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veronicasleepsTitle: Telephone
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
veronicasleeps
Rating: PG-15
Characters/Pairings: John Watson, Gaga, Sherlock Holmes, Honey B
Warnings/Spoilers: Crossover with Lady Gaga's Telephone
Summary: John telephones his sister. Two times.
Notes: This should be crackier than it is. It really should be.
Based on THIS prompt atsherlockbbc_fic. So blame cactus_rabbit for it.
Also: Who can find the gaga lyrics in here?(The title does not count)
TELEPHONE
"Hello, Honey B," Gaga drawls into the receiver.
"I think you are expecting someone else to call, luv." It takes a moment for her to realize who is on the other line, but when she does a soft smile flickers slowly over her face.
"Is that you, John?" She hasn't spoken to him in years, so it's no wonder that she doesn't quite remember, but it's not like his call is all that much of a surprise. "You heard about what happened then?"
She can almost hear his head shake through the telephone. "Of course I did. Was there any question of that?" She knows exactly how he looks right now, probably leaning against the wall in his flat, a displeased frown on his face and the receiver pressed tightly against his ear. "Was there no other way, luv? Did you need to do this publicly?"
"Yeah, I did," the steel bars are cold against her back. It reminds her of the way the metal braces felt after coming home from the hospital -rigid and strong- and it's a nice memory even when it shouldn't be. "You know I did, John. It had to be public, it was the only way to get it all back!"
"Besides, Brother, not all of us can hide who we really are."
K-Kinda Busy
John’s mobile phone is ringing. Sherlock throws him a dark look, they’re at a crime scene and the ring tone has just disturbed him in the midst of his speech, which is something that Sherlock really can’t stand.
By now, though, John has learned not to let Sherlock run every inch of his life, so he just grins at him and takes the call, even though he doesn’t recognize the number.
“I’m kind of busy,” he says in stead of a greeting.
“Is that so, J.J.?” It’s his sisters voice, loud to drown out the pop music in the background and what sounds like the engine of a car. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to call again very soon, and I just wanted to get in touch for a minute.”
Sherlock has his head cocked now, his eyes are slitted and fixed intensely on the mobile in John’s head. He is obviously trying to find out who is on the other line.
John shakes his head, exasperated, and motions with his head that he's leaving the room; admittedly, it’s not the best of ideas, he knows that it will just make Sherlock more determined if he leaves now, but that can’t be helped.
“Just a second,” he closes the door to the stairs behind him. “Now I can talk.”
“I’m out of prison.”
John keeps quiet. That much was obvious, after all.
“Don’t you want to congratulate me?” Gaga sounds like she's pouting, the way she did when she was a little girl.
“I’m sure it had more to do with the mysterious ‘Honey B’ than with any real skill.” He grins, “why would I congratulate you for something as boring as getting someone to bail you out, luv?”
He can hear faint laughter through the line, and he thinks that must be her companion. “Am I on speaker phone?”
“Yeah, baby,” it’s a darker voice that answers. “You are.”
There is the beep that signals that somebody has pushed a button on the phone, and then he hears the muffled voice of his sister. “Just smoke my cigarette and hush, Honey B.”
It’s like she’s pressing her hand against the receiver, as if that really blocks out all of her voice. Then there’s rustling again, and he can hear her normally.
“Now you aren't,” she says, and her friend turns up the music a bit.
“I’ve missed you, John,” Gaga whispers. “It’s been so long.”
“You wanted to leave, Sis’,” John presses two fingers against the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. “Father asked you, back then. ‘Do you want love,’ he asked, ‘or do you want fame?’ And what did you choose?”
She doesn’t answer. She doesn't need to, they both know what she chose.
“You know that I love you.” Then there's a click, and the beep-beep-beeping that tells him the call has been ended.
He saves the number, not under her real name, but as one of his colleague's home number, so Sherlock doesn't have it all that easy, and goes back to the dead body and the world’s only Consulting Detective.
