#i accidentally wrote “why in the greg are you surprised’ and I think that was better
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severusish · 3 years ago
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i love how snape said “you have been raising him like a pig for slaughter.” my brother in christ, dumbledore literally raised you for slaughter, why in the fresh hell are you surprised —
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Tricked Into It (Greg Gerwitz x Reader)
Word Count: 1,957
Pairing: Greg Gerwitz aka Mouse x Reader
Summary: Ever since your last breakup with someone who cheated and abused the love you had for them, you have been wary of dating. And it doesn’t help when your friend Kim Burgess won’t stop pestering you about some cute techie guy at the 21st District.
Warnings: talk of bad relationship (cheating, emotional abuse, PTSD from the relationship), descriptions of what might be an anxiety attack (I described feeling anxious but it ended up bordering on what could have almost been an attack.)
A/N: So I am working on a Kelly Severide Imagine, but I’m a but stuck on it so I came up with the idea that I take the last imagine I wrote, the other Mouse Imagine and make it into a little series of one shots, mainly cause I wanted to explore the relationship of Mouse and this librarian!reader. So this is a sort of prequel to the first Mouse imagine, how they first met which is talked about in the other imagine.
HERE is the first Librarian!Reader fic if you want to check it out!!
If you want to be added to my tags, just ASK!!
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“Kim, I swear to god!”
You slammed your book shut with a snap and looked up at the Chicago police officer, aka Kim Burgess aka your best friend, in front of you. She looked almost as annoyed as you felt, rolling her eyes and sitting down on your couch across you in your reading chair. Kim had come over after her shift at the 21st District ended, and only after a couple of minutes of peace, Kim started up on her latest crusade; your love life.
“Y/N...”
“No! I get that you care, believe me, but I don’t need you trying to set me up with someone.” You said with a heavy sigh. 
Kim scooted closer to you and leaned forward, trying to catch your eye which was avoiding hers, “Hey,” She paused and waited for you to look her in the eye, “I just want you to be happy. And I think this guy is a good match for you. Much better than -”
“Don’t say their name.”
“...Fine. But Mouse is so your type!”
You were about to start arguing again when her words actually registered into your head, “His name is Mouse? There is no way that this cop’s name is Mouse.”
“Okay one, he isn’t a cop. He is a tech expert that works with Intelligence, a civilian hired by the unit and the department. And two, Mouse is just what everyone calls him, its a nickname from when he was younger.” Kim explained.
“Tech guy?” 
“Yeah, crazy smart when it comes to hacking and stuff like that. He got the job after hacking into Voight’s cell phone in like a couple of seconds. And he was in the Rangers with Jay, plus he is pretty funny and cute.”
You looked away from Kim as you thought it through. Clearly Kim was just looking out for you, but there was no way this guy, this super-smart-tech-genius-ex-ranger, could ever be interested in someone like you. You were just a simple librarian at Chicago Public Library, living alone aside from your cat companion, Geraldine. You hadn’t done anything extraordinary with your life, and as your thought process started to spiral in an anxious tizzy, you started to shake your head.
“No, no I can’t see this guy. He wouldn’t want to get stuck with some boring librarian.” You said, your body shrinking in on itself as your self confidence crumbled. All the comments your ex significant other made to you while you were still dating came popping up into your mind one after the other after the other. Comments on your weight, your looks, how you were boring and that was why they stepped out and cheated on you any chance they could. Tears were misting in your eyes and you tried blinking them away, not wanting to cry in front of Kim.
“Y/N-”
“I mean it Kim. Drop it.”
Kim looked you over and saw how you had retreated into yourself, clearly looking uncomfortable with the topic. That’s when she sighed and nodded, forcing a small smile on her face, “Okay.”
                                                        ---
A week has passed since the confrontation with Kim about that techie guy, and you were slowly trying to purge the whole instance from your head and get back to your quiet life. Every once in a while, the conversation would slide to the forefront of your mind, along with your anxiety-fueled spiral about your ex, and you would try and shake away the ordeal. It had made you feel small and disgusting thinking about your ex and how your self worth was diminished because of them, and you never wanted to go back to that place again. Even if that meant never being in another relationship again.
On Friday, you had gotten a text from Kim around midday about having a girl’s night and heading out to have a drink at Molly’s, this pub which had become pretty popular with the cops of the Intelligence Unit. You had been once before, and one of the owners, Gabbie Dawson, was really nice to you when Kim introduced her. So you agreed, excited to go out and hang out with Kim. 
Once you got out of work around 6, you got back to your small one bedroom apartment and fed Geraldine before retreating to your room to figure out what to wear. You settled on a pair of slender black pants and a long sleeved dark green blouse matched with a pair of green heels. Once you showered, dried and got your hair the exact way you like it, added a little makeup and got dressed, it was time to head out and meet Kim at Molly’s. You drove to the neighborhood where the pub was, some cars already lining the streets letting you know that Molly’s would probably be busy.
You parked, and hurried to get inside, pulling your winter coat around you a litter tighter as a gust of wind tried to chill you to the bone. The November night air was lung chilling and while you weren’t dressed like those young twenty-somethings with short dresses and no coats, you still did not want to waste another second with the wind chill. Once you got in, you saw that your assumption about the pub being busy was right, many people scattered around the bar, others in groups were seated or standing next to tables against the other wall. You looked around, trying to catch Kim’s face in the crowd but having trouble with how crowded. You pealed off your coat and made your way to the bar where you saw an older man behind the counter, cleaning off a glass. 
“Excuse me?” You said, slipping into the space in front of the bar, and accidentally grazing your arm against the guy sitting down to your right, “Oh sorry.” You said quickly to the guy, not really looking in his direction so you didn’t notice when he started staring at you in awe.
“What can I get ya?” The older man said as he put the glass down and gave you his full attention.
“I know this is probably a long shot, but my friend comes to this bar a lot and I was just wondering if you’ve seen her tonight? Kim Burgess?”
“Ah! I know Burgess. From the 21st District?”
“Yeah! Yes, that’s her.”
The man smiled before turning around and grabbing something from behind the bar and then turned back to you, “I haven’t seen her, but she called about 5 minutes ago saying that her friend would be stopping by tonight. She also said to get her a vodka cranberry on her and to give her this.”
He handed you a napkin and then turned away, most likely to get your drink ready. You looked down at the napkin with a rough note written on it, reading out loud the note, “Hey, something came up super last minute, have a drink on me and enjoy the night. Sorry, --Kim.”
“Sorry about that, kid.” The man said as he returned with your drink, giving you a warm smile that also had a hint of pity in it. 
“No problem. It’s not your fault.”
With one more smile he headed towards the other end of the bar, leaving you with your drink. You let out a sigh and brought the drink to your lips, trying to figure out what you were going to do next when a voice from next to you started speaking.
“You’re friends with Burgess?”
Looking over, it was the guy you had apologized to earlier. Now that you weren’t in a rush to find Kim, you got a good look at him. He had brown hair, you could almost consider it floppy-like if it didn’t also have a clean-cut feel to it. The man’s eyes were bright blue, and they looked at you with a mix of intrigue and surprise. He was wearing a blue button-up which matched his eyes, the first few buttons undone.
“Yeah, do you know her?” You asked. He nodded and looked down to his beer bottle, his fingers anxiously playing with the paper label.
“I-I work with her at the district.” He explained. “Are you one of her flight attendant friends?”
“No, god no. I’m a librarian at the Chicago Public Library.”
“Oh, that’s cool.”
“You don’t have to lie. I know it’s boring..”
“No! I genuinely think it’s cool. I-I mean I’m not a huge book guy myself but-but I did read a lot of Shakespeare in school and that was really cool, especially the-the one about the guy who dressed as a woman to hide from a mob or something and everyone thought he was a witch?” The guy rambled, his face flushing as he tried to save himself. You smirked at the clumsiness of his words and took a drink of your cocktail.
“The Merry Wives of Windsor?” You offered, and the guy snapped at the name.
“Yeah, yeah. The whole play now that I think about it went over my head at 16. But I was too interested in the Blackhawks and code. Like-Like the game that happened the other night, I was invested until that left winger from the Rangers totally checked Hartman and they put-”
“Hartman in the penalty box! Yes!! With only 3 minutes left on the clock and the take out the best right winger on the ice.” You jumped in, a smile growing on your face as the topic of hockey came up. “If he was still playing the Blackhawks would have got at least 2 more points and would have won instead of losing to the worst team in the league.”
The guy sputtered his drink and starts laughing, and immediately think its cause you had embarrassed yourself and he was laughing at you, not what you said. That was until he smiled at you and nodded his head. 
“I couldn’t have said it better myself.”
You felt a small fluttering in you chest when he smiled, something about him not making you nervous or anxious which was a change. With a smile on your own face, you put your hand out to him, “I’m Y/N by the way. Y/N L/N.”
“Greg Gerwitz.” Greg took your hand and shook it, lingering for a couple extra seconds before pulling away. “Or you can call me Mouse.”
You froze as he said that, your eyes widening in shock. He seemed to see your reaction and frowned, “Or not?”
“No, sorry.” You said quickly, trying to recover. “It-Its just that Burgess has been trying to set me up with you for the last few weeks.”
“Wait...oh! You’re that librarian! Burgess has been telling me about you too.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, says how you are the best person ever and that I would like you the minute we met.” He chuckled. Greg smirked and turned more towards you, “And she wasn’t wrong.”
You flushed, feeling the heat of your blush against your cheeks as his smirk widened. It was quiet between the two of you as the pub continued with it’s noise like it wasn’t watching the start of something amazing. Greg then spoke up, getting your attention again, “Hey, I know this might seem fast but I really like talking to you.”
“I really like talking to you too.”
“Really?” He asked, his face getting red again as his smirk melted away into a nervous smile, “Well, what would you say about a date? Maybe the Blackhawks game tomorrow?”
It took quicker than you thought, but all your anxiety from the week before seemed like a long lost bad dream and you just wanted to spend some time with Greg Gerwitz.
“I would love to.”
ONE CHICAGO TAGS: @carnationworld​ 
NORMAL TAGS:  @l4life​ @ithoughtiwasflying
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moominquartz · 5 years ago
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“Mr. Universe,” “Fragments,” & Steven’s humanity
! ! ! MAJOR SPOILERS ! ! ! If you haven’t seen the eps, don’t read!
In “Mr. Universe,” we see Steven get increasingly frustrated with Greg. Steven clearly knows so little about him; he didn’t even discover Greg’s original surname directly from him, but from a family member he didn’t know existed. So of course Steven is hungry for more; he wants to know how his father became the person he is.
But when Steven sees Greg’s parents’ home, he doesn’t see the “prison” Greg described. I imagine that Greg isn’t being hyperbolic when he talks about his family; they kept him from doing the things he loved, but allowed him to do things like wrestling and mathletes, which he hated, and the former put him in harm’s way. The fact they didn’t even open the letters he sent is also telling: Greg often reached out, but they were a closed door.
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Which is interesting, given that they still hang Greg’s portrait up in the hall.
There may be more going on here than Greg is even telling him. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s on the same level as what Pink Diamond went through with the other Diamonds -- or if not quite that extreme, then at the very least, analogous.
To Steven, though, he sees a “normal” house. He hears Greg talk about all the things he never had; chaperones, meatloaf Thursdays, curfews, and he only sees the evidence for a “normal” childhood.
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A normal, human childhood. Something Steven was denied.
When Greg explains the reason he chose the last name “Universe,” embracing it as more than just a stage name, Steven can’t understand. Not because he doesn’t love music, too -- he clearly does, they’re singing along to the song they wrote together! -- but because this name means nothing to Steven. There’s no history to it. Every human on earth has a family history, genealogy, ancestry.
But Steven’s the first to be given the name “Universe” at birth. The name has no weight; it’s a made-up in-between, neither Greg’s true surname nor anyone else’s.
And “Mr. Universe” ends with Steven crashing the van.
When Steven comes to, he’s expecting Greg to yell at him, to scold him. But... he doesn’t. Greg instead says he’s “proud” of Steven. When was the last time Greg scolded him? The last time Greg drew a line that Steven couldn’t cross? Steven needs that, now more than ever, to be told what isn’t okay.
But Greg doesn’t do that.
Steven deleting the picture is a way of him realizing this. He isn’t “disowning” Greg. He’s rejecting his humanity. He sees that he won’t ever get the things that make so many of us human, so fine. Maybe he isn’t.
This part of “Fragments” gets me:
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I think Steven no longer being a vegetarian is not a sign of inconsistent writing, but rather, a sign that Steven’s rejecting his human half. What does it matter whether or not he’s vegetarian if he isn’t even human?
Though I didn’t exactly see this coming, I think the progression of his character makes complete sense. Of course he’s gone Diamond mode. He only sees himself as a gem, and not a human.
Which is probably why we see him as Quartz-sized when he’s ready to fight Jasper again.
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If Steven seems “off” in this episode, I think that’s intentional. He’s not acting like himself because he doesn’t see himself in the same light anymore.
And as “Fragments” ends with his accidental shattering of Jasper, and her acknowledging him as her Diamond, that will only cement it.
I’m curious to see where the finale will go, and how it will resolve. Only thing left to do now is wait and see.
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syms-things-5 · 4 years ago
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Clear The Area - Chapter Thirteen
Previous chapter HERE
Tags: @jennmurawski13 @kelbabyblue
Warnings: Strong language, suggestive language
Chapter Thirteen
It had not been a particularly difficult shift that Thursday. Things had been calm and peaceful as far as most days go. It was actually a nice surprise for once.
The team released a couple more patients following the accident and that news allowed for a minor celebration among the emergency staff working that day. A glimmer of some good news always helped to raise people’s spirits and when they were later able to release Matilda as well, Sarah and Greg took a few minutes to wave goodbye to her as her nephew arrived to pick her up.
It was about time they had some happy endings amongst the ordeal. Everyone was where they needed to be. No one was rushing around. O’Brien hadn’t yet steamrolled through the department and people seemed relaxed so things were under control. It was pleasant and really, the only reason Sarah had to feel tired at all was the gnawing hangover that had slowly taken over her life that day.
She and Shanna had had their long overdue catch-up the night before. There was pizza, a few tears, a meagre attempt at karaoke, and two empty bottles of Grey Goose now waiting to be recycled. Oh, and some left-over spiced rum but neither of them had known how long that had been there or who had bought it in the first place. Drowning it in diet coke had not been such a healthy idea either. Both had crashed out on the sofa around 3am only to be abruptly awoken with a bang that they soon discovered was from some old war movie after they had left the TV on way too loud and not, thankfully, a gas explosion from leaving the oven switched on when Shanna attempted to reheat some KFC chicken.
