Reason: changes in positronic brain Warning: none Music: Future proof (Massive Attack) Elijah Baley let out a sigh of relief when he finally got out of the plane – now he was safe in San Francisco, behind the comforting walls of steel which protected him from the outside world. It didn’t mean he wasn’t nervous – after all, he didn’t know exactly why he had been asked here without warning. To solve a case, of course. But what case? Why call him all this way from New York? He didn’t know and he didn’t like it. But, after all, that was his job. He finally reached the 32th floor of the building where he was awaited and knocked at the door of the Chief of Police. It immediately opened and he was welcomed by two men, one of them presenting himself as Mr. Hemsworth, and the other… - Daneel! Elijah exclaimed, relieved to see a familiar face, even if it was the face of a robot and not of a human being. But Daneel looked as human (or rather Spacer) as ever, so it wasn’t difficult to pretend. - I am pleased to see you, Elijah, Daneel answered, and Baley smiled at the sound of the voice he had not heard for an entire year. - Does that mean, Mr. Hemsworth, that Daneel and myself are going to work together? - Well, yes, answered the little man, who seemed very ill at ease and glanced frequently at the robot as if he was some kind of monster. I am sure R. Daneel will explain to you everything you need to know about the case. I’ll take my leave. And the Chief of Police hastily retreated. Five second later, the door had shut behind him. Elijah and Daneel were alone in the room. - Jehoshaphat! The policeman exclaimed, puzzled. What happened? - I believe, Elijah, that Mr. Hemsworth do not wish to remain in the same room as myself longer than necessary. - Oh. I see. Yes, of course, he perfectly saw. The anti-robots movement was very strong amongst the population in San Francisco. But he also found it stupid. Daneel was tied by the three Laws of Robotic and there was no reason to be afraid of him. - All right, so what can you tell me about the case? I am completely blind, so feel free to tell me everything, Elijah said, sitting in a comfortable armchair and gesturing the android to sit in another. And then something very strange happened. Daneel, who was about to do as told, suddenly froze, closed his eyes and bent over in a shuddering sneeze, which he caught in his right hand before sniffing lightly. - Hih’ghSSCHH’aah! Snff… Immediately, without a second thought, Elijah rose, pulled out his weapon and pointed it towards his former colleague who, he was now sure of it, was not who – or what – he pretended to be. - Don’t move, he barked, angry to have been so easily fooled. Who are you? The man in front of him straightened and answered: - I am R. Daneel Olivaw, Elijah. Do you not recognize me? - Please, Baley sneered. How could you make me believe that you are a robot just after sneezing like you did? Man, robots don’t sneeze, everyone knows that. The false Daneel in front of him nodded. - I understand that you are troubled, Elijah, but please could you let me explain what happened? Baley glared at the man-robot. There was other signs which pointed out that it was not Daneel standing in front of him. The skin was slightly different from his usual colour (the policeman had studied this specific robot for hours and days during their first mission together and he had a very good memory). Now that he could pay attention to it, he could hear that his voice had also changed. But at the same time, he looked so much like the… being he had learnt to know and appreciate that he had to give him a chance to explain himself. - You have one minute, he said, still on his guard. - Thank you. The Chief of Police has asked me to investigate with you, since a robot is involved in this case, and Dr Fastolfe agreed to let me come to San Francisco. But he was asked to proceed to some slight modifications in my positronic brain. First he refused, but… A small cough cut off Daneel’s speech, and Baley felt very ill at ease. A robot couldn’t be ill, he knew it, that was impossible. Humanoids such as Daneel were never less than perfect, in every circumstance. And how could a virus affect their circuits? Everything in this situation felt wrong. - Please excuse me. I am not yet accustomed to my new condition. Dr Fastolfe had to accept to do as told if he wanted me to work with you. Sniff - so he accepted to reprogram me so that I would appear more human. The conditions from San Francisco’s police was that no one should ever suspected me to be a robot. As it was clearly not possible to change my physical aspect, they decided to give me some characteristics that would be, as you said, impossible for both a robot and a Spacer. Hdt’ISCHHuh! Once again, Daneel brought his right hand to his nose and mouth to cover the unexpected sneeze. Because it was unexpected, Elijah could tell it from the swiftness the robot had just moved with, as if he the expulsion had snuck on him – but that, too, was impossible. And yet, he had moved so quickly that the policeman couldn’t believe he was totally human. - You mean… You mean they gave you a cold just to pretend that you are a man? Baley asked in disbelief. Is that what you meant by “your new condition”? - Yes. It was the most logical possibility. In fact, you have yourself passed the test. - What? - It is obvious that you have the strongest doubts about my real nature. And yet, you know me, you have worked with me. If I am ill, people will not even think that could be a robot, or a Spacer, even if I am physically different from the hehh… the humans… The humanoid visibly geared up for another sneeze, tilting his head backward and bringing his hand up to catch the expulsion, but none came. Baley remained silent for a moment while Daneel came back to his usual standing position. The policeman knew there was only one thing to do now. - Listen… I’d like to trust you, really, but this whole story seems so… so incredible… Would you show me, prove me that you are really the Daneel I have met a year ago? Only then will we be able to discuss this further. - Of course, Elijah. That was expected too. He rolled up one of his sleeves and pressed his arm. Immediately, the wires and circuits became visible. The policeman sighed and put