gladdecease: (*happy-making fluff type stuff)
gladdecease ([personal profile] gladdecease) wrote2016-01-03 10:31 pm

thing the forty-third [wip amnesty 2015 part 4]

I was trying to write giftfic for my sister I don't even know how long ago, and she suggested I write Joanbell. Around the same time this post came across my tumblr dash. Two and two made four, and the following happened.

While I appreciate the thought, Sherlock types, and will certainly look into the films you have suggested, I will not be filming myself for your amusement again.

At least, he adds, reconsidering, not until I next require your services. I'm sure you understand.

The denizens of Everyone are generally displeased, but one strange comment about cow's milk aside, they do seem to accept Sherlock's terms.

He rarely needs their assistance, and doesn't anticipate needing it any time in the near future. All the same, Sherlock finds himself returning to their list of suggestions on a regular basis.

After a few restless nights spent reviewing the material, Sherlock finds that his preference is for songs of the so-called "Disney Renaissance". He can't quite articulate why. Perhaps it is because he has a passing familiarity with most of their stories - in the case of the Shakespearean lions, a reluctant overfamiliarity - that allows him to appreciate other elements of the songs more. Perhaps something about the musical stylings of Alan Menken simply appeal to him more.

Regardless, he finds himself learning the songs inadvertently, with no purpose in mind. The tunes seem to crawl into his head and wrap themselves around his brain, as though they are literal Ohrwurms. It's not unpleasant, per se, but he does hate to devote his mind to something with no potential usefulness.
Still. He can't quite bring himself to remove all knowledge of the music from his mind.

So, in what is perhaps the most backward abuse of logic he has ever committed, he seeks out a way to justify his knowledge of these songs, to make them useful.

He briefly considers codes, based on either lyrics or tunes, but rejects the idea out of hand. The tunes are generically poppy, the lyrics banal; a code based on either would be laughably easy to decipher.
He next tries to argue to himself that knowledge of pop culture, even from the nineteen nineties, must have some use.

Fortunately, his interest in these songs has not muddled his thoughts to such a degree that this argument could ever work on him. Unfortunately, he's running out of ideas.

It's around that time he becomes aware of an underlying tension between Watson and Detective Bell... although it may be more apt to call it an underlying attraction.

And it is this, of all things, that presents a solution to his rather inane problem.



Marcus glances up from his notes and smiles - but not in that order. He doesn't need to look up to know that voice is coming from Joan, but looking up gives him a moment to admire her ensemble: heeled boots, warm leggings, a dress that approaches miniskirt hemlines, a jacket cut in just the right way, a scarf that brings out her eyes. Classic Joan, he's come to learn, but a sight he never gets tired of. "Hey." Joan's by herself - which is odd, since Holmes was the one to take Gregson's call earlier. "No partner today?" Not that he's complaining.

Joan shrugs, pushing back a flyaway lock of hair that's escaped her ponytail. "He said he had another case," she says, comes to stand next to him. Inspecting the worryingly large bloodstain on the floor, she asks, "Is it just me, or does that blood looks like it's started to separate?"

Marcus grins. "You noticed that too, huh?" He taps at his notebook, drawing her attention upward. "We only just sent a sample off to the labs, but it looks like somebody took a bag or two of blood from a clinic and dumped them on the floor."

"Why? To frame someone for murder?"

Marcus shrugs. "Or maybe to fake someone's death. We won't have anything to go on until the results come back." Joan hums an understanding sound under her breath, eyes flitting around the room. "The owner of the house is down at the precinct, if you wanna come by and talk to him." Halfway into another room and humming something halfway familiar, Joan doesn't respond. Smiling, Marcus huffs out a breath and mutters, "Or if you want to stick around here, that's fine too."

"Hm?" Joan spins around on the spot, and for a second Marcus is struck dumb. In this light, she's practically glowing. She steps closer, losing the spotlight, and she's still glowing - with curiosity, with determination.

It's a good look on her.

"Nothing," he says after too long a pause, "I'm just heading back to the precinct, thought I could offer you a ride if you're headed my way."

"Oh! Thanks, but I think I'm gonna..." Joan gestures to the room behind her and Marcus ducks his head to hide a grin.

"Yeah, I kinda figured that out." He turns to go, but really can't help himself. "Hey. That song you're humming."

Joan's mouth twists up and she looks away, embarrassed. "You noticed that?"

"It's catchy. What is it?"

"I don't know," she confesses. "I've been hearing the tune all over lately, so it must be Top 40 or something, but I can't place it." The tips of her ears go ever so slightly pink. "I can't even remember the words."

"Well, if you ever figure it out, let me know what it's called. I want to look it up."

She smiles. "Sure thing."

Marcus walks out of the building with a pleasant warmth in his cheeks and a high-pitched hum cycling through the back of his head.


[do something with this
then he includes the lyrics in his conversations in ways that don't seem too out of place
then he programs ringtones into joan's phone for - idk - random pay phones? the desk #s for background police officers? and spends the day calling her, giving her the song in 20-30 second increments
and finally, he actually does a performance
(dressed in red? putting on sebastian's accent?? idk yet)
joanbell have been alternatingly frustrated and charmed and annoyed and reluctantly enjoying it as the case progressed
but they refuse to kiss just because sherlock is nagging
(or if they do, it's joan kissing the boy, not marcus kissing the girl)
(though sherlock will still claim victory if a kiss happens)
and - idk - shenanigans??]