#and now she can Never let anyone know she's a detective named sherlock

[dullahandyke]

you can firmly split my oc naming conventions between 'stupid pun' and 'slightly less stupid pun' by which i mean that ames is surnamed spector because of her ability to see ghosts but also because 'spector' means 'i am watched' in latin which highlights the unwillingly public nature of her job, while eula is surnamed diez because he diez in an alley before the story even begins

[i-am-adlocked]

Adlock Headcanon

We all know Sherlock's nickname for her is "Woman". But what is Irene's nickname for Sherlock?

Honey.

Hear me out.

Irene has called Sherlock many things: Sherlock Holmes, Mr. Holmes, Sherlock dear, and just Sherlock when she was speaking with John.

But post-hiatus, post-TFP, when he can freely call her up and tell her to spend time with him in 221B, behind closed doors... What does she call him? As an endearment.

At first, I wanted "dear" but I realized she calls people "dear" when she's in Dominatrix mode. When she wants to be dominating.

"Ah, thank you, dear." after literally beating him physically.

"Sherlock dear, tell me what you found when you X-rayed my cameraphone?" after literally beating him emotionally.

And she's not the only one who uses "dear" as a power move or just to manipulate someone. Moriarty does it. "So take this as a friendly warning, my dear, back off." And Mycroft uses it. "And in this hour of need, dear brother, your name has risen."

So, I don't want "dear" as Irene's pet name for Sherlock since in the show, it's used when manipulators try to get something from Sherlock.

And then "darling" came into my mind.

But I just love the thought that "darling" is a Watson thing. Since Mary calls both John and Rosie as "darling." And I just didn't have the heart to give that nickname to anyone else.

Then I thought "honey".

Sure, Moriarty uses it once. "And honey, you should see me in a crown." but it's not in a manipulative way. He's basically just bragging at this point so I don't associate it much with anything bad.

And then...

Canonically in the books, we know Holmes eventually retires to Sussex Downs to be a beekeeper.

In the series, we don't really see Sherlock's love for bees anywhere.

And I just started to think that what if Sherlock's real career goal was to be a beekeeper before all his trauma with Eurus?

Yes, Sherlock has a big sense of justice, and his trauma for losing somebody and the case being forever unsolved, add to that the urge to solve Carl Power's death at the age of 5(?) because his subconscious reminded him of Victor missing and never being found.

What if all of that not happening just let him have the freedom to actually pursue Melittology? That what he always wanted besides being a pirate is to be a beekeeper.

Or what if without the trauma, he still becomes a detective as a part-time job but still a full-time beekeeper because even if he does have a big sense of justice, he's not pushed to the edge of finding the thrill away from drugs because he's not emotionally in pain.

What if no one else knows about that in the BBC universe?

Except Irene.

And she calls him honey because bees make honey. And he's her honey. And it starts out as a joke when she finds out about his love for bees. Because "Didn't John said in his blog that I humanised you somehow?" and Sherlock rolls his eyes and she laughs. And she calls him that ironically until it starts being unironic huhu

Anyway, I'm writing a fic about it literally right now lmao

[fancyfeathers]

Father Like Daughter (Yandere William James Moriarty and his darling having a genius daughter)

The day Albert is arrested is the same day Andrei becomes the new Earl Moriarty. The night of William’s death and the manor is set ablaze by Albert, all the children and the darlings of William, Louis, and Albert get out when they are told to and gave to watch the life they knew burn up into ashes, but when Albert comes out to make sure they all are okay before having them taken to somewhere safe until the chaos is over, they are gone. Eloise and Andrei predicted this may happen with this last plan, so they packed suitcases in the garden shed so that when it was time to watch the flames rise they could run and not look back but no one knew where they went and Albert feared that his darling and family may have perished in the fire.

So when Albert stands in Mycroft’s office before he is to be imprisoned he asks Mycroft to look for his children and before Mycroft can even respond a new set of footsteps enters the room. Both Albert Mycroft look to see Andrei, dressed in fine clothes like an adult, clearly no longer a child. Albert immediately asks his eldest where are his sisters and cousins and Andrei tells him that they were staying with the young gentleman Eloise had been courting, but not like it mattered because none of them could sleep.

“I suppose as you know with your father’s arrest you shall become the new Earl Moriarty, and the Moriartys shall be treated the same it does the Holmes- as families who must shoulder the weight of sins and crimes-“

“No, I refuse to let that be the case.”

Andrei had never interrupted anyone before, let alone Mycroft. Andrei was livid at Mycroft’s statement and Albert was shocked that his sone would speak in such a way.

“When Eloise was six she had tried to stop her father and then Madeline as well, I eventually realized as well what was going on and so did Marguerite and Hyacinth. We know what they did to our mothers and it disgusts me, but we tried to stop them from damning themselves anyway because we believed that no one deserves to die. We lost our childhoods because of their obsession, possession, and a false sense of justice, so if you think I shall let myself or my current or future in bear the weight of their sins, you are sorely mistaken because none of us will do such a thing.”

“What has gotten into you, Andrei-“

“Lord Moriarty.”

“Excuse me?”

“Lord Moriarty, that is my title, father. The one I received today when your crimes have been brought before the crown. I am Lord Andrei Nicholas Moriarty from this day on, do lean to respect that seeing as you were not able to respect mother for all the years you were married- no… married is the wrong term, held her captive is a better description, do you not think?”

Albert is clearly taken aback by his son’s new behavior and just watches as he looks back at Mycroft again.

“I simply came here to tell you that none of my kin who caused the crimes against this nation shall bear the weight of what has happened. I vow to you that I shall not let these sins stain my name any further, I will work to restore my family’s honor by moving forward by giving us all a new start. If one should try to drag us down with what our fathers have done then I shall make sure personally that their plans will fail and defend those I consider my family till my dying breath, and no I do not consider my father family any longer, he is as dead to me as my uncle who died in that river last night. Now if you would excuse me, I have other things I need to tend to.”

Andrei leaves and Mycroft and Albert just sit there in the silence left behind. Then that was the last time Albert heard from Andrei for years, any of his children for that matter. Mycroft would write to Albert in his captivity and tell him of what he had heard his children and nieces were up to…

Eloise had become a well respected detective much like Sherlock Holmes and even took on a case all the way in the city of Venice, Italy, during their famous Carnival of Venice. Also hearing she is to become a Duchess when she married her betrothed who has recently become a Duke in his own father’s retirement.

Madeline he heard was now a professional fencer and had also begun teaching at a women’s university, becoming a professor just like her father, though Madeline taught science and not mathematics.

Marguerite was traveling Europe with her mother, Albert’s darling, even getting to meet many famous and noble people throughout the nations they have seen, getting to have tea with the Grand Duchess of Russia when visiting Moscow.

Hyacinth’s life was much the same due to her condition, living with Andrei in their townhouse in Mayfair, though since she was becoming of age she had received many new suitors who had which never been allowed before due to the overprotectiveness of her father and uncles. And apparently she rather fancied this one future Marquess.

Then there was Andrei, he was told about Andrei the most. Mycroft sent him clips of newspaper articles that were about him, the new bill he helped to have passed, the new charity he was funding, the opera house he had rebuilt. Andrei never cared for the public opinion, he just cared about doing the right thing and punishing the wrong. Andrei kept his word in rebuilding his name, people saw him as strong for overcoming all the hardships in his life. It was like Whitley all over again, but unlike Whitley, Andrei never lost hope even in the darkest of times and learned how to properly protect the people he loves.

The one thing that Mycroft does not tell Albert is what he does not know. Andrei, Eloise, and Eloise’s Fiancé, Nathaniel Briar, are beginning to form a network, an organization dedicated to stamping out illegal acts in the underworld that may affect the current society, refusing to let anything like what happened before happen again (sort of like the Aristocrats of Evil from Black Butler). Now while Mycroft and the MI6 may not be aware of this organization yet, they will be because of the threat it may pose to the MI6 soon enough.

(Also I did some post timeskip sketches of Andrei and Marguerite. I didn’t do too much with Andrei from his previous design besides giving him a green carnation on his left lapel. Then Marguerite I gave her less modest clothing for the time because she is either at the beach in France on her travels with her mother or coming back from a sniper job after being recruited into the organization that Andrei is making and all those heavy petticoats and hard to breath and stiff blouses makes it hard to shoot.)

[smutinlove]

ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ ʙᴜʀɴ ʜᴀʀᴅ—ᴄᴀʀʟ ɢʀɪᴍᴇꜱ—chapter six: meddlesome

Chapter five: I watch as you're leaving

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

"Look at me. Come on, open your eyes." A voice softly whispered into her ear. Mae opened her eyes. She looked around for a second, feeling confused. "What?" she muttered to herself. She got up. Mae groaned. She knew she didn't hear that. And if she did, then it would go away eventually. "Don't ignore me, stupid," she heard. Mae rolled her eyes. She was imagining the voice. She didn't hear it at all. She kept telling herself. Mae felt a bit hungry. So, she decided to go downstairs. (Trying to forget the voice too.) And that's when she heard knocking on the door. "Rick!" Someone shouted. Mae's eyes widened. She was supposed to be alone at the Grimes family home. "Hello?" a voice called out. "It's Shane!" Mae's eyes widened. "Motherfucker." She muttered. Mae didn't know why, but the thought of Shane made her sick to her stomach. She walked towards the door and looked through the peephole. There stood a man, whom she knew was named Shane. She knew him as the 'probable father of Judith "Grimes." Judith looked a bit like him too. Mae rolled her eyes. Shane was a handsome man, but she didn't trust him. Even though she never talked to him, she knew he probably had sex with Carl's mom, Lori. "Carl?" She heard the man sigh loudly. "I guess there's no one home," he muttered to himself. Slowly, the man walked away. Mae let out a breath she didn't even know she was holding. She felt slightly uneasy. "Look at me! Fucking notice me!" She heard the same high-pitched voice yell. Only, it wasn't a yell. Mae knew it was all in her head. And to her, she was probably going insane. But it didn't matter. Mae stepped away from the door and made her way into the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator and grabbed the half-empty jug of water. And she poured herself some water into a glass. She put the jug back inside and took a sip of water. "Stop ignoring me, you piece of fucking shit!" She heard. This time, the voice was louder. "Don't ignore me like you ignored Shane." And that did it for Mae. "Shut up! Just shut up!" She screamed. A face she never wanted to see appeared in front of her. "It's me, love! Elyssa Frank. But since we've known each other for so long, you can call me Ely!" "No! I don't want to call you anything! You're not real!" Mae felt rage. She didn't want to talk to anyone. Especially to something that isn't real. She didn't want to fall for her brain's tricks. She wasn't a fool. "Listen." "No. I don't think I will," she said. "Go away, Elyssa!" She yelled. And Elyssa was gone. Extinct? No. But she was gone. And now Mae could rest easy. But she had another problem. Shane. Luckily, Shane had left already. But Mae was a bit meddlesome. She was always involved in other people's business. Whether it concerned her or not. Like the time when her mother's best friend, Julia, was accused of murder, Mae solved the case in two days.

Julia didn't murder anyone. And the supposed "victim," Evan Johnson Wayne, faked his death. Why? Because Julia owed him money. And she wasn't able to pay him back. Mae was proud of herself. But then again, she wasn't. She knew that anyone could've solved that case. She wasn't Enola Holmes. Nor was she Sherlock. She was Mae. Just Mae. But this new version of Mae was better. And stronger and smarter in so many different ways. She was Mae Carter, the daughter of the cunning Edmund Carter and the graceful Willow Carter. (Sure, she heavily disliked her parents for being strict and controlling, but she was proud that she was their daughter.) She bowed her head and closed her eyes. She imagined who she'd be in the next ten years. A detective, a journalist, a model, an actress, a cashier, a reporter-and the list went on and on. But it never ended. But for today, she had one objective. That wasn't to become a detective or a journalist. But to figure out if Judith 'Grimes' was Shane's daughter and not Ricks.

[joanquill]

Spilling the Tea

Things get interesting when William's love interest invites Sherlock's crush to the Moriarty Manor tea party. Continuation of "A Day Out".

Sherlock Holmes & William James Moriarty

A/N: This is based on the tea party chapter/OVA Tag/s: Long (2.1K words)

Guide: S.S/O: Sherlock's Significant Other's Name W.S/O: William's Significant Other's Name W.N/N: William's S/O's Nickname S.N/N: Sherlock's S/O's Nickname

"Good morning, Miss Hudson," S.S/O yawned, groggily walking downstairs as Miss Hudson prepared tea.

"Good morning, (S.S/O), there's a letter for you,"

Miss Hudson called out, giving them the letter.

"Thank you," they smiled, blinking their eyes awake and opening the letter up, seeing an invitation to a tea party at the Moriarty estate this Sunday.

Raising a brow, they flipped over the card and saw a message behind it.

Please come if you can. -W.S/O

S.S/O let out a chuckle, putting the invitation back inside the envelope.

"What's that?" John asked as he and Sherlock walked downstairs.

"A cry for help from (W.N/N)," S.S/O smiled as they pocketed the letter, earning a groan from Sherlock.

"What's it say?" John asked, ignoring Sherlock's sour attitude.

"Well, I'm invited to a tea party this Sunday!" S.S/O excitedly announced, making John widen his eyes.

"You can't go," Sherlock abruptly said, making you scoff.

"What do you mean I can't go?" you challenged, making Sherlock glare at you.

"It means..." Sherlock grumbled, walking over to you with a frown, "...You can't go,"

S.S/O rolled their eyes as they put their hands on their hips.

"Oh, yeah? What's stopping me?"

"Okay, now..." John intervened, placing himself between you two.

"Let's just all calm down and-"

"-We're heading out to meet with Lestrade," Sherlock interrupted as he walked out without a second thought, making John sigh and whisper an apology to S.S/O as he followed the detective.

"Leave him be, dear," Miss Hudson said as she took a sip of her tea. S.S/O shook their head with a sigh as they sat next to her.

"Sometimes I really don't understand that man..." S.S/O grumbled, pouring themselves a cup.

"Well, Sherlock has never been honest with his feelings. You know that better than anyone," S.S/O lightly chuckled, taking a sip of tea.

"Just let him be. He'll come around," Miss Hudson smiled reassuringly, calming S.S/O down.