“Oh my fucking god...” Sarah held a hand to the side of her face in some vain hope it would help alleviate the throbbing. “I am too old for this.”
She’d woken up and found herself lying uncomfortably over their armchair, legs flung over the armrest and pins and needles stabbing her hands from having accidentally slept on them all night. It had resulted in her spending most of that day fighting one ache in her head and another one down the side of her body. Her writing was atrocious owing to her not being able to keep a firm grip on her pen and Greg had to politely ask what she meant when she wrote “hysteria” instead of “hypertension”.
Sarah had lost her sense of humour in the past couple of hours as the hangover took hold and couldn’t pick up on what Audrey was hinting at.
“I bet it was a good work-out, though?” she remarked, suggestively. “They say it’s good for the body. Good for the mind.”
“I fell asleep at an angle not meant for humans, Audrey. Nothing about this was good for my body.” Sarah massaged her hand across the back of her neck, stretching her back a little to get the blood going again. Four hours and she would be free to die in her own bed or possibly on a park bench, whichever she managed to reach first.
Audrey did her best to hide her smirk. “Why not speak to Chris and see what he suggests? Bet he’s full of practical ideas.”
“Nah he’d probably just tell me to drink through the pain.” She took another sip from her bottle of water, flinching slightly as the cold hit the back of her throat. She caught Audrey eying her in that same moment and couldn’t read the look on her face. “Are you OK?”
“Hm? Yes, of course! Just...” she half-shrugged, picking her words carefully. “I’m just...really happy for you today.”
Puzzled, Sarah wasn’t sure if she was truly awake in that moment. Audrey appeared to be having a completely different conversation and was wearing the same look on her face as she had when she heard some gossip and was dying to relay it to someone else. “OK. Thank you.”
“You look healthy...and glowing. It’s nice.” She smiled again, leaning on her elbows across the triage desk. 
“Have you smoked something?”
“What? No!! You just seem like you’re having a nice time right now with Shanna and...people.” Audrey’s smile softened as they fully focussed on each other. “At least, I hope you are having a good time. Y’know, with everything else going on. You should give yourself a break. Do something fun for a change. Something...different.”
“OK. Thanks, I will” Sarah’s brain couldn’t properly register her tone. “I am OK, Audrey, you don’t have to worry. I haven’t really thought all that much about Charlotte these days and work has been keeping me busy and stuff so, I am doing OK. I promise.”
“Cool. I’m glad.” Audrey nodded at her. “And you know if you ever did want to talk about anything, anything at all, you can always come to me, right?”
“Yeh I know. And I really appreciate that.” OK. This was getting weird now.
*
Chris 6.44pm: Come get me...
It was shortly before 7pm. Sarah was positively beat and looking forward to her microwave Mac ‘n’ Cheese that she’d been hiding in the back of the refrigerator for the past 3 days. It was something of a guilty pleasure of hers, albeit an unhealthy one, but one that would no doubt serve as a decent hangover cure.
Her feet ached and her migraine was still creeping around inside her skull. If she didn’t take an aspirin soon and get out from under the bright fluorescent lights, she was sure she would pass out. As grateful as she was to see his message, in all truth she was just looking forward to her bed and her pyjamas and those thick grey woolly socks that kept her fee warm but made her look like she was a yeti from the knees down. She would fall asleep on him given half the chance.
Sarah 6.58pm: Sorry :( Rain check? I think I died at some point today
She didn’t have to wait long for his reply, like he hadn’t been keenly eying his phone for her message.
Chris 6.59pm: !!! So I heard...
Chris 6.59pm: Please? I give really good massages. Great hangover cure ;)
She didn’t doubt that for a second. She was tired and fed up and hungry but she’d be lying to herself if she didn’t want the giant hug he would no doubt envelope her in as soon as she walked through his door. The hair stroking and the hot chocolate and marshmallows as was his secret speciality.
Sarah 7.03pm: I’ll just crash tho
Chris 7.04pm: Was hoping you’d say that. I’ll leave the door on the latch. Just come in x
He sent her a kiss emoji and she was sold. She should have headed home, she knew she should have, and stayed away from him for one night. She had after all only just seen him less than 24 hours earlier and the closeness in meetings felt a little jarring. This wasn’t supposed to be a “thing” in that sense. It would be against her better judgement to entertain this right now, especially because he absolutely loved it whenever either her of Shanna regretted their life choices.
“OK guys, time’s up. Y’all need to leave.” Chris yelled as his pals continued to duel over Mario Cart. He hastily rushed around their feet grabbing the empties and wafting away the cloud of cigarette smoke.
“Wait, what?” piped up Mark, one eye still on the screen in front of him as the finish line appeared up ahead.
“Come on, you’ve all got homes to go to, wives and girlfriends and weird looking pets.”
“She’s a sphinx cat, thank you very much, and she’s adorable and friendly if you’d just give her a chance.” Gary argued, slightly affronted but more so by getting distracted and finding himself being lapped by Mark.
“No thanks. I’ll stick with dogs. Less likely to murder me in my sleep.” He shoved what he had managed to gather in his hands into the trash can before standing in front of his television like a suburban mom trying to get her kids out of bed. “Come on. I’ve got shit to do.”
“Since when?” Mark asked, genuinely surprised to hear about this new-found desire to work. “You’re done for the year, right? That’s what Scott said.”
Chris sighed in frustration at his apparent failure to kick his wonderful friends out of his home. He couldn’t tell them what he wanted to tell them even though he knew it would successfully help with this quest to remove them from his property but, y’know, promises were made and he was keen to stick by them for a change.
“Ohhh I get it. “Work”.” Gary kicked Mark, “Come on pal. We’ve been usurped. Our boy here has found some new entertainment for the evening.”
“You’re just saying that because you know I’m about to win...” Mark quipped before catching the steely look in Chris’ eyes, unamused. He hadn’t seen that stare in quite some time.
“It’s not like that, OK? Just...something has come up and it’s-”
“-more fun than hanging out with your buddies?”
“Absolutely.” he nodded enthusiastically. Mark flipped him the bird and followed Gary out of the front door leaving Chris to breathe a sigh of relief. He knew Sarah could reach his property in less than twenty minutes on a good day but if she was feeling even half as sorry for herself as Shanna had been when he spoke to her, it’d be pushing half an hour at least.
After dousing the place in an air freshener he found hiding in the back of a cupboard, he got as far as considering using his vacuum, one his aunt bought for him for Christmas a couple of years back but had remained in the original box ever since. Looking at the mess, he figured it would be easier all round if he just kept her out of the living room and he’d burn it down another time. Fuck that room.
He’d planned to say a polite “hello” and ask her how her day had been while taking her by the hand and slowly pull her into his bedroom. He’d whisper sweet nothings into her ear as he undressed her, pull back the covers and make her forget about her pain. There was no better cure for a hangover in his mind. It was truly a win-win situation. 
He should probably offer her a drink first, though. Possibly some aspirin, too, if she hadn’t take some already. Maintain the allusion that he was a gentleman for a little while longer.
By the time he’d ran the trash out back, he heard her come through his front door and could feel his pulse in his ear. She smiled broadly at him when she clocked, seemingly unaware of what had taken place that day. He was happy when he caught her giving him a look up and down knowing he was looking reasonably good thanks to some weight-lifting that morning. She had a thing for arms and there was no arguing that he was definitely a 10-plus in that department.
“Hey...” he leaned on his door frame, acting casual as thought he hadn’t just bee running around like a lunatic moments before she arrived. He tilted his head to the side, taking her in. She seemed happy to be there but soon saw the tiredness as he moved closer to wrap her in his arms. “How are you feeling?”
“As if you don’t know.” she pouted at him. “I think there’s a tiny man in my brain hammering against my skull.”
She pulled away from him after a few seconds and sat on the stool perched by his breakfast bar.
He grabbed a glass and poured her some filtered water. “Do you want something to eat? I’m starving. I could order in? That Chinese place you like doesn’t deliver here but I could go pick it up?”
she shook her head as she finished the drink. “Don’t worry. I doubt I’d keep anything down to be honest. I’m just tired and I’m not going to be great company either, sorry.”
“Hey don’t sell yourself short.” he said, leaning on his arms to reach her across the bar and flashing her a comforting smile. She was obviously struggling but somehow managed to stay on her feet all day and he found himself looking at her in awe. “You have your moments.”
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“Nothing, just looking at you.” Chris flirted.
“No, what the hell happened here?”
Chris noticed her look past him and into the llving room down the hall to where mess was still gathered on the floor. He mentally kicked himself for not closing the door properly. “Oh...that’s...that wasn’t me.”
She raised an eyebrow before bursting out laughing.
“It wasn’t just me.” he rolled his eyes and admitted defeat. “I had the guys over earlier.”
“And you were gonna give me a hard time?!” She playfully punched him on his arm but he grabbed her hand before she could pull away and used it to move closer towards her. His breath smelled freshly minty thanks to his quick teeth-brushing moments before she arrived. She knew it but he didn’t need to know she knew it.
Instead, she watched him watch her, his eyes intently flicking back and forth between hers. She wasn’t altogether sure of the looks he was giving her nowadays; they were both stirring and nerve-wracking in equal measure. He had already agreed to refrain from making those kinds of moves in “public” but it just meant they were heightened ten-fold when they were in private and, honestly, she was finding it harder and harder to get used to.
“You need to rest, gorgeous.” he finally spoke, breaking the quiet between them. “Come on...”
He held his hand out for her to take, her attempt at stifling a yawn pulling on him a little.
“Is it OK if I fall asleep?” she asked.
“Of course.” He responded, keenly. Genuinely, he would do whatever she felt like doing and while he was slightly fretful by her demeanour, he wanted to keep her around for a while. It was a nice change of pace from the swearing and playfighting he’d just experienced with his friends. He didn’t particularly want to cuddle with his friends and she smelled far better than they did. She smelled like sweetness and comfort, like freshly washed cotton linen, and he took the opportunity to smell her hair as she leaned on him while he ambled them both to his room. Something about it felt soothing and it was all he could do not to climb on top of her in the moment she flopped down on the end of his bed but he knew better than that and simply laid alongside her, lying on his stomach, his head resting in both of his hands.
“Did you and Shan have a good catch-up last night?” he asked after a certain length of time passed and the peace had settled in. Her eyelashes fanned across the top of her cheeks as she rested her eyes and he listened to her steady breathing. There was almost no noise inside or out and he was happy she was able to finally relax. “Y’know, before you both drank yourself stupid.”
Sarah side-eyed him and caught his smirk before closing her eyes again. “Yeh we did, thanks, it was fun.”
“What did you guys talk about?”
“Nothing and everything and random stuff. There’s definitely a guy at work. Robbie something. He’s an accountant I think but not based in her office so she doesn’t see him around a lot.”
“There’ll probably be something wrong with him.”
“Not necessarily. You and Scott have too little faith in her when it comes to men.” She turned to look at him again. “He seems like a nice guy from what she says. Very smart, loves his family, loves the outdoors.”
“Oh that’s what’s wrong with him, then. She hates being outside.”
“Well, he sounds like he’d be a good influence compared to her last boyfriends.”
“Shanna never chooses the smart guys.”
“She seems to have chosen this one if her interest is anything to go by, and change is good as they say.”
“Indeed they do.” He perked up a little bit at her seemingly off-the-cuff comment. “Is that what I am? A change?”
Sarah rolled onto her side to face him. “No. You’re a...surprise.”
He full-on belly laughed and she was relieved he saw the intended humour. “Well, hopefully a nice one?”
“Of course!” she chuckled. “What would you say I am?”
He rolled onto his back to face the ceiling and contemplated her question for a second, drawing the pause out to see if she reacted. “You’re a breath of fresh air.” He finally offered. “It’s nice. It feels like there’s no awkwardness ‘cos we already know so much about each other.” She seemed to like that response well enough.
“Did you talk about me?” He reluctantly asked again after a few more moments passed. “Or...any other guys?”
“Ummm...” she couldn’t think of a suitable response that would put an end to this conversation so she could closer her eyes again and they could lie in peace.
“Oh wow...” he huffed out, trying to maintain a playful air. He poked her in her side with his finger. “You need to learn to lie faster.”
“No!” she giggled. “We did not talk about you or any other guys. Not exactly anyway. Just...you know...girl stuff.”
“i know what girl stuff is, Sarah. I grew up with sisters and aunts and cousins who all told me about girl stuff. I remember having to talk to Scott about girl stuff when Carly got her first period and he didn’t understand why she was crying herself stupid for days.”
Sarah wasn’t sure what to say to that. She now had a mental image of Chris freaking out a much-too-young Scott with talk of babies and menstruation and werewolves most probably.
Chris had in fact come up in conversation the night before, several times actually, but it was more to do with Shanna’s concern over recent media speculation into his private life vis a vis Jenny. Some things had been appearing online again, it sounded like she had made some comments on a friend’s blog, and it seemed to be turning into a story that didn’t want to die down. He could not have been unaware of it either yet he hadn’t explicitly mentioned anything to anyone so she didn’t think it was fair to bring it up now. Chris didn’t talk about anything he didn’t want to. Not even for the sake of assuaging his loved ones or his management team.
She continued to gaze at him as he looked up at the ceiling in contemplation. His beard was a little shorter, she noticed, a little neater around his jawline and neck and his right hand was reaching out to barely touch hers. His left arm rested over his stomach and helped the hem of his t-shirt ride up just enough to give a glimpse of his happy trail. He seemed comfortable enough but the next few minutes would determine whether things were going to descend into an awkward conversation. Quite frankly, she’d rather talk about periods if is was.
“You know she loves you, right? You’re her hero.”
Chris laughed again fondly before turning his head to look at her, appreciating what she was aiming for. “And what about these other guys?”
“I’m sure they like your movies.” She shrugged and he barked out again.
“i meant did she push you to talk about your private life? Did she want to know what was going on?”
“Yeh, a little bit but only to say that I don’t really have much of one. She thinks I’ll end up with a doctor because they’re the only other people I meet.”
“I know. She keeps saying Greg likes you.” He didn’t miss a beat. “Apparently, he definitely wants to get in your pants.”
“i really doubt that. Why are you guys talking about this without me? How am I the last to know about this?!”
“Because you don’t think highly enough of yourself, Sarah.” He said, matter-of-factly. “Which is absolute bullshit.” He turned back onto his side so she knew he was getting serious. He reached a finger out to stroke a line down the side of her face. “’Cos you’re freakin’ awesome.”
