Sherlock fandom - ACD version today to celebrate the master's birthday.
Clueless
To him, everything is obvious. Where science and the Work is concerned at least. In other aspects, the great Sherlock Holmes can be completely ignorant. When it comes down to sentiment and matters of the heart, his mind is obscured by darkness. That is how he has described it to me in the privacy of our home.
“I will never comprehend how you put up with me, dear boy,” he murmurs against my neck, hiding his abashment and flushing face.
“My dearest one,” I soothe him, “it is rather obvious, is it not?”
“Not at all, John.”
“But you do believe me when I say I love you, do you not?”
“I never doubt you, my heart. Still, I can’t help but question your motives.”
“My motives?”
“There is always something.”
“So you keep saying, and yet…”
I let the sentence hang between us for him to pick up whenever he is ready.
“And yet you are here every day when I wake up or come home from a nightly encounter with the Irregulars.”
“This is true. What may you deduce from that, my darling?”
“The signs are obvious enough, and I know I should trust my instincts.”
“Are you saying you cannot?”
“Not per se.”
“You are being quite Delphic, Sherlock.”
“I am aware, John.”
“Tea?”
“Please.”
***
Some days later, I am using my shoelaces to tie up a rather volatile villain to keep him restrained until the Yard’s finest find it in themselves to come to our aid. It is not so much my own, but Sherlock’s aid I am referring to. The blasted criminal administered a blow to my beloved’s precious skull before I could tackle him to the floor. Had I not taken the Hippocratic oath, I am not sure I would have let the culprit live.
Because we are (almost) alone – the man on the floor is unconscious – I dare to use a less formal tone when I address my injured beau.
“Dear boy, how is your head?”
“Dreadful.”
“I am sorry I was unable to get to you fast enough, my dear.”
“Shh, John. I was at fault, not you. I thought his moves would be obvious. A miscalculation on my part, I’m afraid.”
“You need to more careful, you realise,” I whisper in his ear, and plant a soft kiss to his temple. “If I lose you, I don’t know who I am anymore.”
Sherlock opens his mouth to say something saccharine - if the fond look in his eyes is any indication - but of course, the police choose that moment to burst through the door.
***
Thankfully, Sherlock shows no signs of having a concussion, so I let him sleep once I have divested him and arranged the blankets around him like he prefers. He is asleep before I reach the threshold, which speaks volumes about his fatigue.
In the morning, I wake to a blissful warmth. I can admit that my body is no longer as young and robust as I would like – it aches in most places – due to the tackle I performed the previous evening. Being enveloped in Sherlock’s tight embrace, helps immensely, though.
I try to turn in his arms, but his grip on me tightens, indicating I should stay as I am.
“Not yet, my heart. My head is fine, but your body needs more rest, and I find that I am quite amenable to stay in bed for a while longer.”
I hum contentedly lifting a hand to cover his.
Soft and warm lips are pressed to my nape and then Sherlock inhales.
“I have come to a conclusion,” he informs me.
“You have?”
“Indeed. I have decided to throw all sense of logic overboard when it comes to you.”
“Dear me! Should I be worried?”
He huffs exasperated but kisses me again all the same.
“Last night, you correctly ascertained that I was not concussed, which meant I was able to observe you closely when you weren’t focusing on me.”
“I see. You did not think it impudent?”
“Why on Earth would I think that? I observe you constantly!”
“Very well, then. Do continue.”
“I would if you could stop interrupting me repeatedly!”
“I am merely making conversation, Sherlock.”
“You can count yourself lucky I adore you so much.”
“Oh, I do, my precious love, I do.”
“John!”
“Yes, my darling.”
I turn in his arms now; I miss seeing his beautiful face.
“Tell me. Please,” I whisper and pecks his lips gently.
“It was as clear as day, John. If I had been severely hurt by that villain, you would have served time for your actions. That is how much you love me, and I decided to stop questioning it. I realised in that moment, that everything can’t always be properly explained. It just…”
He stops speaking, as if lost for words, but I have an inkling of what he wants to convey.
“It is what it is?” I suggest.
“Precisely, my dearest John.
“Quite obvious, that,” I murmur, just to get in the last word – if he will let me.
In lieu of answering, he cups my cheek, gives me an intense look, and kisses me until we both forget anything but each other.
Lin leaned over. “Has Iroh taken his eyes off of Asami this entire evening?”
Kya snorted, then brought her teacup up to her lips. “I don’t know. I’ve been too busy watching Korra and Bolin being silly at the kids’ table.”
Lin straightened her back, trying to see past Kya’s shoulders. She was treated to the sight of Korra and Bolin both taking mouthfuls of noodles, then coming nose to nose with the last remaining span of one especially long noddle stretched between their mouths.
