…now I have all sorts of lovely post-Reichenbach imagery with Sherlock actually dying when he falls off SPOILER and Molly being all Botan-y and Sherlock getting resurrected to hunt down Hiei/Moriarty and Mycroft being all YOU MUST DO IT OR BAD THINGS WILL HAPPEN and STUFF.
I probably won't write that in particular, because that would require some serious canon-bending and WTFery, but combined with your Molly-is-Moriarty's-Queen idea that could be really fascinating and really confusing. Like, Molly resurrects Sherlock because OOPSIE MORIARTY WAS SUPPOSED TO KILL HIM PROPERLY and somehow Moriarty's not dead and Molly delivers Sherlock right into his hands and he and Sherlock face off with a lot of fire and the Rei-gun.
…no this is a terrible idea noooooooooooo I should not find this idea so damn tempting WHY IS THIS SO TEMPTING.
But I will not write that above. Because I want to write the original idea where Sherlock dies ~long before~ he meets John and John is all Botan-y and Moriarty blowing stuff up and Irene being all EXCUSE ME WHILE I GO YOUKO AND KICK YOUR ARSE.
Here, have a bit of random ficlet. Because I'm easily bored.
---
Sherlock could hear the pounding of his feet matching the rapid thud-thud-thud of his heartbeat as he tore after the killer. He skidded around corners, the killer's path tracing a blood-red line through the map of London in his head. He was fairly certain that the killer had a knife, but that wouldn't be a problem.
Just…a little farther…the killer should be right—
There was a brilliant flash of pain and Sherlock fell to his knees, coughing. He tried to struggle to his feet, but the world was going hazy around the edges. He had to get up…he had to catch the killer…why weren't his legs cooperating?
Why was everything fading…?
---
Sherlock opened his eyes. He appeared to be draped over an oar which was floating some hundreds of feet above London.
He closed his eyes again against such an absurdity. He couldn't be floating hundreds of feet above London. The laws of gravity wouldn't allow it.
"Ah," said a pleasant, cheerful voice from somewhere above him. "You're awake. Good."
Sherlock opened his eyes again and looked up. Sitting sideways on the broom was a blond man, perhaps a little older than Sherlock, dressed casually in a jumper and jeans. He smiled at Sherlock.
"You must be a bit confused," said the man. "I'll start with the basics. I'm John, and you're dead."
Sherlock decided that unconsciousness was preferable to this madness and closed his eyes again.
---
Hope this meets your expectations…
And I will then ask you to write some Jim/Molly. Preferably double-genderswapped if you can (i.e. fem!Jim and male!Molly), but non-swapped is JUST FINE. :D
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I probably won't write that in particular, because that would require some serious canon-bending and WTFery, but combined with your Molly-is-Moriarty's-Queen idea that could be really fascinating and really confusing. Like, Molly resurrects Sherlock because OOPSIE MORIARTY WAS SUPPOSED TO KILL HIM PROPERLY and somehow Moriarty's not dead and Molly delivers Sherlock right into his hands and he and Sherlock face off with a lot of fire and the Rei-gun.
…no this is a terrible idea noooooooooooo I should not find this idea so damn tempting WHY IS THIS SO TEMPTING.
But I will not write that above. Because I want to write the original idea where Sherlock dies ~long before~ he meets John and John is all Botan-y and Moriarty blowing stuff up and Irene being all EXCUSE ME WHILE I GO YOUKO AND KICK YOUR ARSE.
Here, have a bit of random ficlet. Because I'm easily bored.
---
Sherlock could hear the pounding of his feet matching the rapid thud-thud-thud of his heartbeat as he tore after the killer. He skidded around corners, the killer's path tracing a blood-red line through the map of London in his head. He was fairly certain that the killer had a knife, but that wouldn't be a problem.
Just…a little farther…the killer should be right—
There was a brilliant flash of pain and Sherlock fell to his knees, coughing. He tried to struggle to his feet, but the world was going hazy around the edges. He had to get up…he had to catch the killer…why weren't his legs cooperating?
Why was everything fading…?
---
Sherlock opened his eyes. He appeared to be draped over an oar which was floating some hundreds of feet above London.
He closed his eyes again against such an absurdity. He couldn't be floating hundreds of feet above London. The laws of gravity wouldn't allow it.
"Ah," said a pleasant, cheerful voice from somewhere above him. "You're awake. Good."
Sherlock opened his eyes again and looked up. Sitting sideways on the broom was a blond man, perhaps a little older than Sherlock, dressed casually in a jumper and jeans. He smiled at Sherlock.
"You must be a bit confused," said the man. "I'll start with the basics. I'm John, and you're dead."
Sherlock decided that unconsciousness was preferable to this madness and closed his eyes again.
---
Hope this meets your expectations…
And I will then ask you to write some Jim/Molly. Preferably double-genderswapped if you can (i.e. fem!Jim and male!Molly), but non-swapped is JUST FINE. :D