scfrankles: knight on horseback with lance lowered (knight)
Acquired from [livejournal.com profile] thesmallhobbit ^^ Nothing could ever match up to hers, but here's my go anyway.

The meme:
1. Go to this website: www.random.org/lists/
2. Pick 15 characters from any fandom or whatever you’re into, type them in, then get your randomized list and match to the entries below.
3. Tag five or more people - or, you know, have a go if you fancy it.
4. Have fun!


Meme Results )

Is It..?

Jun. 1st, 2014 10:29 pm
scfrankles: knight on horseback with lance lowered (knight)
(A/N: Just updating my journal because it's been a while... ^^")



It was introduced to is by a third person. There had been another verb but it had just been going through a phrase. Is was special.


Soon the contractions began and it’s was born.

It’s got my i,” beamed is.

It smiled weakly. Thank the lexicon is would never know about that liaison with has.
scfrankles: knight on horseback with lance lowered (knight)
A/N: I wrote this for a Topsy Turvy Fanfic contest on dA. It has its moments... ^^"

Sherlock Holmes was created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle




Mrs. Hudson put aside her newspaper and watched as Miss Morstan crossed gracefully to the mantelpiece. She was wearing grey today, with a touch of blue at the neck bringing out the colour of her large, sympathetic eyes. Mrs. Hudson’s friend and colleague truly was a picture of sensitivity and refinement.

Until she tripped over the bearskin rug.

“Damn and blast the wretched thing!”

Mrs. Hudson winced. “My dear, do try and remember to moderate your language.”

Miss Morstan grinned. “There are no clients here to be shocked.” She continued to the mantelpiece and selected a cigar.

“But we are not alone in the house,” said Mrs. Hudson. “Our landlords may come in at any time.”

Perfectly on cue, Mr. Holmes entered with the tea tray.

Miss Morstan hid her smile by bending to light the cigar. Mrs. Hudson frowned at her and turned to Holmes.

“Thank you,” she said, as he placed the tray on the table beside her chair. She poured herself a cup but then realised Holmes was still dithering.

“Was there something else?” she asked, glancing longingly at the tea. It could take a while before Holmes came to the point.

“I wondered if I could have a word,” he said.

Story continues... )
scfrankles: knight on horseback with lance lowered (knight)
A/N: I wrote this for an Anti-Valentine contest on dA ^^



Mr Edwards doubted he’d be able to remember what Miss Smith looked like once she’d left the office. In fact, he doubted he could describe her now, with her sitting in front of him. She was average. Absolutely and perfectly average. Which was what gave it away to the professional eye. Patently an alter-ego.

Mr Edwards couldn’t believe his luck.

Arch-Enemies was… discreet. No website, not even a sign on the door. After all, it was a highly-specialised introductions agency and all suitable clients found the place through word of mouth. Business rivals made their first acquaintance here, bitter enmity spurring each side on to making more and more money. Songwriters and poets were introduced to highly unsuitable romantic partners, so that after a brief and distressing love affair everyone could go off and make art about how bloody awful their ex was.

This was the everyday, bread-and-butter stuff. But every so often the real deal came along.

“Miss Smith,” said Mr Edwards. He looked down and consulted his notes. “Or would you prefer to be called Superba?”

Miss Smith blushed a little. “I only use that name when I’m crime-fighting.”

“Of course.” Mr Edwards checked his paperwork again. “You know, your questionnaire is rather interesting. I think that’s the first time we’ve ever had a perfect score for ‘goodness’.”

Miss Smith blushed even more and looked down at her hands clenched together in her lap.

“Well, no-one’s ever completely good or bad… I’m not perfect… I do have my days when...”

She came to a complete halt and glanced up at him.

“Yes, all right, I’m a goodie.”

“Miss Smith,” said Mr Edwards. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Moral ambiguity is all very well but there’s nothing like an old-fashioned battle between good and evil.”

He leant forward on his desk and smiled. Miss Smith attempted to smile back.

“So you’re looking for your arch-enemy.”

Story continues... )

Feathers

Feb. 16th, 2014 08:52 pm
scfrankles: knight on horseback with lance lowered (knight)
The case had taken three days. After putting Catherine (aged 5 months) down for a nap, her father had finally managed to convince Sherlock (aged 37) to get some sleep too.


John made his way downstairs, and arrived back in 221A’s kitchen to find Mary and Mrs Hudson had moved on from looking at photographs of the latter’s new great-nephew.

“So you really were an exotic dancer,” said Mary.

