Length: 135 words - short, but my favourite of this weeks fics :)
Summary: for the prompt Good Omens/Sherlock BBC, Sherlock & Crowley/+Aziraphale, “We were wondering if you could help us find the Antichrist.”
Sherlock is bored by the procession of uninteresting people invading 221B to put their ridiculous problems in front of him and when he turns to the internet all he gets is more of the time. Missing rabbits, honestly.
“We were wondering if you could help us find the Antichrist,” says a suited man (bookshop owner, a fan of bibles), his leg pressed against his partner’s for support.
Sherlock scrawls Mycroft’s number on the back of the man’s hand with a spare biro and stalks out, ignoring the admiring glance the other man (likes fast cars and, apparently, rudeness) shoots him over the top of his sunglasses.
“I’m surprised you didn’t say Moriarty,” John mutters later as he puts the kettle on.
“He’s mine,” says Sherlock. Besides, John doesn’t know Mycroft as well as Sherlock does.
Title: Like The World Could Change
Length: 581 words
Summary: for the prompt Doctor Who/Single Father, Dave Tyler (Ten II)/Rose Tyler, Months after losing his wife, Dave finds an old fob watch… And Rose.
So, what sprung into my head is that Ten II took the same surname as Rose and they were together, but she’s part of Torchwood and he didn’t really have any anchor point. He got somewhat overwhelmed and in the end, with sadly given permission from Rose, he put his remaining Time Lord consciousness in the fob watch and set out to be ‘normal’ for a while…
“So that’s five maps then?” says the woman behind the counter at the Cardiff tourist office, which’ll be one each for the kids and one for him and Sarah, the adults, to share. Dave nods and the kids scramble for them the moment she holds them out, apart from Lucy, who hangs back trying to look dignified.
“Don’t snatch, Evie,” says Dave as he takes the last one with an apologetic smile. “So, where’s good to visit then?”
“Well, the castle’s always worth a trip, and how about St Fagans?” She plucks a leaflet out of a stand and passes it to him. “It’s one of the world’s best open-air museums and your lot might like to take a look at the Victorian school there.”
“What about quad-biking?” says Ewan excitedly. “And there’s windsurfing!”
Him and Evie are raiding the racks of leaflets and brochures on the wall by the door whilst Paul is carefully reading through just one and Lucy rolls her eyes at the lot of them. Dave has visions of how much of a mess they’re going to leave this place in as a stack of take-out menus are knocked to the floor off a small table.
Sarah shoots him an I’ll handle it look and ushers them outside.
“Sorry,” he says, crouching down to start picking up the menus. “I’m really sorry. Just, it’s their first holiday for a while, you know? Well, our. Our first holiday for a while. Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.” She sounds like she means it, so Dave decides not to, or to try not to at least.
Her blond hair falls forward over one shoulder as she bends down next to him to help and she smiles, although sadness lingers in the corners of her mouth.
“Are you enjoying yourselves?” she asks.
“Yeah, so far.”
“Good. That’s good.”
She takes the menus off him and makes a neat pile of them on the table before reorganising the leaflet racks. Dave stands there and watches her. When she’s done there’s no evidence at all that him and his family have passed this way.
He thinks that it’s like that sometimes, that there’s no evidence of things, but when you look really hard sometimes there is and you missed it. He slips a hand into his coat pocket to press his fingers to the old fob watch that he found in the last of Rita’s diary boxes. It was his, once upon a time, but he’d given it to her and forgotten about it. He likes to think that it means something that she kept it, evidence of something.
“You alright?” says the woman, peering at his face.
She asks it like it’s a really important question, like the world could change on his answer.
He takes his hand out of his pocket and holds it out to her, for no reason that he can think of, perhaps just an instinct to be polite.
“Dave Tyler,” he says as they shake and her hand in his feels more right than any answer to her questioning could be.
“Rose,” is the reply. “Rose Tyler.”
“Hey, we have the same surname,” he says, beaming at her.
“Yeah, yeah we do.”
She drops his hand and turns away, returning to her station behind the counter.
“See you around some time,” she says and it sounds like a promise as much as a dismissal, trailing behind him as he walks out of the door.
Title: The World Turns
Length: 683 words
Summary: Doctor Who/Single Father a sequel to Like The World Could Change because the original prompter asked for a happier ending and the plot bunnies obliged.
Dave leans on the railing looking out on Cardiff Bay. Behind him he can hear a gaggle of tourists making their way to Roald Dahl Plass, but he focuses on the waves and pretends there’s nothing but the sound of gulls.
“You look lonely,” says a quiet voice.
He chances a glance to the right and gets a flash of blond hair and the brief impression of a face, a woman who’s come to lean on the railing next to him.
“Well, kids all grown up and gone, gets a bit quiet.” He watches a plastic bottle in the water bump up against a boat. “Then your partner says you should take a holiday so you’re out of her hair whilst she moves out, but then that’s what people do. They leave. Or they die. At least she didn’t die.”
“What for? It’s nothing to do with you.”
He stands up properly and shoves his hands in his coat pockets.
“You know what I like?” says the woman, still leaning on the railing and watching the world go by. “I like reunions. I like going home.”
“Good for you,” he mutters.
“There’s no feeling like it in the whole universe,” she continues and Dave wonders if she’d carry on talking if he just turned and walked away. “I used to love travelling when I was younger and I still do really. It’s exciting, you know? New things. But then I loved coming home afterwards and seeing people again. Not just because I loved them, but because they’d have changed a bit and everything would be different a bit, and that’s an adventure itself.”
