By any chance will you be active again and writing for Sullivan 👀?
That is such a great question... I have no good answer for it.
I haven't written anything in about 2+ years, unfortunately, although I have been meaning to get back into it. Adding to that, I am quite far behind on Father Brown. So, possibly, I'm not ruling it out entirely, but if I were to do so, it wouldn't be up to date with what's going on in the show.
Sorry this is an unconclusive answer, but all it's all I've got at the moment, that and an 'I hope so', because even though it's been years since I've watched the show, I still love that surly detective.
Ship: Sid Carter x Reader
Prompt: How long was I asleep?
Word Count: 951
Tagging: @23orso
The deep rumbling shake of your staircase was the first indicator that Sid had finally awoken from his deep sleep. On any other day you wouldn’t have questioned his sleeping patterns in the slightest, especially as last night was anything but relaxing, but with all the racket that had been been going on in the past hour or so, it was almost impressive he had managed to sleep through it all… almost.
A ‘Good morning’ got stuck in your throat as you watched him stumble his way, only half awake, towards the kitchen where you sat. There was something so intimate about mornings together, seeing him still ruffled from sleep, more so than usual, sleep still clinging to him in a drowsy manner as he threw you a clumsy smile in greeting. Perhaps it was just the fact that you knew this sight was one not many got to see, a sight that, at least for now, was all yours, that made it so special. Or perhaps it was just something about him that made you happy, as he always seemed to do, even at his most aggravating moments.
Stopping all too suddenly, his body almost going on without him in a comical manner, he stared unmovingly at the sight before him, not so much as glancing at you as his attention was focused so intently.
“How long was I asleep?” his voice crackled, clearly the first use it had for the morning. It never ceased to bring a smile to your face, the sheer domesticity of the sound, but it was outweighed by the amusing sight of him. Confusion had his mouth hanging open as he tried to comprehend what he was seeing, and with his hair still a mess and his shirt crinkled, it was a sight like no other.
Laughter was threatening to slip from you, but a high pitched squeal from your arms stole your attention back to the task at hand. In your arms the one-year-old was grinning madly as she reached out towards Sid eagerly, beaming with excitement at the idea of someone new to play with. Her white dress was still pristine, although you new that wouldn’t last long, and she was in stark contrast to the man she was desperately trying to grab at, despite the fact he still stood some feet away.
“Sid,” you start slowly, almost tempted to tease him, but that slight look of fear as he finally glanced away from the girl to you was enough to give him some pity. “This is Little Lorna, she’s the neighbour’s daughter.”
Even from the corner of your eye you could see the way he visibly relaxed at that. It seemed the child was no longer some terrifying monster to him, but had been reduced back to the cute ball of excitement that was watching him curiously through long lashes.
“I thought we were going to spend today together,” he spoke in what could have almost been considered a whine, were it not for the cheeky grin that played on his face.
“I couldn’t very well tell her mother I couldn’t take her because I have company,” you shook your head with a slight chuckle. The last thing you needed was word getting back to Mrs McCarthy that Sid had taken to spending the night more and more often, the scandal was one thing, but the gossip would be unbearable. “It’s only eight o’clock.”
A cheeky wink was all the response he gave as he moved around your kitchen table, stealing a piece of toast off your plate and knowing there was nothing you could do about it while your hands were full with a now antsy toddler who was getting progressively more upset that she didn’t have her new playmate yet.
With a simple roll of your eyes in return, you shifted back to face the table, placing Lorna down on the surface in the hopes it might settle her movements at least enough that you didn’t fear her getting out of your hold. With a gentle smile and soft words you tried to distract her from what she sought, a seemingly impossible task with Sid moving about the kitchen as if he owned the place. Toys did little to distract her, even her favourite doll couldn’t capture her attention for more than a few seconds as she turned in your hold to see the man, curiosity filling her little features as she watched eagerly.
“It suits you,” Sid mumbled over the final bite of your toast, wiping the crumbs away on his pant legs without a care.
“What?” you asked in confusion, looking down in fear that she had already managed to spill something over you without your notice. As your attention was glancing over your clothing in a slight panic, he simply chuckled, finally giving in to the girls demanding reach which was slowly being joined with an ever increasing pout as she didn’t get what she wanted. Swinging the girl merrily onto his hip, he offered her his hand, his focus now solely on the child in his arms.
“Kids,” he shrugged, never letting his gaze leave the little girl who was now being happily bounced about, sprouting giggles as she went up and down.
You almost went to hide the way your cheeks heated up at the thought, but still his focus was on Lorna, his bouncing slowly turning into some kind of dance about your small kitchen. He began to hum some out of tune version of something you must have heard on the radio, and you simply watched on in silence, not daring to say the thought that filled your mind. ‘It suits you too.’
Ship: Hercule Flambeau x Reader
Word Count: 444
Warnings: sexual references
The lightest tickle against your bare back tempts you awake, pulling you from your slumber gently but persistently. You’re just about to pull the blankets up to cover you and regain some form of warmth when your dozy brain registers the weight against your waist, comforting and warm, running the gentlest of patterns against your skin. A hazy smile pulls at your lips as you take in the feel, realising the soft caress against your back was no breeze but the softest of kisses from the man behind you.
“If this is your attempt at making me get up…” you start, tilting your head slightly towards the man, your head refusing to actually leave the pillow, your eyes determined to not yet open and give in to the morning light.
