#pulling out the ao3 style tags fr

[jumpedthenfell-13]

Guys actor aus are actually gonna be the death of me DHDJSHVSH

I know I already wrote an actor au BUT. This idea came to be last night while I was trying to sleep

Robin and Nancy have been filming together for a few years now. They like their characters, and they like being around each other. Both of their characters have love interests, even if both of them might have considered… other options.

It’s while they’re filming in the middle of the night that everything changes. It’s a wound cleaning scene, one where Nancy gets to hold Robin’s face close and smile at her. Their characters whisper questions about love into the night, the focus entirely on them, moonlight shining down upon their faces.

They keep getting the scene wrong. They don’t even know why; it’s just that each time, one of them will fumble when Nancy’s character brings up her love interest. Robin will stammer out a line that’s meant to be confident, or Nancy will forget what she was meant to say. It’s all little things, but they keep doing extra takes to get it just right.

Nancy’s getting frustrated. She doesn’t know what’s wrong with this scene, or why she just can’t seem to perfect it.

She makes a split-second decision, one she makes fairly often in filming, to just do what feels natural for the next take. Screw the script. They’ll just end up trying again afterwards.

And so she does. Maybe she doesn’t follow what she’s meant to say, but it just feels more natural this time. The crew behind the camera just watches, choosing to see where this goes, deciding to let her do this. Just to see how it ends.

And, boy, does it end differently.

Nancy’s character is meant to bring up her love interest. She knows this, and Robin knows this, and the other absent cast members know this, and everyone knows this. It’s how the scene goes, how the viewers discover that the characters will get together.

She doesn’t.

“Well, it really depends on who it is,” Robin murmurs, just like every other take. Nancy doesn’t respond, just stares at her. Her gaze is full of intensity, full of warmth. And maybe there’s another emotion that she can’t name, simmering just beneath the surface.

Nancy doesn’t think about it. She just lets her body move on autopilot, hand moving up to softly cup Robin’s cheek. She thinks that someone should stop her, but doesn’t do it herself. How can she, when Robin’s breath hitches just slightly? How is she meant to stop when Robin is looking at her like that, dazed and trusting and a little confused?

Robin doesn’t pull away. And so Nancy pulls her close, and their lips meet, and everything feels right.

It’s a short kiss, broken fairly quickly. They stare at each other, silent, until Steve comes crashing through the bushes, exactly as he was meant to in the script. Completely oblivious to what just happened.

They talk about it, later that night, and a confession comes from it. In the pale moonlight of the lake near Robin’s trailer, a relationship is born.

Shockingly, the producers tell them that the scene was phenomenal. That they had a discussion, and some of the crew members pointed out that their characters did have a lot more chemistry than the creators planned for. And so, to the surprise of both of them, the ending was changed just slightly, just so that their characters ended up together.

They conveniently forget to tell the other cast members, ecstatic about their newfound affection. They hold hands under the table and kiss behind closed doors, and only Steve finds out within the first day.

It’s a week or so after that scene that the new scripts are delivered. Nancy is at Robin’s trailer when someone pounds on the door. Robin goes to open it, and there’s Max.

Before she can greet her, the new scripts are shoved into her face, with Max exclaiming in outrage that she and Nancy didn’t tell the group about the fact that they literally got their characters’ ending changed!

Max looks behind Robin to see Nancy, slightly flushed, sending a dopy smile Robin’s way, and just goes, “oh.”

And later on, when the season is released and the cast participates in interviews, of course questions would arise. On the first one that Nancy and Robin are both part of, someone asks for the story. And they tell it, and the viewers love it.

And maybe, just maybe, they love it, too.

(That’s an understatement. Nancy doesn’t even have the words to describe how she feels about Robin, but that’s an issue for another day.)

[starsgivemehp]

Tag’s Multiverse - Chapter 1

Chapter 1 - Tea Party

Word count: 2,266

Warnings: none (I think?)

Characters: Vega (Classic Sans), Alka (Alterfell Sans)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16101227

Read on AO3 or under the cut!

