July 27 - Teamwork

 Title: Teamwork

Author: Pompey

Universe: Great Mouse Detective (movie-verse)

Rating: G

Warnings: timetraveling crossover crackiness

Word count: 575

Summary: History repeats itself, and fanboys come in all shapes and sizes.

Prompt: July 27 – To say nothing of the cat

 ___________________________________________________________________

Over time, our home at Baker Street has seen countless representations of all forms of animal-life, but the little band of rodents – and insect – that graced our sitting room were in some ways the oddest I had ever seen. It was not merely their accents (mostly American with one Australian) nor their clothing (scant, informal, and shockingly masculine in the case of lone female mouse) but something else I could not quite put my claw on.

One of the two chipmunks, he of the black nose and brown jacket and hat, kept hopping and peering about at everything, almost as if he recognized our things. “It’s like a perfect replica!” he exclaimed in an unusually high voice. “The violin, the fireplace, the chemistry set . . . but where are – ”

The second chipmunk, with a large red nose and brightly colored shirt, elbowed the first chipmunk sharply as Basil and I appeared to our visitors. Rather than calming, the first chipmunk froze with an expression of pure delight. “Basil of Baker Street and Dr. Dawson!” he squeaked, his voice going higher yet.

The female mouse sighed and stepped forward with an outstretched paw. “Hi! I’m Gadget. This is Monterey Jack,” she waved in the direction of the very large mouse with a red moustache and green eyes, “and Zipper.” The green fly buzzed in acknowledgment. “That’s Dale,” Gadget continued, pointing at the second chipmunk, “and that’s Chip.” We all looked towards the first chipmunk, still frozen in place.

“We’re the Rescue Rangers,” Dale offered when Chip made no response.

“Delighted to meet you all,” Basil replied with perfect aplomb. “I trust your visit here has something to do with the grey tom cat you are currently tracking in order to stop him from committing some nefarious deed?”

 For a moment the other Rescue Rangers looked as stunned as Chip still was. “Golly!” Gadget exclaimed. “How did you know that?”

Basil pulled a long, grey hair from the clothing of Monterey Jack. “The scent of male cat is faint but unmistakable. You were very close to the cat a short time ago but none of you show signs of injury or fright. Therefore the close contact was deliberate or made in such a way that your safety was assured. The name of your group indicates you are in the crime-solving business, making the former reason most likely. Why would a group of prey animals deliberately seek out close contact with a cat? Because said cat is himself a criminal.”

“Crikey! You really are the world’s greatest mouse detective!” Monterey said appreciatively. “Pallies, if anyone can help us stop Fat Cat, it’s Basil of Baker Street.”

“Fat Cat?” I couldn’t help but ask.

Chip finally unpetrified enough to answer. “He’s a criminal mastermind. He’s runs all kinds of schemes in the f– ah, back where we come from and we’ve got to stop him and get him back home before he starts doing the same thing here.”

Basil smiled at me. “We know a few things about breaking up criminal masterminds’ rings, eh Dawson?”

“We do indeed,” I answered, smiling back.

“Then you’ll help us?” Gadget asked.

“Certainly, my dear lady. Lead the way.”

As we began to file out, I noticed Chip had gone very still again with his paws clasped and a grin on his face. “We’re actually working side by side with Basil and Dawson!” I heard him whisper as though to himself.

July 28 - Middle Child Syndrome

Title: Middle Child Syndrome
Author: Pompey 
Universe: BBC Sherlock
Rating: PG
Warnings: none?
Word count: 350
Summary: Being a middle child means getting overlooked frequently.
Prompt: July 28 – honorary family member

 ________________________________________________________________________

“Mycroft, we CAN’T!” Sherlock was trying to sound imperialistic but he couldn’t hide the thread of desperation underneath. “Gunshot wounds are reported to the police.”

“In light of the present emergency, I will overlook the implied insults to my intelligence and my influence,” retorted Mycroft, trying to reclaim his mobile. “He needs immediate care. Do you not understand that?”

Sherlock struggled to maintain pressure on wound and still keep Mycroft’s device from him. “You know what we were doing when he was shot. And you know why. You’re very good at what you do, I’ll admit, but are you that good?”

“I am trying to save his life!”

“And I’m trying to salvage what life he’ll have after recovery!”

“How is it you can both manage to ignore me even when I’m the subject of the argument?” John finally broke in, speaking quickly to conserve what little air he had left in his lungs. Or lung, rather, since he was fairly sure the left one was in the process of collapsing.

“Hemothorax,” John continued tightly, fighting the urge to cough. “Maybe pneumo. Need flutter shield. Square piece of plastic. Three sides attached. Fourth side loose. Lets air out.” Mycroft actually ran out of the room and returned with a large food storage bag. John nodded and it was passed to Sherlock, who laid it over the wound and pressed down three sides of it.

Mycroft crouched by John’s head. “Dr. Watson,” he said quietly, “I have no formal training but I know you need surgery.”

“Tube thoracostomy,” John gasped out. He turned his head and caught Mycroft’s eye. “Use your secret staff. Yeah, those ones,” he added when Mycroft frowned and opened his mouth to respond.

Sherlock lifted his eyes to Mycroft’s. “Use them.”

Mycroft’s lips thinned but he began tapping on his mobile. “This is an abuse of special services,” he complained.

