Post the first sentence (or three) from every WIP you're currently working on, even if it's very short. Then invite people to ask questions about your WIPs. With any luck, the motivation to take that WIP one step closer to completion will appear as if by magic!
At the moment, they're all Sherlock. Well, there is one ACD!Holmes fic, but I'm thinking it'll work better in the bbc!verse, so I'll probably convert it. Oh, and there's that Harry Potter fusion thingie in there too. Many of these are set post-Reichenbach, so SPOILERS, SWEETIES.
1. She leaned in towards him; one of her breasts grazed his cheek as she bent down to place her mouth by his ear. “Tell me,” she said. “What do you like, Sherlock Holmes?”
2. “Holmes!” My interjection caught both the Inspector and the good detective by surprise. “You’re bleeding!” Evidently, Rotheringford’s knife had sliced through Holmes’ waistcoat and shirt to the skin beneath.
3. “But for how long? How long before that clever little brain of yours finds its way back to John Watson?”
4. It’s at that moment that John realises that Sherlock is going to kiss him. And he does nothing. He doesn’t try to stand, or pull away, or turn his head. He just waits as Sherlock moves in closer, hesitant and certain at the same time.
5. John wonders sometimes, if all of this means that he’s just using them, these women he spends the night with, and dates for a few weeks at a time. “Transposing his desire,” that’s what Ella would call it. Harry would just call it being an arse, if she was sober enough to realise what was going on.
6. He should call an ambulance, or at the very least a cab to take Sherlock to St Bart’s, but instead he finds himself searching for Mycroft’s number in his phone’s address book. He doesn’t know if the number will work—it’s been months since Mycroft has used it to contact him—but after two rings, someone picks up.
7. “John,” Sherlock said, his voice low and intent, “if we’re to get out of this, I need to you to do whatever he asks.”
John blinked. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, you must do whatever Moriarty asks of you.”
8. Except that this—this was no apparition. This felt far too real. These were Sherlock’s fingers trembling against John’s lips; Sherlock’s thumb gently grazing John’s cheek, and that was Sherlock’s hand clenched around John’s arm, tight enough to bruise.
9. Abruptly, Sherlock turned away from him, towards the window overlooking Baker Street. He leaned down and pressed his palms flat against the windowsill, his shoulders shaking as he drew ragged breaths.
10. Mycroft Holmes adjusted his pointed hat, and tried to look pleased as his little brother walked down the great hall for his sorting. His insides twisted uncomfortably, but it simply wouldn’t do to let everyone see how nervous he was. He was, after all, sixth year prefect for Slytherin House, and appearances had to be maintained.
11. Dear John,
I’m stuck on a freighter carrying scrap metal to Oslo, and I’m bored. Being dead is boring.
12. “Right. Yeah, of course.” John tried to smile, and for a moment he looked so miserable that Molly wanted to cry. She wondered where his shopping had gone. Perhaps he hadn’t ended up getting anything. She had a sudden vision of him later on this evening, eating peanut butter from a jar.
I don't know how many of these will actually turn into completed stories. Some of them are well on the way to being completed -- others are just random lines that I'm hoping will find a home.
Anyway, ASK ME QUESTIONS!