"If you say so, Miss Hudson,"

"Wow..." S.S/O breathed out, seeing the Moriarty Manor from the carriage window.

"Oh-!" they exclaimed, seeing the long line of carriages in front of them, "...Why is the air so tense...?" they thought out loud, seeing the carriage doors open simultaneously.

Furrowing their brows, S.S/O slowly opened their doors and stepped out, seeing the women almost sprinting out of the carriages.

Out of fear, S.S/O went back inside and closed the door, the large crowd of women shaking S.S/O's carriage from the sheer force.

Suddenly, everything calmed down as the woman became more friendly with a rosy atmosphere around them.

"...What the hell...?" S.S/O muttered, carefully stepping out of their carriage and walking up to the end of the reception line.

"I hope I get to talk to Lord Albert privately..."

"I heard even the helpers are quite a sight to see!"

"Lord William, please wait for me...!"

'Ah, that's why...'  S.S/O nervously laughed, feeling out of place as the women continued to fawn over themselves.

'Where are they...?'  S.S/O thought with their head poking around, trying to find W.S/O.

Soon enough, they see W.S/O standing with a polite smile at the reception, earning glares from the female guests here and there.

S.S/O excitedly waved their hand around, catching W.S/O's attention as they waved back happily.

"You invited Sherlock's mate?" William asked in a hushed tone as he kept his smile.

"If I have to serve women who want nothing more than for me to drop dead, I believe I would need some kind of anchor," W.S/O whispered back, smiling at the women writing their names as they glared daggers at them.

"But they shouldn't be here,"

"They are a noble nonetheless. (S.N/N) can also be a good distraction for our guests,"

"(S.N/N)?"

"Now, now, you two... Don't forget about the mission," Jack reminded as S.S/O walked up to the reception.

"Hey, (W.N/N)!" S.S/O energetically greeted as they wrote their name, "I can see why you wanted me to be here so badly," they joked, making W.S/O chuckle.

"Yes... It'll be quite the day," W.S/O replied, leading S.S/O to the rose gardens.

William inwardly sighed as he kept his composure, making Albert chuckle.

"Don't worry, William. You'll have your chance,"

S.S/O happily hummed as they tried the different treats on their table as W.S/O stood nearby, giving the illusion they were working.

"I'm surprised you agreed to the invitation. I thought you would be out with Sherlock,"

S.S/O chuckled as they shrugged their shoulders.

"Yeah, well... We're just giving each other some space," S.S/O replied with a sad smile, twirling a spoon in their drink.

"Is everything all right with you both?"

"Yeah, yeah! Of course! Why wouldn't we be?" S.S/O reassured as they drank their tea in one go.

W.S/O raised a brow at their behavior but didn't want to pry.

As Albert gave his speech, S.S/O noticed the tense atmosphere coming back, making them raise their cup hesitantly.

As soon as Albert ended his speech, the women quickly ran up to him, their voices slowly turning into noise.

S.S/O only put down their cup and took a sip, watching the chaos unfold.

"Give me a tour?" S.S/O suggested, making W.S/O smile and nod.

"Of course, dear guest," W.S/O winked, making S.S/O chuckle as they stood up and looped their arm around W.S/O.

"Huh..." S.S/O muttered as they and W.S/O walked along the courtyard, "Your friends sure are... charming," they complimented, remembering how the men wooed over the guests with only a few words.

"You could say that..." W.S/O sighed, weary from the day.

"I'm so worried... Love is a deadly disease, is it not?" a woman in pink with heavy makeup flirted with William, making him clearly uncomfortable.

S.S/O snorted a laugh, covering their mouth as W.S/O tightened their grip, looking away with a pout.

'Oh?'  S.S/O thought mischievously, smiling at their jealous friend.

"If we don't see it, we don't have to deal with it," W.S/O whispered, pulling S.S/O in a different direction, but they had other plans.

"That's quite the problem you have there, miss!" S.S/O shouted, catching everyone's attention.

"W-What?" the woman asked, clearly annoyed with the disruption as S.S/O pulled W.S/O along to the front.

"What are you doing?" W.S/O whispered, but S.S/O only gave them a wink.

"Well, you were asking for help, right? I just thought maybe we could help," S.S/O explained with a smile, making the woman scoff while William let out a sigh of relief.

"I was asking Lord William, not you two,"

"Well, too bad," S.S/O shrugged, pushing W.S/O towards William.

"What-!" W.S/O looked back at S.S/O with wide eyes, avoiding William's gaze.

"How about it, (W.N/N)?" S.S/O urged, putting their hands on W.S/O's shoulders.

"If you had the same problem as missy over here," S.S/O looked over the woman who was scowling at them, "What would you do?"

W.S/O could only glare at their friend as their cheeks flared up.

"I would also like to hear their answer," William added with a devilish smile matching S.S/O's, earning gasps from the women while W.S/O could only scream inside.

"W-Well..." W.S/O started, their eyes glued to the ground, "...If I were to be in lo-...infatuated in someone," they corrected as S.S/O chuckled.

"...I would probably admire them from afar...And help them achieve their ideals and support them with everything I could," W.S/O's voice growing softer with each word.

"And how would you support them?" S.S/O egged on, enjoying the show too much as W.S/O glared at them while the women waited expectingly for their answer.

"Such as...Taking care of them when they forget to, and showing how much they mean to me when I can," W.S/O confessed, their face so red and warm it looked like it was steaming.

"I see... What do you think about that answer, Lord William?" S.S/O asked as they hugged W.S/O from behind.

"It's quite the touching answer," William smiled, leaning down to W.S/O's ear, lifting their chin up.

"I'm sure the person you hold dear is in love... I mean is infatuated with you just as much as you are," he whispered, earning a roar of responses from the women as S.S/O pulled W.S/O out of the crowd.

"Well then!" S.S/O grinned, looking down at a completely red W.S/O as they covered their face.

"That sure caused a stir," S.S/O chuckled breathily, tired from running away from the crowd.

"What the heck was that about!?" W.S/O shouted in embarrassment, lightly hitting S.S/O.

"Ow, ow, hey! I was just trying to help! Clearly, none of your friends wanted to,"

"But not like that! There were other ways!"

"Yeah... But this was the most fun one,"

"Ugh!" W.S/O hit them one last time before stomping off, making S.S/O follow with apologies.

"Aw, come on, (W.N/N)! I'm sorry, okay? But you have to admit, it was-"

The two stopped in their tracks, seeing Sherlock pacing by the gates with flowers in hand.

"...We probably should head back before-" W.S/O grabbed S.S/O's arm as they walked towards the gate.

"Wait, (W.N/N)! I'm sorry, okay? I just wanted to help you and- Please don't make me do this!"

"Do what? I believe you told me everything was okay between you two,"

"I-Well, okay. Maybe I lied. Okay? (W.N/N) I beg you," S.S/O bit their lip as they stopped by the gates.

W.S/O gave Sherlock a smile while S.S/O looked away.

"Good day, Mr. Holmes," W.S/O politely greeted, pulling S.S/O closer.

"Good day..." Sherlock greeted, raising a brow as S.S/O kept looking away, making him sigh.

"Do you mind if you could-"

"-No!" S.S/O quickly grabbed S.S/O's arm, "Stay," they pleaded, making W.S/O sigh.

"Talk to him," W.S/O urged, removing their hold.

"Of course," W.S/O smiled over to Sherlock, "There is something I must take care of, so I'll be taking my leave," W.S/O curtly waved goodbye, giving S.S/O a look before walking off.

S.S/O sighed as they crossed their arms, leaning on the gate.

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm taking you home," S.S/O scoffed as they turned to Sherlock.

"Says who? I'll go home in my own time, thank you very much,"

"(S.S/O)..." Sherlock groaned, rubbing his temples, "Did you forget what day it is?"

S.S/O raised a brow, "It's Sunday. What else?"

Sherlock let out a sigh, giving S.S/O a deadpan look, "It's your birthday, dumbass,"

"Ah!" S.S/O's eyes widened as realization hit them, "Oh, crap...! I completely forgot..." S.S/O muttered, resting their head on the gate while Sherlock shook his head.

"Idiot," Sherlock taunted, hitting S.S/O lightly on the head with the bouquet.

"You just got a new friend, and you go and ditch us for some tea party," he added, making S.S/O glare at him with a huff.

"Hey! If you just told me, I wouldn't have gone!"

"Then it wouldn't be a surprise, now, is it!?" S.S/O's eyes widened as Sherlock looked away with pink cheeks.

"...You planned a surprise party for me?" S.S/O asked, making Sherlock scoff and look away.

"Are you coming home or not!?" he asked in irritation as he shoved the bouquet, making S.S/O smile.

"All right, all right," they chuckled, taking the bouquet and holding it tightly.

"Thanks, Sherl..." they whispered, giving a wide smile.

Sherlock felt his heart skip as he looked away, "Don't get used to it..."

"Well, I see you two have gotten over your dispute," W.S/O teased, walking up to the two with a gift.

"It isn't much, but I hope you'll like it," they smiled as they gave it to S.S/O.

"Aww...! Thank you (W.N/N)!" S.S/O cheered as they hugged, making Sherlock roll his eyes.

"Well, I already told the others you will be going home early," W.S/O reassured as they opened the gate, "I hope you enjoy your birthday, (S.N/N),"

"Thanks, love," S.S/O gave W.S/O one last hug before walking up to Sherlock's side.

W.S/O motioned Sherlock to move closer, making the man lean.

"I hope you two enjoy the restaurant reservation," W.S/O whispered to Sherlock while S.S/O looked at them innocently.

"Good luck with the confession," W.S/O added, making Sherlock sharply exhale.

"Yeah, yeah... Thanks for the help," he whispered back, making W.S/O giggle.

"Take care!" W.S/O waved goodbye as the two left, making W.S/O smile at the sight.

"Quite rude to leave me with that crowd," William called out, startling W.S/O as their face warmed up.

"Y-Yes, well... I only did what is asked of me," they excused, about to walk away.

"Did you?" William replied, catching their wrist and making them face him, "Because what I said was the complete truth..."

W.S/O's breath hitched as they looked at William in bewilderment.

"...You did?" William nodded, cupping W.S/O's cheek.

"Every word..." he whispered, closening the gap between them as they leaned in.

"Lord William! Where are you?" women called out, making them pull away.

William let out a disgruntled sigh, making W.S/O giggle.

W.S/O quickly gave him a kiss on the cheek before walking off,

"Let's go. It'll be suspicious if we're both gone from the party," they reminded as they turned to William, their face completely flustered.

William breathed out a smile as he followed.

"Of course," he replied, placing a quick kiss on W.S/O's knuckles.

[river-bottom-nightmare]

the thing about life was that a flame could be so easily blown out, so people fought like hell to keep it alive. the tip of the candle could easily be cupped for protection, gentle breath given to let the flame flutter back to life. (is that what she did? when she pounded his chest again and again, her magic stronger than any human could be? when she pressed her lips to his and breathed the very essence of life back into his body?) what people often forgot was that you could simply relight the candle.

bernard hadn't thought about darla in years. people on online forums, ones he'll never tell tim how often he visited, spoke of their experiences with metas and myths and anyone in between. he knew what happened to people accosted by magic, knew of chains trapping them with their own terror, their minds turning against themselves as their nightmares came to life.

bernard, on the other hand, could say that he wasn't all that haunted by darla. she'd lifted his car off the ground in a display of power, told bernard she was laura fell now, no matter the fact that she looked and walked and talked like darla aquista, then threatened his life on behalf of her seemingly never-ending obsession with tim motherfucking drake. seemingly, because when bernard had brought up old times they used to spend with darla over lunch, casual as you please, tim had grinned a little before dismissing his fears. darla was training with some sort of enchantress to try and be good, growing more powerful by the day.

bernard wondered, for a moment, if all of his friends could make the earth quake with a press of their fingertips. if all of his friends could bend those figures of myth and meta and magic with only their will. if he'd spent his life in the company of gods in everything but name, right down to the perfect muscles pulling under skin and battle-worn glimmer in eyes too old to be on a faces so young. (bernard wondered, for a moment, if there was any way he could join them. if the madness in darla's eyes as she demanded tim's whereabouts and the screams of terror on his boyfriend's lips as he woke up with a knife in his hand were worth it.)

bernard knew there was nothing he could have done for darla. probably not now but definitely not back then. he had no power over life and death, he couldn't have saved darla from the bullet wound that cost her nearly everything had he even attempted to try. sometimes, darla shifted in his memories, morphed into someone with the same dark hair and same blue eyes, but with broader shoulders and a kinder smile.

there was the fear that one day, something would take tim down, a dark shadow grappling with his boyfriend's shining, golden soul before snuffing it out as surely as a candle. then there was the fear that one day, something would bring tim back, clawed fingers opening his boyfriend's eyes and twisting that golden soul into something dripping and jagged, as poisonously yellow as laura fell.

(bernard learned of what happened to jason todd on accident, a couple years after the cult of dionysus. there were some horrors he could force himself to speak aloud, some fates that he couldn't stomach.)

(if tim was surprised at the way bernard's fingernails dug into his back as he held the vigilante close, at the way bernard took advantage of the inches he'd lost to tim's late growth spurt to curl himself completely into his boyfriend's arms, then tim never showed a whisper of it.)

the quickest way to avoid all of that, bernard thought, was to just make sure tim didn't die in the first place.

"hey," tim said, bringing his hand up to flick bernard on the forehead. "only shit nurses get distracted when they're treating their patient."

"only shit patients have such abysmal bedside manner."

"oooh, abysmal," tim waggled his eyebrows. "that word-of-the-day calendar is really coming in handy, huh?"

bernard sniffed. "i'll have you know that i am a well-read intellectual. fuckin' sherlock at this point."

in the movies, people with wounds like the glaring one on tim's shoulder sagged into the wall, made tearful confessions through a mouth full of blood, shuddered in pain at the slightest touch. tim's fingers hurt where he hit bernard's forehead, he didn't lose his smart mouth for anything, and was tapping his foot in impatience before bernard propped it up on the sofa.

"you're fucking sherlock? that's such a sweet pet name, you should use it more often," tim teased.

