Tag: adod

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December 16th excerpt: 

Dean smirked, not above the chance to brag on his accomplishments. “I’m a tracker,” he said proudly, jutting his chin out. “So long as Sherlock gives me some idea what we’re searching for, I can lead him right to it. Just like I coulda told him, if he asked me, that one of his missing glasses is in the back of that cupboard pushed behind everything else, the other is mixed into his lab equipment, and the last is right above our heads.”

Pointing in time with each of his declarations, Dean indicated where all the missing cups were in the flat, and on the last, with his arm pointing overhead, he nearly stumbled over, losing his balance when the room went sideways.

Lestrade and Sherlock followed Dean’s finger in each direction he pointed. While Lestrade was confused by the final location, Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the ceiling, knowing the glass hadn’t been left on the light overhead. That left the flat upstairs as the only remaining option, the place where John Watson slept. And evidently did more than sleep.

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December 14th excerpt:

Lestrade couldn’t hold in a chuckle anymore, curling his fingers back to be out of reach of Dean’s little punch before relaxing them back down to the table. “Forgot about me, did ya?” he said knowingly, a little too entertained by Dean’s drunken movements and ready to catch him in case his balance gave out on him.

“Did not! ” Dean protested with his fists clenched by his sides. His shoulders bunched up, along with his leather jacket, as he stood there looking like a cat with its hair on end.

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December 13th excerpt:

To say that Lestrade was bemused by all this would be an understatement. Now he was holding up two fingers. Evidently he couldn’t lift his middle finger as high as Dean wanted it independently, so the first one hovered just behind and above Dean. And while Lestrade was far from matching Dean’s level of drunk, his own whiskeys encouraged him to have a little fun.

Lestrade let his index finger curl in to gently settle on Dean’s head, mussing the teeny spike he’d styled it into.

image

Artwork by @mogadeer!

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December 12th excerpt: 

Letting go of that finger, Dean moved over to Lestrade’s middle finger, deciding he would simply continue until he found one that he was taller in comparison to. He couldn’t be shorter than all of them…

Right?

Lifting up this finger just like the first, he looked at Sherlock with slightly unfocused eyes. “How ‘bout now?” he asked, his accent thickened with a distinct slur.

Sherlock rolled his eyes dramatically. “That one’s longer than the last.”

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December 11th excerpt:

That was when he remembered the fingers he was standing next to, and immediately went over to Lestrade’s index finger, wrapping two hands around to try and hoist it over his head. “What about this? Who’s taller?” Dean called, determined to find something he was taller than.

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December 10th excerpt:

“This lifeline’s longer than me!” Dean’s voice rang out from under Lestrade’s palm, aimed at Sherlock.

Lestrade arched his brow, glancing at Sherlock as soon as they both realized who Dean was speaking to. Addressing Sherlock as though Lestrade wasn’t there. They exchanged a look before their gazes dropped to the obvious culprit for Dean’s unusual behavior that neither had considered until then. The little tin cup Dean had abandoned with the rest of his things.

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December 9th excerpt:

Leaning over the fingernail, Dean looked closely at all the small ridges, and where the nail met the skin in the quick. He touched the hard surface of the nail itself with a finger, finding it nearly as thick as his pinky when he inspected the edges. Making a fist, Dean knocked against the top, cocking his head at how solid.

Wondering just how small his hand was in comparison, Dean spread his hand out on top of the nail, rueing the way it didn’t reach to the edges no matter how much he stretched.

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December 8th excerpt:

Lestrade’s brow lifted slightly, following Sherlock’s gaze. He recognized the meandering steps, he’d seen it many times over in much larger individuals. “Doesn’t drink much, does he?” Lestrade inferred with a glance at Sherlock.

“No,” the detective answered tersely, keeping a sharp eye on his small friend.

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December 7th excerpt:

The placid, darkly amber liquid in the glass called to him. There was enough in there to fill a hot tub at Dean’s scale. Surely one drop wouldn’t be missed, more than enough for him to enjoy another cup of It.

Dean put a hand on the glass to help keep balance as he stood on his tiptoes to reach the rim and the drink calling for him beyond it. When it proved to be taller than he’d estimated from a distance, part of him started working on a solution, wondering if he could get a grip on the rim and pull himself up to fill his foil cup. The effort of holding himself suspended in midair like that didn’t put him off, knowing he had more than enough upper body strength, but the slick rim might prove to be difficult to grip.

Lestrade blinked in disbelief when he realized what Dean was after. Clearly the fella wanted a refill of his own, and planned to get it on his own. Watching his first attempt fail, Lestrade could practically see the wheels turning in Dean’s head and had a fairly good idea of what his next move might be.