The wind whips her hair back from her face. She closes her eyes, tilts her head back, and smiles.
She looks beautiful, the echo of laughter in the soft lines around her eyes and bracketing her mouth and delight bright on her face. She looks like an adventure. Dave closes his own eyes for a moment against the sight, because he’s known beautiful women and he rather thinks he’s had enough of that kind of adventure, however much she seems to tug at his heart.
“Sometimes you have to go somewhere to come back,” she says. “I heard someone say that once, or read it somewhere maybe.”
She opens her eyes and turns her head to look at him.
“My name’s Rose, by the way.”
“Oh.” He smiles, a little sheepishly. “I think I remember you. From the tourist office? It was a long time ago though.”
“Not that long.”
Dave grabs hold of the fob watch in his pocket and squeezes, feeling the swirling pattern on the front pressing into his skin hard enough to leave a mark. It’ll fade, he knows, so much quicker than memories ever do.
“No, not that long,” he says.
Rose turns around, her back against the railing, and reaches out to touch his arm with her fingers.
“Are you alright?”
She asks it like it’s a really important question, like the world could change on his answer, but Dave knows better.
“What do you think?” he says in a tone that means not really all right at all.
Her fingers trail down his arm and further, into his pocket where she wraps her hand around his. Her hand around his around a fob watch, and he lets her.
“You know the first time, when you’re a kid, that they tell you that the world’s turning and you just can’t quite believe it because everything looks like it’s standing still?”
She laces her fingers through his and pulls his hand away from the watch, out of his pocket and out into the open air, where she gets a good grip.
“We’re falling through space, you and me,” says Rose, “but don’t worry. I won’t let go.”
She tugs on his hand as much as heart, pulling him towards the tourist office, and he follows, her hand warm in his, faster and faster until they’re almost running and it feels like maybe, almost but not quite yet, he could be alright after all.
A/N: And then Rose drags him through the tourist office into Torchwood and Dave gets his memories back out of the fob watch and eventually he really is alright x
Title: (Always) At A Quarry In Wales
Length: 705 words
Summary: for the prompt Torchwood/RPF, Jack Harkness/John Barrowman, John meets the man he’s been playing all these years at the edge of a quarry in Wales.
It’s dark when John makes his way out of the quarry at the end of filming and he heads towards the lights of the trailers. It’s not really been that long of a day, it just gets dark early at this time of year, which is a bitch for outdoor shoots.
A motorbike tears past him on the road at the top of the quarry closely followed by an SUV and he wonders if there’s such a thing as speed limits out here in the middle of nowhere.
“It wasn’t me,” he says out loud, imagining the faces of the costume department if he were to get hit and ruin the Captain Harkness outfit. “It wasn’t my fault all your hard work has gone to waste. I got run over by crazy people!”
“Speaking of crazy,” says a voice from the road and John near jumps out of his skin.
“Sorry,” says the voice, but it sounds more amused than apologetic.
John peers into the road until he can make out the shape of a man on a mountain bike, one foot on the floor so the bike doesn’t topple over now that it’s stopped moving. He seems to be wearing nothing but a t-shirt and a pair of jeans even though it’s getting cold out and on closer inspection there’s a ragged hole in the t-shirt over the man’s heart with dark staining around the edges.
“Shit,” says John again and he moves into the road to get a better look. “Do you want me to call an ambulance? Do you need an ambulance?”
“What?” The man looks down at himself and then back up at John with a smile. “Oh, no, I’m fine.”
To be fair now that John’s close enough he can’t see any injury, just that the t-shirt is a mess, and then he feels like an idiot because they’re near the set of Torchwood for Christ’s sake and the guy’s probably an extra or something.
“Speaking of crazy though,” he says, “could I borrow your coat?”
“Um, it’s not mine.” John backs away a bit. “I mean, I haven’t stolen it or anything, it is mine, but it’s not really mine mine. I can’t just give it away. Sorry.”
“Right. It’s just cold, y’know?” The man tilts his head to one side and produces a blinding grin that John could swear practically gleams in the night (and makes him pretty jealous actually). “And it is a fantastic coat.”
John moves closer again, studying that grin and wondering if he could replicate it, when a small lorry rumbles past on the other side of the road and its headlights spill across the man’s face, illuminating it for a brief moment in which he looks as shocked as John feels, an eerie mirror image.
“Shit,” says John for a third time, because it bears saying, and then he’s fumbling at the coat, pulling it off and handing it over.
“Thanks,” says the man on the bike, sounding far more cheerful than John thinks anyone has any right to be in this bizarre situation, as he fits himself into John’s coat as if it were made for him.
John’s Captain coat.
“So,” he says, leaning over the handlebars, “I have to catch up with a blowfish dressed as a nun and a bunch of kids who reckon they know how to handle it, but if you stick around I’ll be coming back this way and we can catch up on whether you’re a past self, future self, or just a whole new form of fun.”
“Ah,” says John panicking a little, because he’s not used to this kind of thing, he just plays with it on the tele. “No. Um, spoilers?”
Then man fires a wink at him, then pushes off and starts peddling down the road, admittedly faster than John could manage it, but still pretty damn slow if he means to catch up with a motorbike and an SUV travelling at there-is-no-such-thing-as-a-speed-limit miles per hour.
John shakes his head and carries on towards the trailers, hoping that the man on the bike is too busy to ever watch television and that the costume department are in a forgiving mood.