"don't get a big head, you're not that good."

bernard opened the first aid kit, unusually large and unusually used. his fingers found the small pipe bottle of water and the gauze. he tore a small piece off before wiping off the rest of the dried blood as gently has he could.

"you know," tim sounded almost contemplative, musing. completely disregarding what should have been a throbbing pain. completely trusting bernard to take care of him. "ra's al ghul called me detective once."

bernard's fingers closed around the saline solution with more ease than what was comfortable, but he had plenty of practice pushing those thoughts aside.

"i have no clue who that is," he said, feeling tim tense only the barest bit when he poured the solution over the wound. it had to have stung something fierce. bernard had seen grown men whimper at the sensation. tim sighed and tipped his head back instead.

"no one important," tim chuckled. "but i do kinda wish damian was here to hear that."

antibiotics next, and if tim felt the urge to shy away from bernard's fingers as he brushed the wound with ointment, bernard couldn't tell; he suppressed it as impressively as always.

"come on, no sibling talk when you're shirtless and i'm on top of you." bernard joked. neither of them mentioned the blood staining tim's undershirt-slash-makeshift-bandage, the dried blood flakes all over tim's lap, the way bernard's thighs were clenching tim to the point of pain.

between one blink and the next, tim was all wrapped up, gauze in place and bandage taped on top. his boyfriend's lovestruck little smile gleamed up at him, one bernard recognized. a pinch of awe and a dash of trust and a sprinkle of comfort. mix them together and bake at 350, bernard thought a bit hysterically, and you get love for a man who's terrified at how fast he can use bandages.

still, tim took precedent. every night bernard spent washing his hands too roughly at the sink was another night his boyfriend was breathing on the bed in the other room. every night bernard opened that unusually large and unusually used first aid kit was another night tim's soul stayed whole and shining and untarnished by whatever creatures took people beyond the veil only to drag them back. every night bernard spend trying to rub the scent of copper and the spill of liquid poppy off his fingers was another night bernard used his bloodstained hands to keep tim's flame alive.

i mayyyyyyyy have gotten a little too excited every time i used the word "boyfriend."

tag list: @woahjaybird @anothertimdrakestan @birdy-bat-writes @screennamealreadyused @subtleappreciation @bikoncon @pricetagofficial @catxsnow @bonkybearjpeg @maplumebleue-blog-blog @sundownridge @thatsthewhump @xatanna-troy @red-hood-redemption @capricorn-stark @batshit-birds @buticaaba @comics-observer @newsical

[amyreadsandstresses]

Sherlock Through Taylor Swift

Or, because it's been a while since I connected the show with songs, I decided to detect Taylor Swift Lyrics and Songs that spoke BBC Sherlock to me

*The One - Folklore

The whole thing just SCREAMS Johnlock to me

But we were something, don't you think so? Roaring 20s, tossing pennies in the pool And if my wishes came true It would've been you In my defense, I have none For never leaving well enough alone But it would've been fun If you would've been the one

*Cardigan - Folklore

This is a John song, change my mind

And when I felt like I was an old cardigan Under someone's bed You put me on and said I was your favorite

*Look What You Made Me Do - Reputation

Also known as The Irene Song, amen said the athiest

But I got smarter, I got harder in the nick of time Honey, I rose up from the dead, I do it all the time I got a list of names, and yours is in red, underlined I check it once, then I check it twice, oh!

*The Last Great American Dynasty - Folklore

The Mary Morstan Song

And they said "There goes the last great American dynasty" "Who knows if she never showed up, what could've been" "There goes the maddest woman this town has ever seen" "She had a marvelous time ruinin' everything"

*Enchanted - Speak Now

Johnlock, again.

These are the words I held back, as I was leaving too soon I was enchanted to meet you Please don't be in love with someone else Please don't have somebody waiting on you

*No body, no crime - Evermore

Could literaly be any of them

They think she did it but they just can't prove it They think she did it but they just can't prove it She thinks I did it but she just can't prove it No, no body, no crime

*Willow - Evermore

Sherlock 'bout John, anyone?

The more that you say The less I know Wherever you stray I follow I'm begging for you to take my hand Wreck my plans That's my man

*Happiness - Evermore

This song just sounds like Mary's thoughts to me, idk

There'll be happiness after me But there was happiness because of me Both of these things I believe There is happiness in our history

*The Last Time - Red

I think I've mentioned before how this is a Sherlolly song to me, or even just a Molly song, really

This is the last time I'm asking you this Put my name at the top of your list This is the last time I'm asking you why You break my heart in the blink of an eye

*London Boy - Lover

Bc of course

And now I love high tea, stories from uni, and the West End You can find me in the pub, we are watching rugby with his school friends Show me a gray sky, a rainy cab ride Babe, don't threaten me with a good time They say home is where the heart is But God, I love the English

I'll definitely make a second part, there are so many other songs out there. Also, if anyone has any request for other artists they would like me to look over, do let me know :)

[fncreature]

Y/n, I am your father

You find out a not-so-nice secret

A/n: Just dumping out some stories (I wrote on a doc that's way too long) so here we go, sorry that it kinda sucks. I had just read the Baker Street Irregulars and finished when I wrote it, so...

~

You nodded silently, and Mycroft pretended to roughly shove you into the room.

Moriarty’s eyes widened.

Mycroft didn’t tell you why he needed you for info, you just liked helping Sherlock and Mycroft asked you to.

“So” Mycroft started, his voice stronger than before. “Where?”

“I’ll never tell” But his voice had lost it’s usual teasing tone.

It was actually slightly… Scared?

Mycroft pulled the gun slightly out of his pocket and gave him a look.

No response.

You knew what was coming, he had warned you.

In a second, the gun was pressed on your temple.

“DON’T” He shouted.

“Well?” Mycroft asked.

“No” Moriarty replied. “You’d never shoot an innocent”

You just stared straight ahead, after working with Sherlock for a few years, you learned the art of faking fear.

And it was convincing. There were silent tears flowing down your cheeks, and a pleading look in your eyes.

The safety clicked off.

You pretended to start breathing a bit harder.

“Don’t” He pleaded. “Don’t shoot her”

“Well?” Mycroft repeated.

“Fine” He sighed. “Fine, just get her out of here”

Mycroft pretended to shove you out once again.

You still had honestly no idea what was going on.

Sherlock and John were waiting outside.

“So is anyone gonna tell me why I was just used to threaten the Napoleon of crime?” You asked.

“He wouldn’t even understand why” John joked.

“Is that just because he’s a psycho-”

“Sociopath” Sherlock corrected.

“Sociopath or because he doesn’t know basic knowledge?” You finished.

“Sociopath” John answered with no hesitation.

“Well then I could probably-”

“It’s not something you should know at thirteen” John interrupted.

“So… I’m mature enough to help solve murders that Scotland Yard can’t, but because I’m thirteen, I’m too young to know that I’m the kid of Moriarty?” Shocked stares were given to you by both.

The rest of the walk was silent.

When you got there, you asked “So is anyone gonna tell me if I’m right or not? I’m new to this observation thing”

Silence.

“Why am I not allowed to know that I’m related to a murderer? I feel like it would be easier to cope with if I know for sure” You asked angrily.

Once again no response from them, who were both staring at you at this point.

“Fuck you” A few tears ran down your cheeks. “Fuck both of you” You grabbed your scarf off of the hook and ran out.

You wandered around for a few hours. You checked your phone every time they called in case it was a friend, or Mycroft or Lestrade, since they sometimes called you or John because who knew when Sherlock had his phone on him, even less likely that he’d even answer.

It was Sherlock or John, spamming your phone with calls for literally two hours straight.

When they finally stopped, you considered going back, it was getting pretty cold, but you decided against it.

You ignored your phone when it rang.

And again.

After the fifth time you checked it.

It was Mycroft.

“Fuck” You mumbled and picked up.

“I was getting worried” He said in a calm tone.

“Yeah, sorry, John and Sherlock were spamming my calls an hour ago” You sighed “I have over two hundred missed calls”

“Why?” Mycroft asked.

“It doesn’t matter” You replied.

“Then I assume you don’t want to talk about it” Mycroft said, and you sighed a sigh of relief. “Anyway, the reason I’m calling is that I’d like to say thank your help on behalf of the british government for your help”

You grinned for a minute.

“I’ve got a meeting in-” “Is Moriarty my Dad?” You asked, unable to keep it off your chest.

He hung up.

It took all your will not to smash the phone on the ground.

You just sighed and shivered.

It was cold.

And it was getting dark.

You probably should have gone back. But you were mad. And spiteful, so you didn’t.

You sat on a bench crying for two hours or so.

The sky was black when you stopped.

You ate dinner at a restaurant and continued wandering around.

You overheard someone say “I hope Y/n’s alright” It was John’s voice.

So you started walking away.

“Is that Y/n?” Sherlock asked.

You started running.

“Y/N!” John called.

You started running faster.

“Y/N!” He shouted again.

It must have looked bad, the world’s greatest detective and his assistant running after a thirteen year old girl, and some people stood in between you and them (Sherlock shoved them aside)

Somehow they caught up to you, and John tried to grab your arm, which caused you to fall, and your knee was bleeding and your jeans torn.

Now you were cold, angry, hurt, and honestly a bit scared.

John just stared for a minute with Sherlock behind him, as if he didn’t know what he had just done.

You were crying.

Sherlock, who had no experience with human emotions, just watched.

John offered his hand to help you up, but you got up by yourself, and turned away from them and walked away.

Your knee hurt pretty bad, but you didn’t care.

They were calling your name, but you didn’t care.

You wanted the truth, and you couldn’t have that.

You just wanted to know that your father was even alive.

“Y’know you’re gonna need to sleep somewhere, right?” John called.

“Y’know I can stay awake for over forty-eight hours, right?” You shot back.

“Y/n” Sherlock said.

“Shutup” You mumbled.

“Y/n” Sherlock repeated. “It doesn’t matter what emotions you’re feeling, we need you to come back for your own safety”

“WHY?” You shouted angrily. “I’m not allowed to know who my Dad is, but I’m okay to be used as bait to Moriarty for information with no idea why, and I need to be taken back ‘for my own safety?’ I’ve had guns to my face before and I don’t care!”

The people there were probably in shock. There was a whole lot of blood on your knee.

“Y’know what, I’m willing to make a deal. Tell me if he’s my Dad or not and I’ll go back. Deal?”

Silence.

You walked away.

You went back to Baker street and convinced Mrs. Hudson to let you spend the night in 221C.

You woke up to some hard knocks on the door.

“Y/n” Sherlock said.

“Fuck you” You said groggily.

“Y/n, we need you in the flat.” Sherlock said, and he unlocked the door.

You were curled up in a ball with some gauze on your knee.

That’s how you fell asleep.

Your knee was hurting like heck.

“Are you alright?” John asked.

“Of course, I’m fine, last night was great” You grumbled sarcastically.

“Y/n for god’s sake I-”

“John, leave her alone” Sherlock interrupted, walking in and sitting down next to you. “She had a horrible night and now you’re going to ruin today for her as well”

“Thank you” You sniffled.

Sherlock smiled warmly. John looked surprised.

“Darling, look, I-”

‘I just want you guys to tell me the truth, okay? I- I’m getting good at the observation thing, and there’s no other reason, just tell me, okay?” You asked.

“He’s your father” Sherlock said blatantly. “It’s obvious, I actually assumed you knew sooner”

“Thanks Sherlock, she’s going to have a wonderful time trying to deal with that-”

“Thanks for telling me, anyway, you guys have those large band-aids in the flat, right?”

[luxwritesfanfic]

Definitely Not Your Color

In true Sherlock fashion, he shows you exactly why green isn’t his color. Or, the one where reader can read auras and Sherlock is going through it at the sight of her new friend. AU!Bucky makes an appearance because I can’t live without him. Enjoy!

Sherlock Holmes/Reader

You were stood off to the side of the crime scene recounting your conversation with the last witness of the night. There had been yet another murder and Lestrade had requested Sherlock’s help for what seemed to be a serial killer in the making. Two murders in less than a week and Sherlock was thrilled and it was easy to tell. An array of yellows and subtle oranges surrounded him, engulfed him, as he explained how vacant Scotland Yard truly could be and how quickly he had figured out the killer’s M.O. He shined like the sun, and you swore you saw tendrils of sunlight shoot off of his fingers as he analyzed every aspect of the scene before him. All confidence, he paraded around the crime scene in a way you knew so well, pointing out things that even after working with him for months that you wouldn’t of picked up on. He was happy to be working again, to be playing, no, winning the game once more. 

You were thankful no one else saw his colors like you did. Because as sure as you were that he was what they meant when they said, “let there be light!”, you were sure that others would gravitate towards him even more until it got to a point that there was so much in between the two of you that you would only be able to see his shine from between the cracks of other people.

Pulling you out of your thoughts of Sherlock and things that you couldn’t control, you turned your head at the sound of someone’s throat clearing.

“He’s seriously brilliant.” An officer who you hadn’t recognized before stood behind you, holding his cap in his hands and drumming his fingers along the rim. He looked past you to where Sherlock and John were, a laugh slipped out from under his breath. “Makes it look so easy.”

Your lips twitched at the statement, a warmth you knew too well for your liking spreading around you. If anyone else could see you, really see you, you’d surely be figured out. Sherlock Holmes was a great man, you were sure of it. He was as intelligent as they came and as handsome as the devil, and sure— sometimes he could be rude, and maybe a little ignorant, and sometimes you really wanted to slap the smirk off of his face when playing Cluedo (Because, Sherlock, it can’t be the victim!) but you wouldn’t change him. 

They told you not to stare at the sun but you couldn’t help it. You needed to see what was really there because you refused to believe that a man who couldn’t feel a thing made the world look that vivid. You were the moth and he was the flame and if that meant dying a painful death just to bask in everything that he was, so be it. Evidently, there were worse ways to die.

Stealing one last glance like you couldn’t help yourself, you shoved your notebook and pen in your purse and made your way back to your conversation.

“He really is. You’re new, right? Lestrade mentioned he had some new guys joining the force. Can’t say you didn’t have an interesting first week.” You wanted to lighten the mood as much as you could because you knew this wasn’t an easy crime to see. You still couldn’t look at the body too long yourself without feeling the black sit heavy in your stomach.

