New Fic: The Bollocks Series, Encore
Apr. 5th, 2012 02:20 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jackwabbitEncore
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Rated: PG-13 (Language, Alcohol)
Category: 221B Fic. Gen. Mycroft POV. Mycroft, Anthea.
Series: Any.
Spoilers: None.
Summary: Mycroft has a bad night. Again.
Word Count: Why, 221 (and ending with a “B” word), of course!
xxx
Anthea doesn’t usually drink in public, but when she does, she consumes what is expected of a woman in her position. She partakes just enough of a fine wine or vintage champagne to fulfill social expectations.
But Anthea has worked for me for a long time, and therefore she is one of the few people with whom I share private moments. At those times, Anthea drinks whisky. Only the finest Scotch will do, and she drinks it without apology but never to excess.
So I’m more than surprised when her text comes through, asking me to have someone pick her up at a club, of all places, because she believes herself inebriated.
My curiosity, along with the extreme rarity of her asking for favors, drives me to do the deed myself.
As soon as she stumbles to the car, I regret my decision not to send a driver.
For Anthea reeks of licorice, and if there’s one thing I cannot stand, it’s licorice.
I used to love it, but ever since Sherlock vomited copious amounts of Jagermeister all over my trousers some years ago, I cannot abide the stuff.
I don’t ask why or how this happened, and I frankly don’t care.
I just want to get my best employee home before she repeats my dear brother’s performance.
Too late.
Bollocks.
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Rated: PG-13 (Language, Alcohol)
Category: 221B Fic. Gen. Mycroft POV. Mycroft, Anthea.
Series: Any.
Spoilers: None.
Summary: Mycroft has a bad night. Again.
Word Count: Why, 221 (and ending with a “B” word), of course!
xxx
Anthea doesn’t usually drink in public, but when she does, she consumes what is expected of a woman in her position. She partakes just enough of a fine wine or vintage champagne to fulfill social expectations.
But Anthea has worked for me for a long time, and therefore she is one of the few people with whom I share private moments. At those times, Anthea drinks whisky. Only the finest Scotch will do, and she drinks it without apology but never to excess.
So I’m more than surprised when her text comes through, asking me to have someone pick her up at a club, of all places, because she believes herself inebriated.
My curiosity, along with the extreme rarity of her asking for favors, drives me to do the deed myself.
As soon as she stumbles to the car, I regret my decision not to send a driver.
For Anthea reeks of licorice, and if there’s one thing I cannot stand, it’s licorice.
I used to love it, but ever since Sherlock vomited copious amounts of Jagermeister all over my trousers some years ago, I cannot abide the stuff.
I don’t ask why or how this happened, and I frankly don’t care.
I just want to get my best employee home before she repeats my dear brother’s performance.
Too late.
Bollocks.