his service weapon back at his belt. - Sorry, Daneel. I had to be sure. - Please, do not be sorry. It would have been unworthy of you if you had not… sniff – pardon me – if you had not doubted my true nature. - Okay, but now enlighten me, please. Why is it so important that you should appear even more human than you already are? I know that some people have suspected you to be a robot, one year ago in New York, but it was because they had been warned against you. Is the same problem happening here, in San Francisco? - No, but we are going to investigate in a robot factory, which means that every employee will know more about robots than average humans usually do. A trick was necessary to completely avoid spreading the doubt in their minds. - In a robot factory? Baley repeated. I’m not sure I’m going to like it, but I guess I don’t have the choice in the matter… He wanted to ask his co-worker some precisions about the case, but Daneel bend over again in an unforgiving double sneeze, followed by a harsh cough that made Baley wince before he remembered that it was only the result of an adjustment in positronic brain, and certainly not the work of an illness. - Hhh’TTSCHH’ah! Hih-Ahdt’SCHAAH! - Bless you, Elijah said, feeling half-stupid to bless a robot. I’m sorry, Daneel, I’d like to talk with you about the case, but I’m a bit puzzled by the situation and, if I can tell you, ill at ease. - May I ask you why? the humanoid asked, taking a handkerchief from his pocket and softly dabbing his nose. The whole scene was unrealistic and Baley briefly wondered if he wasn’t dreaming. - Because this is unnatural, that’s why! I mean, how did they ever do this? You’re blowing your nose as if you had bodily fluids, which I know isn’t quite true. I mean, if you don’t have saliva, how could you possibly have mucus? And the sneezing and coughing – it sounds really human and it’s… upsetting. How is that possible? - Dr Fastolfe made some changes in my circuits, Daneel explained calmly. Mostly my voice, so that it would sound more congested, and my skin, which would appear to you paler than what you were used to. - Yes, all right, but… - As for the sneezing and coughing, the humanoid cut off gently, they are programmed in me to burst out at any moment, randomly. It imitates the body reaction of a human sneeze, which was a challenge for the doctor, because he had to reproduce a diaphragm contraction although I have no diaphragm. I cannot foresee it and I am also programed to react as a human would do – covering my mouth, wiping my nose and so on. - It sounds completely crazy, but go on. What about mucus and tears? - A liquid solution was introduced into my body and the sneezing and coughing triggers it out from time to time. I can feel it with my touch sensors and react adequately when my eyes are teary or my nose running. - And what does Dr. Fastolfe think about all this? - First, as I told you, he was not pleased with the idea, but as time went by, he found it very interesting to study. You know that Spacers do not know illness, therefore it was a real challenge for him to imitate the process of a biological virus he did not know well, all the more in a body which is not bound to biological laws. He eventually found it fascinating and I believe he will want to proceed to other experiments on me when-heh… when-hih… when I come ba-hehh’ggISCHH’uh! Please… Pleahhhse excuse me… Hhh’IGTSCHHhh! This time, Daneel cupped both his hands in front of his face and slightly stumbled when he straightened back in a standing position. - Jehoshaphat! Baley exclaimed, feeling concerned in spite of himself. Are you all right? - I experienced a minor balance malfunction, but it has passed. I believe this is part of the changes Dr. Fastolfe has made to my positronic… - Do you mean that you don’t know what will happen to you? That some of your programs are hidden from you and you don’t know how you will react? - Yes. I fail to understand why it seems to upset you. - It upsets me because it’s not ethical! To experiment on you like this and leave you in the dark isn’t the right thing to do, that’s all. - Elijah, I thank you for your concern and empathy, but can I remind you that I do not feel unwell – that I cannot feel unwell? These experiment cannot harm me and, therefore, are not unethical. You seem to forget that I am not a man, but a machine. A machine. Of course Daneel was right. Baley felt himself blushing. Was he really worried about the state of health of a robot? Had he lost his mind? He resumed his seat with a sigh. - All right, Daneel, just sit down and tell me everything you know about the case… - Ahh’ATSCHAAH! He suspected that was going to be a long, very long day. Link to comment
SleepingPhlox Posted February 18, 2017 Share Posted February 18, 2017 Hello did someone say robots? Okay seriously I love things to do with robots. When it comes to making them sneeze or become ill I can be really picky about how "realistic" it is (I know robots aren't even real in the first place). So believe me when I say that this was one of the best sick robot scenarios I've read. From beginning to end that was just wonderful. I love how they suspected an imposter and I loved the reveal at the end that it was part of an experiment. And Daneel just calmly reassuring them that it didn't bother him and couldn't bother him was a really nice touch. Also fun fact, the concept behind Data from Star Trek was heavily influenced by Asimov's work and on a personal level that really added to my own enjoyment of this. Link to comment
Subtly Clashing Wishes Posted February 20, 2017 Share Posted February 20, 2017 You know it has been a very, very long time since I read any Asimov, but I do remember enjoying the books quite a lot. I enjoyed this little fic too. I think it is a very imaginative concept to program a cold into a robot. I love how Daneel reminds Elijah that just because he appears ill, he feels the same as he always does. Nice work. Link to comment
Medowsweet Posted February 22, 2017 Share Posted February 22, 2017 On 2/19/2017 at 7:22 PM, Sanguine Cheerful Worrier said: Yay! A new robot fic (tho I am unfamiliar with the series). Seems to be a veritable "plague" of robot fics coming out, tee hee hee *wink* Link to comment
