#teamsilversubmission

[teamsilvermoran]

Collateral Damage (sketch)

Prompt 7:  The Hounds of Baskerville

by mamajava (Team Sebastian Moran)

Based on my fic for this prompt. Molly Hooper comforts Greg Lestrade after his harrowing experience on the moor. John's blog is on the computer screen behind Greg.

Greg: "I'm fine."

Molly: "You. Are. Not. Fine."

Collateral Damage (sketch)

This kinda rushed, but...comments?

[teamsilvermoran]

Collateral Damage

Prompt 7: The Hounds of Baskerville

by mamajava (Team Sebastian Moran)

John didn't tell everything in his blog entry.

Italics are from John's blog entry. Molly's thoughts are in bold.

Greg Lestrade/Molly Hooper, pre-relationship. This happens after Sherlock, John, and Greg return to London from Devon.

Collateral Damage

Molly blinked at her screen. Blinked again. She raised a clenched fist to her mouth to keep from screaming. She sat there, riveted to John's words on his blog, about the Hounds of Baskerville. Her eyes kept coming back to two sentences:

"Sherlock denied it at first, but back at the pub he finally admitted to me that he'd seen it. I've never seen him so shaken, so scared. He was actually terrified."

Sherlock? Terrified? Molly had never seen him terrified. Concerned, yes. Distracted, yes. But not absolutely terrified. 

John's tone was factual, bland, as if he had been dictating a patient's record. Molly read between the lines, the wealth of meaning in those two sentences. For someone who worked with dead people, she knew how to interpret the living.

"Molly?"

She nearly jumped off her stool. Her heart raced at the unexpected voice, loud in the stillness. Molly whirled around, one hand on her chest. "Oh! Detective Inspector! I'm sorry, I hadn't heard you come in." She breathed the words in a complete rush. 

Lestrade smiled weakly. "That's all right. I didn't mean to startle you. You looked absorbed at whatever you were reading."

She shook her head and said, "Just John's blog. He wrote up another case."

"Which one?"

Molly frowned as she noticed Lestrade's appearance: face pale as chalk, dark circles under his eyes, hands trembling slightly. She wondered whether or not he'd even slept for the past week. Wait a minute--wasn't he supposed to be on holiday? He was supposed to relax. Did something happen?

"'The Hounds of Baskerville."

He walked over to her and peered over her shoulder at the laptop screen. Molly heard his breathing quicken...fear, he's scared. Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade is scared. Of what? What happened during his holiday? She had never seen him terrified, either, and they'd both been through some hair-raising cases.

"Detective Inspector? Lestrade?" She glanced over her shoulder. At the sight of his expression, she immediately vacated her stool and steered him onto it. Oh my God...he's shaking! He looks ready to faint.

She gripped his hands tightly and tried again. "Greg? Look at me, not at the floor. You'll keel over if you stare at the floor."

"I'm fine," he said flatly.

"You. Are. Not. Fine." She let go of one of his hands and gently placed two fingers under his chin, tilting his head so he could look up into her eyes. It didn't take much; even with him sitting and her standing, the height difference was obvious.

"Molly--"

"What's wrong? And God help me, if you tell me again you're fine, I'll smack you."

The vehemence in her tone actually made him laugh a little. It was tinged with a strange hysteria. "I believe you would, Molly. John didn't tell everything in his blog."

She stared at him, then it all made sense. "You were there, on the moor. You saw the Hound too."

"I was there." He looked past her, at the opposite wall. "I saw it. I tried to shoot it, when it attacked us. I missed. Twice. John didn't miss. He shot it dead."

"--the poison, the weapon that H.O.U.N.D. had created hadn't been in the sugar. It was in the fog! We were in a chemical minefield." Molly's eyes widened as she remembered John's words. If Greg had been there, then he'd been affected too! 

"What did you see, Greg?" He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut, as if trying to block out the memory. Molly's heart pounded in her chest and she tried again. "Tell me what you saw."

