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monkeybardBombe-d
By MonkeyBard
Rating: G
Length: 221B
Universe: BBC-Sherlock
Genre: Sweet, gooey crack
Summary: John faces a dilemma.
Date: 22 July 2019
JWP #22: Sweet tooth: Today's entry should include candy/dessert/sugar/chocolate in some way.
A/N: Points to those who recognize the goofy pop-culture reference I couldn’t resist including.
ETA: Now with added ducks!
The fuse began to sizzle the moment John made the mistake of picking up the dark, round shape. How did he not see that there was a fuse? Why had he touched it at all? He felt a fool now, standing there holding the fizzling, sparking thing. It would surely explode when the fuse burnt down. How was he to get rid of it safely?
He turned and ran one way thinking to bury it in that sandy area. But no! It was a playground and there were children climbing and swinging and laughing. He couldn’t go that way.
He turned and ran another way, thinking to toss it into that little lake. But no! Ducks swam happily and couples paddled in boats, oblivious to the danger they faced.
He turned and ran a third way towards a stone bridge. Perhaps he could toss it below and the ancient rock would absorb the blast. But no! The bridge led to a small church and crossing it was a gaggle of nuns.
“Some days you just can’t get rid of a bomb,” he muttered in frustration.
Too late!
The explosion staggered but didn’t kill him. Perplexed, he looked himself over. He was covered in sweet, sticky, brown goo.
Sherlock appeared. “No need to have panicked, John. It was only a chocolate bombe.”
By MonkeyBard
Rating: G
Length: 221B
Universe: BBC-Sherlock
Genre: Sweet, gooey crack
Summary: John faces a dilemma.
Date: 22 July 2019
JWP #22: Sweet tooth: Today's entry should include candy/dessert/sugar/chocolate in some way.
A/N: Points to those who recognize the goofy pop-culture reference I couldn’t resist including.
ETA: Now with added ducks!
The fuse began to sizzle the moment John made the mistake of picking up the dark, round shape. How did he not see that there was a fuse? Why had he touched it at all? He felt a fool now, standing there holding the fizzling, sparking thing. It would surely explode when the fuse burnt down. How was he to get rid of it safely?
He turned and ran one way thinking to bury it in that sandy area. But no! It was a playground and there were children climbing and swinging and laughing. He couldn’t go that way.
He turned and ran another way, thinking to toss it into that little lake. But no! Ducks swam happily and couples paddled in boats, oblivious to the danger they faced.
He turned and ran a third way towards a stone bridge. Perhaps he could toss it below and the ancient rock would absorb the blast. But no! The bridge led to a small church and crossing it was a gaggle of nuns.
“Some days you just can’t get rid of a bomb,” he muttered in frustration.
Too late!
The explosion staggered but didn’t kill him. Perplexed, he looked himself over. He was covered in sweet, sticky, brown goo.
Sherlock appeared. “No need to have panicked, John. It was only a chocolate bombe.”
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