Shamaël Posted February 22, 2017 Author Share Posted February 22, 2017 @SleepingPhlox: Wow, thank you so much for the compliment! (I have not watched Next Gen yet - I'm just finishing the old Star Trek movies, and dying laughing in front of them - but I will very soon because any character inspired by Asimov must be great!) I intend to write a bit more sick Daneel (sneezing has to interfere somehow with the Three Laws of Robotics!), not now because Kirk is really obtrusive, but I will continue this drabble. Thank you so much for commenting! @Sanguine Cheerful Worrier and @AngelEyes and @Medowsweet: thank you for commenting even if you're not familiar with the fandom... I wanted to write a drabble before leaving for the holidays, and this happened. (Elasians are a species mentioned in TOS, and the woman have the power to enslave men who touch their tears. The rest is pure invention from me.) I'm a bit obsessed with Academy times right now, and more specifically with the relationship Nyota has got with Jim and Bones. No angst!!! 6 - Agony Fandom : Star Trek (reboot) Sneezing person: James Kirk Reason: allergies Warning: none Music: Valse d’Amélie Poulain (Yann Tiersen) – I don’t know if anyone is familiar with this Jean-Pierre Jeunet movie, but I love the soundtrack… - You mean James Kirk asked you to be in his team?!? Oh my God, tell me you’ve accepted! Nyota sighed. This wasn’t the first time someone urged her to accept since Kirk had effectively asked her to work with him (they had to form a crew of their choice and would remain together until the end of their studies), three days ago, and she was a bit tired of repeating that she hadn’t decided yet. She had thought that eating with Pilaan tonight would be a good idea, as she seemed quite detached from the whole project, but it seemed that the half-Elasian girl was also infatuated with that arrogant brat. In fact, almost every girl she knew was infatuated with him and she didn’t understand why. She didn’t understand either why he had asked her, amongst all the pretty girls who would have given their soul to work with him (and, for 99,99% of them, to do a bit more than only working). They now had known each other for more than a year, and although she had to admit that he was a brilliant student in some subjects, she hadn’t changed her mind about him. He was still an irresponsible boy, craving for attention and refusing authority. Imagining him as a starship captain was a joke. He hadn’t changed his mind about her either: for him, she was way too serious and he didn’t miss an occasion to mock her when she refused to go out with others students because she had to study (or, recently, to go out with someone else, much, much more interesting than a bunch of retarded teenagers, even if she really liked them – but they didn’t have to know it, did they?). So why? - In fact, I hesitate because I’d really like to work with Leonard and it’s obvious that they are going to be in the same team, so… Leonard McCoy had quickly become one of her closest friends in the Academy. Kirk had introduced Nyota to him and they had immediately gotten on well. He was older, more mature than any of her classmates, and really interesting. They had been to conferences together, on very various subjects. They had talked about lots of things, some of them very personal, and she had come to the conclusion that he was one of the most empathic and well-wishing and sweet man she had ever known, deep under the apparent grumpiness and irritability of his manners. Each minute spend with him had been worth it. Well, maybe not as worthy as the time she spend with lieutenant commander Spock, but now wasn’t the moment to think about it. He was his instructor, his interspecies ethics teacher (interspecies ethic, how ironical this was, when she was craving for doing very unethical things with him), and considering on the one hand his deep respect for regulations and rules and his Vulcan heritage on the other hand, there was no chance he would ever… - So what? She came back abruptly to reality. Pilaan was looking at her with the deepest interest. - So, I considered saying yes just to work with Leonard, but it’s not a good reason. I’m not sure I’ll be able to get along with Kirk and working under the command of someone you don’t like isn’t a good idea. - Come on, he isn’t that bad! - No, but he’s arrogant and childish, two things I really don’t like at all. - Listen, I know you don’t like him, but come on, he’s so attractive! You cannot deny that! Was she talking about the same James Kirk? Kirk, attractive? She was about to laugh when a too well-known voice reached her ears. - I really hope you are talking about me, ladies. Pilaan jumped on her chair and her jaw went slack when she saw Jim take place near her with his more cheerful smile. Leonard sat at Nyota’s left side, slightly shaking his head in amusement. - Jim wanted to ask you once more if you had made up your mind, he sneered. I told him to leave you alone, but I believe that he couldn’t resist to sit with you and this charming young lady. Uhura shook his head. This was one of the less pleasant aspect of James T. Kirk. He was always testing his powers of seduction and couldn’t resist a pretty face. But it was true that Pilaan was more than just pretty. Being half-Elasian, she was extraordinary. - Kirk, this is Pilaan, Nyota said with her coldest voice. Pilaan, James Kirk, Leonard McCoy. - I’m glad to meet you, Pilaan, Jim said, glancing in an appreciative way towards the blond young woman. Uhura, have you made up your mind? - I was just telling Pilaan that I didn’t know yet if I was going to accept, the young woman said dryly. I would love to work with you, Leonard, but… - What about you, Pilaan? Kirk asked. Would you work in my team? Nyota froze. He wasn’t serious, was he? He didn’t even know her! Pilaan leant towards him and offered him her irresistible Elasian smile. - Oh, I’d be elated, she purred. Nyota sighed and Jim laughed. - Well, I think it’s settled then. I… He stopped abruptly and his head whipped away in a tremendous double sneeze he directed towards the floor – he had his fork and knife in his hands and wasn’t able to cover it. - HI’DGZSCCHHhh! Huh’IHDZSCHhah! Nyota blushed so hard she had the impression that the heat she radiated could be felt at the other side