monkeybard: (MonkeyBard)
The marvelous [livejournal.com profile] methylviolet10b has posted the completed round-robin challenge fic that she and I just wrote. And when I say "just", I mean seriously, over the past week.

Here are the links. Apparently the whole thing is too long for a single LJ post. *eep*

Challenge!Fic: Pantomime, Part 1 of 2 (BBC-verse)
Challenge!Fic: Pantomime, Part 2 of 2 (BBC-verse)
monkeybard: (MonkeyBard)
Mine are the evens, methylviolet's are the odds. But really we're both pretty damned odd.


Rounds 1 - 85 )


Rounds 87 - 100: The End! )

monkeybard: (MonkeyBard)
Like methylviolet10b said, just because we're not much online right now doesn't mean we've not been attending to our drabbling.


Previous rounds linked here. )

Proceed at your own risk. )
monkeybard: (MonkeyBard)
These boys are all over town.

Previous rounds' links )


20. Die

“So, how did they die?”

“Poison.”

John stood a little straighter in Lestrade’s shoebox-with-windows office. “Seriously?”

Lestrade tossed the file across the desk. John reached for it, but Sherlock was faster. It took Sherlock about as long to skim the pages and take in the crucial data as it took John to roll his eyes and exchange an irritated look with Lestrade.

“Not just any poison,” said the world’s only consulting detective. He shoved the documents into John’s hands.

“What on Earth made Anderson look for that? You underestimated him for once,” John teased.

“It was undoubtedly someone else’s idea.”


Back to you, Vi...
monkeybard: (Default)
I think this round will amuse you. Oh, and I'm putting the previous round's links behind a cut. The list is getting silly-long.


Click here for the previous rounds. )


18. Work

“Chiswick.”

“Chiswick.” It was an echo and a question in one word.

“I believe I spoke clearly, John.”

John bit back a retort. Getting snippy over Sherlock’s snippiness would get him nowhere. He’d made quick work of breakfast, as promised. He was well fed and marginally restored from his rude awakening at ass o’clock. He could handle this. “Why Chiswick?”

“Mark MacKenzie.”

“The bottom-feeder, yes. What about him?”

“He was 'investigating' a paper company in Chiswick before he disappeared.”

“And you think there might be a connection?”

“Jessica Perez lived in Chiswick with her boyfriend.”

“Chiswick it is. Check, please!”
monkeybard: (MonkeyBard)
Hazard pay and an extra holiday, at least.

Round 1 here.
Round 2 here.
Round 3 here.
Round 4 here.
Round 5 here.
Round 6 here.
Round 7 here.
Round 8 here.
Round 9 here.
Round 10 here.
Round 11 here.
Round 12 here.
Round 13 here.
Round 14 here.
Round 15 here.

16. Embrace
“Where are you going, then?” Lestrade demanded.

“Home, I hope,” muttered John, yawning. The sun was rising. God, was it really as late as that?

Sherlock made one of his extended groans of irritation? Disgust? Disappointment? John was too tired to catch the precise nuance.

“It a new day, John, and we’ve a new case! Can’t you just embrace the adrenaline rush?”

“I’d rather embrace my pillow.” At his friend’s accusing and, yes definitely disappointed, glare, John changed tactics. “At least let’s go somewhere for a quick breakfast. I’ll eat fast.”

“Fine," begrudged Sherlock. "Lestrade--?”

“I’ll text you. Go.”
monkeybard: (MonkeyBard)
Still weird and creepy, but it should be dawn soon. I don't envy the cleaning crew at the V&A. I hope they get hazard pay for this job!

Round 1 here.
Round 2 here.
Round 3 here.
Round 4 here.
Round 5 here.
Round 6 here.
Round 7 here.
Round 8 here.
Round 9 here.
Round 10 here.
Round 11 here.
Round 12 here.
Round 13 here.

14. Blind

“I hope the unidentified victim went missing on the twenty-first.” Sherlock and Lestrade both looked at John. He met their gazes, one pale and intent, the other dark and tense, both awaiting further explanation. “Otherwise, we’re missing one. Eighteenth, twenty-first, twenty-fourth, twenty-seventh. If our third victim only went missing today--”

“Let’s assume,” Lestrade said, “that these three are the only three.”

“So far.”

It was a blind-side and it oughtn’t to have been. Lestrade felt briefly old and tired. “Hell. Sherlock’s right. That means we’ve got three days until he kidnaps another one.”

“And twelve until he kills again.”


I'm afraid I've not got a clue what twist you've given the post headers, Vi. Sorry. (I'm a bit scattered. Been sewing and forgot to eat lunch. D'oh!)
monkeybard: (MonkeyBard)
It's a good thing you got us out of the V&A, [livejournal.com profile] methylviolet10b. It was creepy (and sticky) in there.

Round 1 here.
Round 2 here.
Round 3 here.
Round 4 here.
Round 5 here.
Round 6 here.
Round 7 here.
Round 8 here.
Round 9 here.
Round 10 here.
Round 11 here.


12. Helpless

"Just one. Jessica Perez."

"Do you think she's--?" asked John.