- - - - - - - - - -

The door made a soft chiming sound, and the sweet, homey fragrance of various teas washed over Vega. He glanced around, his hands easily slipping into the pockets of his parka. Assorted boxes and jars of tea were neatly stacked, arranged by type. A few places had tea pots on little burners, and samples of certain more popular teas on display for testing. Behind the counter sat a skeleton monster, much like Vega himself, his back perfectly straight. He looked to be dressed in a robe of some sort, the hood and sleeves red, arms tucked into the opposite sleeves. He seemed harsher in appearance, teeth sharp, one glinting gold. There was a lateral crack down his right socket, splitting and tapering underneath. Though Vega’s own face was unmarred, his teeth flat and harmless, he wasn’t surprised. The sharper skeletons had a big district, but not all of them chose to stay there.

The sharp skeleton’s eyelights were a muddy sort of cerulean, and that told Vega plenty about the kind of person he was already. He shuffled up to the counter, noting that the shopkeep’s pupils never left him. Was that wariness, or just interest in the only current customer? The harsher monsters tended to be jumpy. And yet, this one’s posture was relaxed. ‘alka,’ the nametag on his chest dubbed him, in a familiar, all-lowercase font.

“golden flower is on your right,” Alka informed him, his voice deep, almost husky, with a touch of that drawly accent his type had. A much clearer cerulean poured from the words, and Vega couldn’t help but grin. Familiar endless patience.

“actually, i wasn’t looking for golden flower.”

“oh.” His brow raised slightly. “my apologies, most skeletons coming in here have quite a fondness for it. how can i help you, then?”

Despite the light drawl, his words had a deliberate quality about them, a more formal speech pattern than younger monsters (and humans) bothered with. This guy had to be several centuries old. Vega must have worn his amusement on his face, because the man’s sockets narrowed after a moment.

“how can i help you?” he repeated, and Vega watched the perfect cerulean of the words darken, even take on a faint hint of muddy green.

“heh heh. sorry, just remembered something funny. yeah, i’m actually looking for a kind of tea to wake me up, not put me to sleep.”

“oh. coffee not to your tastes?”

“nah. too bitter.”

“right.”

The other skeleton got up and came around the counter, and Vega could see the rest of his appearance. The robe was long enough to cover his feet, tied with rope at the waist. He was only a few inches taller than Vega, which was unusual - the softer skeleton stood at a pretty 4’6”. Even as Alka reached out to switch on a burner, his hand never became visible. Vega couldn’t help but wonder if it was due to an injury - it always seemed to be something like that.

“you’ll want black tea, for the caffeine. i take it you don’t like flowery shit?”

The casual swear even in such a formal conversation… Vega could just hear the chiding “LANGUAGE!” Solstice would chirp. He tried not to snort at the imagery.

“um, not really.”

“not fruity either?”

“nah.”

“mm. i have a few you can try. but it’ll take a bit for them to steep. you’ll have to be patient.”

Vega grinned wide, lifting his chin up with a gleam of amusement in his gaze.

“no worries there, pal. i’m always patient, heh heh.”

“you say that like it’s a joke, somehow.”

There again, Alka’s brow rose a little. Vega shrugged, closing one eye to look down at the teapot slowly getting heated up. Black, stone of some sort. Very fancy and professional. Clearly, this guy was no pushover about this stuff. Funny, how… no. Say that out loud.

“funny how a sharp guy like you can have so much… tranquili-tea.”

There was an undignified snort from the other skeleton, and he turned away to laugh into his sleeve.

“brew think you’re funny, huh?”

“oh yeah. i’m tea-ming with puns.” Vega grinned wider, and his opponent only snorted again, a little smirk coming onto his face.

“i leaf-t that one out for you.”

“well, i still have a cup-le of more.”

“you can chai to outpun me, but you’ve got oolong way to go.” The shop's owner was smirking behind his covered hand now, his sockets narrowed in amusement rather than irritation.

“i guess i’m in hot water now.”

“don’t strain yourself, it’s a steep climb out.”

“now you’re just taking pot shots.” Vega pulled out a hand to put to his chest, as if wounded by that one.

“ah, kettle load of that one.”

“you sugar you haven’t met your match?”

“please, i’ve got this in the bag.”

“eh, i’ll milk you dry eventually.”

“hehehe.” The sharper skeleton turned off the burner now, and pulled out a tea bag to settle into a cup. Then the kettle was tilted, the hot water pouring into the cup. “technically, the proper way to brew your tea is to put it in the kettle and let it steep there before pouring. but since you want to try a few different types, it’s easier to steep it in the cup.”

“yeah, sure. i’m not picky.”

“make sure you do it the right way when you’re at home.”

“yessir.” An easy shrug, as he held out his hand. Alka handed the teacup over.