of the dining hall. James Kirk’s shuddering and – oh, God – UNCOVERED sneezes were… incredible. - Sorry about that, he said, sniffling slightly. So, Pilaan, what do you want to do in a starship? - Oh, I wish to specialize in electronics. I want to work in Engineering and… - Heh-haat’GSCHHHah! This time, he muffled the nasal outburst in his sleeve before pulling a handkerchief from his pocket. - Bless you, Pilaan said, but Jim bent over two more times. - Hih’ztCH! Hih’DZTCHuh! Thagk you. - You’re coming down with something? The half-Elasian asked with genuine concern. - No, I feel great, it’s just that I… hehh… I… hah-hhhh-hih… Jim froze in the most adorable pre-sneezing face Nyota had ever seen, eyes closed and nostrils twitching and breathe uneven and – wait a minute, did she really label James Tiberius Kirk “adorable”?!? What was happening to her? She knew too well what was happening, and she tried very hard to control herself, but… - Hh’EHGTSCHHahh! … that was a lost cause. The man had the most wonderful sneeze she had heard for a very long time. Another reason to refuse to work with him, the rational part of her mind thought. The other part screamed its disagreement. That was the best reason to accept what he had offered her! He blew his nose, muttering an excuse. Leonard sighed. - What is it again, Jim? There is no flower, no strong perfume here, no pollens, the food is perfectly normal, you have taken antihistamines this morning, so What. Is. It. This. Time? - Do you have allergies? The question had passed Uhura’s lips before she could wonder if it was a good idea to ask it. She hoped she hadn’t sounded too eager, but McCoy chuckled and turned towards her. - Don’t tell me you never noticed? No. No, she had never noticed and she wondered why. Frequent sneezing was something she was accustomed to spot immediately. Kirk had hidden his allergies quite skilfully – now that she gave it a thought, she remembered him blowing discretely his nose in some classes, but she had never heard him sneeze before. That was a great catching up, she thought, still fixing the young man again while he sneezed desperately a fit of four into his handkerchief, obviously trying not to lose control, without success. - Heeh’TZSHCHhh! Hh’AHTZSHCHaah! HHIGZSCHHhsuh! Hih-heh-hih’HIDDZSCHHhah! If he carried on like that, she was going to have a heart attack here, in the middle of the dining room. She had the impression that her blood was boiling in her veins and she had no way of stopping it. - Well, we don’t have that much classes in common, she answered feebly to the elder man. - Jim is allergic to almost everything, Leonard stated, blasé, but this time I don’t… He suddenly cut off and looked closely at Pilaan, who seemed divided between her obvious interest for Kirk and some kind of dismay in front of such a severe reaction. - I’m sorry to ask you this, and please don’t be offended, but aren’t you Elasian? - Half-Elasian, Pilaan adjusted, surprised. She was very beautiful, but she looked perfectly human, and no one had ever guessed that she was half-alien. Nyota turned towards Leonard, trying very hard to ignore Kirk’s desperate hitching breaths. - How do you know it? - Well, I have a doctorate in xenobiology, in case you don’t remember. And besides, I think this is the only possible reason why Jim is sneezing his head off. - What? the two young women asked in the same time. Surely Kirk would have liked to ask too, but all he could do was sneezing helplessly. - Hh’EHZTSCHHahh! Bodes, it’s dot fuddy. I cand’t be allergic to sobeode. - I’m not joking. Elasians have a special substance in their tears, it’s well known, but their hair also emit some special hormones, and I had never personally met anyone allergic to it, but it happened before, and knowing you, it wouldn’t surprise me. Pilaan, could you please come closer to Jim for an experiment? No! Nyota mentally prayed. Nonononono, stop this right now, I’m already in agony! But it was too late. Pilaan bend her head towards Kirk, who had lowered his handkerchief. Her hair slightly brushed his nose and the result was immediate. - Ahhh-haahh’AhTZSHAHhh! AAAh’TZSCHHHAH! Heh… Hh’EHGTSCHHahh! Hhaah’AHTSCHHahh! Hehh’HADDZZSCHHhsh! Ahhh… ahhh… ahhhh… Agony was far below what she was feeling right now. - I think it’s quite conclusive, Leonard sighed. Come on, Jim, let’s get some fresh air. I’m afraid that working together will not be possible for you, he added with an ironic smile. Fortunately, Kirk didn’t protest. He gave the two young women an apologetic look and rose. He took his tray but immediately had to put it back on the table, because his nose had decided that he had not finished. - Hahh’ITSCHHHish! Nyota saw the hazy mist spraying his plate and glass, and she shivered. That was just incredible. This was just impossible. Surely she was dreaming. - It’s all right, I’ll take your tray, McCoy said, turning the talk into action. The two men moved away and Kirk let out a last explosive sneeze. - Hih’AAHTZSCHHOO! Nyota’s brain couldn’t function properly – when, later, in the privacy of her room, she would think about what had happened and what she had done, that would be the only explanation she would come with. Just before Jim turned the corner, she took a deep breath and yelled in the middle of the dining room: - It’s all right, Kirk, it’s all right, I’ll work with you! Link to comment
Subtly Clashing Wishes Posted February 23, 2017 Share Posted February 23, 2017 Oh Jesus, Joseph and Mary... Nyota, can we go get a cup of tea? I think we both need a breather after that. I don't blame you one bit for choosing to work with Jim Kirk. Nope. Not. At. All. I can't wait to see what other academy stories you come up with @Aliena H.! Link to comment
