But Sherlock/Watson is quickly becoming my OTP.
What is this.
(The new Sherlock was fantastic but Irene Adler why you all up in my OTP. I do not approve.)
Even Geniuses Need SleepA figure was hunched over the table, silhouetted by the light beside him. A pen hovered over the mass of papers spread out before him; his icy eyes stared, searching for something. Abruptly he sprang into action, whipping a sheet out from the mess (sending several pages fluttering down around him, but he took no notice) and scribbling furiously in a cramped, spidery hand. His eyes squinted with effort, although he didn't seem to notice. There was a feverish pitch to his work - his movements were too jerky and rushed, his face too intent, his eyes jumping from point to point, apparently unable to settle.Even Geniuses Need Sleep by dragoncharmed
A second figure saw all of this from the doorway and couldn't stand it. "You should be in bed."
The man at the table seemed to ignore him, but after several seconds he jerked to attention, swinging his head toward the door as if he'd only just processed that someone was there. "Bed?" he scoffed. "I don't need to sleep. Do you know how much time people waste sleeping? A third of their li
A Quick Pop to the MoonThere was a typewriter on the console now--a typewriter--and at first he tried to type in his destination: E-A-(pecking with his two long index fingers at the flat little keys, marveling at the new knobbiness of his knuckles, at the new, inexplicable urge he felt to nibble at the cuticles)-R-T-H-(the 'H' was sticking slightly already; he made a little joke about how even the best cosmetic surgery cannot hide a woman's true age and then had to leap backwards with a yelp from a lever which suddenly and mysteriously fell of its own accord and rapped him smartly across his nice new knuckles)-M-O-O-N. As it turned out, however, the typewriter had nothing to do with destination mapping at all, and once he managed to get the gravity back in its proper place he located the proper controls without further trouble. It was instinctive, now that he didn't have the lure of a shiny black typewriter to distract him any more. His piloting methods had always been ninety-percent instinct anyway,A Quick Pop to the Moon by lastcenturioness20
trapped in the box of my bodyHe is dying, which isn't something all that new. He's died before.trapped in the box of my body by madis-hartte
But this time it's permanent.
(he can't help but feel a vicious stab of glee at the thought)
Dying, lying on those stairs. Standing in the TARDIS, crying. Crash landing to Earth. Suicide. Murder. Tripping over his own two feet (that one had been embarrassing). Dying. Coming back. Each man a different facehere's a secret, the face doesn't mattereach man dying.
Some new man goes sauntering away. And I'm dead.
Everything I am dies.
It is strange. And you look back, just for a moment, and you see, and he sees, walking into the new face. Like salt, pouring from an open wound.
Or someone singing.
There are no words. Green eyes, brown eyes; for a moment who is I? Who was me? Then he steps forward, and the other steps backbut which is the stepping forward? and which is the stepping back?
He knows he's lived too longmuch older than 907. Much, much older. Older inside than the years lived (hi
The Doctor and You 3The Doctor and You 3 by Firebound
Knock knock knock.
" are you in there? Ready to go?" comes the Doctor's voice through your bedroom door. "I've found this great new planet- it has no sun! The warmth comes completely from the planet's core, and the entire planet is self-sustaining-- you've got to come on!"
His words make very little sense at first as you roll over, groaning. Your whole body aches, and your head is pounding. You have been sleeping for eight hours and it feels like you ran a marathon.
"can I come in?" Comes the Doctor's voice around the door as his words filter back into your consciousness.
"Yes." You croak, your voice scratchy and throat hurting.
His head pokes around the door and his vibrant expression immediately falls. He comes over to your bed and sits next to you, smoothing his cool hand across your brow.
"Are you alright?" He asks, brow furrowed in concern.
You shake your head. "I don't feel well." You mumble, enjoying his cooler body temperature as his fingers trace across your f