“Tell them it’s for your brother,” Sherlock snapped. “They’ll do it for a Holmes.”

Mycroft paused and raised an eyebrow. “My second, secret, never-before-heard-of brother?” 

John smiled faintly but wryly. “Just call me the overlooked middle child.”

July 29 - Unrealistic

Title: Unrealistic
Author: Pompey
Universe: ACD
Rating: PG
Warnings: spoilers for an opera?
Word count: 350
Summary: Watson likes the music but he cannot stand watching most operas.
Prompt: July 29 – at the opera
A/N: La bohème opened in London on Oct 2, 1897. Also, sorry for the abrupt ending; brain wasn’t cooperating.

 ________________________________________________________________________________

“You do not appear to have enjoyed La bohème,” Holmes observed mildly as we rode to Baker Street.

“The music was lovely,” I replied carefully. My friend had purchased the tickets and I did not wish to seem ungrateful. “ ‘Musetta’s Waltz’ is particularly memorable.”

“And yet you do not care for the opera itself,” Holmes persisted.

I sighed, briefly debated with myself over continued prevarication, and gave it up as a futile pursuit. “No, I do not. I thought I would, given its popularity, but . . .”

“I should have thought so too, given the romanticism of the story,” Holmes commented after I had made no attempt to finish my sentence.

“The romanticism is what annoys me.”

My friend’s eyebrows shot up in amazement. “Is this the Watson I know, who waxes so poetical in his descriptions of every countryside?”

“Countryside descriptions are one thing. Romanticizing poverty and disease is quite another. There is nothing romantic about freezing cold or starvation or the threat of imminent eviction. There is nothing romantic about dying of consumption, as anyone who has witnessed such a death could tell you, and no girl that close to death could possibly have enough breath to sing a full duet with her lover.” I paused to take a breath of my own and added weakly, “But I did like the music.”  

Holmes looked blankly at me for a moment and then roared with laughter. “Just when I think I get your limits, Watson, you find a way to surprise me,” he chuckled. “But the works of Gilbert and Sullivan are no less unrealistic and you enjoy those.”

“True, but they are designed to be caricatures poking fun at modern conventions,” I replied, relieved that Holmes had taken no offense. “They begin with a ridiculous premise, follow the storyline’s internal logic, and conclude with inevitable absurdity.”

“So do most operas, my dear Watson, though few of them are self-aware enough to realize it,” countered Holmes. “Ah, well. At least I may add the music of La bohème to my repertoire without fear of unduly annoying you.”

July 30 - Case of the Bickering Inspectors

Title: The Case of the Bickering Inspectors

Author: Pompey

Universe: ACD

Rating: G

Warnings: gratuitous ridiculousness

Word count: 450

Summary: Holmes and Watson may bicker like an old married couple but Lestrade and Gregson go at it like Abbott and Costello.

Prompt: July 30 – Include at least one homonym pair   

 _______________________________________________________________________________________

Lestrade gave an experimental tug on the door in the brick enclosure wall. “Locked.”

Gregson looked to Watson. “You’re sure Mr. Holmes is inside?”

“I’m sure,” Watson said grimly. “His telegram said he was going in. I can’t imagine a locked door stopping him. He probably scaled it already.”

“I don’t think I’m able to do that,” Lestrade admitted, tilting his head back to get a better look at the top of the wall.

“I know I can’t,” replied Watson, and sighed. “I suppose there’s no helping it then.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pick kit. “Holmes is far better at this than I but it’s Hobson’s choice.”

“Doctor!” Gregson protested. “We’re agents of the law. We can’t allow you to – ”

“Then turn your backs and don’t watch what I do. I’m not leaving Holmes to take on how many forgers by himself.” So saying, Watson selected a tool and crouched down to begin picking the lock.

Bowing to the inevitable, both inspectors turned around and feigned ignorance at the goings-on behind them. After a time, Gregson started fidgeting and Lestrade was lightly drumming his fingers against the hem of his coat.

“Did that case with the fowler from Graveshead ever get wrapped up?” Lestrade eventually asked.

“Yes, finally but unsuccessfully,” said Gregson. “Poor bugger will never see that ten quid again but perhaps he’s learned a lesson for the future.”

“Well, you know what they say about a fool and his money,” Lestrade said. “I know I haven’t ten pounds to waste on an obvious scam like that. Have you?”

“I don’t, no.”

“You don’t know?”

“No, of course I know.”

“Well, if you don’t want to tell me, just say so.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Why not what?”

“Why not just tell me if you don’t want to tell me?”

“I am telling you! No!”

“No, you won’t tell me?”

“For goodness sake, gentlemen!” Watson finally shouted. “Lestrade, Gregson’s answer is no, he hasn’t got the ten pounds. Gregson, be more clear with your phrasing. Now, may I please have some quiet so I can concentrate? This isn’t as easy as it looks.”

There was a minute of silence.

“You could have just said that, you know,” Lestrade muttered under his breath.

“Said what?” Gregson whispered back.

“That you don’t have ten pounds to waste on a scam.”

“I did say that. You weren’t listening carefully.”

“I was listening. You weren’t being clear.”

“I was being perfectly clear. It’s not my fault if you can’t understand plain English.”

Behind them, Watson finally succeeded in opening the door. He stood, spared a glance back at the oblivious inspectors, and quietly slipped inside to find Holmes.