Background Check
by KathyG.
Following the events of the first-season episode, "A Study in Pink", and my most recent Sherlock story, "Given Me Back My Life," Lestrade has to conduct a thorough background check on Dr. John Watson before he can allow him to help Sherlock solve crimes for New Scotland Yard. In the process, he has a discussion with one of John’s ex-army friends, and what he learns about the retired army doctor’s history is most enlightening! (I've added a third chapter in between Chapter 1 and the chapter that consists of the author's notes, and so the author's notes has become Chapter 3.)
Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade shut down the computer monitor, removed his glasses, leaned back in his desk chair, and stretched his arms above his head. He had just been going over Dr. John Watson’s service record and re-reading his Internet blog, including the comments. In a minute, Dr. Watson’s former army nurse, ex-Sergeant Bill Murray, was going to arrive. He was going to fill Lestrade in on the details that the service record had left out. Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock’s older brother who worked as a civil servant, was also going to send him all of the info that he had acquired on the retired army doctor.
The grey-haired detective inspector glanced at the half-full coffee mug that sat on his desk. Since little beads of perspiration had begun to form on his forehead, he got up to turn down the thermostat. Upon returning to his desk, Lestrade peered down at his watch. Murray should arrive any moment now. The heater’s soft hum switched off.
Dr. Watson was extremely put out when I told him that I was going to do this, and that Mycroft was going to help me out, Lestrade thought. He shook his head, remembering…
“I have to do this, Dr. Watson,” Lestrade had said patiently. “It’s the rules. I had to do a similar in-depth background check on Sherlock when he first started to work with me, and I had to be just as thorough in the process then as I’ll have to be now.”
John had sighed. “I suppose you do,” he had said. “I don’t like it, because I value my privacy. But I understand that Scotland Yard has its rules, and that you have to obey them.”
Lestrade had clasped John’s arm. “Yes, I do have to. And believe me, I do understand.”…
A knock on the door startled Lestrade out of his reverie. “Come in,” he said.
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I love Chiyo- and I kind of headcanon her as a Witch of the Woods (Sands???) archetype- a bitter old woman who has sacrificed too much, experienced and committed more atrocities than anyone can imagine, and who knows the truth about what lies in the hearts of men to live among the villages anymore.
In my AU she's got a pretty dark backstory. Back in time when Villages were just getting established, women weren't allowed to be shinobi in the same capacity as men. There was too much warring and death among the clans to risk women, so they were only ever allowed to serve as spies or medics. (Chiyo started off as a medic).
And like any military/fascist dictatorship, serving the state was more important than anything else- so women who were kunoichi were given missions to steal and return with powerful bloodlines. Even before villages, this was a common fear among clans (which is why so many of them have protective measures and inbreed/arrange matches very carefully).
Chiyo was one such woman, who took a X-rated mission in her youth because she was told it would 'serve her nation'. There was a powerful bloodline whose Kekkei Genkai could harden sand to something akin to Steel- something Suna very desperately wanted.
Chiyo succeeded in her mission, but despite the veneer of 'serving your nation', when she returned, she was considered, in her words, "Just another whore."
Then when her son didn't manifest the bloodline- it was worse, but Chiyo was happy because that meant her son was HERS. (This is when she met Enji, and he saved her son's life at great cost- so Chiyo owes him a blood/life debt.)
Then the war came, and they needed women to fight so now serving the nation meant something different, and Chiyo became a full fledged 'shinobi' and turned her healing towards poison and death- especially when she had to fight the Salamander.
Then she sealed Gaara and that was the atrocity straw that broke the camel's back and she dipped out Suna and retired to an oasis. She's still a healer, but adamantly refuses to serve shinobi.
Once again, thank you so much for these asks and all the support for this AU?
@youngpeacearbiter
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The Box
A Thomas Costa Backstory, as told by himself. Indented part indicates a flash back. Set during the Key Game era, though I don't know if any of the other flash backs will have any concrete place on the timeline.
Full collection of Thomas Costa Backstories here
TW/CW: slave whump, intimate whumper, blood, whumpee turned whumper (more like whumper, former whumpee), divorce, neglect, death of minor characters mentioned
Khaled had found his box. He wasn’t supposed to go anywhere near the file box that held the physical remains of the man he used to be, but Thomas had caught him red-handed, sitting on his bed with his dog tags, his paperwork, and several old photos of him spread out across the bed. Khaled paled, visibly scooting up the bed and away from the contents of the box as he realized he’d been caught.