“Don’t worry ma’am, I can handle it.” As if he read your mind, he gave you a warm smile and nodded. “My father, he, uh, he was an officer as well. Started me with the bad stuff early. Said it would give me a little more character and a lot more advantage. There’s not too much that can scare me away, I don’t think.”

You returned his smile. He was a cool blue, and it matched his eyes perfectly. It looked good on him, you decided. “Good. London needs all the help that we can get. Oh- I’m Y/N, by the way! I work with Sherlock and John sometimes. I’m not a genius or a doctor but I can take damn good notes.” And at that you both laughed, as he reassured you that the boys would have nothing to study from if it wasn’t for you. In turn it made you laugh even harder when you realized he hadn’t got the chance to see Sherlock visit his Mind Palace yet, where everything you could offer him he already had.

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m James, but I hardly ever use my government if I don’t have to. Please, call me Bucky.” He reached his hand out to you and shook yours, that boyish smile never leaving his lips. From behind you, you could tell subconsciously that it had gotten significantly darker. Like a light had went out. You didn’t think enough of it to turn around and investigate it.

---

You found it was easy to talk to Bucky and you had more things in common than you could have expected. He was polite and seemed to have seriously believed that you were an integral part of the team that he needed to get to know. You appreciated his kindness and how friendly he was, and it seemed like more than anything he was grateful you were giving him a chance to belong. You couldn’t figure out why.

It just so happens that from the angle you were looking, you saw Sherlock’s shoes before you saw his face. It looked like moss had grown through the concrete and saturated him so thoroughly that you thought he wouldn’t soon be able to move. It made you uneasy how sickly the green made him look. You had never seen this color on him before.

“If I knew all you were going to do was stand around and disregard everything I say, I would have brought Molly instead. She listens. Intently.” Sherlock spat and cut his eyes at you before looking to Bucky and giving him a once over before digging in. 

“Generally, they say to try again and again if you fail. I would think that wouldn’t apply to something like the police academy. Third, no... fourth times the charm as they say?” The green fog spilled out of Sherlock’s mouth and continued to cover him, wrapping so tightly around his body that you thought he might have trouble breathing. Even though you were standing a few good feet away from him, you could feel how heavy the fog had made you, and you worried for Sherlock as it encompassed him. You almost made to reach for him because you were afraid you’d lose him under all the smoke.  

“You’re a favored drop out who still lives with his mother, no, father. That’s where the drinking problem comes from I assume? One failed relationship too many and now suddenly your calling is keeping the streets clean of the people you used to run them with. Now, I know Lestrade has horrible taste when it comes to putting together a team but tell me, how did he get so lucky as to stumble across you? It can’t be the... no wait, it is because of-“

“Sherlock!” You say exasperatedly, looking at him like he’s he’s got three heads when you can’t even see the one he’s got as it is. He is solid and dark and lost in this feeling that you can’t name and he’s not him. Well, he is him, but weighed down so much by whatever he’s trying to carry through that you can’t imagine he’s acting this hateful for no reason. You refuse to believe it.

Bucky sighed and somehow still managed to twitch his lips upwards, a ghost of the grin he wore before. “Well, Mr. Holmes, you are what they say you are. Brilliant for sure. Hell, you haven’t even spoken a word to me prior and you know my life.” You were shocked to see Bucky’s reaction, most people would of blacked out on Sherlock for an outburst like that and this one definitely warranted it. “You’re right, about all of those things. I guess I’m just trying to play the best game I can with the hand I was dealt. I’m not one for feeling sorry for myself.” He straightened up and fastened his cap back on as he caught eyes with Lestrade and returned a knowing nod. 

Turning to you, Bucky grinned as if it never phased him, like he had grown used to being talked down on. The blue never left him and that made you happy. You didn’t want him to feel bad.

“Goodnight, Y/N. I look forward to speaking with you again. Mr. Holmes.” With that, he bid you both a good night and headed towards his team.

“Sherlock,” you murmured when you turned back to face him. The fog was so dark that you couldn’t make out his features anymore. You felt the fear creeping up your neck while you were trying to figure out what was so wrong with him. “What’s wrong with you? I figured you’d be happy that you practically solved the case...?” 

You saw it, he had been happy. And then you remembered his earlier comment about Molly. Maybe he wished she was here instead to celebrate his win with him.

“Listen... if this is about Molly, you know you can always ask her to tag along instead. I don’t want you to feel... obligated to invite me. She’s probably more useful in a situation like this anyway.” 

You felt yourself internally deflate as you spoke, but you were able to make out Sherlock’s face once more under the city lights. The green began to thin out. He must’ve been relieved at your confession, you thought.

Sherlock visibly tensed for a second before quickly masking it under an air of nonchalance.

“I could care less about Molly or what she’s good for. All I care about is the work and that it gets done. You know that.”

You watched as time passed and you could start seeing more of him. You realized you’d been holding your breath for some time waiting for the green to dissipate and set your detective free. Sherlock was back with you, and whatever feeling tried to take him away from you was lost now. That’s all that mattered.

And, of course, because there were still pressing matters to finish attending to, your moment with Sherlock didn’t last long. You swore something had changed within him. Something you couldn’t name just yet.

You weren’t totally quite convinced that whatever had happened between you two back there wasn’t about Molly, or some strange feeling that Sherlock was having that he’d surely never talk about. Even still you continued to follow after him wherever he asked you to go, as he still always asked you to go. 

And if he happened to stand a little closer to you the next time you worked alongside Scotland Yard, you were none the wiser.

[megs-mostly-past-random-fandoms]

Memory

Based on this request:  heya! can’t wait for your fics! i’d like to request a sherlock one. him and john find her (as a victim) at the scene of a crime. she’s very shaken up and as john is a doctor he takes her back to baker st so he and molly can check her over. she has some gaps in her memory from the accident so sherlock insists she stays so he can be there and speak to her as soon as the memory comes back…it ends up with them having a lil thing for each other and john has to talk sherlock into asking her out?

Fandom: Sherlock(BBC)

Warnings: Mentions of temporary amnesia and trauma. A little fluff-ish.

Pairings/Characters: Sherlock Holmes x fem!reader, John Watson

Witnesses weren't always reliable. Especially when those witnesses were also victims. Sherlock knew this. But he also knew that you were the only living person who could give him answers. Too bad you couldn't seem to remember anything other than your name and basic information. NOTHING! It frustrated Sherlock to no end. So, when John first suggested he take you to hospital, Sherlock denied it outright.

         "No. There is no point. She'll stay with us. That way I can speak with her the moment her memory returns. You and Molly can look after her in the medical sense while we wait." John wanted to argue, but knew better. That was how you found yourself in the back of a cab, squeezed between the two gentlemen.

         You were quiet as you tried to piece together what had happened that night. The only thing you could remember was that, thanks to a little bit of luck, you'd managed to narrowly escape a violent end. You weren't even sure you wanted to or if you even could remember what happened, especially with those intense blue eyes of the consulting detective studying your every move. At least you'd have a place to stay that wasn't a hospital until you could remember where you lived.

         Days passed and you still didn't remember everything. Bits and pieces here and there, but not enough for Sherlock to put all the pieces together. You knew something. Something that could break the case wide open. He just needed you to remember. Meanwhile, you seemed to enjoy being in the flat. You were clearly a social creature in certain situations and you liked someone's company. Sherlock thought it was John's or Molly's(who came by every day to check on you), or even Mrs. Hudson's.

         "For such a genius, you can be a right idiot, you know that?" John asked him one evening after you'd gone to bed. Sherlock didn't even look at him. "So you keep reminding me, Watson. To what instance are you referring to this time?" John sighed and took a sip of his tea. "Y/N. She likes you. And I'm certain you like her as well."

         "Don't be ridiculous. You know how I feel about…normal people." Sherlock didn't have to look to know that John rolled his eyes at that. "Sherlock, I know you better than that now. She's beautiful and intelligent. You can tell that by spending five minutes with her. She's put you in your place more than once. I think she'd be good for you, if you gave it a chance."

         Sherlock pretended not to hear him. Now wasn't the time for his silly romantic tendencies. Still, he did have a point. Despite your lack of memory at the moment, you truly were an intelligent woman. Not on Sherlock's level, of course, but still, you seemed to keep your mind open to learning and Sherlock could appreciate that. As he sat with his fingers together under his chin, an idea formed in his mind. If you were as smart as he thought, maybe he could get through to you and help you recover your memory.

         "This wasn't exactly what I meant by taking her on a date, Sherlock," John whispered to him the next evening. They were both looking at you, sitting on the floor with your legs crossed, waiting for Sherlock to continue his lesson. You were wearing one of Sherlock's shirts since you had no clothing of your own except what you had been wearing the night of the incident and those were currently being washed. "Nonsense. You know I don't allow personal relationships interfere with a case, but you insisted I spend time with Y/N. What better way to do both?"

         John scoffed and shook his head in disbelief. He shouldn't have been surprised. This was Sherlock after all and the case came first. In this instance, that meant teaching you how to access your own Mind Palace. So John watched as Sherlock sat across from you once more and tried to get you to access your own mind.

         After a while, you grew frustrated and went to stand up. However, you froze about half way there. Without taking your eyes off Sherlock, you sank back down as tears sprang into your eyes. "Oh, god. I-I remember. Oh, god," you whispered before getting up to run to the bathroom, slamming the door behind you. Whatever it was you remembered had rocked you to the core.

*time skip*

         "Thank you," you told Sherlock softly as you left Scotland Yard. You'd finished telling the police what it was you remembered so they could finish closing the case. Sherlock looked down at you and gave an almost imperceptible nod. "I-I suppose I should return home now that I remember where I live." You raised your hand to hail a taxi.

         In the brief seconds between your words and the arrival of the taxi, Sherlock found himself confused. John's words kept playing in his mind. Well, it didn't help that John was on his other side, nudging him with his elbow. "Ask her out," he hissed, "Ask her or lose your chance." Sherlock sighed and pulled out his phone.

         "You're texting? Now?" Sherlock ignored John's exasperated gasp and let his gaze travel back to you. Your brows furrowed when your phone vibrated in your pocket. Pulling it out, you read the text and smiled.

Dinner? Pick you up at 7 o'clock on Saturday.

-S

You glanced back at Sherlock and nodded as you climbed into the taxi. The smile never left your face, even when the taxi drove off to take you home. Sherlock waved down a car for John and himself, his mind bouncing in all different directions as he planned his perfect date with you.

(a/n: I hope this is what you wanted! Tag lists are open, if anyone would like to be tagged in the fics.)

[imonthinice]

The Criminal Psychology Majors, Jason Todd x Fem!Reader Part 16/?

Word Count: 4.2k

Author’s Note: Y/N - Your name

I put two days into this chapter<3  I guess the timeline may speedup a bit<3

Warnings: Jail discussion, Victim Shaming, Fighting, Mentions of Injury, Disassociation, Disconnect, Trauma, Swearing, Mentions of alcoholism and drug use, No beta bitch we die like Jason Todd

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) (Part 11) (Part 12) (Part 13) (Part 14) (Part 15) (Part 16) (Part 17) (Part 18) (Part 19) (Part 20)

Family game night was well underway in the Wayne Manor when Y/N got a phone call from the prison that Justine Wong, her high school friend who went to jail protecting her, was incarcerated in until her trial or the man who attempted to assault Y/N dropped the charges. 

She excused herself and went outside in the Autumn weather to take the call.

“Hello.”

“This is an automated call from Gotham County Prison from Inmate ‘Justine Wong’, to accept this call please press 1.”

She did as such.

“Thank you for your cooperation. All inmate calls are recorded. Your account balance is $50.69.”

“Hello?” Justine asked into the phone.

“Hey, it’s me. Why are you calling? Are you alright?” Y/N asked.

“I need you to come here and get me a lawyer.”

“You’re up my ass right now, aren’t you? I thought he was dropping the charges?”

“He isn’t. Christopher, Thomas, Kaitlin and I seriously need your help now.”

“Are you all in the same prison?”

“Yes, they transferred over the boys yesterday because of this. We can all meet in a recorded room while you get us a lawyer.”

“Fuck, dude. Uh,” she thought about game night, but decided this was more important, “Do you need me now?”

“Yes, we can all get into the room and then you can meet us, I think the jail is 10-20 minutes of a walk away from the Manor?”

“Fuck. Okay. I’ll be there.”

Click. She thought about going back inside and asking someone to drive her to the jail, but she was also just not prepared to answer anyone’s questions about it. It was cold outside, but if she ran she could get there in 10 minutes. But that’s when Bruce joined her outside, she assumed Jason sent him because he was crushing his siblings in Monopoly at the moment.

“So, I’m friends with the commissioner of the county, Jim Gordon,” Bruce said, “And I know what your friends are dealing with.”

“Well, it’s not like it’s plastered all over the news or anything,” she said to Bruce, with a slight [massive] amount of sarcasm tinged in her voice.

“Do your parents know?”

“If they did I wouldn’t be in Gotham anymore.”

“Do you need a ride to the jail?”

“Yes.”

“I can do that, no issue.”

“Thank you, Bruce.”

“Anytime,” he said before leading her to one of his cars.

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

In the car, Y/N tried to keep up conversation with Bruce, it was a short drive but the time seemed to slow and he could tell she wasn’t talkative. This was, what he thought was likely, very, very stressful for her. He was used to this, the court dates, the police station, but he knew that her attackers’ court dates were coming up and she was going to need emotional support, since her parents weren’t in the city.

He didn’t know how to support her as the dad of her boyfriend, he’d probably just mention it in passing to Jason and Jason would deal with her. ‘Deal with’ probably was not the way to describe the girl that his son was dating, especially when she’s in as much emotional distress as Y/N clearly was in that moment, but Bruce was terrible with wording. 

She didn’t even want him to bother with her emotions about it all, because she didn't know how she felt. She didn’t know anything about the situation and how it made her feel, she just froze in the sight of this confrontation and hid from it all behind a mask of seeming to know what she was doing.

They pulled up to the prison, and she got out of the car and waved off Bruce before walking to the front desk and saying who she was and why she was there, providing her ID if need be. They led her into the backrooms, and told her that the room was being recorded and that she couldn’t touch them before letting her in the room.