AngelEyes Posted February 28, 2017 Share Posted February 28, 2017 Academy days! I love the Academy. And this is fantastic! On 2/22/2017 at 6:36 AM, Aliena H. said: They now had known each other for more than a year, and although she had to admit that he was a brilliant student in some subjects, she hadn’t changed her mind about him. He was still an irresponsible boy, craving for attention and refusing authority. Imagining him as a starship captain was a joke. He hadn’t changed his mind about her either: for him, she was way too serious and he didn’t miss an occasion to mock her when she refused to go out with others students because she had to study This is the perfect summation of their early relationship. On 2/22/2017 at 6:36 AM, Aliena H. said: … that was a lost cause. The man had the most wonderful sneeze she had heard for a very long time. Another reason to refuse to work with him, the rational part of her mind thought. The other part screamed its disagreement. That was the best reason to accept what he had offered her! Exactly how I would feel! On 2/22/2017 at 6:36 AM, Aliena H. said: - What is it again, Jim? There is no flower, no strong perfume here, no pollens, the food is perfectly normal, you have taken antihistamines this morning, so What. Is. It. This. Time? Poor Bones. On 2/22/2017 at 6:36 AM, Aliena H. said: Agony was far below what she was feeling right now. Agony and Ecstasy Link to comment
Shamaël Posted March 1, 2017 Author Share Posted March 1, 2017 @Sanguine Cheerful Worrier and @AngelEyes : Thank you, both of you! You're adorable. I've been obsessed with Academy lately and I'm glad you like it too. I like to imagine the early relationships between the main characters. The next Star Trek drabble will feature Spock and Nyota (still in Academy days, so it will be Uhura's turn to be ill, because Spock hasn't learnt to sneeze yet ) and I've 3 of them with sick Bones. But for now... James Bond. This drabble has been quite hard to write and I wanted to do it in the most "neutral" way possible. It's Q's point of view, but it's mostly dialogues. In my headcanon, Q is a germaphobic and everyone tease him about it. And I needed this scene after Skyfall, because Bond jumped into a frozen lake - it's impossible that there is no aftermath! I know that the incubation period for a cold isn't that short, but let's pretend he was already ill before and the lake business just made things worse, okay? I've only read a few James Bond fics / drabbles, it's a fandom I don't know and I hope this hasn't been already written by someone here. There should be a follow-up, if it interests anyone. 7 - Soaked Fandom : James Bond (Craig era) Sneezing person: James Bond Reason: illness Warning: not as angsty as I first thought, but not exactly light stuff either… Music: Nocturne opus 9 n°1 (Chopin) – Chopin is the best. Q got off the helicopter, unsure about what exactly he was doing here, in Scotland, at 4:00 in the morning. Fortunately, it was Eve who welcomed him. He liked her, she was always polite with him and she never made unfriendly remarks about his age and capacities – unlike others. - We can’t get him moving from here, she said with a side, pointing a figure sitting on the ground, approximately fifty meters away from the team. - What do you mean, you can’t get him moving? Q was ordinary a patient man, but today was not the day. - Just what I told you. If we come a bit too close, he just pulls his gun and threatens us. Q sighed. Trust Bond to complicate matters if he could. He had known the man for only some days and he had already understood this. - Come on, Eve, it’s been almost three hours since everything happened! Surely you… - Surely nothing, she cut off dryly. I’m tired too, if you want to know, and sad, and shocked, but we need to get him out of here. - What about hypodermics used for elephants? - It’s not funny, Q. - I assure you I wasn’t joking. If you didn’t succeed, what do you expect me to do? - I don’t know, but he asked for you. - He… WHAT? Surely he had misunderstood. Why would Bond, amongst all men, ask for him? - He asked for you, you heard perfectly well. - Couldn’t you just… call me instead of dragging me here in a helicopter all the way from London? - He said he wanted to see you, not talk to you. Q wasn’t sure that this was a good idea. - Okay, and what if he threatens me with his gun? What do I do? - I don’t know, Eve sighed. I told you, I’m tired. The young man shook his head. It had been a rough night for everyone in the MI6. - Okay, I’ll do my best, but if he tries to shoot me, remember the hypodermics, right? - Sedatives are our last option, she confessed, but yes, we do have a sniper ready to shoot at him if necessary. He opened his mouth in shock. She was joking, wasn’t she? No, she was clearly not. Okay. Great. Q cleared his throat and wrapped himself in his coat, shivering. The cold was almost unbearable. Then he took a deep breath and walked towards the agent, who was sitting in front of the chapel, arms on his knees. M’s body had been removed and the fire had been taken care of, and during all this time, Bond had not moved from his position. What could Q possibly do? He prudently stepped by and reached the man’s side. The agent looked up and gave him a mocking smile, but his heart was clearly not in it. - Okay, Bond, I’m here, what is it you want? - I was wondering if you’d show up, but finally, you came. - Well, Q sighed, it’s not as if Mallory had given me the choice in the matter. - You mean you wouldn’t have come if he hadn’t dragged you here? The young man shrugged. He didn’t know what he would have done if… Mallory had ordered him to come, and he had obeyed orders. - Sit down. Q looked at the frozen ground with a wince. - Sit down, please, Bond repeated a bit gentler, and Q complied warily. - What can I do for you? It’s freezing here. - Is it? I didn’t realise. The young man looked at the agent in disbelief. He was completely soaked, his clothes were dripping and some frost was visible on his sleeves and back. He was shuddering from head to toe. - Bond, you realise that you’ve fallen into a frozen lake not three hours ago? You realise the temperature is below 0°C here? He shrugged. - What difference does it make? An agent is trained for this kind of things. - I will not discuss this point with you, but first being trained doesn’t make the whole thing mode pleasant, and secondly I am not an agent, and I do not wish to catch pneumonia for you, so if you would just hurry a bit…? - Pneumonia? Oh, Q, don’t be overdramatic! Q was surely not being overdramatic. He had had enough bronchitis in his life to know it was very easy to catch, and half of them had turned into pneumonia. He looked with worry at the agent’s hands, white, almost blue, trembling endlessly around the gun he was holding. - Bond, you’re shivering