...Volley!

watsons_woes has a round-robin challenge, Challenge 21, it's called. Naturally,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. ;-)

Random post of randomness

Although it's not so random since it is about shoes. It is about these shoes, in fact. They're New Balance, which is a brand I've worn in the past. Good shoes. These are pretty spiffy-looking, too. Most importantly, the more people who blog about these particular shoes with these particular links, the better the chance that my friend Nancy will get to go curling.

::blink blink::

This makes sense. I swear.

Soft lob...

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?”