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imeternallylove · 3 years ago

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A Scandal in Belgravia - BBC Sherlock

Sherlock x Y/N Adler

(you can picture to Irene / adlock as well ><)

genre: lot of angst

words: 4,446 words

character: mention to John, Mycroft, Moriarty, and Lady Smallwood

summary: towards the end of this ep

(gif not mine)

Sherlock half-turns back towards. Inside the plane, he pulls back the curtain obscuring the passenger seating and walks into the aisle. The lighting is very low and it's hard to see. People are sitting in almost all the plane seats but none of them is moving or speaking or showing any signs of life at all. Frowning, he walks forward and looks more closely at the nearest passengers. An overhead light shows more clearly the faces of two men sitting beside each other and Sherlock now realizes the truth: they are dead. Although they're not yet showing any signs of decomposition, their skin is very grey and, they have clearly been dead for some time. He turns and looks to the passengers on the other side of the aisle, turning on another overhead light to get a better view. The man and woman sitting there are also long dead. As he straightens up, realizing that everyone on board the plane must be in the same condition, Mycroft speaks from the other end of the section.

"The Coventry conundrum." Sherlock turns as Mycroft pushes back the curtain and steps through into the cabin. For the first part of the ensuing conversation, he talks softly, almost as if out of respect for the dead bodies in front of him. "What do you think of my solution?"

Sherlock gazes around the cabin, still taking it all in. "The flight of the dead."

"The plane blows up mid-air. Mission accomplished for the terrorists. Hundreds of casualties, but nobody dies. Neat, don't you think?" Sherlock just smiles humourlessly at what his brother dear told. Mycroft finishes his speak. "You've been stumbling around the fringes of this one for ages– Or were you too bored to notice the pattern?"

Sherlock flashes back in his mind to the two little girls sitting in his living room. He lifts his head a little, remembering the creepy guy sitting in the same chair on a different occasion, holding a funeral urn.

"We ran a similar project with the Germans a while back, though I believe one of our passengers didn't make the flight. But that's the first I can describe for you. Sherlock, you're so slow, in every sense of the word."

Sherlock flashes back to the car with the body in the boot and the passport stamped in Berlin airport. "How's the plane going to fly?" Then he answers himself immediately. "Of course: unmanned aircraft. Hardly new."

"It doesn't fly. It will never fly. This entire project is canceled. The terrorist cells have been informed that we know about the bomb. We can't fool them now. We've lost everything. One fragment of one email, and months and years of planning finished."

Sherlock smirk with that, "your MOD man."

"That's all it takes: One lonely naïve man desperate to show off, and a woman clever enough to make him feel special."

"You should screen your defense people more carefully." Sherlock quirking an eyebrow

But Mycroft furiously, "I'm not talking about the MOD man, Sherlock; I'm talking about you." He slams the tip of his umbrella on the floor. Sherlock frowns, genuinely confused. He pointed at his brother's face with the umbrella, smile ironically, "the damsel in distress. In the end, are you really so obvious? Because this was textbook: the promise of love, the pain of loss, the joy of redemption; then give him a puzzle..." His voice drops to a whisper while he twirls the end of his umbrella in the air, "...and watch him dance."

"Don't be absurd. Mycroft."

"Absurd? How quickly did you decipher that email for Ms. Adler? Was it the full minute, or were you fully eager to impress to her?"

"I think it was less than three seconds." Your appearance was from behind Sherlock, "Luckily for our nation. He's a clever one."

Sherlock spins around to see you, Y/N Adler standing at the end of the cabin, dressed in a pencil dress in the mocked jacket like the first time he met her, but this time it's was dark blue, fully made up, and with your hair perfectly coiffured. This is The Woman at your immaculate best.

Mycroft ruefully to Sherlock. "I drove you into her path." He pauses momentarily. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

Sherlock is still looking at you as you walk towards him. Then, you grinned as a victory. "Mr. Holmes, I think we need to talk."

"So do I. There are several aspects I'm still not quite clear on." The consulting detective faces you, but you decide to extrude him away softly, walking over to Mycroft. "Not you, Sherly. You're done now." You continue down the aisle towards Mycroft. Sherlock turns and watches you go as you activate your camera phone and holds it up to show his brother.

"There's more, loads more. On my phones, I've got secrets, pictures, and scandals that could topple your whole world. You have no idea how much havoc I can cause and exactly one way to stop me – Unless you want to tell your masters that your biggest security leak is your own little brother."

"What do you mean 'Phones'?" Sherlock, asking you from behind.

You cross your arm under the chest, "I told you. I misbehaved. And, I don't have just only one. I added it four."

Mycroft can no longer hold Y/N gaze and turns his head away, lowering his eyes.

-----------------

Sometime later, Mycroft has brought you and Sherlock to his residence. The older brother sits at the dining table with you seated opposite him. Sherlock is in the armchair near the fireplace a few yards away, half-turned away from the pair of you. The fingers on his right hand are repeatedly clenching while he listens to the other two speakers. Mycroft points down at the camera phone which is lying on the table in front of him. There is no aggression or threat in his voice as he speaks to you. "We have people who can get into this."

"I've tested that theory for you. To see how your consulting detective of London works. I let him try it for six months. Just jor you. Brother mine?" Sherlock closes his eyes briefly, grimacing slightly. Not turning his head to look at you. "Sherlock, dear. Can you tell him what you found when you X-rayed my camera phones?"

"There are four additional units wired inside the casing, I suspect containing acid or a small amount of explosive." Mycroft lowers his head into his hand. "Any attempt to open the casing will burn the hard drive."

"Explosive." You look at Mycroft. "It's more me."

Mycroft lifted his head and looked at you again, "some data is always recoverable."

"Take that risk?"

"You have a passcode to open these four. I deeply regret to say we have people who can extract it from you."

You calmly look at Sherlock. "Sherlock?"

"The four of the camera phone, there will be two passcodes: one to open, one to burn the drive. A special one to unlock four of them. Even under duress, you can't know which one she's given you and there will be no point in a second attempt."

"He's good, isn't he? I should have him on a leash – In fact, I might." You gaze intensely at Sherlock but he remains turned away from you and can't see your expression. "Oh. Almost forget, there is a secret thing of Dr. Watson and, Lady Smallwood as well."

"So." Mycroft looks more serious. "We destroy all of them, then. No one has the information."

"Fine. Good idea... Unless there are lives of British citizens depending on the information you're about to burn."

"Are there?"

"Nah. Telling you would be playing fair. I'm not playing anymore." You reach into your handbag on the table in front of your and take out an envelope which pushes across the table to Mycroft. "A list of my requests; and some ideas about my protection once they're granted."

Mycroft takes the sheet of paper from the envelope and starts to unfold it. You begin. "I'd say it wouldn't blow much of a hole in the wealth of the nation. But, then I'd be lying." Mycroft raises his eyebrows in amazement as he reads through the demands you have listed. "I imagine you'd like to sleep on it tonight."

Mycroft still reading with eyebrows are still raised, "Thank you, yes."

"Too bad."

Mycroft looks up at you. In the armchair, Sherlock snorts in almost silent amusement. "Off you pop and talk to your people. I recommended that would be better."

Sighing, Mycroft sinks back in his chair. Staring at Sherlock, "You've been very thorough. Ms. Adler, I wish our lot were half as good as you."

You look across to Sherlock. "I wouldn't play fair. You should know. All the phones here are my protection. But all of my phones have the same passcode to unlock." You grinned at Sherlock, he raises his head, looks at you with a confused look. "Oh, I surely won't do that risk. I knew the ways keep all my pieces of stuff in one. But, Mr. Jim Moriarty sends his love to me. Beg me for playing this game. I'd love to hear the begging for anyone." You stand up, "and this is a time for our nation. How lucky me."

"Yes, he's been in touch with us. Seems desperate for my attention," Mycroft's voice becomes more ominous, "which I'm sure can be arranged."

Unseen by the others, Sherlock's gaze begins to sharpen as Y/N walks around the table to sit on its edge nearer Mycroft. "I have had all this stuff, never knew what to do with it. Thank God for the consultant criminal. Gave me a lot of advice about how to play the Holmes boys. Do you know what he calls you?" You whisper softly, "The Ice Man..." You look across to Sherlock again. "And The Virgin."

Sherlock's eyes are starting to flicker back and forth, though it's not yet clear whether in reaction to what YN is saying or whether he's working something out.

"He didn't even ask for anything. I think he just likes to cause trouble. That's only what I can do, causing the havoc everywhere I stay on." Sherlock closes his eyes, listens to you and, sighs softly.

"And here you are, the dominatrix who brought a nation to its knees."

Sherlock's eyes snap open again. He is definitely working something out. Mycroft stands and appears to bow slightly to you. "Nicely played." Sherlock turns away, about to go and begin meeting her demands. You're smiling in satisfaction, standing up, confident that you have won.

"No."

You and Mycroft turn to him. "Sorry?" You look at him. Sherlock turns his head towards you both, "I said no. Very very close, but no." He stands and starts to walk towards you. "You got carried away. The game was too elaborate. You were enjoying yourself too much."

"No such thing as too much."

Sherlock walks closer and looks down at you. "Oh, enjoying the thrill of the chase is fine, craving the distraction of the game. You said you love detective stories– I sympathize entirely –But sentiment? The sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side." He bares his teeth slightly as he finishes the sentence.

"Sentiment? What are you talking about?" You chortle.

"You."

You smiling calmly. "Oh dear God. Look at the poor man. You don't actually think I was interested in you? Why? Because you’re the great Sherlock Holmes, the clever detective in the funny hat?" You saw the bitterness from his eyesight, a moment later, they change into the unreadable. He steps even closer to you, both bodies almost touching. "No."

He reaches out and slowly wraps the fingers of his right hand around your left wrist, then leans forward and brings his mouth close to your right ear. "Because I know you love me."

Flashback to you kneeling in front of him at the flat and putting your hand on top of his, then him turning his hand over and resting his fingertips on the underside of your wrist. In the present, you frown in confusion, while Sherlock tightens his grip a little around your wrist. He softly into your ear, "and I took your pulse."

"Elevated; your pupils dilated. Every time you played me."

Flashback to you kneeling in front of him, your pupils widening as you gaze at him. In the present, he releases your hand and leans past you to pick up the camera phone from the table.

"I imagine John Watson thinks love's a mystery to me but, the chemistry is incredibly simple and very destructive." Sherlock turns and walks a few paces away from you. You follow behind him until he turns and faces you again. "When we first met, you told me that disguise is always a self-portrait. How true of you: the combination to your safe. Your measurements; but this," he tosses the phone into the air and catches it again. "This is far more intimate." He pulls up the security lock with its 'I AM - - - - LOCKED' screen.

"You told me. This camera phone is your life," without breaking his gaze into your eyes, he punches in the first of the four characters with his thumb, "I think this further was your heart, and you should never let it rule your head."

You stare at him, trying to stay calm, but the panic begins to show behind both eyes. Sherlock continues. "You could have chosen any random number and walked out of here for everything you have done for five years. Because I know you. Loved to play the game that just in only your turn." He punches in the second character, his eyes still locked on yours. "But you just couldn't resist your feelings, could you?"

"Moriarty must just create the list passwords, give you to preferring. Made you play with the weakness of my brother and mine, but it was your weakness the same." Your breathing becomes heavier. Sherlock smiles briefly and triumphantly. "I've always assumed that love is a dangerous disadvantage... Over this, it depends on the defense for your life. But you chose the biggest mistake." He hits the third character, still gazing at you. "Thank you for the final proof."

He lifts his thumb again, but before he can type in the fourth character, you seize his hand and gaze at him intensely. "Everything I said: it's not real." In a whisper, "I was just playing the game."

Sherlock in whisper same to your, "I know." Gently pulling his hand free from yours, he types in the final character. "and this is just losing." Slowly Sherlock turns the phone towards you and shows you the screen. You look down at it, tears spilling from your eyes as you read the sequence which says:

I AM

SHER

LOCKED

You gaze down at the screen in despair for a few seconds, then Sherlock lifts the phone away and holds it out towards Mycroft even as the phone unlocks and presents its menu. Sherlock's eyes still fixed on yours, "there you are, brother. I hope the contents make up for any inconvenience I may have caused you tonight."

"I'm certain they will." Mycroft takes the phone and Sherlock turns and begins to walk towards the door. "If you're feeling kind, lock her up; otherwise, let her go. I doubt Ms. Adler will survive long without her protection."

You stare after him, your eyes wide with dread. "Are you expecting me to beg?"

"That's what's you liked." Sherlock flatly said. He stops near the door, his face in profile to yours. You stare at him in anguish for several seconds, then realize that you have no choice.

"Please."

Sherlock doesn't move.

"You're right."

Now he turns to look at you.

You staring at him pleadingly. "I won't even last six months."

"Sorry about dinner."

Sherlock turns away and walks to the door, opening it and walking through. You watch him go, your eyes full of terror as the door closes after him.

-----------------

Baker st. It is pouring with rain. Outside Speedy’s café, Mycroft is standing under the protection of his umbrella, smoking a cigarette. He has a clear plastic wallet tucked under one arm and his briefcase is at his feet. John hurries towards home, hunched over and soaking wet because macho BAMFs like John Watson don’t take umbrellas with them. He sees Mycroft standing there and stops in surprise, then walks over to him. "You don't smoke."

"I also don’t frequent cafés." He drops the cigarette on the ground and treading it out [apparently not bothered about incurring a set fine for littering], he closes his umbrella, picks up his briefcase, and turns and walks into Speedy’s. John follows him. Not long afterward they are sitting opposite each other at one of the tables. John picks up his mug and looks at the plastic wallet which Mycroft has put on the table in front of himself. There is a sticker on the wallet saying 'RESTRICTED ACCESS – CONFIDENTIAL'. The big crack on the camera phone is inside the wallet on top of various documents. But surely it's Y/N's.

"This the file on Y/N Adler?"

"Closed forever. I am about to go and inform my brother – Or, if you prefer, you are – that she somehow got herself into a witness protection scheme in America. New name, new identity. She will survive – and thrive – but he will never see her again."

"Why would he care? He despised her at the end. Won’t even mention her by name – just 'The Woman.'"

"Oh. Is that loathing, or a salute? One of a kind; the one woman who matters."

"He's not like that. He doesn’t feel things that way. I don't think."

"My brother has the brain of a scientist or a philosopher, yet he elects to be a detective. What might we deduce about his heart?"

"I don't know." John sigh.

"Neither do I, but initially he wanted to be a pirate." Mycroft smiles briefly at John, then his gaze becomes distant and reflective. John told him. "He'll be okay with this witness protection, never seeing her again. He'll be fine."

Mycroft breathes in sharply. "I agree. That's why I decided to tell him that."

"Instead of what?"

"She's dead. She was captured by a terrorist cell in Karachi two months ago and beheaded." John looks at Mycroft silently for several seconds, then quietly clears his throat.

"It's definitely her? She's done this before. And Sherlock was-"

The big brother cut off. "I was thorough. This time. It would take Sherlock Holmes to fool me, and I don't think he was on hand, do you? So..." Mycroft pushes the wallet across the table towards John, then puts his elbows on the table, clasps his hands in front of him, and rests his chin on them, "what should we tell Sherlock?"

They look at each other for a moment.

-----------------

221B. Sherlock is sitting at the kitchen table looking into his microscope. Footsteps can be heard coming up the stairs and he speaks before John even comes into view. "Clearly you've got the news."

John stops in the doorway with the wallet in his hand. Sherlock doesn’t lift his head. Sherlock does not stop talking "If it's about the Leeds triple murder, it was the gardener. Nobody noticed the earring."

"Hi. Er, no, it's, um..." John takes a couple of steps into the kitchen. "It's about Y/N Adler."

Then. Sherlock looks up, his face unreadable. "Oh? Did something happen? Has she come back?"

"No, she's, er. I just bumped into Mycroft downstairs. He had to take a call."

Sherlock stands up and walks around the table towards his mate. "Is she back in London?"

"No. She's, er..." John gazes at the table for a long moment, then drags in a sharp breath and raises his eyes to Sherlock’s as his flatmate steps closer, frowning. "She's in America."

"America?"

"Mmm-hmm. Got herself on a witness protection scheme, apparently. Dunno how she swung it, but, er, well, you know."

"I know what?"

"Ah. Well, you won't be able to see her again."

"Why would I want to see her again?"

John smiles ruefully as Sherlock turns away and walks back around the table. "Didn't say you did."

"Is that her file?"

"Yes. I was just gonna take it back to Mycroft." He offers the wallet to Sherlock. "Do you want to...?"

Sherlock sitting down. "No. Why would I?" He looks into his microscope again.

John looks at his friend for a long while, considering his options. Eventually, he steps forward again. "Listen, actually..."

"Oh, but I will have the camera phone, though." Sherlock holds out his hand towards John, not lifting his gaze from his work.

"There's nothing on it anymore. It's been stripped and it's was damaged."

"I know, but I ..." Sherlock pauses for a long moment before continuing. "I'll still have it."

"Sherlock. I've gotta give this back to Mycroft. You can't keep it." Sherlock keeps his hand extended and his eyes fixed on the microscope.

"I have to give this to Mycroft. It's the government's now. I couldn’t even give-"

"Please. John." Sherlock extends his hand a little further. John looks at him, clearly wondering what to do, then finally he reaches into the wallet, takes out the phone, and lays it gently into Sherlock’s hand. Sherlock closes his fingers around it, draws his hand back, and puts the phone into his trouser pocket before returning his hand to the microscope. "Thank you."

John raises the wallet, "well, I’d better take this back."

"Yes."

John turns and walks out onto the landing, then pauses as if wondering whether to ask the question that has now come into his mind. After several seconds he turns around and comes back into the kitchen. Sherlock still doesn’t lift his eyes from his microscope. "Did she ever text you again, after all that?"

"Once, a few months ago."

"What did she say?"

"Goodbye, Mr. Holmes."

John looks at him thoughtfully. "Huh." The short man paces around in front of the kitchen door for a few seconds, wondering if there’s anything more he can say, then eventually turns and heads off down the stairs. As soon as he’s out of sight Sherlock raises his head and gazes across the room for a moment, then he reaches down to his own phone which is on the table, and picks it up, calling up his saved messages. Getting up and walking into the living room, he scrolls through the messages sent by 'The Woman,' all of which he has kept. They go on for a long time:

I'm not hungry, let's have dinner.

Bored in a hotel. Join me. Let's have dinner.

John's blog is HILARIOUS. I think he likes you more than I do. Let's have dinner.

I can see the tower bridge and the moon from my room. Work out where I am and join me.

I saw you in the street today. You didn't see me.

You do know that hat actually suits you, don't you?

Oh for God's sake. Let's have dinner.

I like your funny hat.

I'm in Egypt talking to an idiot. Get on a plane, let's have dinner.

You looked sexy on Crimewatch.

Even you have got to eat. Let's have dinner.

BBC1 right now. You'll laugh.

I'm thinking of sending you a Christmas present.

Mantelpiece.

I'm not dead. Let's have dinner.

Then comes the one reply he sent to her:

Happy New Year

And at the bottom of the list is her last message to him:

Goodbye Mr. Holmes.

Reaching the living room window, he looks down at the final message for a long time before lifting his eyes and gazing out at the pouring rain.

