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Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Rating: Teen
DISCLAIMER: Despite the fact that my muses are apparently fickle, if I owned the BBC Sherlock, I'd still make sure there were more episodes. And not as long of a wait between episodes. (Well, I might let them go to do the Hobbit, because that can promise nothing but be hilarious. Seriously, I don't think I'll be able to stop myself from laughing at Smauglock talking to Johnbo. ...that last name is a little weird though.)
Summary: ...Strange woman, amnesia, middle of London. Starts after Reichenbach Fall, and everything changes from there. Don't think I can reveal any more at this time.
Note: I kind of based my mental picture of the amnesiac woman on Gaiman's Idris (Suranne Jones) from the Doctor Who episode The Doctor's Wife. (though if you haven't seen that episode, the internet could be kind of spoilery if you look up pics.)
She came to herself in a dark alleyway.
There was a bit of uncontrolled and therefore idiotic panic running around her head. She did her best to squash it. Panicking would do no one any good. What she had to do was sit and think, align all the facts and put them together in an orderly fashion, and then she'd have a path to follow.
Name, she demanded of her mind. No answer was forthcoming.
She shivered in the chill. Nighttime. The street was grimy. Certainly not the better parts of London.
London. She knew where she was, at least. That was a start. Gather rest of facts. Observation.
Wearing: old-fashioned dress, many layers, train on ground, stained. Homeless? Homeless would not have money to afford such a gown. Unless, perhaps, sudden descent into poverty. Proceed. Sleeves ripped. Must look positively terrible. Currently resembles person seen once on telly. Surprised that memory survives; unimportant and unusual with regards to lack of memory. State of appearance somehow offending. Hmm. Sense of fashion? No, negligible. Cares about appearance, though. Not for appearance's sake. Merely a function of more important things. Perhaps job. Nails unpainted, somewhat callused, works with hands. What professions require working with one's hands yet match such clothing?
Well, certainly not media. Job in hairdressing, fashion of any sort out. Actress? Lawyer? Detective? Possible, but need more data.
No shoes. Most women do not neglect shoes. Further possibility-escapee from insane asylum. Investigate.
....Want to discard possibility, just because don't like it. Interesting. Idea of being insane offends. Without memory, aware that mind is not completely there, but the idea that mind is broken enough to be considered pathological is absurd. Higher than average intelligence, arrogant.
Safety. Safety comes in the form of jumpers and a gun. Hmm. Strange association, must be person once knew. As with many other ideas, needs more data. Frustrating. Everything needs more data, but little way to collect it.
Chilly. Drawing on winter, perhaps. Nighttime. Not the time to be wandering the streets of London in torn clothes and bare feet. Need safety, but no idea where to find safety. Then.
Abandoned buildings? Underpasses or other concrete structures? Parks out, due to lack of cover from wind. Catching pneumonia or other sort of deadly disease before figuring self out most disagreeable.
Mind unable to supply map of area. Instinct? Data still there, but irretrievable. Trusting instinct most likely to achieve needed results.
She began to walk, closing her eyes and hoping that her mind, lacking as it was, could at least lead her to someplace acceptable for the night. It was not until she began to run, feeling adrenaline and laughter burning up through her unexpectedly, that she took herself within three minutes to a location presumably abandoned. It was locked, but a quick search found some wire that made quick work of the lock and allowed her entrance. She found a room both comfortable and defensible. The previous had a broken window, allowing cold wind to rush in. Unacceptable. Before she fell asleep, deeply exhausted, one further thought crossed her mind. Add to list of possible professions: thief/criminal.
Rating: Teen
DISCLAIMER: Despite the fact that my muses are apparently fickle, if I owned the BBC Sherlock, I'd still make sure there were more episodes. And not as long of a wait between episodes. (Well, I might let them go to do the Hobbit, because that can promise nothing but be hilarious. Seriously, I don't think I'll be able to stop myself from laughing at Smauglock talking to Johnbo. ...that last name is a little weird though.)
Summary: ...Strange woman, amnesia, middle of London. Starts after Reichenbach Fall, and everything changes from there. Don't think I can reveal any more at this time.
Note: I kind of based my mental picture of the amnesiac woman on Gaiman's Idris (Suranne Jones) from the Doctor Who episode The Doctor's Wife. (though if you haven't seen that episode, the internet could be kind of spoilery if you look up pics.)
She came to herself in a dark alleyway.
There was a bit of uncontrolled and therefore idiotic panic running around her head. She did her best to squash it. Panicking would do no one any good. What she had to do was sit and think, align all the facts and put them together in an orderly fashion, and then she'd have a path to follow.
Name, she demanded of her mind. No answer was forthcoming.
She shivered in the chill. Nighttime. The street was grimy. Certainly not the better parts of London.
London. She knew where she was, at least. That was a start. Gather rest of facts. Observation.
Wearing: old-fashioned dress, many layers, train on ground, stained. Homeless? Homeless would not have money to afford such a gown. Unless, perhaps, sudden descent into poverty. Proceed. Sleeves ripped. Must look positively terrible. Currently resembles person seen once on telly. Surprised that memory survives; unimportant and unusual with regards to lack of memory. State of appearance somehow offending. Hmm. Sense of fashion? No, negligible. Cares about appearance, though. Not for appearance's sake. Merely a function of more important things. Perhaps job. Nails unpainted, somewhat callused, works with hands. What professions require working with one's hands yet match such clothing?
Well, certainly not media. Job in hairdressing, fashion of any sort out. Actress? Lawyer? Detective? Possible, but need more data.
No shoes. Most women do not neglect shoes. Further possibility-escapee from insane asylum. Investigate.
....Want to discard possibility, just because don't like it. Interesting. Idea of being insane offends. Without memory, aware that mind is not completely there, but the idea that mind is broken enough to be considered pathological is absurd. Higher than average intelligence, arrogant.
Safety. Safety comes in the form of jumpers and a gun. Hmm. Strange association, must be person once knew. As with many other ideas, needs more data. Frustrating. Everything needs more data, but little way to collect it.
Chilly. Drawing on winter, perhaps. Nighttime. Not the time to be wandering the streets of London in torn clothes and bare feet. Need safety, but no idea where to find safety. Then.
Abandoned buildings? Underpasses or other concrete structures? Parks out, due to lack of cover from wind. Catching pneumonia or other sort of deadly disease before figuring self out most disagreeable.
Mind unable to supply map of area. Instinct? Data still there, but irretrievable. Trusting instinct most likely to achieve needed results.
She began to walk, closing her eyes and hoping that her mind, lacking as it was, could at least lead her to someplace acceptable for the night. It was not until she began to run, feeling adrenaline and laughter burning up through her unexpectedly, that she took herself within three minutes to a location presumably abandoned. It was locked, but a quick search found some wire that made quick work of the lock and allowed her entrance. She found a room both comfortable and defensible. The previous had a broken window, allowing cold wind to rush in. Unacceptable. Before she fell asleep, deeply exhausted, one further thought crossed her mind. Add to list of possible professions: thief/criminal.