“this one is ceylon. give it two or three minutes to steep, and then try it.”

As Vega took the teacup with a nod, the other skeleton grabbed another, and rooted around in the samples for another kind. A second tea bag was found quickly, and settled in the second cup. He then poured water into that one as well.

“this one is yunnan. neither of these are flowery or fruity. they're richer. almost have a bit of a chocolately taste to them. that one you're holding, the ceylon, has a bit more spice to it. if it's too much, you might like the yunnan better.”

Vega nodded along, though he honestly wondered if he'd taste much difference at all. He pinched the square tab starting the string, and shifted the bag in his cup a few times, causing more of the flavor to seep out. Then he took a sip.

“...huh. not bad.”

“yeah? well, try this one too.”

The second cup was held out, and Vega obediently took it to give it a try. The warm drink rushed through his non-throat, and he hummed lightly in approval.

“even better. guess i'll take this one.”

“good. go ahead and finish that cup. i'll take the other off your hands.”

“sure, okay.” Vega handed off the first cup again, and Alka took it to absently sip as he reset everything at the little taste-testing station. Vega couldn't help but smile again, seeing that bright yellow accent the cerulean. Shining, triumphant. Genuine.

The shorter, softer skeleton let his eyes wander around the store again, as he savored the rich taste of the tea. Way better than coffee, he felt no need to add any sugar or milk to throttle the flavor. He wandered off, looking at decorations on the walls. Mostly tea motifs, though there were also some posters of human and monster bodies, displaying energy movements through the body, describing magic flow. There was a guide to meditation plastered on another wall, with steps laid out and encouragements to keep trying if nothing was achieved the first few attempts. He wondered if the owner had plastered these sorts of posters around the place because they fit the theme, or if the guy really did meditate and practice energy flow and other such inner-tranquility things. Seemed an oddly… peaceful type of hobby for a fell type. Maybe he was misjudging thelem.

“do you meditate?”

Vega tried not to jump, realizing the other skeleton had approached while he was spacing out.

“oh, uh, no,” he said, finding himself sounding almost apologetic. “honestly, i'd only fall asleep if i tried.”

Alka clicked his teeth, and Vega realized after a moment that he was holding back a chuckle.

“if it helps you fall asleep, you've at least gotten part of it down.”

“heh heh, i can fall asleep easily anyway.”

“that's fair. what about fighting?” Alka asked, and Vega blinked in confusion.

“huh?”

“fighting, do you know how?”

“uh. well…” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, debating how to answer. Technically, yes, he knew how. He had very good magic control, though not as amazing as his brother's. But on the other hand, he'd never exactly had to test it. “...i do well enough,” he said eventually, before drinking another gulp of his tea. He felt Alka's gaze bore into him again, and kept his own gaze on the nearly-empty cup.

“you know the rec center just outside of the arts district?” Alka asked next, and Vega had to cast around in his mental map to remember where the arts district was in relation to him. Music seemed to hum in the air constantly there, as if everyone who lived there generated it with their bodies.

“oh, yeah, i know where that is.”

“i teach kung fu there.”

“really?”

“technically, there's some tai chi mixed in with my style, but yes. every tuesday and friday from 7 to 9 in the evening is my monster class. humans come on mondays and thursdays.”

Vega stared at him for a long moment, a little dumbfounded. Logically speaking, this made sense. Not only was violence of some sort a very typical hobby or skill of the fells, the specific kind he was speaking of - some Eastern kind he couldn't place perfectly - paired with the meditation and tea drinking perfectly. Still… he had just been beginning to think there was not a fighty bone in this skeleton's body. Alka waited for a long moment, clearly waiting for a response. When none was forthcoming, he cleared his throat to speak again, his voice a bit softer. A swirl of green replaced the yellow as accent to his voice-color.

“throwing around bone attacks and dodging is one thing. you might even be perfectly safe like that, up here. but you never know. learning how to properly dodge, block, and attack physically is very useful. especially since, given your stats, you'd probably want to avoid killing from relying on magic attacks too much. who knows when fighting skills would be put to the test? things are peaceful for now, but… besides, the doctrine is not to be aggressive and hurt everyone you come across. kung fu is meant to protect yourself and deal only the damage to need to for your attacker to leave you alone.”

Vega scratched the side of his skull thoughtfully. He had no interest in fighting at all, and despite what Alka said, he was fairly certain he'd never have to do it. But that being said… his brother's determined voice rang in his head, proclaiming his lifelong desire to join the guard. He still was not a part of it, and he had set his sights on other goals. But even so… It sounded like something he might enjoy.