She smiled gratefully at him, her face heating up. “How do I get out of his conversation with her? I don’t think she’s gonna drop it anytime soon.”
He shrugged, out of answers. Spending the evening talking awkwardly about another man wasn’t exactly what he had in mind but whatever. This barely cracked the list of his terrible “dates”.
“You do like him, though, right?” He couldn’t help himself; he’d foolishly brought the subject up. This was on him and he knew Greg was floating around her head now, probably occupying the same space he should be in and wearing his hero surgeon scrubs and glowing with a bright aura. All charm and with teeth as white as white can be. Well, two can play at that game.
“Yeh, I do. I think he’s grown on me.” she pondered. “He’s a good guy, really good at his job. Plus, he helped this old lady we were treating and spent time with her ‘cos she was on her own. She was really scared but he calmed her down. He made her a cup of tea. You can’t teach that in medical school.”
“Oh fuck...” he exaggerated smacking his hand across his face.
“What?”
“You and old people.” he replied, exasperated. “I’m Captain fuckin’ America! Am I gonna have to find an old guy to help across the street? ‘Cos I’ll fucking’ do it right now if I have to!”
“It was you that brought him up!” She giggled and punched him on the arm as hard as she could which still wasn’t hard enough to provoke a reaction from him other than one of smug laughter. He was rock solid. If she wasn’t so tired, it would have been affecting.
“Yes and now I hate myself.” he needled her in her side causing her to yelp out at the painfully ticklish sensation. “Just say I’m your favourite and we’ll forget we ever had this conversation, OK?”
“Well...” she drew the word out to irritate him but didn’t bank on him moving on top of her to straddle her waist, his weight pinning down into the mattress. He restrained her hands to either side of her head. She guessed he was barely using half of his full strength and that thought made her feel a little light-headed.
She tussled with him a bit for effect knowing he’d get a kick out of it also, but didn’t bank on him pushing her down further into his bed, applying more on top of her in a manner that could get quite dangerous if they weren’t careful. This close she could see the tell-tale darkness setting in his eyes and his breathing slowed down, gently cooling her face. After allowing herself to bask in it for a brief minute, she grinned at him and he chuckled back.
“Yes, yes, OK? You happy now?! You are my favourite!” She giggled and he eventually loosened his grip on her wrists to allow her to feel like she could push him off. He collapsed to her side, keeping one arm across her stomach and they stayed like this for some time.
*
She ended up leaving around half 6 the next morning. She’d woken up a couple of hours after they had fallen asleep and made them both some food with that could piece together from his kitchen. He really needed some kind of assistant to keep things ticking over, she mused. She couldn’t reconcile how he survived at times and if it wasn’t for him spending so much time at her and Shanna’s apartment, or at his mom’s, he would probably forget to eat a solid meal.
They stayed in a tranquil sort of state for a little while, just eating and chatting about nothing in particular, and just as she implied she should make a move to head home, he convinced her to stay again with a low, dozy tone indicating that he could also quite easily crash alongside her. She was content here and the thought of leaving for the outside noise didn’t appeal.
He was still fast asleep when she silently gathered her things and she decided against waking him to say goodbye. She had woken up a few times during the night and admired with jealousy how he always managed to sleep like a baby regardless of his surroundings. Much like a baby also, he was cranky as hell if you woke him. She knew this much when she’d inadvertently tried to kick him out of their flat following a Super Bowl party years earlier. He had taken it so personally and was so grumpy with her, she didn’t think he’d ever talk to her again.
She walked home in record time and straight into her bedroom to dump her things before heading for the kitchen. Like with most of her hangovers, she was always starving the day afterwards and contemplated the Mac ‘n’ Cheese. Eating pasta at this time of the day for sure would have been the dream and it would have been all too easy but she had enough bad habits at the moment. She made some toast instead before checking her phone for any new messages.
“OH MY GOD where have you been?!”
The loud shrill tone from Shan shook Sarah from her reverie causing her to drop her phone, shattering the corner of the screen on the tiled floor.
“Jesus Christ you scared the life out of me!!” Sarah clutched her hands to her chest and took a deep breath. “I didn’t think you would be up this early?”
Shan moved to help pick up Sarah’s phone. “I slept all day yesterday but woke up an hour ago.  I didn’t know where you were. Have you only just left work?”
Guilt panged inside Sarah to see Shan so concerned. She felt awful lying to her that she had indeed had a long shift and had chosen to crash in the staff quarters but right now that seemed easier than trying to pass off casually sleeping in her brother’s bed.
“How are you feeling?” Sarah asked, dusting off her phone. She realised she should probably try to at least look like she was heading towards her bedroom to sleep for a little bit. Actually, that didn’t seem like such a bad idea. She viewed her phone and saw missed calls and texts from both Shanna and Jocelyn.
“Ugh I’ve had worse days, I s’ppose. I think it was that rum stuff we drank. That was not right.”
Sarah’s stomach turned at the sudden recollection of it all. She wasn’t feeling much better as she thought. Shanna sat down at the table and Sarah tossed her a slice before putting the kettle on to make some coffee.
“I think the lack of good sustenance probably didn’t help either.” She chuckled. “I found half the pizza left in the trash.”
Shanna regarded Sarah sheepishly for a second. “Wasn’t a bad night, though, was it?”
Sarah saw the cheeky look in her eyes and laughed in response. No, it wasn’t. She was right. Sarah always enjoyed the times they spent together and the memories they were making even when they didn’t realise they were making them. It could be messy and they had certainly made their fair share of bad choices over the years but it always came back to this: the two of them sat around the kitchen table, suffering through it all together.
“Life is what happens when you’re making other plans.”
Isn’t that the way it always goes?
*
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yaboy-robin · 4 years ago
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I thought to myself this morning. “What if a Pearl owned a Pearl.” And then immediately after, thought “What if crystal gem Pearl accidentally came into ownership of a Pearl. So I designed a Pearl for crystal gem Pearl. Her nickname is Tutu.
I also wrote a short drabble of Pearl getting Tutu. I’ll put it under the cut if you want to read it!
Greg hummed to himself as he flipped a pancake in a sizzling pan. It was a quiet morning in the beach house, months after his son had left to find himself on his road trip across America. 
The first few days without him were bad, but there was a routine now. Greg would make breakfast as soon as he got up, making sure to make enough for Amethyst and Garnet if they wanted to join him. Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl would join him before their classes for the day. And they’d just….. chat. A lot more amicably than years ago when Greg first met them. 
Greg looked up as Garnet walked into the beach house from her room, looking deep in thought. “Morning, Garnet.” He waved his spatula at her before depositing the finished pancake he had onto a plate. 
Garnet simply grunted, walking over and sitting at the countertop. She clasped her hands in front of her mouth and desummoned her visor. Her three eyes were furrowed in confusion.
Greg frowned and turned to the fusion, “Did you foresee something bad?”
“Not per say,” Garnet mumbled, eyes flicking to the warp pad.  “I was looking into the future out of curiosity this morning. Amethyst joins us shortly. Pearl returns from her trip to the Reef to help tear it down. But as soon as she enters….” Garnet shook her head, “She’s holding…. Something….. my future vision gets foggy after that." 
Greg hummed and looked to the warp.  "So you got no idea what she has and what happens after?”
“I bet it’s Steven.” Amethyst piped up as she entered, having been listening. “Surprise visit before he goes back on the road.”
“No,” Garnet shook her head, “Whatever it is fits in the palm of her hands. Like a gem.”
“Maybe it’s a corrupted gem we missed,” Amethyst shrugged.
“Could it reform here and you get poofed by it?” Greg frowned worriedly.
“Perhaps,” Garnet nodded. “I do generally lose sight after I retreat into my gems. If that’s the case, you should probably take your breakfast to go.”
“Good idea,” Greg nodded, “I’ll eat out in the van,” He reached and turned off the stove, picking up the plate of flapjacks and a fork. However, the warp pad alighted, and everyone present looked over to the light it produced. 
Pearl stood, hands clasped protectively around something. “Garnet,” she sprinted over, face contorted in grief and worry. 
“Pearl,” Garnet’s brow furrowed behind her visor, Amethyst next to her getting ready to summon her weapon. “What’s wrong?”
“There- there was-” Pearl fretted, “I was cleaning up some rubble that Mega Pearl left behind and…. She was just…. There. Under the rubble. I didn’t see her there before- Why didn’t I see her?” 
“Calm down,” Garnet soothed Pearl’s shoulder, looking to make sure Greg was sneaking around the counter carefully. Ready to sprint if need be.“Who was there?”
Pearl whimpered before opening her hands. Amethyst muttered an, “Oh shit.” Garnet gasped lightly and covered her mouth in shock. Greg poked his head over to see what the hubbub was about, before giving a small “eesh” in sympathy.
In her hands, was a round, bright pink Pearl gemstone.
“What happened?” Garnet took the gem gently, feeling it. She couldn’t see her reforming. She couldn’t see anything. Why couldn’t she see anything? But this wasn’t a time to fall apart. This was a time to be there. For Pearl.
“I don’t know!” Pearl sniffled, “She was already in her gem when I found her!”
“Well,” Amethyst looked over at the stone, “Do you think she’s a dud?”
“Amethyst!” Garnet scolded sharply, through her teeth. This question caused Pearl to spill more tears. 
“What?” Amethyst shrugged, “She coulda been a dud left there cause she wouldn’t form. Explains why you didn’t see her before.”
“She has a point,” Pearl sniffled, wiping her eyes, “I just…. Hope she isn’t. I want her to be okay-”
“She should form,” Garnet soothed Pearl’s shoulder again, “And soon. She’s very warm.”
“And that matters becauuuuse?” Amethyst cocked a brow, crossing her arms. 
“Gems who can’t form are always ice cold,” Garnet motioned, setting the gem down on the counter behind her, “Gems who are close to reforming get warmer by the second. We should wait for her to reform. Greg,” she looked over to the human, “Could you go to the school and tell them we’re cancelling classes today?”
“Of course,” Greg nodded, before leaving the beach house.
“We should take shifts watching over her,” Garnet nodded, “Make sure she’s got someone there when she forms. For now, let’s all watch her.” 
“Thank you all,” Pearl sighed in relief, “I was just so worried when I saw her- I thought maybe she was cracked or broken by the collapse of the reef. I couldn’t think straight. I just…. Brought her here.”
“You never think straight,” Amethyst joked, “You always think gay.”
Pearl laughed half-heartedly, before looking to the Pearl on the counter. She placed a hand on the stone. “I wonder who you are- Why were you in the reef?”
Before anyone could reply, the gem began to glow bright, levitating in the air. A shell surrounded the stone, and a robotic voice similar to the reef’s stated plainly, “Please identify yourself.”
Pearl’s hand clasped over her mouth in shock, eyes going huge. Garnet grimaced. Amethyst looked over to Pearl and uttered, “Pearl-” in worry.
“Greetings Pearl. Please state your preferred customization options.” the shell hummed gently.
“Amethyst!” Garnet hissed, taking off her visor. “Now she’s going to think Pearl’s her owner!”
“Well I’m sorry!” Amethyst growled, “I’ve never seen this happen! What’s wrong with her?”
“She’s either new or been rejuvenated,” Pearl swallowed thickly, sniffling. “It’s- It’s okay. I can… handle her.”
“Are you sure?” Amethyst frowned, “We don’t know if she’s been reset. How are we going to get her back to how she was?”
“We probably never will” Pearl shook her head, “We don’t know who she was originally for. And there’s no real way of finding out with the reef gone. And, besides, I should know best what a Pearl needs. And how to help her realize she’s free. After all-” She laughed bitterly, “I am the original renegade.” 
Garnet and Amethyst looked at each other before nodding. Garnet nodded to Pearl, “If you’re sure.” 
Pearl took a deep breath and nodded, speaking up for the Pearl still floating there, “Default settings.”
“Default setting selected.” The shell hummed, “Please stand by.” The shell descended and opened to reveal a Pearl reforming.
The Pearl was the exact colors of Pink Diamond, bright pink with light pink hair in pigtails. Her hair covered her eyes mostly, with only her left eye poking out behind her bangs. Her top was bright pink with overly long sleeves, and cropping at her stomach. There was a bow tied at the back of it. Her lower half was a tutu, the same color as her top. She had high white socks with dark pink stripes at the top of them, and light pink ballet flats with bright pink bows on the back of them. 
However, the thing that was most striking about her- and the thing that caused Pearl to gasp and over her mouth again, was the fact that the Pearl’s gem was defaulted to be where her mouth was supposed to be. Leaving her mute. 
Garnet gasped herself, bringing her hand to her own mouth in disgust. Who would order a Pearl like this? Amethyst winced, sucking in air through her teeth, “Ah shit-”
The Pearl looked around before spotting Pearl, and kneeling before her. She seemed to go to talk, but realized her gem was over her mouth. She felt the gem a moment before closing her eyes and lifting her hair so that her neck was exposed. Pearl sobbed loudly at this, muttering, “No- no no please- no-”
“What is she doing?” Amethyst whispered to Garnet, who looked lost and unsure what to do. 
“She knows she’s defective,” Garnet whispered back, “So she’s offering to let her new owner put her back into her gem and then shatter her for her defect.”
“Shit-” Amethyst winced.
“Please-” Pearl took the other Pearl’s hands and put them down and away from her neck, “Don’t do that. If I have to order you to do anything- never do that. You’re fine the way you are. I will never shatter you.”
The Pearl looked at the renegade, eyes shining in awe before she nodded and stood straight. Bowing to her new master. Amethyst and Garnet grimaced at this motion. 
This was going to be a long day.
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vulpesmellifera · 6 years ago
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Vulpes’ Mystrade Recs
For @inevitably-johnlocked
I have a lot more than these but I don’t have the time today to add more. I hope to begin organizing them so that it is easier for readers to find what they’re looking for. This list is only a start! There are many more deserving fics and authors who will show up on this list in the future. Enjoy!
Happens in BBC Sherlock Canon as far as I can tell, but is not necessarily canon-compliant
Hope by sandwastesinthevoidofmychest. Mystrade. Teen. 5,222 words. My heart died reading this one, though it did restart. Mycroft suffers an acid attack, and retreats from public scrutiny.
Out of the Ashes by wendymarlowe. Mystrade. Explicit. 34,679 words. A tale of post-Reichenbach Mystrade. I loved it! It also includes some casefic.
The Sheltering Tree by Mottlemoth. Mystrade. Explicit. 89,113 words. I think this is the sweetest story Mottlemoth has written so far. I just adored it. 