John automatically glanced at the photo album, caught a glimpse of feathers and sequins and looked hastily away again.

“It wasn’t…” Mrs Hudson waved her hands vaguely. “It was more, you know… burlesque.”

Mary grinned. “Were you any good?”

John rested his hand on Mary’s shoulder. “I’m sure Mrs Hudson doesn’t want to talk about that.”

Mary turned and smiled at him. “You’re not embarrassed, are you?”

“Of course not,” said John. “Mrs Hudson taking her clothes off. Why would that be embarrassing?”

He picked up his cup of tea and took a large swig.

“Were you any good?” asked Mary.

“Not bad,” said Mrs Hudson, smiling a little.

“I bet you had lots of fans,” said Mary.

Mrs Hudson’s smile became rather more mischievous. “Just two actually.”

She stood up and demonstrated with a couple of feather dusters while Mary giggled.


John stared at the ceiling and prayed for temporary blindness.





A/N: Sherlock fanfiction: a 221B - a story in 221 words, final word beginning with "b". Holmes and Watson created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle; Sherlock and John property of Moffat and Gatiss, and the BBC.

221B form invented by KCScribbler (KCS).
scfrankles: knight on horseback with lance lowered (knight)
Jerome K. Jerome
Came from a poor home.
But Three Men in a Boat
Kept him afloat.
scfrankles: knight on horseback with lance lowered (knight)
Greg Lestrade

Is the pick of the Yard.

Grey hair doesn’t make him look old.

Silver is gold.





Doctor John H. Watson

Honeymooned in the hot sun.

I like his wife Mary

But your mileage may vary.





Sherlock Holmes

Has superb chromosomes.

But he won’t pass on his mind.

He’s not the marrying kind.





Mary Morstan

Set her phaser for stun.

Her aim was selective.

Or we’d be down one detective.





Mrs Hudson

Is always such good fun.

And now we’ve discovered

She once danced uncovered.





Mycroft

Isn’t getting soft.

He doesn’t go easy on his brother.

Remember what happened to the other…





Charles Augustus Magnussen

Has a name that’s very difficult to rhyme with.

He could only be stopped with a gun.

In a sense he still won.
scfrankles: knight on horseback with lance lowered (knight)
There was a young artist named Lear.
I made writing part of my career.
And as Jumblies knew,
If old words would not do,
I could make new ones appear.



My limericks still entertain,
Though my endings may seem rather plain.
But it is by design
I repeat the first line
In the limericks that still entertain.



I am an old writer named Lear.
Tragedians have nothing to fear,
But my nonsense and rhyme
Have lasted through time.
When it comes to word-play, the king’s Lear.




A/N: I wrote this for an Author-Off on dA. I won ^^ (But there were only seven of us taking part...)
scfrankles: knight on horseback with lance lowered (knight)
Fandom: Dear Ladies
Rating: U/G
Warnings: Mild innuendo and rather a lot of puns
Disclaimer: Hinge and Bracket were created by Patrick Fyffe and George Logan. Dear Ladies was written by Fyffe and Logan, and Gyles Brandreth, and produced by the BBC. My story also contains characters and references from the BBC radio series The Random Jottings of Hinge and Bracket by Gerald Frow.

Total: 7,807 Words

This Chapter: 4,184 Words

Part 1



The dear ladies were hard at work at the kitchen table. Several presents had been wrapped but there was still a substantial pile to go.

Read more... )
scfrankles: knight on horseback with lance lowered (knight)
Fandom: Dear Ladies
Rating: U/G
Warnings: Mild innuendo and rather a lot of puns
Disclaimer: Hinge and Bracket were created by Patrick Fyffe and George Logan. Dear Ladies was written by Fyffe and Logan, and Gyles Brandreth, and produced by the BBC. My story also contains characters and references from the BBC radio series The Random Jottings of Hinge and Bracket by Gerald Frow.

Total: 7,807 Words

This Chapter: 3,623 Words




“Christmas!” declared Evadne, coming out of the kitchen and into the living room.

“Hallowe’en, surely,” said Hilda from her armchair, automatically glancing at the calendar.

“No,” said Evadne, with a hint of exasperation. “I mean perhaps we should start planning for Christmas. It popped into my head as I was making my preparations for tonight.”