Rather than watch the resolution of that predicament, she turned her attention back to Kya. Her friend was wearing a new dress, with an embroidered pattern she couldn’t quite make out.
“You need glasses, Lin.”
She huffed in consternation. “I can see just fine.”
The sidelong smirk she got in reply just made her snort in frustration and look away.
Under the windows, Mako and Huan were bent low over a pai sho board, but didn’t seem to be playing the game in front of them. They were clearly engaged in conversation, oblivious to the world around them.
Her hip twinged, so she gathered Kya’s bowl and her own. She stood and looked back at the boys. On the far side of the board, she could see them holding hands.
She raised an eyebrow and looked back at Kya. A directed nod pulled Kya’s attention across the room, and when their eyes met again, they shared a small smile.
Good for them, Kya mouthed silently.
Lin nodded once and stepped away to the kitchen to deposit their dishes.
Surprisingly, the kitchen was empty of the people she thought would be there. Tenzin and Baatar had each collected armloads of dishes from around the room, followed by Pema and Suyin.
But none of them were still there. At least none of the dishes were still dirty.
Clearly, she and Kya had been too busy talking to eat quickly enough to dump their dishes off on their hosts. She decided keeping the peace was worth the minor chore.
Kya entered the kitchen just as the sound of conversation from outside drifted through the window.
“Suyin, you saw what we did, right?”
“Oh, definitely. It’s so obvious.”
Lin’s hackles rose at the amusement in Su’s voice, for no good reason.
And then Tenzin’s laugh, that Lin had loved finally hearing again after so long, somehow increased her suspicion.
“From our perspective, it shouldn’t be much longer before they finally realize it themselves.”
“They think they’re being all subtle, but I agree with you, Su,” came Pema’s voice.
Lin glanced back in the direction of the kitchen, then met Kya’s eyes. Kya shrugged, but tilted her head to keep listening.
“Tenzin, do you think Kya will ask your permission first, or will Lin ask your mother?” Baatar asked in his trademarked, even tone.
In the kitchen, Lin and Kya looked at each other, both mortified and comforted by the happy laughter that followed.
A/N: Fic for the latest @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt.
It’s so obvious for Allison, Amanda is staring at her even as she struggles to free herself from the trap. She’s not sure when it comes, or how, but eventually the trap snaps open and she finds herself tucked against Amanda, the woman is shaking a little even as she carries her out to set her on the hospital steps.
Later, much later, Allison will wake up to Amanda sat by her side, looking distraught. She’d been struggling, obviously, to forgive herself for what she had almost done to Allison. It’s hard for Allison to ignore it, even if she knows she shouldn’t care so much for the woman. She does care, she always cares.
By the time everything starts falling apart she’s already got Amanda away from Jigsaw, the two moving away from town. Much later the two would discover that they were a perfect pair,
Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial using the prompt #FFF357 ~ it’s so obvious. Moving in the same universe within “Medalist” Volumes 5 to 9, it is, however, an AU/canon convergence. This is only my interpretation and at the same time I want to tie in those panels that came out of nowhere (Tsurumaikada, I love them so much) to the fic I am working on. None of the things happened after the first few paragraphs of this fic (yet, though I am hoping) in the story. (If you haven’t read the manga then maybe treat the first five paragraphs as spoilers.)
—
Fandom: Medalist (anime & manga)
Characters: Tsukasa Akeuraji, Leonid Sorokin, Jun Yodaka
Word count: 845
TSUKASA had always been vulnerable with the outbursts of his feelings (he was an emotional guy after all) but at this moment, he contained himself. Today was the most important day for Inori, the moment he’d been waiting for. The culmination of that bet with Jun Yodaka.
Yet he almost fled when Leonid Sorokin appeared and insisted that they should call his friend for acknowledging his dancing style. More than the language barrier, as soon as the Russian choreographer showed him his phone, Tsukasa wanted to disappear from where was standing.
Leonid’s friend was none other than the gold medalist.
“Hello! I didn’t bother you, did I? I met someone here who recognises my work. Would you believe it? Here he is!” He greeted in English while waving his hand.
Tsukasa could only look at the man on the video call. Defiant and naked, Jun looked back, he was drying his hair when Leonid rang him. Tsukasa admired those eyes, as luminous as the stars above, glaring at him.
The younger coach wondered about the curious connection between these two men had. How intimate they were. It was out of character for Jun. Or clearly not?
Theirs was not only bordering on a professional relationship. This was much more. Shock and disbelief were etched on Tsukasa’s face. A tinge of jealousy mixed in.
Jun’s long eyelashes caught the water droplets falling from his washed hair.
Certainly Leonid didn’t have a clue what happened between the two men.