Darlin’ by Mottlemoth. Mystrade. Teen. 2,295 words. Mycroft is injured, and when he wakes in the hospital, he finds out that he’s married to Greg Lestrade.
Breaking Point by Hastalux. Mystrade. Mature. There’s a terrorist attack and Mycroft is caught in the middle of it. Greg refuses to leave him there. 
Memoranda of Understanding series by mydwynter. Mystrade. Explicit. Good god, I need to reread this one. I just remember loving it, and just being blown away by how good it is.
As The Stars of Heaven: Holmesian Reproductive Strategies by Tammany. Mystrade. Teen. 24,342 words. Mycroft decides he wants a family. Greg is sort of jealous. Well, really jealous. 
At Least There’s the Football series by sheffiesharpe. Mystrade. Explicit. It’s popular for a reason, y’all. Truly awesome domestic bliss and a wonderful romantic partnership between Mycroft and Greg.
The DI and the Spy series by chasingriver. Mystrade. Explicit. I’m pretty sure January of 2018 was me having just discovered Mystrade and devouring the big time popular fics. This one was super sweet and funny.
Fire and Ice series by kazvl. Mystrade. Explicit. This one is soooo good. There’s drama and angst with a wonderful storyline that diverges from post-Reichenbach canon in a believable way.
East End Boy by Mottlemoth. Mystrade. Explicit. So my headcanon is generally that Greg is someone who married a woman but was always gay (I know bisexuals exist; I am one, thank you), and when I read this I was like “YASSS! Thank you Moth!” because not only did it meet my headcanon, but the story is one of the best ones I’ve read, hands down.  
To All the Lovers in the House Tonight by kedgeree. Mystrade. Mature. 15,950 words. Greg always gets his man, doesn’t he?
The I Know the Steps Series by stardust_made. Mystrade. Explicit. 37,394 words. This is great - Mycroft and Greg come to know each other - first from Mycroft’s POV, and then Greg’s.
like a moth to a flame by egmon73. Mystrade. Mature. 12,343 words. Greg realizes that he’s attracted to Mycroft. How can he be 52 and just now attracted to a man???
Sweetheart by janto321 (FaceofMer). Mystrade. Explicit. 1,312 words. Mycroft thought it would just be sex between them.
Taking His Time by sanguisuga. Mystrade. Explicit. 8,040 words. Mycroft didn’t quite expect these developments with Greg Lestrade.
Damage Control by TheDevilsFeet. Mystrade & Johnlock. Explicit. 46,679 words. Mycroft and Greg go on a drive to extract Sherlock from a precarious situation. It has some very awkward moments, but they get to know each other better.
Sinking the Land by emungere. Mystrade. Explicit. 34,302 words. It started with random cock sucking. And then it gets even better. So good!
Beyond These Games by recreational. Mystrade. Explicit. 37,736 words. Greg wants to know about the man behind the voice. It gets complicated.
Mister Big series by L_Morgan. Mystrade. Explicit. 41,007 words. This is one of the sweetest Mystrade fics out there. And not fluffy sweet…just sweet. Well done.
Virtually Perfect by Random_Nexus. Mystrade. Explicit. 19,680 words. A great Mystrade fic! I’ve reread this one when I needed a pick-me-up. Mycroft and Greg meet over the internet.
Cracks in the Ice by Mice. Mystrade. Explicit. 31,739 words. This is fantastic. It takes Greg and Mycroft from pre-canon to post-Reichenbach, and the ending is such a surprise.
And the Law Won by MofBaskerville. Mystrade. Explicit. 10,531 words. Mycroft has had a less-than-stellar experience with relationships, and breaks it off with Greg before those things can come to past. Greg isn’t happy about it.
Out of Thought by green_violin_bow. Mystrade. Explicit. 89,323 words. A fabulous love story wherein a disbelieving Mycroft is pursued by a besotted Greg.
The Habits of a Lifetime by out_there. Mystrade. Explicit. 54,234 words. One of my very favorite Mystrade stories. Mycroft is dealing with the aftermath of Sherrinford. 
The Sad Divorced Bastards Club by out_there. Mystrade. Explicit. 19,987 words. Greg invites Mycroft to join a club. Mycroft accepts. I love out_there’s work!
Finding a Way series by MuchTooMerryMaidean. Mystrade. Mature. 116,152 words. This one is a difficult but wholly worthwhile read. TW for rape and rape recovery. I think this is a really important piece, though, the most genuine treatment of the topic in the fandom that I have come across - how rape impacts a person, but also the people around them. It also explores identity, politics of sex and gender, family relationships, and so much more. I’ve reread it twice now, and will probably reread again.
Take Care of Me (Scenario 52-B) by Aelfay. Explicit. 10,788 words. Need some hurt/comfort Mystrade in your life? Here ya go!
Please, Please, Please series by Sunnyrea. Explicit. 180,302 words. Mycroft begins courting Greg, but nothing is ever easy. Great story!
A Sense of Home by snorklepie. Explicit. 50,401 words. Greg pursues Mycroft. He also decides to get his life together. 
AUs
Soul Mate by Mottlemoth. Mystrade. Teen. 4,068 words. Remember up above when I said The Sheltering Tree was the sweetest thing Mottlemoth ever wrote? I was wrong. It’s this soulmates AU. 
Cold Hands, Warm Heart by chasingriver. Mystrade. Explicit. 51,553 words. Mycroft gets forced into a family ski vacation. The ski instructor is hot!
Pater Noster series by manic_intent. Mystrade. Explicit. 26,551 words. Good Omens AU! Mycroft is a demon and Lestrade is an angel. Things get tangled from there. 
True Minds series by green_violin_bow. Mystrade. Explicit. A Jane Austen Persuasion AU! Need I say more?
The North Wind’s Lord by Mice. Mystrade. Explicit. 7,931 words. An AU where Greg tries to find out why the winter won’t stop. Mycroft is an out-of-sorts sorcerer. 
A Safe Prisoner of His Fate by out_there. Mystrade. Explicit. 33,812 words. Young Mycroft is the captive of a dashing pirate. Yes please!
Bonfire Heart by JessieBlackwood. Mystrade. Mature. 44,075 words. Greg is a surgeon, and Mycroft is a pain in the arse. Excellent story!
Magical Realism or Sci-Fi in Canon
The Tenth Muse by Vulpesmellifera. Mystrade. Explicit. 25,365 words. Post-Reichenbach, magical realism, diverges from canon, and includes a side of Johnlock. Mycroft doesn’t deduce like Sherlock - he sees things. Creepy things. 
Time Slips by mezzo_cammin. Mystrade. Explicit. Mycroft will do anything to save Greg’s life, even if it means making deals, and messing around with the space-time continuum.
Xmas Tales
A Christmas Carol by Mottlemoth. Mystrade. General. The funny part of this was that I was working out a Christmas Carol Johnlock version with my BFF, and I discovered this story and was all like “BFF! There’s a Sherlock fanfic of A Christmas Carol, but it’s a Mystrade.” And then I liked it so much I decided to abandon my version. Which is okay, because I moved on to fics for which I have a greater urgency to write later on.  
Thawing the Ice Man by sanguisuga. Mystrade. Explicit. 5,681 words. Mycroft and Greg get stuck at Baker Street one night and have to share a bed. It’s Christmas!
So Full of Light by mydwynter. Mystrade. Explicit. 21,450 words. One of my favorite Xmas fics. Mycroft and Greg grow beards for a cause. And beards are hot. 
For Services Rendered by Mottlemoth. Mystrade. Explicit. 10,582 words. Greg runs into someone at A&E on Christmas Eve. 
The Christmas Spirit by ByrnTWedge. Mystrade. Explicit. 59,916 words. Inspired by It’s A Wonderful Life! Mycroft decides people would be better off without him, but interference by a miscalculating angel leads him to someone who wouldn’t be better off without Mycroft.
Tinder: A Christmas Tale by green_violin_bow. Mature. 8,860 words. This is excellent - Mycroft and Greg ‘accidentally’ match up on Tinder. 
To Capture Light by Vulpesmellifera. Teen. 4,891 words. Post season 4, Mycroft has isolated himself in a Canadian chalet to deal with the personal consequences of Sherrinford. An unexpected visitor pops up on his doorstep. 
Fideles by Anarfea. Mature. 4,744 words. I really liked this one. Greg’s wife is cheating, and Greg goes out for a walk. He meets up with Mycroft, and they sit for a drink. Maybe more?
Sickfics
Woes of the Pharynx by Vulpesmellifera. Mystrade. Gen. 844 words. An ailing Mycroft gets a little TLC from his detective inspector. Humorous ficlet. Promise it’ll make you smile!
Flu Humbug by Hastalux. Mystrade. Teen. 2,750 words. This could have gone under Xmas Tales, too, but here it is! Mycroft has the flu, and Greg gets creative in his care.
PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF A LINK DOESN’T WORK THANK YOU.
275 notes · View notes
mymindsmadness · 5 years ago
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Drarry Fanfic!Friday - Fic Rec  #57 (or something like that)
Life Lessons by bixgirl1
♚ For an elite list of my top/favorite Drarry fics click here ♚
❤ FIND A COMPLETE REC MASTERLIST HERE!  ❤
I spend days taking notes and narrowing down stories for my reviews. If you want to thank me, how about Buying Me A Ko-Fi? I’ll keep doing this anyway (because I love it and you guys!), but I appreciate any donations!! ❤ ❤ ❤
Word Count: 68,378
Summary: On the cusp of a promotion, Harry needs a little help with his image. Enter Draco Malfoy — who doesn't really do that, Potter — to whip him into shape… and make him feel things he hasn't for a very long time.Featuring: odd jobs, surprising chemistry, lots of accidental kissing, the Prophet living up to type, owls exhausted by the carrying of dirty letters, a secret no one can talk about, a merry band of Slytherins (none of whom really approve), and an enchanted mirror (who really, really does).
My Notes: I don’t think I’ve come across a Bixgir1 story that I haven’t adored. Typically, when I read a fic for a recommendation, I take notes. Simple little things about characterization or plot points. All I wrote about this fic was ‘NICE’. And just to be clear, that’s not ‘oh what a nice fic’, no that’s a downright ‘daaaaaamn’ nice. I think the sex scenes in this fic are some of the hottest I’ve read.
The plot isn’t too heavy in the sense that it doesn’t make me feel overwhelmed by the sadness of the characters. We see mostly Harry and Draco, but we get some wonderful side characterization (I especially loved Greg). What can I say? Bixgirl1 is a god amongst us puny mortals. We humbly accept (his/hers/theirs) gift with the utmost gratitude.
Warnings: Bottom!Draco. Bottom!Harry. Dirty talk (and some kinky stuff).
Excerpt:
“I do what I have to, to protect my son,” she said, climbing to her feet. “As you well know.”
“As I well know.” Harry nodded, assessing her. There was almost nothing about her he liked — but he did respect her love for Draco. He met her eyes. “I’m going to give you some help with that.”
“You—” Narcissa caught whatever insult was on the tip of her tongue. “What?”
Harry swept her a bow. “My apologies,” he said, “for my lack of manners, before. I had something important to discuss with him.” He darted a glance down the hall, where Draco’s door was rattling. “I should be going. Give Draco my regards.”
“Why did you come here, Mr Potter?” she asked, eyes narrowing — suspicious; steely. He respected that, too. She said, “What is your business with my son?”
“It’s not business,” Harry said with a helpless lift of his shoulders. “I’m falling in love with him.”
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finalproblem · 7 years ago
Text
🦈 Shark Repellent
Time for a bit of a rehash. But at least it’s been nearly a year? (Yes, I am absolutely framing my slow posting speed as a positive. Thanks for noticing.)
See, I need a post (for reasons) I can link to that explains how I think Mary faked her death in The Six Thatchers. But last time I wrote this up, The Lying Detective hadn’t even aired yet. It seems needlessly confusing to link back to that old version with all of its didn’t-know-what-would-happen-next baggage. 
Plus I wanted a version that focused more on the basic mechanics of the hoax. So I’m leaving out some chunks of explanation about how I reached certain conclusions and about canon parallels. You can dig back a year if you care about that.
Here goes. (Again.)
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The little bit of canon background you do need:
Since after Series 3, I have argued that Mary is an adapted version of Birdy Edwards, a character from Arthur Conan Doyle’s novel The Valley of Fear.
When bad folks from Birdy’s past finally caught up with him after years, Birdy faked his own death by gunshot.
Birdy’s wife and friend both helped with the fake death / cover-up.
I could talk a lot more about The Valley of Fear if I let myself, but I’ve done that already. So this time, let’s just cut to the working premise that: Mary is a version of Birdy, she faked her death by gunshot because she needed to get away from baddies from her past, and she was assisted in this endeavor by her spouse and a friend. (You can decide if I’m being too generous with the word “friend” when I tell you it was Mycroft, but whatever.)
Sherlock wasn’t in on the fake death plan.
Even Vivian Norbury (the woman who shot Mary) wasn’t in on the plan.
How does that work?
The mechanics:
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Sherlock was on Vauxhall Bridge when he figured out Vivian Norbury was the one behind the Tbilisi incident. He immediately ran off toward the MI6 Building.
Sherlock must’ve spoken to someone in Vivian’s office soon after, because he later explained that was who told him Vivian would be at the aquarium.
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Sherlock sent texts to Mary and John (still daylight outside their window) to tell them to meet him at the London Aquarium.
The Watsons had a discussion about who would watch Rosie, and then it was implied that Mary would go ahead and John would catch up after finding a sitter.
Implied but not shown.
This is significant because without changing anything we were shown, it leaves a gap for Mycroft to have called the Watsons before Mary made it out the door. It would’ve been easy enough for Mycroft to have heard what was about to go down directly from Sherlock or from someone Sherlock had talked to at MI6.
So here we’ll assume an intentionally missing scene where Mycroft told the Watsons, “You know how we’ve been working on that secret plan to fake Mary’s death because something-something-bad-people-from-the-past-who-were-out-to-get-her? Here’s our chance to get out there and make this fake death happen, kids!” (I mean, I’m probably paraphrasing a little.)
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And the idea that Mycroft and the Watsons had at least a little time to put a fake death plan in place offscreen there works, because it was dark out by the time Sherlock arrived at the aquarium.
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Mary was the next to arrive, explaining John was on his way. (This was, of course, part of the plan.)
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Vivian asked Sherlock and Mary to let her go, while not-so-subtly reaching into her handbag.
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Mary responded angrily, prompting Vivian to pull a gun from her handbag. As soon as she goaded Vivian into getting the gun out, Mary softened and backed away. («I want to make sure you’re ready to shoot me and that you think it was your own idea, but I don’t want it to happen yet.»)