and I’m sure you’re not far from hypothermia. Not that I really care, but… - Haah'HHRSHH’Uhh! The elder man had sneezed uncovered, head jolting forward between his knees, and Q couldn’t help but wince in dismay. A sweat drop ran on his back. Focus, you idiot! It’s not the moment to have a panic attack. - That’s exactly what I meant, he miraculously managed to say. - It’s a sneeze, Q, Bond said, sniffling hard (and it was very difficult for the young man not to be repelled by the gurgling sound). No one dies of a snehhh… a sneeze Heh-huhr’AHHSSHHOO! Q shivered. He knew that it wasn’t the moment, but, hell, he almost saw the germs spreading everywhere and he only wished to run away. He had to master all his power of will not to do it. - This is disgusting, I hope you are conscious of it. Now tell me what it is you want. If you wish to die here, it’s your problem, but I’m not willing to follow you in the grave. - You’re such a drama queen! Q’s patience was wearing thin - and his damned germophobia didn’t made things easier. - Listen, you’re going to catch your death… He stopped, shocked by his own words, and wasn’t exactly surprised to see anger and pain into the agent’s eyes. - To catch my death? He repeated, voice icy cold. I thought it was well established that death doesn’t want me, Q. And God knows how hard it tried to get me. But everyone around me isn’t as immune as I am. If you’re afraid, you may go. - I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… (He sighed.) What do you think, Bond? That you’re the only one to suffer? It’s not like you to self-pity. - I was the only one to be here when it happened. The only one who could have saved her. And I didn’t. - I cannot discuss this, I guess. - Hah’HARRhhSHOO! The last sneeze sprayed once again on the agent’s lap and the young man closed his eyes, close to vomiting or passing out. - What do you want me to do? he managed to say without turning away. Bond didn’t answer, so Q looked at him and when he saw the mocking and teary eyes, and the erratic breath, and the creased eyebrowq, he knew what he was about to do – but he was too slow (and panicked, if he had to be honest) to avoid it. - HuhHH’RSHHAH! Q remained frozen for a moment, not sure that this was real. Bond laughed and it ended up in a chesty cough. - You shall see your face. So that’s true what they say – you’re a germaphobic… What they say. Yes, of course, that was a joke in the MI6 offices – Q and his stupid weakness. - Nobody like to be sneezed on, he remarked, still unable to move and utterly disgusted. Bond had sneezed on him. Voluntarily, deliberately, intentionally. Shoot him now, he prayed. - Everybody’s watching us, the agent said with another thick and disgusting sniff before wiping his nose with his soaked sleeve. Are you going to run away because you’re afraid of my germs? Q took a deep inhale and tried to move, but be didn’t manage. - I don’t know why you’re doing this, he said with more calm than he thought he was capable of. M just died and you make jokes about my weaknesses? All right, if it can make you feel better, go on. I am a germaphobic, yes. I am completely terrified by germs. In fact, since you’ve sneezed on me, I am unable to move a finger, so feel free to do it again if you want to. The elder man looked at him, first teasingly, then with perplexity. - You really can’t move? - I am completely paralysed, Q answered, teeth gritting. Please just mock me if it is of some use for you, if it can help you release the pressure. Bond’s face froze again, but he hastily turned away to sneeze (unfortunately messily) in his left hand. Q let a moan escape from his lips. - HAahh’AAR’SSHHOO! Sniff – Okay, maybe you’re right, I should move from here. We should move from here. Now you’re shivering, he added with a hint of concern. Let me offer you my hand – the one I haven’t sneezed into, of course. - You’re a bastard, you know this? Bond stood up with some difficulties and held out his right hand. Q managed to lift his own hand and noticed it was shaking. Before he had time to think anything else, Bond had taken it and pulled him up. He felt something hard and cold in his hand. - Is it a memory stick? He whispered. - Good deduction, Q. It is indeed. Put your hands casually in your pocket, as if you were cold. - God, Bond, I am cold! But he did as he was told. Both men turned towards the team who was waiting fifty meters away and the agent grabbed Q’s arm. - You all right? - No, the young man answered curtly. Is it why you needed me? To give me that memory stick? - Yes. It’s M.’s. I need you to crack it for me. Without telling anyone of course. They started to walk slowly. - Is that why you wanted me here? Couldn’t it wait until you’re back to London? - They’re going to search me and you know it. He was right, of course. The medical team was ready to take care of the agent, and surely his clothes would be meticulously inspected. But it didn’t answer the true question… - Why ME, Bond? The elder man smiled again and coughed in his fist. - Because you’re the best, of course. - I thought you… despised me because of my youth. - I don’t know who wrote “La valeur n’attend pas le nombre des années.”1 - Pierre Corneille, the young man said absent-mindedly. What makes you think I will help you and not give the memory stick to Mallory? Bond’s breathe hitched again, but before sneezing (and finally passing out, much to the young man’s horror), he managed to answer: - Because you’re just like me, Q. 1 "Valor doesn't await the passing of years" - I couldn't resist and I quoted it in French, because I love Corneille (Le Cid is a great play... and Bond and Q remind me of the main characters). Link to comment
Subtly Clashing Wishes Posted March 5, 2017 Share Posted March 5, 2017 I think this last story was very clever. I like the way Bond worked out how to get the memory stick to Q without attracting any attention. Nice job. Poor Q, though. I suspect he will be finding a way to bathe in disinfectant very shortly. Link to comment
AngelEyes Posted March 7, 2017 Share Posted March 7, 2017 Very cute. I don't really know Bond, Yes I've been told I need to remedy that. But this was nice. Link to comment