-----------------

Flashback to months earlier in Karachi. It is night time and there is the background noise of male voices shouting in a foreign language. Shaky camera footage eventually resolves into a clearer resolution, revealing Y/N kneeling on the ground in front of a military vehicle. She is dressed in black robes, her hair covered by a black headscarf, and is typing one-handed onto her phone. Standing to her right is a man holding a rifle with one hand while he repeatedly gestures for her phone with the other. She ignores him, refusing to hand it over until she has finished her message, which reads:

Goodbye Mr. Holmes

She presses Send and then gives the phone to the man. To her left, a second man walks over and raises a wide-bladed curved sword above her head, bringing it slowly down towards the back of her neck while he checks that his aim will be correct. Y/N stares ahead of herself, fighting her tears, then she slowly closes her eyes.

A couple of seconds later, the orgasmic sigh fills the air sound of her rang. Y/N's eyes snap open and fill with hope as she turns her head to look at her executioner. His face is completely shrouded apart from his eyes, but a very recognizable blue-grey gaze meets her own.

"When I say run, run!"

She turns her head to the front again. Sherlock pulls back the sword as if he’s about to strike the death blow, then he spins and begins to strike out at the nearby militia. Y/N stares ahead of herself, her eyes wide with disbelief that she is going to live. Slowly she begins to smile.

In London in the present, Sherlock smiles at the memory, then chuckles to himself as he takes Y/N's camera phone from his pocket. Tossing it into the air and catching it again, he looks at it for a couple of seconds.

"The Woman."

Sherlock opens the top drawer of a nearby cabinet he puts the phone into it and is about to withdraw his hand when he pauses, then puts his fingers onto the phone again and looks at it thoughtfully.

"The Woman."

Sherlock lifts his head and gazes out at the rainy city for a while, then turns and walks away.

"Aaah"

Y/N's high in climax moan noise rings on his phone. That's was the recording of the new sound. It was unexpected to him. He is just seen that the window in the living room nearby was open a bit. His laughter echoed throughout the flat.

Over his notebook, Y/N's fav lipstick box is placed on there. It's not just a simple high-end brand lipstick, it's the voice recorder and, she just sent Sherlock the text of how to use them.

just for fun :D

Moriarty was right in some parts, but not the whole part. He would skin Y/N, but he planned to a terrorist group that she used to have this information stored in, and these were some of the best allies against Moriarty. Not anymore.

So far, Y/N has forced to sit on her knees waiting for death to happen any minute, thought a lot of times that she can't be dead in peace for the rest of her life, but why it's so soon? Although she intended to cover safely, she has to admit that she was so shocked when Sherlock caught on. For this clever detective, Y/N can't say it was passionate, but it might be 'attractive and interesting,' something in common, both of them might be addicted to each other, there's no explanation to define he loved her back.

How to blame that detective for failing her mission? She has to blame herself. He was right. she loved him.

Urdu, where terrorists chat around the side, flashlights that shine in front of them, the sound of a big blade clogs her breath in a minute. The feeling of pressure around there makes Y/N feel difficult to breathe, her heart racing to blend back into despair. Anyway, it must be over. Here.

"Can I use my phone for the last time?" Y/N looked up and said firmly, she heard a little consultation, some people swore at her great deal but eventually sent it to her. Y/N picked up her phone, and she was shaking like a leaf inside, desperately.

Y/N Adler, without a family, friends, or lover, shouldn't have even taken her into her mind, but instead, there was one person she remembered in her last breath, that man, that intelligent detective, who she felt was so blunt and fun to beat, as well as yanking him, watching his unconscious efforts. It was, yes, she felt guilty about using him, it was quacky to feel like it's stuck in her mind. At least if it's good to say goodbye, she won't feel indebted anymore.

She doesn't deserve him. Not at all, Just a good man with a liar woman who happens to love him completely.

"Goodbye, Mr. Holmes."

Y/N presses send then gives the phone to the man. To her left, a second man walks over and raises a wide-bladed curved sword above her head, bringing it slowly down towards the back of her neck while he checks that his aim will be correct. Her eyes look at the ground, trying to calm herself as much as possible. A much fear tried to cry in her chest, but she went to die here. Y/N stares ahead of herself, fighting her tears, then she slowly closes her eyes.

A couple of seconds later, the orgasmic sigh fills the air sound of her rang out. Y/N's eyes snap open and fill with hope as she turns her head to look at her executioner. His face is completely shrouded apart from his eyes, but a very recognizable blue-grey gaze meets her own.

"When I say run, run!"

"RUN!"

Sherlock's thick hands pulled Y/N up, and it was unbelievable that she seemed to run faster than any time in her life. Her slender hands held the other hand tightly as if afraid of herself breaking out of his hands. Y/N thought he must have been exploring the path well, and he took her running in and out of the alley, swapping all over the place out of the terrorists. When Sherlock saw that they both were safe, he let go of the hand that held her, and then, It's an opportunity to hold the air into lungs. They're run with tight clothes covering their faces, heat, and sweat-soaked in their whole bodies.

"Are you okay?" He asked her, even though he was still panting, "I'm okay," Y/N replied simply, the dominatrix no more haughty. They still try to not look at the other side, no eyes. Sherlock could see the other eyes, but he felt faint in his heart, the same pale blue eyes as well. There were various glances in, doubt, impression, joy, but the glances he felt is the uniqueness of her in front of him. The glances of her, the naked body. "Don't look at me that way," Sherlock coughed a little.

"Oh, why, Mr. Holmes?" Y/N teasing him.

Sherlock laughed in his own throat, and before sitting down for a break, Y/N seemed to have nothing to worry about, so he explored his own body now wet with blood and sweat, he breathing more comfortably.

Y/N's voice was full of seriousness and doubt. "Answer me. Why you helping me?"

"Just promenade through," Sherlock finally answer her quietly, but they both knew it was a funny lie.

"Oh..." Y/N's sweet voice dragged long as if pretending to understand she burst out laughing a short before staring at the fortune. The consulting detective and the woman's eyes turned away from each other. Sherlock was irritated himself for making such an unwise excuse, so he came to grin. Sherlock took a deep breath before collecting his stillness, a solemn face as his usual looks, before turning around and saying to each other, "Oh, look at Ms. Adler, you don't actually think I'm interested in you-."

Crack,

A touch of stiffness to sherlock's head and the sound of pulling the trigger made him silent before flicking. Eyes slightly on himself, ah, he was too careless of her, Sherlock raised his hand, looking at Y/N incomprehensibly. "What are you doing?"

"Ur. I need your clothes to leave. Now."

"That's what I'm doing!"

"Stop talking and give it to me." Y/N's still holds the gun, "Got to learn to not trust to your big brother. Also you. Now, give them to me. Just take them off. I didn't want to slap you again, Mr. Holmes."

"Wait. Ms. Adler. I-,"

"Now!"

"Just playing fair! I've saved your life!"

"So there now. We're even. Karachi's a passageway wait for another me showing up. I had a double me in dozen. She's coming so late." Y/N kisses Sherlock's cheek, "You're good, find me. Y/N Adler, she is dead. The proof is my camera phone." Sherlock remains silent, disbelief at what she has planned. Y/N puts his stuff on, delicate smiling. "It's time for goodbye, now. Mr. Holmes."

Y/N walks away, lefts the Barker St.'s boy who helped her. Sherlock, even not in a good mood, knows exactly she was safe now. Where she's gone? Not that hard to find out. His intelligent face turns into a crack-up laugh, very, very satisfied.

Sherlock Holmes was too careless with her.

The woman.

#bbc sherlock x reader #bbc sherlock x you #sherlock bbc #sherlock holmes imagines #bbc sherlock imagine #sherlock x irene #adlock #sherlock irene

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coffeeteaitsallfine · 3 years ago

Note

I've been trying to convince my friend about tjlc and blog theory and season 5, but she's more of the 'do you really think it was THAT elaborately planned and anyway even if they had a plan wouldn't s4 bd different and s5 be announced by now' take. Any favourite bits of evidence I could share with her? Ty!

well first of all you can tell your friend that series 4 is the way that it is precisely because they have an elaborate plan.

here is a post that links to bunch of interviews or posts where they talk about series 5 as a part of their plan. my favorite quote is that S4 would leave fans "desperate for series 5." and ain't that the honest truth hiding in plain sight. also I can't find it but I recall moffat one time correcting an interviewer who assumed post-s4 that s4 was intended to be the last season (if anyone can confirm or correct me please let me know). Wild given that the show itself makes it "feel" like an ending that rings hollow and that's done on purpose.

you can draw a parallel between fan reactions to the original story "The Final Problem" and the episode itself. People were very upset and would write to doyle asking him to bring holmes back because he couldn't really be dead... Now, however, everyone already knows he wasn't really dead hence trf so seemingly killing off the Show-Sherlock is kinda the next best thing.

trf kinda foreshadows this in a way or at least echoes how the GA are supposed to feel about S4/TFP.

"And soon they began to wonder...‘Are Sir Boast-a-lot’s stories even true?’" "‘I don’t believe Sir Boast-a-lot’s stories. He’s just a big old liar who makes things up to make himself look good.’"

Then there's the fact that the "final problem" is staying alive. Either Sherlock get's 'the heart burned out of him' or he stays alive. just look at all of s4 and then the dvd cover and tell me that doesn't look like the heart is being burned.

Other than that it's hard to succinctly describe blog theory in an already long post but we do talk about this on the first episode of our podcast

Here is a (non-exhaustive) list of quotes from the show which really lay out their Plan or some aspect of it:

a fourth. there's been a fourth. something's different this time.

Ah, four serial suicides, and now a note!

we’d better upgrade their surveillance status. Grade Three Active.

John: Well, maybe that’s over, too. We’ve heard nothing from the bomber. Sherlock: Five pips, remember, John? It’s a countdown. We’ve only had four.

The painting is a fake, but how can I prove it? How? How?...The Van Buren supernova!

I don't care how you faked it, I wanna know why

Is this silly enough for you yet? Gothic enough? Mad enough, even for you? It doesn’t make sense, Sherlock, because it’s not real. None of it.

Bond air is go / Flight 007

1) The promise of love, 2) the pain of loss, 3) the joy of redemption, 4) then give him a puzzle. 5) Watch him dance...

From the moment of conception? How breathtakingly prescient...

of course it's not a trick, it's a plan

Sherlock: That’s not what happened at all. Mycroft: It is now.

If James Moriarty can hack every TV screen in the land, rest assured we have the tech to, er...doctor a bit of security footage. That is now the official version. the version anyone we want to will see.

and i'm sure i could keep going but alas. we have yet to discover a one size fits all formula for presenting convincing evidence but this is a start

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waitedforgarridebs · 4 years ago

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Btw, @belladonnaxy, thanks for embedding the link like you did in that one post (x), because it generated this preview including the meta’s first screencap.

Honestly, if I had to summarise the entire meta (x) with one gif, this one would probably be it:

“... what should we tell Sherlock?”, ugh, never stops being so beautiful, and so heartbraking.

Like, Mycroft knows that Sherlock will just try to solve every puzzle he happens to find interesting, because he simply can’t stop his brain from making deductions. It just sort of happens.

And yet, sometimes there are things that Sherlock should not deduce – or, if he happened to deduce them, at least not say them out loud immediately, because there is something bigger at play, and it will endanger people’s livelihoods if the truth comes out. (*coughs* Bond Air)

After all: Mycroft certainly doesn’t want to “tell his masters that his biggest security leak is his own little brother”, because that would have dire consequences for Sherlock.

(Maybe not as bad as some CIA agent getting a medal for putting a bullet into this loose cannon’s brain, but prison and / or random suicide missions are certainly on the table.)

Mycroft cares too much about his little brother, and wants to stop this from happening.

So, how do you keep Sherlock out of real trouble? What should you tell him?

You give him a nice, little, and very much fabricated puzzle – and watch him dance.

And if, after ASiP, Sherlock is now so keen on solving who or what “Moriarty” is – well. That can also most certainly be arranged...

#trying not to go off on a tangent here #because I've already written about it in detail in the meta series #but oh man #the rug pull they're setting up never stops being that good #I could ramble about it all day #Sherlock #Sherlock meta #Game Theory

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mxsinistir · 6 years ago

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Power Couple (Mycroft x Government!Reader)

Request by mycroftholmesscenarios

Mycroft x Female!Reader (Tell me if this was supposed to be Gender Neutral and I’ll change it)

Summary: You work in the British Government and have recently started to rival Mycroft, and you’re both fully aware that you’re each other’s only competition to the British Government. Takes place before the fall/crown jewels are stolen.

“[Surname],” Some voice called out from the hallway. You expected your secretaries to handle it, but…

“[Surname],” He repeated, busting into your office. You glanced up, a bit offended,

“Holmes, there is a waiting list for my attention,” You hummed,

“You liar; you’re a bloody little liar-“ He started, and against your better judgement, a toothless smile curved across your face like a crescent crack you’d find on the sidewalk.

To the left of your desk, Mycroft “The British Government” Holmes was fuming. Seething. You hadn’t quite anticipated the rush of such a powerful man wanting you dead.

“I never promised you a thing, Holmes.” You sighed, getting up just to close the door that he has spitefully left open to the hallway. “I said I would try to get you the votes for the Economic Growth bill, and I tried.”

“You supported that bill - I don’t understand, it aligns with your views.” You smiled, just to watch the Government grind his teeth and look infuriated gave you some sadistic sense of satisfaction.

“Come on, you can’t think I’ll be manipulated like everybody else in Parliament.” You sighed, “You stood behind that bill, I didn’t. And now everybody knows that you failed.”

The brunette groaned and rolled is eyes, “You have no idea the inconvenience that you’re causing me.”

“No, I think I know exactly what I’m doing.” You hummed, taking a few steps forward until you were eye-to-eye with him. “And you better step up and play the game before you lose your foothold.” “Foothold?” He scoffed, “What exactly is that supposed to mean.”

“Holmes!” You both looked to the door, knowing the voice from the hallway. Angry, old, manipulated once by Mycroft’s words and nobody else’s. The Prime Minister.

“Look around, Holmes - you’re slipping.” You grinned, opening the door. You don’t own the Government anymore. The words danced on your tongue, but you refrained. “Get out of my office.”

“Liane, what else is on my schedule for the day?” You asked, walking out of Lady Smallwood’s office with haste.

“You have a visitor waiting in your office.” Liane said with quiet urgency,

“Name?” You questioned, “James Moriarty,” Liane answered, obviously puzzled, "Does he sound familiar at all to you?”

“Oh, indeed.” You said, stepping into your office. You were greeted by an immaculately dressed brunette. “Hello, Mr. Moriarty.” “[Name],” he greeted you casually, “I’ll skip the small talk. I have resources and a goal and I want to know if you want in.”

“Right to the point; I’ve always liked that about you.” You smiled deviously, “What’s this goal you speak of?”

“Mycroft has become ineffective in his position - that much is clear.” He stated blatantly, “But I want to know what he does, and I figured you’d be the best person to ask.” “To try and manipulate?” You hummed, “No thanks, Jimmy.”

“No, no, no, I couldn’t possibly think that lowly of you.” He groaned, “I want to work with you. I stop Mycroft’s acts from passing, make him look like an idiot, blah blah blah…” “And I do what in return?” He grinned widely, though you noticed it did not reach his eyes. “What do you know about Sherrinford?”

Mycroft had known the bill wouldn’t pass. They hadn’t been passing for god knows how long.

Anthea had tried to cheer him up about it, but no amount of scotch could help the tossing of his stomach. The twisting and flopping that felt like he had been dropped from the top of a roller coaster. Or in his case, the top of a Government.

He’d proudly stood behind three major bills in the past two weeks. All three had been lost, and on every occasion, you were to blame.

After it had been taken to the floor to die, he’d find you in his office just waiting to taunt him as his power slipped through his fingers like ice melting into water. Other times, he’d save you the trouble - he’d just walk to yours.

The Parliament was a delicate operation. Manipulated by a thousand strings. Those strings had once been wrapped around Mycroft’s fingers with precision. But now, the lines tangled between the both of you, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold on to the ties he had.

“Mycroft!” Anthea called out, her voice carrying through the halls. The man looked up, concern lacing his navy eyes. He told her she could go home eight minutes ago, “The bill . . . it’s passed.”

The older Holmes brother flew to his feet, rushing to the television to watch as the votes came rushing in from his colleagues. Your colleagues.

“This makes no sense,” He huffed. The votes had looked beyond nasty when he’d checked his data this morning, but now, they were all falling into his favour.

“Someone’s here to see you,” Anthea called from where she was standing at the doorway. When she pulled open the entrance, you were the last person Mycroft had expected to see.

“[Surname]?”

“Just [Name], please.” You said with a shaky breath, “May I come inside.”

With Anthea gone, it was the two of you and a kettle of Earl Grey. “His name was Moriarty,” You finally explained. The first words you’d spoken since you entered. And you spoke them so calmly that despite knowing better, Mycroft still wondered if you knew that the man you spoke of was the century’s greatest criminal. “He wanted to know about the East Wind.”

You both were powerful enough to know about Eurus Holmes, though truth be told, you had done more personal digging into the subject over the past two weeks since Moriarty had reached out to you.

The name would not leave the tongue of neither you nor Mycroft. Codenames only; that was the rule when it came to such a woman.

“I realized who he was and what he wanted. Sherrinford is not for politics, it is for national security. World Security. And as competitive as I am, I realize that you have a duty to protect it.”

“He asked for classified information,” Mycroft snarled, “And in turn, he promised to keep my bills from passing.”

“No, I did that by myself.” You hummed, “Moriarty and I decided to make you fail, and in turn, I just had to tell him what I knew about Sherrinford. I told him it’s location, and I told every guard there to be on the lookout for him. You’re going to have another prisoner on that island in about-“ You choked the silver and black watch on your wrist, “-Twelve minutes. He thinks he’s meeting me.”

“You protected her,” he said, almost too quietly to hear. Shock was painted over his face, “You protected all of us.”

“I admit, I had to do a lot of digging to find out what I did about your secret sister.” You said, “I see now why it’s so important that you keep the power you have. No one else can handle the responsibility of your siblings.”

“Yes, and you wonder why the National Security council loves me.” Mycroft sighed, “I have a feeling that you won’t be giving up politics, however.”

“Hold on now, I said I wouldn’t boot you out of parliament,” You mused, “You’re still not safe.”

“Our views align, [Name],” He sighed, “Why should we not work together,”

“I think Britain could use a power couple,” You said thoughtfully, a signature smile finding its way onto your face. Though now, it was not threatening. To Mycroft, it seemed almost warm. “And I do expect some thanks for saving this bill of yours.”

“I’m free tomorrow at seven,” Mycroft said, straightening his jacket as you both set your empty teacups to the side, “How’s dinner and a thank you note?”

“Sounds perfect, Holmes.”

#mycroft holmes #Sherlock Holmes #mycroft x reader #mycroft holmes x reader #thebritishgovernment #government #parliament #sherlock x reader #sherlock imagines #mycroft imagine #imagine mycroft holmes #mycroft imagines #bbc sherlock #sherlock bbc #imaginebbcsherlock #bbcsherlockimagines

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eyeforgold · 5 years ago

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Prompt #13 Wax

Clicks echoed through the room as Ruby taps her glass of wine against her teeth as she mulls over what she has learned. Adrian's report had been thorough, more than she had expected when the woman had pitched her skills back in Kugane in exchange for safe passage to Eorzea. Glancing to her companion on the couch, she can easily notice Moriarty's conceited surprise at their talented guest and her trove of information.

