Every Monday, I will post a prompt. You have until the following Monday to write and reply to this post with a 100-200 word fic inspired by the prompt. All Sherlock Holmes (& adjacent) fandoms are welcome!
For an extra challenge, try to hit exactly 100 words, or write a 221B drabble.
You can reply with the full text of the drabble, or link out to another site like Ao3, Tumblr, your personal DW, etc. Feel free to post completed works to our Ao3 collection!
Fics posted to the main challenge must be SFW; you must link out if your response is NSFW. Please warn for content where appropriate.
WHAT ELSE?
Don't worry if you miss a week! You don't have to commit to this challenge and are welcome to drop in and out. You can also go back and write a late response anytime.
You may post more than one response to a single week's prompt.
If you're inspired to continue your drabbles, you're welcome to connect multiple challenge responses to each other, or expand on your fics outside of the challenge.
Characters: Parker, Sebastian Moran Fandom: ACD Canon (Empty House) Rating: G Notes/Warnings: implications I guess Word count: 221 Link:https://archiveofourown.org/works/51252376
It is an odd job, but it's a steady one.
Odd jobs, they've dogged my steps this past decade and more, but for most of that the name has fit. A few hours' work, and - well - uncanny. Not sure why I was paid, more than half the time: but the rest, I found in the papers afterward. Uncanny, either way.
These days, the job's clearer, and sixty hours a week, and I'm paid like a valet for it; I've given over my old mainstay altogether. But uncanny, even now.
I've become a haunting, second-hand.
It was Kensington I haunted to start, every daylight hour dallying about to see and report when poor broken-down Dr Watson will emerge, half using his wife as a crutch, and who's got influenza in the meantime. Then it was St James, humdrum Mycroft Holmes and every last person on the block besides, and the pattern came plain enough even without Colonel Moran showing himself.
He'd ranted then, half-starved for an audience. The Professor had cared for his brother. The Professor had sure as hellfire cared for him. But Holmes, who had no heart in his chest, still walked the earth.
Perhaps Holmes does walk the earth. Regardless, the Professor dead pays me better than the Professor apparently did alive. I'm happy haunting 221B on his behalf.
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221bdrabbles2023-10-29 11:43 am
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Fandom: ACD Canon (Empty House)
Rating: G
Notes/Warnings: implications I guess
Word count: 221
Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51252376
It is an odd job, but it's a steady one.
Odd jobs, they've dogged my steps this past decade and more, but for most of that the name has fit. A few hours' work, and - well - uncanny. Not sure why I was paid, more than half the time: but the rest, I found in the papers afterward. Uncanny, either way.
These days, the job's clearer, and sixty hours a week, and I'm paid like a valet for it; I've given over my old mainstay altogether. But uncanny, even now.
I've become a haunting, second-hand.
It was Kensington I haunted to start, every daylight hour dallying about to see and report when poor broken-down Dr Watson will emerge, half using his wife as a crutch, and who's got influenza in the meantime. Then it was St James, humdrum Mycroft Holmes and every last person on the block besides, and the pattern came plain enough even without Colonel Moran showing himself.
He'd ranted then, half-starved for an audience. The Professor had cared for his brother. The Professor had sure as hellfire cared for him. But Holmes, who had no heart in his chest, still walked the earth.
Perhaps Holmes does walk the earth. Regardless, the Professor dead pays me better than the Professor apparently did alive. I'm happy haunting 221B on his behalf.
no subject