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In a cab elsewhere in London, John was apparently calling someone to let them know they needed to go to the aquarium right away. The audience never found out who specifically he called.
There are a few different options here that work with the fake death, but the simplest is to say John called Lestrade—who was also not in on the plan. So that’s what I’ll go with for this post. («Hey, Greg, if you and a couple officers wouldn’t mind coming round to the aquarium so you can be witnesses to a totally real tragedy that isn’t fake at all, that’d be super-helpful. Thanks.»)
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It may be worth noting that in this scene we got an unusual (for this show) and seemingly gratuitous shot from the windshield of John’s cab. And if you stop to identify the landmarks and buildings from that view, the cab was on Whitehall Street near the Department of International Development. Which happens to be right along the route if one were to, say, drive the single mile from Mycroft’s office at the Diogenes Club to the London Aquarium. Just saying.
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Back at the aquarium, it was Sherlock’s turn to needle Vivian. Mary looked concerned and tried to caution him more than once. («Come on, man, be careful. I know you don’t know this, but it’s not time for her to shoot me yet. If this goes wrong you could actually get hurt.»)
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Mycroft was the next person to arrive at the aquarium, with Lestrade and some police officers a few of steps behind him.
Obviously in the fake death scenario we’re building, he wasn’t actually surprised to see Vivian there since either Sherlock or someone at MI6 had already let Mycroft know that Sherlock was looking for her.
(And even without the fake death in play, I still think it makes more sense to read Mycroft’s line as “this is unexpected that you’d be the person behind Tbilisi because I would’ve arrested you a long time ago if I’d known” than it does “this is unexpected because I came down this shark tunnel with absolutely no idea who our suspect was” seeing as how the first thing Sherlock did when he thought Lady Smallwood was “Amo” was to let Mycroft know. But that’s all beside the point because this is 1000% a fake death post. SO BACK TO THAT.)
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Mycroft cast a look to his hard left—towards Mary.
Cut to a close shot of Sherlock, then to Vivian, then back to a wider shot of Sherlock (as he demanded the gun) with Mary visible in the background.
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Mary surreptitiously glanced across the room behind Sherlock—returning Mycroft’s look.
Presumably this is when Mycroft gave Mary a nod or other prearranged signal off-camera to let her know everything was in place to proceed with the fake death plan.
Which is why immediately after looking at Mycroft, Mary did a funny little thing with her mouth.
You’ve probably heard this one in a spy story before...
During World War II, British and American secret services developed the "L-pill" (lethal pill) which was given to agents going behind enemy lines. It was an oval capsule, approximately the size of a pea, consisting of a thin-walled glass ampoule covered in brown rubber to protect against accidental breakage and filled with a concentrated solution of potassium cyanide. It could be carried in the mouth, shaped as a false tooth .... To use, the agent would bite down on the pill, crushing the ampoule to release the fast-acting poison. (x)
The classic “suicide pill” is only a starting point for us, though, since the whole deal here is Mary faking her death.
So rather than cyanide, I think our own former spy Mary had a glass capsule of curare hidden in her mouth. After getting the signal from Mycroft, she chomped down on it. (Curare’s only dangerous if it enters your bloodstream, but the broken glass capsule would take care of that detail.)
We’ll come back to how curare works, but a fun fact first: it is a poison that was namechecked by Holmes in one of the canon stories.
As soon as Mary bit down on the curare capsule, the clock started ticking for her.
She needed to get shot soon.
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When Vivian pulled her gun on Sherlock, Lestrade was the only one to try to talk her down. Mary and Mycroft did nothing—they wanted the situation to escalate.
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Vivian fired, and the bullet flew toward Sherlock.
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Only to have Mary leap in front of Sherlock and take the bullet for him. She was always the one who was going to get shot that night, not Sherlock.
[And here we have to pause to address the fact that, no, in the real world it isn’t physically possible to jump in front of a bullet after it’s fired. But it is a common trope used in TV and movies to up the drama of a situation. They had to choose between accurate physics and the drama of giving the audience that heartstopping moment of seeing a bullet headed straight for the central character. They chose drama. Not unlike when Sherlock spent way too long falling off that hospital roof in TRF.
Some fans see the bullet jump as a sign that nothing about this scene was real. Which, okay. That’s totally your call to make, but then this really isn’t the theory post for you. Because personally, my take is that if the whole thing was going to be revealed as imaginary they wouldn’t have bothered building in all the pieces they needed for a faked death explanation. And I don’t begrudge them a little TV showmanship here, especially since it’s far from the first time it’s happened in this show so I’m used to it by now. There’s also something to be said for needing the flying leap to establish that this was an intentional choice Mary made, and the way that fits the internal story logic even if it doesn’t fit “real” logic. But I’m dangerously close to off topic now. Moving on.]
Knowing that Mary was trying to get shot does explain why she didn’t just shove Sherlock out of the way.
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A spray of blood appeared from the middle of Mary’s torso.
This is where the layers really start stacking up, so let’s tackle several of them.
The blood was fake, from a pre-placed blood pack. That’s part of why Mary needed to make the effort to dive in and get hit in the center of her body.
The other reason she needed to get hit in the torso was because she was wearing a low-profile ballistic vest under her shirt. A protective vest won’t do a person any good if they get shot, for example, in the head.
Here it’s also worth noting that between the time we saw Mary at home and her arrival at the aquarium, she put on the jacket seen in this later promo picture:
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The jacket was large and loose enough on Amanda to buy some plausible cover for any extra side, shoulder, or back lumpiness that could go along with an eventual ballistic-vest-under-the-shirt reveal.
A bullet-resistant vest and a blood pack? Is that all there is to it?
No, for two reasons.
One, while attempting to fake your own death by gunshot isn’t the safest thing to do in the first place, even in that scenario it’s riskier than necessary to jump in front of a standard speeding bullet just because you’ve got a protective vest on.
Two, even if the vest is great at stopping all kinds of bullets, it doesn’t make them disappear. The vest just deforms the bullet on impact, stopping it from penetrating your body. There’s still a chunk of metal left. And if you’re trying to pretend a bullet killed you, you can’t have a squashed bullet stuck in the outer layer of your clothes or falling to the floor with a clink after it hits you.
How did Mary and Mycroft get around this problem? It’s all about the featured vocab word of the episode:
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Change the ammo in the gun, and you change the rules.
What kind of ammo could you swap out for standard bullets?
First of all, it wasn’t a blank cartridge in the gun. I’m just getting that out of the way because I know fans like to guess blank cartridges were used any time there’s a suspicious gun death on this show. But the whole point of blank cartridges is that they don’t have a bullet, and we were very clearly shown a bullet in this instance.
There are a number of other possibilities I looked at, but (barring any magic spy bullets from Mycroft’s pals at Q Branch) my favorite real-world option is frangible ammunition.
“Frangible bullets are intended to disintegrate into tiny particles upon target impact to minimize their penetration of other objects.” Generally this means the bullets are made from some form of compressed metallic powder, but they do look like normal solid metal bullets.
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(Images above via frangible ammo manufacturer SinterFire.)
To be clear: Frangible ammo still isn’t, like, a toy. Don’t try any of this at home.
But tests have shown that as long as the right conditions are met, frangible bullets don’t penetrate ballistic vests. And since this is a TV show and Mary and Mycroft were controlling the conditions... Sure, that works as a way to get shot but not penetrated by a metallic bullet without leaving an obvious hunk of metal behind as evidence.
Granted, it’s still being hit by a projectile at close range. It probably hurt, and Mary probably had some nasty bruising. Still preferable to actually being murdered, though, if you had the choice? Seems like it.
But surely Vivian Norbury wasn’t conveniently carrying around a gun loaded with practice ammo. If Vivian wasn’t in on the plan, how did her regular bullets get swapped out for frangible ones?
Stop and think back about a couple of things we already know:
Vivian kept her gun in her handbag.
Vivian’s office knew she’d be at the aquarium that evening, per her weekly routine.
The MI6 Building is a short walk (or shorter transit ride) from the London Aquarium. For Vivian to go all the way home to Wigmore Street and get her gun after work, only to return to the aquarium each week would be silly. It’s much more likely she always carried her gun in her handbag, even at work. (Maybe she had permission because she worked in a spy office. Maybe she was just sneaky. I’m not really going to worry about that detail right now.)
Oh and hey...
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Earlier in the episode, someone decided it was worthwhile to show people who were paying very close attention that Vivian did carry her handbag around at work.
For whatever it’s worth, they even took a promo picture that establishes Vivian’s I-carry-my-handbag-at-work cred:
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So let’s run a theoretical scenario...
1) Sherlock thought the case over on the bridge and realized he was wrong. He called Mycroft and said it wasn’t Lady Smallwood behind Tbilisi—it was Vivian Norbury.
2) Mycroft could see where this was going, realized it was an opportunity to fake Mary’s death like he’d been secretly working up to with the Watsons, and went into action before Sherlock could make his next move.
3) Mycroft told Lady Smallwood she was off the hook. Better yet, he knew who framed her. And now Lady Smallwood had a chance to help bring the real culprit down. (It’s not strictly necessary for Lady Smallwood to be a part of any of this, but I’m including it because I like the idea of her getting a measure of revenge by taking part in an anti-Vivian plan. And we saw by the next episode that Mycroft does trust Lady Smallwood with important secrets.)
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4) We know Sherlock spoke to someone in Vivian’s office to get the aquarium tip. Who’s the only other character we know for sure works in Vivian’s office? Her boss, Lady Smallwood. If Lady Smallwood—in person, over the phone, or through a third party—lied and told Sherlock that nope, Vivian wasn’t around now but she’d be at the aquarium that evening, that would’ve bought Team Fake Death some needed time.
5) Sherlock texted the Watsons to let them know to go to the aquarium. Before either of them left home, Mycroft contacted them to say it was time for the fake death plan. Mary and John proceeded to work out the details with Mycroft before any of them arrived at the aquarium.
6) Back at the MI6 Building, Lady Smallwood created a distraction that allowed her to get hold of her secretary’s handbag for a moment. Just long enough to get the gun out of Vivian’s handbag and swap out the regular bullets for frangible ones.
7) Vivian left work for the day with her gun in her handbag and headed to the aquarium as usual, now an unwitting accomplice in the fake death plan.
(Oh, and the kicker? As of the next episode, handbags became a bit of a running theme.)
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So the frangible bullet from the handbag gun hit Mary, broke open her hidden blood pack, and then crumbled to pieces when it hit her ballistic vest.
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The police restrained Vivian and escorted her away, clearing the scene of non-recurring characters.
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Sherlock put a hand on Mary’s “wound,” but never got as far as properly inspecting it or even taking his glove off.
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Sherlock told Mycroft to get an ambulance. What, no mobile phone signal in the shark room? More like he left the room to go stand in the hall for a minute pretending to make the emergency call. Because this was all a plan and any medical assistance they needed was already in on it and standing by.
Speaking of...
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John arrived in the room just as Mycroft left.
Now, this was just 12 seconds after the bullet hit Mary.
This was not a tragic coincidence of John arriving mere seconds too late.
This was a dude standing a little ways down the hall waiting to hear a gunshot.
And once he did, he rushed in so he could be the doctor on the scene. That way no one else would have a chance to figure out the trick. (This is so much like the technique Sherlock used to fool John into thinking he was dead after the fall that it’s kind of hilarious to see it get turned around.)
We could also pause here to consider that the alleged reason John was arriving at the aquarium after Mary was because he had to find an available babysitter and wait for them to arrive. Yet he showed up at the aquarium a mere 4.5 minutes after his wife did. Even if we assume there was some time condensing in the editing and double or triple that... Either John had amazing luck getting a babysitter (maybe he grabbed the first person who happened to be walking past his house?) or ultimately it wasn’t about the babysitter at all. For example: Mycroft called, all of the Watsons went to the Diogenes (hence John’s later cab location), Rosie got dumped on Anthea’s desk, Mary popped a ballistic vest on and drove to the aquarium, and John waited five minutes before taking a taxi. Or any variation of that general concept.
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John rushed over to Mary and put his bare hand on her “wound.” Presumably this was meant to look like an effort to stop the bleeding. Except of course she wasn’t really bleeding and a blood pack only holds so much fake blood, so the blood stain never really grows for the rest of the scene anyway.
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Nevertheless, this faux first aid was enough to get Sherlock to back off and leave the situation to John. Which was the point.
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Mary began a big ol’ goodbye speech.
And this—this is where we need to come back to talk about curare as promised.
Curare is a funny kind of poison. It actually works by causing paralysis of “every voluntarily controlled muscle in the body (including the eyes).” The paralysis comes on in stages. “It first affects the muscles of the toes, ears, and eyes, then those of the neck, arms and legs, and finally, those involved in breathing. In fatal doses, death is caused by respiratory paralysis.”
It doesn’t stop your heart, though. That’s super important. Because that means if curare gets in your bloodstream and your lungs shut down, you can still avoid death as long as you get artificial respiration in time. If someone helps your body keep breathing, you’ll be okay. There are also antidotes that help the curare paralysis be reversed more quickly.
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So Mary’s giant goodbye speech? That was her running out the clock, waiting for her muscle groups to paralyze one by one. Once it got to her lungs, she’d look very convincingly dead. No more breathing, and she couldn’t blink or twitch a finger even if she wanted to.
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The only tell that curare-poisoned Mary was alive would’ve been the fact that her heart was still beating.
But that’s not a problem when your in-on-the-plan doctor husband was the only one who was allowed to check your pulse.
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When Sherlock tentatively reached out a hand...
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...John lashed out at him, effectively keeping Sherlock away from fake-dead Mary. No observing for you today, detective!
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Then we arrived at the Hair Sniff of Death™ (happens at about 1 hour, 19 minutes, and 59 seconds in on my copy).
Crank the sound up, and it definitely sounds like John whispered Mary’s name. Not that it would be very strange to whisper the name of someone who just died, but then he seemed to continue with an inaudible whisper in Mary’s ear.
Curare paralysis mimics locked-in syndrome, meaning Mary would still have been conscious and capable of hearing John even though she couldn’t respond. So this would make sense as a moment for him to whisper some kind of reassurance that everything was going to plan and she’d be okay.
Okay as long as she got some oxygen soon, that is.
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By the end of the scene, only Mary, John, Mycroft, Lestrade and Sherlock were left in the room. And by my count, Mary had only been fully passed out for less than a minute and a half. So, granted, there’s not a lot of time to play around. But as long as Mycroft got Lestrade and Sherlock out of there basically right after we cut away from our characters, John would’ve been able to start artificial respiration before the usual window for preventing brain damage due to lack of oxygen closed. (Sherlock was in shock and of course Greg has a tendency to do whatever Mycroft tells him to 😉, so it’s plausible enough that Mycroft could’ve hustled them out quickly.)
