Anyway-- but in the midst of this, I kept getting things.
I got e-cards and e-mails chock full of different pictures--some funny, some obscene, and all appreciated for the heart of it. And Mate sent me flowers. Pretty ones. Thoughtful ones. Ones that made me very happy, when I really needed some help with that.
So, instead of musing on something heavy or trying to decipher all of the weirdness I'm dealing with, I'm going to give you a slash-fic valentine.
For fans of the show Sherlock, and fans of the show Warehouse 13, you'll enjoy this. For everyone else, you'll be very, very puzzled.
Jinksy and Dr. John
A Sherlock/Warehouse 13 Crossover fic
John squinted at the glowing object at the top of the pole he was bound to. “Radio antennae, you think?”
“Yes, John, there are radio antennae that speak to snakes. Everything I, as a man of reason, and you, as a man of science, have known is wrong and—ouch!”
The Burmese pythons that had wound about the two of them twisted a little tighter, and John, for one, found it was getting hard to breathe. Their musculature was fascinating—or would be, if every ripple and pulse of skin and fiber didn’t creak John’s ribs just a fraction more.
“Perhaps,” Sherlock said, his voice subdued by lack of breath, “there is a rational explanation that I have overlooked for lack of information.
“Well, yes—but you can’t say those two agents—“
“Agents from what? They never gave us a satisfactory explanation for—oolf—which department they came from—“
“Nevertheless, they did try to warn us that there were things we did not know.” John knew he sounded peevish, but, dammit, the young man had been very intent about trying to tell them something without telling them something. Sherlock may believe that simply made him an American, but John was positive he’d been trying to warn them—
“They were trying to get into your pants,” Sherlock said bluntly.
“That girl was far too young for me!” John replied, stung. She’d been barely twenty, and impudent as hell—he could have adored her as a younger sister, yes, but anything other—
“Perhaps, but the boy was not. All of that ‘secret information’ you’re going on about was no more than him making eyes at you...auuughh… dammit! If only he’d applied his charm to the bloody snake!”
“That’s not where we need to apply the charm.” John’s vision was going black, and the warehouse where they’d discovered the diamond they’d been searching for was dim, but he still recognized the pixie-faced girl with the ripe red hair and full lips.
“Claudia!” he said gratefully.
“And Jinks!” Steven said behind her. The young man looked more the worse for wear than she did—his clothes were ripped and he was bleeding from his sleeve. “God, give some credit where it’s due.”
“Sorry bout that…” John gasped. “So, wonderful, the two of you are here! Do you know how to snake charm?”
“I’m sure he’s brilliant at it,” Sherlock sniped. “The question is, can he silence this… this pole so that these two animals find refuge elsewhere.”
“That we can do.” Claudia was disgustingly cheerful, even as she walked in front of John and added a wink. “Especially the part about the snake charming.”
“Claudia!” Jinks whined, but his look at John through his remarkably pretty blue eyes was hooded and knowing. “That’s embarrassing.”
“But true,” she chirped. She got close enough to the pole to rest her hands on the snakes as she squinted at the top. “Jinksy, do you think that top piece needs the whole pole, or do you think—“
“Yeah,” he said thoughtfully, standing on John’s other side and squinting up. “I think the St. George Medallion was originally forged to go on a shield, right?”
“Right, which means we don’t have to get the guys off the pole…”
“We just have to glove and love the thing at the end,” Jinks finished for her, they high-fived behind John’s head.
“Oh God,” Sherlock muttered. “If this were any more phallic, I’d need a body condom.”
“Abstinence seems to be working for you,” Jinks said dryly, and John snickered.
“You only laugh because you shag anything that moves,” Sherlock snapped, and John craned his head as far as he could in an effort to glare at the exasperating man.
“Oh like you’d know about shagging!”
“So,” Jinks said, smiling at John, “what would he know about shagging?”
“I’d know it’s impossible to shag anyone when you’re being crushed by a giant snake,” Sherlock interrupted, and Jinks winced.
“Jinksy, flirt later, help me up now!” Claudia said, moving to Jinks’s side and winking at John too. Jinks crouched and laced his fingers, his chest and arms straining as he lifted Claudia up. She grabbed the metal pole, and looked down. “John, Sherlock—where are their heads?”
“They’re not toxic,” Sherlock assured her, and John heard her huff of exasperation.
“Well not all snakes are toxic, but they can all bite,” she said reasonably, and John grunted as she actually stepped on the thick, writhing body that was currently constricting his very breath away. “Sorry, John,” she muttered, right before placing her delicate foot on his shoulder. He was grateful she was wearing light tennis shoes as her weight came to bear, and she grabbed the metal pole tighter as she used what she could to scale it. “Sherlock… sorry…” John heard Sherlock grunt and knew it was probably his turn to be used as a ladder.
“Are you really going to let the girl climb the pole?” John asked, trying to see her.
“Girls can climb poles,” Jinks said, still smiling with those remarkable eyes.
“Only if the poles are willing,” Sherlock said acidly. “John, stop squirming around, you’re agitating the…bugger!”
“Oh, geez!” Jinks said, moving around to check Sherlock out. “He got you there. Right on the thigh.” John could only imagine the playful smile which took some of the sadness out of the eyes. “Trying to eliminate the competition, right? One snake to another?”
