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: Inspector Lestrade, Original Character Fandom: ACD Canon, or Granada by extension (Devil's Foot) Rating: T Notes/Warnings: Bad Ending, Major Character Death Word count: 221 Link:https://archiveofourown.org/works/51566737
Any option was intolerable. That was the nub of it. But this old earnest country officer had hit on the least tolerable explanation there was.
"You aren't angry at me, Inspector Lestrade?" said Palk, quavering.
"Not yet," I growled. "Not till you know from me -"
He backed away; I had, unknowingly, come inches from his face. "I feel you... may be overly vested in this matter, Inspector."
I forced my body to uncurl. "Palk. You'd not find a London detective that wasn't vested. It's not standard procedure, but the whole Met was queued up to take the first wagon here."
I wondered, then - only then did it occur to me - if Holmes had had any idea what he'd meant to us. It was, sometimes, as though the only thing he couldn't discern was our admiration.
Too late to tell him. The horror of his death-mask will haunt me to the end.
"And, Palk, all this talk of open windows and living in close quarters - plausible enough, to an outsider, but I knew Dr Watson." My voice cracked. "He would no more do this than - than Holmes himself. The sight alone would have... No. The murderer is away free, perfectly sound in mind, and be he in Tredannick Wollas or London or the bleeding heart of Africa, I will have the bastard."
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221bdrabbles2023-11-12 03:36 pm
no subject
Fandom: ACD Canon, or Granada by extension (Devil's Foot)
Rating: T
Notes/Warnings: Bad Ending, Major Character Death
Word count: 221
Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51566737
Any option was intolerable. That was the nub of it. But this old earnest country officer had hit on the least tolerable explanation there was.
"You aren't angry at me, Inspector Lestrade?" said Palk, quavering.
"Not yet," I growled. "Not till you know from me -"
He backed away; I had, unknowingly, come inches from his face. "I feel you... may be overly vested in this matter, Inspector."
I forced my body to uncurl. "Palk. You'd not find a London detective that wasn't vested. It's not standard procedure, but the whole Met was queued up to take the first wagon here."
I wondered, then - only then did it occur to me - if Holmes had had any idea what he'd meant to us. It was, sometimes, as though the only thing he couldn't discern was our admiration.
Too late to tell him. The horror of his death-mask will haunt me to the end.
"And, Palk, all this talk of open windows and living in close quarters - plausible enough, to an outsider, but I knew Dr Watson." My voice cracked. "He would no more do this than - than Holmes himself. The sight alone would have... No. The murderer is away free, perfectly sound in mind, and be he in Tredannick Wollas or London or the bleeding heart of Africa, I will have the bastard."