Since Team Fake Death knew about the curare in advance, they could also have had a dose of antidote standing by so the paralysis would wear off faster.
Mary recovered from the curare, Mycroft dealt with the paperwork and covered up anything that would look suspicious, blah, blah, blah. You’ve been watching this show long enough to know the fake death drill.
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John opted for cremation for Mary’s body, precisely because there was no body and it’s easier to hide that if there’s nothing left for anyone to dig up.
And thanks to A Scandal in Belgravia, we’ve already established that Mycroft knows how to get his hands on an urn full of substitute human ash.
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The last little bit of fake death business in the episode was John walking through a cemetery.
With this shot edited in after all the aquarium stuff, it’s easy to watch and assume John is at the cemetery for reasons related to Mary’s death. Easy to assume that, but... there’s nothing there to actually confirm that assumption.
Let’s try coming at this from a different angle. What’s another reason for someone in this show to go to an old-looking cemetery? Mycroft gave us one a couple of episodes ago in His Last Vow.
Mycroft: Five known bolt holes. There’s the blind greenhouse in Kew Gardens and the leaning tomb in Hampstead Cemetery.
Sherlock had a bolt hole in Hampstead Cemetery, and Mycroft knew about it. If they needed to hide Mary somewhere for a little while after the fake death, a cemetery bolt hole’s a pretty good spot. John could pretend he was visiting his wife’s cremated remains... and then pop over to the leaning tomb to visit his actual wife. (If you watch this part for real, it does look like John may have turned his head to make sure he wasn’t being watched near the end of this shot. Though it’s almost impossible to be sure, since he’s out of focus by then.)
And, y’know, the leaning tomb in Hampstead?
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That did come up as the third place on Mycroft’s list of bolt holes to monitor at the end of The Lying Detective.
So it was on the writers’ minds.
“But why would they fake Mary’s death?”
Since His Last Vow, they’ve been setting up the idea that bad people were after Mary, and that’s why she needed to stay hidden in her “normal” life.
And then in The Six Thatchers, bad people did try to kill Mary.
But here’s the catch.
Those people were Ajay—whom Mary previously believed to be dead—and Vivian Norbury—who no one saw as more than a secretary.
Ajay and Vivian weren’t the baddies Mary was hiding from.
There’s still someone else out there who wants her dead. And if that person was getting a little too close...
Mary had a straightforward enough motive for faking her death. Same as Birdy Edwards in the novel. If your enemies think you’re dead, they stop looking for you and you get to stay alive.
Also easy to see why John wouldn’t mind helping his wife and the mother of his child avoid being murdered.
Mycroft... Eh. There might be enough to Mycroft and Mary’s backstory that he actually wants to help her for her own sake. We don’t really have enough details filled in yet, but it’s possible.
Even if Mycroft doesn’t care about Mary as any kind of friend, though, considering she used to do work for the British government, I don’t think it’s that much of a stretch to guess some of Mary’s enemies are also Mycroft’s enemies. Maybe faking Mary’s death is a means to an end in luring them out.
There’s also the problem of Sherlock’s obsession with protecting Mary and keeping his vow. How many times did it almost get him killed in this episode alone? Mycroft and the Watsons could’ve all decided it would really be better if Sherlock didn’t get murdered trying to save Mary from a particularly nasty baddie lurking on the horizon.
[I do have thoughts on making this vague baddie more specific, but that’s a discussion for another post.]
“But how could John be in on it?”
I agree that from The Lying Detective on, John was genuinely grieving for his dead wife and not putting on an act. We saw him behaving that way even when there was no one in-show around to observe his behavior. So how does that square with the idea that he helped Mary fake her death?
The short answer: TD 12.
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The writers set up a scenario that makes no sense if John remembers what happened... and then introduced a drug that can wipe memories (and corrupt older memories) in the very next episode.
John helped Mary and Mycroft with the fake death, and then they TD-12ed him until he didn’t remember doing it. (Whether that was always the plan or Mary and Mycroft sprung it on John later because they’re both okay with being a little ruthless, who knows.)
There’s a lot more I could say about this, but this post is already very long. Plus I already wrote a bunch of TD 12 posts back when Series 4 was still airing, and I have things I haven’t written any posts about yet that I’d really like to. So maybe I’ll bash through TD 12 again in a future post? Eventually? I dunno.
The point is, there’s a magic memory erasing drug. I don’t think it’s a problem to say John doesn’t remember doing something.
“I don’t buy it.”
Okay.
You don’t have to.
This isn’t really a “talk you into it” post.
It’s more of a “I needed to have this written down in a relatively clean way so I could move on and write about new things” post.
Some of the new things I plan to write about (eventually) will help explain more of how this fits into what happened in The Lying Detective and The Final Problem.
Maybe you’ll feel like the Mary faked her death thing makes sense then.
Or not.
It’s fine either way.
🦈🦈🦈
206 notes · View notes
pinesconessecrets · 7 years ago
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A Chapter’s End
This is a gift for @lilymanzo , happy Christmas! And I want to thank @pinesconess2k17 for organising this, y'all rock.
Honey coloured sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting a golden glow on the remaining people and white chairs below. It was a sunny, spring day, and quite a fine day it was for a graduation ceremony. With the many loitering people and the scent of spring still lingering around him, Wirt was reminded of the quickly approaching Summer. He should’ve been excited, ecstatic even, but to be quite honest with himself, Wirt was terrified. He was terrified of applying for colleges, he was terrified of moving away, he was terrified of time flying by way too fast.
But most importantly, he was terrified of drifting apart from his friends.
Dipper, on the other hand, was not that much different. Usually, it was Mabel who was scared of these kinds of things happening, but this time it was him. Ironic, isn’t it? Looking at the navy cap in his lap, he wondered if he will end up staying just as close to his sister, or if his relationship with her will end up like Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford’s failed relationship. He let out a sigh, out of all things, this was making him panic the most. Mabel, noticing her brother’s quickened breath, held his hand to ground him. She herself was no stranger to this, having gone through a similar experience in their childhood. Dipper had comforted and helped her through that, now it’s time for her to return the favour.
Still holding his hand, she looked around the field. It wasn’t as crowded now, most of the people had gone home, but there were still quite a multitude of faculty and parents left. Mabel hoped that Wirt and Greg hadn’t gone home yet, there was a purikura photo-booth near the food; she wanted them to take some pictures with her and Dipper for memories sake.
Just as she was about to give up searching, she spotted a short boy dressed in red and yellow talking to another taller boy dressed in the same graduation gowns as she was. There they were! No wonder she couldn’t spot them, they were by the buffet table, and to no one’s surprise, it was still crowded.
“Dipper, Dipper, Wirt and Greg are over at the buffet tables,” Mabel whisper-yelled to her twin, eager to get him out of his moody state, “let’s go talk to ‘em!”
“What? Oh, ok sure.” Dipper replied, mood improving rapidly with the dread of summer disappearing almost instantaneously.
So they got up and quickly set off to meet the brothers. Wirt noticed them earlier, but dared not approach them. They looked like they were having a moment, which was not a bad thing as he got to hear what Greg had to say about the ceremony. He said that it was like Wirt was a superhero or when they were in the Unknown where Wirt wore his great-grandmother’s cape -he winced internally to the later comparison, he’d rather not be reminded of the time in what was basically purgatory-.
In the end, neither he nor Greg had to go to them as they came to he and Greg. Mabel with her sunny and joyful grin, and Dipper with his more subdued but equally happy one. Greg stopped talking to his older brother in favour of hugging and talking to his honourary older sister. Wirt could feel everything fade into the background as he saw Dipper approaching him with open arms. They were both high school graduates now, and they would soon go their different paths unless he and Dipper both ended up in Harvard. So he would rather savour what would be the last moments he would have with his boyfriend until the new school year starts up again.
Time seemed to slow around them as they drew close to each other. Voices and colours started to grow blurry and it soon faded into a soft buzz. Wirt could feel Dipper wrapping his arms around him like a koala, it was a bit tight, but comforting nevertheless.
“Hey,” a muffled voice greeted him.
“Hey to you too.”
They spent quite a while hugging each other, it was getting a bit warm. But the warmer the better, Wirt thought. He never did like the cold, bad things tended to happen in the cold (this was totally not based off his own experiences, totally not). Dipper on the other hand, quite welcomed Wirt’s hug. It was soft and warm, just how he liked it; though he could shed the robe, it was getting really hot.
Wirt looked over to their respective siblings. Greg and Mabel were having quite the time of their lives just talking to each other, it would be rude to just interrupt them like that. Turning back, Dipper had let go and was starting to shed his robe. It was getting rather warm, with the spring fading into summer and all that.
“You know,” Dipper mumbled, “things are going to be really different.”
“Hm? Could you repeat that, love?” Wirt responded, looking over to him. Wirt hadn’t been paying much attention to his surroundings, but he knows somethings up when he starts mumbling to him.
“I said that things are going to change a lot. I’ll be going to college and you’ll be in college too.”
“Go on,” Wirt encouraged, quirking an eyebrow.
“Well, it’s college. You and I will be in different courses learning different things in different states with different schedules.”
At this point, Dipper was starting to breathe a bit more heavily, he was panicking and it was getting worse. Wirt could see where he was going. That thought made him scared too. It wasn’t an uncommon sight for Wirt to see him like this, the first time he met him was literally a few days after weirdmageddon. And he was the one to make him panic due to him talking about the Beast in detail, it was too similar to Bill. He was surprised that it wasn’t worse. The Unknown left him and Greg a nasty reminder of what happened there, and they couldn’t get over it for years. Wirt slowly inched his hand closer to hold Dipper’s clenched one to help ground him, but he hesitated. Was it ok to touch him? What if he freaks out? What if Wirt just made everything worse?
“Dipper, Dipper!” that didn’t catch his attention, oh no. “It’s okay, take your time,” Wirt whispered, his hands moving to clasp the other set of hands. He nodded and continued.
“Point is, you and I will end up in different places with busy schedules and not enough time to see each other, and that’s just us! What if Mabel and I become so busy that we don’t even talk anymore? I’m scared that we’ll end up drifting apart, and,” there was a pause, but then he spoke in a quieter voice, “and I don’t think I can handle that.”
Wirt sighed and tightened his grip on Dipper. They really were two peas in a pod, weren’t they? Wirt smiled and shook his head. It was natural to think this way, he too often worried about these things.
“Well, you don’t have to, Dipper.” Wirt reassured him, he needed to know that he wasn’t going to go through this alone, they both did. “We’re not going to drift apart or not have enough time for each other, that’s what communication is for.”
“But what if we do?” Dipper asked, voice filled with worry.
“Then we fix it. You said it yourself, communication is key to any relationship, so that’s why we need keep the flow going.” Wirt bit his cheek, “and, if we ever drift apart, you can count on your pilgrim to come back to you.”
At this, Dipper grinned. It wasn’t a bright grin, but more a tired and relieved one. It was as if he was fighting an internal battle prior to this talk, Wirt noted to himself, it’s good that he got it out of his system. Dipper leaned up to peck Wirt on the lips as a thank you, he really thought that he was being ridiculous for awhile.
“Thanks, I needed that.”
“I know, the next time you need to talk to someone, don’t hesitate to shoot a message to me, Greg or your sister, okay?”
“Okay, but what if I send you a pigeon? How would you reply?”
“I’ll come to you by moonlight on a talking and formerly thieving horse with Greg, Mabel and a bluebird by my side to fight off whatever is bothering you.”
“What, with your poetry and sass?”
“Yes, with my poetry and sass.”
“Fair enough, thank you Wirt, that helped me a lot,” Dipper replied softly but with feeling, he felt lighter now, like the world wasn’t on his shoulders, “say, how about we go and see what our siblings are up to? We haven’t heard from them in awhile.”
“Hm, good idea.”
With that, our two waffles have gone on to talk to their siblings and go home. Thus marks the end of their time in highschool and of spring, at least for Mabel, Dipper and Wirt. Soon summer has arrived and so do the plans for the upcoming seasons. But, that’s a story for another day.
A bonus accidental line I wrote and erased:
“You know,” Dipper mumbled, picking up a crunchy boi from the buffet. The boi was so crunchy, it needed some moisturiser.
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the-record-newspaper · 5 years ago
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The Killing of Rhonda Hinson Part 47
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This 2001 photo, first appearing in The News Herald in Morganton, is that of Judy Hinson, John McDevitt and Bobby Hinson standing at Rhonda Hinson's gravesite at Burke Memorial Park.
Editor’s Note: This is the continuation of a series about the Dec. 23, 1981, unsolved murder of Rhonda Hinson.
 By LARRY J. GRIFFIN
Special Investigative Reporter
For The Record
 This case does not need a fresh set of eyes looking at it—no, that has happened already. The case was solved years ago. What it needs is someone in law enforcement and the judiciary to act upon the evidence already in the files—evidence that has been there for years.—A respondent’s comment in a private message to The Record.
 While sitting in the bedroom of Robert [Robbie] Hinson on the evening of Wednesday Dec. 23, 1981, 25-year-old detective John McDevitt announced his hypothesis relative to who pulled the trigger that ended the life of Bobby and Judy Hinson’s 19-year-old daughter.
“The boyfriend—that’s what he said before Steve Whisenant cautioned him to not be too hasty with his conclusion,” the Hinsons vividly recalled.  As already reported, Mr. McDevitt declined to confirm his observation when Judy asked him to do so recently.  
Yet two decades later—while speaking with Cheryl Bollinger [Shuffler] of the Morganton newspaper, The News Herald in 2001­­—the now Sheriff John McDevitt seemed to ‘second-guess’ his initial inference.  
“One of the most discouraging factors of this case…is there are so many suspects…I’ve never zeroed in on one suspect and wouldn’t be surprised to clear or arrest any of the suspects… I can sit down with you and convince you that 10 people did it, but none of the suspects are any better than the others.”
Approximately a year before John McDevitt assumed the office of sheriff, Detective James “Flash” Pruett was interviewed by Jen Pilla of The News Herald and consequently quoted extensively in an article published in December 1997, near the 16th anniversary of the killing of Rhonda Hinson.  