"Please, sit. I think the evening was tiring enough for you, dancing for these rich assholes while paying attention to their every move." Ruby motions lazily to the chair facing her and pours a glass for her halcyon bird who accepts it with both hands, a delicate habit shared by Far Eastern citizens.

"No more than my former work, I assure you. Does this report meet your needs?" The stiff backed Au'Ra continues nervously, her tongue catching on some Eorzean vowels in a fascinating manner. "I have already been hired for another event in Costa Del Sol, if this is not enough-"

Ruby glances to her right only to be met by Moriarty's raised eyebrow and chuckles discreetly, therefore cutting off Adrianel's monologue, her fingers adjusting the delicate flowers clipped to her hair as her ears twitch merrily.

"You have provided more information than I could have expected from you. Truly. Your debt is more than paid in full."

A pouch of gil is placed gently in front of the younger woman before Moriarty leans back against the couch once more as Ruby leans forward, a glint in her eye at the thought of what they could accomplish together.

"If you do plan to attend this next event, I would have you do the same as today, come report to me everything you hear or notice related to the Syndicate and their business associates and you will be paid generously. Are you interested, Adrian?"

Ever the polite and discreet woman, the Au'ra's long golden sleeves barely sway as she picks up the pouch, weighting it once before tucking it away with a small undecipherable smile.

"I would very much be pleased to work for you again, Jewel."

Jewel. The dancer liked her secrets, and though she clearly knew Ruby's name, she preferred to use nicknames when addressing them. She had requested Ruby do the same for her, as she had had to give Ruby her full name to be granted passage on the conjurer's airship, a request Ruby found easy to fulfill.

With a nod, Ruby and Moriarty rise up, Moriarty picking up the glasses now empty of La Noscean wine as both women accompany Adrian upstairs, a low conversation shared between the Eorzean women.

"Should we threaten to go to his wife or to her husband?"

"Depends on what we want from them, the mines or the land? He has more to lose as she is the one who inherited the land."

The exchange is cut off as they exit the house, the waxing moon shining upon the three weary women. Ruby's back pops as she stretches her arms up, eager to get back to Phiros, who was most likely asleep at this hour, and join him in bed. Their drunken evening and consequent morning cuddles had only left her hungering for more time with her beloved and she could not wait to find her way into his arms again. Her lazy movement nearly dislodges the Kanzashi, the flowery hair ornament Phiros had gifted her back in Kugane, Adrian's eyes flickering to it as she bows.

"Once more I would thank you for the opportunity you have given me, and wish you and your fiancé joy and happiness."

Ruby blinks as words fail to come to her mind, her mouth opening and closing soundlessly. "My fi-... My fiancé?"

The Hingan Au'ra points to her hair ornament with a blushing smile, embarassed at what was clearly a blunder, when she knew better than to pry into an employer's personal life.

"I apologize if it was not meant to be known, I could not help but remark on the beautiful engagement present your fiancé bestowed upon you. It has been one of the most sought after Kanzashi in Kugane for the past season. Perhaps... A piece of advice, if you'll allow me? If you do not wish to make your engagement known, you should avoid wearing it so obviously."

Wide pink eyes blink owlishly between Adrian's embarassed expression and Moriarty's puzzled smile. The older woman sighs as her employer is so flustered and confused that she loses her words and takes charge of the situation.

"Adrian, you read Hingan I assume? Ruby has received this present from her fiancé a week ago along with a note she has yet to decipher. Unfortunately, Hingan to Eorzean tomes are rare and the one we found has yet to be delivered. Perhaps you could translate it for us?"

Gobsmacked at Adrian's comment on her hair pin, Ruby turns away from the two women after getting nudged by Moriarty, to pull out the handwritten note she has been carrying around in her breast pocket ever since she'd returned from her journey. She unfolds the crinkled paper carefully, smoothing it out with her hands before handing it over to the Xaela, ears folded back anxiously as Ruby stares at the girl so intensely one would think she was attempting to kill her with her mind.

In the back of her head, a part of her feels guilty that she is not deciphering the note herself, yet a louder more vehement part is screaming at her that it might really be a marriage proposal! In which case... Twelve help her, she had walked around for a week without giving Phiros an answer and on top of it all, she had barged in yesterday and demanded they buy a house together... without answering his proposal first.

A loud silence settles upon Ruby's pathway as she waits breathlessly for Adrian's translation. The Au'ra's tail sways gently in the breeze as she reads the note carefully before smiling up to Ruby as she hands her the note back in a two handed grip.

"Will you marry me? Is what the note says."

Mind whirling too loudly for Ruby to care about the embarrassing way she had been carrying the note, she folds it back along the same edges and places it inside her breast pocket. Her feet take her halfway out of the yard before she remembers to say goodbye to the two women and marches towards Phiros.

He wants to marry me. Despite everything that happened, he wishes to marry me. He who could not even think of it after his late wife's death wanted to marry her, Ruby French, greed incarnated.

"HE PROPOSED TO ME!" Elated, Ruby's voice echoes through the silent Goblet streets as her fast walk turns into a race towards her lover.

Barging through the café's dark upper floor, Ruby makes her way towards the basement, where Phiros' futon laid, her steps now quieter as she thinks on how to answer Phiros. Her cheeks ache from the unshakeable smile she has been sporting for the past thirty minutes, her eyes adjusting to the moonlight basement until they find a Phiros like shape curled up under white blankets on the wooden loft, and the familiar hissed purr that betrayed his heavy sleep.

Kanzashi placed upon the dinning table, her boots are kicked off as she climbs up the stairs, staring down at her lover, her fiancé... her future husband? So innocent and beautiful as the moonlight glowed on his pale skin, his dark purple hair fanning around his head, the streaked tips covering his chest.

Hovering over him with her hands and knees, Ruby nuzzles his cheeks with a low purr as she calls out his name. "Phiros? Darling, wake up." Her action failing to rouse him, her teeth are now teasing his neck, suckling the skin to mark his pale skin red. "Phi?" Only a groan answers her as Phiros turns to lie on his back, tail flopping over between his legs.

Fine. She knew just the thing to awaken him. Undressing herself first, Ruby pushes the covers off Phiros, watching goosebump cover his skin as soon as the cold air hits him, before leaning down, nipping at his mouth and licking his plump lips while her hands slither inside his pants and tease his soft length to a hardened state.

"Phiros, my love. There's something I need to tell you. Please wake up for me."

Smirking as the Au'ra writhes and sighs between her thighs as his cock hardens, Ruby's kisses turn hungry and punishing as she guides his cock against her folds, grinding her hips against his before angling his cock to breach her.

"Phi, wake up please. I need you." Her lips brush over his right horn as she whispers wantonly. "I need my husband." She cries out as she takes in his cock inside her wet cunt as she awaits her lover's reaction. She had not dared hope to marry him, nor had she wanted to back in the earlier days of their relationship.

Nonetheless, after five years together she could not pretend the thought had never crossed her mind. She had imagined for them a Hingan wedding, a closed ceremony with only a few select guests that would seg her apart from his previous marriage in Eorzea. Perhaps, her marriage could be seen as lesser by the fact that she would be his second wife. I plan to be his last, she thinks as her tongue breaches his mouth, her fingers digging into his warm skin as Phiros comes to consciousness underneath her.

#ffxivwrite2019 #ffxiv oc #ffxiv writing #ruby #phiros #rated E for sexy reasons #otp: let's be monsters together #my writing #mine #i can't add a read more on mobile #sorry

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daathren · 6 years ago

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Looking through My Old Documents

I actually found a Sherlock/Original Female Character story I had started but never finished. I think I might actually pick it up again since just reading through it, I was highly impressed with where I was going with it. Definitely a BBC Sherlock AU at this point. Let me know what you guys think about it.

~*~*~

Trigger Warning: Mentions of Rape, Attempted Rape, Extreme Violence

Power of Three: Adventures of a Mad Genius, his Protector, and his Keeper

Book One:

D. A. Athren

Summary:

Sherlock was never one to make alliances. Even when he went underground to burn Moriarty’s Web, he was a lone wolf. Well, at least that’s what John thought until he came home from the surgery one afternoon to find a young woman crawling along the floor of the sitting room, leaving a trail of blood in her path while she cried out for William.

Prologue:

Mycroft watched the camera. That’s all he really could do. He couldn’t send a team out to stop it. He couldn’t tip off Lestrade so he could get a patrol and an ambulance out there as soon as possible. No, all he could do was watch and wait and pray to a higher power that he knew wasn’t there while the gruesome scene unfolded. He couldn’t even message Sherlock to tell him what was happening or that he had a private jet already on its way to him to get him home as soon as possible.

It was rare to get Mycroft worked up about anything or let his mask of complete emotional control crumble but when Anthea rushed into his meeting with the Prime Minister and told him that a Code Mauve was happening, the panic rose from him instantaneously. He grabbed the tablet from her, activated the feed, and yelled at her when he found out she hadn’t already started Code Mauve procedures. He hadn’t even bothered to properly inform the Prime Minister of what was happening when the live feed finally patched through and he saw the woman being pummeled into the ground by 5 men.

He just rushed out of the meeting room to make his way to his office, hoping that he wouldn’t have a funeral to plan instead of getting the proper paperwork ready.

~*~*~*~*~

“Come with me.”

He had blurted it out, which was so unlike him. She was shocked. Shocked that he asked, shocked at where he had asked, and shocked that the three words lacked the baritone confidence his voice usually carried. She looked up from the safe’s dial briefly, finding that his gaze was still secure and unwavering on the door. “I would love nothing more than to explore your home.”

You’re only doing this because you’re a creature of habit…

“I hear a ‘but’…”

“But you know I have burned bridges there.”

“I could protect you.”

She sighed, starting her calculated motions on the dial again until she felt the pins slide into place. The safe was unlocked. “Of course you could protect me, William, but your protection would place me in another guiled cage.”

I’ll get bored. I know I’ll get bored and I’ll do something stupid and I’ll fuck up your life…born a criminal, always a bloody criminal!

He turned his piercing, turquoise gaze on her. “You waste your gifts.”

She sighed; running a hand through her kinky curls before popping the safe open and taking the security box from within it, placing it in her hobo bag. “And you let your genius idiocy get the best of you…again,” she muttered.

He pondered her words for a moment before a look of realization formed in his eyes. “Nic, what have you done?”

“I got you the files that you need to kill Moran,” she mumbled.

“This is a Mạngkr base, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“You lied.”

“Oh yes.”

His eyes sparkled with amusement. “I am getting rusty.”

She closed the safe door hard, triggering the alarm system as planned. “No, you aren’t and don’t ever say that around me again,’ she grumbled with a wicked smile on her face. He couldn’t help but give her a small smile in return before turning his features serious.

Just let it go, Sherlock…let me have this!

“You have destroyed your security in order to give me the piece to the puzzle I need in order to find Moran and then return home,” he stated as he grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet.

She adjusted the bodice of her cocktail dress before they both made their way back into the hidden service entrance that they used to enter the office; just moments before the security team entered it. They had made their way out into the garden, towards the party, before she spoke. “Moran is keeping you from your home, from the people that you need. You are brilliant and that brilliance should be shining in the open not hidden and dirtied in the shadows. The true security I had died 4 years ago when those two bastards took them from me. I also can’t miss what I never really had,” she whispered as they blended into the crowd on the dance floor.

You promised never to compromise me. You promised!

“You could use your talents for more than being a thief among bloated clan leaders who think everyone is too afraid to rob them so they leave their wealth behind simple locks I could pick in my sleep,” he whispered back, pulling her into a swaying dance as his eyes scanned the area.

She giggled a bit at his words, wrapping her arms around his neck. She was uncomfortably tempted to run her fingers through his dark curls. “That was a Doettling’s Fortress I just cracked in less than 10 minutes. Mr. Miyamoto is very serious about his business with the international branches.”

His eyes drifted down to her. “London could give you so much more than what some overly expensive safe can. You crave a challenge as much as I do and I can give you that. You are not meant to live a life in the dark,” he stated matter-of-factly. She just shook her head softly at him, giving him a sad yet knowing smile.

All this time and you never deduced that I’m…content…

They danced in silence until the song was over; a signal that everything had gone according to plan and it was time for them to go their separate ways.

“It was a pleasure, Mr. Holmes,” she said with forced politeness, letting her arms fall to her sides.

Don’t know if I’m going to miss the danger or miss you…

“I cannot leave you so exposed,” he nearly growled out, defiance in his eyes. His grip tightened on her, his eyes narrowed on something behind her; a guard.

“I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself. William, if I return to London the Fateralis would have me beaten to within an inch of my life and would leave me for dead in the heart of London. I killed the Boss’s son, my boyfriend, when he tried to rape me. The only reason I was given a chance to leave the UK is because my father was the Boss’s right hand man. It would be up to me to get somewhere safe. I couldn’t go to A&E. I couldn’t have someone in waiting to pick me up wherever they drop me off and I definitely couldn’t have your protection swooping in to save me. I would have to survive all on my own in order to earn the right to walk the streets again. You do not want that blood on your hands. You might not be an angel but you are nowhere near the demon you claim to be.”

That sacrifice would be in vain!

He stared at her for a moment; giving her that look that she knew meant he was analyzing every detail about her. “Neither are you. Your heart is racing right now. Not because of the adrenaline from getting away with it. It’s not even because you are pressed against me in an intimate fashion. It is because you are afraid you might never get to shine like this again. You think this was all me but it was not. You did this, Niccola. I am usually self-centered and would never admit that out loud. I call John an idiot all the time even when he is 100% correct about something. I am admitting to you, right now, that without you this plan would have never come together and I would have gotten myself killed. Take that for what it is worth!”

And with that, he let go of her and backed up into the crowd; his eyes moving to each direction a guard was stationed. She nodded to him, heading into the crowd in the opposite direction and away from the guards.

You’ll erase this when you get home. You’ll erase it and just go on your way!

There was a boat waiting for her on the docks. He had a car awaiting him down the road that he would use to get to the airport. She was to open the security box once she got to her hut, keeping anything that wasn’t the manifest and ship that off to the British government.

It was a good bounty. A few rare gems, some photos she could use to get what she needed to get out of Japan, and 2,195,500 yen. She should have gotten the manifest in the mail the very next day but she couldn’t quite bring herself to do it. Gods, she hated it when she let anything besides the thrill of the catch sidetrack her but there she was; lounging around her Taiji hut for almost 3 days before she finally decided on what to do.

You’re an addict. It’s why you do what you do…

She headed out the very next day and dropped the manifest off in the mail with a handwritten letter to Mister W. Holmes tucked inside of it. She was starting her life over. She might as well start it off right, which meant taking a chance. And by taking a chance, she was going to need to prepare herself…

~*~*~*~*~

Sherlock knew he wasn’t dead. If he was dead, his head wouldn’t feel like it was threatening to explode behind his lids. He tried to open his eyes but they refused to obey his command and when he tried to reach a hand up to force them open, a sharp pain traveled up the length of it and caused him to hiss. It was then that he heard the sounds of someone else being in the room, triggering his memory. He had been captured and the captors were in the process of beating information out of him, well, at least trying to. He refused to talk, which caused his captors to beat him even harder. In fact, he wasn’t supposed to wake up from the last beating, which involved an industrial-size wrench.

“Don’t move, ok? The Uzumaki twins did quite a number on you. I don’t know what you did to help Tamiko but you should thank your lucky stars that she called in the favor I owe her,” a feminine American voice whispered to him. He wanted to ask her how Tamiko found out he had been captured but he soon realized that his teeth were sewn shut; his jaw must have been broken for such an action to be taken.

He heard the sounds of water cascading before he felt a cool cloth pressed to his face gingerly. “Don’t try to speak either. It will be just as painful as moving at this point. You had a lot of injuries I had to set in place. A broken jaw, fractured skull, broken left wrist, several deep cuts across your back, 5 broken ribs each side, and a dislocated right ankle not to mention you had pneumonia deeply set in your chest and infection in all of your open wounds. You will be out of commission for quite a while but this is the first time you’ve actually been fully conscious in almost a month.” She spoke as if she was trying to sooth a startled animal as she continued to clean his face and his chest with the cloth.

“I lost you a few times in the beginning. You would stop breathing or your fever reached a point that I had to drive into the village in order to get ice blocks to help cool you down. By the time I got back, you would be seizing up. The village medicine woman has come by every Monday to give me some reprieve so I could bath and take care of the house. The only room I kept clean was yours. I wasn’t going to have you dying because of an infection that I introduced,” she said with a snort. He heard her ring out the cloth a few times before bringing it back to his skin.

“You’ve been doing very well the last 2 weeks. The swelling in your face has been slowly retreating, which means that your jaw is finally healing properly and I should have the stitching out in a week or so. I also checked your wrist a few days ago and it is healing quite well. I should be able to put it in a fiberglass cast around the same time I work on your jaw as long as the swelling stays down. The most I can give you for pain management is low grade codeine. Tamiko told me a bit about your past and I don’t think your system could handle any form of withdraw. I definitely won’t deny you a cig though once the rattling leaves your lungs. I think by the time you get there, you will quite deserve it. Either way, the best thing for you right now is to finally enter a true sleep instead of unconsciousness. Don’t worry…I won’t leave your side.” With that, she laid the cool cloth across his forehead and he felt her move away from his side.

He was already missing her voice when he heard the most beautiful cello work he had ever experienced. The melody was soothing yet haunted and it kept his mind off of the pain. Sherlock slipped into the first dream he had dreamt in over a year…and oddly enough, all it involved was him bantering with John at the kitchen table.

The next time he woken, he was greeted to the sounds and warmth of a crackling fire and the smell of roasted chicken. He groaned in a mixture of want and pain. It had been a very long time since he had a decent meal. “Ah, I see that you’re awake. You’ve been sleeping for roughly 24 hours give or take. I figured with you in your first true sleep that I would actually cook for once instead of living off of canned clam chowder from the fishery.”

He heard the sound of a metal clanging against metal before he heard her shuffle over to him. The cooking fire must not be too far from here. Soon he heard the telltale sound of water cascading again before he felt her gentle touch with the cloth against his chest. “Tamiko has been sending me weekly posts asking about your progress. She told me to make sure you knew the only reason she wasn’t here right now is due to it would bring too much trouble to you and I for her to suddenly have business in Taiji. Her husband doesn’t even know that she let me go. Either way, she is very worried about you and has been praying to her Gods that you would make it through. As long as you keep resting peacefully for the next few days and your fever doesn’t return, I’ll be happy to let her know that her Kenjin is recovering quite nicely.”

He wanted nothing more than to open his eyes and visually deduce his caretaker but his eyes were still too swollen to allow him a peek. Now that he had rested though, his mind seemed much sharper than earlier and he settled on deducing what he could from the way she talked.

Her accent was interesting. What he thought earlier was clearly American didn’t quite describe her dialect. She was born in America but moved to the UK when she was young, maybe 7 or 8 years of age. Young enough for her mind to still be influenced by the dialect that surrounded her but too far along in development for her to completely forget the dialect she was born in. The way she pronounced her vowels and Rs screamed Swindon but the way the Japanese words rolled off her tongue showed that she had been in Japan long enough to perfect the language.

