Sherlock BBC Prompting Meme

"we get all sorts around here."


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This post is for responding to prompts from prompt posts that are full, or continuing WIPs that have already been started but the prompt post is now full or near to full.


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Fill 1/2

(Anonymous)

"You said the mark wasn't militarized," Ariadne shouts at Arthur as they duck behind a pillar. The ground's shaking beneath them, but it's not the dream destabilizing -- it's the fucking bombs being dropped on them.

"He's not!" Arthur shouts back. The mark's already under for the second level, Eames and Dom hooked up to him and sleeping peacefully. "Cover me," he says to Ariadne, and runs for the PASIV.

The thing is, there's only one projection shooting at them. But he has fucking good accuracy, and when they'd shot him down the first time, the mark had freaked out and a new one had sprung out of the woodwork, guns blazing. That's when the bombs had started falling.

Arthur slips the IV into his wrist and hopes like hell that the next level -- a fake crime scene, for the mark's job as a consultant, is more appealing.

--

It is. Sort of.

There's the mark, kneeling next to the body and gathering evidence. There's Eames, forging the mark's house mate, hands in his pockets and wearing an indulgent smile as the mark makes his conclusions out loud.

Dom's not here -- he should be at the mark's apartment, finding out everything he knows about their client. It's just him and Eames, on distraction duty.

The mark rises, stripping off a pair of black leather gloves and shoving them into his coat (and that is a nice coat, it's always nice to see someone else that understands the value of dressing well) pocket. "You're looking for the mother-in-law, or maybe an estranged aunt. Whichever wears the floral perfume less often but received some as a Christmas gift. Boring! Come, John; let's go home."

Fuck. Fuck shit fucking fuck fuck.

The puzzle they'd made -- a murder, no marks left on the body, had been meant to keep the mark occupied for at least an hour, to give Dom enough time to find the goods. There isn't even supposed to be enough evidence to find the murderer -- it's not a real murder!

Arthur makes frantic gestures from behind the mark, and when Eames makes eye contact with him, points to his watch. We need more time, he mouths. Stall!

Eames gives him a smile and nod, then steps forward, putting his hand on the mark's wrist. They speak quietly for a moment, and then the mark looks over his shoulder, straight at Arthur. They make their way towards him, Eames smiling widely. Arthur's unprepared for the hug, or the way Eames slaps his back.

"Tom!" he says. "Tom, it's great to see you again!"

"John," Arthur replies, giving him a smile. "How are you doing?"

Eames-as-John is already introducing him to the mark, his hand comfortably, casually on the mark's elbow. "Sherlock, this is my friend Tom. Tom, this is Sherlock Holmes, my flatmate."

The mark gives him a tight smile when they shake hands. "How do you know John? You're American, military but John's a doctor and you don't have any medical --"

Eames elbows the mark in the ribs. "Be good," he says, and gives Arthur a smile. "He's always like that. You want to join us for dinner? There's a good Chinese place down the street."

They are halfway down the street when Arthur feels the barrel of a gun against the small of his back.

"Who sent you?" the projection asks -- because it's not Eames, it's the projection. It's the projection, the one who'd been shooting at them in the first level, and Arthur curses under his breath, because fuck, because where the fuck is Eames, then?

"Mycroft?" the mark asks, and then, "Moriarty?" and Arthur can't help the little twitch of recognition he gives, and fuck.

There is the sound of a gunshot -- a realistic sound, not the overly loud Hollywood band most people imagine guns sound like, and Arthur finds himself suddenly on the ground and in intense pain. He can't feel his legs.

The mark looms over him, looking pleased. "What can you tell me about Moriarty?"

--

Dom tosses the mark's bedroom first -- papers, papers, books (some of them half-read, some of them empty, on a variety of subjects), and a bed that doesn't look slept in. He forces the locked drawers of the desk with a crowbar, and thinks yes for a moment when he sees the stacks of paper.

Fill 2/2

(Anonymous)

But when he picks them up and fans them out, they're -- they're nonsense, bits of phrases and quotes and remnants of memories. So you're unattached. Like me, written large across one sheet, and on the back, It's all fine. An image of a man (the mark's housemate) from behind, dripping water and wearing only a towel -- a snapshot taken without his knowing. It's full of data, a lot of data -- military records, medical records, transcripts of conversations with arbitrary parts highlighted ("A date, where two people go out and have fun.")

And not a single bit of it is about their client.

Shit.

That's when he hears the doors opening. It's too soon, much too soon. There's no time to conceal himself, so when Eames and the mark swing into the room, he's already sitting on the bed, giving off every impression of having been patiently waiting.

"Mr. Holmes, good evening," he says, and rises to his feet, hand out. His mouth is still forming the words, "My name is Mr. Charles", when Eames raises a Sig and shoots him in the face.

Not Eames, then. Peachy, Dom has time to think, before everything goes black.