In hindsight, Thomas was not proud of his initial reaction. He couldn’t just beat the boy without reason, no matter how much he deserved it for directly disobeying him. He was owed an explanation, at least. Once he had calmed down enough, and once the wound from Khaled’s scalp had stopped cascading blood down his face, he decided to try a different approach.
“You know I told you not to go through that box, boy,” he said.
Khaled lowered the moist washcloth from where it was compressed against his head. What used to be a white washcloth was now dyed a splotchy pinkish-red.
“Why did you go through my box?” he asked. He caught Khaled’s face in his hand before the young man could turn his head away. “Why?” he repeated.
“I… thought it was where you were hiding the key, Master.” Khaled’s confession hardly rose above a whisper. He crossed his legs self-consciously in front of him. “I-I just wanted it off, I’m sorry,” he apologized.
Thomas shook his head. “Just for that, I’ll keep you in that thing a week longer. I will take if off when I am ready, not when you are,” he grumbled. He took the box in hand and started sweeping the stuff on the bed back into the box.
He paused as he was about to collect a certain picture. It was him, his squad –Callahan, Trémeaux, Robinson, Martinez, Kruger, and Kościelsky –and more importantly, his brother Tony’s team, standing around a crude edifice of water and sand and any bits of refuse they could find to fill in the finer details. In the sand in front of the group someone had scratched ‘Merry Xmas 2002.’
Khaled didn’t miss the involuntary smile on his lips as he remembered the sandman. “What is it, Master?” The unspoken request ‘can I see?’ bubbled just beneath Khaled’s inquisitive eyes.
Thomas passed the photo to Khaled. “We were having a slow day on the base, so some of the boys got together to make a snow man. There wasn’t any snow where we were, of course, so we worked with the next best thing!” He proudly poked at the picture with his index finger. “See the lit cigarette sticking out of his mouth? That was my idea,” he boasted.
Khaled hummed, studying the picture a bit more. He poked at the soldier whose arm was slung around the snowman’s shoulder. “Is that you?” he asked.
“Yeah. Nothing gets past you, huh?” Not that it was hard to tell; Thomas hadn’t changed his physical appearance too drastically over the last twenty years. “Think you can find my brother?”
The corners of Khaled’s eyes scrunched up as he concentrated on the old photo in front of him. It took him about three tries until he gave up. Thomas pointed to a skinny brunette leaning on Ferguson’s back. “That’s him. I know, we look nothing alike,” he said, answering Khaled (and everyone else’s) unasked question. “We had different dads, same mom.”
“Oh, um, I’m sorry, Master.”
He looked up from the picture to see Khaled’s frown. “Sorry? What do you mean?”
“Did your dad die, like mine?” Khaled asked hesitantly.
“What- Oh, no, Khaled, my dad is alive!” Well, last he checked, anyway. “My parents are just divorced is all. Same goes for Tony’s dad, he divorced and left us too.”
“Fuck your horse races, fuck your little bastard, and fuck you! Fuck this entire family! I am done, Maria, done!” Those were the last words that Thomas’ stepfather uttered before he never saw him again. In the violent deluge of a summer rain, the man he considered his father wrenched off his wedding ring and threw it at his mother’s feet. He then turned his back on her –on him, on Young Tony (Thomas’ brother and the man’s biological son) –turning away from them as if it were nothing to leave his own blood in the hands of ‘a piss-poor excuse of a mother and a self-absorbed monster without a conscience’. The sound of pounding rain muted his retreating steps.
“Oh…” Khaled’s voice trailed off.
“It’s okay,” Thomas lied. He gently pried the photo out of his hand and stuck it in the box, finally closing the lid as he rose from the bed to put it back underneath them. He redirected his thoughts from his absent father to the old photo. Only five people in that Christmas photo were still alive now, and none of them were his squad or Tony. Maybe one day he would be willing to tell Khaled about the blast. Maybe he would even be willing to tell him about his overreaction that would send him back stateside, right back into the brood of vipers he had sworn to leave behind. But until then, like every other uncomfortable thing about his past, it was just easier for Thomas to put it in a box, shove it under the bed, and forget about it.
Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz
@bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump @a-la-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees
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Worship At My Altar
Deity Soap x Retired vet Ghost AU
Warnings: Implied suicide attempts, Depression, References to Ghost's backstory.
