The Rather Extensive Consequences of a Failed Experiment, Chapter 4

 1932-1940s, Albert Holmes and Sherlock Holmes (I)

The Rather Extensive Consequences of a Failed Experiment, Chapter 3

1910-1914, Phineas Holmes, Sherlock Holmes (I)

The Rather Extensive Consequences of a Failed Experiment, chapter 2

2010, Pepper Potts & Mycroft Holmes (II)

The Rather Extensive Consequences of a Failed Experiment, Chapter 1

Just so everyone knows, there is a rather extensive author's note attached to this, but is included on the fanfiction.net page where it will be posted soonish. The following is why I have avoided reading, writing, or in general even thinking about crossovers in general at all. Enjoy?

Rapids of Kaink

Dwilly brushed her long black hair back, gazing at her reflection in the mirror her mother had made long ago. She made comical faces, twiddling her short mustache from side to side on her face—she looked like one of the great beasts that lived on the icy northern coast, a place she had gone with her sisters once to escape for a few months from the white city of Ellassar. Although she missed the look a bit, she didn’t have the long teeth of the creatures. Fynnar, who had never left the citadel, said he was glad she didn’t when she’d told him of her journey. 

Absence

They had been so quiet about their affections that the rest of the now broken Fellowship didn’t notice her pain. Gimli’s heart constricted as she picked up the cloven horn, the horn which Boromir had carried with a loving sort of awful duty. Aragorn was searching the loam, trampling spring flowers as he searched the footprints left by the Uruk-hai—while Legolas proclaimed softly that no living creature could have lost so much blood after such a struggle. Gimli knew this to be true as well, in her bones she knew that Boromir, son of Denethor, was gone. He had been taken from her. 

“All this comes from one, not many—the halflings may yet be alive,” Aragorn said, kneeling at the bridge where it appeared Boromir had made his last stand. His fingers trailed through the dead leaves, scanning them once more for clues about what had happened. Gimli bit her lips, the motion concealed by her beard, and she vowed on the blood that welled up from them that she would look after the little ones as Boromir always had. They had been his sons in a way, children in age and demeanor to a man so torn by war as he. She would carry on with the raising of them, for him. She would never have children of her own—she and Boromir had spoken tentatively of perhaps a life together, and she knew he was the only one for her. Dwarves were rash with their affections, but unlike with other impulsive creatures, Dwarven rashness led to lifetimes of loyalty.

“Then what are we waiting for?” she groused, wrapping a length of belt around Boromir’s horn—she would keep it and return it to Gondor, return it as Boromir never would. But first she had a couple of wayward, kidnapped children to find.

Revised: Pain Management

Duncan and I work the weekend shifts here at Kerry’s Grill. Kerry’s is an expensive place, mostly because it looks like a hole-in-the-wall and it isn’t. Sure, it built a reputation on being a small restaurant, but once the Boss and his wife had enough money, they bought out the rest of the floor and now they’ve outgrown their kitchen twice. Duncan takes care of the back, making sure Cook—who is a diabetic, all good cooks are—doesn’t scare off too many newbies or anything, and that the food looks good on the plates as it goes out. Kerry’s is one of those places that puts little streams of sauce all around the plate to make it look fancy, though not quite one of those where they put a little sprig of parsley to garnish it.

Strip

She is used to the heat of the furnaces in her smithy, but her husband is not. Boromir comes to escape his duties sometimes—and reluctantly, too, she can see how it eats at him in his eyes—in the full regalia of the Steward. After twenty minutes he will subtly shrug out of the over-robe required of his office, as well as the symbolic mithril chain denoting his duties and loyalties to Gondor and King Ellassar. Aragorn had told him nearly a year ago that he didn’t feel such demonstration was necessary—he knew Boromir’s quality had been tested during the last war of the ring. Boromir, however, had prepared for his entire life to bear the weight of such things and wanted to continue some of the ancient traditions of his house.

Covers and Kisses

He was twenty eight when he realized it. Cuddled close against Isaac, a man he was devoted to, he realized it. Isaac had never pushed, had never asked, and had never strayed, and suddenly Jude realized that he would never bend, would never acquiesce, and would never recover if Isaac left him over this. Isaac’s body was warm against his, warmer because of the chill of the apartment around them and the pathetic cloth couch they lay on. It wasn’t Isaac’s fault. Jude felt that maybe it wasn’t even his own fault, it was the world’s fault, it was God’s fault, it was Brian’s fault, and in the end it was just how it was.

Sitting in the library, listening to everyone, makes me want to learn Japanese and lose 100 pounds and move to Japan and never come to the US again. Just a thought, hearing it being spoken in the next cubicle over makes me just SO. JEALOUS. I could spend $1,000 dollars and take year one of Japanese, but my family would only look at me funny afterward like they looked at me funny after I took a year of German.

This just makes me upset.