+
Author:
veronicasleepsRating: PG-15
Characters/Pairings: John Watson, Gaga, Sherlock Holmes, Honey B
Warnings/Spoilers: Crossover with Lady Gaga's Telephone
Summary: John telephones his sister. Two times.
Notes: This should be crackier than it is. It really should be.
Based on THIS prompt at
sherlockbbc_fic. So blame cactus_rabbit for it.Also: Who can find the gaga lyrics in here?(The title does not count)
"Hello, Honey B," Gaga drawls into the receiver.
"I think you are expecting someone else to call, luv." It takes a moment for her to realize who is on the other line, but when she does a soft smile flickers slowly over her face.
"Is that you, John?" She hasn't spoken to him in years, so it's no wonder that she doesn't quite remember, but it's not like his call is all that much of a surprise. "You heard about what happened then?"
She can almost hear his head shake through the telephone. "Of course I did. Was there any question of that?" She knows exactly how he looks right now, probably leaning against the wall in his flat, a displeased frown on his face and the receiver pressed tightly against his ear. "Was there no other way, luv? Did you need to do this publicly?"
"Yeah, I did," the steel bars are cold against her back. It reminds her of the way the metal braces felt after coming home from the hospital -rigid and strong- and it's a nice memory even when it shouldn't be. "You know I did, John. It had to be public, it was the only way to get it all back!"
"Besides, Brother, not all of us can hide who we really are."
John’s mobile phone is ringing. Sherlock throws him a dark look, they’re at a crime scene and the ring tone has just disturbed him in the midst of his speech, which is something that Sherlock really can’t stand.
By now, though, John has learned not to let Sherlock run every inch of his life, so he just grins at him and takes the call, even though he doesn’t recognize the number.
“I’m kind of busy,” he says in stead of a greeting.
“Is that so, J.J.?” It’s his sisters voice, loud to drown out the pop music in the background and what sounds like the engine of a car. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to call again very soon, and I just wanted to get in touch for a minute.”
Sherlock has his head cocked now, his eyes are slitted and fixed intensely on the mobile in John’s head. He is obviously trying to find out who is on the other line.
John shakes his head, exasperated, and motions with his head that he's leaving the room; admittedly, it’s not the best of ideas, he knows that it will just make Sherlock more determined if he leaves now, but that can’t be helped.
“Just a second,” he closes the door to the stairs behind him. “Now I can talk.”
“I’m out of prison.”
John keeps quiet. That much was obvious, after all.
“Don’t you want to congratulate me?” Gaga sounds like she's pouting, the way she did when she was a little girl.
“I’m sure it had more to do with the mysterious ‘Honey B’ than with any real skill.” He grins, “why would I congratulate you for something as boring as getting someone to bail you out, luv?”
He can hear faint laughter through the line, and he thinks that must be her companion. “Am I on speaker phone?”
“Yeah, baby,” it’s a darker voice that answers. “You are.”
There is the beep that signals that somebody has pushed a button on the phone, and then he hears the muffled voice of his sister. “Just smoke my cigarette and hush, Honey B.”
It’s like she’s pressing her hand against the receiver, as if that really blocks out all of her voice. Then there’s rustling again, and he can hear her normally.
“Now you aren't,” she says, and her friend turns up the music a bit.
“I’ve missed you, John,” Gaga whispers. “It’s been so long.”
“You wanted to leave, Sis’,” John presses two fingers against the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. “Father asked you, back then. ‘Do you want love,’ he asked, ‘or do you want fame?’ And what did you choose?”
She doesn’t answer. She doesn't need to, they both know what she chose.
“You know that I love you.” Then there's a click, and the beep-beep-beeping that tells him the call has been ended.
He saves the number, not under her real name, but as one of his colleague's home number, so Sherlock doesn't have it all that easy, and goes back to the dead body and the world’s only Consulting Detective.
+