Detective Pruett was assigned the cold case in 1994 and conducted the most extensive, comprehensive investigation to-date.  He assiduously documented his progress—and, at times, lack thereof.  He had interviewed a vast pool of potential suspects and narrowed his focus to just a few possibilities.  Flash said as much to Ms. Pilla who reported the fact that, “Pruett said investigators have whittled down a pool of hundreds of suspects to just a handful.”
Factually, the detective had narrowed his focus to just one suspect—Greg McDowell, ‘the boyfriend.’  As early as March 1995, Flash had consulted with FBI Special Agent (SA) L. B. Thomas whose office was located in Raleigh.  During at least two phone conversations, he asked SA Thomas to “do a profile of the shooter.”  Of this consultation with Thomas, Mr. Pruett wrote:
“I faxed him…my version of the key events and my summary of the case. Agent Thomas is in agreement with my conclusion that Greg McDowell is the shooter.  He stated all the responses the shooter would have are inherit to Greg McDowell, for example, throwing up, no eye contact with the family, fear of being alone with Rhonda’s body and cutting all contact with the family after Rhonda’s death.  Agent Thomas feels Greg confessed to his parents and may have been suicidal shortly after the shooting.”
It was at that juncture, that Flash began to leverage Greg’s former relationships with Jeff Hinkle and Mark and Faith Turner to obtain incriminating information that would provide the basis for a ‘probable cause’ warrant.  
Certainly, Sheriff John McDevitt had access to the copious case files regarding the “…case [that] has been worked harder than any other case in Burke County”—at least that’s the way he characterized it in a News Herald article published on Sunday Dec. 19, 1999, a year after he assumed the duties as the sheriff of Burke County.  
Surely, Mr. McDevitt perused the detailed case notes of the lead detective of the Hinson investigation, James Pruett—an officer who was under his supervision in the nascent days of his administration and a supporter who helped him win the 1998 election, besting incumbent Richard Epley. Moreover, he must have been aware that Flash had narrowed his investigative gaze to one viable suspect. Yet, his comments to Reporter Cheryl Bollinger [Shuffler] in September 2001 suggest that he either was unfamiliar with Pruett’s synopses or was simply discounting them altogether—effectively abandoning his own 1981 asseveration that concurred with the inferences proffered by both his lead detective and FBI Special Agent Thomas.
In the same news article—published on Monday Sept. 3, 2001—Sheriff McDevitt is quoted as offering a speculation that was convincingly controverted within the text of an SBI ballistics report that summarized results from an Oct. 15, 1997 investigation initiated by Detective Pruett. Reporter Bollinger [Shuffler] wrote:
“Mr. McDevitt said…‘There’s a slight chance the person who pulled the trigger to this day does not know they killed someone,’ he said. ‘But, more than likely they do, and they’ve carried that with them very quietly for 20 years now.  And if the person who did it has told someone, they told the right person because they’ve kept a heck of a secret.”  
The language of SBI ballistics summary leaves little doubt that the shooter had full knowledge that the bullet fired had found a target.  
“It was…determined that no suitable spot could be found in the surrounding terrain, due to the incorrect elevations that would give a trajectory of about 16 degrees (plus or minus) a few degrees, where a shooter could have concealed himself and have fired the fatal bullet…Trigonometric calculations reveal that if the shooter was, in fact, standing somewhere on the road at the time the fatal shot was fired, the muzzle-to-target distance was greater than four feet (4’) and less than or equal to eight feet (8’)…These calculations assume the shooter is taller than five feet eight (5’8”) and less than or equal to six feet four inches (6’4”).”
Given the accuracy of the 1997 calculations, the killing of Rhonda Hinson was neither accidental nor was the missile that ended her unfinished life fired from a distant vantage point, e.g., I-40, either ridge on Eldred Street [Hwy. 350], or Elmer Buff’s property.
A perusal of the articles written across the years about the killing of Rhonda Hinson—most appearing in local newspapers—reveals a repetition of the same information offering more conundrums than conclusions: Who killed Rhonda Hinson and why?  Was it a random shot or was the bullet seeking an intentional target? Did Rhonda Hinson remove herself from the car?  Who was the mysterious man observed standing near the open-door of Rhonda’s 1981 Datsun 210—was he a Good Samaritan or the shooter?  
Despite the fact that information can be found in case files offering viable answers to many of these queries, the ubiquitous, threadbare questions persist. And Burke County law enforcement appears to be oblivious relative to the contents of the voluminous case file and—outwardly at least—clueless as to what transpired during the early morning of Dec. 23, 1981 and are presently unwilling to discuss the 38-year-old investigation.   Their conduct over the years has incessantly frustrated the Hinsons who have waited patiently for answers promised yet undelivered.  
Before the 1998 election for sheriff, Judy Hinson was asked by a member of the McDevitt campaign to write a letter of support in favor of the challenger who was facing-off against an incumbent.  In Letters to the Editor, published in The News Herald, Ms. Hinson spoke directly to the seated sheriff, Richard Epley—the caustic tone of the language used bespeaks that frustration:  
“…People in law enforcement…have only turned a deaf ear to our pleas for help like Sheriff Epley and his administration have. Sheriff Epley, you asked me recently when we met why I was angry, you asked if something had happened that day we talked.  I told you, not it happened 16 years ago.  My child was murdered.  Yes sir, I am angry.  I have every right to be angry.  
“Sheriff Epley you can sit in your office and tell me if there was anything to work on Rhonda’s case it would be worked.  This is just not the truth.  In your next breath you said if the State Bureau of Investigation report was correct now you knew enough to go out and arrest the person responsible for Rhonda’s death.  Sheriff Epley you can’t play both sides.  Either you have nothing or you have something…
“Sheriff Epley, you gave me a list of hours that you say have been spent on Rhonda’s case. Through my tears I had to laugh and shake my head in disbelief.  Sheriff Epley you know that these hours worked have been greatly exaggerated by someone….  
“Sheriff Epley while you were in our home you asked me a question; I could not answer it then because I needed time to think.  You asked if I really believed John McDevitt would work this case if he were Sheriff.  Mr. Epley, I think he would!  He has never been anything but honest and straight forward with us.  I don’t know what he would do, but I certainly would like the chance to see!”
Judy Hinson admitted in a recent follow-up interview with this writer. “I have been wrong before, and boy was I wrong about that one. Truth is that Richard Epley did about as good a job as anybody else. But we believed that John was going to really work to solve Rhonda’s case—that’s what he promised he would do. But it didn’t take Bobby and me long to realize that he wasn’t going to do what he said he would.  He is a politician.”
Recalling their most recent interaction with Mr. McDevitt at a local Morganton restaurant during the Fall of 2019, Judy provided a ‘case-in-point.’  “When we saw him at AJ’s, Bobby was talking to him about the weapon used to fire the bullet that killed Rhonda.  He [McDevitt] said, ‘Well they tell me it was a high-powered rifle.’  He was sheriff for a long time and had worked Rhonda’s case from the beginning—why would THEY [Ms. Hinson’s spoken emphasis] have to tell him anything?”
As frustration with law enforcement continued to mount and still desperate for answers, Judy and Bobby Hinson commenced scouting around for “fresh eyes” to look at their daughter’s stalemated case. So, in 2002—during the McDevitt administration—they contacted an organization called, The Sexual Homicide Exchange (SHE) and a criminal profiler named Pat Brown.
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darnedchild · 8 years ago
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Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2017 - Day Six
A/N: Somehow, and I have absolutely no idea how, I am on track to pull off seven short fics in seven days for my FOURTH Appreciation Week in a row!  So yay me.  Dialogue in the first scene is borrowed from “The Six Thatchers” because borrowing stuff from other people is apparently a thing I do this week.  Unbeta’d, as per.  Will go up on FF.net and Ao3 later tonight or early tomorrow morning.
Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2017 – Day Six (Canon Compliant – Season 4)
Hi
“Father, we ask you to send your blessings on this water.”  Vicar Thomlin drew the sign of the cross in the baptismal font.  “And sanctify it for our use this day, in Christ’s name.”
He turned to Mary, John, and their tiny baby.  “Now, what name have you given your daughter?”
John and Mary share a look, then Mary proudly told the Vicar, “Rosamund Mary.”
As if he were surprised, Sherlock lifted his gaze from his phone for a moment.  “Rosamund?”
“Means ‘rose of the world’,” Molly whispered.  She smiled. “Rosie for short.”
Sherlock nearly rolled his eyes before returning his attention to his phone.
“Didn’t you get John’s text?” she asked, wondering if there was some chance John had accidentally forgotten to inform Sherlock of the latest (and final, thank goodness) name choice.
“No, I delete his texts.”  His thumbs continued to fly across the mobile screen.  “I delete any text that begins, ‘Hi’.”
இڿڰۣ-ڰۣ—
Molly was bored.  The morgue was quiet, nothing waiting to be dealt with in the lab, not even a pouty Sherlock hoping to weedle access to body part out of her.
She drummed her fingers atop her desk and wrinkled her nose, pulling open the top desk drawer in the hopes for a bit of inspiration.  Her eyes fell upon her mobile and Molly snatched it up.
Her thoughts drifted back to the day of Rosie’s Christening.  Sherlock had said that he deleted John’s texts, that he deleted any text that started with hi out of hand.
Was he fibbing, she wondered.  Molly tried to remember how many, if any, texts she’d sent him over the years that might have begun with the friendly greeting.  Surely there had to be some.  Of course, most of their text conversations were about his work, and she tried to strive for a professional tone in those.
The three dreadfully long hours left on her shift made the decision for her, really. Molly pulled up his contact information and sent a text.
Hi.  Bored silly.  I’ve found kidney in the back of the freezer this afternoon.  I was going to dispose of it, but I thought you might like to observe the effects of freezer burn.
An hour later Sherlock and John walked into the morgue.
“Oh, did you get my text?”
Sherlock leaned back against one of the examine tables, and casually crossed his ankles.  “Hmm? No, was it important?  Gavin-“
“Greg,” John corrected without a hint of heat in his voice.  Clearly it was something he was used to doing at this point.
“-should be here within the hour.  He’s got what could be a seven, possibly an eight; and he’s promised to make sure the body gets sent here.”
That should leave her plenty of time to get ready, and still have time to kill.
As if he’d read her mind, Sherlock grinned at her and slapped his hands together.  “So, what do you have to keep me out of trouble in the meantime?”
இڿڰۣ-ڰۣ—
Two days later she sent another text.
Hi.  Read about your case in the paper.  Your seven turned out to be a nine, then?  Nurse Meghan in OB says you are ‘extremely lickable’, in case you’re interested.
That should earn her a ‘Don’t make jokes, Molly’ or a ‘Why would I be interested, you know I’m married to my work’ if Sherlock actually read it.
She went to bed without receiving a reply.
இڿڰۣ-ڰۣ—
It became a habit over the next few months.  Whenever she was bored or distracted—or even just wanting to talk to someone—she would send him a text.  Each one started with ‘Hi.’  
Hi.  Mary said you took her on a case and left John with Rosie.  That sounds fun.    If you ever need a pathologist running around with you, I’ll volunteer!
Hi.  Pasta and pork in the canteen again.  Reminded me of the night you asked me to bring out the two murder victims so you could look at their feet.  I’ve thought about getting a tattoo.  Cherries, maybe.  Haven’t figured out where, though.
Hi.  Rough day.  Back to back to back autopsies.  Nothing you would be interested in.  Gonna veg out in front of the telly with some ice cream.  Maybe take a bath.
Hi.  I know you don’t read these, but sometimes I like to pretend you do, and that you smile just a bit when you see that someone is thinking about you. Not for a case, just because.  I hope you have a  good night, Sherlock.
Hi.  I miss sex.  Meena says I should just go out to a bar and find a guy, but that just seems so cold. What if he’s absolute rubbish in bed? It would be very disappointing to go to all that trouble only to find out he doesn’t even know where the clitoris is.
Hi.  Met a guy (not at a bar), offered to make him dinner on our third date. Toby threw up in his shoes.  Turns out Toby is a great judge of character. He’s always liked you, hasn’t he?
Hi.  You wore that purple shirt into the lab again.  Do you purposely buy your clothes a size too small?  You do know the buttons aren’t supposed to strain quite that much, right?  Not that I’m complaining.  As a matter of fact, give me the name of your tailor and I will personally give that man a huge tip.  
Hi.  Mary is a horrible horrible awesome friend.  She got me very very tipsy.  She bet me I wouldn’t tell you that I would like you to bend me your chair and make me scream.  By shagging me.  In case there was any confusion.  Consider this me telling you.  Ha, I win the bet!  Bite me, Mary.
Hi.  I apologize for everything I wrote last night.  I was drunk, which is a horrible defence, but it’s all I have. Thank God, you don’t read these. I could barely look at you today without wanting to die from embarrassment.  And the hangover.  Mostly embarrassment.
Hi.  I heard about your case.  I know everyone else has already told you that it’s not your fault, you can’t save them all.  You’re probably sick of hearing it.  But it’s true.  Remember how many people you’ve helped, Sherlock.  How many lives you’ve made better.  The world needs you.  I need you.
Hi.  You’re right, Steve was a jerk.  How did you even know, you met him for maybe five minutes?  Maybe I should take your advice and just stop dating all together.  That’s a depressing thought.  
He never responded.
இڿڰۣ-ڰۣ—
Molly leaned back in her office chair nearly three months after she’d started using the texts to Sherlock as her personal diary.  Yet again, there was another long and boring afternoon stretching out before her.  And then she had errands to run after that, which she was definitely not looking forward to.  She pulled out her mobile and sent off a quick text.
Hi, Sherlock.  Dreading going shopping, but a girl needs new knickers from time to time.  I’m thinking something lacy.  Thoughts? I wonder what your favourite colour is?
Ten minutes later, the morgue phone trilled with an incoming call from dispatch, letting her know there was a high priority body coming in, and DI Lestrade would be following close behind.
Molly was ready and already leaning over the body, taking photos of a strange discoloration on the victim’s cuff, when Greg, John, and Sherlock arrived.
“Hey, Molly,” Greg offered in greeting as he came to stand at the foot of the exam table.
John offered his own hello.  Molly answered them both in a slightly distracted manner as she discovered a shard of plastic embedded deep enough into the shirt material that it had punctured the skin below.  
“Sherlock, look at this.”
He bent down until he was eye level with the body’s wrist, and pulled out his magnifying glass.  “Mmm. Could be something, could be nothing.” He straightened and looked down at her, one brow arched inquisitively.  “Thoughts, Molly?”  He dragged the last two words out in a way that seemed to attach quite a bit of significance to them.  
Her mouth went dry and her stomach clenched.  He couldn’t have.  He didn’t read her texts, not those texts.  “I-I wouldn’t hazard a guess yet, I’ve only just begun.”