Average intelligence with complete immersion in the culture would have her pronunciation perfected in 10-12 years but she wasn’t average. She had advanced medical knowledge, enough that she knew how to revive him slowly from near death. Enough knowledge that she’s confident in delivering news on his various injuries and how they will heal so…she could pick up the Japanese language in 6-8 years.

She speaks of Tamiko with a casual air meaning she knew Tamiko before she married her husband, who is a clan leader in Northern Japan. Tamiko had been married to Hideo Maki for almost 6 years so Tamiko would have met her as soon as she arrived in the land. Tamiko is also the daughter of the local Yakuza boss so they most likely met through the family business.

She recused him from a secure gang location meaning she was skilled in stealth and quite experienced with high stress situations. She also must have underground connections as she would have needed help sneaking him out of the location. Even with them starving him for the last week of his ‘stay’, his weight would have been roughly 9 stones when she rescued him and even a female with above average strength would have trouble sneakily dragging 9 stones out of a secure gang location.

As he pulled himself out of his thoughts, he realized his caretaker had been quiet as if she knew exactly what he was doing. Sherlock had so many questions but they would go unanswered until the stitching in his mouth was removed and as if reading his mind, she answered him intuitively.

“You probably have so many questions for me; wondering who I am, if you’re safe, or if you have gone from one bad situation to another. Just trust me Kenjin, you are in good hands and I’m not putting you back together just to tear you apart again. We have the same enemy and I have promised myself to you until he has been brought to his end. Now, I’m going to finish cleaning your front and then I’m going to lay you down on your stomach so I can check the stitching on your back. Since you are conscious, it should be safe for you to lie on your stomach for a while and allow them to air out for a bit. It’s going to be painful rolling you over but I’ll give you your first dose of codeine afterwards. I also made you some chicken broth while you were sleeping. It should be cool enough for you to sip on through a straw once I finish cleaning your back. Nod if you understand.”

Even though he’s in no position to refuse any of her demands, she still asks and awaits his acknowledgement before she’s goes about her task. She’s loyal and considerate. She could possibly be military trained medical like John. It would explain her skillset in stealth and high stress situations.

The detective nodded in understanding, giving a grunt at how stiff his neck was. He shouldn’t be surprised that the movement was strained; he had been out of commission for a month or more meaning his muscles were more or less useless. He had a long road of healing and pain before the movement would come easy to him again. “Alright, Kenjin, Tamiko says that you have a sharp mind and can easily fall into Zen like trance when presented a puzzle to solve so I will try to work your mind so the move to place you on your stomach will be as painless as possible,” she stated in a professional tone. She rubbed his chest down a few more times before he heard her toss the cloth into its water source. “I’m going to give you a riddle. After I finish giving you the riddle, I’m going to count down from 5 and by 0 I want you to be in your trance. Alright, here we go…while exploring the Wilds of Ireland, Robert was captured by goblins. Grumpy, the Chief of the Goblins told him he was allowed one final statement on which would determine how he would die. If the statement he made was false, he would be boiled in water. If the statement were true, he would be fried in oil. Since Robert didn’t like either option, he wanted to make a statement that forced Grumpy to release him. What is the one statement he could make to save himself? Five…” Oh this was child’s play!

“Four…”

Tamiko must not have told her how brilliant his mind was…

“Three…”

It’s really just a simple matter of hidden logic. Don’t they teach that in literature class in elementary school?

“Two…”

Robert would have to throw the Chief through a loop. Make him question whether the statement is true or false.

“One…”

And the only way to he could do that is to give a statement that was completely dependent of the actions that the Chief was going to take.

“Zero!”

Meaning the only statement Robert could make is ‘You will boil me in water!’…wait…how am I already facedown?

“Don’t tense up. In this position you could cause the stitching to rip,” she mumbled. She was already peeling back what he assumed was tapped down gauze. She had distracted him enough with her simple riddle that she was able to flip him over even before she spoke the word zero. He was impressed…and in major pain. Luckily, she had already removed the last of his bandages and he could hear the pull of a needle sucking up fluid.

Sherlock was really starting to wonder if his caretaker could read his mind.

~*~*~*~*~

“You have some nerve showing up here, whore!” a tall, stereotypical Italian man yelled at Niccola.

The short, caramel complexion woman rolled her eyes at him. “I’m not a whore. I’m a slut. I don’t get paid to sleep with people. Do your research, Tom…”

The man got right in her face, grinning twistedly. “I can’t wait until I get punch you in those pretty little lips while I put my cock in you.”

She couldn’t help but wince at the thought of him getting his hands on her. “You’re too much of a Daddy’s boy to do that. Sorry but you’re only going to get the chance to knock me around.”

Somehow his grin got wider. “Pops would never have to know!”

“You do anything more than beat me and the conditions are breached. With the conditions breached, that means I get to retaliate. And trust me; I could kick you and those pathetic excuses for men arses from here to Sussex and back again without breaking a sweat.”

“Yea fucking right!”

Her features went creepily blank. “Didn’t you guys have to have a closed casket funeral for Tony? The news said he was beaten with a crowbar but I have it on good authority that the sick bastard did it with their fist. What kind of sick fuck does that to such a young, upstanding man?”

He lunged at her at her words but she already knew what he was planning. With a quick sidestep, she used his momentum to slam his head into the elevator wall behind her with a sickening crunch; his body folding in on its self. “That should put you out of the equation for when my punishment comes. Men, so easily fooled. It must be my height that makes them underestimate me,” she mumbled to herself with a shrug of her shoulders.

Several moments later, the elevator door opened to reveal a Victorian style office decorated in dark tones. An older Italian sat behind the ornate oak desk positioned in the middle of the round room. “I see ya dispatched my son,” he stated in a gravelly voice.

“Sorry, Mr. Travis. You know how it gets when I’m around and you know I was never one to take any shit,” she said as she made her way into the room and sat down in one of the matching chairs in front of the desk. “You know why I’m here.”

He nodded. “Ta, Nicky. I know why you’re here. It’s been, what, nearly 9 years since I last saw ya. How was Japan?”

“It was nine years two days ago. I wouldn’t think you would forget the death of your youngest son though…”

“Well, I have come to terms with the fact that my sons were right bastards. Apparently Tony was a women beater but I didn’t find that out until my wife died 6 years ago…”

She flinched at his words. No one had told her Mrs. Travis had passed away. “I found myself missing Grandma’s ravioli while I was in Japan. As you can imagine, it’s hard to find good Italian over there. The fresh, cheap sushi made up for it though.”

I’m so sorry Jake…

He smiled weakly at her. “You were, are, like the daughter Lily could never have to me. If Michi were still alive, I would tell him that he did a bloody fine job raising you��so here’s what I’m going to do. Even though my son was a slimeball to ya, ya did kill him and ya did break your exile so I’m, unfortunately, going to have my guys beat the shit out ya. I’m also going to turn over Tony’s trust fund to ya. Don’t worry! The money that goes into it was gained through legitimate means and you’ll have full legal control over it so even if I die no one can take possession of it. The least I can do is have ya made since you’re back; to make up for the time I have lost.”

“What makes you think I’m going to survive long enough to be set?”

He got up from the desk and headed over to the elevator. He didn’t even bother to turn around when he answered her. “You got Michi Thomas and Morgana Lei blood running through ya and ya put a Faterali 6 feet under AND you had the bollocks to come back to London knowing what was going to happen. You’re scared out of ya wits not because you’re afraid of getting the piss kicked out of ya but ‘cause you’re scared of the lack of control you’ll have while you’re out. I don’t know who ya got in these parts but if they were enough to bring ya back here then I think you shouldn’t be so worried ‘bout it!”

And with that, he disappeared into the elevator, leaving Niccola feeling a little better about her decision until she saw the five guys Jake sent after her. Then she thought he was full of shit!

#Sherlock FanFic #Sherlock/Original Female Character #TW: Rape

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satire-please · 7 years ago

Text

Fight...NO WAIT DON’T!

Summary: When fights get personal between Ra's and Tim? They get...personal in more ways than one. (Realistic established relationship Ra’sTim)

Can also find my story here on Ao3.

Love confessions are the worst when you’re trying to kill each other.

Or maim.

Whatever, take your pick.

There’s three types of fights Tim gets into with Ra’s.

The first is the kind they both enjoy. It’s the classical cat chases mouse, Holmes and Moriarty, scenario. With clues in the dark, puzzles to solve, and explosions that are gorgeous. The stakes aren’t high except for the convenient ‘allies’ Ra’s puts in Tim’s path to mow down in righteous fury. He knows he’s the sharpest tool in Ra’s’ shed, better than any shadow that swears loyalty to the demon head when the League of Assassins has undue...competition. Tim would be more pissed at being used but the millions of ill-gotten dollars he sets on fire tends to make up for it. Another pet project bites the dust. Plus, he swears Ra’s only has to sigh about how plebeian it is for those new upstarts to employ means like children and drugs...and it doesn’t take much after that for Tim to hop a jet and make those bastards burn. International prisons have never been so full.

Sometimes it’s better than roses and chocolate. But don’t tell Ra’s that.

Behind door number 2 is the general good-versus-evil venue. Where massive groups of underground evil organizations band together for another ‘Hey, let’s rule the world or end it’ party, and, you know, the Justice League has to crash that. When that happens, Tim practically always waves at Ra’s when both groups line-up to strike a pose. The mayhem makes for the best photo op.

They have enough time to throw out a, “When the world is new, my love, you will behold the grandeur of paradise.”

“Aw, Ra’s, I thought paradise was whenever you were with me?”

Elsewhere a teenage voice demands, “Grayson, fetch me one of those disposable bags, I require one immediately.”

“Too late,” A retching sound commences, “I used the last one.”

Then they all pick a partner and dance. Once again, Tim’s date is someone three times his size or a glob monster. In the corner of his eye, he watches B and Ra’s viciously strike and dodge. Is able to catch the moment Ra’s mouths his name. The only expressions Batman wears in the cowl is stone wall and displeased stone wall with something pointy. Drifting between the shouts and yells of the crowds Tim can hear Ra’s laugh, and if he wasn’t making sure he doesn’t turn into pancake Red Robin, he’d notice B landing his hits harder. Stronger. More biting. More permanent.

But in this fight Ra’s and Tim don’t engage. In fact, since they’ve become lovers they don’t even spar because it’s not a good idea to play show-and-tell with their best moves...or their new ones.

After all, they might need them for the third kind of fight, the fight where it’s personal.

Now, everyone has their happy triggers. For Tim, it’s don’t mess around with his city and his family.

For Ra’s, it’s the pits.

So tonight, in the present, when the event planner announces the keynote speaker, when the crowd goes wild, when the spotlight descends on one figure in muted green and gold, Tim knows exactly what kind of fight it’s going to be.

And it’s going to hurt.

He winces when he feels more than sees Bruce stiffen at his side. It was just supposed to be “Support the Green” gala damn it.

The statue doesn’t get better with every word that Ra’s projects to the crowd, “Ladies and Gentlemen, I do not believe I could have hoped for a better reception in Gotham than this. You honor me. Tonight, I’m pleased to announce a project that has been in the making for years. An innovative way to clear the air, not only for you to breathe more than the smog that accosts your lungs, but clear a pathway to the stars themselves.” A round of thunderous applause and Tim hands his and B’s glass of untouched wine to the waiter. He carefully palms the side of one and hopes the caterer doesn’t notice the small crack on Mr. Wayne’s.

Ra’s takes his time outlining the project, spinning a web for the audience that traps them in their enthusiasm. The Air Oasis is basically an air filter on steroids. Each unit is almost the size of a car, about fifty of them could be placed strategically around the city for a maximum effect. The machines would suck in every pollutant through the use of magnetics and a chemical of his own design. Tim mimics B, his whole body going going numb at that notion since gee, what chemical or mysterious green substance could the man be speaking about? Then the Air Oasis machines would pump the recycled oxygen back into the city.

“Imagine strolling among the streets and in the place of refuse’s smell and filth, you are overcome with crisp, pure oxygen filling your senses instead?” The man gives a grand gesture.

Behind him when the projector screen is flooded with the Air Oasis design, Tim speaks into his lapel, “Babs, are you seeing this? Can you hack the feed and download the filter’s blueprint? There’s no way the fruitcake isn’t planning something.”

“On it, I’ll send you the analysis immediately once I pick it apart and check every screw.”

Tim whispers earnestly, “You are the most perfect badass I know, O.”

“You’re a liar, but flatter me more. I deserve it.”

“You’re beautiful and Dick never deserved you.”

She snorts in his ear lightly. “Of course he didn’t, that’s why we broke up.”

“And every night his pillow is wet with bitter tears,” he hisses back.

Oracle softly giggles and says, “He’ll have to cry harder than that to get me back. Send you that data soon, just stay on your toes and avoid dark corners with your wicked paramour. I’ll be watching and judging you. O out.”

Tim doesn’t have the heart to tell her Ra’s doesn’t mind having an audience. In fact, as the applause gets louder more people rush to the men at the side, giving their ‘donations’ to the project. Ra’s thrives from it.

The moment the demon’s speech is done, the deafening support on the ‘green’ idea established (which is going to be bitch to sabotage because Ra’s isn’t doing this from the shadows ironically...he’s doing this in the open, getting the public’s rapport so Tim can just foresee the PR nightmare) the two vigilantes wait. They don’t rush the man, but let him saunter from person to person to give his poisoned honey out. Their eyes glued on him, Brucie turning into Bruce turning into the Bat as he gets closer and closer until finally the criminal stands before him.

He is not alone. Next to Ra’s is the most intimidating woman Tim has ever met besides his mother (don’t tell her he said that). Talia.

Tim gives the first volley, “Why do I think you’re not here just to see me in a suit?”

“You do look fetching, no ravishing, in that attire, my love,” Ra’s purrs, his eyes roving over Timothy’s delightful form, “but you are correct. I am not.”

Tim won’t admit it, but Ra’s doesn’t look half bad either. The black suit is fitted to his broad shoulders, delicate highlights of his trademark colors running through the fabric. Beside him Talia floats in brilliant green to match. Long gloves cover the scars she’s earned on her arms, while finery and gems makes her skin glisten.

“What are you doing here?” Brucie’s voice breaks into a growl, unable to keep his lighthearted persona now that the Demon is in his presence.

“Since you so enjoy traipsing through my territory, destroying my property, destroying my pits, four of my—” The assassin’s demeanor cracks a little, his wrath bleeding through for a second until that mouth curls into smirk, “I thought it best to return the favor and find time to appreciate what’s yours.”

“What are you planning.” It’s a demand, not a question.

“If you are unable to uncover the truth on your own, then you are not the detective I once called you.”

The Bat lurches forward, but Tim steps between them, placing a hand on B’s chest to push him back an inch. B looms like the biblical Goliath, dwarfing him (completely unfair), but Tim tilts his head and gives a brilliant smile, “But he does have someone you call ‘Detective’ now. I’m sure with the both of us, past and future sleuths, your plan doesn’t stand a chance.”

“We shall see, beloved.” He beckons to Talia. “But, for now, we shall find ways to enjoy the company of others. All too soon it will be end of this godforsaken city. Daughter, perhaps you could dance with your detective while I speak to mine?”

“Yes, Father. Habibi?” Talia reaches and trails her fingers down Bruce’s sleeve. “Join me for a song or two. We have much to discuss.”

Bruce twists his head to his charge. “Tim.”

“Go, I’ll be fine.”

Bruce continues to glance backwards as Talia leads him to the dance floor. His face thunderous as Ra’s gets closer and closer to his son until they’re barely an inch apart.

“Stop that.”

“Stop what, my love?” Greedily, Ra’s takes Tim’s wrist and rubs a thumb over his pulse. Steady, unafraid...incredible.

“You know he hates when you play the perverted creep.”

“Yet I have not done anything to warrant such a reputation.” Ra’s says mockingly, interlocking their fingers together. “Perhaps that should change. Please, this way. I’ve been told the gardens are most lovely.”

“You are the worst.” But Tim does nothing when Ra’s places his other hand on his lower back. Does nothing against that press as they move further from the crowd to the more...secluded setting. Outside of the pavilion, the rooftop garden is simple but elegant. You have to be rich (or Poison Ivy) to grow anything in this city. It is also speckled with a few benches and alcoves like the one Ra’s pulls him into.

There the Demon head gives in to hunger and finally wraps his lover in his arms. It’s been far too long since he’s held his Timothy. In the night, the music plays faintly in the background and it’s sentimental surely, but there is a definite moment or two where they sway back and forth.

Ra’s takes a deep breath and sighs, “How I long to dance with you in public.”

“And ruin my carefully maintained persona?” Tim raises an eyebrow. “How about no?”

Yet they still dance for the whole song, Ra’s turning them slightly before they add anything.

“I thought we had an agreement. I keep an open mind about ‘certain’ things while you keep your stupid green cape out of Gotham. So why are you here?”

“Because I have allowed too many insults to go unchecked. Thanks to the Bat,” Ra’s spat, “too much of my empire has been reduced to ash without any sign of my displeasure. The time for retribution is now.”

“I destroy your stuff all the time.” Tim points out.

“Yet you tend to leave the secret of my immorality alone, dearest. It was not you that inspired my wrath last month. It was not you who has limited my resources to three pits.”

No. But Tim did give the locations to Bruce when he asked. He also knows very well exactly what kind of firepower that’s needed to destroy a pit for good. He swallows and says nothing, looking away from the man.

“What do the machines actually do, Ra’s?” If Tim can just get a clue, a detail, anything to guess what’s to come, then he’ll have a better chance.

A dark laugh. Well that can’t be good. “I assure you, the filtration units perform their designed function, nothing more. They will filter this wretched air your disgusting city has polluted and leave only oxygen in its place. They will cleanse this city from its filth. Perhaps you will thank me when the progress is finished, my dear.”

“Don’t count on it.” He makes a note to check the machine’s blueprints himself when O is done with them. He’s going to stop him. No matter what, Tim is going to stop him. “Whatever you are planning, it’ll never work.”

“On the contrary, already the fools inside have agreed to install the units on the morrow. In hours—” Ra’s stops and breaks into a tense quirk of a smile, “And already you have me monologuing, for shame my lips are too loose around you.”

“It’s not my fault you love to talk.” Damn. A line or two more could have been vital. But Tim notes his own bad habits, how it doesn’t faze him at all as Ra’s manhandles him to have his back against a brick wall. How the assassin’s arms cage him there and Tim doesn’t feel threatened at all...yeah, he should get that checked out.

“My mouth loves to do many things when it’s around you,” Ra’s mutters, his thumb coming up to rub at the bottom lip that calls to him. “Tell me, beloved, will you hate me when I win?”

Tim doesn’t even miss a beat, “I don’t know, will you hate me when you lose?” He crosses his arms in challenge. His forearms brush against the other with how little space there is between them.

Ra’s stares into those eyes, so pretty and oh so sure and chuckles bitterly. “Let us see what the fates decide.”

“No conscious effort on our parts?” Tim states wryly, but let his cheek rest in that palm. “No chance of you backing down if I ask nicely?”

“I calculate the same probability if I begged you to stay uninvolved.”

