The circumstances in Hounds of Baskerville were a little different than in BC. When Sherlock has his big freak-out, he’s been drugged and is much more high-strung than he normally would be. Though, that’s not to say that he handles that topic perfectly.
Sherlock’s entire reality is built on science and logic, what he can see and feel and prove. He’d refuse to believe in the supernatural unless it was right in front of him. He can’t exactly deny the existence of the bitty bros, but he will struggle with the idea of witches and a curse. We’ll just have to wait and see if he runs into ghosts and vampires to gauge his reaction.
“So close!” he groused as he turned to jog back to the TARDIS. They had a lock on the signal, so finding it again would be easy. But that was the last thing on Zepheera’s mind.
“Doctor?” she piped up, making an effort to keep her voice steady in spite of the worry coursing through her entire being.
On a different note, since my content output has slowed down recently, I’m hoping to keep this blog active by implementing a steady queue. This blog has come a long way, even if it’s gone a bit stagnant. I still get followers, and I’m well over 150! That’s insane!
And while I’ve been quite absent of late, I’m still proud of my work and I’m never giving up on these shenanigans! So, to keep things fresh for the newbies and to jog the memories of those who’ve stuck with me for so long, I’m bringing everything back! My tag for the queue will be #i could q so much more, and I hope you enjoy the fun!
Original inspiration and dialogue used from this post.
Sam somehow managed to fall asleep in his dark little corner. It wasn’t an easy sleep, not in the less-than-comfortable ball he’d become. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but the next thing he knew, an unfamiliar voice was calling for him right outside the door!
“Sam?” The kid didn’t recognize the deep and gravelly yet gentle voice he heard, but it sounded important and he figured he’d better answer.
“W-who are you?” Sam asked without budging an inch.
“I’m Castiel,” the man answered. “Uh, ‘Cas’,” he added, which Sam appreciated. He thought that was a kinda funny name.
“I’m a friend,” Cas assured. “A friend of both of you.”
Sam’s gaze, all perked up and brightened with curiosity, lowered back to the floor as Cas brought up Dean.
“You know, your brother has been looking for you,” Cas went on. Sam heard him shift, his shadow moving away from the crack he’d left in the door in his hurry, and the next time he heard Cas, he was a big to the side. “He’s been very worried.”
“I…” Sam tightened in his ball again, the words struggling to escape him. “I don’t wanna come out yet.”
“That’s alright,” said Cas gently. “Dean frightened you?”
Sam didn’t answer for a moment, still shaken from the unexpected display of violence from his big brother.
“Sam?” Cas tried again. It helped Sam relax. Cas wasn’t growing impatient with him or demanding an answer, just checking to make sure Sam was okay.
“He… he pushed me down. He was mad at me…” Sam admitted, his voice light as he told Cas what happened.
Sam heard Cas sigh. “I don’t think he was upset with you. The mark on his arm—it’s…magic.” It was clear that Cas was hesitant to explain this to a child. “Very bad magic.”
I knew it.
Cas was quiet as he continued. “I may not be much—but I’m still an angel. I will do my best to help.”
“You’re a angel?” A hint of curiosity leaked through Sam’s voice as he scooted forward and peeked out of his little cupboard. Sam regarded the man with disheveled black hair, a desperate hope in his big hazel eyes. “Can you fix Dean?”
Cas’ bright blue eyes softened at the sight of his cursed friend, so much smaller than he used to be, fluffy brown bangs partially shading his little face. “I am,” he answered. “And I’ll do what I can for him. And for you.”
Sam decided to believe Cas, finally coming out of hiding. He came to sit next to the angel, almost right up against his knee where the tan trench coat he wore fanned out.
“Can…can angels fix me, too?” Sam asked hesitantly, staring at the floor. “I think…there’s something bad in my skin…”
Sam hadn’t told anyone he felt that way, not even Dean. Something about Sam, something deep inside, felt very wrong. Ever since his big brother became a grown-up. Everything was different, even Sam.
“Can you fix me, to?” Sam urged Cas, his voice cracking a little as he choked up.
Then Cas put a hand on Sam’s little back, spreading warmth and comfort from its touch. They sat there like that for a minute, Sam feeling his tensions and worries melting away.
“There is nothing about you that needs to be fixed, Sam,” Cas insisted, his voice as gentle as it had been. “I’ve learned that much.”
Sam liked Cas. He was nice. Sam never met an angel before…although something in him wondered if he really was one, or if he was just saying that to make Sam feel better.
So that’s the end of my entry! The reason I’m concluding this here and not after the third part of this specific mini arc [here] is because I started writing it and realized that I didn’t feel like I was adding anything to it like I did in these two parts. I love the ending, definitely check it and the rest of @asksamstuff‘s works out, this was a ton of fun to write and I hope the contest goes well!
Reblog this message if you encourage anyone that wants to draw your OC to do so. No need to ask for permission in advance.
Go for it. Draw my OC. If you want, I’ll even give you reference posts. Go to town on it.
You are welcome to draw my OC and surprise me with the result. Seriously. In fact, I encourage it. I will proudly display whatever it is you submit to me regarding my OC. There is a chance that I will squeal about it for several days.
Even if you feel you aren’t good at whatever artistic adventure it is you do, please feel free to submit it to me. I want to see what you have done.
The borrower blinked hard, dazed. The voice– her Time Lord’s voice was loud but distant to her ears. barely breaking through the ringing that filled her head. Heat and smoke surrounded her, along with rough blurry shapes, some stationary and looming and others towering and moving fast.