She looked at the 4 of her friends who were all being charged with assault and battery.

“Y/N?” Thomas asked.

“This... this is surreal. Didn’t think we’d ever end up like this,” she said, looking at the floor before crossing her arms.

“What do we do now?” Kaitlin asked.

“Do any of your parents have enough money to pay for a lawyer? I can call them for you,” Y/N said.

“You didn’t already call them?” Christopher asked.

“No, I didn’t. I’ve been pretending this entire thing doesn’t exist, I don’t want it to exist.”

“But we need a lawyer,” Justine snapped.

“No fucking shit, Sherlock Holmes.”

“Well you should have gotten us a lawyer!” Justine snapped again, raising her voice.

“Now is not the time to yell at her, Justine,” Thomas interrupted.

“Shut up, Thomas! You,” she turned to Y/N, “Look at me! Look what you made us do and you can’t even look us in the eyes!”

“I didn’t make you do anything, Justine.”

“You’re the one who’s a fucking alcoholic and can’t handle her drinks so she almost got raped! You’re pathetic.”

“Now is not the time to victim shame me, Justine” Y/N sighed, “What you’re saying is very hurtful and makes me not wish to help you anymore, understood? You can lash out at me to get the anger out, but this isn’t my fault and you know it,” she said, finally locking eyes with Justine.

“I’m sorry.”

“You should be.”

They continued talking about what to do for hours, with Y/N ignoring most advances Justine made to prove the point that yes, she was pissed at Justine about what she had said to Y/N.

Y/N wasn’t taking anyone’s shit anymore. Ever since she met Jason, and pissed off the press, she stopped letting people get away with everyone, she stopped telling people what they wanted to hear.

And people were noticing, especially her 4 friends in that room. She was trying to get better, to recover so she wouldn't relapse, and it was obvious. 

“Y/N?” Justine said.

“Justine?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I am aware. I’ll be calling your parents when we’re done here.”

“So do you forgive me?”

“I’ll consider forgiving you.”

“You’ve changed.”

“Good,” she turned to the other 3, “Anything you 3 want before I leave?”

“Nope, that’s it,” Thomas said, “Thank you, Y/N.”

“That’s everything yeah,” Kaitlin said, “Thanks, man.”

“What they said,” Christopher joked, “Thanks.”

“Alright, I love you 3, I’ll try to arrange phone calls with you 3,” she said putting emphasis on the word 3. Oh yeah, she was pissed.

She would leave the room without even saying ‘goodbye’ to Justine. She would tell the police she was done with the meeting. They asked who would be handling getting lawyers to the 4 kids, she said she would call their parents. Commissioner Gordon walked up to her and held out his hand, “You must be Jason’s girlfriend. I’ve know that kid all his life basically, I’m Commissioner Jim Gordon,” he said.

“Y/N,” she said, shaking his hand.

“I know these last 2 weeks have been extremely stressful for you, Y/N,” he said.

“I think everyone’s caught onto that.”

“I called Bruce to come get you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

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

Meeting new people filled her with a lot of life after the hell she was pulled through. From stabbing, to head injuries, to friendships crumbling, to court, Y/N was being strewn through the wringer.

She knew it would calm down eventually, she was just being put through a few bad weeks for a lifetime of happiness, and she hoped that happiness was with Jason.

She couldn’t think much longer when Bruce pulled up and she got to the car.

“How was it?” he asked.

“Do you really want to know, Bruce?”

“I do. The justice system can be draining.”

“You could say that again,” she joked, “So, where do I start? Well, I get in there and tensions are high, obviously. I’m sure prison sucks when they shouldn’t really be there, they did the job the vigilantes here do, and we all let them do it. Anyway... my friend I guess, she comes at my throat about my attack,” she paused, trying to swallow her pain, “Starts blaming me for it, uses my alcoholic past against me, you know, the stuff you shouldn’t do. I don’t care if she’s right and I shouldn’t have drank, but she fucking led me to the bar.”

She fumbled with her hands a bit, still trying to not cry, “Anyway, I told her that she can’t talk to me like that, that I won’t let her talk to me like that and she apologized. Guess what? I said ‘You should be.’ and I know that might not mean much to you, Bruce, but I would have never stood up for myself like that had I not met your son, you did something right with that boy, Bruce, I swear,” she joked, “But that was about it, I have to call everyone’s parents to get them lawyers, but that’s it.”

“I figured you had a backbone from the start, kid,” Bruce said in response.

“You kidding? I had to ask Jason if you would hate me for flipping off the press? I’ve never, ever had a backbone.”

“Well maybe, besides the lack of protection,” he joked, “Maybe Jason and you are a good couple.”

“You think so?”

“I think so.”

“Thanks, Bruce. Really. Your kids are a hoot to hang out with and you’re not half-bad yourself, old man.”

“Are you going to start calling me that, too?”

“Maybe jokingly.”

“I’m not that old, kiddo.”

“You just called me kiddo and you think I don’t deserve to say you’re old? Really? Bruce, c’mon, you’re smarter than that.”

“You don’t deserve it. You’re just going to do it.”

She laughed, “About the protection lecture, I wouldn't have done it if I wasn’t on the pill, Bruce. I appreciate the concern, but you were so wrong about us ‘not being prepared’.”

He laughed, “Maybe you should have said something.”

“You never asked me, Bruce.”

“I wouldn't make a good detective, then.”

“That’s why Commissioner Gordon is on the cases I’m involved in, and not you.”

He paused, “Isn’t your head-butting buddy’s trial starting tomorrow?”

“It is.”

“Are you going to watch it?” he asked, off-handedly, “I think Dick might, just to see what the ‘sicko’ looks like.”

“I’m definitely going to watch it,” she laughed, “Might even make it an essay for school.”

“Well that’s one way to handle it.”

“Might as well turn the sick fuck who tried to turn me into a ransom note be turned into a 100% in my classes. Call it; Classy Revenge.”

They pulled into the driveway together, while Bruce was laughing at the comment Y/N made. She laughed, too. It helped heal some of the wounds she experienced over the 2 weeks of knowing Jason, even some of the prior wounds. Bruce told her that the kids were still playing Monopoly, none of them had apparently gone bankrupt yet, it was 12:00am.

To say she was impressed with Jason and his siblings would be an understatement, she remembered playing Monopoly with her family, and they’d all always declare bankruptcy within an hour or so, and thee was never a back-to-back winner when they all played.

Maybe they were bad at managing money, maybe thee Wanes just were too stubborn to declare bankruptcy and they bent the rules of Monopoly a little bit to suit their family, she didn’t know.

They walked into the house and sat back down, Y/N at Jason’s side where she had been the 4, or-so, hours before. Everyone seemed to acknowledge her presence and wished to ask her what happened, but no one knew how to bring it up to her. They knew she wasn’t used to the life of court and trials, the needing to talk to police, it was really one the Waynes and the kids of police officers that were used to tat stuff.

She pretended to not notice them wanting to ask her and opened her phone while Jason tried to negotiate for the 4th railroad from Tim, to see her mother texted her.

How are you, sweetheart? Her mum had asked.

I’m fine, mum. Shouldn’t you be sleeping?

I should, but I can’t sleep thinking about the trial of your attacker

Same. It’s such a stressful situation.

I can’t even imagine how you’re feeling through all of this.

She couldn’t put how she felt into words. How the way that the moments she was in the alleyway made her feel. the way that man’s face was burned into her memory to be a constant reminder tat she wasn’t safe wherever she went. It was something she had never experienced before.

Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was pain.

I don’t know how I’m feeling either, Mum.

How’s your nose?

It’s healed basically. No more nosebleeds at random intervals.

You didn’t tell me about the nosebleeds.

I didn’t tell anyone about the nosebleeds, Mum.

Why not?

I don’t need people to worry about me, to feel for me, to make their times and schedules molded to fit me. Good intentions or not, I don’t need charity hand outs.

Then do we stop paying your rent?

Well, I mean you could. I wouldn’t stop you from stopping paying my rent, but the difference is that you giving me money is to keep me at the top of the school, to make myself the best I can be.

How badly would your studies be impacted if we stopped paying your bills?

Probably massively. Don’t worry, mum. It’s a two-year program and then I can get my own job and make enough money. I’ll get you a little house on a hill and you can be the Queen of the Hill.

That’s nice of you honey. We should both try to sleep if we’re trying ot catch the trial today.

Goodnight, Mum.

they were all still glued to the game, when Barbara chose she would  take the risk and ask Y/N about the meeting.

“So, how was it?” she asked, innocently.

“How much time do you have?”

“We have pretty much all night, the others can go at this till the trial tomorrow,” she joked.

“I mean, challenge accepted,” Y/N laughed, “So, we pull up to the county jail, right. I wave off Bruce, no big deal, everything was going to plan, which should have honestly been my first sign that things were going to be fucked, but I digress,” she paused, “I walk in, give the lady my ID and she looks at m funny, like she knew that I had been drinking underage in that moment and was disappointed in me, as she should be.”

She fiddled with her hands, “So they lead me to the back and before they do they tell me the usual, I can’t touch any of them and my conversation with them will be recorded, then they let me in. I greet everyone like the good friend I am but tensions are high and everyone’s on edge, which is understandable, but.”

Jason perked up when she put emphasis on but, knowing the story was about to get real, really quickly.

“My friend Justine, she called me to get me there, she starts going at me about how this is my fault for being an ex-alcoholic and drinking, which, yes, i should not have been drinking. But she lead me to the bar,” she paused, “She starts blaming me for how I almost got raped and putting them all in there, whatever,” she paused again, “I basically told her that if she wanted my help she was going to have to behave and be nice to me, to which, she apologized,” she paused.

“You didn’t accept that apology, right?” Stephanie asked.

“God, no. I said I’d consider forgiving her. Everyone else was fine though. anyway, I have to call their parents and get them in contact with a lawyer soon.”

“You’re still doing that even after that whore victim-shamed you?” Jason said, he seemed in awe that Y/N would be so kind to someone who did her so wrong.

“Jay, I’m borderline legally obligated to do that,” Y/N said, “I wouldn’t do it if she hadn’t saved me.”

“I think you still shouldn’t do it,” Damien said.

“And you seem very vengeful, Damien. But that’s only sometimes me.”

“Look, thou shalt not sin or whatever, love thy neighbor or whatever, but that girl wronged you in that conversation, do you really owe it to her to call her parents?” Tim asked.

“You know, for a family who’s known for being the ‘Nice Billionaires’ you all tend to really hate my choices,” she joked.

“Don’t make dumb ones, and we wouldn’t judge,” Tim retorted.

”Okay, smartass. I hope you go bankrupt.”

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

Waking up next to Jason on the day of her attacker’s trial was something to her. The comforting aura of the room seemed to be stripped away because the sun hadn’t risen, the blinds didn’t need to be closed, and Jason wasn’t cuddled up next to her.

She would find him already dressed, pacing back and forth in his room. For her 3 back-to-back days of being in Jason’s house without going home, she never saw him this actively distressed about anything. But given the situation they found themselves in, it was understandable.

Someone actively threatened her life for an attempt at a ransom on her name, because she was now tied to Bruce Wayne, and Bruce had money. Of course, for the Wayne household, the kids and Bruce were used to ransom attempts on themselves, with some of them actually being taken hostage before, but Y/N wasn’t.

She defended herself, and since it was, thankfully, caught on camera unlike the attack on her attempted-rapist, she didn’t have to appear in court, she didn’t even need to video her side of the story, she wrote it in a letter and sent it to the District Attorney's office. The District Attorney, being the prosecutor, was obligated to give her statement to the defense, so she was curious as to how her words would be spun to fit their narrative.

Jason and Y/N were both in the criminal psychology major at their college, they both knew what they were in store for, and they both had the ability to tear the defendant into pieces the minute he spoke. If, he spoke, that is.

Jason didn’t seem to notice that she was awake. He was really lost in his own thoughts, his own concerns. He stopped pacing though, and he was just staring at his laptop, possibly zoned out from the situation.

She got up as quietly as she could and went to hug him from, she could hear him let out a little chuckle, so she greeted him, “Good morning, Jay.”

“I thought you were still sleeping,” he turned to look at her.

“I was, but I woke up, that’s how that works,” she joked.

“That’s insane I would have never thought people wake up after they sleep,” he said with heavy sarcasm, “The more you know.”

“Insane, I know,” she said, “I still don’t even have clothes here,” she laughed, “I really need to go home eventually.”

“No you don’t, what?” he said with more sarcasm, “You can just wear my clothes, baby.”

“I don’t think they’ll fit, Jay, I think you forget you are literally massive.”

He laughed, “Listen, being massive is not my fault.”

“How is it not your fault?”

“Don’t ask questions.”

“I am asking questions, I am curious now.”

“Shhh,” he joked, “No need to worry.”

“Billionaire, playboy, philanthropist and he’s got rippling abs? But zero cause for concern? Where do you even find the time?”

“Well, when you’re not over it’s during my downtime.”

“Can’t believe you won’t work out in front of me,” she laughed, “That’s just rude.”

“You already have free entertainment here,” he joked.

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

Somehow she found clothes that somewhat fit her so she could go downstairs and watch the start of the trial. She didn’t know if she could sit through the entire trial, she was victim. No one expected her to be able to sit through the entire thing. It was a lot different from studying trials to actually being a part of the trial.

There was more of an all-seeing-eye presence in the living room of the Wayne Manor that morning before the trial began. The sounds of reporters through the television while everyone sat and waited for it to begin, it was not something many would enjoy.

There would be an ending to this story, to this court case, whether it was a month from that moment on that couch or a year from that moment. There would be justice for that bullshit. 

Part of her didn’t even want the trial. She wanted the man to take a plea deal. She didn’t want to be in the spotlight when murders were happening. But no one would let it go, a beautiful woman being hurt in an attack against her? It was the kind of stuff that the news sources wanted, craved, from every court case.

And that was the thing about it. She didn’t want to be the tabloids newest escapade into being more and more corrupt, broken, deceitful. 

She looked to the television as Jason put his arm around her, bracing for any sort of reaction to the news. No one really knew how she was going to react. And then it started.