So zero, “Fuck.”

“Indeed...would you do if I told you there a jet ready to take you away? Would you leave before destruction leaves none in its path? Or stay to be numbered with the dead?”

“Who says there’s going to be any dead? Who says that your scheme won’t be destroyed, like it always is, instead? What, you think I’m going to go easy on you just because I like you? Don’t kid yourself, when I’m done with you your ninjas will have to scrape you off the dirty sidewalk.”

There’s a sharp intake, a gasp, and for a second Tim thinks his words have some effect. And they have, but it’s not the threat that has Ra’s fingers digging into his jaw, dragging Tim up against him. Tim shoots out his arms to brace himself, yet their chests smush together as Ra’s other arm coils tightly around him.

“Why I believe that’s the first time you’ve admitted any sort of fondness for me...how wildly unfortunate to reveal your affections now.” The green of those eyes darken and Tim’s flinch gives his surprise away. Is it really the first time?

“Is it? Well, I’ve always been more of a man of action.” He starts to pry the hand off his face, but Ra’s isn’t having it. The digits just slide through Tim’s hair to the base of his skull and pulls. Tim winces as the man directs his head until their lips lightly touch. He even needs to stand on his toes because Ra’s is a special kind of tall bastard.

Ra’s mouth twists into a smirk against beloved’s, the sensation divine. “This is true. Your actions, your body...has always been so loud.”

And he begins to take.

Their kisses always start soft.

Like a trap, each movement is gentle bait. Easing into the rhythm of hunger, as their lips slide against each other. Ra’s wants his lover frantic, desperate but it takes patience. Patience to wait, to seduce, to build the desire until they can’t stand any option other than being absolutely consumed.

It is the patience 800 years has rewarded him with.

Though with Timothy it is a cycle that feeds into each other, as the Detective’s demeanor finally melts, his own cravings become more ravenous.

Tim tilts his face up to gasp, yet Ra’s chases that mouth, chases that opening to use his tongue and taste. Tim’s legs buckle a little and Ra’s grips one hip tight to compensate. Soon he will need to wrap those coltish legs around his waist. It is where they belong.

A sharp pain, Ra’s rears back an inch to groan. He tongues the small cut on his lower lip and purrs. “Beloved, there are other ways to paint your lips red.”

Tim’s eyes are half-lidded, bored. One of Ra’s fingers, his pinky, rests on a pulse that tells Ra’s the truth. That the detective’s heart has started to race. “But you like it when I do it this way the most.”

Ra’s burns. He does not know whose breath it is that rings so harshly in his ears. Who crashes their lips together harder first. Yet the iron from his blood is an excellent spice to this meal. He could get addicted in how one of Timothy’s arms comes over his shoulder to claw at his pressed suit. Could get lost in the quiet mewl that invokes Ra’s’ darkest determination to make into a scream—

Could get lost...Oh his clever, clever beloved.

“Are you are a distraction, my precious?” Ra’s snarls angrily, he jerks Timothy’s face to the side for a deeper, more exposed angle, as if he could devour this alluring creature whole. “A horrible.” suck. “wonderful.” kiss. “distraction?”

Meanwhile Tim is just trying to hold on, thanks.

“B-Bitch, I might be. But what are you going to do, oh great Demon Head? Are you going to let yourself be distracted, is it going to be worth it?” Tim’s breath comes fast with the challenge. So he never does anything for one reason. So what? The longer he can give Babs time to decode or Bruce to wring out intel with Talia...the better. The longer he can keep Ra’s focus on him and not his ‘plan,’ the better. The longer he can feel this...with him, the better. His thumb comes up to pop open the top button of his shirt, teasing his lover with a flash of collarbone through the gap. Ra’s cannot resist. The proof that Timothy is his has faded there and it’s unacceptable.

“Do not tempt me,” he cautions as he buries his face into that throat. His teeth already coming out to play.

“I t-think ah, I can handle it, thanks.”

Tim gives a little hop and naturally Ra’s drops his hands to help him. He clutches Tim under his thighs, which should be bare not loathsomely covered, to hoist him up, half reclining against the wall, half wrapped up around the assassin. It puts Tim’s head above his and frees up his hands to roam while Ra’s’ are occupied.

Ah, well he supposes the detective enjoys the chance of being tall. “I wonder what exactly I have let into my bed?”

“You mean the bed you practically blackmailed me into?”

“Only at first, my love. After all, I did not use any means to lure you there the second time, nor every time after that.”

Tim huffs stiffly, decides to do some marking of his own. He nudges Ra’s face out of the way and worries at the tendons of his neck, sucking hard, intending to bruise with the slight.

Timothy is so precious when he’s spiteful.

“It is as if we are Aesop’s frog and scorpion.”

“You and your stupid stories, ” Tim grits out, but it turns into a moan when Ra’s squeezes his hands on his ass.

“Now, now, you enjoy my stories. One day the scorpion begged the frog to cross river. The frog attempted to refuse out of fear, of that stinger gleaming wet in the sun. Yet the scorpion only rationalized that if he did sting the frog during the swim then both would die. Convinced, the frog began to cross the river, scorpion upon its back—”

“Let me guess, this fable doesn’t have a happy ending?” He’s helpless to the hands on his ass, the mouth moving against his collarbone, all of it makes his hips jerk against Ra's.

“—Yet once halfway across, the scorpion stung the frog mercilessly. As the two drown, the stunned, poisoned frog cries ‘Why?’ to the scorpion.”

“Called it.” Tim pulls back to blow on the hickey in the making, rolls with Ra’s’ shiver and attempts to not react when Ra’s returns the favor. He fails. Especially when Ra’s starts to open up the rest of his shirt with his teeth, revealing more sensitive pale skin that Ra’s loves, needs to play with. Tim squirms when the warm mouth finds his nipple and flicks it with tongue. “A-And what did the—ah—scorpion’s say, Ra’s?”

“He replied, ‘Because I cannot resist my nature,’ and attacked the frog again and again until both were well under the waves. He was a scorpion and that is what scorpions do...they sting. So tell me, beloved...which of us is the frog? And which the scorpion?”

And Tim manages to muffle the plea in the demon’s throat. The one crawling, scraping to escape with mangled, ‘Please. P-please don’t do this. Stop. Don’t hurt my city. Don’t hurt my people.’ But the fable has a point, and it’s not fair of him to ask. Not when Ra’s won’t deliver and neither have convictions that bend or bow.

So while his mind turns with plans and next moves, with contingencies to try countering his insane significant other's maniacal plot-in-progress, Tim just drags Ra’s back to his lips and makes his kisses hurt, makes them sting and sting and sting . Because if this is the last time he can have any part of the man he took as his lover, then it’s best to make their mouths swollen and ruined.

Tim will remember him better that way.

“Oh Ra’s...you know the answer to that. We’re both of them.”

Some heroes are not needed.

Like Dick Grayson riding in out of nowhere to drag him out of Ra's arms. How he takes no time to get one hand on the back of Tim’s suit and pull. Dick half-drags, half-carries him down the stairwell, and Tim is this close to punching him in the face. Those perfect teeth are begging to be ruined. The man’s hand around his wrist is like iron but it doesn’t stop Tim from mentally going over every technique he knows of how to break bones. Half of the buttons on his shirt are undone, the open fabric flapping as they race down to the car. Tim doesn’t bother fixing it, he’ll change out of his civilian day-wear soon enough. Luckily for him, he’d carried and stored the suit nearby, always. Better to thwart your evil plots with, my dear.

“This way!”

“I had it, Dick. No ‘rescue’ necessary.”

“No rescue necessary?” Dick stops for a moment to wildly gesture at him. Pointing at the red marks littering Tim’s skin, he even lets go of the arm to fuss over clothes until Tim smacks his fingers. “Tim, you look like you were mauled by a lion.”

“It was a sexy lion. Did B send you? I told him I was going to be fine.” He glances backwards, wondering if Ra’s is with the rest of the crowd pretending to be impressed with the last event, or if he’s at the top of the emergency stairwell, eyes hungry and dark.

“Wait, are you mad that I stopped you on the roof?”

“No.” Yes. It’s complicated. Even though the Bats have a long history, almost a long freaking tradition of trysts on top of buildings. Even though Tim is a perfectly legal, consenting adult with a tie, a tie that Tim had plans for and didn’t get to use, dammit. Maybe he could have used it to gag the man after he promised, ‘If tonight is our last, I shall not rest until pleasure overwhelms you. Until all you can do is sob and keen my name.’ Though, it does puts Tim in the very awkward position of trying to have sex with someone that’s doing his best to kill his family...It’s complicated. It’s always been.

He’s a pot surrounded by kettles. Just taste the ash and call it good. Really what Tim has done, is still doing, is mild on the bat spectrum.

He’s never killed anyone.

He’s never slept around, making notches on his belt with vigilante and enemy alike.

It’s just the one. This one relationship that’s ironically healthier compared to what their little family’s been through. It’s consistent. Adoring, smothering, and respectful. The man is a liar, but he’s never lied to Tim about the way he feels.

It’s more than he can say for rest of the Bats.

But it’s probably better this way. Better that the person with the dick joke in his name stopped them, cockblocked the two before the rest of the guests wandered outside for the fireworks display.

‘Why should that matter, Mr...Grayson? The shadows hide us well and the fireworks would cover up your brother’s delicious cries.’

Dick lunged at Ra’s for those words.

It’s fine.

“Timmy…”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Tim grits his teeth. “Let’s just focus on the here and now.”

Dick grabs a shoulder before they hit the street. “You know I care, right? I just don’t want you to get hurt. I–”

“I know.” He knows the others think him compromised. He knows they care, they just don’t trust that he can get things done anyway. “Now get out there and take care of some ninja scum for us. I’ll see you back in the cave.”

Dick squeezes tightly, his mouth a thin line but nods. “See you there, little brother.” He hands Tim what he needs and turns to the police car parked on the street.

The vigilante sighs. A car door shuts in the background, but his head tilts up to the sky blooming in color. It’s a shame. It’s sort of romantic. The kind you find in movies, books, and songs. It might have been nice...to watch them together with his lover. His bangs swing to shake the sentiment out of his head and then he gets to work.

“Talk to me, O,” as the Ducati vibrates between his thighs.

Leaving the presentation with his body throbbing and unsatisfied was really not how he’d hoped to end the night, but still, he’s got a nefarious plot to stop.

“It’s mechanical engineering only,” is the reply through his comm while he hangs a sharp right and the spot on his collar bone aches for more touch. “The machine is going to work pretty well considering we don’t know exactly what’s going to be powering it.”

Well, fuck.

“So how he plans to use to the Pit on Gotham and to what ends,” is his grim summation.

“Right on the money. To his credit, it is a filtration system, but without more details on his ‘mystery element,’ we have no idea what chemical could be pumped out. It could be a form of the Lazarus Pit, but I really doubt Ra’s al Ghul is trying to make half of Gotham pretty much immortal.”

Numbly, Red is already planning on where he needed to break-in to get the missing component, how he’d need to get into the warehouse on Dixon Dock to check out Ra’s little chemical lab.

“Can’t you send the digital copy to my wrist computer? I’ve got some leads to check out, but I can give them a look-see while N is kicking in some faces.”

She hums over comm, “You got it, Baby Bird. Try not to let your boyfriend kill off our city.”

Tim guns the bike, revving it to go faster, harder. “What? You afraid I’ll steal the title of worst break-up in the family? Bruce has to lose his place eventually Babs, Red out.”

Ra’s chemical lab by the water is unlocked. Which by all means should be a sign with showgirls and feathers that it’s a big trap...only there’s nothing there. Sure there’s examples of pit water and an assortment of goodies that would make any of Gotham’s rouge gallery squeal with fiendish delight, but nothing Tim can use. Or anyone to beat up. Tim is a bit miffed about that. Okay, cross that out, he’s pissed as hell because there’s not even a single guard, not even a scrap of black fluttering in the corners for a ninja to say ‘hi.’

How rude.

Meeting his eye, there’s only neat rows of tables, beakers, and the same designs that Ra’s presented to the Gala. Oh and a note. Folded neatly in an open envelope with Tim’s full name on it in gorgeous calligraphy.

Because Ra’s is a magnificent bastard.

Tim snatches it up and his fingers crinkle the page as he unfolds it in hurried movements. The green ink, because everything’s in green (honestly he should introduce Ra’s to Ivy, they have so much in common), is glossy to the touch and there’s a hint of spice that Tim’s recognizes as Ra’s scent immediately. Chai and cloves. Madder than ever, he tells himself not to rip the possible evidence just because he’s memorized the way Ra’s smells.

My Dear Beloved,

Why would you need break into a kingdom that is already yours? When have I denied you access to my labs and systems? You possess all the keys yet that shall not save your city.

There is a boat at the dock with my insignia.

Forget your mission, it is futile. Leave this place before it is too late. I will be...displeased if the next time I hold you, it is your corpse I must cradle.

Respecting your stance on using the pit is infuriating. See reason and abandon your mentor, my Love.

Leave.

What do you know? He does end up ripping the paper in fascinating, tiny pieces. It’s like snow. It’s barely satisfying.

They’re on the clock. He races to his bike, blares through the night to check every other hidey-holes Tim knows Ra’s has. One hour becomes two, three, and a dejected Tim returns to the cave to see Bruce pacing the floor. The filter’s plans are blown up on every screen they have.

They don’t crack the mystery that night.

And it takes too long for them to figure it out.

The first ones to get sick are animals.

Despite the lack of support from WE, filters pop up everywhere like some crazy rich fad. Like magic or IKEA, the machines are put together in under an hour and there’s fifty of them. B dots them on the map, but there’s no pattern, it really is randomly spread out as some are placed in the slums as acts of charity, others are set up on the top of wealthy estates like solar panels. Of course, the first Bat response is to monitor the heck out of them. Within minutes, Tim creates a detector that inspects the filters output every twenty minutes like clockwork and Tim pumps them out so N, Robin, and B can slap every filter with one.

“I just don’t understand.” Weary but his nerves keep him upright to stare at the screen, Tim forces sleep deprivation to work for him like the bitch it is. His hand absentmindedly pats the table for the coffee cup just in case. Is it caffeine or frustration that’s making him twitchy? “I’m getting nothing. Nothing but oxygen. What is the pit water even being used for?”

B leans over his shoulder and taps on the central mechanism of the design. “Perhaps to power the whole thing?”

“Maybe, but it’s not doing anything. What if it’s all just a distraction? What if our attention is being completely wasted while somewhere else Ra’s is—”

There’s a loud buzz overhead and Bruce flips the call to broadcast the call into the cave, “B here, report.”

“Father. There is a terrifying decrease in the animal population in Block 4.” Damian’s voice has a small tremor and for the young boy...that’s practically a scream of distress. “I have already contacted vets and animal hospitals in every vector of Gotham and yet I keep finding…this.”

B connects to Damian’s video feed, it appears that Robin’s in an alley of some kind. It’s a long one, and from Damian’s feet all the way to the back are cats and dogs, no strays all curled up on their side as if in sleep.

But their eyes are open and plastic-looking. Their mouths wide, tongues and contents of their stomach spewed out on the gravel. It’s a nightmare perfectly designed for the kid.

“Robin, return to headquarters immediately. You don’t have to—”

“All pet owners I have questioned also report that the health of their animals have declined. It does not matter where in the city, yet creatures that are kept deep inside of their residences appear to be affected the least.” From the camera, they watch green gloves carefully, gently pick up one of the carcasses. “It must be from those vile contraptions. They must be destroyed.”

“D...Robin,” Tim tries, “There’s nothing new being pumped in the air. I’ve tried, analyzed everything we have on file, and no chemical components have been released into the atmosphere.”

“Tch. No matter. I must check to see if any of these animals can be hospitalized. Red will you relay to the public to keep their pets indoor?”

Tim hacks away at phone lines, creating an automatic text response that will appear on every electronic device in Gotham. “Of course, Robin.”

“...Thank you. Father, keep me updated, I shall return shortly.”

And he does.

In Red Hood’s arms far too pale, far too clammy and rasping.

“Special delivery.” Jason hauls the figure onto a medibed. “Wish it was a better one.”

All the air is punched out Tim’s lungs at the sight of the limp Robin. He can’t breathe and his body jerks towards B and Dick. The two appear to be in the same boat.

“What, Dami—” Dick starts.

“Get him hooked up immediately,” B growled, “I want to know his vitals now!”

Everyone rushes to obey.

Tim snatches the IVs, while Dick and Bruce hover over the bed like vultures, silent to hear the shallow breathing of the boy better. The monitor pops up with symptoms; varying levels of lung damage, nausea, retina damage, and—

Damian heaves of the bed, his limbs violently spasming as Dick goes into complete panic mode.

Seizures.

“Where did you find him?” Tim asks Jason, walking back at the map of filter locations again. Scanning at the interior design of the machines again. Doing everything he’d already done over again, because he’s missing something. What is he missing? Yes, he can definitely tell that Bruce’s hunch was right, the pit water is running the filter, but not only that. It’s amplifying it. But amplifying what?

“Alfred, we need you down here.”

Gruffly Jason answers, “Found ‘im at Main and Cobbler. Found ‘im like that too, lying on the street like roadkill.” He stuffs his hands in his pocket all cool, but Tim catches the tell.

“He might not be the only one either,” O solemnly says over the coms, on Tim’s wrist computer, the reports she sends fill him with shocked horror. Security cams of kids being rushed to the emergency room, their parents with tear-streaked faces as doctors frantically rush to and fro.

“Alfred, I need you now!”

“I’ll get ‘im.” Jason yells, his boots ringing loudly on the stairs up to the manor.

“O,” Tim’s voice is quiet, disconnected. “How many cases...No, how many victims are there so far?”

A pause, two. “Currently? There is a hundred and sixty-four reported cases that have been admitted to the hospital. Most are in critical condition, but doctors are doing everything they can and, unlike the animals, it seems like there’s been no fatalities yet.”

“Good.” Tim takes a deep breath through his nose. “That’s good.”

“We have a fucking problem here!” Jason screeches, he’s back with Alfred.

Actually let Tim rephrase that, on Jason’s back is Alfred. Fuck. That is less good. Tim is not the praying type, but when Jason drags over another gurney to strap Alfred in? The pallor in the older gentleman highlighted by his blurry unfocused eyes? Tim prays. His knees buckling but his grip on the computer table keeps him from crashing to the floor.

‘Ra’s. Please Ra’s, no. Don’t take them away from him. Don’t do this.’

But he knows somewhere Ra’s is watching, the Demon Head drinking in the destruction of the city he hates. Somewhere a ninja is disclosing exactly how much his attack stings. How effective his poison is as the Bat leans over two of the most important people in his life, the oldest and youngest and breaks.

Tim wishes and prays for things he can’t have.

“Get up, we’re gonna wreck these trash cans, right? Right, Babybird?” Jason says, roughly yanking Tim away from the computer to the motorcycles in the back. The Red Hood’s trembling becomes more pronounced at finding another family member at death’s door. “Look, it’s Occam's razor. Simplest way to take outta bitch. Who cares what they’re doing to the air? We smash the things and poof they’re outta the picture n’ we’re back ta normal.”

“It would stop whatever process they’re doing,” Tim rationalizes, “But, Jason, whatever is in the air affecting people is still there.”