It came back to Zepheera in pieces; landing in the middle of a battle, being separated from the TARDIS and then from the Doctor. Something hit Zepheera, knocking the breath out of her as she tumbled to the ground. Everything was chaos, and the Doctor was calling her name.
“Zepheera!!”
He was getting closer, she could tell. His voice was louder, and the ground beneath her started to tremble with more rhythmic force that the nearly constant low rumble of the battle. Zepheera blinked again and tried to sit up, but she was pinned from the waist down by a chunk of rubble. The pressure dawned on her, and she gave a pained moan, coughing involuntarily.
Zepheera had always been able to heal remarkably fast, but she was not invulnerable. If she was hurt badly enough, she would certainly die. And at four and a half inches tall, to say that this was a useful ability would be an understatement. The fact that she was still alive despite the weight on her waist and legs was a good sign.
“Doctor!” she croaked, propping herself on her elbows and craning her neck to find her giant friend. She bit back a wince as more tremors– footsteps getting closer and closer– aggravated her lower body wounds. It was worth it to see the shape of her friend come into view.
But he didn’t see her right away. His hearing was usually accurate to the point of being uncanny. In the chaos of battle, however, everything was thrown out of balance. He knew better than to wander aimlessly, but Zepheera’s heart sank at how panicked he looked, eyes manic as they searched desperately for his tiny companion.
“Where are you?!” he shouted over the commotion. The battle was escalating, and the Doctor and Zepheera were both unarmored and unarmed.
“Down here!” she yelled back, waving one arm widely and doing her best to be as visible as possible.
The Doctor’s eyes finally landed on her, and he quickly hunched protectively over her as he removed the debris pinning her down. Naturally, he fretted over the state of her legs, but Zepheera assured them that they were starting to heal; she could feel it the moment she aligned the bones. The larger of the two needed to focus on getting the both of them to safety.
Zepheera clung to an inexplicable hose dangling from the ceiling to the console, the four-and-a-half inch tall woman slowly climbing up the notches one by one to be closer to eye level with her Time Lord and human companions.
“Do you have any idea where you’re going?” Donna demanded of the Doctor as he piloted the TARDIS. Usually she and Zepheera just accepted the turbulent nature of the time machine in flight, but today’s trip seemed particularly rough.
“Of course!” the Doctor scoffed in time with another hard shake of the TARDIS. Zepheera’s grip tightened on the rubbery handholds. Both giants braced themselves against the console, and the borrower suddenly regretted her decision to stray from her usual spot on the Doctor’s shoulder.
That regret didn’t last.
“I’ve just gotta adjust the– criminy!” The Doctor was thrown across the console, Donna against the seat behind her. Zepheera let out a startled cry, wrapping her arms and legs around the hose as it swayed widely. The monitor blipped desperately, and the Doctor swore under his breath, shoving himself to his feet and throwing several levels. The entire company breathed a sigh of relief when the TARDIS seemed to even out.
“What the hell was that?” Zepheera snapped, craning her neck to glare at the Doctor.
The Time Lord locked eyes with Zepheera’s tiny violets, and he held a hand underneath her so she could peel herself from the hose and land in a heap in his palm.
“Got a little too close to twenty-sixteen,” he said by way of explanation.
“What’s up with twenty-sixteen?” asked Donna, gathering herself.
The Doctor shot a dire look toward his human companion and the woman in his hand. “…Spoilers,” he muttered, lifting Zepheera to his shoulder.
She and Donna had learned not to question him when he said that word.
The Doctor froze as his tiny companion piped
up from his shoulder. By the time he glanced over to look at Zepheera, she’d
clambered over the edge of his shoulder and started climbing down his arm with
the obvious intention of reaching the floor this way.
“Wha–?” he gasped; the borrower he
traveled with had no qualms about using the Doctor as a jungle gym in the past,
and he usually didn’t mind, but she’d never tried to do it while he was standing,
let alone walking around.
Without warning, he twisted his arm around
front to see his companion. Zepheera gave a startled cry as she lost her grip
on the pinstriped fabric of his suit, scrambling until her feet touched down on
the inside of the Doctor’s bent elbow. She shot a glare up at him after the
surprise wore off, rolling her eyes as his brow shot up like he didn’t know
what she was upset about.
The Doctor turned his hand to face palm-up to
make up for it, and Zepheera begrudgingly jogged along his forearm to stand on
it like a platform. From there, he carefully lowered himself to the floor and
let her off nearby. She hopped off immediately, excitement filling each of her
four and a half inches.
“Check this!” she called up,
darting across the floor toward a small object that the Doctor had nearly
walked right past. Crouching near the strange item, Zepheera looked expectantly
up at the Doctor. He was the expert on alien things, and she had no doubt that
this fell into that category. “This what we’re looking for?”
“Could be,” the Doctor conceded as
he dug through the inside pocket of his suit. He whipped out his spectacles and
threw them on before leaning in for a closer look at what Zepheera had found.
“Why do you do that?” asked
Zepheera as she backed off a few inches to give the Doctor room to inspect her
find. “You don’t seem to need those.”
“Sure I do!” the Time Lord
protested, looking utterly offended.
Zepheera put her hands on her hips. “No,
you don’t! You’re just wasting a few seconds so you can look a bit
clever.”
The Doctor shot her a look, caught between a
glare and a pout.
Borrowed Time and Space 