We Can't Rewind, We've Gone Too Far

Title: The Langham
Rating: E
Universe: ACD Sherlock Holmes/BBC Sherlock crossover
Character(s): Mary Morstan, Mary Morstan
Summary: On the worst night of Mary’s life, someone appears in her hotel room.
And identity is funny being yourself is funny as you are never yourself to yourself except as you remember yourself and then of course you do not believe yourself. --Gertrude Stein
Warnings/Enticements: Femslash, Angst, Crack taken seriously, Victorian attitudes, Selfcest
Word Count: 7393

On AO3

Femslash June: for when you like Femslash February but you don't write fast enough.

So Wits on Tap is a poetry remix challenge run by redscudery, and I remixed Paid Down More Penitence by PorcupineGirl into Work, Learn. I don’t know what the hell the rhyme scheme thinks it’s doing, but it is at least a sonnet.

missdaviswrites:
If he laid on his left side, the damaged muscles in his shoulder protested at the weight. The obvious solution seemed to be to sleep on his right, but when he did he invariably woke up with a cramp in his leg—he’d limped on that side for too long for it ever to be fully pain-free again. If he was twenty years younger he would’ve slept on his stomach, but he wasn’t, so he slept on his back. Which would’ve been fine, if it weren’t for the dreams. Therapists, fellow doctors, friends: everyone told him that bad dreams weren’t dependent on the position in which he slept, but they were wrong. All of his nightmares ended with him flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

He never told Mary, not in so many words, because what was the point? She couldn’t solve any of his problems, physical or otherwise. But after a few months of sleeping together he realized that she knew. He still had the bad dreams, but now, whenever he woke from them, she was there, a hand on his arm, skin touching skin, comforting and calming him enough that he could finally sleep in peace.

(i would write the part with room for sherlock but basically that’s already half of my posted works on AO3)

Me:
She’d trained herself to wake up as soon as the nightmares started. She didn’t always know where she’d be sleeping, or with whom, and wakefulness was better than having to explain screaming at night. Even in her new civilian life, she didn’t want to have that conversation with casual boyfriends. Easier to avoid any mention of it, any memories from it.

So when her dream-self saw lightning, or dark empty hallways, or felt the solid comfort of a gun in her hand, she woke up at once. Every time.

John didn’t. John, she knew without asking, lived through all of his awful memories again some nights, unable to stop them. Usually it was Afghanistan, now. So she tried to fall asleep facing him, touching him, so when he woke up he knew she was there.

And when she woke up she was looking right at him, every time, and knew where she was, and who she was, and why she was here.

missdaviswrites:
Sherlock never slept in John and Mary’s bed. The activities in which the three of them engaged after the baby went to bed always energized him rather than tiring him out, so he didn’t need to sleep in the space they left for him, though sometimes he liked to stay and watch them breathe. John twitched when he had nightmares; Mary’s body grew rigid and tried to draw in on itself, as if she could make herself small enough to escape from whatever pursued her. Early on he tried drugging them both into a more restful slumber, but his efforts had not been well-received, so he learned other ways to soothe: deep, soft whispers, a gentle nudge, the sound of his violin playing from the next room. When it seemed they both had a particularly unsettled night, he would take care of the baby’s breakfast and morning routine for them, letting them sleep as long as possible after the sun rose, when they transitioned into better dreams. No one ever mentioned any of this, but they all knew they had found the best arrangement possible for three people who’d once been so thoroughly alone.

(Miss Davis, if you see this and want it down/elsewhere just tell me <3)

So Wits on Tap is a poetry remix challenge run by redscudery, and I remixed The Clothes You Once Wore by MissDavis into Revealing Clothes.

I got three lovely Yuletide gifts, and yes I am ridiculously lucky.

whistling through these driftwood bones by lady_peony, which is about Miranda (from The Tempest) and is magical and poetic and brilliant.

A Girl Worth Fighting For by prettysophist, which has Mulan! Managing to be perfect and realizing she doesn't have to be and cross-dressing and in love.

Thorns by wolfraven80, which has Morwen and Telemain being decidedly Morwen and Telemain -ish. It's so very much of the Enchanted Forest.

And I wrote one fic, and four drabbles.

My Assignment: Resources and Rescues for coyotegestalt - Cimorene and Morwen talk and run into someone. This was lots of fun.

Drabbles: 12 Dancing Princesses (angsty)
The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015) (porn)
Howl's Moving Castle (parenting)
Scott Pilgrim (female friendship)

And they all seem to have been pretty well-received.

And I also wrote Mine Is Forever, a short sequel to Just How This Would End, for Consulting Piskies for Christmas. Because I have a girlfriend, you guys. <3_<3

And I have two BBC Sherlock ficlets hanging around that I think I haven't mentioned here. (I am writing this while pretending that half of my tumblr dash isn't off watching the special. I find the contrast between the Victorian trappings and the BBC actors and characterization to be really upsetting somehow.) Anyway. All Was Absolute Silence Behind Us is a missing scene for Faerymorstan's fix-it Johnlockary Biscuitverse, and Utility is basically a meta theory in drabble form.

Based on this edit

She found the body herself. She’d hoped he wouldn’t have -

What a disgusting thought. She called the appropriate people, and the undertakers, and the funeral directors. She attended the appropriate events. She didn’t cry publicly, but no amount of makeup would prevent her from looking strained.

She took two days off. Then she returned to work, and set to it.

It had been a mistake on Magnussen’s part, she told herself. He didn’t have any hold over her now. There was no reason for her to cater to him. And she had nothing else to focus on, except her work.

Sherlock is sitting in the back of an ambulance, being questioned. “History of military service,” he says. “Nerves of steel…”

And he sees the blonde figure casually standing behind the police cars.

It makes no sense.

But he says, “Actually, you know what, ignore me,” and jumps down.

He strides past the police.

Mary smiles at him. “Are you all right? Sergeant Donovan’s just been explaining things to me…”

“Good shot,” says Sherlock, looking down at her hands. Gloved. Of course.

“Yes, must have been, through that window.”

“Well, you’d know,” says Sherlock, and Mary blinks up at him innocently.

#they have adventures #then sherlock jumps off a building like an idiot #then mary meets this nice ex-army doctor while he's gone #then sherlock comes back #realizes mary hasn't told john anything about her past #drama results

You with calm and rage and tea,
Her with smiles, sly words, hidden depths,
Me, my violin, my skull, Mrs. Hudson,
And another, unknown, unseen except in effects.
We wait. You and I waited twice
Without knowing it - first for each other,
Then to know Mary; now knowing, hoping.

I never expected to write Sherlock S3 fic, but I have written Sherlock S3 fic.

Title: Numbers
Author: Violsva
Fandom: Sherlock (TV)
Rating: G
Warnings/Enticements: People with ambiguous moral systems
Word Count: 221
Summary: Even the landlady used to run a drug cartel!

On AO3.

Ahem. So.

I write, or have written, Omegaverse. It is no longer just hidden on the BBC kinkmeme.

If you don't know what that means, or you are related to me, please don't click.