#hisloyalwriterjw

[ilmiotas]

I have returned to Tumblr

Previously, I was hisloyalbloggerjw, hisloyalwriterjw, and Sadishappiness.

Now I'm a multimuse blog >:D

@deathtransformed

@shallnotdisappoint

@drthetasigma14

[apcgee]

@hisloyalwriterjw / continue

It was a start at least. Enough to whet her curiosity. “Really? What sort of witch?” From any one else, it might have been a sneering mockery. From Sherlock, it was genuine curiosity.

[nichtsehen]

*gives Bern a lil smooch*

She managed a faint, exasperated smile as she shook her head, staring out at the river.

"How did you find me? I just got back in the city, I didn't even have time to text."

Yet John had figured it out. Or Sherlock. Who could know.

[consultingdick]

@hisloyalwriterjw replied to your post: hiatus

Taz IS so much better

i’ve levelled up to friends at the table now

[dcntcommitsuicide]

hisloyalwriterjw:

“Ye of little faith.” John drawls, already taking a few steps back so he gain some momentum.  He just needs to make it to the large rock in the center of the creek in order to get across. Easy.

“I can absolutely make it.”

     “It’s more of worrying about you getting hurt, really.” Because it wouldn’t be good at all if John slipped and fell. Still, he knew John would still do it, no matter how much he would try to convince the man. And so he decided to just stay back and hope for the best.

     “Just be careful, you wanker!” Christ, he really hoped John would make it across without a hitch.

|| @hisloyalwriterjw ||

[fracturedlayers]

@hisloyalwriterjw

There was a great deal of shouting, punctuated by a screeching violin, that greeted John before he even reached the front door of their building. It was unmistakably the Holmes brothers having a row, which the doctor would see for himself inside the flat.

Sherlock, red-faced, hair disheveled and clothed in pajamas, gestured emphatically with the instrument in his hand.

"JOHN. So GOOD of you to join us. Unfortunately, Mycroft was just LEAVING."

A sentence that ended with a deathly glare at the elder brother.

[amanandgoodatit]

❛ i thought i’d be dead in a truck with my hand hanging out of the taillight by now. ❜

@hisloyalwriterjw || John Mulaney Sentence Starters

“-- D’you often find y’self shoved in the boots of cars, mate?”

[amortgageandtwocats]

"You are safe with me, I promise"

rescue starters

      Q clears his throat, hoping that he’s shaken the quiver in his voice, “I’m fine, John, really.” He raises a hand, a finger pressing to the middle of his glasses. “I ought to get to work, there’s a flaw in the system somewhere... I have to- I have to find it.” He blinks, sharp mind slipping away as he tries not to think about the ordeal he’s just been through. 

      Q’s shoulders shrug, the movement jolting and awkward. “It’s not the first time they’ve tried something like this, honestly.” In his head, that was supposed to make it better. It doesn’t.

[221bringingitback-blog]

TAGGED BY @doctxrwatsxn

RULES: tell your followers eleven facts about yourself and then tag eleven more people to do it.

O1. My last name is actually Holmes. My full name is Charlotte Holmes. Isn’t life fucking awesome? O2. I am moving to London next week! O3. My favourite car is a Defender 90. My second favourite is a Ford Ranger.  O4. I have had some of my writing published.  O5. My family consist of a kitten and my Boyf. O6. I used to smoke but now chew that shitty gum. O7. I have been RP’ing since I was 13 - so over 7 years now.  O8. I have lived all over the UK but don’t consider myself to have a home town. O9. I am an avid reader and writer but struggle to complete anything. I don’t have the patience to see things through. I get distracted very easily. 1O. Coffee. Black. One sugar & Tea, strong. No sugar.  11. I attended boarding school for two years. By choice.

TAGGING: @whipandscxndal @thelittlesister @thejumperedpathologist @pullingrank @twosidesofonecoin @xnotourdivisionx @letshavediinner @mvcrofts @adler-thewoman @loyalbloggerwhowaits @hisloyalwriterjw

[apcgee]

@hisloyalwriterjw​ / JOHN

[ msg // JOHN ]          Why would I be mad?          Slightly concerned at most.          I don’t want you passing out drunk in a whole somewhere it will take me forever to find you.

[nichtsehen]

@hisloyalwriterjw

      “I’m not his secretary.” 

The short woman paid him little mind as deft hands fixed a silencer over the barrel of her rifle. Despite her obvious youth, there was a weariness to her features that belied age beyond their years. Her remark, which could easily have been saturated in sarcasm, was simply matter-of-fact and tiredly given.