--

When Arthur wakes up, there is a gun pressed to his forehead. The bombs have stopped, which may have been reassuring if not for the fact that he is surrounded by projections. Armed, military projections from a mind that hadn't been militarized.

But it's not multiple projections, he realizes when another of the projections passes into his line of sight. It's the same projection, repeated multiple times.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he mutters.

The projection smiles at him. "Not quite," he says. "What do you know about Moriarty?"

It all goes downhill from there.

--

When Arthur wakes up, there is a gun pressed to his forehead. John Watson is holding it there. His wrists are tied in front of him. They are in the van they'd pulled Sherlock Holmes into after drugging him, and there is a crick in his neck. He casts his eyes to the side. Everyone but Eames is still connected to the PASIV. Eames is collapsed on the ground, apparently unconscious. There is a neat strip of cloth wound around his upper thigh, soaked through with blood.

Arthur is maybe sixty percent certain this level is reality. His totem is in his pocket. Unfortunately isn't sure how to convince the man in front of him (who's tortured him to death twice now, and Arthur's really hoping that's a product of the mark's subconscious and not actually grounded in fact, but the background research isn't favorable) to let him roll a die a few times to make sure.

"Dreamshare, huh?" John Watson asks amicably, nodding at the PASIV still connected to his wrist. "I thought we shut that down."

"Not quite," Arthur says tightly.

"Apparently not," John agrees. "Who sent you?"

Arthur's had this conversation twice before. Hopefully, the third time's the charm, because he really isn't looking forward to the torture. Again. "We're just mercenaries. We perform extractions -- we go into a mark's mind and find out what they know. We were contacted by an interested party several months ago, who wanted to know what Mr. Holmes knew about him."

"Moriarty," John concludes grimly. "He's the only one with enough contacts and resources to hire a dreamshare team."

Arthur doesn't wince at the name this time. "I have his contact information. If you let all of us go, we'll be happy to deliver him to you on a silver platter."

Fuck Moriarty. He was too new to the dreamshare business to be owed loyalty from anyone who mattered, and had advertised the job as a simple extraction from a private detective. He hadn't mentioned anything about the ex-SAS soldier who knew about dreamshare, or the fact that the mark's mind, formally militarized or not, was a fucking dangerous place to be.

"I can't make any promises," John says. "We're waiting for someone to get here first."

"Who?"

John smiles at him. It's not a reassuring smile.

"His brother."

*snrk* Yes. So much with the yes. John really knows how to bring out the survival instinct in people.

*FLAILS WITH LOVE FOR YOU AND THIS FIC*

Re: Fill 2/2

(Anonymous)
OP is filled with love for you. Epic, epic love.

If that turns out to be the last thing I ever prompt (and it probably will) I won't care because I'll have this piece of magnificence to show for it.

*happy sigh*

That was awesome. Oh, the inside of Sherlock's head having all the John projections and the John info. -sigh-

Re: Fill 2/2

(Anonymous)
Wow. Wow, wow, wow, wow. Also, John just makes me go nnnggh. I think you got Sherlock's mind just right, with pretty much everything taken over by thoughts of John.

This was amazing. I loved it so much.

Wow. This has SO much potential for sequels! This was amazing. Yes, Sherlock's mind would be a very dangerous place indeed.

So much love for this fic. What a brilliant fusion of both fandoms! ♥

Fuck Moriarty. He was too new to the dreamshare business to be owed loyalty from anyone who mattered, and had advertised the job as a simple extraction from a private detective. He hadn't mentioned anything about the ex-SAS soldier who knew about dreamshare, or the fact that the mark's mind, formally militarized or not, was a fucking dangerous place to be.

Poor Team Inception. They fail so at vetting their marks. And their clients. They probably ought to get out of the business even if Mycroft doesn't disappear them.

But when he picks them up and fans them out, they're -- they're nonsense, bits of phrases and quotes and remnants of memories. So you're unattached. Like me, written large across one sheet, and on the back, It's all fine. An image of a man (the mark's housemate) from behind, dripping water and wearing only a towel -- a snapshot taken without his knowing. It's full of data, a lot of data -- military records, medical records, transcripts of conversations with arbitrary parts highlighted ("A date, where two people go out and have fun.")

And after all that, they find the secret their client already knows. That's just sad.

But it's not multiple projections, he realizes when another of the projections passes into his line of sight. It's the same projection, repeated multiple times.

I wonder if Sherlock has multiple John projections when there aren't dream sharers loose in his head. That would be fun.

Re: Fill 2/2

(Anonymous)
This is FAN-FUCKING-TASTIC.

AMAZING. I WOULD LOVE MORE PLZTHX CAUSE THIS IS WONDERFUL

<3<3<3<3 Made of win and awesome sauce! I am hopeing that there is a sequel..?

Oh gosh, this was fantastic.

Re: Fill 2/2 (Anonymous) Expand
Re: Fill 2/2 (Anonymous) Expand
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