Ellie L. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ellie_hell) wrote2011-06-16 09:56 pm
ellie_hell) wrote2011-06-16 09:56 pm
Entry tags:
About Gloves and Mittens
Title: About Gloves and Mittens
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Beta: Unbeta'd.
Pairing: Sherlock/John. Kind of.
Word count: 297
Summary: Sherlock is a leather glove. John is a woollen mitten.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, I just enjoy playing with them.
A/N: Originally written for this prompt on the kink meme. It distracted me from all the angst I was working on. I have no idea where it came from, it's currently 30 degrees in my apartment and I'm writing about mittens, so obviously there's something wrong with me. Based on a song by Tricot Machine.
I was hand-knitted, oatmeal coloured and I had a small hole in my thumb. On a cold winter morning, I was dropped by my owner, Mike, who was late to work and never noticed when I fell into a puddle of slush. You had five fingers, were right-handed, and you fell out of the pocket of your owner, an arrogant-looking man who looked like a banker (and a wanker, if I’m honest). You ended up on the iced pavement and he never looked back. I almost drowned and you were almost trampled on, but a couple of nice passers-by picked us up and brought us to safety. I ended up on a parking meter, expired but still, it was nicer than the slush. It was harder for you; you were put on a point of an iron gate.
I was waving at you from across the street, but you were being silly and pretending you couldn’t see me. I was relieved when, in the afternoon, a nice old lady picked me up. Then, she crossed the street, saw you and picked you up too. Soaking wet and in a ball at the bottom of her shopping bag, wool against leather, you finally smiled at me. I realised you weren’t snob, just precautious, and you realised I was left-handed. The old lady, Mrs Hudson, put us in front of her fireplace and we dried together, side by side.
It seemed strange, at first, that she wore us together, but you deduced why and you told me, you always tell me. Mrs Hudson needed your sturdiness to carry the shopping and her left hand was more sensitive to cold, so she needed me to keep her warm.
We weren’t a pair, and still, we were. We were perfect together.
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Beta: Unbeta'd.
Pairing: Sherlock/John. Kind of.
Word count: 297
Summary: Sherlock is a leather glove. John is a woollen mitten.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, I just enjoy playing with them.
A/N: Originally written for this prompt on the kink meme. It distracted me from all the angst I was working on. I have no idea where it came from, it's currently 30 degrees in my apartment and I'm writing about mittens, so obviously there's something wrong with me. Based on a song by Tricot Machine.
I was hand-knitted, oatmeal coloured and I had a small hole in my thumb. On a cold winter morning, I was dropped by my owner, Mike, who was late to work and never noticed when I fell into a puddle of slush. You had five fingers, were right-handed, and you fell out of the pocket of your owner, an arrogant-looking man who looked like a banker (and a wanker, if I’m honest). You ended up on the iced pavement and he never looked back. I almost drowned and you were almost trampled on, but a couple of nice passers-by picked us up and brought us to safety. I ended up on a parking meter, expired but still, it was nicer than the slush. It was harder for you; you were put on a point of an iron gate.
I was waving at you from across the street, but you were being silly and pretending you couldn’t see me. I was relieved when, in the afternoon, a nice old lady picked me up. Then, she crossed the street, saw you and picked you up too. Soaking wet and in a ball at the bottom of her shopping bag, wool against leather, you finally smiled at me. I realised you weren’t snob, just precautious, and you realised I was left-handed. The old lady, Mrs Hudson, put us in front of her fireplace and we dried together, side by side.
It seemed strange, at first, that she wore us together, but you deduced why and you told me, you always tell me. Mrs Hudson needed your sturdiness to carry the shopping and her left hand was more sensitive to cold, so she needed me to keep her warm.
We weren’t a pair, and still, we were. We were perfect together.