Sherlock by Song, a sherlock fanfic

A/N: Hello all! I'm kind of nervous about posting this since it is, technically (and not even technically) a meme, but I had so much fun and I think it came out well, so I'm giving it a go?

Yes.

Goes are being given.

Here be the rules:

1. Pick a character, pairing, family, threesome or moresome you like.
2. Turn on your music player and put it on random/shuffle.
3. Write a drabble related to each song that plays. You only have the time frame of the song to finish the drabble; you start when the song starts, and stop when it's over. No lingering afterwards!
4. Do ten of these, then post them.

I skipped one song because it was an interlude and only 20 seconds long; I feel I stayed within the parameters of the game. And I skipped one because it would have ended up as a Reichenbach drabble and I did a bunch already and I didn't want the whole thing to be angsty. Cheating, maybe, but for a good cause.

Here lies: angst, romance, fluff, silliness, a few crime scenes with tiny bits of slightly gross description, and oodles of Johnlock goodness. No real warnings. Spoilers for Reichenbach, though.

I found it through Civil-War-Casualty on deviantART; you can also find it on my deviantART and my tumblr, both of which are annanlove19 DOT [deviantart or tumblr] DOT com.

I hope you enjoy!

Sherlock by Song

Someday by Nickelback

John

I can't believe you're gone. Why wasn't I able to do something, why could I fucking observe, like you always told me to? It's my fault so much more than his, I should have—there was so much I could have done but no, I don't—

Sherlock

I watch you whenever I'm in London. It kills me to see you like this, this horror you've become because of me. I had no idea how much you cared, how much you—could I possibly say loved me? Nobody has loved me, but I've never emptied anyone like I have you.

Together

The key turning, steps up the stairs, another key, and John sighs.

"I've already had dinner, you can stop fussing."

"John. It's me."

The kitchen chair topples as John flies to Sherlock.

Good Girl by Carrie Underwood

Oh, no. No, no, no. I've done this before. That lieutenant everyone said was a bad idea, the woman Molly introduced me to with the caveat of sex only, don't even think about anything else. The ones who aren't a good idea, the ones who are a bad idea; nobody would think I'd be so captivated by them, but that's how it happens. Unexpected.

He's the worst of them. A bloody sociopath. It was bound to happen sometime, I supposed, but God, what was wrong with me? Physically he was perfection, of course, but it had nothing to do with that. It was how intense he was, how his eyes bore into the microscope, the corpse, the witness, me.

I had to leave. I knew I had to leave. Just get up and go.

And that was so not happening.

The only one who noticed was Mycroft. Mycroft warned me. He knew, and he told me Sherlock was no good, told me to open my eyes before it was too late.

But why would I do that when I was so miserably, deliriously happy with him?

Fireflies by Owl City

They were in a field next to a decomposing body.

"Sherlock, it's night. How can you deduce anything when you can't see?"

"Of course I can see," Sherlock replied. "I have eyes. There's starlight, the moon, and a rather large collection of fireflies."

I threw my hands in the air. "Fireflies. You're investigating a body by fireflies."

"You're ridiculous, John. Adjust your eyes."

"I have! I can't force anymore than I have!"

"Of course you can."

John shook his head. He stuck his hands in his pockets and walked a few yards down to the river. The water swirled, turning along with the motion of the earth, the pull of the moon. He was exhausted, by why bother sleeping when Sherlock was on a case? His eternal energy was infectious.

A hand rested on his lower back, and John smiled slightly.

"Seen all there is to see?"

"Never," Sherlock said softly. "Not when you're here. I got you something."

John raised an eyebrow. "From a corpse? Really?"

"Don't be ridiculous. I had a spare collective device."

He pushed a jar into John's hand. Two fireflies danced inside.

Summersong by The Decemberists

This time they were on a beach and the body was already gone. Or most of it. There was a panic, actually, to save as much of it as they could before the waves washed it away to a watery grave.

Sherlock wasn't moving anything except himself, jumping from one piece to another, seeing as much as possible before the body was gone entirely. He delicately picked up a tibia with a few scrapes of muscle and tendon still attached and moved it a few feet away from being swallowed by a wave.

Everyone was sweating except Sherlock. The summer heat was unbearable, but he was never affected by it. His hair was floppier than usual, that was all. Curls hung in his face, softening his expression.

The way he moved his hand as he studied the stomach. Fingers dancing in the air centimeters above it, the angle of his wrist, how his palm was perfectly perpendicular to the organ. He made even stomachs look beautiful.

With no warning, a wave crashed down, washing the organ out to sea.

You Set Me Free by Michelle Branch

I didn't know I was trapped until you came.

You wouldn't be able to see, you never know how to look. You didn't know how I was before, so I can't fault you. The only one who does see is Mycroft, and I hate him for it.

"Are you aware you barely breathe around the man?"

I glare at him. "That's ridiculous. Of course I breathe. I wouldn't be alive if I didn't."

"I did say barely."

Words couldn't explain it, so arguing was pointless. I stalked through the flat, walking in restless circles as you sit calmly on your chair, writing away on your blog. How can you sit still for so long? That was ridiculous, I certainly went for hours without moving. But you do it because you want to, whereas I am immobilized by my thoughts.

Less so when you're around.

"He sets you free."

