storypaint (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
storypaint) wrote2015-01-27 01:20 pm
storypaint) wrote2015-01-27 01:20 pm
Entry tags:
[Elementary] glory streams (Joan gen)
Title: glory streams
Fandom: Elementary
Length: 334 words
Prompt: Elementary Christmas fic for rainfelt.
Pairing: Joan gen
Other: No spoilers for S3.
Excerpt: Angus gets a bright red hat and Joan is sitting at the table, going through old files for a lead, when Clyde pops out from behind another stack of books. There is a bow stuck to his shell.
Joan likes her Christmases understated. When she has her own apartment, she generally limits herself to a small, fake tree with matching ornaments. Working in hospitals quickly ruined the season for her, or at least all the old worn trappings. She's tired of the worn greenery and the vapid Muzak carols that pervade every business. She's had to tell too many people that their Christmases were ruined. (Only one person would be too many, and even when it wasn't her fault, it still ached.)
December catches Sherlock in one of his manic moods, perhaps to spite her moving out. He strings popcorn and decorates his lock board with fairy lights (apparently that is what they're called in Britain). Angus gets a bright red hat and Joan is sitting at the table, going through old files for a lead, when Clyde pops out from behind another stack of books. There is a bow stuck to his shell. Joan laughs, just a little, to herself.
Sherlock sings "O Tannenbaum" in German from the next room, Mrs. Hudson occasionally correcting his pronunciation (Greek is not her only second language). He has given up his usual disdain for the moment, high on a case he's sure he'll soon solve. He hasn't invited her to Christmas dinner or anything; he hasn't gone that far around the bend. But she might pop in after seeing her family with a few cartons of Chinese food. She had a pair of socks to give him; they are violently green and she knows he'll love them.
Joan finds what she's looking for in the box and scans down the page, heart leaping as the pieces begin to fit together just right.
"I've got it!" she says, dashing into the next room and shoving the paper at Sherlock. His grin is bright.
"Tiny Tim will surely live!" he says, and she doesn't feel the usual holiday blues, not at all. She rolls her eyes at him and they hurry off into the winter night.
Fandom: Elementary
Length: 334 words
Prompt: Elementary Christmas fic for rainfelt.
Pairing: Joan gen
Other: No spoilers for S3.
Excerpt: Angus gets a bright red hat and Joan is sitting at the table, going through old files for a lead, when Clyde pops out from behind another stack of books. There is a bow stuck to his shell.
Joan likes her Christmases understated. When she has her own apartment, she generally limits herself to a small, fake tree with matching ornaments. Working in hospitals quickly ruined the season for her, or at least all the old worn trappings. She's tired of the worn greenery and the vapid Muzak carols that pervade every business. She's had to tell too many people that their Christmases were ruined. (Only one person would be too many, and even when it wasn't her fault, it still ached.)
December catches Sherlock in one of his manic moods, perhaps to spite her moving out. He strings popcorn and decorates his lock board with fairy lights (apparently that is what they're called in Britain). Angus gets a bright red hat and Joan is sitting at the table, going through old files for a lead, when Clyde pops out from behind another stack of books. There is a bow stuck to his shell. Joan laughs, just a little, to herself.
Sherlock sings "O Tannenbaum" in German from the next room, Mrs. Hudson occasionally correcting his pronunciation (Greek is not her only second language). He has given up his usual disdain for the moment, high on a case he's sure he'll soon solve. He hasn't invited her to Christmas dinner or anything; he hasn't gone that far around the bend. But she might pop in after seeing her family with a few cartons of Chinese food. She had a pair of socks to give him; they are violently green and she knows he'll love them.
Joan finds what she's looking for in the box and scans down the page, heart leaping as the pieces begin to fit together just right.
"I've got it!" she says, dashing into the next room and shoving the paper at Sherlock. His grin is bright.
"Tiny Tim will surely live!" he says, and she doesn't feel the usual holiday blues, not at all. She rolls her eyes at him and they hurry off into the winter night.