Shamaël Posted March 22, 2017 Author Share Posted March 22, 2017 I'm currently building a whole Star Trek universe in my head, and I thought it would be "fun" to add some sneezing in it (but of course, i'm not going to put them in the "normal" fics I'm writing... ). Back to the Academy - I decided it was time to "take care" of McCoy. It had been a long time. It's a two, maybe three-parts episode. The next one is almost written (and it will be less angsty than the first one: Nyota to the rescue!). I'm always messing things up with Jim's illness phobia (my headcanon, sorry). I really hope I'm not making too mistakes in English (I've had some... disparaging comments about my grammar and it discouraged me to write for some time) - but, as usual, do not hesitate in pointing them out (nicely, please). @Sanguine Cheerful Worrier: Thank you so much. Yes of course Q is going to desinfect himself, but I'm afraid it won't be enough to prevent contagion... (Yes, I have another drabble about it.) @AngelEyes: Yes, you have to see the James Bond movies!!! Thank you so much for your continuous support, even when you do not know the fandom. If you want something specific in this drabble thread, feel free to ask. I know you like Sherlock and I'm going to make a drabble featuring Sherlock and Molly, but if you wish something else, I'd be glad to oblige (if it's not too much against the canon of course, I think you begin to know me... ) 8 - Panic Fandom : Star Trek (reboot) Sneezing person: Leonard McCoy Reason: illness Warning: vomiting and (slightly?) angst – but there will be a second part with some comfort, I promise Music: Hold the line (Toto) - don't ask me why, I don't know - Ehhh… Heh... Haat’HESHOO! Leonard managed to sneeze in his upraised shoulder, keeping the germs for himself (what a joy!) and sniffing thickly at the end of the process, hoping that he would keep the mess into control. He was wearing gloves (dirty, very dirty gloves) and it wasn’t the moment to blow his nose, even if it was he wished most right now. - You all right? He nodded to Christine, wiping his nose on his sleeve. Not very hygienic, but, hell, what else could he do? - You want a mask? He nodded again, grateful, and absolutely sure that other sneezes were going to come the same way the first just did. It was the first of a long series, the one he’d fought all morning, managing to keep it at bay during hours. He had been feeling unwell the day before, but he still hoped he hadn’t caught the flu which was lingering on the Academy corridors. Maybe it was just a bit of tiredness. (Yeah, sure, you naïve idiot.) He had spent all morning working with Christine, Helena and Peter for their fascinating compared xenobiology project, and the concentration he’d been into (after all, an autopsy wasn’t something you could take lightly), suppressing all the pre-symptoms, had almost made him believe it had just been a temporary weariness, but the sneeze was just here to prove him the contrary. He had noticed that, when he was becoming sick, the first sneeze was generally a trigger for the illness. The other symptoms – sore throat, chills, nose running, coughing (and, of course, more sneezing) immediately followed the first nasal outburst, as if his body just acknowledged there was no need to pretend anymore. He sighed and reported his attention to the body they were examining. Il was the first time a Rannian had given his body to Earth scientists (well, he had died on Earth, so that was maybe just the logical thing to do) and a great opportunity to learn more about their anatomy. He wasn’t going to screw it up because of a sniffle. ***** - Ehhhh’HHTCHHHH! Sneezing in a chirurgical mask wasn’t exactly pleasant, and Bones had endured it, repeatedly, during the last hour – but the autopsy was over, thank God, and he was at last going to be able to leave the room and get rid of it and blow his nose. It sounded like heaven. - Sorry, I’ll be back, he said before hurrying outside the sterile room. He removed his gloved and threw them in the bin before taking his mask off. Feeling another sneeze coming, he hastily fumbled in his pockets to retrieve his handkerchief - Ehhh… Just… Ahhh… Just… One… second… Heh… HAAH’TCHEW! He managed to catch the forceful sneeze into his handkerchief just in time and blew his noise with a sigh of relief. On the other hand, the deafening noise in his ears made him a little dizzy. - Leonard? Christine’s voice came from the main autopsy room, slightly concerned. - Yes, I’m coming back, just a second! - No, just go home, we’ll finish here. - What? No, of course I’m going to… The young woman’s head appeared at the door. - Sincerely, you don’t look well. Don’t you think you caught this flu bug? - Nonsense, he answered with more confidence than he actually felt. I’ve been vaccinated. - Well, you know that it’s not 100% efficient. Yes. Yes, he bloody knew it. This was the 23th century, dammit! And they were still not able to produce a flu vaccine that would work on his system. Hell, they were not able to cure the common cold, so why should he be surprised? A vicious rattling cough prevented him from answering to this and he gave up. - Okay, I’m going to bed. Thank you. I owe you one. Christine smiled. - We will agree on the fact that you usually tend to do a bit more than your part, so just… take it easy, okay? ***** - Hehh-HISHHOO! - Bless you. He had always known that fate was against him, and that was another proof. He was in the lift, alone with the beautiful young cadet whose room was just the one under his and Jim’s, it was the perfect occasion to ask her out for a date (Jim said she had looked at him with interest, but Leonard knew better than to believe his roommate, and yet… nothing ventured, nothing gained), and he was a shivering, sniffling, sneezing mess. - Heh’HATTCCHHOO! Thank you. I’b sorry. The young woman smiled and turned her head, avoiding eye contact. As soon as the lift arrived at the fifth floor, she went away without wishing him a good day. Okay, another failure, no problem, he was used to it… With his usual luck, the girl was a germaphobic. He opened the door of their room to discover that Jim wasn’t here, which was good: it meant peace, quiet and silence. He needed it. Bones headed to the bathroom and picked a tissue box before collapsing on his bed. The short walk from the autopsy room to his little apartment had exhausted him. Maybe it was the flu after all. Shit. ***** - HESHCHHH! Leonard sneezed himself awake (well, he knew it was impossible and he had to be awake to sneeze, but that was the impression he had), hastily grabbed a tissue and buried his nose in it. Then he froze when his burning eyes rested on the clock. 