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Ghost trudged through the quaint convenience store in the small, nowhere town he’d found himself in, filling the worn basket that he’d grabbed on the way in with nonperishable foods that he could carry with him on his motorcycle. He’d been getting low on funds, so if he wanted to have enough to get a decent offering for the temple, he couldn’t afford to be as picky as he normally would be while shopping and instead settled for items like canned ravioli and spam for himself.
He’d used the majority of the cash that he had on hand to get as far away from the overwhelming bustle of cities as possible. He didn’t want to use the card that he’d been issued by the government, the little piece of plastic seeming to mock him even from where it was buried deep within his duffel, wrapped up in an old sweatshirt that he’d had since his days as a fresh-faced recruit.
He set the can of soup that he’d been examining into his basket, adding to his meager collection of food before moving on to the next aisle. He was considering the various cups of cheap ramen noodles, wondering if it even mattered since it all tasted like shit regardless, when someone rushed past him.
His gaze darted away from the display and toward the flash of movement, his hand twitching toward a sidearm that he no longer carried as he located who it was that had passed him.
The tension that had coiled in his frame relaxed slightly when he realized that it was just an energetic kid, the small boy staring excitedly at the display of candy that was further down the aisle.
Ghost watched as the child began wringing his little fingers together as his wide eyes roamed over the large variety of candy that the store offered instead of just grabbing everything in sight, which was a surprising display of restraint from someone so young.
Ghost resisted the urge to flinch when the boy finally made his selection, one of his small hands abruptly darting out to snatch a bag of gummy bears off the rack before pivoting in order to walk back the way he had come, the kid pausing when he finally noticed that he had an audience.
He looked uncertain for a moment, probably unsure of how to feel about Ghost’s masked face and intimidating stature, before he seemed to shake himself out of his reservations and smiled up at Ghost, revealing the fact that he was missing one of his front teeth.
He squeezed past Ghost’s large form with a giggle, Ghost following him with his eyes until the kid reached the end of the aisle and moved out of view. Ghost took a few controlled breaths, trying to ignore how the parts of his body where the kid involuntarily brushed up against him crawled uncomfortably, reminding him of claustrophobic boxes and the sharp pain of a scorpion's sting.
Ghost forced his feet to start moving, intent on going to the checkout since he wanted to visit the temple before it was closed to the public, but he hesitated in front of the same display of candy that had entranced the child, blinking at the colorful packaging.
His dark eyes scanned over the various sugary treats, debating whether or not to buy some with his already scant funds, before he caved with a sigh and reached out in order to grab a bag of chocolate, tossing it into the basket before he could talk himself out of it.
Thankfully, the teenage cashier that scanned his things didn’t seem too bothered by his intimidating appearance, the girl too focused on getting Ghost checked out as fast as possible so that she could go back to boredly sketching on the piece of blank receipt paper that she had sitting next to the register to stare at the scarring on his face that wasn’t covered by the mask he was wearing, like most civilians that he encountered in public did.
He climbed onto his bike and pulled his black helmet over his head, feeling the uncomfortable tightness in his chest ease now that his face was hidden behind the tinted visor, before he took his groceries out of the cheap, plastic bags that the store used and began meticulously packing them away in his saddle bags, separating them based on whether it was for him or for his offering.
Once he was finished, he started the bike with a loud rumble, the engine revving as he reversed out of the parking space and floored it out of the lot, he would have to speed if he wanted to get to his destination in time to set up.
_____
Ghost wasted no time parking the bike and climbing off, impatiently yanking his helmet off and collecting the things he needed before he trotted up the stone staircase and into the looming temple, quickly passing the various priests and lingering townspeople without so much as a second glance in his haste to reach the altar.
A wave of familiar warmth greeted him the moment that he stepped into the room, Ghost taking note of the subtle changes that had been made to the decor in the altar room since his last visit, the red and gold color scheme making the space feel welcoming and cozy.
He carefully lowered himself to his knees in front of the marble platform that the statue sat atop of, Ghost setting his bag of offerings next to him before looking up at the deity that he’d been introduced to shortly after arriving to the small town. It had been immediately obvious to Ghost -even at his very first visit- that the statue had clearly been made with the utmost care, every cut reverent, every curve and divot of muscle lovingly sculpted.
Even the drape of the cloth over the statue’s hips was so flawlessly crafted that, if he reached out and touched it, he was almost convinced that he would feel soft cloth underneath his fingers instead of cool marble.