"We won't know until the morgue gets the bodies," Lestrade answered with a helpless shrug. Only MacKenzie's prints had popped up in the police database. They'd left Donovan in charge of the bag-and-tag crew at the V&A. By now, they'd be finishing up and sending the bits and bobs over to St. Bart's to sort out and identify.

John's thoughts were on a similar path. "They'll be a while at that."

Lestrade nodded at the dry gallows humour.

"No need," snapped Sherlock. "It's her."

Lestrade eyeballed him. "Enlighten me."
monkeybard: (MonkeyBard)
D'you think LJ went down in an attempt to stop this fic? ;-) Well, it's up again now and I see my partner in wrongness has posted.

We are sick, sick puppies.

Round 1 here.
Round 2 here.
Round 3 here.
Round 4 here.
Round 5 here.
Round 6 here.
Round 7 here.
Round 8 here.
Round 9 here.

10. Light

“Not exactly a light touch, this killer,” muttered John.

Lestrade’s footsteps pounded up behind and stopped abruptly. “Oh my God.” He shouted over one shoulder, “Donovan! Have security get some lights on in here!” He turned back in time to catch Sherlock in mid-step. “Do. Not. Touch. Anything.

Even in the layers of shadow, Lestrade saw Sherlock’s pale eyes roll, but he heeded the DI for once and stayed put.

Sherlock scanned the scene as best he could. Besides the suspended tongues and the discarded jumpsuit, he could make out part of a torso that might still have its head.


Back to you, Vi.
monkeybard: (MonkeyBard)
Not just a rabbit hole. A freaking warren. (And I'm running out of tennis terminology for the subject lines. It's a first-world problem, I know.)

Round 1 here.
Round 2 here.
Round 3 here.
Round 4 here.
Round 5 here.
Round 6 here.
Round 7 here.


8. Missing

“The rest of him is here somewhere.”

“You’re sure it’s a him, then?” asked Lestrade.

Sherlock’s look said it all, but he expounded anyway. “One glance at the feet would tell you that. Think, Lestrade.”

He was right, of course. There were five shod feet scattered around the room, and only two were small enough to be the woman’s.

Lestrade bit back his sharp answer, saying instead, “There’s a foot missing.”

“That’s better.” Sherlock stood and scanned the room, taking in everything in that snapshot way John envied. “They were brought in through there.” He dashed for the far doorway.

Wild swing

Apr. 24th, 2012 09:14 am
monkeybard: (MonkeyBard)
This is getting twisted. Your turn, Vi. ;-D

Round 1 here.
Round 2 here.
Round 3 here.
Round 4 here.
Round 5 here.

6. Shoot

"Not long."

"Security say the cameras have been glitching throughout the building. This room went out for eight minutes starting at one-forty-three a.m.," Lestrade offered.

John rose, wincing at phantom pain, and looked about. Donovan was directing the numbering and photographing of evidence. It was a big job. He'd not seen so many severed body parts since Afghanistan.

It was then it struck him. "There are more limbs than two bodies can provide."

Lestrade could see Anderson was about to shoot his mouth off again, and stopped him with another hard stare. He reached for his phone. They needed backup.
monkeybard: (MonkeyBard)
Got the call from methylviolet10b, so here's my next swing.

Round 1 here.
Round 2 here.
Round 3 here.

4. Late Nights

John, however, could already hear the comedians. When this news broke, the hosts of the telly late-nights would be all over it for their opening monologues.

“What?” Anderson demanded scornfully. “What sort of sick bastard paints dead people’s faces to look like mimes?”

Lestrade shot him a shut-the-hell-up glance. Sherlock ignored him, as usual, and turned his gaze on John. “Come here. Tell me what you observe.”

John knelt beside the first corpse, avoiding the pooled blood that hadn’t quite dried. Skipping the obvious--male, mid-thirties, slit throat--he looked closer. He didn’t see anything unusual, but he smelled:

“Honeysuckle?”

...Volley!

Apr. 23rd, 2012 09:57 am
monkeybard: (MonkeyBard)
[livejournal.com profile] watsons_woes has a round-robin challenge, Challenge 21, it's called. Naturally,[livejournal.com profile] methylviolet10b and I had to play. She started round one here. We'll be bouncing back and forth until whenever we finish (sometime before midnight on 5 May, apparently).

All right, Vi, here's round two for you. As agreed, first prompt table, BBC-verse.

2. Nightmare
They were out the door in three minutes. John shivered in the damp air. At least the autumn rain had paused since he’d fallen asleep.

London cabs were scare at that hour, but by some miracle one immediately appeared. Sherlock fidgeted as they rode. John reckoned it was his body’s way of keeping his mind from shaking apart until it could get to the mystery it needed to occupy it.

City lights gleamed off of wet pavement as they sped through the streets. It was quiet, almost idyllic…and a stark contrast to the nightmare scene they found upon their arrival.


Others are welcome to read along as we go and (we hope) cheer us on. ;-)
monkeybard: (grammarcat)
So it's spring and in the world of Slash & Burn, that equals round-robin.  Last year it was a contemporary vampire romance.  This year (so far, at least) it's contemporary romance.  Who knows what someone might throw in?  You'll find round one here.

Last year's is here, in case you want to read it.  I'm biased, but so far I'm liking this year's better.

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