“Right.”  Greg looked back and forth between them.  “Sherlock, you’ve got any theories to share with the class?”
Just like that, Sherlock was all business, and Molly realized she must have imagined the whole thing.  
Eventually he had run out of observations, Greg had run out of questions, and John had run out of patience.  “I hate to interrupt the party, but I need collect Rosie from the creche.  Mrs Hudson is willing to watch Rosie for a few hours, but she doesn’t have a car seat for pick up.”
“Drop you off at your place and you can meet up with us at Baker Street?” Greg offered as they headed toward the door.  
“Oh, Molly?” Sherlock called her name.
“Yes?”  She looked up from the corpse on her table, her mind already focused on the samples Sherlock and Greg wanted her to collect.
He shrugged into his coat and moved to follow the other two men. “It’s Red.”  
“Pardon?”
“Cherry red.  You wanted to know my favourite colour.”  Then he winked and disappeared through the morgue door before she could think of anything coherent to say.
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silvermoonartz · 6 years ago
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Second Meeting (Mercury Green)
Rated T
Strangely this is the first chapter of Mercury Green (my superhero AU) I’m publishing and it’s a really random one so a lot of things don’t have the right context. I wrote most of it on August 19th when I was thinking about Sabina’s/Mystery Girl’s role in the AU (its way more fleshed out now) and how Pearl and her met in this. The first thing that came to my mind was apparently some crazy stuff and this chapter is the aftermath. I finally went back and finished it this morning. Once I write more I’ll make a master post with the correct order.
Pearl
     I took another huge swing of my iced tea, finishing the sixteenth bottle I've gone through as I typed the last grade into my computer for the day. I absolutely hate the fact that I can hardly stay awake while grading the projects of my class. I love it when I have time to grade things, but this is absolute hell. I really hope I didn't mess anything up. 
     Once I shut the computer down I got up to clean up the chalkboard like usual. While this is the twenty first century, and most teachers wouldn't have chalkboards anymore, I enjoy keeping things old school. I took the chalk duster and brushed of my intricate diagrams of the work my class had to follow today, then cleaned it off with some spray and a rag, making sure it was spotless. Although, I would soon come here the next day to find the most annoying spots left on it to my dismay.
     "Great!" I exclaimed with satisfaction, "Now all that's left is organizing every little piece of chalk by color."
     I took all the chalk off of the ledge they laid on and set them into a little pail while I wiped it down. I then reached down to grab a small pink stick of it and started to gently lay it down on the ledge perfectly straight when a set of three knocks on the door made me jump up and it flew out of my hands.
     "Come in!" I shouted groggily.
           The door opened up and Peridot poked her head out. 
                "Hey Pearl! Er, Miss Halite. I just wanted to stop in here to pick up my dress before I head back home if you're done grading it. Though, it's okay if you still need it," she said as she stepped in. Another girl came in behind her with a phone as Peridot closed the door. She seemed super tired.
She was a huge muscular girl that made Peridot look even more like a midget than usual, since she only stood just above this girl's waist. She had nice curves and she probably would have a lot of cleavage if she weren't wearing a collared jacket. She was really hot and that dyed pink hair corresponded well with her jade eyes. That really warm and strange feeling you get when you are sexually attracted to another person flooded though my body. 
What the heck Pearl! This is probably a student and you're a teacher! You could get fired if you go after her! My consciousness barked at me. 
     Peridot walked over to me. 
          "This is Sabina. She's the girl that found me in the alleyway after that whole chemical mercury accident I got into. If it weren't for her, I'd probably be dead!" Peridot exclaimed as she looked in her direction. Sabina was still looking down at her phone.
     "Stupid Kevin. Stop texting me already," she muttered.
          "Aren't you two in a relationship? Don't couples text one another a lot?" Peridot asked her. So Sabina is dating a guy then?
     "No. According to him I decided to dump him last night, and he wanted to know if that was still the case since I was tipsy when I told him that. I then told him that hey, if I broke up with you, I probably had a valid reason for doing so. Go find someone else to fuck around with. He still won't stop texting me!" She explained to Peridot, "Honestly, I'm glad I did that even if I don’t remember. He's really clingy and kind of a fuck boy."
     "I sort of can understand that. I haven't really been in any big relationships before, but I have this one girl I said no to once and she still won't leave me the hell alone!" Peridot exclaimed. I knew that she was definitely referring to The Purple Cougar.
     "I guess some people just won't let go of things, huh?"
          "Yeah."
               I guess I'm not much better. Pink Diamond has been with Greg for around twenty years, but I still can't get it out of my head that I can still be with her. I suppose that something inside me is telling me that when Greg dies of old age I'll just be able to take her back again. That's pretty morbid. Especially since Greg and I are good friends now. I know that I desperately need to let go of her but I don't know how or if I can find anyone who I can love like that. I did have a small crush on Peridot's ex, Bailey, but that was soon shattered once I found out that she had a girlfriend back home in Arizona.
     "Well, anyways, Sabina is coming over to my place so I can help her study for a big Calculus test that she flunked today," Peridot told me, getting back on topic.
     "That's nice of you," I told her.
          "Yeah. What kind of grade did you give me for my dress?!" Peridot asked when she suddenly remembered why she was here. 
     "I gave you an A," I told her.
          "Really? I accidentally cut the fabric shorter than I wanted, I went too deep on the v-neck, and it has one seam that didn't go in that well," Peridot was surprised that she'd gotten an A.
     "Trust me. That A was well deserved. The stitches are absolutely perfect besides that minuscule one you missed and that's hardly noticeable. It looks professional!" I reassured her.
     "Well, you're the teacher and I'm not going complain about an A," Peridot said with a smile, as I walked over to get her dress from the pile of projects I'd graded. I handed her the small folded up black dress and she took it.
     "Can I see that?" Sabina asked Peridot.
          "Yeah!" Peridot said happily.
               She unfolded the dress to reveal what it looked like. It was a short flowy dress with a sharp v-neck, thin straps, and a silky ribbon tied around it. 
     "Wow. Are you trying to impress someone with that?" Sabina asked her.
          "No. I don't have romantic feelings for anyone right now," Peridot replied casually,  "and even if I did, I definitely wouldn't use this. I wouldn't want them to like me just because I'm sexy," she said with a proud little smirk when she said 'sexy'.
     "That's smart. Though if it were me, I wouldn't be afraid to show off to someone I liked," Sabina said, glancing over at me when she saw that I was staring at her chest. My face heated up and I quickly looked away. You need to stop!
     "I guess it's different for different people."
          "Yep."
               Peridot turned back towards me, "So anyways Pearl, I suppose you're wondering why I stopped in for my dress now instead of just picking it up during class tomorrow like everyone else."
     "Honestly, I didn't even think about it. I'm not really thinking much at all," I told her. Then I quickly walked behind my desk to grab my seventeenth bottle of iced tea from the cooler I had and took another swig as I walked back over to them.
     "That's exactly why I came now. I'm really worried bout you. You're always very alive and perky, but you seem really out of it today. I wasn't going to mention anything during class since you probably wouldn't want attention drawn to it," Peridot told me.
     "Yeah. I've had horrible headaches today, I threw up this morning, and I'm super tired. I think I might have a hangover or something," I said exhaustedly.
      "Don't I know how that feels!" Sabina exclaimed.
           "Is that why you look so tired?" I inquired.
               "Yep. I've been drinking coffee all day just to stay awake."
                    "I've been drinking iced tea! There's like eighteen and a half fluid ounces of caffeine in these things!" I said excitedly.
     "Wow. That's a lot. I should just do that next time."
          "Yeah. It tastes way better than coffee too."
                "You never really struck me as someone who would drink, Pearl," Peridot piped up.
      "Well, what most people do when their heart has been broken is drink it away. Though, I do it way too much and I honestly need to quit. Haven't you learned about that by listening to all of those country songs?" I asked her. 
      "That actually makes a lot of sense for you now that I think about it," Peridot admitted.
     "You listen to country music?" Sabina asked Peridot.
            "Yes! It's the best! Though I do like Classic Rock," she replied.
                  "Rock is the best in my opinion. What artists or bands do you like?" 
                      "I mostly listen to Journey, Bon Jovi, The Eagles, Guns and Roses, Pat Benatar, Billy Joel, John Mellencamp, Poison, and Rick Springfield. Oh! And Bonnie Tyler too. I really like 'Total Eclipse of the Heart' and 'Holding Out for a Hero'," Peridot told her. These two really seem to get caught up in their own conversations. These songs and artists are so nostalgic. I kinda miss the eighties.
      "Those are all good ones! I really need to take you to a rock concert sometime."
           "That would be fun. Though Pearl, I was wondering that if you drink often and we hang out a lot, why haven't I seen you like this before?" Peridot asked me.
     That's because before I had on that silver collar with my magic pearl keeping me healthy. Though it's weird that I can still get drunk but never have any side effects from it with that thing on. I'm still trying to find out how those magic gems from my home planet even work. 
      I scratched my neck as if to cue to the fact that I didn't have my collar. Peridot would naturally be smart enough to understand since she knows about it, but to anyone else, I'd look as if I were itching the huge black ribbon I had tied around my neck.
      Peridots eyes widened when I did that, so she certainly caught onto my message. Those dilated fake green eyes clearly asked, how the actual hell are you alive?!
           "Wow! I was so wrapped up in how sick you seemed that I didn't even notice that you didn't wear a fashion scarf today like usual," she said, looking at my ribbon, "Though you don't really seem like someone who'd wear a huge ribbon like that around your neck." 
     "You wear a fashion scarf all the time? I'm pretty sure most girls would use that to hide hickeys. Although collared jackets and sweaters work well for that too," Sabina stated. How would she know that much about hiding hickeys?
       "Actually, that reminds me Peridot. I need your help with something quick, since you're as smart as I would normally be-"
     "Smarter."
          "Yeah, whatever. So anyways, I'm in no condition to think straight-" I snickered, "Ha! I never think straight! Wow I really need sleep! Okay, so I can't think straight so it'd really be nice if you could help me," I told her. 
     "Sure, lay it on me," Peridot said nonchalantly.
          "Promise you won't freak out?" 
               "I promise."
                    I took a breath of air and blew it out as to calm myself, then I reached behind my back and gave a light tug on the long part of the ribbon, causing the bow to fall apart and the ribbon drifted down onto the floor.
     "Well someone sure had fun last night!" Sabina exclaimed in amusement when my neck was revealed.
     "What the actual hell Sabina! She was probably taken away by some stupid jerk that was set to have sex with her that she despises and since she was drunk she was perfectly okay with it and now she's going to live with a broken and traumatized mind for the rest of her existence!" Peridot spat.
     "Are you alright?" Sabina asked her.
          "No. I'm actually not," she said, looking down at her feet. That poor girl, she's even more broken by what happened between her and Cougar than I thought. I know that she wouldn't dare do something like that to Peridot sober, she may be too flirty but she’s far too kindhearted for that. It still makes me angry though. I think the best thing I could do for her is to go on with my story so she can stop thinking about that.
     "So, I woke up on the floor of my apartment this morning with these all over my neck, no sleep, and a throbbing head," I told her as she silently offered to throw away my finished bottle of iced tea.
     "Pearl, there isn't eighteen and a half fluid ounces of caffeine in this thing. There's sixty nine milligrams of caffeine out of the eighteen and a half fluid ounces that is the entire bottle!" Peridot stated as she was about to throw it out, examining the label.
     "Ha! Sixty nine!" Sabina laughed out loud.
          "Wow. You both need sleep badly. Sabina, you're overly tired as hell, and Pearl, you look like a freaking vampire! More so than usual," Peridot pointed out, disgusted by Sabina's immature response to her comment about the label. She quickly threw the bottle away and went back over to us.
     "And that brings me to the next part of the story. So I had to go to the bathroom to throw up, which is absolutely disgusting, and then when I came back out I saw that there was a piece of paper on the floor by where I was laying," I told her as I reached into my pack pocket to take out a small piece of paper and handed it to Peridot.
     "Call me if you ever want something to sink your fangs in again~," Peridot read with a struggle, the writing was pretty messy.
     "And that number on it looks kinda familiar," she stated with wonder, "I just don't know where I've seen it."
      "Really?" I asked. Perhaps it was worth letting her check it out.
           "It could be Amethyst's. You've met her before. She's my fun roommate..."
                Please don't let it be Amethyst. I know her way more than Peridot knows I do, even more so than Peridot herself. She is definitely someone who I desperately hope I didn't sleep with. Not that she'd even be interested.
     "Nah, her number is different."
          Thank god.
               "Hmmm... It could be R-" Peridot started to say before Sabina cut her off.
                    "Oh, just give me that!" Sabina exclaimed as she snatched it out of Peridot's small hands. She carefully scrutinized it, then her jade eyes widened in shock.
     "That's... my number," she breathed before slowly looking up at me.
           My face started to burn as it flushed a bright red. I didn't know what to think.
                "Oh my god," we said simultaneously as we looked at each other. The two of us were completely stunned and at a loss of words. 
     I really don't know how to feel at the moment. Am I happy that it was her? I mean she is incredibly beautiful and sexy.... my mind trailed off and I felt myself heat up even more. No! What if this is something like the whole Purple Cougar and Iron Mage dilemma and she doesn't want any of this, but it was out of our control because we were completely drunk? Gah! I don't know! How did I let this happen.
     Peridot took a while to process things herself.
          "What that hell!" She exclaimed once she finally comprehended the situation.
               Sabina had also done the same, while I was still a flustering mess.
                   "Well I suppose my writing on that paper explains this," she said as she unzipped her jacket. She had a low cut tank top on underneath it and wow. I was right about her having nice cleavage. Stop checking her out! 
    She pointed at a small bite mark on her neck. She had a few hickeys as well, not as much as I did, but they were still hickeys nonetheless. But why would I bite her? That's just weird. Not that this situation itself is any less weird.
     "That's it. I came here for my dress and to check on Pearl. I don't know if she's fine, but we're leaving," Peridot stated curtly as soon as she saw that. She started heading towards the door.
     "Oh. Okay. Thanks for helping me figure that out I guess," I said as she turned to leave.
   "No problem."
        Sabina zipped her jacket back up and walked over to me. Why is she coming over to me? She took my hand and I felt blood rush back up to my face again. 
     "Here," Sabina said as she placed the paper into it, "Keep it."
          She then looked up at me and smiled. 
               "Maybe we'll see each other again."
                    And with that she dashed off to catch up with her tutor, leaving me a flustered mess.
     All I know is that this has to be the start of something good.
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