“Charming,” Sherlock grunted. “John will be obliged to check out the wound when this little adven…ture… is…”
John’s vision went spotty on the edges, and he dimly heard Claudia call down. “Jinksy, throw me the glove and the love!”
Jinks had a foil bag, and he swung it in a careful arc, whoop, whoop, whoop, and up! It arced high and John craned his neck around to watch Claudia reach out a hand to catch it. He could hear the cellophane rustling and then he saw a giant purple flash as whatever was in the bag ignited with the figurehead on the top of the mast.
The snakes didn’t fall and they didn’t slither away.
John fell to his knees, gasping, and at his back he was aware of Sherlock doing the same.
“Obviously I’m fine,” Sherlock grumbled, and John gave a distracted look of thanks to Agent Jinks of wherever as the man helped him to his feet.
“Yes, well, you’ll allow me to determine that.”
“It wasn’t bad,” Jinks offered, and John was momentarily distracted by that really nice pair of blue eyes before he returned his attention back to the angular man, on his hands and knees, gasping for air and grasping for logic at the same time.
“That’s what you think,” John muttered. “The snake didn’t go limp, it disappeared! That’s bound to cause difficulties, you trust me!”
Jinks winced. “Yeah, it doesn’t pay to get too caught up in logic when you’re investigating certain objects in this world.”
Sherlock gave a strangled gasp, and John glared at Jinks. “Shut your mouth! Do you want him to have an aneurism? It’s not like that fall from the building did him any good you know!” John crouched down by Sherlock and grasped his shoulder. “C’mon, it’s not that bad,” he said, trying to keep his voice brisk.
“It’s fine,” Sherlock snapped, and John helped him back so that he was leaning against the pole. Claudia had scrambled down from the moment of the purple flash, and she took Sherlock’s other side.
“Oh, dear.” John ripped Sherlock’s brown flannel trousers a little, and took a better look at the snake bite. No venom, he ascertained, but the puncture wounds were deep, and they seemed to be… contaminated with a certain bit of dust. The flesh around them was swelling and turning red even as they watched.
“Ouch!” Sherlock’s hand clutched John’s and John turned his palm up and laced their fingers temporarily.
“There’s some sort of contamination here,” he apologized. “I think maybe whatever…” he grimaced, not wanting to wrap his mind around the logic of it. “…whatever created those snakes, it got stuck in the—hey!”
Jinks had another cellophane bag, one he’d upended, and he was currently squishing purple goo all over Sherlock’s thigh.
“That’s a little invasive!” John protested. “And not at all sanitary—“
“Oooohhhh…” Sherlock sighed and gave a shudder. “That’s good… that’s better than drugs…”
“And apparently medicinal,” John noted. The red streaks were fading, and the bite marks were purging themselves of pus even as he watched. He looked at Jinks and Claudia, both of whom seemed to have very little about them but weapons and lots of those handy little cellophane bags, and sighed. He reached under his button down plaid shirt, his vest, and his blazer and yanked on his T-shirt. He ripped at it, startling when Jinks lifted up his outer wear so he could rip a big strip around the bottom and fold it into a pad.
“Oh God,” Sherlock groaned. “You can’t even wait to get him alone, can you!”
“Well, the big snakes are all gone,” Jinks said, maintaining his humor. “I was hoping maybe he was interested in a little one.”
“I’m not interested in his snake,” John said, not even bothering to blush. “I’m interested in your well-being.” He folded the T-shirt into a pad and pressed it against the blood-smeared pale skin of Sherlock’s thigh. Sherlock’s hand covered his, and John looked up and met those piercing blue eyes.
“You could, occasionally, be interested in my snake,” Sherlock said plaintively, and John stared at him, open mouthed, until Jinks’s hand on his shoulder pulled him back to reality.
“It’s a shame,” Jinks said, and Claudia was next to him, shaking her head.
“It really is,” she said. “You haven’t had a date in two years, Jinksy! For a minute there I had hope!” She looked at John, her lips pursed in sympathy. “Well, you two need a cab and a hotel room—“
“And an explanation?” Sherlock insisted, much to John’s relief.
“Nope,” Jinks said, straightening up. “I might have told John, if our snakes hadn’t gotten crossed, but I’m thinking after that hotel room, the extra pole in here is going to be the last thing on your mind.”
Sherlock’s hand tightened on John’s, and Claudia pulled out her cell phone to talk to the cab company.
“I don’t know about you,” Sherlock said, “but I’ve had enough of that metaphor for probably the rest of my life.”
John’s eyes crinkled. “I don’t know,” he said, curling his hand around Sherlock’s calf. “Maybe there’s still a few more inches left in it.”
“More than a few,” Sherlock said with dignity. “Now help me up so I can call Mycroft and let him know his precious St. George antique has been destroyed.
“But it hasn’t,” John said, looking to the top of the pole where the cellophane still sat.
“I think a minor falsehood is in order,” Sherlock told him judiciously. “And since I don’t plan on telling him what we’ll be doing in that hotel room tonight, I think he should be used to it.”
It turned out, John didn’t really care what Mycroft thought. And there were more than a few inches left in the entendre of snake and pole.