Ghost allowed his eyes to take in the bulge of muscle, the v of the man’s hips that disappeared beneath the flowing fabric that was wrapped artfully around him. His hands twitched with the urge to trace the veins that crawled across thick biceps and calloused hands, to rake through the thick line of hair at the top of the man’s head, to brush a thumb across his knowing, smug grin.
The man was undeniably beautiful.
Ghost managed to pry his gaze off of the statue in favor of silently pulling the things he’d brought with him out of his bag in order to set them onto the packed stone platform at the man’s bare feet, placing his own offering among the flowers, jewelry, money, candles and bottles of expensive amber liquor that others had left during their own visit.
Ghost meticulously put down ten candles, one for each member of the 141, and the last four for his family. He pulled out a lighter and brought the flame down to the wicks one at a time, mentally recalling the names and faces of those he cared for as he lit the corresponding candle for each person until he had reached the last one.
He took a moment to stare at the flickering flames before forcefully shaking himself out of his daze and setting a bottle of his favorite bourbon in the center of the circle of candles as well as two pretty blue glass bowls that he’d found while at the thrift shop the other day since they were the same shade that the deity’s eyes were.
Or at least what color he believed they were. During his last visit, a painting that someone had left on the altar as an offering in an impressive display of artistic skill had caught his attention, the artist having decided to depict the man with eyes that were such a vibrant blue that they looked like they were glowing, which Ghost thought was befitting of the deity.
He filled the larger bowl with a couple things that he had collected with the intent to bring to the altar. Like the smooth stone that he’d taken from the lake earlier that week, when he had contemplated wading into the crystalline water until it swallowed him up but ultimately decided against it, or the little wooden penguin figurine that he’d spent the week carving, having picked up the habit of whittling a new animal to give the statue every visit.
He then dropped a black skull keychain that he’d spotted at a gas station a few towns over, the bleached skull of a small bird, and the inspirational quote that his therapist had him write on a notecard into the big bowl before propping up the letter that he got from Roach -which mentioned how he was getting sent on a mission with Gaz and Price- behind the bowl in order to ask for protection for the mad cunts.
Ghost finished off the offering by fussing with the small bowl’s placement until he was satisfied before taking the bag of chocolate he’d bought earlier and ripping it open in order to dump the contents into the bowl. He ran a hand over the individually wrapped candies until the pile looked a little less messy before pulling his hand away and letting it rest against his thigh.
He’d come a long way since the first time he’d stopped by the temple, that initial visit having been fueled by a mix of sleep deprivation, desperation and alcohol. The only offering that he had brought with him that time had been the bullet that he’d loaded and unloaded from his firearm so many times since being discharged from the military that the motion was now practically muscle memory.
He’d wanted to get rid of the bullet and the weakness that it represented and figured that the altar of a God he didn’t believe in would be the perfect solution, though he couldn’t have accounted for how the calm atmosphere of the altar room and the kind eyes of the statue staring down at him with a soft, inviting smile kept him coming back for more, chasing that feeling of peace he only got from being in the room.
“I-” Ghost paused, internally wincing at how loud his rough voice seemed in the otherwise silent room, swallowing hard as he ignored how stupid he felt talking to a fucking statue, and continued. “I know it’s not anything extravagant, I don’t have a lot to offer…”
Ghost licked his chapped lips as he trailed off, finally glancing up from the flickering candles enveloping his small pile of gifts to gaze up at the man towering over him, unable to shake the feeling that the statue was looking directly at him despite the fact that it had been carved specifically to look down at it’s devout worshipers. The amused eyes of the man felt like encouragement, the statue's playful gaze easing Ghost's insecurities and helping the tense line of his shoulders relax.
“But you’re already far too spoiled considering the fact that you do fuck all, so I think that you’ll be okay.” Ghost finished with a wide grin that pulled at the various scars on his face, the bite taken out of his words by the soft chuckle that followed the quip as he reached out to condescendingly pat an unoccupied portion of the stone altar, his hand lingering for a moment longer than strictly necessary before he pulled away and pushed to his feet with a grunt, various old aches and pains making themselves known after kneeling for so long.
Ghost picked up his bag and made for the archway leading out of the room, sparing one last glance back at the benevolent statue before finally turning away and moving through the threshold and out of view, oblivious to the subtle sound of shifting stone as the statue’s smile seemed to briefly widen, lips parting to show a flash of perfectly straight teeth.
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