phosfate

Title: John and Sherlock Make a Baby (From Stuff they Find Around the Flat)
Authors: AnnLarimer and Rosencrantz
Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to the BBC and ACD and not we, see?
Fandom: Sherlock
Spoilers: "The Great Game" (technically) and (inexplicably) Torchwood: Children of Earth
Summary and/or Warnings: Jesus Christ, it's a babyfic - GET IN THE CAR. Also wrong-headedness, slurs against the Irish, general creepiness, and a roofie joke.
Rating: PG-13 for the odd swear


John and Sherlock Make a Baby (From Stuff they Find Around the Flat)


London has days like this: blue-lit, chilly, leafy, and lonesome. On days like this, a young consulting detective's fancy turns to -- please pardon my French -- reproduction. Usually, on days like this, he is content to disassemble a library photocopier and look at the bits, or feed interesting things into a shop's self-service photo printer to see what (if anything) comes out, or attempt to catch and clone a pigeon. Then he forgets the whole business the next morning. Because, bored.

Consulting detectives are like that. ( click for more )

dontask_pcandy wants YOUR six-word Torchwood fic:

http://community.livejournal.com/askverse_fic/2623.html

John Barrowman apologized to the Great British Public. For exposing himself. On the radio.

On the radio.

OMGWTFBBC.

The new Torchwood novels turned up yesterday. (Amazon kept punking out, so I went with The Book Depository.) One of them has Ianto on the cover, wearing sad clown paint. Pure gold. Always believe in your soul, little emo teaboy.

Spent morning at the DMV, getting drivers license renewed.

Well, that's not entirely true. I was in and out of there in 10 minutes. The rest of it was spent punching my alarm clock really hard (some bastard set it to 'rooster,'), oversleeping, flailing on the kitchen floor with breakfast and a pot of coffee (it's a cozy-ish spot, if you're a floor dweller, with lots of light and space), finding the White Form they sent me last month, filling out the White Form, finding out they prefer cash, finding an ATM, and generally avoiding the task any way I could. Which was pointless, since the license people are, as a rule, perfectly nice. And I've never had an accident or ticket, and it was raining, so there was very little chance I'd be selected to drive.

Could not figure out reason for utter terror, until I remembered the last time I visited. Lowdown here: http://annlarimer.livejournal.com/710420.html

License picture is hideous, but you can't really see it for all the embedded holograms, and it's good until 2012 -- THE WORLD OF TOMORROW!

Also, White Form lady asked the dreaded question, "Oh! What are you reading?" "Uh. It's...these guys in Wales who fight demons and it rains a lot." "Okay."