“I don’t care. N. N! Dammit, Dick, get your bubble ass over here.” Jason takes control and Nightwing slowly turns to the two, his face wet and gone. “Let’s go huntin’. Let’s fuck these things up. You’d like that, huh?”

Nightwing expression transforms into a feral snarl. “ Yes I would. Let’s.”

“B, you stay here and keep treating those two.” Tim grabs his helmet and straddles the bike. “Keep looking at the files, keeping looking for what we’re missing. It’s got to be there somewhere.”

“Somewhere...right. We need a new approach. This is not like Ra’s. He’s switching it up. Switching from his usual elaborate style with bits of clues bleeding all over the place.” B replies tersely, losing that haunted look momentarily. His heads steady as he makes Alfred and Damian as comfortable as possible. “The only thing we’re finding is just oxygen.”

It’s at that second it crashes into Tim. It’s just oxygen.

‘The filtration units perform their designed function, nothing more. They will filter this wretched air your disgusting city has polluted and leave only oxygen in its place.’

It’s just oxygen.

“Oh. my. god. It’s exactly what it says on the label,” Tim whispers stunned. “It was right there in front of us, of course it was, that inhumane, diabolical, waste of—”

“Tim? Come on, we’ve some things to trash, no time to get lost in yer head.”

For the first time in fourteen hours, Tim grins wildly at the Bat’s around him, “Then let me share with the class.”

Tim has a plan.

And damn it feels good.

At the climax, Red Robin ends up with a dislocated knee and three cracked ribs. The blood dripping from his nose streams down his chin as Ra’s shakes him repeatedly. The villain holding him high off the ground as each word is punctuated by the grip on the uniform collar.

“You. Infuriating. Insufferable. Pest.”

“You fucking—“ cough “—love me.”

“You ruined everything!”

“Yes. Yes I did.”

Alfred and Damian are safe. Gotham is safe. Nightwing and Jason took out filters like moms at a 75% off sale and fun fact, did you know that pure oxygen is bad for you? Sure, we need it to breathe, but too much high pressure oxygen can give the same side effects sick scuba divers have.

Plus, it can kill you.

Solution: pump some sweet carbon dioxide at the same rate Ra’s super filters pump oxygen to balance it out and voila no more oxygen poisoning for you. Who handled that? Brucie. Not the Bat, but Bruce freaking Wayne, who contacted WE with a little help from O, and all factories were a go. Just in time, since exposure to pure oxygen for over sixteen hours can cause permanent lung damage and death and guess who confronted Ra’s juuuuuuust to stop him from turning up the filtration levels so the carbon dioxide couldn’t work? Guess who took out Ra’s’ remote control system that synced up the machines? Guess who stopped the oxygen plague at fifteen hours and forty-two minutes?

“How dare you!”

You’re looking at him, baby.

Around them, the building is in shambles, the extra filtration unit was cheating, Ra’s, but hey they’re on the ground floor with no windows for the man to kick Tim through so score. True, his body is a limp, useless lump, but spite keeps him smug and victorious. He hopes the muscles in his face are working enough to convey that. It must have since Ra’s expression twists in absolute fury. “How dare you deny my vengeance! How dare you continue to get in my way over and over again—”

“—Then end it, you bastard.” Tim forces his eyes crack open to meet Ra’s burning glare. “You g-got me right where you want me, don’t you?”

“I wanted you far from here!” he hisses at him. “I wanted you miles away in my keep, safe and sound and mine.”

“Tough fucking luck, you want to stop me? Then kill me, Darling.” Tim moves his arms to scratch hard at Ra’s wrists, drawing blood before grab them tightly. Anything to take a little of the weight so he can breathe a little more, speak a little more, because he’s not done yet. He’s actually impressed that Ra’s can hold him up, he’s sure he broke at least two of those fingers. The demon’s trap is such a pain to evade after all. “You want to win your stupid games? Then stop playing and break my neck. You’ve said it yourself, I’m a detective. I figure out all your plans and foil them because newsflash that’s what detectives do. So here you go, the perfect opportunity to end me, end me like the annoying, persistent bug you know I am. You have the skill, so what are you doing to do?”

“You—”

“I love you.”

Ra’s freezes, the man almost a statue and Tim would laugh and laugh if he had the energy for it. His toes scrape on the pavement, he feels like a ghost already.

“I am never going to stop.” Tim tries to crack his lips into a smile. They’re too dry and it hurts. “You are never going to stop. I’ve accepted it. I hate it. I hate you, and I hate how much I still want to be with you, but I’ve accepted it. So are you going to do the same or finally break us?”

Tim’s feet crash to the ground, he doesn’t bother supporting his own weight, just sags into Ra’s’ grip still around his neck. A few yards away their two forms would appear as lovers and not enemies about to kill each other. “It is not that simple, my brilliant scorpion.”

“We’ve already drowned R-Ra’s.” He wheezes. “Now make up your damn mind.”

The fingers begin to constrict and Tim winces but is not surprised. This was always a possible outcome. He just wishes he could see Ra’s’ face when his last contingency kicks in. The one that connects his heart rate to the bombs attached to not only the last of Ra’s’ Lazarus pits but even the ones tucked deep into the earth on the vein that springs them up in the first place.

It doesn’t matter.

He’ll just have to wait until they meet again in Hell.

Tim doubts his lover would make him wait too long.

“What have you done to me?”

The air gradually cut off from Tim’s throat. His broken gasps becoming fainter, weaker. But he doesn’t look away, only lifts his hand to brush Ra’s cheek with the back of his knuckles. He’s angry at the black creeping into his vision so quickly, Ra’s’ wretched sight may be the last thing he sees...but he doesn’t regret it. He’d do it again if he could.

“I should...no, I must be rid of you—”

There’s voices in the background, shouting his name, but Tim can’t pay them any mind. Not when his heartbeat is the loudest thing he hears in his ears, the way it rushes trying so hard, so frantically to still beat. He doesn’t want to miss a thing, not even as the darkness finally overtakes him and he. is. out.

“—Yet I cannot stand the thought of mourning you.”

“T–!”

“Tim, please you have to get up.”

Tim gasps, his eyes shooting open to stalactites and faces above his own.

“Timmy, you’re finally awake!”

“I-I’m alive?” he croaks. His voice grating and sore. Huh. Well Tim didn’t plan for this. He reaches to his neck and wonders if there’s bruises in the shape of Ra’s’ fingerprints. It definitely hurts like it would.

“Yeah, the sec we got in a hundred feet, Ra’s lobbed ya at us like a football and ran off like the filthy coward he is.” Jason sits at the end of the bed.

But he didn’t snap his neck like vigilante expected either. The assassin could have, would have had enough time to do that before the others could get to him. He could have had a consolation prize: revenge nice and neat by throwing another dead son at the Bat’s feet.

But he didn’t.

Red takes in his surroundings, the bats echoing somewhere in the cave, how he must be on the good stuff because he can’t feel anything. Not that it stops Dick from placing a hand on his shoulder to pin him down to the cot when he tries to sit up.

“Whoa, what do you think you’re doing, little brother?”

“Where’s Alfred and Damian? Are they alright? Are they—”

An indignant sniff to his left, “What? Did you suppose you could be rid of my existence so easily? Despite your predisposition for it, do not be a fool, Drake.” Damian leans over with a show of crossing his arms. But there’s a lack of bite in those words.

“Are your animals, Batcow and all, okay?”

Damian glowers and looks away, “They are fine, of course. Just like you shall also be in no time, I suppose.”

Tim smiles. Watches as Dick coos and attacks the youngest in a big hug of death. Even Jason’s lips twitch.

Alfred steps into his scope of vision. Tim’s breathing relaxes more, it’s great to see the grace and poise back in the butler. Alfred is...special to him, to the whole family, for a reason after all. “I am here as well. Master Damian and I should recover rather quickly without much assistance. It seems, however, the recovery for your injuries will require much more.”

Tim manages not to shrug, to be fair it really could have been much worse. It was almost as if Ra’s had been playing nice. He might actually recover in one or two months! He looks around, his head dropping back to the pillows at the lack of one more..person he would like to see. His heart betraying him with disappointment.

“Where’s Bruce?” His tone betrays him too, dang it.

“He is out on the veranda. There is something urgent that he must see to,” Alfred says steadily, the man thinks of how Master Bruce has been guarding the entrance to the medbay for quite some time. His ward being armed with things that hurt, for the Bat has lost his charitable mood as of late. Then the butler arches an eyebrow, “In fact, Master Timothy, could you please enlighten us as to why over twenty ninjas are camped on the lawn?”

Huh. The gesture is sweet. Almost as sweet as the time Ra’s gave him the files for nineteen sex traffickers for his birthday.

“I probably got them in the divorce.” At Dick’s strangled noises, Tim adds, “Nah, most likely they’re just here to make sure I stabilize.”

The collective sigh of relief around him is annoying. Okay, Tim can’t help it.

“I mean, we’d have to break up or something for that to happen first and I don’t remember the two of us doing that.”

Cries of outrage, “Tim, he almost killed you!”

“But he didn’t.”

“He almost killed off half of Gotham’s population!”

“But we stopped him in time.” Tim wiggles minutely to get comfortable. “The fight is over, no harm, no foul.”

“Tim, you’re harmed all over!”

Tim continues like he wasn’t interrupted, “It’s like a normal Tuesday for us at this rate. Alfred, could you tell B I’m fine and awake? It should be enough for the ninjas to get the memo that I’m okay and go the fuck away.”

“If that is what you wish for, Master Timothy.” The butler bows and walks away, knowing the small crowd around the bed will keep the teenager secure. Before he heads upstairs, he picks up the AK-47 resting to the side. Some people need...persuasion it seems to leave his family in peace, though he supposes that the weapon is unbecoming for not being ‘a bat.’ To be frank, as Alfred’s shadow darkens the halls one step at a time, a line of children’s poetry continues to echo in his mind.

‘But I’ve brought a big bat. I’m ready, you see. Now my troubles are going to have troubles with me.’

Alfred will give Ra’s one concession. His men are quite annoyingly...persistent to get rid of. The challenge of it all is almost admirable.

Almost.

It takes a month for Tim to beg, banter, and threaten in order return to his perch where he can finally be alone.

He’s overwhelmed by bliss at the thought.

Okay, so it may take longer than usual to dismantle the current array of bugs spread throughout the place. He may have had to sell his soul and swear to rest for a few more weeks that he swears he doesn’t need.

But, still, it’s nice to be home.

Where he’s not smothered every half in hour, he means you, you Dick. It’s lovely to be able to limp around his apartment freely, his prop-crutches being useful for a change. There’s no one to judge, assess, or psychoanalyze him on his views and how they haven’t changed concerning a certain person. He can finally relax and sink into his own bed and Tim almost wants to cry.

He loves his room. Where Tim doesn’t bother to lock his bedroom window. It’s annoying to fix the locks if they’re going to be broken repeatedly. So, at midnight, when he hears it crack open, the sliding of it so soft, Tim doesn’t turn around in bed to face it. He just waits for the cold of his back to turn to warmth, for something heavy to sink beside him and make the old mattress squeak. He’s patient for the arms to wind hesitantly around his waist, mindful of his injuries with a delicate touch.

“I wish you would cease needlessly provoking me.”

“I wish you’d close the window, you’re letting the cold in.”

“Have I ever failed to keep you warm, detective?”

Tim hums and settles deeper in the mattress, the ache of his injuries easing under good pain killers and the chest moving against his spine. The night eases around them, shadows moving, reminding him of roof tops and flying free, never so free as this.

“So, do you hate me yet?”

Ra’s huffs quietly into Tim’s ear, “Not nearly enough it seems.” He presses a lingering kiss in the hollow behind it.

“I won, you know. Now you must honorably, because you have honor, leave them alone for at least a few months. I’ve earned it.”

“You are not a gracious winner, my love.”

“Oh, does that mean you’re a sore loser? I promise not to rub it in your face too much.” He covers the hand resting on his stomach with one of his own.

“Failure provides opportunities for improvement, dearest. Next time, I will forgo giving you the option to choose. I am ashamed that I forgot how your self-preservation instincts are nonexistent.” He sucks lightly on the nape of Tim’s neck. “I know better now that next time I must drug you, next time I must have my men isolate you in a place far away so any plan of mine can proceed without your delightful interference.”

“Can we not talk about next time?” Right now he doesn’t want to think of all the things that could and very well would be on the horizon. Doesn’t want to think of backup plans to the whole spirited away scenario. Not right now.

“If that what you wish, my beloved.”

A snort, “Besides a closed window?”

“Besides a closed window,” Ra’s agrees, starting to entangle their legs together. “I have no desire to leave your side tonight.”

“...Good.” Slowly, Tim is lulled by the presence of the demon giving him what he needs to fall asleep. It’s horrible how dependent his body has become on Ra’s. That might be Ra’s’ most successful diabolical plan yet.

Just before he’s done for, Ra’s whispers,

“One day, Timothy...I will not stop. I will follow through and wring your neck. Do you understand me correctly?”

“I do...I wouldn’t have it any other way. You know that. Now go to sleep.”

“Goodnight, my fair one.”

“Night, Ra’s.”

Tim dreams of frogs and scorpions. Of them at the bottom of the pond, the two floating motionless in the current...but floating together.

It is a good dream.

#Ra'sTim #caught au #my writing #fic rec #bittersweet #tim drake #ra's al ghul #putting this in more than one place

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acdhw · 6 years ago

Text

The Adventure of the Dancing Men

A long post again. This story illustrates how tragic the consequences of miscommunication may be. There are also some curious parallels between Mr. and Mrs. Cubitt vs. Holmes and Watson. I will go through it by themes rather than in chronological order.

1. Marital bliss

Here’s one of the instances when Holmes reads Watson’s thoughts by his features and startles him by the “sudden intrusion into my most intimate thoughts”. Actually, it’s not that surprising, and perhaps by that point Watson was already used to it, since he himself did the same to Holmes all the time (and in this story too).

A point beloved by us, readers:

Your check book is locked in my drawer, and you have not asked for the key.

An arrangement which would be quite common for married couples, and also a nod to Watson’s gambling issue.

“How absurdly simple!” I cried.

“Quite so!” said he, a little nettled.

Holmes is being cute: he said just before that Watson would consider it simple after an explanation, and when Watson does exactly that Holmes is still a little ruffled. What an example of pure, emotionless logic, everyone.

2. Parallels

The Cubitts had a similar approach to personal boundaries in the relationship as Holmes and Watson do. When Holmes points out to Mr. Cubitt that “your best plan would be to make a direct appeal to your wife” (which indeed would have saved a lot of trouble and possibly Mr. Cubitt’s life if she had chosen to share the problem with him), Mr. Cubitt says:

If Elsie wished to tell me she would. If not, it is not for me to force her confidence. But I am justified in taking my own line—and I will.

He is ready to do anything to protect her in spite of being in the dark:

I am not a rich man, but if there is any danger threatening my little woman, I would spend my last copper to shield her.

Watson immediately has a sense of affinity with Mr. Cubitt. It is clear from Watson’s description of the man:

He was a fine creature, this man of the old English soil—simple, straight, and gentle, with his great, earnest blue eyes and broad, comely face. His love for his wife and his trust in her shone in his features.

There’s the same devotion and respect of privacy in Watson and Holmes’s relationship. When Holmes is absorbed in the case, Watson doesn’t disturb him in spite of being curious but waits for Holmes to open up himself. Watson is a very patient man. It’s a rare quality which Holmes undoubtedly valued in his Watson, and it must have been one of the traits which made Watson so dear to him:

I confess that I was filled with curiosity, but I was aware that Holmes liked to make his disclosures at his own time and in his own way, so I waited until it should suit him to take me into his confidence.

Also, in ‘The Adventure of The Black Peter’ Watson states:

He said nothing of his business to me, and it was not my habit to force a confidence.

And of course, at the conclusion of the case Watson’s patience is rewarded:

As to you, friend Watson, I owe you every atonement for having allowed your natural curiosity to remain so long unsatisfied.

I think that there’s a similar instance of wishing to protect the loved one at all costs in ‘The Final Problem’. At least this is how I read it: Holmes faked his death to save Watson from Moriarty’s organisation. I agree with Ritchieverse take—it would be only natural for them to destroy Holmes by hurting someone dear to him. Had Watson died by their hands, for Holmes it would have been worse than his own death. Similarly, Holmes kept Watson out of the fight as much as he could. It entailed the three-year separation which was also tragic in many ways, but at least Holmes succeeded in protecting Watson.

3. Holmes really cares for his clients

Continuing to debunk the myth of Holmes’s indifference and rudeness to other people. Look at this man:

Then I will help you with all my heart.

If there are any pressing fresh developments, I shall be always ready to run down and see you in your Norfolk home.

When he deciphered Slaney’s threat:

then suddenly sprang to his feet with an exclamation of surprise and dismay. His face was haggard with anxiety.

He’s been worried all the way to North Walsham, and when he sensed the bad development upon arrival:

Holmes’s brow was dark with anxiety.

He’s absolutely heartbroken when he learns of the tragedy, to the point that nothing except avenging his client can be on his mind. Watson handles the news much better in comparison:

Seldom have I seen him so utterly despondent. He had been uneasy during all our journey from town, and I had observed that he had turned over the morning papers with anxious attention, but now this sudden realization of his worst fears left him in a blank melancholy. He leaned back in his seat, lost in gloomy speculation. Yet there was much around to interest us, for we were passing through as singular a countryside as any in England [...]

4. Justice is of utmost importance for Holmes

Holmes has his personal code of honour, he is ever the seeker of justice and won’t rest until he attains it:

I am very anxious that I should use the knowledge which I possess in order to insure that justice be done.

his inexorable eyes gleaming out of his haggard face. I could read in them a set purpose to devote his life to this quest until the client whom he had failed to save should at last be avenged.

5. Partnership

If in the beginning of ‘A Study in Scarlet’ Holmes used to ask Watson to let him use the sitting-room when clients came, now he doesn’t even consider taking on a case without his companion. They’ve come such a long way!

You gave me a few particulars in your letter, Mr. Hilton Cubitt, but I should be very much obliged if you would kindly go over it all again for the benefit of my friend, Dr. Watson.

Watson offers little insight in solving this case (or makes it appear so by downplaying his own input to give Holmes all the spotlight). Nevertheless, again Holmes won’t make any major steps without him.

He made no allusion to the affair, however, until one afternoon a fortnight or so later. I was going out when he called me back.

It’s rather heartwarming how Holmes relies on Watson and includes him into the progress:

“We have let this affair go far enough,” said he. “Is there a train to North Walsham to-night?”

I turned up the time-table. The last had just gone.

“Then we shall breakfast early and take the very first in the morning,” said Holmes. “Our presence is most urgently needed. [..]”

In the Granada adaptation “my friend and colleague” is something of a standard introduction of Watson made by Holmes to anyone. Here it is in the Canon:

I at once came to Norfolk with my friend and colleague, Dr. Watson, [...]

6. Watson’s writing (and Holmes’s high regard for it)

Holmes might sometimes disparage Watson’s tendency for romanticism and/or sensationalism in his stories, but it’s clear that he actually cares a lot about Watson’s literary endeavours. If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have mentioned them, right?

you will have a very pretty case to add to your collection, Watson

I think that I have fulfilled my promise of giving you something unusual for your notebook.