Cameras were being let into the courtroom and panning over to him. The man who had attacked her in the alleyway. She subconsciously brought her hand up to her nose and felt it. For a moment, it was like she was back in that alleyway, head-butting that man and then running to the Manor. But she wasn’t there and she knew that, trying to snap herself out o that state brought nothing, though. It took the Judge having to shush the entirety of the courtroom to get her attention back to the real world.

The Judge would introduce himself to the press, but mainly to the court, and then request opening statement. Or at least, Y/N thought that was what he was doing. She didn’t really know what was going on, something pulled her away from the court trial she was witnessing for the man who attacked her.

To the outside, the people surveying her to make sure she was okay, her eyes seemed to glaze over and she seemed to just disconnect from the situation. But they didn’t realize she had disconnected. She just looked to be in thought.

She saw colours fade in and out of her sight, people showing up in front of her, him showing up in her sights, the images dancing in her mind as if she was there in that courtroom.

The time began to slur in her mind. Hours became minutes to her. And before she knew it, court had ceased fro the day. She was snapped out of it by Jason letting her go. He offered to drive her home, she agreed.

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

“Y/N?” Jason asked while they were in the car.

“Uh huh?”

“Are you alright?”

“Good question,” she answered, flatly.

“Are you?” he asked, seeming more concerned.

“Probably not.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Is that a no?”

“Mhm.”

He reached to place a hand on her thigh, attempting to comfort her, “That’s okay,” he said, “You don’t need to talk about it.”

“Mhm.”

He sighed, “I’ve decided something,” he said, “I’m going to spend the night at yours, just to make sure you’re okay.”

“Okay.”

“You still don’t have to talk about it.”

“I know.”

“Okay, here,” he smiled, “Have I told you the full story about the time that we did chair-racing in the halls of Wayne Manor?” he asked.

“No, you haven’t.”

“Well, what happened was we ended up flying down the halls at like 4 in the morning, right? Well,” he paused, “Dick used to be an acrobat, so when he almost went flying off the stairs, he actually caught himself on a handstand on the rails. Chair still went flying,” he said.

She smiled a little bit. He knew he was doing something right.

“We ended up breaking a vase. Bruce was okay with it because it wasn’t his parents, but Alfred was pissed at us for it. Grounded us all for weeks about it.”

“As he should.”

“Look at me go, getting multiple word answers out of you, and I even got you to crack a smile,” he laughed and grabbed her hand to hold it, “I’m just so good at this boyfriend thing.”

She smiled again. The smiles wouldn’t last for long, but they did happen. He knew the trial was traumatic for her. He could tell. Just from the way she drooped after the trial ended, she could normally not shut up when it came to Jason, so this was out of character.

When they got to her house, he would walk, basically lead her, to her house. She was so far disconnected from everything, that he even just let her rest in her bed with his clothes on and her shoes still on, because she wasn’t functioning. 

He would crawl into bed with her and let her rest her head on his chest. 

[staysaneathome]

This Was Not A Dare, Reigen

Jon glares at each of the— the suspects traitors in front of him, tape recorder clutched tight in one hand.

Martin, wringing his hands uselessly, eyes wide and beseeching. Tim, fists clenched hard enough for his knuckles to go white and returning his gaze with a death stare of his own. Sasha, arms folded to form a barrier between Jon and herself, expression a perfect mask of concern. Reigen, radiating disappointment in every one of his gestures and quips. Elias, eyes weary, fingers rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Some intervention this is turning out to be.

Jon wants to scream. Wants to reach out and shake someone, anyone, until they admit he’s making sense and it’s the rest of the world that’s gone mad.

Every single one of them (except Martin) could’ve killed Gertrude. He knows he has no proof that they did, but he has no proof that they didn’t either, can’t they see that? If they don’t want him to suspect them, it should be easy for them to actually give him proof of their innocence (like Martin did), instead of just repeating platitudes of “you know this isn’t acceptable adult behavior, Jon” and “you’re better than this, Jon”.

Who cares about knowing better or acceptable behavior when it’s your very life on the line? He’s half tempted to throttle the con artist, see how dignified or adult he is when he’s the one with a murderer on his tail!

…Not that Jon is a murderer. It’s just the principle of the thing, is all.

“Jon,” Elias says, tone soothing in all the ways he doesn’t want it to be. “This is absurd. This goes far beyond an unhealthy work environment. I’ll admit it’s partly my fault for letting it get this bad, I should have intervened earlier.”

Reigen cuts in with a hand gesture that is as effusive as it is dismissive. “That doesn’t make his behavior okay, Bouchard-san. It may be bad here, but Jon chose to follow me, Tim and Sasha, and yell at Martin, rather than going to the police or paying a detective, like Herlock Sholmes or something.”

Jon sputters. “Wh- It’s Sherlock Holmes, not—and he’s fictional!”

Reigen blinks sleepily, one eyebrow raised. “Oh? That doesn’t sound right. Are you sure?”

“Yes!” Jon all but shouts, rapidly reconsidering his stance on braining the sardonic little git with his tape recorder. “Don’t you even—an-and you’re deflecting again! Just like with your ridiculous ‘haunted gun’ nonsense!”

“I’m not!” Reigen says, clearly deflecting. “I’ve seen this kind of thing loads of times as the number one psychic. When a weapon kills lots of people over 100 years, the bad energy gets bigger and bigger until the gun grows an evil spirit and is hungry—”

“I refuse to believe Gertrude Robinson was murdered by a sentient blunderbuss!!”

“Be that as it may,” Elias interrupts, shooting them both a stern frown. “This is exactly the kind of thing I was talking about, Jon. Given how badly it’s affected your work ethic, I will be taking direct action to ensure it does not continue.”

Jon can feel his shoulders hunch almost against his will, dread pooling in his stomach at the thought of whatever punishment is about to be unjustly inflicted on him.

Only Martin looks half as worried as he feels, glancing between him and Elias nervously. By contrast, Tim looks downright triumphant, smirk nasty and vindictive. Sasha’s somewhere between those two, not openly celebrating his soon-to-be-downfall, but not acting like she’d lift a finger on his behalf either, though he’s unsure why that feels like it should surprise him. She’s always been as neutral as Switzerland.

Reigen, oddly enough, has more in common with Martin than with Tim. He’s staring at Elias like he’s waiting for a bit of news he knows he won’t like.

Jon thinks he’d appreciate that more if he wasn’t about to be unfairly lambasted simply for trying to stop a murderer and bring justice for an old woman who probably died frightened and alone. Much like Jon probably will once he’s been hobbled by whatever Elias is about to say next.

“Such as by restricting access to the archives from members of the public who are ultimately doing you more harm than good.”

…Wait.

What?

“What?!” Tim, Martin, and Sasha echo.

Reigen glances between them all, blinking in confusion.

Jon shares the sentiment entirely. His punishment is…for someone else to be removed from the archives? Someone he doesn’t employ or even like that much, no less?

He must have misheard, surely.

Though maybe not, given how Tim looks aghast, glancing between Elias and Reigen. “Okay, no, Reigen’s clearly not the problem here—”

“I’m very sorry, Tim, but Jon has made several remarks about the disruptive nature of Mr. Arataka’s presence in the archives.” Elias sighs. “From the arguments like the one we just witnessed to the nonsensical purchases of oddities inspired by his presence, such as Duolingo subscriptions,” Meaningful glare at Jon who resists the urge to clutch his phone guiltily, “That are now billed on the Archives’ expenses, it unfortunately seems as though he is dragging down productivity for all of you as an active stressor.”

“But we’re much better equipped to take statements from people who don’t speak English because of that!” Martin protests, stepping forward. “Isn’t it an advantage to have a more, more international perspective for our work?”

“One positive in a sea of negatives does not an advantage make.” Elias says, sounding infuriatingly like he’s misquoting something. “And really Martin, how realistic is it that this would help in more than a few isolated cases? I expected better from you.”

Martin’s face crumples, and his shoulders hunch, making himself smaller.

Jon finds his own mouth opening to—what? Say something? What would he even say?

Luckily, Sasha intervenes before he can dig his own grave further. “That’s as may be, but he’s a wonder for morale. He and Jon are funny, not anything serious, and I don’t think we’d have come to you about Jon‘s behavior unless he encouraged us to—”

“Which only fits into the delusion where Jon feels an outsider is rallying his subordinates against him, which is not good for his paranoid outlook.” Elias replies calmly. “And it’s never a healthy work environment when one employee feels the others are making them the butt of a joke.”

“I’d say that’s not as bad as when the boss feels he has the right to violate everyone’s privacy whenever he wants to just ’cause he’s feeling sad!” Tim growls.

Elias begins to answer, before Reigen finally speaks up.

“Sorry,” The con artist says carefully. “But you are…«I know this one…» banning me from the Archives? Yes?”

“That is the long and short of it, yes.” Elias says, grudgingly

“Why?” Reigen challenges, eyes hard and searching. “What have I, personally, done that’s wrong here? What behavior do I need to correct?”

There’s a moment of silence. The whirring of the tape recorder sounds uncomfortably loud.

“Mr. Arataka, are you currently under the employ of the Magnus Institute?” Elias asks, brow furrowed.

“Ah, no, no, but—”

“Are you looking to become employed by the Institute at this point in time, as a prospective member of the Archival Staff?” He fires off rapidly.

“Su-Sorry, but if you could just go a little slower—”

“Then I am afraid that unless you’re looking to fill out an employment contract or a Statement form, we cannot help you, Mr. Arataka.” Elias spreads his hands wide. “We are an academic institution, a place of research and learning. The Institute cannot allow for social dalliances on company time, especially not when those visits are negatively contributing to the work environment and the wellbeing of our staff.”

Tim throws up his hands, “I-I cannot believe this!”

Reigen’s mouth works soundlessly for a moment.

“Arataka is my…what do you call it? First name?” He says, at last. “Using it in this context is…inappropriate. Please call me Reigen, if you would, Bouchard-san.”

“Of course. My mistake, Mr. Reigen.” Elias does have the decency to look somewhat abashed. “Though, regrettably, I am going to have to ask you to leave the premises within the next twenty minutes, or I will be forced to call security.”

Reigen nods, jerkily, hands stuffed in his pockets.

Jon almost wants to call out to the fraud as he turns to go, grab him by the shoulder, pick another argument, something. He knows he should be happy, be glad that this thorn in his side will finally stop bothering him, but instead he just feels—befuddled. Off-kilter.

What happened to the man who once spent three hours arguing for the “spiritual effectiveness” of entirely performative and useless rituals, saying that ensuring his clients left his office fooled and contented was better than actually uncovering genuine supernatural forces and learning all there was to know about them? Why is he going so-so easily now, when he’s made Jon fight tooth and nail in every debate he’s had with the so-called psychic?

At the door, the con man pauses.

“Bouchard-san. You said I could come back if I had a statement to give?”

Elias shifts in his seat, looking bemused. “W-well, yes. That is a service we do provide. Of course, the statement would have to be genuine, and verifiable as such before we let you back into the Archives.”

“We don’t even do that for most of the rubbish we do take,” Tim mutters under his breath, and though Jon is glad he’s not the one being shot a quelling look, he does have to agree.

The con man turns back.

He’s got that smirk on his face that immediately puts Jon’s hackles up on instinct, prepared to argue against whatever inane point he’s come up with now to defend his phony psychic title.

“Gotcha.” Reigen says, far too cheerfully. «Ja ne.»

Then he strolls out of the office, as cool as a cucumber.

Jon could even swear he hears him whistling as he makes his way down the stairs.

There’s a moment of stunned silence.

“I’d do him.” Sasha pipes up, unhelpfully.

“Sasha!” Martin hisses, scandalized. “D-don’t you have a, a—”

“Oh, I don’t have to worry about that.” She remarks, far too blasé for someone in a newly committed relationship. “Tom’s heard about him too, and he agreed he’s just our type.”

“And I’m not?” Tim jokes, but there’s a hard edge to it that Jon’s found himself increasingly familiar with in the past few weeks.

Sasha shrugs with a mischievous little smile, as if that mattered very little to her.

Elias coughs. “Right. Well. Whatever your relations to Mr. Reigen are, please try to limit them to outside the workplace in future.”

The rest of the intervention is surprisingly subdued. Elias gives Jon access to the footage from the cameras in the rest of the Institute, and Tim bodychecks him on the way out of the office, muttering about how nice it must be to never face any consequences for his actions. Sasha follows, the way she won’t meet his eyes a condemnation in its own right.

Even Martin doesn’t say anything to him, just bites his lip and hurries past back down to the Archives. It doesn’t sting. It doesn’t.

Even as he settles in to watch and rewatch the CCTV records of Gertrude’s last week alive, Jon can’t shake the ridiculous feeling of foreboding that’s dogged him since Reigen left.

Most of him wants to say it comes from the fact that despite the fact that Reigen has not appeared in any of the camera records for the Magnus Institute before he started his term as Head Archivist in 2016, isn’t banning him from the Archives just letting the con man run around London with impunity, with no way for Jon to ascertain his movements or motives? That instead of solving a problem, Elias has just given a potential murderer free reign to escape?

But a small part of Jon, one that never could deny the sensation of being watched, that is frozen in second-hand terror whenever he reads a Statement, knows, Knows that it this stems more from the idea that the fraud will actually accomplish what Elias has unwittingly challenged him to do.

The illogical but pervasive surety that he will do so.

Jon’s not sure if he’s more afraid that Reigen Arataka will vanish entirely, another unfortunate victim become an unsolved mystery.

Or that he’ll come back, and bring whatever he’s managed to unearth on his insane quest with him.

[sunkisseddaffodils]

Can we get some John Watson x reader fluff? I'm definitely a John girl and there simply aren't enough John x readers out there

Pairing: john watson x female reader

Summary: john takes care of you when you’re sick.

A/n: thanks for the request! I definitely wanna do more John x readers now ☺️

Song: kiss it better by Rihanna (I thought of this idea when I read the title of this song oop)

-

Birds chirping, sunlight pouring in through the gap in the curtains and Mrs Hudson bustling about downstairs indicated that it was the morning. John had been awake all night worrying about a conversation he had with his girlfriend. In passing, she had joked about feeling 'a little shit’ but you could still make it to help with the case the next day. John knew a fundamental fact about his girlfriend, Y/N: she was stubborn and hated anyone fussing over her. So if she was ill then she didn’t want anyone knowing about it. John had sent her a message saying he would come over in the morning to look after her. He also told her to stay home and not worry about the case. Quickly, he grabbed a robe off the hook on his bedroom door and headed downstairs. Mrs Hudson was in the kitchen, already making a cup of tea for him. But other than that the flat was silent. No sign of Sherlock. He smiled hesitantly, sat in his armchair and asked Mrs Hudson:

‘Has Sherlock gone out?’