Read more... )
scfrankles: knight on horseback with lance lowered (knight)
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC) (An AU in which Sherlock and John are teapots.)
Rating: U/G
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Irene Adler, Mrs Hudson, Mrs Turner, Bill the Ormstein Teapot, Greg Lestrade
Summary: Lestrade, the kettle at 221 Baker Street, is taken away for repairs. His replacement is a glamorous American stovetop kettle, who has something Bill the Ormstein Teapot wants back. Sherlock and John take on the case.
Disclaimer: Holmes and Watson created by Conan Doyle; Sherlock and John property of Moffat and Gatiss, and the BBC; the Consulting Teapots and their cosies belong to [livejournal.com profile] hisietari. This story is based on A Scandal in Bohemia by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. (With a slight nod to A Scandal in Belgravia.)

2,602 Words.



John was a teapot. (Smallish, and a rather splendid sky blue.)

Sherlock had been a teapot (or possibly a coffeepot. It’s all fine). However, after an incident involving a Moriarty teapot, a collision with a kitchen floor and some painstaking (but non-hot-liquid-worthy) restoration work, he was embarking upon a second life as a vase.

Lestrade, conversely, had had a long career as a kettle.

Though at the moment he wasn’t sure if he was a kettle any more.





Read more... )
scfrankles: knight on horseback with lance lowered (knight)
“John,” said Sherlock. “The body is merely transport. Appearances don’t matter.”

“Sherlock,” said John. “We are dressed as a couple of giant teapots.”

“We don’t have time for all this,” said Lestrade, as Donovan grinned broadly beside him. “Get out into the theme park and work out which teacup murdered the manager.”




“That’s her,” said Sherlock.

John glanced discreetly at a yellow teacup. “No teaspoon?”

“Exactly,” said Sherlock. “She’s disposed of the murder weapon.”

The teacup turned slightly in their direction and abruptly made a run for it.

Two teapots gave chase.




“She’s too far ahead,” panted John.

“Police!” yelled Sherlock at the holidaymakers. “Stop that teacup!”

A horde of small girls in yellow and brown t-shirts, and a very attractive woman, detached themselves from the crowd and stampeded after the rogue piece of crockery.

John watched in admiration as they rapidly caught up with the teacup —the children pinning her down by the saucer, while the adult hung onto her handle for grim death.

Sherlock spoke into his mobile: “Lestrade? Come and make the arrest.”




Lestrade beamed at the attractive lady as he shook her hand.

“She’s already attached,” said Sherlock.

Lestrade and the lady exchanged an embarrassed smile.

“Thank you, Sherlock,” muttered Lestrade.

Sherlock ignored him.

“This is Screech Owl,” he explained. “The teacup was apprehended by her Brownies.”




Author's Notes: For [livejournal.com profile] thesmallhobbit. Because I've just realised "Brownies" begins with a "b".

Sherlock fanfiction: a 221B - a story in 221 words, final word beginning with "b". Holmes and Watson created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle; Sherlock and John property of Moffat and Gatiss, and the BBC.

221B form invented by KCScribbler (KCS).
scfrankles: knight on horseback with lance lowered (knight)
"You? Doing jury service?" grinned John, reading his flatmate's letter.

"I will kill Mycroft," said Sherlock.




Both sides had concluded their arguments.

"Well, it looks straightforward to me," said the foreman, in the jury room. "I don’t think he did the burglary. The prosecution's case was pretty flimsy."

There was general agreement to this.

Sherlock smiled.




"Guilty," said the bewildered foreman.

"Guilty?" said the judge, surprised despite himself.

“Yes,” said the foreman. He paused for a moment, concentrating. “His laces indicate his alibi is false, his posture tells us he’s been in the area where the burglary took place, and his chronic dandruff suggests he’s actually been inside the burgled property. Oh, and the defendant needs 37 other offences to be taken into consideration.” The foreman glanced briefly behind him. “Probably."

From the back row, Sherlock nodded in satisfaction.




John gazed at the stunned-looking jurors gathering in the entrance hall.

"What went on in there?" he asked.

"John," said Sherlock, "you know I can't talk about what happens in the jury room."

He swept out and John hurried after him, passing the shaken foreman who was being collected by a friend.

"Are you OK?" John heard her ask. "Do you want me to drive you home?"

"Not yet," he said. "After that legal experience, I feel myself called to the bar."




Author's Notes: Sherlock fanfiction: a 221B - a story in 221 words, final word beginning with "b". Holmes and Watson created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle; Sherlock and John property of Moffat and Gatiss, and the BBC.

221B form invented by KCScribbler (KCS).

