#fff270

Sherlock fandom.

Urban Life

Being London born and bred, she knew the city’s sounds by heart. Cars honking or backfiring. Large groups of tourists chatting and laughing in the famous sites of the city. Shouts and arguments from the pubs. Swans and ducks cackling in St. James’s Park. They were all a part of her, which became apparent every time she visited her grandparents in the countryside. 

As a little girl, she slept through everything, sound or no sound, but as she grew older, she had trouble falling asleep without all the bustle from the streets of her beloved city. It used to pass after a day or two, though.

When she was nine, her teacher gave the class an assignment about sounds, smells, or tastes and what one or more of them, reminded the children of.

She asked her father for advice on what she should choose, or whether she should go with all the subjects.

“It’s really up to you, love,” John said. “Perhaps avoid the smells. You know far too many disgusting ones that might be difficult to explain. And your teacher might think you’re exaggerating and making things up.”

He looked over at his husband who were currently measuring something green with…well, something foul smelling.

Rosie’s papa didn’t notice any of this, because his sole focus was on the delicate experiment that could solve the case he was investigating.

“Yeah, I think I will go for the sounds,” Rosie said after a few moments.

“Good decision,” John praised just as steam rose from Sherlock’s concoction, and a terrible stench made John and Rosie run to the sitting room and open both windows while coughing loudly.

***

Rosie’s teacher was not entirely satisfied with her assignment. She made her stay in the classroom after she had excused the other children.

“This task was supposed to be truthful and not fictional,” she said.

“I know that. And it is,” Rosie protested. 

“You can’t seriously mean that police sirens and lights remind you of your parents and your uncle.”

“Why not? It’s the truth.”

“I refuse to have a lying pupil in my class! I’ve called your father and he will be here any minute, so we can solve this,” the stubborn teacher said.

Rosie rolled her eyes and wanted to tell her teacher, who was new, that calling John or Sherlock would do nothing to help the woman’s cause.

As it where, both her parents came to their precious girl’s rescue, and left a befuddled and slightly dazed teacher in their wake.

“How was I supposed to know that her parents are the famous detective and that doctor, and that the uncle is a DI at the Met?” she complained to one of her colleagues later.

She didn’t get much support.

“If you hadn’t been so reluctant to learn the kids’ surnames, you wouldn’t have found yourself in this mess. Watson-Holmes is a dead giveaway in my book,” the colleague grinned. 

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Fandom- One piece (Anime)

Relationship- Roronoa Zoro/ Vinsmoke Sanji

Written for prompt FFF270: Lights And Sirens of Flash Fiction Friday by @flashfictionfridayofficial

It was a calm evening aboard the Thousand Sunny when the distant sound of sirens and flashing lights appeared on the horizon. Zoro stood by the ship’s railing, arms crossed, a typical frown on his face. The sudden noise pulled him out of his daydream. It wasn’t often that the peaceful sea was interrupted by something so strange. He narrowed his eyes, watching the distant shore, while the rest of the crew went about their usual tasks.

“Oi, moss head. You hear that too?” Sanji’s voice came from behind, cutting through the salty air. Zoro didn’t turn but could feel the cook standing next to him.

“I’m not deaf, curly-brow,” Zoro muttered, his hand instinctively moving toward his swords. “Sounds like trouble.”

Sanji’s blue eyes shifted toward the shore, where flashes of light flickered, accompanied by the echo of sirens. “Trouble? Or maybe an invitation to a party,” Sanji murmured, though his posture grew tense. He had come to rely on Zoro’s instincts, even if he'd never admit it.

As the ship anchored near the island, the noise became louder,more urgent. The village was in disarray. People were running through the streets, red and blue lights spinning around them as alarm sounds pierced the air. Villagers moved frantically, panic clear on their faces.

“We should check it out,” Sanji suggested, his tone unusually serious.

“Tch. Fine.” Zoro leapt off the ship, not waiting for a response.

They moved through dimly lit alleys, the alarms growing louder with each step. The narrow streets felt suffocating, almost like the island itself was warning them to turn back. But neither Zoro nor Sanji was the type to retreat.

There was always tension between them,their constant arguing built an invisible barrier. Yet, in moments like this, where danger was around, they moved in perfect sync without thinking.

Sanji caught sight of a shadow moving ahead. “Zoro!” he shouted, dashing forward without hesitation. Zoro cursed under his breath and followed. As they rounded the corner, they found a man holding a young woman in his grasp. A knife glinted under the dim streetlight.

“Stay back!” the man barked, his voice shaky, though his grip on the woman was firm.

Sanji’s eyes darkened. “Let her go.”

Zoro’s hand rested on his sword, his gaze steady. “Do yourself a favour, walk away.”

The man, clearly panicking at the sight of the two, held on tighter. But it was the wrong move.

Before anyone could react, Sanji moved, his leg sweeping through the air, sending the man crashing to the ground, disarmed and unconscious. The woman stumbled forward, breathless, but Sanji caught her, his hands gently resting on her shoulders for just a second longer than needed.

Zoro watched, his jaw clenched. There it was again that feeling that always surfaced when Sanji played the hero. His overly polite way of doing things, especially when women were involved, always irritated Zoro.