"My worst nightmare," he whispered. He was shaking so badly that Molly thought he was halfway to a nervous breakdown. The confident, calm, Detective Inspector  hid so much behind that facade. The fact that he had come here, that he lowered that facade in front of her, made her feel honored, almost humble.

"What did you see?"

"Everyone dead. Sherlock, John, Anderson, Donovan, Dimmock...even you." He forced his eyes open to look at her. "And you all demanded why I let you die. You were crying, Molly, and I couldn't hold you or comfort you..."

Her heart broke for him and she went with her instincts. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tight. He shuddered as the sobs racked him; he had to be strong for others, but now she had to be strong for him.

"It's all right, Greg. I'm here," she murmured. "I'm right here."

The storm passed after a few moments. He withdrew a little and frowned at her tear-stained face. "I'm sorry...I didn't mean to make you cry."

Her smile trembled. He was apologizing for more than his little breakdown and she knew it. "It's all right. You needed a sympathetic ear."

She felt something pass between the two of them, something she couldn't define. Molly hugged him again and he returned it.

"Thank you," he murmured.

"That's what friends are for, Greg."

*****

I hope this meets the requirements. Comments? Reactions?

[teamsilvermoran]

Love in Shadows

Prompt 6: 1930's (pre-war London)w/the words "If you do, you start missing..."

by mamajava (Team Sebastian Moran)

Greg Lestrade is a detective in late 1930's London. After his wife divorces him, he vows never to get involved with anyone else. After all, his job makes it difficult...and it might kill him. That's before he meets Miss Molly Hooper.

"You can let your fears of war and death run your life. If you do...you start missing out on what really matters."

Greg Lestrade/Molly Hooper

Used reference pics for Greg's vest and trousers and Molly's dress.

Comments? Reactions? Pretty please?

[teamsilvermoran]

A Strange Meeting...

Prompt 6: 1940's World War II w/the words "If you do, you start missing..."

by mamajava (Team Sebastian Moran)

"You can hide behind duty...if you do, you start missing the very essence of yourself."

Two soldiers meet in the strangest of circumstances: Captain Sherlock Holmes of the Royal Army Intelligence Corps and Captain John H. Watson of the Royal Army Medical Corps.

I referenced a pic of a WWII British Army uniform and beret. Sherlock wears the cypress green beret of Intel, with the red/white rose and green laurel pin. John wears the dark blue beret, with the red crown/red rod of Aesculpius pin of the RAMC. (And Martin Freeman's grandfather, Leonard, was a medic with the RAMC during WWII).

This is meant as a John/Sherlock friendship thing, but I guess you could interpret it as Johnlock if you'd like. :-D

Comments? Reactions?

[teamsilvermoran]

Prompt 5: Vienna Blood by Strauss

by mamajava (Team Sebastian Moran)

Waltz of Deception

Of course, Mycroft knew all the social niceties. His mother once told him, "Sometimes, my son, you can catch more flies with honey than vinegar. Certain places are rich fields of information...if you are willing to make a few sacrifices."

Those sacrifices included dance lessons as a child. He bore them with a stiff upper lip; after all, such skills might pay off later in life. Sherlock, of course, complained bitterly throughout the whole ordeal. Ironic, considering Sherlock had an uncanny sense of rhythm and timing for music. It hadn't surprised him a bit that his little brother selected the violin as his instrument of choice. If only Sherlock applied himself, perhaps he could have become a great concert violinist.

Of course, Sherlock could have been a great scientist or politician. Then again, what could you deduce from a child who had been fascinated by pirates?

Mycroft listened to the Viennese ambassador with a sliver of his attention. His eyes were glued to the dance floor, his ears to the music. One, two, three. One, two, three. Three-quarter time, the waltz.

He spotted her standing there all by herself, a crystal flute of champagne in hand. Baroness Alissa von Hirnbaum, a 'minor' member of Austrian nobility, wife of Baron Gustav von Hirnbaum, the adviser to the Austrian President. Like Mycroft himself, Alissa held more power and influence than anyone expected. Her delicate hand affected Continental politics without being felt. 

