Lalalalala…doin' stuff...Actually, not so much. I've been experiencing writer's block, which is never a good thing. It's very extremely aggravating. I decided that trying to update one of my prompt-fics would be a good idea to get creative juices flowing again.
So here you guys go: a new update to this crazy story.
This one-shot will have a reference to Sting, which is the sword that Bilbo obtains in The Hobbit, and which is passed onto Frodo in The Lord of the Rings.
Also, in a past chapter, I made the mistake of saying that Beorn didn't appear in The Hobbit movies. He appeared in the second one, but it was for a very short time, and he was one of the many disappointments in it (for me, anyway). He just didn't look like how I imagined him when reading the book, which is always something disappointing.
God bless and have a great day (or night)!
ThePro-LifeCatholic
Jesuslovesmarina: No need to apologize for your reviews! It's reviews like yours that make my day, as well as my sister's! They were great, and we may use more of your ramblings in future chapters. :P
Disclaimer: I know you guys might not know this, but…well…I don't own BBC Sherlock, or any of the works by J. R. R. Tolkien. *gasping and screaming ensues*
"'He's getting away, Lestrade! We have to go after him, Gabe!'" DI Lestrade's voice echoed in the dark. "That's what you said. And 'Gabe' isn't even close to my real name!"
"Well, how was I supposed to know that your flashlights needed new batteries?" Sherlock sounded annoyed, but no one could see his face to really tell his mood. It was pitch black where they were; in fact, it was pitch black for quite a ways in all directions.
Lestrade, Sally, Anderson, Sherlock, and John were in the sewer system beneath the streets of London. And their torches had all run out of batteries. The consulting detective and his flat-mate had been hot on the trail of an escaping criminal. Scotland Yard members had been alerted to the situation, and had set up barriers to close off all escape routes. However, none of them had taken into account the maze of tunnels directly under their feet, which is where the wanted man ended up going.
So here they were, swathed in black, liquid dripping from the ceiling and their breathing penetrating the breaks in their conversations.
"Thanks, Freak," Sally accused from…somewhere. "Now 'cause of you, we're stuck down here."
"Did I ask you to follow me?" Sherlock's deep voice echoed throughout the tunnel, bouncing off the walls and fading into nothingness.
"Alright, you guys," Lestrade ordered. "Settle down. Fighting isn't going to fix our situation."
"Then what is?" the army doctor questioned. No one had a ready answer for John, so a muffled quiet settled among them.
Everyone jumped when Sherlock's deep voice suddenly broke through the silence. "Boo."
Anderson shrieked loudly from somewhere in the dark.
"My gosh…!" John exclaimed. "Sherlock!"
"Stop it! That wasn't funny!" admonished Sergeant Donovan. Sherlock, ignoring Sally's most recent statement, was chuckling. It sounded rather ominous, coming from an unseen source and rocketing off the walls and floor.
"You know, if I knew that I was standing next to you, and not next to Lestrade or anyone else," Anderson threatened in a shaky voice, "I would punch you, Sherlock."
"Well, I would attempt to punch you regardless of whether or not I may be hitting someone else," Sherlock replied nonchalantly.
"Hey, guys?" John called attention to himself. In the black, everyone tried to locate the sound of his voice. "I think I've got something that might help."
A moment later, an eerie, blue glow emanated from one side of tunnel, and the small group of people could make out each other's faces. John stepped forward, holding a long, thin object in both hands. The blue light surrounded it in a haze, dispelling the immediate darkness in all directions.
"Alright, tell me where to go," John called. "I'll lead the way."
"Nice torch, John," Lestrade commented.
"Oh, it's not a torch," Dr. Watson corrected the DI. "It's a sword."
The four people behind him exchanged confused, blue expressions. John Watson came to an abrupt halt, staring at the object in his hands.
"It's glowing blue," he murmured. "Which can only mean…orks!"
Without warning, John Watson leaped ahead, running as fast as he could.
"John!" Sherlock yelled.
"Wait!" Sally screeched.
It was too late. John rounded a bend, and the tunnel was plunged in darkness yet again.
"Is he coming back?" Anderson wanted to know.
"He better," Sherlock hissed.