16:09. Ugh? Had he really been sleeping during almost three hours and a half? He didn’t feel rested at all. In fact, he felt like crap and he was going to vomit at any moment. He stumbled on his feet and hurried to the bathroom. Dear Lord, why me? He managed to think before he completely emptied his stomach into the basin. Leonard was not ill very often. Generally once a year, or when he really really really overworked. The last time had been just before he had enlisted in Starfleet, just after his divorce. He had never been so sick, on every sense of the word. Then, during two years, nothing except a small cold – a miracle, perhaps. Or James Kirk’s presence. The kid had really made his life brighter, he had to admit it. He had never known a friendship like this one before. But now he felt utterly miserable. He retched again and his roommate’s voice came from the main room: - Bones? Is that you? No, dumbass, it’s not me, I’m a burglar who just broke in to vomit in our bathroom. - Yeah. Sorry about that. I’m a bit under the weather. What an understatement. ***** - Hah’AAHHCHEWW! The powerful sneeze triggered a coughing fit which wracked his whole body and made him shiver. His temperature was up at 38,6°C. It was still manageable but by no means agreeable. He shifted uncomfortably in the bed, wishing he could speed up time. - Can’t you stop that noise? Jim barked. Bones froze at the aggressive tone. Since his roommate had come home and realised Leonard was sick, he hadn’t said one word, spending an incredible amount of time in the bathroom and then studying at the other side of the room, the as far away as possible from him. Not a word of comfort, not a smile, nothing whatsoever. - I’m deeply sorry to be ill, McCoy answered, making sure the sarcasm was obvious in his voice. Jim glanced at him, but said nothing. The elder man curled himself under the blankets, shuddering, and tried to sleep more, but Jim’s behaviour hurt more than he wanted to admit. He would have expected his roommate to take care of him – after all, they were friends, and really good ones, and Bones had helped the younger with frequent allergies and occasional illnesses more than once. He did not understand. ***** - HEESSHHuhh! Could you pass be bore tissues, pleahhh… Ehhh… Huh’ETSCHSHHHuh! Jim stood up with an exasperated sigh and threw him the box which was on the table. Bones didn’t catch it (even with his full reflexes, he wasn’t very good at this kind of games; with the flu and a 39°C fever, he was unlikely to succeed) and the box fell on the floor. He rose from his bed to grab it and the room started to spin around him. He had to lean on the wall not to fall. Yes, that was a really bad case of flu. Eventually he managed to get his precious tissues – his nose was running and sniffing wasn’t an option anymore – and crawled back to bed. He wanted to tell Jim what he thought of his behaviour, but when he turned to face the young man, he was cut off by the look on his face. James Kirk, who was never afraid of anything, was completely petrified, his eyes fixed on him and trembling from head to toes. A sheen of sweat was visible on his face and he breathed heavily. - What is it? McCoy asked, immediately worried. What’s happening to you? A new bout of coughing made him double over on his bed. Maybe he should take care of himself before asking his stupid roommate what was wrong in his little head. But he couldn’t help it. He was a doctor, dammit, and if the others were ill, he had sworn to take care of them, no matter his own health condition. Jim remained at the same place, paralysed and eyes wide open in pure panic. Damn, the kid wasn’t a germaphobic, Bones knew for sure. Jim had been ill and it didn’t seem to bother him – he even made jokes about it. Before Leonard had time to ask what happened, the young man was up, catching a bag on his bed. - I had forgotten – I won’t sleep here tonight, I… I have a date. - What? McCoy asked, not believing what he heard. - Yes, I… Well, see you tomorrow, okay? And he was gone. Great. Just… great. ***** - Haaah’IESSHHHEW! Jim, I know it’s you and it’s not damn funny. I’m ill, I need to sleep. Please stop calling me. Bones threw his phone on the bedside table and lie back with a grating cough. He wasn’t sure what happened with his roommate, but since he had departed, he had been keeping on calling him every thirty minutes or so. And he had departed hours ago. McCoy felt exhausted, dizzy, nauseous, cold – and lonely. And Jim just made it worse by calling him without saying a word. What was he doing – just assessing the physician wasn’t dying? Or trying to kill him with frustration and exhaustion? He tried to get on his feet but didn’t manage and just leant over the bed to vomit on the floor. He had taken some hypos against the most uncomfortable symptoms, but it didn’t seem very efficient. When his phone rang the next time, he didn’t reach it. He felt too ill to move even his hand. He was floating. Everything seemed unimportant. Except the fact that he was sick as a dog, and alone, so alone – but, to be honest, it wasn’t really surprising. After all, who had ever taken care of him since his mother had died? Of course he wasn’t going to cry. He was a grown-up. But the tears he felt running on his cheeks didn’t seem to be aware of it. Link to comment
Subtly Clashing Wishes Posted March 24, 2017 Share Posted March 24, 2017 On 3/22/2017 at 4:51 PM, Aliena H. said: Yes, you have to see the James Bond movies!!! That's what I keep telling @AngelEyes ! Oh, poor, poor Leonard. The flu is terrible and to have a freaked out roommate on top of it all just make it worse. On 3/22/2017 at 4:51 PM, Aliena H. said: Except the fact that he was sick as a dog, and alone, so alone – but, to be honest, it wasn’t really surprising. After all, who had ever taken care of him since his mother had died? Okay, what are you doing? Are you trying to make me cry? Link to comment
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