A worthy ally, or a worthy opponent, depending on how she felt that particular day.

Mycroft politely excused himself from the conversation and slowly made his way to that side of the dance floor. Alissa saw him coming, her dark blue eyes glittered in the bright lights. His mouth twitched in grim humor. Well, it appeared that she would be a worthy opponent at this moment. 

"Frau von Hirnbaum," he greeted her in his flawless German. "You look lovely tonight."

"Thank you, Herr Holmes. You flatter me too much."

He inclined his head towards the dance floor. "I would be much amiss if I do not dance with the hostess of the party. May I?"

She gazed up at him with that icy look. Alissa was such a tiny thing, much shorter than John Watson by nearly a foot. But her smile was perfect. "Of course, Herr Holmes."

Mycroft swept her up into the waltz, and they began another kind of dance. The dance of deception and politics. 

Comments? ?

[teamsilvermoran]

Prompt 4: Ad Hominem tu Quoque

When Denial Becomes Strength (Molly Hooper and Irene Adler)

"You still love him. I don't care how much you deny it."

Molly Hooper jumped at the voice, loud in the utter stillness of the morgue. Her eyes snapped up towards its source. Molly stared at the woman in the doorway. Stared some more. Blinked. No, the apparition was still there, and it was smirking at her.

Molly had never met her in the flesh. Living flesh, anyway. She remembered that horrible Christmas night: Sherlock's face as he identified the body, turned and walked away. His brother never apologized for his behavior. Molly didn't mind; she understood.

She wondered how Sherlock managed to identify the corpse without being able to identify the face. At this terrible moment, as Molly stared at the woman in the doorway, she understood that too.

"What are you doing here? You're supposed to be dead! You hurt him, you know, when he came in here and--" she squeaked. She meant it to sound angry, indignant, but it came out far too high, and it made her sound like a mouse.

"It was necessary, Doctor Hooper. He needed to believe I was dead. It was for his protection. I think you know what I mean."

Molly flinched at the words, true as they were. Unfortunately, she understood this particular line of reasoning, especially now. "But why are you here?"

The Woman (Molly capitalized the title in her head) merely chuckled, low and deep. "I envy you, Doctor Hooper."

"Why?"

"Just because." The Woman inclined her head, as if studying Molly's features. "Plain, unremarkable, but very important. You protect him, hide him in plain sight. And you do it so effortlessly. Just because." 

Molly struggled to hold onto her anger, but it ran away like flowing water. The Woman sympathized with her. The Woman understood. 

Wait...did The Woman just say she envied Molly?

"Take care of him, Molly. That's all I ask." The Woman's smile held a touch of sadness. Then she turned and melted back into the dark shadows.

"Wait--where are you going?" Molly rushed out into the hall, but The Woman was already gone. 

"You still love him. I don't care how much you deny it."

Molly hadn't confirmed that assumption, but she hadn't denied it, either. But it was true. 

*****

I hope this goes with the prompt. This is post-Reichenbach. Molly has helped Sherlock 'die' and is the only one who knows he's actually alive. Irene Adler pays Molly Hooper a visit at St. Bart's morgue. The Woman knows Molly better than Molly herself, esp. when it comes to loving Sherlock. (Yes, I know those two never actually met during "ASiB", but I think those two would have something in common.)

Comments? Feels? Obligatory question mark?

[teamsilvermoran]

John brushed his left thumb on the well-worn dogtags. The letters were barely readable, but he could still read the name on the first line. He heard Lestrade come up behind him, but stayed where he was, kneeling in front of the shattered window.

"John? You okay?"

He stared at the name again, but his mind was somewhere in Afghanistan...