And a quick note on how Watson, our dear flaming bisexual, never fails to appreciate good looks in people, even if they are crooks through and through:

He was a tall, handsome, swarthy fellow, [...]

7. Watson reads Holmes by his features

Here are examples for this story of Watson’s ability to pick up Holmes’s thoughts and feelings without words. He does it with zero fuss, very low-key and matter-of-factly:

I could see by his eyes that he was much excited

Sherlock Holmes preserved his calm professional manner until our visitor had left us, although it was easy for me, who knew him so well, to see that he was profoundly excited.

The following is the passage which was already touched upon in another post and its tags. I second that it was totally a good use of two hours, because Holmes whistling and singing? That I’d love to see!

For two hours I watched him as he covered sheet after sheet of paper with figures and letters, so completely absorbed in his task that he had evidently forgotten my presence. Sometimes he was making progress and whistled and sang at his work; sometimes he was puzzled, and would sit for long spells with a furrowed brow and a vacant eye. Finally he sprang from his chair with a cry of satisfaction, and walked up and down the room rubbing his hands together.

And in conclusion, officially the most adorable simile Watson ever applied to Holmes.

Holmes hunted about among the grass and leaves like a retriever after a wounded bird.

A retriever? Seriously? You’re so besotted, man, that you don’t even care that your obvious is showing.

@astudyincanon

#DANC ACD #astudyincanon #my meta

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prettyxlittlexwriter · 7 years ago

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The Two Sherlocks

For the World’s Most Patient Anon: What if Sherlock is captured by Eurus (?) and the reader must solve her puzzle in order to save him - with whatever little she's learned from being with him. She must decide who is the real Sherlock in a room with two; shoot one or die all together.

Thank you so much to this amazing Anon for this amazing idea and for holding me to task. I strayed a bit from the request, so I hope you don’t mind! And thank you to the gorgeous and talented @igottomuchfreetimeonmyhands who dropped everything to help me finish it!

Without further ado, I give you my first story in months: THE TWO SHERLOCKS

Your head is throbbing and your freezing cold on one side. You blink and push yourself up, feeling stiff, sore and slightly nauseated. You realize you are cold from lying on a cement floor. Rubbing your hands up and down your arms in an effort to warm yourself, you stand.

“Hello?” You cry out and your voice echoes around the room, bouncing off cement walls. Three cement walls and one glass wall. You turn slowly in a circle, surveying this strange room and trying hard to remember how you got here.

The last memory you have is sitting in your living room, curled up, reading a book, trying to keep your mind off of the danger that your friends are facing, racing off to some isolated insane asylum to confront Sherlock’s secret sister. There had been a knock at the door and you opened it to reveal a man you’d never seen before…

Your memories stop there, growing foggy and you are unable to retrieve them. Suddenly, a door to the right of the large glass wall slides open and to your surprise, John Watson and Mycroft Holmes stumble inside.

“Oh my god, Y/N,” John cries and rushes towards you. He hugs you to him so tightly that you can’t breathe. “How did you get here?” he asks when he pulls away.

“I don’t know,” you reply, your voice trembling. You glance over at Mycroft and see a look of sheer terror on his face. Sheer terror on the face of The Ice Man. “What’s going on? Where are we?”

“Sherrinford,” John informs you and your blood runs cold. He begins to quickly fill you in on the past several hours and your stomach is twisting and turning.

“So where is Sherlock?” you ask when he finishes telling you about Molly Hooper and the coffin.

“We were separated,” Mycroft says dryly. You open your mouth to ask more questions, but suddenly the lights in your cement room click over to a deep red. A woman’s face appears on a large TV screen. She’s beautiful, you think, with Sherlock’s sharp features and dark, wavy hair.

“So glad you’re awake, Y/N,” she says. “Now, let’s get down to business.”

“Eurus, what have you done with Sherlock,” Mycroft demands.

“He’s right here,” Eurus explains and suddenly, a light on the other side of the glass wall flicks on. The left hand side of the room is now bathed in light and you all can plainly a man, strapped to a chair, with a black hood pulled over his head.

“Or…” Eurus drawls, “Is he right here?” On the screen, you can see her flip another switch, bringing the right side of the room alight and revealing another man, identical to the first, strapped to an identical chair. Your eyes flit from one to the other. Same shoes, same, pants, same suit jacket… You look at John and Mycroft.

“How do we know which one is--?” John starts.

“Look at the chairs,” Mycroft says, cutting him off. Your eyes fly back to the two chairs. “Look how they are strapped in…”

“Very good, Mycroft,” Eurus says, dryly. “They are indeed electric chairs, special delivery all the way from America.”

“Oh my God,” you say, clasping your hands over your mouth.

“Now, shall we begin?” your captor asks, not bothering to wait for your answer. “In one chair, of course, is your beloved Sherlock. In the other, sits Edward Beckman, a very talented, local theater actor friend of Mr. James Moriarty. A dear, close friend. Unfortunately for him, he is dying. Stage four cancer. Very sad or so I’m told.”

“Eurus, don’t do this,” John says, holding up a hand.

“Do you honestly think she’d harm her own brother?” Mycroft scoffs. “This whole thing has been about him.”

“But it won’t be me that harms him, Mycroft,” Eurus says, leaning closer to the camera as she speaks, causing her image to grow on the screen before you. “It will be you all that are responsible for any of the harm that befalls him.” Your stomach rolls at the last four words. “For a man without emotional context, he does happen to have a lot of people he cares deeply about. In the brief time that myself and Mr. Beckman have been observing him, we have determined that it is you three that he cares for the most. The older brother who would do anything for him, the best friend who changed his life and the woman he is secretly in love with.”

“What?” you gasp, exchanging a confused look with the two other men. “Me?” John shrugs sheepishly and Mycroft rolls his eyes.

“Well, apparently it's just a secret to one of you. At any rate,” Eurus rolls on, “We got to wondering, Mr. Beckman and I, just how deserving the three of you are of his affections. There will be series of questions that I will ask the two Sherlocks. They will provide answers and it will be to you to pick which is the real Sherlock. Choose correctly and you save your friend’s life and end a dying man suffering. If you’re wrong, your friend dies, the dying man lives to die another day and you leave here with the knowledge that you killed a man whose affection you were most unworthy of.” You slowly approach the glass wall, your eyes moving a mile a minute, trying to detect some familiarity, some tell, some dead give away, but the panic you are feeling is clouding your judgement. You spin away from the glass and gaze at John, his own face awash in anxiety.

“How can she do this?” you ask, horrified.

“It’s fine,” John says, his voice full of false confidence. “We know him better than anyone. We’ve got this.”

“Alright then,” Eurus says, sitting back in her chair and getting comfortable. “Sherlocks? What case would you say has been your most difficult?”

“The Six Thatchers, Mary Watson’s Death,” says the first Sherlock and John winces.

“Culverton Smith, The Lying Detective,” answers the second Sherlock.

“My God,” Mycroft murmurs. “Their voices. The speech patterns. It’s uncanny.”

“Oh, I told you that Mr. Beckman was good,” Eurus said, smiling into the camera. Both you and the eldest Holmes turn and look at John. He bows his head for a moment and pinches the bridge of his nose and forces himself to breathe slow and evenly.

“Smith’s case,” he replies after a few long moments.

“Are you certain?” Mycroft asks. John looks to you and you nod.

“He’s right,” you say, your confidence growing. You turn and scrutinize the second Sherlock and still nothing about their outward physical appearance gives you any clue.

“Next question,” Eurus says, interrupting your thoughts. “Sherlocks, if you could choose one of your three companions to be stuck with on a desert island, which would you choose and why?”

“John” said the first, “He is a soldier and a doctor. He is resourceful and could provide medical attention if needed.”

“Y/N,” said the second Sherlock. “She is both strong willed and quiet, therefore, not prone to hysterics and would be be the least annoying companion.”

“The first,” Mycroft whispered. “Practical.”

“Two,” John said at the exact same moment you said, “The second.” Mycroft tilts his head at you, exasperated.

“He would not be worried about companionship,” Mycroft scoffed.

“This is a man that couldn’t stand the thought of solitary confinement,” John points out. “He always says that Y/N is the only one allowed to stay behind while he is thinking. It’s as if her presence calms him.”

“I am the least annoying,” you say with an apologetic shrug.

“Last question,” Eurus continued on. “Sherlocks, what was it exactly that first attracted you to Y/N?” You turn back around and watch both men, strapped into their respective electric chairs. The Sherlock on the left, Sherlock number one, is gripping the armrests tighter than before. The Sherlock on the right, Sherlock number two, is lightly drumming his fingers against his armrests. You take several more steps forward and place your hands on the glass wall, tiny circles of condensation fanning out around your fingertips and palms.

“Her intelligence,” Sherlock number one said and you bit your lip. Sherlock was never one to go around complimenting people, but he had, on a few occasions, remarked at how he’d underestimated you or how he’d sometimes wished John was as bright as you were. And you knew, from just spending the past few months around him, that he wouldn’t have bothered with you if he didn’t find you mildly intelligent. You cast your eyes towards the second Sherlock.

“Her ass,” the second Sherlock said, simply and you felt your cheeks growing red. You spin on your heel, a smile spreading over your face.

“Two,” you say, your eyes dancing. Mycroft threw his arms up in defeat and turned away from you and John. You quickly crossed the room back to where John was standing, stopping in front of him and gripping ahold of his arms.

“I caught him,” you said, laughing at the memory, despite the grave circumstances at hand. “When you both first came into the the gallery, when we first met. He was asking questions for his case and I had dropped my pen! I bent to pick it up and finished answering his questions. Later that day, the security guards were having a laugh and showed me the footage from the security cameras. Sherlock Holmes checking out my… ass!”

“Really, Sherlock,” Mycroft tutts. You roll your eyes in his direction.

“I am going to need you three to agree on a Sherlock,” Eurus reminded them. “You have ten seconds.”

“Two,” you insist, your eyes imploring John to choose the same. He purses his lips together and inhales deeply.

“Two,” he agrees and you both turn to Mycroft.

“I apparently do not know my own flesh and blood as well as I thought I did,” he laments.

“Trust that we do,” you say, biting your lip. His eyes you for several long moments before nodding

“TWO!” Both you and John shout.

“Two,” Mycroft adds. Eurus’ face betrays nothing and she reaches for an unseen button. You spin and crush yourself against John’s chest, hiding your face. The lights dim and flicker. There sound of a man screaming that you know will haunt you as long as you live. The room with the two Sherlocks goes completely dark and it’s silent in your cell. You look up and John and his face is white as a sheet. Suddenly, the door at the front of the cell opens and you turn in time to see Sherlock Holmes cross the threshold. Knees almost buckling with relief, you tear yourself away from John. You run towards Sherlock and as you collide with him, his arms wrap around you and his lips are on yours. You are choking back sobs and clutching him to you.

“It’s alright,” he murmurs as he pulls away. “It’s alright now.” You look up at him and he looks tired, drained, but there is a twinkle in his eyes. You shove him lightly in the chest.

“My ass?” you tease. “You could have died.”

“Ice Man,” John said, gesturing from Mycroft to Sherlock, “Meet The Ass Man.”

“An ass man? Really, Sherlock,” Mycroft said, disdainfully.

“It’s a nice ass,” John points out with an innocent shrug. You feel your cheeks redden as Sherlock draws you into him again, placing a kiss on your temple.

“I am sure this is far from over,” he says quietly, “But once it is, would you like to go and get a coffee with me?”

“I’d like that,” you say, your insides tingling with anticipation. “But we should try and get out of here first, don’t you think?” He nods once, his expression solemn, but his eyes full of promises.

“Well done, well done,” Eurus’ dry voice comes again through the speakers. “He loves her, she’s worthy of his affection, let’s get coffee and live happily ever after, shall we? On to the next task.”

You hear a sharp intake of breath and you glance up at Sherlock in time to see him wince slightly, his hand moving to the back of his head. A second later, you hear similar gasps of discomfort from John and Mycroft before a sudden stinging sensation occurs at the back of your own neck. Your vision blurs and you reach out for Sherlock a second before everything goes black.

#sherlock x reader #Sherlock Holmes #Sherlock Holmes x Reader #Sherlock #sherlock BBC #bbc sherlock #sherlock imagine #sherlock fan fiction #sherlock fan fic #eurus holmes #john watson #Mycroft Holmes #benedict cumberbatch

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shervival21st-blog · 8 years ago

Text

Making sense of the Nonsense: A Johnlock ( conspiracy ) meta

“Truth is rarely pure and never simple” ---Oscar Wilde

“Truth is a metaphor, willed into existence” ---Nietzsche

First of all can conspiracy be possible after all these shit happened? Of course,why not, especially when there is a fair chance that another episode may pop up someday sooner, then it’s obviously possible.

A Modern Nightmare:

One fine morning Gregor Samsa woke up and found that he had transformed into a despicable vermin overnight [source]. Sherlock season 4 is exactly the same thing, came out in a crisis time of human civilization and proved to be a modern nightmare.

The whole series is full of inconsistencies and it is unlikely that 3 different directors will repeat the inconsistent things over and over, unless it is deliberate. It’s impossible to address all the inconsistencies in one meta ( I have an exam soon :( ). But let’s start from TST.

The infamous skull hell:

The skull hell is one of the most infamous inconsistencies in S4. The skull continued to glow and un-glow throughout the series.

Does it have a possible explanation? Well then, it basically has. It may refer to a Hitchcockian shot. The milk scene from the movie Suspicion:

“Suspicion” tells the story of a woman who suspects her husband is trying to kill her. There’s one scene in the film that really jumped out.

That’s the scene where Joan Fontaine’s character is in bed, fearing the worse and her husband, played by Cary Grant, brings her a glass of milk. The camera follows Cary Grant coming up the stairs and as he continues something strange stands out about the glass of milk. It’s bright and bold in the frame. Is he trying to poison her? That’s certainly what we thought when we first it.

That was Hitchcock’s intention, actually. He put a light in the glass to highlight it in the shot to get the audience to wonder what was going to happen next. It’s a simple, but ingenious, technique.

http://www.tasteofcinema.com/2014/the-10-most-ingenious-techniques-used-by-alfred-hitchcock/#ixzz4WEQh2rpe

youtube

Ostalgie:

In TST, when Sherlock went to hacking genius ( is he Russian?) Craig for some help Craig tells him about “ostalgie”

CRAIG’S HOUSE. Craig is sitting at his computer typing while Sherlock stands behind him. CRAIG: Have you heard of that thing, in Germany? SHERLOCK: You’re going to have to be more specific, Craig. CRAIG: ‘Ostalgie.’ People who miss the old days under the Communists. People are weird, aren’t they? SHERLOCK: Mm. (He narrows his eyes momentarily.) CRAIG: According to this, there’s quite a market for Cold War memorabilia – Thatcher, Reagan, Stalin. (He smiles.) Time’s a great leveller, innit? Thatcher’s like – I dunno – Napoleon now.

Then When Mary was wandering from one place to another to escape her consequences, we got a Thatcher era ( cold-war communism era/pre-1991 ) flight check of some sort, why it is? Ostalgie? Mark Gatiss hates conservatives, but is does not necessarily mean he is inclined to left. I don’t know. Anybody?

USSR, East Germany, West Germany, Quebec do not exist anymore.

Mary’s weird-ass redemption wank:

Mary was predicted to be dead by the end of Season 4, but so sooner in TST? And with a redemption wank saved for her? To save Sherlock in a physically impossible way? A sacrifice?

The whole Aquarium-scene is superficial and so wrong. There are so many theories floating around, One is the alibi theory: John actually shot Mary, and Sherlock lied to Ella to hide John’s deed. Not impossible.

Read more on my Fragmented Perception meta and here is another beautiful theory by @shawleyleres Dreaming, Memory and Tidal Waves

OK lets move towards TLD

Apparently TLD is a better episode than the other two episodes of this particular season. But that does not mean this is devoid of weird facts. But when TST has seemingly trivial ones, the facts are bigger. I am not going to elaborate, but just discuss some points.

1. Faith Smith and her note, who actually took down the note? Culverton confessed that his own daughter wrote it and he provided Sherlock with that note. Is he reliable?

2. Was Eurus actually with Sherlock when she came disguised as Faith Smith?Or it’s a mere delusion?

3. Culverton did not seem to be that grand a villain like Moriarty or Magnussen. Of course he was nasty, but... also what's the point of secret doors and was he really judged or got pardon by bribing the authority.

4. Ghost Mary as John’s subconscious (seriously WTF)

5. And many more...

TFP then.

Before going to TFP aka The Fake/Fucky Problem lets discuss some salient features of Eurus Holmes:

The psychiatrist/Faith avatar:

Umm a visual parallel first.

oops. Arkham/Azkaban/Shutter Island/Sherrinford?, uhh. Eurus even disguised as a therapist as Harley.

The gunshot wank:

Well look at the picture, first is from the first scene of TLD, and last is Eurus’s hand. Spot the difference, Eurus’s hand is sleeveless but the hand in the first picture is blue/black sleeved? Why is the difference, is the first hand is of John, before killing Mary? is it Sherlock’s hand?

Back to TFP, or the worst episode ever. It’s like the Limbo phase of the nightmare. Sherlock always alludes to many movies, books, comics, TV series and makes many references to other media besides the original canon. In TST they went for Appointment in Samarra by William Somerset Maugham [an unhappily married gay doctor/veteran/spy/storyteller], made a reference to Macbeth [ i.e. “By the pricking of my thumb”], In TLD we got references of George Orwell’s 1984 frequently[”Big brother is watching you” etc] and also a whole big dialogue from Henry V [ Shakespeare was gay or at least bisexual ]. They alluded to V for Vendetta,in TRF, and in TAB referred to Inception and a rather unknown but a radical intellectual movie La Haine [ full meta here ]. So they preferred rather intellectual/cult movies or stories/novels/dramas to make allusions.

But TFP seems more like a disjointed montage of horror movies/psychological thriller. No ACD, but a mix-up of Saw, The Shining, The Ring, Suicide Squad, Shutter Island, Exorcist, Silence of the Lamb and many other horror movies, directly adapted scenes from them and combined them with bad CGI effect.

I am not going to rant but TFP brought back some unpleasant childhood memories which were deeply buried in my id before.[ ”Books are well written or badly written, that is all”---Wilde, again]

So yes a psychological analysis is possible. @shawleyleres, @the-7-percent-solution, @jenna221b, @marcespot and many others have already started analyzing, I had to fight with my emotions after this cursed episode ( literally episode no. 13) and after that I came to realize that this episode is FAKE.

So many points, so many parallels, this is our deepest limbo, or is it Sherlock’s, is it John’s?

First of all lets see which predictions made before or after the release of S4 apparently came true:

1. Sherlock has a secret sibling.

2. Sherrinford is a prison where Eurus is institutionalized.

3. There will be a game which will not end.

4, Sherlock will have to choose between Mycroft & John.

5. Mycroft’s umbrella is a secret weapon ( a crack theory )

But it was never predicted that this episode would turn out to be so bad and out of context.

An analysis:

Eurus gave a puzzle in her childhood which would supposed to be solve the redbeard problem, but it turns out that it was actually about a little girl lost!!!

Sherlock can’t sense there is no glass before Eurus’s cell!!!Sherlock ignoring Vatican Camios!!!