      “The building is surrounded. Your extraction team was captured and executed. I’m here to help, not to babysit, so please sew your arm back onto that fucking chip on your shoulder and let’s both get out of this alive.”

Again, there was more exhaustion than annoyance in the woman’s voice, but it didn’t stop her from jogging ahead of the captain and holding up a fist to halt his advance. Carefully, that rifle aimed into the darkness of the sprawling hallway and fired. There was the high-pitched chirp of a silenced weapon, and a body was heard collapsing in the distance. 

      “We’re going to have to navigate the dark with hostiles. They haven’t swarmed this side as much because it lost power, but we’d be stupid to assume it’s empty. There’s an underground maintenance tunnel on the far end and unless you want to leave this place in a fucking bag, that’s where you need to go.”

[consultingdick]

@hisloyalwriterjw from [x]

John scrubs his eyes, a shuddering sigh leaving his lips, “Tea sounds good.”

Sherlock nods, putting the kettle on and setting out two cups. He then goes to get a blanket for John - maybe the warm drink will calm him down and he’ll get some more sleep. 

“ You’re planning on going to the clinic like this? ” 

It’s less of a question and more of a reality check, and a voice of concern. While he didn’t like to show it, Sherlock was worried. The doctor was pushing himself to breaking point, past it even. 

[dcntcommitsuicide]

@hisloyalwriterjw​ continued (x):

John sighs, still staring at the telly with a slight pout, trying to keep angry. Unfortunately, he can never stay mad at Greg.

He shifts, making room on the couch for the other man.

     Obviously, Greg was half expecting John to tell him to piss off, so when the other moved, he had to hold back a smile. With a small breath, he sat down beside John, quite close to him. Then he held out an arm in invitation for a hug.

     “Come here? Please.”

[fracturedlayers]

@hisloyalwriterjw

“Feel nauseous for some reason.” John murmurs, pushing his food around with disdain after having only taken a bite. He wipes his hand over his mouth and pushes the plate completely away.

“Yeah that doesn’t feel good at all.”

      “Well you are a doctor, sort yourself out. Take those vitamins you’re forever trying to shove down my throat.”

Blunt as the detective’s words were, John knew Sherlock well enough to know when he was expressing concern. But those ice green eyes did not lift from his microscope.

      “These results are imperative, you’re going to have to talk me through it. Work? A significant other? Financial stress? I can rule out fad diet, there is nothing out of the ordinary in the pantry.”

[amortgageandtwocats]

@hisloyalwriterjw​ continued from here

He gives a little nod to confirm then, almost simultaneously, a shake of his head. “No need to apologise.” Curious, though he may be as to what the blogger was dreaming about, he doesn’t ask again. 

“Tea,” Q agrees, it’s playing up to the stereotype of Brits and tea, but Q thinks that a cup of tea can solve most problems. “Shall I put on the kettle?” Q gets up, brushing lint off of his suit jacket. 

[apcgee]

@hisloyalwriterjw​ / TRAPPED

The panic for him has been silent. Internalized. The second the door slam shut, the Captain had opened his eyes deep within John, noticing the icy black signs creeping about.

He doesn’t hyperventilate, thankfully, having gotten past that in recent years. He’s actually been more or less baneful of the fact that his recovery has now been jeopardized.

After an hour of pacing and shedding layers, he now sits on the floor, eyes shut, thinking.

The Captain’s face is a mere frown and the moment Sherlock’s head comes to rest on his lap, he shifts his hand so it cards through her hair possessively. He tries to provide some comfort as he thinks, gently braiding her hair for her.

“We have 46 hours and 34 minutes to decide how we are getting out of here.” The Captain murmurs, voice sounding odd in such close quarters, “Don’t forget to breathe.”

Sherlock obscurely thought John might find it a betrayal, or at least somehow disappointing, if he were to ever know that The Captain’s emergence was reassuring. Not that she had any doubt that John wouldn’t do everything he could to get them out of this situation; Captain would manage it with a greater sense of calm. With a trade off of a greater sense of self-destruction; something she’d have to balance.

“Before dehydration sets in?” she asks. “Or until the air becomes so stale and thin of oxygen that we start hallucinating?” The container wasn’t air tight, but it was enclosed and likely buried several containers deep. Any air moving in and out would go slowly -- slow enough that she didn’t want to waste the time and oxygen figuring out just how slow.

Following those instructions, she focused on breathing for a moment. In and out, and the comforting pressure of his fingers in her hair; it was grounding, even relaxing. Enough that she could admit in a low grumble, “I should have sent Lestrade a message.”