“Careful, cook. Don’t let it go to your head,” Zoro muttered, looking away like the situation was already dealt with.

Sanji smirked, glancing over. “What’s wrong, moss head? Jealous? Maybe try being useful once in a while.”

Zoro grunted, but before he could fire back, more alarms blared, closer this time. A group of officers turned the corner, weapons ready. Zoro’s grip tightened around his swords.

“Looks like more company,” Zoro said, his voice low, preparing for the next round.

Sanji, still holding the woman, looked over at Zoro. Something flickered in his eyes, something Zoro couldn’t quite place. It was brief, like a passing breeze, but it left an odd feeling in his chest.

“Zoro…” Sanji’s voice softened, just a little. “We need to go.”

An unspoken trust passed between them. Zoro gave a short nod, and the tension in his body eased. “Yeah. Let’s move.”

They darted through the alleys as the alarms faded, the immediate danger behind them. But as they ran, side by side, Zoro couldn’t shake the strange feeling that settled in his chest. Something had shifted between them,something that went beyond their usual rivalry.

Maybe it was the way Sanji had looked at him earlier, or maybe it was just the adrenaline. Either way, Zoro couldn’t deny the spark that flickered between them during those tense moments.

They finally slowed once they reached the edge of the village, the flashing lights and alarms distant now. Zoro stopped, glancing at Sanji. “Looks like we made it.”

Sanji nodded, letting out a deep breath. Then, with a grin, he added, “What’s wrong, Zoro? You look shaken. Didn’t think I’d handle things so well?”

Zoro snorted, turning away to hide his rising irritation. “Shut up. You’re just lucky I didn’t accidentally hit you.”

Sanji’s laugh echoed into the quiet night, but this time it wasn’t teasing. There was something lighter in the air between them. For the first time in a while, they stood in comfortable silence, side by side, their usual tension still there,but somehow changed.

Fandom: Sherlock (TV)

Relationship: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade

Warnings: Mild language, Mentions of child death

Written for prompt FFF270: Lights And Sirens of Flash Fiction Friday by @flashfictionfridayofficial

One would think having spent more than a half of their life in the police force, a person would be desensitized to most of the life’s horrors by now. But for Greg, when some cases tend to hit a little too close to home, things start getting personal.

Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial #270 Lights and Sirens Trigger warning for death

Going Home

There wasn't lights and sirens, no warning. No sense of emergency. It was a typical day. I was home watching the Winter Olympics ( the last time I would). She was in the hospital but it was routine due to her cancer treatment. Dehydration and low levels of certain nutrients, again, nothing to be worried about.

I had spoken to her on the phone. We discussed the Olympics and the fact she would soon be home. I didn't know how true that was.

A phone call. "Your mom has been moved to the ICU after a stroke. Come quick."

I recall how hard my heart was pounding, telling my brother, my baby son, my friend, who was there with us. A cab is called. Pacing on the front yard as we wait for it. It takes an hour. What a long hour.

Third floor. Locked door. Buzzed in.

She lays so still on life support. Her skin is warm, her face, peaceful. A doctor explains that her blood pressure rose and her levels of blood thinner couldn't handle it. Down from the chemo.

A surgery to remove the clot is planned. That is what I am told that night.

A night in the ICU waiting room, trying to sleep among the fear and infomercials playing constantly on the TV.

The morning, a new doctor explains what the other was to uniformed or scared to do; the stroke hit her brain stem, the EEG shows no brain activity. She is dead, only kept going via machines, for goodbyes and organ transplants.

She passed almost 11 years ago. Would it have been easier if her death was proceeded by lights and sirens instead of the quiet sounds of a ventilator? No.

There won't be a day I don't miss her, not a second that I don't wish she was still here.

@flashfictionfridayofficial prompt

Summary: Tori, a loyal soldier, has his alegences tested and finds that his loyalty to his country isn't as strong as he first believed.

Finally, a Tori Story. We're getting the perspective of another in the rag-tag squad of my WIP.

Chapter warning: referenced violence, violence, killing, referenced torture, and the picture at the end shows violence and injury.

Only one of the thousands of emergency sirens on the massive medical ship malfunctioned. One. But that's all it took. The life support, the fire and gas alarms, even the security alarms worked perfectly fine.

Out of all of the sirens, alarms, and warning lights, the only malfunctioning one was a small and seemingly insignificant detector at the secondary boarding entrance that would have, should have, found the small orb in the deep pocket of an oversized coat.

The broken detector allowed for the placement of the small silver orb which caused the ultimate destruction of the ESS Libertarian, Earth's largest and finest medical ship stationed just behind battle lines that had been drawn with the warrior race on DAP-472.

The blast from the golf ball sized orb was placed in the perfect and predetermined place in order to cause the most devastation. The delivery person of said orb had exactly thirty five Earth minutes to make an escape before there would no longer be any sirens to announce the oncoming attack.

All of the other sirens, despite being in good working order, were destroyed before they could announce anything - not that there would be anyone left to hear them. The devastation was so quick and so absolute that the people furthest from ground zero had exactly .04 seconds to react.

Vaporized. That was the word used in the media. All because of one siren. One malfunctioning detector.