Mrs Hudson put his cup of tea on the coffee next to his chair.

‘He went out ages ago. A case, probably’

And with that vague answer, she left to go downstairs. As he was sipping on his coffee, he typed in Y/N’s number and dialled. No answer. John hoped that Y/N would listen to his advice for once. And he hoped that she hadn’t gone to help Sherlock with the case. But maybe she was still asleep. After John had finished his drink, he got a cab straight to Y/N’s flat. But when he got to her apartment, he saw that he had left a note for him and stuck it on the door. It read ‘gone out’ with a little heart scribbled next to it. John once again rang her but there was no answer. He may not have been a genius detective like his flatmate, but he could tell that she had gone to help with the case. She knew that he would have been fussing all over her and didn’t want to worry him. Concerned, he dialled Sherlock’s number.

‘Is Y/N with you?’

The line was pretty bad but he could hear someone whispering to Sherlock in the background.

‘No. Why would she be?’

John knew that tone from Sherlock/

‘Come on, don’t lie. She’s there, isn’t she’

Sherlock knew there no point in lying anymore.

‘Fine. She is.’

John heard Y/N yell ‘Sherlock!’ In the background.

‘Sherlock surely you can see that she’s not feeling well.’

Sherlock simply stated.

‘I tried to tell her she didn’t have to help out but she was pretty adamant’

Sherlock told John their location and he hurried over in a taxi. When he arrived, Y/N saw an anxious and slightly cross look on her boyfriend’s face. She pouted in response. But he couldn’t stay mad for long and rushed over to check how she was doing. He gently placed a hand on her head to feel her temperature. Her forehead was burning hot. And she was breathing heavily. No wonder she was feeling ‘a little shit’.

‘Jesus! Y/N, you should be at home resting.’

Y/N just stood there, fiddling with her sleeves.

‘No really, I’m fine. There’s no need to be worrying.’

John pulled her into a tight hug and whispered softly into her neck.

‘Please let me take care of you. I am a doctor after all.’

Finally, Y/N caved and they returned to her flat. On the way back, her fever had gotten worse. John helped her to the sofa. Before she sat down, he plumped up the pillows. When she was laying down, he placed a fluffy blanket over her. He kneeled down beside her and brought over a glass of water and medicine for her to take. When she had taken it, John joined her on the sofa. Y/N snuggled into his chest and he was gently brushing his fingers through her hair. It felt really peaceful and serene. Suddenly, she called out his name.

‘John, thank you for taking care of me. I know I can be stubborn sometimes but I really appreciate it.’

John replied, chuckling slightly.

‘You are a bit. But I love you anyway. I always wanna make sure you’re okay. Never feel you’re a burden because you’re not.’

Y/N reached up and gave him a peck on the lips. She was so happy to have him.

[melon-kiss]

This is just going to be a ramble about everything Sherlock. You’re most welcome to discuss or just ignore it. I needed the space to vent.

I watched Sherlock. Again. I think it’s beginning to become my annual tradition. And I have a crisis. Don’t get me wrong, I am always Sherlollian at heart. It’s just… I have doubts sometimes. And what triggered those doubts this time was the fact that Sherlock calls Molly “John”. Twice. And then Irene Adler. And then one post on Tumblr. And many, many more.

OK, these are just my random thoughts. Enjoy if you’re willing to read them.

 1. “John”. “Molly”.

We often mix up names of people we consider to have the same place in our lives. Which is good, right? Right. Only, in Sherlock’s case, we’d have lean into the theory that Sherlock does love John romantically and feels the same way about Molly. Or concede the fact that he loves them both platonically. Neither of these options is really satisfying, isn’t it? Well, that’s why I’m struggling… One could say he’s in denial of feelings for Molly and identifies them as friendship, as this is the strongest, purest relationship in his life, the only one he describes as emotional and the closest he’s ever had to love. Besides, Molly and John are similar in one way – they both share the same – medical – knowledge. Of course, Sherlock doesn’t realise her other qualities until The Reichenbach Fall when she says she can help him whenever he needs it. It’s not until she’s honest with him again and tells him, without a shred of grudge, that she knows she means nothing to him, that he realises he has at least two friends. He calls her “John” when his mind is busy with something else, so there’s no room for any purposeful confusion. The same thing happens in The Empty Hearse. What else can it mean if not friendship?

 2. Nothing Hits Like Irene

Irene Adler is created as the love interest for Sherlock. Is she, though? Well, we see Sherlock utterly confused upon their first meeting. We also see him flirting and creating an atmosphere of sexual tension for the first time. OK, he saves her but then she vanishes, he got over her, I thought. And all was fine until The Lying Detective came and Irene Adler sent a text to Sherlock, first in such a long time. John, of course, suggests that if Sherlock should be romantically involved with anyone, it should be her. And then it hit me.

Irene Adler is the symbol of chemistry in Sherlock’s life.

She’s a dominatrix. She’s all about sex, that’s obvious. At the critical point of The Scandal in Belgravia Sherlock says: I believe John Watson thinks love’s a mystery for me but the chemistry is incredibly simple and very distractive. Sherlock discovers that he, indeed, can have chemistry with people. He doesn’t mention love, he merely says sentiment, referring to the crush Irene Adler had on him. She is, indeed, a simple distraction – you can see it clearly in his memory palace when he yells at her to get away. But Molly… Molly stays. She leads him through the entire process of surviving a shot.

And then Irene Adler returns in The Lying Detective. John confesses to Sherlock about texting with a stranger met on the bus. And that he wanted more. Sherlock says everyone gets to be human sometimes. Even he can’t resist the urge of replying to Irene Adler sometimes. It was all about attraction again.

And that’s why she’s not considered a romantic relationship in his life. John rambles about love changing him, to be more specific, the love of his woman changing him. But he says Irene’s a dangerous criminal. How would that change Sherlock in any way?

In The Final Problem, upon deducing the coffin, John suggests Irene Adler but she’s not his first thought in general once they all hear that this is about someone who loves Sherlock. Sherlock’s response is very telling: Don’t be ridiculous. Look at the coffin. It seems like Sherlock pieces the puzzle at once – the coffin, plus the “name” on the lid – it couldn’t have been Irene Adler.

And that’s why Sherlock calls her The Woman. As a symbol of his sexuality. The Woman who’s woken up certain impulses in his life.

 3. Makeshift Gauge

Who is she?, Sherlock asks John in His Last Vow.

Based on what Mofftiss duo said about Molly, she was supposed to be featured in two episodes top. Yet, she stayed. The uncanonical character not only stayed but became fans’ favourite. I think she became a useful tool for Moffat and Gatiss. I think that not only she represents Sherlock heart (of which existence he has no idea at first) but later becomes our makeshift gauge. For what? For measuring Sherlock’s progress. See, it’s like when you live with someone, you don’t notice when they put on weight or grew a little but those who see less of them will notice all changes right away. So, when Sherlock runs around with John, we don’t notice the change in his behaviour at once (also because he’s always been nice to him, from the very beginning), we need to focus to see that. But Molly pops by once per episode and we see how Sherlock’s perception changes. In season one, he has good intentions, but they turn out bad. In season two, he’s more neutral but doesn’t restrain himself from rude comments. And Molly is being Molly – tells him he’s rude in her natural, soft way and he says sorry. For the first time. Without anyone making him do that. Almost the same happens in The Reichenbach Fall – but this time, Molly doesn’t let herself be fooled by Sherlock’s arrogance and just ignores it, going straight to the point. She says: “I’m here for you” and lowers his defences. In season three, he spends an entire day with her, smiles at her and is the sweetest, softest Sherlock we’ve ever seen. Moreover, when Lestrade asks him about her helping him solve cases, he says: [John] is not in the picture anymore, implying that she not necessarily had to be a temporary replacement. In season four, he says I love you to her.

What can we deduce about his heart?

 4. The Eurus Conundrum

We could write an entire book about Eurus and not even be able to grasp her spirit. I’m not going to do that right now.

I have issues with what happened in season four finale. I mean – Molly, of course. Mycroft says Eurus and Jim Moriarty met five years ago, so before Moriarty revealed himself to Sherlock. They both planned the entire game for Sherlock. Does that mean Sherlock never really won with him? Does that mean Moriarty let him use Molly to “win”? Since she was included in Eurus’ plan, we can safely assume Jim knew about Molly back then. At first, when I saw Moriarty saying We both know that’s not quite true [that you don’t have a heart] in many Sherlolly fanvids, I was like naaaaah. He didn’t see her as one of the important people in Sherlock’s life, it couldn’t have been a reference to their meeting. But now… how deeply back in time was Eurus’ plan allocated? Which events did she predict?

Or maybe I’m missing something? Any thoughts on this?

 5. Sherlock Evergreen

I once came across a post here, about how BBC Sherlock is literature, about sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s struggle with his own genius character. He was over with him, didn’t feel like writing any more of his stories so he killed him, but fans demanded more. He kept writing, although he hated it from the bottom of his heart. Season four, so often considered as the worst of all of them, is a way of saying that Sherlock character is, unfortunately, invincible. Immortal. He will live forever. We can’t kill him, no one can. Even his creator couldn’t have done it.

In season four, Sherlock goes back to the start. He is a clean slate again. He went through the entire process of change – became a good Sherlock, considerate of other people’s feelings and emotions, appreciative, supportive, loving, ready to mend what he broke. That interpretation, although very good, kind of killed my Sherlolly spirit. But I guess every interpretation like this would do it. If we stop treating characters like real human being, we’re left with what they really are – a construct, tools, puppets in the author’s hands.

Based on this, I think we’re safe to say there will never be a fifth season of BBC Sherlock (gosh, how I wish I was wrong!). Why? Because, despite what Moffat said in an interview once (after season three finale he said they’ve plotted out the entire fourth and fifth season – liar, liar, pants on fire!), season four had the perfect ending. As mentioned above, Sherlock became a good man and Mary Watson summed up what Sherlock is all about: two man, a genius junkie and a former soldier, who solve the weirdest, the toughest of cases together in flat on 221B Baker Street. Now, Sherlock is ready to be taken over by other artists who may find a new way to tell his story (though, I don’t think so) all over again.

And that’s a big, big shame… I think I speak for at least most of Sherlollians when I say we’d like to see Sherlock and Molly’s first encounter after the call. The finale really closed all the story arcs and subplots, except for this one. I mean, c’mon. You don’t have to be a Sherlollian to be annoyed by this – just remember that it was such a “biggie” that Moffat was asked about this in an interview. And this may be another reason as to why we won’t ever get a fifth season of Sherlock – because that would mean taking a side. And none of the creators will do it because Sherlock cannot be an open-and-shut case. It has to be like literature: big, open, twisted, unclear and full of room for interpretation. As long as there’s no certain explanation – yes, Sherlock loves Molly, no, Sherlock is gay – we create more and more content out of the need of closure. Thanks to the room for interpretation, the story lives. I mean, it’s been four years since The Final Problem airing and here I am, discussing BBC Sherlock still.

 Coming back to Sherlolly… don’t worry. Though I’m still not sure that we can harvest any hard evidence for Sherlock’s feelings for Molly (other than friendship and respect), I’m still a Sherlollian. There two new fics waiting for me to pull myself together and write them. I think it’s good to have doubts – it means my brain hasn’t rotten yet and I can still be critical, I’m able of having my own opinions.

 Thank you if you managed to read it all! I’d love to discuss if you have any conclusions. If not, that’s fine, too. I just needed it get it out of my system.

PS WHY DOES MY POSTS IN ENGLISH SOUND SO SOPHISTICATED IN MY HEAD BUT WHEN I PUT THEM IN WRITING, THEY’RE SO SHITTY?!

[mca-attack21]

The Case of the Killer Lightbulbs

Hi guys! This mini-series is based off an episode of criminal minds called ‘Amplification’. You can find more of my writing on my Masterlist here.

Working alongside Sherlock and John  had put you in numerous compromising and even dangerous situations. It was not a rare occurrence to find yourself in harm’s way, but that never discouraged you. The way you had always viewed it was that John and Sherlock had gotten on fine before you, and they would continue in that fashion if for some reason you were incapacitated. Furthermore, you felt that there was no nobler way to die than saving/protecting the lives of others, especially those you cared about. This mindset of yours never faltered, even during “The Case of the Killer Lightbulbs” as John named it on his blog.

You were at the market when you got the call informing you to stop what you were doing and go outside where a car would be waiting for you. You were used to it by now, Mycroft was known to be the dramatic type. The ride was long and you wondered what the nature if thus case would be: Murder? Blackmail? Theft? National Security? Or, was it just Mycroft trying to get information on his little brother again? Whatever your thought process was during that car ride, it did not prepare you for what was coming next.

You were taken to Scotland yard which was swarming with various officials from detectives, to the military, to the CDC. You were led through to a room where Mycroft, John, and Sherlock sat.

“Okay, you may go now, shut the door on the way out,” Mycroft said to your escort.

As she did, he passed a folder to you, Sherlock, and John and began debriefing, “Yesterday 24 people checked into local area hospitals, all of them with the same symptoms, all of them had been at the same park around 4 pm yesterday. Now at just after 8 am, 14 of the 24 are dead. Lung failure and black legions among a myriad of other symptoms.” 

“Anthrax?” John asked.

“Anthrax doesn’t kill this fast,” you replied.

“Unless it has been genetically altered,” Sherlock surmised, “What do we know about this strain?”

“The spores are weaponized, reduced to a spiral ideal that attacks deep in the lungs. They are both odorless and invisible. The normal antidote is not effective against this strain,” Mycroft explained.

“Why exactly are we here?” John asked.

