I wrote this story because of this prompt sent to my LJ inbox. I am including it as it was sent to me word for word.
..trudge... trudge... trudge.. Ding! Dong!
You open the door to see, much to your amazement, someone who looks incredibly like Benedict Cumberbatch, dressed in a white rabbit costume.
"Hewwo. Aww oo Artemis Crossitchy?" it asks.
"Huh?" you reply.
The strange individual mutters something under its breath and removes its great front teeth with a resounding 'pop'.
"Bloody teeth!" it exclaimed, then turning to give you a dazzling, human smile continued, "I'm sorry. Are you Bartimus Crotchety?"
"Yes... " you reply warily, your mind going to the baseball bat behind the door.
"Er. Yes. Well, I am a Plot-Bunny-Gram, sent to you by one Captain Facepalm. She requests you complete a sequel chapter to 'Creep' based on BBC Sherlock's Holmes and call it 'Freak'. It should be about the same word length. She, in turn, has written a third chapter, and will reveal it to you once 'Freak' is completed."
"You are a persistent bunny aren't you? Didn't I send you packing last week?" you ask.
"You tried. But it is the nature of plot-bunnies to return with a vengeance."
"Ha ha! You don't look very frightening to me," you exclaim.
The creature freezes you with a steely, purposeful glare as it unzips the front of its costume to reveal a vest full of Semtex, its paw on a detonating switch.
"Start typing," it growls...
So as you can see...what choice did I really have?
SPOILERS for A Study in Pink
All characters in the BBC series Sherlock are owned by BBC and their creators not me.
"Hey! Look at what we've got here! It's the Freak!"
"Wonderful, the brain trust has arrived," the slender boy with the imperious gaze and the flyaway black curls murmured as he turned back to his book.
It was the school yard...That Darwinian morass located at most seats of learning in the world; there were certain things that were universal, and certain rituals that are maintained no matter the setting or culture. There will be bullies and there will be victims...
Well sort of.
The big muscular throwback to earlier evolutionary developments was glaring at the solitary boy seated at the base of a tree just beyond the boundary of the football grounds.
To make matters worse, there was a gaggle of girls on the edge of the growing conflict guaranteeing that the testosterone driven assailant was not going to back down.
"I asked what are ya readin, Freak?" the ringleader growled with another step closer.
Sherlock sighed. He glanced up at the man who had interrupted his reading; his bright sharp gaze took in all the information available.
"You actually," he said with one of his rare smiles.
The group all exchanged looks.
"What do you mean, you can't read a person, how mental are you?" he sputtered with a nervous glance to members of the fairer sex that had stopped gossiping and began listening in earnest.
"Oh but you can," Sherlock explained, "I can see that you are well built and spend some time lifting weights, but from your need for sycophants before you approached me that you have a lack of self-esteem, so I think that you have a father at home who never is pleased with anything you do, but insist you play sports even though you have the coordination of a lummox from the sound of your gait as you approached.
I see that your clothing is clean which means you have a fastidious mum, but they are old and don't fit you as well so most likely belonged to an older sibling, which tells me that your dad is most likely unemployed and you're at this school at the kindness of the state.
You have well chewed nails and shift from foot to foot far too often which means that you are a nervous individual who is trying to attack someone weaker so those around you won't pay enough attention the fact that all you have going for you is your larger size.
From the genetic markers I predict you are going to grow up overweight, and from your lack of intelligence wind up living with your parents well into your thirties, single for the remainder, because I just don't see you being a good enough prospect for anyone to ever want to date you."
They all looked nervously around, and his would be attacker's face had gone a ghostly pale.
Sherlock smiled. "Now if you don't mind, this library at this school is dreadfully inadequate but I managed to find a copy of Proust and I would like to finish the entire volume before tea."
He bent back to his work listening with an empty little smile as they parted and went their separate ways.
"You are not exactly making friends when you do that," said his brother from just behind the tree in his usual pedantic tone. He knew Mycroft was nearby observing as always but he did not expect him to intervene. That was not the Holmesian way; at least it was not Mycroft's.
Sherlock glanced up at his elder sibling leaning against the trunk, with that same condescending smirk.
"Who said I needed friends, Mycroft, besides you don't have friends you have alliances, and if you keep eating you're going to split that jumper."
Mycroft glowered at him and yanked his school jacket shut. "One of these days you are going to find someone who is going to destroy you rather than listen to your amateurish spiel and I hope you don't expect me to help."
Sherlock shot his brother an irritated glare. "You helping is the last thing I would ever expect, so why don't you just wonder off and stalk someone else?"
Mycroft nodded agreement and strolled off with that ridiculous umbrella that he had been known to carry with him everywhere. It was one of his more annoyingly pretentious affectations.
Holmes tried to settle back into his reading but a thought niggled at his mind.
Who said I needed friends? Well to be truthful...it would be rather nice, but it would take someone who is honest enough about himself that anything I revealed would be a discovery of something they already knew about themselves and not a dirty secret they are hiding from the world.
He sighed and packed his book.
Such a man does not exist...
The cab was silent.
Sherlock had just revealed everything that he knew to this man he had only just met the day before. He waited for the usual reaction.
Which would it be?
The usual insults, or would it be something new this time?
Here it comes...
"You think so?"
"Of course it was...extraordinary...it was quite extraordinary."
"That's not what people normally say."
"What do they normally say?"
Sherlock glanced over to see a warm grin on John Watson's face, it was amusement that other people are so narrow minded and threatened by such brilliance. He was actually siding with Sherlock against those who had those negative reactions as if he thought that was entirely ridiculous.
Sherlock found himself smiling a bit.
Well Mycroft...looks like you're wrong...again!
He was not entirely sure this was friendship, that feeling of fellowship he was suddenly feeling in that cab was an odd sensation he was not entirely sure how to process just yet, all he knew was that this was something...new.
As the cab made its way through the London night he glanced out to the familiar streets beyond the glass.
To be determined...
This turned out a lot more humorous than Creep, I think its because Sherlock has never been a good victim...some people just don't have that knack LOL!
However, I suggest you re-watch that first cab ride in A Study in Pink and watch Sherlock's face when John responds...I think I might have caught on to something here.
thanks for reading!