"God, Mycroft. Can't you be more creative than that?"

"No. He gives you a high you've never had before, and by far the healthiest I have ever seen."

My Happy Ending by Avril Lavigne

And there it goes.

He lands with a sickening crunch. Everything moves in slow motion, I need to get to him, to talk to him. We've fought—no, this isn't fighting, this isn't me—but the city is dead, you were so high, of course you would have to fall sometime, but never did I think you'd literally fall, you'd push yourself over the ledge. All the memories of the past two years flash through my mind as I trip and crash to the pavement.

Nobody notices me. I force myself to my feet. All these people surrounding you, none of them know you, none of them know me. To get to you I have to say that I'm a doctor, and then I'm allowed through. I feel your pulse, feel you fading away and how I lost you, that's not a memory I'll be forgetting anytime soon.

You made me feel everything, like I was the only one. Didn't you know I'd rather die than see you fall? You were everything that I wanted, we were meant to be, but you let yourself fall, you listened to that—I can't, no, but you did, you listened to him and now you're on a stretcher being wheeled out of view and already the memory of your fall starts to fade away.

I'll never forget you, or the feel of your lifeless wrist in my hand.

But forgetting the fall would be a mercy.

Sparks Fly

"Goddammit!"

We come to stop at a dead end and Sherlock slams his hand against the brick wall.

"It's all right," I say, and I hate myself for smiling, but god I love running with him. I put a hand on his shoulder. "He's an idiot. We'll get him soon enough."

"If he's an idiot, how did he disappear?" Sherlock exclaimed, turning to face me. Rain had soaked him, hair hanging in his face, drops of water cascading down perfect, mysterious cheekbones, and my mind forgets to remind me he's a bad idea. "John, why are you smiling? What about this is amusing? He's killed five people!"

I laugh. I can't help it. "I'm sorry. You look beautiful in the rain."

He gives me a bizarre look. "Sorry?"

I rest a hand on his face and he stills completely, his eyes shining brighter than ever. "It doesn't matter. We'll get him." I run my fingers run through his hair, and I swear the water I displace sparks. The sidewalk is wet beneath our feet, and even that's glowing. He's captivating.

"John."

"What?"

"You said to never giggle at a crime scene. I'm not well-versed on these matters, but I believe this is past giggling."

I grin. "Oh, yes. But we're not at a crime scene. We're at the end of an alley."

Sherlock laughed. "Good lord you're ridiculous."

"Just kiss me."

Float On by Modest Mouse

"Fuck! Sherlock, this is why we take cabs, because you can't bloody drive in London!"

He glanced over his shoulder. "It's fine, he's driving away."

"You backed into a cop car!" I exclaim. "It's not fine!"

"Of course it is, he's gone now."

We jolt into traffic, and I can't wait to be out of the city. A two hour drive spent in silence with Sherlock had seemed like torture, but for once in his life he wouldn't shut up. He started with the case, reeling off facts he hadn't had time to say before we left, reiterating ones he'd already gone over, reconnecting the dots over and over again, drawing a hundred lines only he could see.

"Sherlock," I try after a half hour. "Calm down."

"I am calm."

He keeps going. I stop listening to his words and focus on his voice, floating along the deep baritone I've come to love so much. No matter what, no matter where we are, his voice makes me float. I'm half convinced that's how he faked his death, by talking to me until I floated up to meet him and brought us down.

Buttons by Sia

I can't even speak. All I can think is how much I hate you, how you're a terrible person, how not even being a sociopath is an excuse for this. He sees more than anyone, observes more than anyone, and I swear he sees every single one of my buttons laid out in neat rows and pushes one after the other, going down the line until I'm shaking with fury.

I step away.

"I'm leaving."

I grab my coat and start out the apartment.

"John, wait! Come back."

"Why?" I ask, though I stop halfway down the stairs.

"You can't just leave every time we fight. You wouldn't spend a single night in the flat if you did that."

I'm going insane. I have to be, otherwise it wouldn't seem like such a good idea to walk back up. I keep my coat on as a warning. "Are you going to stop, then?" I asked. "Stop pushing my buttons?"

"I was not!" Sherlock protests.

"You were flicking the lights on and off!" I exclaim. "The ones I was reading by! It's dark out, I couldn't see, and then it was blinding!"

"It was an experiment."

"I hate you."

I'd Do Anything by Simple Plan

I can't believe we're finally lying in bed together.

Not romantically of course, I'm still waiting for that. I was too tired to make it up the stairs to my bedroom, and for some reason I'll never understand you offered to share your bed instead of letting me sleep on the couch. God, all I want is to hold you. How could I have been tired?

Sherlock suddenly laughed.

"What?"

"Did you see the look on Lestrade's face when I flashed his badge to that cabby right in front of him?"

I smiled. "No, but I caught the one where half a dozen more of his badges fell out of your pocket."

Sherlock laughed again. "If he wasn't so blind, he'd see when I take them."

"And if you stored them better, you wouldn't have had them confiscated."

"Come on, we have to sleep. I'm exhausted. Stop talking."

"You started it," I said before realizing how petulant that sounded. But I closed my eyes, realizing I'd be waking up next to him next morning.

Fuck it.

I scooted over and curled him into my arms, wrapping myself around him. He sighed contentedly and was asleep a second later.