“We believe that this was a trial run, but don’t know what for. An outbreak in London would be detrimental, so we’ve called you lot in,” Mycroft replied, “You have full access to any resources you deem necessary,” he added handed you special badges, “Finally, here is Cipro, we don’t know if it’s effective against this strain, but it’s worth a shot. I wish you the best of luck.”

You, Sherlock, and John downed the pills and were left alone in the office as Mycroft had to step out.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” you said, still trying to get your head around the idea. 

“It isn’t the first time, and most definitely won’t be the last,” Sherlock replied. 

“So, where do we even start?” John asked.

Over the next two days, the three of you visited the hospital and spoke with remaining victims, analyzed the strain in the lab, located a second but smaller attack that happened weeks ago but only affected 4 people, and started to narrow in on a suspect list. You also created a list of possible targets, however it was too large to do any good. The three of you had come to realize that you were looking for someone with a significant background concerning biological agents. You knew that the person you were looking for most likely was in cohorts with the military or CDC and had a relation with the bookstore that was the target of the first attack. It wasn’t long before Sherlock had discovered who was behind it all.

This led you and Sherlock along with a team from the CDC to the home of Alfred Wilson to further investigate. John was at the hospital lending his medical assistance. And Mycroft and his men went to Wilson’s workplace and other known frequented locations. You and Sherlock stood outside as you waited for the all-clear.

“While they are doing that we should probably take a look around,” Sherlock decided.

The two of you walked towards the back of the house looking for anything out of the ordinary. Sherlock was distracted by a phone call from Mycroft explaining that the lab was clean and Wilson was still MIA. Sherlock turned to inform you of this news but realized that you had wandered off. 

“Y/n?” he called and looked for you. He found the path that you must have followed. “Y/n,” he called again. He saw the shack and darted towards it, “Y/n!”

That is when you came into his line of vision, “Sherlock get back! Get back, get out of here!” you shouted frantically locking the door. 

“Y/n? What are you doing? I don’t-” he started, but then he saw the broken container of white powder and the ventilation system. This was where Wilson had developed and even tested the strains. And you had already been exposed, which meant that if the Cipros was ineffective as it most likely would be against this mutated strain, you had less than 24 hours. 

He called Mycroft who got the necessary people there. They wanted to get you out and to the hospital as soon as possible, that was not your plan though.

“Y/n, the CDC is here, they are preparing to extract you,” Sherlock explained through the phone.

“There’s no point, I’ve already been infected, I might as well work to solve the case,” you argued.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mycroft interjected.

“Sherlock, take me off of speakerphone,” you ordered.

“Alright, tell me what you see,” Sherlock humored you.

“Alright, well first off Dr. Wilson is dead, so we can rule him out. There are two workspaces and two sets of handwriting on the papers. So he either had a partner or protege,” you paused as a fit of coughing took over, “I’ve read through everything in here, the cure isn’t here. But maybe they can take the spores and reverse engineer them.” 

“Okay, Y/n. Is there anything else that sticks out to you?” he asked.

You were going to continue but the coughing took over again. You hung up the phone to spare Sherlock. By the time you caught your breath John was entering in an orange hazmat suit.

 “Orange is not your color,” you joked, “On a serious note how are the patients at the hospital?”

“Right now, let’s focus on you,” he redirected, “how are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” you replied.

“Are you sure? I could give you something to ease the pain,” he explained.

“I’m fine and I don’t want to take any narcotics,” you snapped.

“Okay, no narcotics, got it,” he confirmed, “how can I help?” he asked.

“I read through all of the papers and none of them talk about the cure, but I think that it has to be in here somewhere. Probably hidden considering that Dr. Wilson was a former military scientist. He was paranoid and most likely tried to protect the cure from his partner. So look for something innocuous, something that you wouldn’t expect,” you explained, starting to feel slightly light-headed. That is when your phone rang again.

“Yes Sherlock?” you answered.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“That is irrelevant, why’d you call?”

“Mycroft said that Wilson’s co-workers were unaware of him having a partner. Is there anything else you can tell me about him?” 

You went over to the desk again scanning for what you missed. It was like it was on the tip of your tongue, but your brain was too foggy to see it. 

“Just list off everything that is on their desks,” Sherlock said wishing that he was in there with you.

“Wait, I’ve got it,” you replied, “Dr. Wilson was a professor. He has syllabi and a framed picture of him teaching. I even read a paper that he graded, or so I thought. He wouldn’t let just anyone into his lab but clearly,” you started before being interrupted by a wave of painful coughing, “he valued himself as an educator. What if the second desk wasn’t a partner, but a student? And the paper, it was formatted like a thesis. See if Mycroft can crossmatch the list of Wilson’s students and/or students at the university that Wilson taught at with past employees or customers of the bookstore.” 

“Okay, will do,” he said hanging up.

“Y/n, you did good, now we need to get you to the hospital,” John tried.

“Okay,” you conceded knowing that there wasn’t anything else you could do there. A couple of CDC workers came and took you to a decontamination shower that they had set up, with John close behind. 

“John, go help Sherlock,” you instructed.

“I’m gonna stay here and see you off to the hospital,” he insisted.

“I am about to be stripped down and bathed, my pride can’t take the thought of you witnessing that. Besides the way I see it, you can either stay here and watch me die or go out and prevent it from happening.”

“If you’re sure,” John replied, feeling torn. 

“Go on,” you reassured him.

———————

Tags: @fanfictionsilove​ @delightfulheartdream​ 

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list :)

[high-functioning-lokipath]

SH - Sherlock & Greg Friendship - Prompt: How Greg and Sherlock First Met - Words: 1,637

A/N: Alrighty! So this written from Greg's POV. It's my personal headcannon of what Sherlock and Greg's first meeting might have been like. Please don't hate me if I got something wrong or if it's different than your ideas. Just my little thought. At the end of the story there is a little explanation of some of the references I made. See if you catch them 😜

I WILL ADD THIS: THERE IS DISCUSSION OF SUICIDAL THOUGHTS AND INTENT. HOWEVER, NO HARM COMES UPON ANYONE. PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU FEEL YOU WILL BE TRIGGERED.

"Goodnight, Inspector," Donavon said, as we walked out to our respective cars.

"Good night, Sally," I replied. "Have any plans tonight?"

"Oh, nothing much," She replied with a smile. Anderson walked out and headed to his car too though I noticed he winked and waved at Sally as he passed by. "See you tomorrow," She told me. I nodded and got in my car. As I started my engine I saw Philip run back to her and hand her what seemed to be a key. I shook my head and pulled away. I didn't want to pry into the personal lives of anyone on my team but I made a mental note to keep an eye on those two.

"Oh, I'm exhausted," I groaned to myself as I drove home. I'd just received my promotion to Detective Inspector and the first case we'd gotten has proven to be more difficult than we expected. Deciding that my already distant wife wouldn't care if I was home another 15 minutes later, I pulled over for a smoke. The Waterloo Bridge was just up ahead so I got out for a little walk. As I walked up into the bridge I took out my cigarette and was just about to light it when someone spoke up.

"Those things will kill you."

"Who said that?" I called out, immediately pocketing my lighter and lowering my cigarette. Instinctively, my hand hovered near my holster.

"Nobody of import to you, Detective Inspector. I was just making an observation." I was speechless for a moment, surprised that whoever was talking knew who I was. Or at least what I was. My blood ran cold, though, when I finally spotted the illusive speaker.

"What are you doing over there?" I asked, attempting to keep my voice steady. I couldn't yet see his features but I could tell he was young, tall, skinny and had a head full of curly hair. The first thing I noticed, though, was that he was standing on the wrong side of the walkway railing.

"My plan was to jump," He stated plainly. I was quiet for a moment, surprised that he'd so easily admit such a thing. "Surprised I said it?" He asked, looking at me finally. I nodded and he smiled sadly. "No reason to lie to you. You're a smart man. You wouldn't have reached DI otherwise."

"How do you know that anyways?" I asked, walking up next to him, however remaining on the correct side of the railing.

"It was quite obvious. Your haircut implies your employment is of the upper blue-collar class which narrows the field considerably. Considering your age you couldn't be higher than Detective Inspector but no lower than Detective Sergeant. If you were still at Constable you would have quit. Also it was obvious from the fact you went for your gun when I spoke up. You're considerably tired, even for this late hour, meaning you probably were one of the last out. Though tired your gait shows a measure of excitement, pride, if you will. It couldn't be caused by anything at home. You stopped for a smoke on your way home and didn't light up in your car meaning your wife dislikes the habit. One of the reasons she's going to be leaving you, by the way. You certainly aren't expecting children any time soon so that would leave your job. You're excited about something that happened recently at your job. You're obviously exhausted from the case you've been trying to crack so that leaves one option. Promotion. I'd say at the beginning of this past week."

"Wow," I gasped. "You're quite good at that!"

"You're not angry?" He asked slowly, staring at me in surprise.

"Not at all."

"I just told you your wife was leaving you."

"I knew that," I chuckled. "She's been hinting at the matter for weeks. I've been trying to fix things but, with my new promotion, she seems more determined than ever."

"I see," He said, looking off down the river again. "Most people get quite upset with me."

"Well, perhaps depending on the situation it might not be welcome but I don't see what's so bad about it. You know," I said with a grin. "With your ability you'd make a fine DI yourself."

"Tried. Couldn't pass the psych eval," He whispered. "What you call an ability, they call a disability." I stayed quiet, waiting to see if he'd go on. "Doctors diagnosed me with Asperger's and ADHD.”

“Well that certainly shouldn't stop you! Have you considered becoming a private investigator?” He wrinkled his nose at the suggestion.

“I’m not a fan of that title.”

“Private detective?” I tried. He shook his head again. “I’ll think of something,” I said determandly.

“Why would you care?”

“You seem like a nice kid, I-”

“I’m not a kid, I'm 25,” He interrupted, causing me to chuckle lightly.

"Alright," I said, holding up my hands. "Young man. You seem like a nice young man. I want to help you out."

"Why?" He asked again, sounding awfully much like a 2 year old. "I grew up in the countryside with my parents and my older brother. I never had any friends in school. I’ve always been like this. It didn’t get any better when I went to uni. Everyone just made fun of me. Once I graduated, I moved in with my brother in the city. I worked with him for a few years but,” He paused. "Let's just say that didn't go well. I tried to live on my own but I couldn't pay rent because I wasn't able to hold down a job. No one could put up with me. My brother would send me money here and there but he stopped after a while when he found out I had gotten involved in other things."

"Drugs?" The young man nodded slowly. His eyes were closed and he seemed to be somewhere else in his mind. "You know I could have you arrested for that," I commented.

"You wouldn't," He replied. He turned his head and looked straight at me, his eyes more intense than anyone else's I'd ever met. "Besides," He continued, looking away again. "I've stopped."

"For now," I said. "You'll stop until you don't have anything to do and then your mind will get too loud, too busy, too noisy and you'll try to quiet it again."

"How-"

"My cousin," I stated simply. "And also myself in a way. These 'help' me with my stress." I held up my package of cigarettes.

"May I see them?" He asked, holding out his hand. I nodded and handed them over. He looked them over carefully and then threw them into the river.

"Oi! Why'd you do that?" With a smirk and quickly hopped back over the railing onto the walkway.

"Try this," He said, rolling up his sleeve and showing me a patch on his arm. "When I have an especially bad day I'll go up to 3 patches. But one would probably be enough for you."

"Alright, I'll give it a try." He smiled abit haughtily. "But," I added, causing his expression to falter. "Only if you promise to give the private, personal, whatever you want to call it, detective work a try."

"After consulting with you, Inspector, I suppose I could attempt to give this idiotic world another try."

"That's it!" I exclaimed. "Consulting Detective! That's what you can call yourself!" He furrowed his brow in thought before smiling slightly.

"I think that just might work. But who would I consult for?"

"Well, you could set up a website so people can send in cases. Perhaps post something about how you do your deductions. It might take awhile for you to get enough customers so perhaps I can arrange for you to take a look at some old cold cases. What do you think of that?"

"I-" He paused, looking away in embarrassment. "Thank you, Inspector."

"You're welcome. And call me Greg, hm? Or Lestrade if Greg is too hard to remember," I joked.

"Alright," He paused. "Graham," He added with a smirk. I laughed loudly and clapped his shoulder.

"Well, I have the feeling this is going to be the start of something very special for you. Who knows where this will take you or who you'll meet!" He nodded, corners of his mouth turning up in a small smile. "Why don't you stop by my office tomorrow afternoon? I can get you some cold cases and who knows, maybe you'll even crack the case I'm working on now!"

"Thank you," He replied, suddenly sounding very nervous.

"Look, I know people are going to judge you for who you are and what you do. I wish I could change that. But keep your chin up. One day you'll look back and be surprised where it got you. Be confident in yourself. That'll help a lot."

"Like this?" He asked, standing straighter and giving off a well practiced authoritative glare.

"Something like that," I replied. "Here. Try this." I reached for his coat collar and turned it up. "Perfect. Now you look like a real professional." He nodded sharply, keeping up his vaguely disinterested air.

"I've done this before," He admitted. I smiled and nodded.

"Me too. I think you'll be just fine." I smiled at him, happy I was able to save a life tonight instead of investigate a death. "Do you need a ride home?" I offered.

"That would be helpful," He admitted.

"Alright, then, Mr.," I paused, chuckling lightly. "You know, I never got your name."

"Sherlock Holmes," He replied. I smiled and shook his hand.

"Nice to meet you, Sherlock." I paused for a moment, thinking. "Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective. Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

I UNDERSTOOD THAT REFERENCE: A GUIDE

The key - Anderson is giving Sally a key to his apartment since they are having an affair. Not exactly a direct reference. Just a thought lol

Those things will kill you - I thought making that the first thing Sherlock said to Greg would have explained all the more so why Greg was so happy to see him again when he came back.

Sherlock's diagnosis - In one of the episodes (can't remember which, too lazy to look it up lol) John says Sherlock has Asperger's. One of my best friends has Asperger's and I've had other friends with ADHD. As a non-professional, I would say Sherlock definitely acts in harmony with those two disorders.

The patches - Greg was showing Sherlock his own patches in the first episode. Thought that was cute.

Graham - I personally think Sherlock has always known Greg's name and it's just an inside joke lol

So, if you noticed anything else, let me know! Please leave a comment (or two lol) if you liked it!!!!

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