*****

Their convoy had walked into a trap. He was one of only two medics in the team. Paulsen was meters away, cowering behind an overturned truck. He was fresh out of medical school, at Bart's. John considered him like a younger brother of sorts. Sniper fire peppered the air all around them. John swore as bullets pinged close to him. Too damn close.

All they had to do was hold on until their rescuers arrived. John knew one of them,  a man who served in Special Ops, whose loyalty to his friends were absolute. Brash, taciturn, somewhat of a bloody arse, but a good man to have at your side.

Come on, dammit, where are you?

Another volley of sniper fire slammed into Paulsen and the other two soldiers near him. The force of it tore into the young medic and hurled him out of cover and into the open. John hardly hesitated; he grabbed his kit and rushed out, keeping low to the ground.

It was bad, really bad. Paulsen's eyes were wide with shock, with agony, staring up at John in utter blind panic. John bent to apply pressure to the wound in the center of Paulsen's chest, already seeping blood at an alarming rate.

"W-Watson? I'm sorry, I'm so sorry--"

"Save your strength, lad. You're gonna be okay, but you need to keep talking to me. We're gonna get you out of here--"

A whine cut through his words, a split second before a high velocity bullet punched through his right shoulder. The impact drove him backwards into the sand  and he lay there in agony. Paulsen screamed once, then that scream cut off with a horrible finality.

Then a familiar voice shouted, "WATSON!"

He nearly sobbed in relief as he screamed back, "SEBASTIAN!"

The cavalry was here...and Colonel Sebastian Moran was leading the charge.

About time you got here, was John's last thought.

****

"John?"

Lestrade's voice brought him back to the present. John slowly got to his feet, cradling the dogtag in his hand. "Sorry, just woolgathering."

The letters sparkled in the dim light: MORAN, SEBASTIAN 

This was inspired by the opening scene in "ASiP", with John's nightmare. I imagined it was Moran who shouted John's name when John was shot, and that he shouted "SEBASTIAN!" when he woke from the nightmare.

[teamsilvermoran]

(For the mini prompt of 5 times people were envious of Sherlock and one time he envied)

John watched as Sherlock stared with a hawk like intensity out of the window of Angelos at the passers by.

"Old knife wound on face covered with make up - ex gang member going to a job interview" 

"His wife is cheating on him with his brother but that doesn't matter because he's gay anyway"

Sherlock muttered to himself, his eyes darting from person to person. 

Earlier that day Sherlock had got a man in a head lock in at a crime scene in an attempt to scare him into confessing. This had led to yet another fight about Sherlock's lack of tact and warmth towards victims at crime scenes.

While he knew (certainly from experience with the Adler saga) that Sherlock wasn'tincapableof emotion, he none the less wondered what it would be like to be able to tune out your natural emotions. While this may have alienated Sherlock from a lot of people (the majority of Scotland Yard certainly) this definitely gave Sherlock the advantage when it came to working.

John actually envied this. As an army doctor he had had an uncountable number of days where he struggled to keep his feelings contained as he had treated yet another young boy wounded through war. What would it feel like to be able to do that without being constantly haunted with feelings of guilt, anger and bitter depression?

Without warning Sherlock stood up, flung his coat around him and exclaimed "Four police cars have just passed within minutes of each other heading North. Lestrade is about to call in to 221B with a case and unless you would rather study my face for the rest of the evening I suggest we get there before he does." Before running out (much to the alarm of the other diners).

Putting his thoughts aside, John sprinted after Sherlock. As he knew he always would.

I'll just leave this here for someone to submit with the rest of the series. Feel free to changebitsif you see need :D 

[teamsilvermoran]

Awww yeah, great prompt! Looking forward to seeing everybody's work today =D

Everything was awesome yesterday, we have a lot of talent here in Team Silver!

Remember to tag your posts with #teamsilversubmission if you can't submit it for any reason, or just want someone else to deal with the submission process xD I'm going through every day at about 6-6:20 EST and submitting everything tagged as such =3 Good luck on the second prompt!

Obligatory question mark to enable responses?