The whole Molly Hooper thing and she is talking to a lock screen!!!

3 Garridebs dangling!!!

The infamous snake-mating dance between Harley Quinn & Joker and Joker giving up his life happily to play posthumously!!!

Background music:“I need a gangsta, to love me betta, than all the others do”!!!

John chained in a well and getting rescued with a rope!!!

Who was chained in the bottom of hell-fire and got out without any effort and made a palace as if chains did not exist? SATAN [Paradise Lost, Book I, same inconsistency]

[Laughs out Loud]. FAKE

Only explanation, NIGHTMARE

If it is Sherlock’s Nightmare:

This theory goes like this:

Eurus is Sherlock’s anima, he is in EMP, and probably in the tarmac hell still. Victor Trevor is John’s mirror, a childhood John. Sherlock somehow was indirectly responsible for Victor’s sad demise. He constructed a parallel universe, and disguised his memories in the shapes of complex metaphors. Especially when Sherlock was talking to Eurus at the end, comforting her, it sounded like he was telling this to himself:

We're going to crash! I'm going to die! Argh! [HE GASPS FOR BREATH] I think it's time you told me your real name. I'm not allowed to tell my name to strangers. But I'm not a stranger, am I? I'm your brother. I'm here, Eurus. You're playing with me, Sherlock. We're playing the game. The game, yes, I get it now. The song was never a set of directions. I'm in the plane. I'm going to crash. And you're going to save me. Look how brilliant you are. Your mind has created the perfect metaphor. You're high above us, all alone in the sky, and you understand everything except how to land. Now, I'm just an idiot, but I'm on the ground. I can bring you home. No. No, no. It's too late now. No, it's not, it's not too late. Every time I close my eyes, I'm on the plane. I'm lost, lost in the sky and... no-one can hear me. Open your eyes. I'm here. You're not lost anymore. [SHE SOBS] Now, you... you just, you just went the wrong way last time, that's all. This time, get it right. Tell me how to save my friend. Argh! Eurus, help me save John Watson.

Well I am now referring to @shawleyleres‘s metas: X X X

By the way was Benedict referring to this whole Eurus-Sherlock conversation as a monologue? IDK. This theory does not convince me of John’s meeting with Eurus twice.

So, yes now move to another::

If it is John’s Nightmare:

According to this theory, John was having a nightmare after he was shot by Eurus; this theory explains the Bond air thing, the spinning John, the underestimated cowardice Mycroft, all the horror movie melange, the drone, dangling Garridebs( John’s actually in the Garridebs situation himself ), the Victor-Trevor-as-John’s-mirror thing, the rope rescue,the fear of Adl0ck and Sher1o11y, the cheesy cuts at the end of the episode, but for me this theory does not explain the whole Sherlock-Eurus interaction at all.

On defense of this theory I can give you the excellent video meta by @marcespot and this meta

Ok, now let me tell you what do I think:

Can a shared nightmare be possible?

I really don’t think so, but really re watching TFP more and more makes us to think of TAB. @marcespot‘s theory seems quite convincing to me, also this post made by our senpai @inevitably-johnlocked but I really think Sherlock’s anima is Eurus. But I never think Sherlock’s still in tarmac hell, because many reasons...one of them is Porlock. I rather believe that TST is full of real, unreal, surreal, dream sequences, memories i.e. fragmented perceptions. I think TLD serves the purpose of both a third person narrative and the characters’ perspectives, but TLD have a semi-Senecan ghost device, a disguised psychiatrist/therapist, only Sherlock can see someone aka disguised Faith Smith and many other weird fact. One of which is the background TV-video of Culverton’s hospital which showed us jumping sheep, according to @tigressthetiger which signifies falling asleep:

Look even the dialogue is fitting.

Well I am not talking about a shared dream, but what if TFP is the mixture of both Sherlock & John’s two different dreams? Unlikely but umm. I don’t know how to pull off this kind of complex thing. Maybe S4 was really bad-writing ( except it is not )

Well then, when I rewatched TFP, it seemed to me John’s horror-dream, only John’s horror dream until this scene:

From the above scene it seemed to me the dream of nobody other than Sherlock.

The melodrama, the metaphors, all the signs make me convinced it’s Sherlock’s dream. Or self-conversation?

The whole nursery rhyme thing recited by Eurus does not bring any solution to Red-beard’s murder case. Just because Eurus is evil? Why just why? No explanation. Also the only alive girl in Bond air, whose mirror was she?

Eurus served as both Sherlock’s and somehow John’s mirror, while Victor is clearly John’s childhood:

P.C. @jarlie86art

From John’s rescue by the rope it again seemed to be John’s nightmare ( Argh! background Mary’s voice-over, cheesy cuts, a platonic parentlock WTF)

Also what’s the point of the whole Musgrave false graves, the moor, children playing... a direct callback of a disturbing novel by Emily Bronte : Wuthering Heights, also of Bronte sisters’ childhood and disturbing/haunting memories.

CONFUSING!!!! because unlike TAB, TFP is not still confirmed as a dream by the writers. Also when in John’s perspective the horror movies are of mostly male point of views, Sherlock’s POV finds reference from Victorian/Gothic horror novels which are from female point of view!!! ( “Sherlock is actually a girl’s name”, “ East wind was basically me”, Sherlock has a demonic anima archetype etc)

On author’s sublimity and ‘Insane wish fulfillment’:

First of all TAB was a gay fever dream with powerful women characters and a male villain (i.e. Moriarty). TFP was exact opposite, queerbaiting, disturbing, misogynist, and a psycho female villain: Ebony Darkness Dementia Raven Way Eurus Holmes.

Why this 180 degree turn? TAB had some of the excellent-most editing in TV history, TFP has none, we can even see the green screen in the graphics.

My intellect does not want to agree with the idea that TFP was simply bad writing, and the crew were smoking weeds all the time. It could be said if there were no previous seasons, especially if there was no TAB.

So, why did Mofftiss do so, Just to fuck up with us? Just to prove us wrong, since TAB was predicted by TJLC accurately? Or just to fake the show’s death? The actual Richenberg redux? I have no answer of these questions, umm perhaps I have. Why they have called TFP as insane wish-fulfillment?

They have transformed all their childhood traumas, disturbing memories into one episode.

According to Freud and other psychologists sublimation is one of the highest coping mechanisms, authors tend to use literature as a vehicle of fulfilling unfulfilled wishes, desires and transform their traumas into arts.

I don’t know if you agree or disagree with this statement. But this is not the most impossible thing. Johnlock is not yet confirmed. The series can really comeback if and only if TFP is a confirmed, otherwise we are more intelligent than Mofftiss. #Give-Us-a-4th-Episode-Soonish

TL;DR: To quote @shawleyleres , S4 is not fake, 100% real in Sherlock’s or John’s Mind.

Instead of having a specific cliffhanger, TFP itself is a massive cliffhanger

Long live conspiracy,and long live TJLC

Transcript courtesy: http://arianedevere.livejournal.com/

I promise to elaborate the points I mentioned in another metas.

Tags under cut:

@love-in-mind-palace @shawleyleres @isitandwonder @tigressthetiger@loveinthemindpalace @hudders-and-hiddles @waitedforgarridebs @ifyouarelookingforqueerbaiting @amaranthinelover @separating-my-porn-and-tjlc @artisticpanda23 @lijahlover @heimishtheidealhusband @astudyinqueerbaiting @atikiology @johnlockshire @bbcatemysoul @bbcromance @tjlcer @johnlockishell @grumpyjohn @graceebooks @jon-lox @heimishtheidealhusband @just-sort-of-happened @depth-of-loyalty-and-love @deducingbbcsherlock

@shag-me-senseless-watson @wssh-watson @watsonshoneybee @sussexbound @vanetti @jenna221b @the-7-percent-solution @teapotsubtext@roadswewalk @isitandwonder

@inevitably-johnlocked @loudest-subtext-in-tv @wellthengameover @skulls-and-tea

@marcespot @johnnlocked @multifandom-madnesss @joolabee @ebaeschnbliah @ervagworld @escaroles @bimartin @green-violin-bow @glittersparkledust @yorkiepug

#Meta RandomTheory #my ideas #my meta #the fucky problem #season 4 #S4 #TFP #TLD #TST

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bakerstreetramblings · 5 years ago

Text

tag drop; past.

#. there's an east wind coming ; eurus holmes .#. truth is rarely pure and never simple ; victor trevor .#. give him a puzzle. watch him dance ; moriarty .#. its not the fall that kills you its the landing ; magnussen .#. once the idea exists it cannot be killed ; redbeard .#. sixteen by six. and under we go ; musgrave .

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alilysrose · 8 years ago

Text

So I watched the fake TFP

Under the cut I give as in depth a summary of the episode as possible with quick reactions from me.

I’m happy to message anyone the link to the episode :)

Obviously spoilers below. I’m sorry about how long it is!

Tagging a few people who may be interested @inevitably-johnlocked @multifandom-madnesss @theobellz @watertherose

I speak Serbo-Croat and understand basic Russian so I was able to get a bit of a gist of what was going on but nothing super in depth. I’m a music nerd and play the violin (Ben’s violin playing has always annoyed me!) so I comment on that a bit.

I was typing notes on my phone so I’ve used the following abbreviations:

-S = Sherlock, J = John, M = Mycroft, E = Eurus

So they're on a plane and everyone is miraculously dead apart from a little girl. Looks like whatever happened to kill everyone happened suddenly. Loads of turbulence. Oxygen masks are hanging down. Phone starts ringing, girl answers it, asks for help. Moriarty says hi.

How the fuck do you call a phone on an airplane.

Omg the acting. I'm dying this is horror movie trope central and I don't even watch horror movies. Mark must have had so much fun doing this.

And Mycroft is shown to be so sentimental. Omg the paintings bleed from the eyes like seriously.

Wtf clowns. Like how can this be serious. Music from HoB. Why is Sherlock wearing the hat. This is literally a crack fic. Like characters keep randomingly appearing. [Note from after the episode, like something fucky is happening all the characters magically teleport at least once).

Music from Blind Banker.

Just mentioned something about Mary and a snake. Dog bark and flashback to child Eurus. Mycroft hallucinating about their childhood?

Mycroft client and taking John and Sherlock back through their childhood. Clearly where the boy band photo shoot came from. Because it was on location (ie $$$) in inclined to believe some of it is real.

Main theory about russian - fewer people speak it for translating purposes. Therefore if there are real scenes in there with either fake or real dubs we'll have a harder time telling Talking about Sherlock remembering.

So Eurus apparently burnt down the homes family cottage as a young kid and Mycroft is remembering this and telling S and J in the client chair at Baker Street. Doesn't make sense, client chair is rarely used for exposition in Sherlock. The blocking is off.

Skull hell still s4 skull turned on.

Mycroft describing the institution/ prison where Eurus was kept. Hint: it's Mark's blueprint dick.

Now everyone's hearing Eurus. There's a drone. Someone asks what the drone is. Someone answers it's a drone. Stellar dialogue (I can't tell the voices apart).

Omg Hudders. [Post ep note: she was dancing to music while vacuuming. No clue what happened to her after the bomb. Ded?]

Omg dat slow mo. Highschool musical. Same fire promo as end of TLD. Now we know why it was so corny. That was Sherlock not Mycroft on the right. Speakers on ship keep saying sherinford. Sailors are confused af. Sherlock teleports to the boat. With John! Swan dives onto the boat deck (same as waterfall music).

Again only two seconds of boat stuff compared to the amount we saw them shooting.

Sherlock wrote 'tell my sister I'm here' in the sand at sherrinford. So this is after TLD and they've apparently recaptured Eurus and John has had plastic surgery after being shot in the face? Okaaaaaaaaay.

Omg lmao Mycroft disguised as the fisherman (similar to that patient that John treated in empty hearse).

So they've discovered Mycroft but still letting him give directions to Sherlock to get to Eurus' cell over an earpiece.

Ben looks weird af with a beanie. Eurus plays the violin.

Mycroft and John somehow made friends with interrogator.

Sherlock is playing the theme for the woman and the bowing doesn't match the music or even when Sherlock is playing 😂😂😂 FAKE

They actually touch their ears when listening to the earpieces. Is this year 9 drama class?

Literally just did storm pathetic fallacy along with scary music.

Eurus is trying to kill Sherlock. Sherlock is just lying there. Literally not even trying to defend himself like he did with Culbertson.

They just had John fainting backwards, going cross eyed and spiny spiny effects.

Moriarty is playing 'I want to break free' he looks like he's in one of the those sexy car ads.

Moriarty: how many?

Guard: three

Moriarty: enough

(Guessing they're referring to M, S and J)

Nativity scene. Moriarty and M having a scene together. Mycroft sitting down. M theory maybe???

Most telling: apart from 221B Baker Street, no wallpaper.

Now some interpretative dance between Moriarty and Eurus. Lettering on the cell where M, S and J are says three feet.

Now flight of dead again, girl calls through from the plane now. M and S deducing the girl, coming up with a plan, a better plan?

Eurus is out, supposedly Moriarty broke her out. They've got the wife of random guy [post ep note: His name is David, WHY THE FUCKERY ARE THERE ONLY LIKE 3 NAMES ON THIS SHOW???] who's locked up with M, S and J.

Eurus gives S the choice to shoot J or M to save wife of random guy. S chooses M. Mark's acting is terribly hilarious. Sherlock gives up on M and tries to hand gun butt to J. Omg red light going on and off with Moriarty trying to beatbox???? (Probably countdown). Yeah he's saying tick tick tick tick. Sounds like beat boxing though.

John is going to shoot random guy??? He just asked random guy's name (David). Hmmmmm. Making him kneel. John says no. David takes gun off John. D suicides. Mycroft throws up. Mycroft miraculously recovers.

Eurus shoots D's wife. Eurus is pissed Sherlock didn't choose J or M??? Sherlock has the gun again.

Moriarty says Choo chooo as S, J and M are able to leave the room. [Post episode note: I’m clearly witnessing emmy-award wining writing here)

Back to plane. Kid is drinking a juice and still on the phone somehow. Sherlock trying to deduce. Someone's at kid's grandparents.

This episode is so weird it's like S having to pass a series of Moriarty and Eurus created tests. SMJ have somehow acquired a rifle. Continuity 👌

Ah they're deducing who owns the rifle. J getting bitchy with M. Didn't answer the riddle fast enough so Eurus hanging three guys (not hung) outside the window to help Sherlock guess and deduce.

All three guys dropped into the sea to death. Pretty sure S just told J that caring doesn't help/ save them to comfort? him.

S and M deducing a coffin. I love you written on the coffin. Now S has 3 minutes to get Molly to say I love you on the phone? Eurus now beat boxing (ie. tick tick tick tick). A mastervillisn clearly came up with this plot.

This tick tock red light stuff is like so extra.

Why are they making such a big fuss about this I love you? And why was Sherlock so upset about it? Now Sherlock it beating up a coffin.

Like wtf is the plot. They solve a puzzle by Eurus in one room then move to the next room? Now and then plane girl phones in and now and then there are red lights with Moriarty or Eurus beatboxing (tick tock tick tick).

Sherlock has to choose between M and J. AGAIN. M and J both trying to convince Sherlock to shoot them and not the other. I think Mycroft just revealed M theory. Shoot straight little brother 😭 Mycroft highlighted in red light again, Moriarty pops up again.

I can't pick where this music is from.

Sherlock can't do it. He's about to suicide. Counting down. Why aren't M and J doing something? Only Eurus is trying to talk him out of it. Sherlock pulled a pin out of the back of his head? Flashback of Eurus. Sherlock lying on table girl on plane coming through speakers.

John teleported to well. Mycroft's voice somehow over the loud speakers. This doesnt make any sense and it's not that it's in Russian.

Sherlock was in a shipping container helpfully dropped outside his childhood home (Musgrave). But he can still somehow hear Eurus. This almost has me on the EMP train.

Why can everyone hear each other?? And why are there magically TV screens everywhere?

John is chained to the bottom of the well.

Sherlock talking to Eurus on a magic TV inside Musgrave hall and having childhood flashbacks while John just drowns?

Sherlock just said Victor Trevor who was his childhood friend? But Victor in BB???Victor did something to Redbeard though. Now a shot of a kid down a well. Maybe young John or Victor? So young Victor drowned and John just found his skull in the bottom of the well.

Flashback of great game pool and Abominable Bride waterfall. Wtf I'm now believing in EMP thanks to a fake episode? This scene (from TV eurus) could be the 26 pages? [Post ep: I doubt it but trying to keep an open mind to how fake it could be] Sherlock playing with words in the air at Nemo's grave.

The girl has been crashing in the plane for almost 90 minutes now. Still somehow has a phone connection. Sherlock runs into a room and it's Eurus again. Definitely EMP. Wtf. Girl on plane was Eurus?

Eurus: no one listened to me Sherlock hugging Eurus 'don't cry'.

Time jump. Eurus arrested. John outside of well. J has shock blanket. Lestrade there.

I just don't get how the fuck everyone teleported everywhere in the episode.

This is definitely an ASIP callback. J and S talking about a text. John: 'it's neither better nor worse'

Mummy Holmes telling M off (about Eurus, Sherlock and Sherlock's blog)? Daddy Holmes there too. Sherlock watching. This is in Mycroft's bunker office.

Sherlock takes violin to Eurus.

Sherlock playing to Euros. Can hear violin while Sherlock and John clean up Baker Street.

Ugh the violin playing has almost always annoyed me in the show they don't move their wrists. Now Sherlock and Eurus playing a duet.

Mary on a video to John.

Brief shots back to ASIP. (John's nightmare st the bedsit, first shot of Sherlock opening the body bag).

Mary is doing a wrap up voice over for John??? Or the audience???

Awww J and S remaking Baker Street. Spray paint and gun shots and everything!

Lmao E and S playing Sherlock main theme on violin.

Parentlock.

Mummy and Daddy and Mycroft sitting watching Eurus and possibly Sherlock play violin while smiling.

Mary says Sherlock and Dr Watson. This Ep is obvs fake. Random running shot of Sherlock and John out a building. Credits!

Like I literally can’t believe what I just watched. I literally cannot make sense of it as well.

IF this episode is real then I’m 100% on the EMP train even though that disappoints me as I’ve always seen it as the easy way out.

Honestly though I’m so doubtful that this is real. It had no new score, sloppy acting, sloppy writing, slopping cinematography and editing. Ugh.

I’m still not sure what the point of the whole story was. Like Mycroft told Sherlock and John about Eurus burning down their house so they decided to go on a boat trip to visit her. Somehow Mycroft got there when we only saw John and Sherlock on the boat. Then it turned into mystery hour solving weird puzzles for Eurus while Moriarty beatboxed and a girl on the plane crashed for 60 minutes. Then more teleportation, Sherlock talking to more tv screens and a miraculous ending that fell about 1,895 miles short. Also how was Eurus on the island in the first place. That definitely was never explained.

I honestly got bored while watching it which should not have happened given I was watching it for the first time while taking notes in a language I barely speak. Like geez it must be 10 times worse in English. Okay. Rant over. I hope this helps or something lol and if this is the real episode tomorrow I’ll try and get this review published!

Seriously though I love you guys and this has been the best fandom day ever.

#sherlock the final problem #s4 #spoilers #fake episode #tpf

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