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Title: With a Map And An Open Mind
Author: Sherlockian

The TARDIS really was bigger on the inside than it was on the outside. It wasn't as though Donna hadn't known that before, but what with all the running around and nearly dying and getting married, there hadn't been time for exploring.

The Doctor showed her to her room, halfway down a corridor that looked like the hallway of a posh hotel, with muted colors, a blandly pretty carpet and soft lighting. She'd asked him who stayed in the other rooms, but he just shrugged and said that they were "just in case". Just in case of what she didn't know, but it wasn't worth asking, so she let him scarper off back to the front control room or whatever he called it, dropped her luggage in her room, and set about doing some good old-fashioned investigation.

After the twelfth right and seventh left, Donna was getting a bit turned around. She'd found the kitchen (it was tiny), the bath (it could have doubled as a swimming pool), and the library (it looked cozy until she walked inside and realized she could get lost entirely in that room). But the halls twisted and turned, and changed architecture seemingly at random, so that one minute she'd be wandering around an Egyptian palace and the next a colorful art deco-inspired home. She finally gave up and leaned against a Greek column while she tried to get her bearings and figure out how to get back to her room.

"You could," she said to no one, or maybe to the TARDIS' empty corridor, "at least have a map or something. Why does the ship have to be so confusing?"

She looked around, still not sure if she should take the next left or the next right. The hallway was lit with walk looked like natural sunlight and on either side of the path were gardens filled with flowers that looked unearthly. The glare of the sun got into her eyes a bit, though and she had to glance away.

There was an odd humming sound, like a choir singing just too low for her to hear, and Donna shaded her eyes to peer out into the gardens. At the end of the corridor was a small stand she hadn't seen before. She stood up and stretched, heading towards the stand-- a map. Donna covered a laugh with a cough. "Oi, thanks."
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Title: Shed A Little Light
Author: Sherlockian

"Get out of my chair, House." Wilson hoped he didn't sound as resigned as he felt. Unfortunately, House was a bloodhound for weakness, and just settled more comfortably into Wilson's already extremely comfortable office chair, clearly secure in the knowledge that Wilson probably wouldn't take any particularly bloody retribution. Probably-- Wilson was sure that one day he would snap and take House down with him. Maybe the rest of the hospital too, although Wilson was sure he'd feel guilty blowing up the little kids in the pediatric ward.

"Are you imagining lighting me on fire?" House didn't sound upset about the prospect, and Wilson shook himself out of his daze.

"You're still in my chair." It wasn't an admission of guilt, although it was a nicely ambiguous comeback, if Wilson said so himself. "Some of us actually have patients to deal with." He leaned on the desk. Looming over House should be easier than this; the man was tall, but skinny, and he was sitting down. Somehow, though, House always seemed a foot taller than he actually was. Wilson gave up the attempt as a loss, and sat on the edge of his desk instead. House gave a shit-eating grin and nudged a pile of patient files towards Wilson's hand. "I'm not going to do my paperwork while you're sitting in my chair." He was lying to himself again.

House shrugged and toyed with a cactus that one of Wilson's patients gave him to make his office seem "cheerier". The planter was painted a garish sparkly pink with cheery yellow suns. "Guess you're not getting any work done today. Hm. This has too much personality to be in here." He leaned over to toss it in the waste bin, but Wilson rescued the defenseless plant before House could drop it in. "Of course you like it. It makes you think that not everything about watching people die slowly is soul-sucking."

Wilson set the cactus back down in a patch of sun. "There's cheerleaders too," he said after a moment's consideration. House snorted.

Someone knocked on Wilson's door and, without waiting for an answer, opened it. "Wilson, have you seen Hou-- Oh," Cuddy's gaze locked onto House. "You had clinic duty a half an hour ago!" House pulled himself out of Wilson's chair, presumably to have a better angle from which to launch into the familiar argument. Cuddy didn't bother to close the door when they left, but Wilson decided, as he settled himself behind his desk, that didn't really matter much. He'd still have at least another half an hour before House came back.
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Title: Guide to Survival
Author: Sherlockian

Morgana knew something was wrong when Uther stopped talking. Uther never just stopped talking, not when there was even the slightest chance he could win the argument (even if he had to end it with "I'm the King and I say so.") He had fallen silent, chin on his hand, watching Arthur's posturing bravado. "I'm going to save Merlin," Arthur said, chin lifted and shoulders back. He looked, she mused absently, like a poppet someone had posed to look like the Perfect Hero. The over-exaggeration would have been funny if Merlin hadn't been in such deadly trouble, and Arthur hadn't been so deadly earnest.

Still, Morgana had to suppress the urge to laugh, if only so she wouldn't scream. She'd forgotten to take Gaius' sleeping draught the night before, and images of Arthur being torn slowly apart by a creature so awful she didn't dare name it swirled in her head. She pressed her palms to her eyes in a vain attempt to scrub away the thoughts, and when she looked up, Uther was looking at her instead of Arthur.

"Do you have something to say?" he asked, low voice thrumming with the knowledge that she did have something to say. Morgana opened her mouth, but shook her head quickly. What could she say? That she had dreams, awful dreams, which sometimes came true? As much as she knew Uther had only the kingdom's best interests at heart, she also knew that where magic was concerned-- even something so incidental as a dream, although the dreams never felt merely incidental-- all common sense went out the window. Uther frowned at her and Morgana fancied that she could feel the pull of Uther's will, trying to force the information from her lips. She lifted her gaze again, meeting his eyes, and his frown deepened.

Uther turned back to his wayward son, and the argument started back up. Arthur was going, whether Uther liked it or not. Uther was going to throw Arthur in the dungeon. Neither would change their mind. Morgana stood, wearied suddenly by the exchange, and, ignoring Uther and Arthur's startled looks, fled to the safety of her room. Maybe she couldn't stop seeing Arthur die horribly, but at least she wouldn't be tempted to kill herself for him too.