A deep chuckle from behind you is all the answer the thief gives before you feel the bed shift with his movement. Before you can even open your eyes to question him his lips are on yours kissing you languidly, taking his time with gentle attention as his hand that isn’t being used to prop himself up traces ever so lightly against your cheek. Pulling away almost reluctantly he gazes down at you, watching as your own eyes slowly flutter open in curiosity.
He looks so relaxed, so peaceful; a sight far too rare, as far as you’re concerned, and you take it in greedily, wanting that sight ingrained in your memory.
“On the contrary, my dear,” he finally answers, his voice a low grumble in the morning, a sound you were coming to love an awful lot. “I am merely trying to take advantage of every moment we have,” the unspoken ‘before I have to leave’ weighs heavily in the air between you. It was all too rare that you actually got to spend time together, and you both knew he’d be off far sooner than either of you would like. But you weren’t ready for that, you never were.
“Well,” you start slowly, lips quirking up mischievously as your hand begins to trace gently over his bare chest, searing the feeling into your memory. “You had best be quiet so no one finds you.”
You’re rewarded instantly with that beautiful laugh, chased away with a quick peck to your lips as the same mischief in your gaze is reflected back in his own. “As I recall it wasn’t I that had the problem staying quiet last night.”
With a quirked brow, you turned fully to face him, your back against the bed as he happily trapped you within his hold, arms caging you in. “Is that a challenge Mister Flambeau?”
You had heard the rumours, the stories Felicia had told you over phone and letter of all the mysteries that seemed to come to Kembleford, all the murders that she had somehow found herself involved in solving, yet nothing she had ever told you could have prepared yourself for actually visiting the quaint little town. You had hardly been off the train an hour before everything came crashing down around you. A body, found in the underbrush on the side of the road on your drive to Montague. It was horrific, something out of the most terrible novel, and no matter how you tried, the image simply wouldn’t leave your mind.
It had been some hours since the horrific ordeal, you had finally been allowed to leave the dreadful scene for Montague, with Sid doing his best to reassure you from the front seat. But strangers words, no matter how kind they may be, couldn’t cut through your emotions in a time like this. You needed comfort, you needed something more than the awkward ‘try not to think about it’ from the chauffeur, or the half-hearted, at best, ‘sorry for your trouble’ that the inspector, Mallory was it?, gave you.
The moment the car stopped you were grasping at the door, not daring to wait for Sid to open it. You needed air, you needed freedom you needed…
At the top step stood one Felicia Montague, looking utterly resplendent even with the deep frown that sat on her perfectly painted lips. Even the way her arms were crossed before her, her foot tapping impatiently, did nothing to lessen the stunning aura that surrounded her, if anything it only added to her power. She might be annoyed by the tardiness of your arrival, unaware of what had delayed you, but still, just the sight of her had you releasing a breath of relief.
Even from the top of the stairs it was clear Felicia could see something was wrong in your expression as her own anger faltered. But you didn’t give her a chance to question the delay, ignoring your bags that sat in the car as you rushed towards her, engulfing her in a tight hug. With her arms around you, that first sliver of real comfort seemed to crack through your exterior, a silent relief against the horrors of your trip.
“Darling,” she spoke quietly so only you could hear, not releasing you as you clung to her. “Whatever is the matter?”
Words were too hard to find, after all, how could you explain what you had seen, how could you truly describe anything as it was due? Luckily, or perhaps unluckily as his words brought those images straight back into your mind, Sid had no such problems. It seemed he had caught up to you, abandoning the bags in an effort to help where possible. With her arms still around you, Felicia gathered you into the house, sitting you down in a small parlour as Sid continued to explain your dealings with Mallory.
His words seemed to meld together as you sat down, giving in to the grief for the stranger that was pulling away at you. Images and thoughts mixed together in your mind, filling you with questions about what might have happened, whether the man’s family had any idea, how anyone could ever end up in such a manner. You were lost to the situation, unaware as Sid left to fetch your bags, or how Felicia gently let go of your entwined hands to speak to a maid in short, quiet words.
You were consumed by your thoughts, even if the pain and anguish you felt towards the encounter was eased simply by being in Felicia’s company.
“Here, drink this. You’ll feel better,” Felicia spoke so softly, so carefully and yet the sudden sound still caused you to jump. Finally tearing your gaze away from the beautiful carpet and its intricate patterns that had captured your attention some time earlier, you looked to her. You took in her sympathetic gaze, the small reassuring smile she had just for you, and the cup that she was holding out for you to grasp.
A thankful smile, timid and uncertain, was all the thanks you could offer as you took the cup and its saucer, careful not to break it. There was no hesitation as you took a hearty drink, desperate for any comfort it may provide.
“That,” you coughed slightly, the shock of the slight burn as the cold liquid ran down your throat surprising you more than anything. “That is definitely not tea.”
With a hint of a smile pulling at her lips, Felicia ran her gaze over you once more, determined to spot any signs that you might be doing worse off than you appeared. “I thought you could use something a little stronger.”
“And straight whisky in a teacup was the answer?” you couldn’t help but question, bemusement creeping its way into your tone as you looked between the delicate floral teacup in your hand and the woman before you.
“No one will question it this way,” Felicia shrugged, although her smile was growing in force as she picked up a matching tea cup from atop the cabinet and sat down in the arm chair nearest your own. “Besides, whisky certainly can’t hurt.”
