JWP 2019 #5: Introductions (BBC Sherlock)
Jul. 7th, 2019 01:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
monkeybardIntroductions
By MonkeyBard
Rating: G
Length: 221B
Universe: BBC
Summary: John makes a new acquaintance
Date: 7 July 2019
JWP #5: Photo Prompt:
https://cdn.pixabay.com/photo/2015/03/26/09/53/park-690533_960_720.jpg
The feeling of being watched was intense as John walked through Regent’s Park. His soldier’s instincts went into overdrive, eyes scanning the shadows for signs of anyone lurking with malevolent intent, ears attuned for the sound of a stray footstep or rustle of shrubbery muted by fog.
No one. He was alone—physically.
John thought he was used to ghosts. Between underground Edinburgh and Sherlock’s late brother, Sherrinford, he had experience with both the unfriendly and the friendly. This was neither. He stopped, took a relaxing breath, and let whoever it was know he was neither threat nor prey.
The watching presence drew back, then seemed to relax, too. It wafted closer, no chillier than the damp night air.
John waited, wondering what it wanted.
A scent reached his nose. Lightly floral and citrus. Feminine. Far too gentle to be the ghost of a woman who’d come to harm in the park. Perhaps simply someone who’d loved it and chosen it as home once she’d passed over.
A feathery touch tickled the back of his neck. Normally, he’d have thought it the wind.
There was no wind.
“Hello?” he breathed. He felt a lightening like pleasure. Like Ford when he knew he wasn’t alone anymore.
The presence swirled, lifted, and swept away, apparently satisfied.
John raised a hand and whispered. “Bye.”
By MonkeyBard
Rating: G
Length: 221B
Universe: BBC
Summary: John makes a new acquaintance
Date: 7 July 2019
JWP #5: Photo Prompt:
https://cdn.pixabay.com/photo/2015/03/26/09/53/park-690533_960_720.jpg
The feeling of being watched was intense as John walked through Regent’s Park. His soldier’s instincts went into overdrive, eyes scanning the shadows for signs of anyone lurking with malevolent intent, ears attuned for the sound of a stray footstep or rustle of shrubbery muted by fog.
No one. He was alone—physically.
John thought he was used to ghosts. Between underground Edinburgh and Sherlock’s late brother, Sherrinford, he had experience with both the unfriendly and the friendly. This was neither. He stopped, took a relaxing breath, and let whoever it was know he was neither threat nor prey.
The watching presence drew back, then seemed to relax, too. It wafted closer, no chillier than the damp night air.
John waited, wondering what it wanted.
A scent reached his nose. Lightly floral and citrus. Feminine. Far too gentle to be the ghost of a woman who’d come to harm in the park. Perhaps simply someone who’d loved it and chosen it as home once she’d passed over.
A feathery touch tickled the back of his neck. Normally, he’d have thought it the wind.
There was no wind.
“Hello?” he breathed. He felt a lightening like pleasure. Like Ford when he knew he wasn’t alone anymore.
The presence swirled, lifted, and swept away, apparently satisfied.
John raised a hand and whispered. “Bye.”
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