“Say, what do you want to know about him? You can talk to him!” Leonid fed the translation app.
Tsukasa watched Jun walked to the Barcelona chair holding his loose towel around his waist. He sat down at once, placed his left arm behind the chair, then hoisted his right leg on top of his left. He covered his nether regions for posterity’s sake. No shame, no inhibitions. He dared Tsukasa to look away, who seemed tricked by a fox. Tsukasa felt his feet glued to the arena’s floor watching the man on the camera. He wore his first finest suit after all. Courtesy of Kago-san. Yet he either felt more naked or dressed inappropriately than the man on the screen.
It’s obvious that the asshat is enjoying this.
Tsukasa followed the towel around his neck but Jun’s alabaster throat distracted him. He trailed the water droplets between his Adam’s apple to his shoulder blade.
Ahhh… why does Jun still look so good even though he’s buck naked. Wait, that is Inori’s towel! That bastard keeps it. What the hell.
Tsukasa licked that chest, kissed those lips. He fucked that medalist, who fucked him in return. Jun taught him the meaning of snowballing and other perversions. Jun was a good teacher all right. They shared one night, true. But the sun rose and the magic fizzled out. What was left behind was memories. It felt like a dream. Or a nightmare. He tried to salvage the good ones for himself to remember.
Tsukasa knew that like a hawk Jun was watching him. Him and Inori. No doubt he knew all their moves. He knew which steps would Inori take.
Jun didn’t talk much. He was waiting for Tsukasa, who watched him back.
Perhaps the silence was killing them. He turned to Leonid, who was observing them both.
“Thank you for calling Jun Yodaka. But I don’t have anything more to say to him or to you.”
Tsukasa suddenly found the courage he knew he had always been hiding.
“Then we talk on ice,” Jun finally said. He hanged up.
Tsukasa bit his lips. Leonid saw the disappointment in his face. The younger coach lost that small hope that he did leave a mark on the medalist.
Not even a dent, he thought.
“Are you 100 per cent sure that your student can beat Hikaru?”
Leonid didn’t know anything about Inori. He didn’t know anything about the effort she made, the drive she had. He didn’t have any right to ask that question.
But did he know that Tsukasa and Jun shared one night?
“I don’t know what happened between you and Jun, but I must warn you that he only sees you as a toy that he plays with when he’s bored.”
Tsukasa shouldn’t have listened to the Russian choreographer. Who knew what Jun’s ulterior motive was.
“You know what? It doesn’t really matter to me.”
It was useless to deny nor confirm the Russian’s claims. Instead he waited until there were no more words left to say. Tsukasa turned his back and walked toward Inori and Hitomi.
Would it be better if Tsukasa didn’t have anything to do with the gold medalist at all? But alas, they moved in the same universe.
Not a good start, he grumbled. Well, whatever. This is Inori’s day and she will show Jun and Leonid what she’s got.
An alternative POV of a scene in a WIP crossover for Conclave and something else :)
---
It's so obvious it would be comical if the situation weren't so serious. The woman is looking around the office, noting everything, seeking, lifting pages
"Come si Chiami? Cosa stai facendo qui?" Agnes challenges, and she steps out of the Sister's passage. The woman jumps, spins to face her, and in a commendable show of quick thinking begins to speak "Mi Dispiace Sorella, sono.. perdu."
The last word is actually the French, but anyone would understand it for it's Cognate.
"Strange," she replies in the woman's native English, "to be lost so far from the revised tour route. To happen to be lost in the room where a murder occurred."
The woman nods her head once, acknowledging her ruse has failed.
Although it was a good effort.
"You're right, Sister," she says in English "In truth, I'm not lost. I'm looking for evidence."
"Evidence?"
Well, I don't believe the Archbishop did it, somewhere in this room, I hope," Signora Fletcher looks around, assessing the room, the desk the walls "I'll find the proof."
Officially Agnes knows, she should shout for the Gendarmerie (and why have they left their posts in the first place), less officially she should herself take the Woman, Signora Fletcher, back to the tour group. But - She doesn't believe he did it, no more do I -. And the image she had seen, when brought to the scene by a Gendarme at a run. This woman with her arms wrapped protectively around Sorella Cristiana who had found the body, sheltering her in her embrace, one8 hand high on her young Sister's shoulder, ready to stop her looking back to the body. This was a Good woman, not just a famous one.
"I don't believe it either." She moves forward, "what are we looking for?"
"I don't know exactly, but something that shouldn't be here." Signora Fletcher glances at her, even as she's turning back towards the desk, "Perhaps you would know better than I."
Perhaps, perhaps not. She moves to the desk, beside the other woman, pulling her glasses out of her habit pocket, setting them on her nose.