Fluff

Nov. 1st, 2013 03:22 pm
scfrankles: knight on horseback with lance lowered (knight)
The Diary of His Supreme and Condescending Majesty, King Stalwart Prettipaws, the One and Only


14th April

The housemaid has just given birth to a second child. It really is too much. So much noise. So much commotion. The footman appears to have forgotten I exist. I had to give the order twice this morning before I was fed.

However. I am the King - I must be gracious about the situation. They may be just servants but it is their home too. It would be cruel of me to expect them to leave at this stressful time. Perhaps I will go and stay in another palace for a while. My kingdom is certainly large enough for me to be able to find something to my liking.

Of course, there have been all those skirmishes with local pretenders to my throne recently. But I think the situation is now in paw. (No-one can yell and fluff themself up like I can.) It has undeniably been stressful though. And now with the staff reproducing… All in all it might be a good idea to get away for a while. Have a little rest. Just for a few weeks, until things have calmed down.


15th April

I’m brilliant. Only took me the afternoon to find the perfect place. Quiet area, large garden, nice couple in late middle age: another housemaid and footman partnership. I interviewed them: she rubbed me behind the ears and he gave me a whole tin of tuna. Entirely satisfactory. I took possession immediately.

The master bedroom is splendid. Enormous bed. Firm but very comfy. As is the convention with my own staff, the servants insist on sharing it with me. (I've never quite understood this strange custom but I must try and be tolerant.)

After we had all got up (I had to insist for several minutes they get up and give me my breakfast. At least they gave me tuna again) I introduced myself properly: explaining my full title and the rules for addressing me. But they’re having a bit of trouble with the language, and can only manage “Bill”.

It’s typical of humans unfortunately – I think they barely understand a quarter of what I say. It could have been worse though. My other servants called me “Lola” for 8 months. Observation not their strong suit.

I eventually became “Lol”. Which makes people laugh out loud for some reason.


His Majesty's Diary continues... )
scfrankles: knight on horseback with lance lowered (knight)
Sherlock strode into the living room, wearing a kilt. It revealed rather a lot of thigh—the effect being more Mary Quant than Rob Roy.

John glanced up briefly from his laptop. “You’ve got mine on,” he said.

“The hire company must have mixed up the labels,” said Sherlock, glaring at his hemline.

John snickered.

“Are you going to behave tonight?” he asked, as he put his laptop aside. “Scottish country dancing has no place for mavericks. You’ll have to work as part of a team.”

Sherlock’s lips twitched, ever so slightly.



Mrs Hudson was a nifty little mover, despite the hip.

“Thanks for standing in,” she said. “Larry and Ken have been arrested.”

Sherlock smiled. “Anything for you.”

“Why are we actually here?” said John after Mrs Hudson had moved away.

“To pass on smugglers’ secret messages through the medium of dance steps,” said Sherlock.

“Of course,” said John.



John grinned to himself as Sherlock led the troupe of increasingly bewildered dancers through a subtly altered version of The Bees of Maggieknockater. When it was over, the onlookers applauded politely and an elderly woman discreetly made her exit.

“Right,” said Sherlock. “That’s the receiver directed into the waiting arms of the police.”

“So what now?” asked John.

“I think,” said Sherlock, straightening his kilt, “we’ve earned ourselves some uisge beatha.”




Author's Notes: Sherlock fanfiction: a 221B - a story in 221 words, final word beginning with "b". Holmes and Watson created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle; Sherlock and John property of Moffat and Gatiss, and the BBC.

221B form invented by KCScribbler (KCS).

Hospitality

Oct. 7th, 2013 01:53 pm
scfrankles: knight on horseback with lance lowered (knight)
It had been an exhausting day. John just wanted to slump in his armchair.

He’d been sitting down for five minutes when the first visitor arrived.

“I wanted to thank you,” said the grateful client. “It’s not much but…” She offered a box of expensive chocolate biscuits.

Sherlock almost snatched them from her. John grabbed them from Sherlock and stuffed them down the side of the armchair.

“You can have them later,” he said. “I’m going to make the lady a cup of tea.”

“Why?” asked Sherlock.

“Because it’s polite,” said John.

While he was making the tea, Mrs Hudson came up. It seemed only hospitable to offer her a cup too, and soon their landlady was chatting to their client.

Then Lestrade arrived to discuss a case with Sherlock.

“No sugar in mine,” grinned Greg.

John sighed and headed back to the kettle.





It was 11PM. Nobody showed any sign of going home.

“Sherlock,” John whispered wearily, “it’s getting late. Everyone’s been here a very long time…”

Sherlock stared at John, bemused and then comprehension dawned.

