Tag: superlock fanfiction

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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 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.

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December 6th excerpt:

The glass of whiskey was on Lestrade’s half of the table, guarded closely by one of the DI’s hands, but it hadn’t been picked up yet for a sip since being refilled. Dean gave himself at least five minutes before Lestrade remembered it, and started to edge towards that side of the table. Between Sherlock’s rambles and the drink buzzing inside him, Dean had an unnatural level of confidence in his ability to go unseen. The glass was only a little taller than he was, clearly he’d be able to reach the alcohol level inside to fill his cup again.

He’d earned this whiskey, dammit.

By the time he was halfway across the table, Dean had managed to tune both Sherlock and Lestrade completely out in lieu of his mission for a refill.

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December 5th excerpt:

Realizing Lestrade had already helped himself to a second glass, Dean sent Sherlock a glare for failing to be a host and providing more whiskey.

With his options narrowed down to either interrupting Sherlock mid-story or securing his own second glass, Dean decided on the latter. Lestrade had that same glazed look that John adopted when Sherlock really got on a bend.

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December 4th excerpt: 

“I take it you have a few questions before you go,” said Sherlock curtly, setting down the glass he’d finally tracked down.

“I do, yeah…” Lestrade made a move to take the drink Sherlock poured, but the first thing the detective did was tilt the glass so that the drink was within reach for Dean. By the pointed gaze Sherlock was giving him, it was clear to Lestrade that he was being shown exactly who was first priority here. Lestrade couldn’t contest that either, so he sat back and folded his hands on the table in front of him, waiting for Dean to take his drink first.

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December 3rd excerpt: 

Lestrade, admittedly, lost himself in thought as he watched a person he thought he knew fairly well interacting with someone who, by all rights and laws of nature, shouldn’t exist. It was certainly a sight he never thought he’d see, and he couldn’t stop staring at Dean while the little fella’s attention was elsewhere.

Dean seemed American, which was definitely noteworthy, and fairly young. Lestrade couldn’t tell for sure, but he couldn’t be older than his mid-twenties. Everything about him was scaled down perfectly, from his boots to his jeans and jacket.

Curiosity got the better of Lestrade, and without putting much thought to it, he reached forward slowly to place his hand next to Dean, a few inches away. He stood his hand on its side, shifting his gaze between it and the tiny man to see how he measured up next to his palm.

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December 2nd excerpt:

Dean stuck his lip out in what almost looked like a pout, rebellious at the way Sherlock made sense as he talked about Dean interacting with a new human.

“If I do this,” Dean said, refusing to give in completely, “if, you better make sure he doesn’t get any ideas about grabbing me. This size might have its perks when you need to get into small spaces, but it comes with a whole mountain of disadvantages I’d rather be without. If you agree that you’ll keep him under control… I’ll do it. If only because I doubt we’ll be sneakin’ me into any more crime scenes after today otherwise.”

Of all things, being left out of Sherlock’s detective work sounded like the worse of the options.