He turned to the throng: “John’s going out to get Chinese for everyone.”

There was a muddled chorus of takeaway orders in reply.

“Right,” said Sherlock to John. “Did you get all that?”

“Yes,” said John, and went to bed.

(With the chocolate biscuits.)




Author's Notes: Sherlock fanfiction: a 221B - a story in 221 words, final word beginning with "b". Holmes and Watson created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle; Sherlock and John property of Moffat and Gatiss, and the BBC.

221B form invented by KCScribbler (KCS).
scfrankles: knight on horseback with lance lowered (knight)
Fandom: Dear Ladies
Rating: U/G
Warnings: Mild innuendo
Disclaimer: Hinge and Bracket were created by Patrick Fyffe and George Logan. Dear Ladies was written by Fyffe and Logan, and Gyles Brandreth, and produced by the BBC.

4,659 Words




As she moved about the living room in the morning sunlight, Evadne hummed and smiled to herself.

“You’re humming and smiling to yourself,” said Hilda, glancing up from her magazine.

Evadne stopped and looked over at her companion. “Well, I am going to band practice,” she said. “It does help to take an interest in the music.”

“Yes, but what about the smiling? You’ve never shown much interest in that,” said Hilda.

Evadne attempted to give Hilda a hard stare but the smile crept back onto her face.

“Just happy,” she said, and started searching the living room again.

Read more... )

Hairball

Oct. 3rd, 2013 02:02 pm
scfrankles: knight on horseback with lance lowered (knight)
“The cat did it.”


A bizarre case—woman suffocated in her sleep by her cat dozing on her face.

“Can’t arrest him,” said DI McGonagle. “Better phone the RSPCA, Sergeant.”


Pompom smugly washed his paws.

Handy that a cat isn’t legally responsible for his actions, but can be named sole beneficiary in his owner’s will.




A/N: This story was inspired by a conversation I had with my sister. (We do rather slander the feline lodger. He's actually lovely, and keeps the face-jumping to the bare minimum.)
scfrankles: knight on horseback with lance lowered (knight)
In the spring of 1313, after 13 years of marriage, it became evident an heir was finally on the way for the King and Queen of Deviancia.

“In honour of our future child, I shall add an extra month to the year,” said the King. “To bring the baby luck!”

The Prince was born on the 13th day of the 13th month.

It was a Friday.

“Really?” said the Queen. “You couldn’t have worked out this was going to happen?”

“My love,” said the King, trying to soothe his wife’s angst. “Let’s not give into triskaidekaphobia!”

But he did feel uneasy, and decided to invite the local fairies to the christening to be on the safe side.




There were the usual presents of handsomeness, long life, intelligence. Then it came to the turn of the youngest fairy. She was desperate to get to the lavatory (fairies have bladders the size of a peanut) and didn’t think carefully about the wording of her gift.

“He’ll be able to absorb others’ bad luck!” she declared. And sprinted to the facilities.

“So he’ll be full of everyone else’s misfortune,” said the Queen beginning to weep. The young Prince patted his velociraptor rattle and grinned like a gummy Cheshire cat, completely unperturbed.

The oldest fairy now stepped forward.

“I cannot remove the gift,” she said, “but I can lessen its effects.  On the Prince’s 18th birthday, when he’s at an a capella concert, a shoe thrown at his neighbour will hit him instead. Whomsoever that shoe fits will be his one true love and they’ll live happily ever after.”




The Prince grew up and reached puberty. Because of his curse, all his friends had miraculously clear skin while he had truly breathtaking acne. But nothing could mar his charming personality.

On 13/13/1331 it all happened as the fairy had foretold, and as soon as the swelling had gone down, the Prince travelled the kingdom, searching for the one the shoe fitted.

Finally, under a lover’s moon, he saw her:

Beauty, his own true sweetheart.




The ceremony was held outside in the palace grounds as the bride had some problems getting up and down stairs.

“They do seem very happy,” said the oldest fairy, tentatively. “And she’s got lovely chestnut hair.”

The King drained his thirteenth cocktail and glared at the fay.

“Did you know it was going to be a flaming horseshoe?” he said.






A/N: Written for a contest celebrating DeviantArt's 13th birthday. The story had to be 400 words or less (mine is exactly 400) and had to include these words: Peanut, Angst, Cat, Horseshoe, Moon, a capella, Stairs, Puberty, Acne, Luck, Velociraptor, Cocktail and Triskaidekaphobia.

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