“tuesday and friday at seven, you say?”

“that's right. interested? the first class is free.”

“mmm. i guess i'll come take a look. s’ it okay if i bring someone?”

“of course,” Alka assured. “the more the merrier.”

“heh. alright. then, i'll be there.”

“excellent. could i get your name and your friend's name?” Alka went back to the counter and pulled out a clipboard. Vega hummed quietly again, finishing the tea and setting the cup down. Then he hovered near the wall of tea.

“the name's vega. his name is solstice. which, ah…?”

“the yunnan. vega and solstice. very well.” The names were scribbled down, the clipboard tucked away again, and then he rung up the box of tea Vega had brought up. The G was slid over for Alka to pocket, and then he sat himself back down, his sleeves once again meeting in front of him. “have a nice day, vega.”

“you too, buddy.”

Vega left the store with the tea box in hand, wondering how Friday night would go.

- - - - - - - - - -

Alka settled himself in his seat properly again, making sure that his back was as straight as he could make it. The pain was not so bad today. But of course, he had been keeping to his routine for a while now, that was to be expected. He closed his sockets, letting his awareness expand to cover the whole store, and even a little beyond. People passed by on the street, and he could hear their chattering, their footsteps, see which direction they were headed and if any of them might step into his shop. Absently, in the back of his head, he contemplated why he had been so eager to get the soft skeleton to come to his classes. In the end, it was probably the same reason he had tried to save each child, the same reason he had fiercely defended Frisk from all of the dangers on their journey to freedom.

He was a softie for the innocent ones. It was the big brother in him.

He hoped Vega would actually come. The guy looked like he couldn’t dodge more than five hits before he got knocked flat or killed.

He wondered if ‘Solstice’ looked anything like his dead brother.

[finnwrld]

1. First fanfiction;

i refuse to link it but it was "thank god for charms class". fucking awful. wrote it bc there was no fanfic for that character

2. Most recent fanfiction;

lifeline!! def one of my favourites just because i kinda started with no plan and just let myself write whatever came to mind. it really let me just fucking like GO it was great

3. Favourite fluff fanfiction;

okay so awkward i dont write a lot of fluff but i would say Tuesdays if u count it as fluff lmao. im super proud of how this style of writing turned out and AH im just really happy with it

4. Favourite angst fanfiction;

im not sure if u can count this as just angst but i love "dont rain on me" i had a like atmosphere that i set out to create and i feel like i pulled it off pretty well. also not horrible characterization!! if not that one then agape. this took me like three months to write so i feel like i really put my all into it idk KJHDFKHG

5. Favourite character to write about;

def harry or hermione for hp (rip i never wrote a lot of hermione tho i just never got any good ideas) and for mcyt techno fs. (i think i'll also start liking writing for tommy once i start doing more shit on ao3 and less x reader)

6. Favourite fanfiction of your favourite character;

since i mentioned my fav for hermione and techno above heres my fav for harry "it's okay to cry"

hurt comfort man. that shit is so sexy.

tagging: anybody like fr do this

writer's self promo game—

a/n; I was tagged by @heloisedaphnebrightmore thank you so much lovely! While there are some stories on my main which match these options, I'll try to keep it strictly to this one.

1. First fanfiction;

It was a drabble, a letter from george I wrote to get this blog started, but honestly? It holds a special place in my heart.

2. Most recent fanfiction;

It's a collection of blurbs containing types of hugs + marauders era characters. I wrote it while I was soft and I think it shows :'D

3. Favourite fluff fanfiction;

Definitely I don't like you (james potter x reader). I adore how lighthearted it was and am quite proud of it.

4. Favourite angst fanfiction;

False Promises (sirius black x reader) which began with an idea which was stuck in my brain for far too long and I knew I had to write it.

5. Favourite character to write about;

At the moment it's Sirius Black, Regulus Black and James Potter ;)

6. Favourite fanfiction of your favourite character;

For Sirius, it's starry henna because I could represent a bit of my culture in that story. For Regulus it's puzzle dates who's concept just struck with me. And for James it's I don't like you again XD.

[Tagging people and copying all the questions under the cut]

Tagging: @angelxnaa @scvrllet @boxofbadaddiction @sunrisefairy @nuttytani @just-a-belgian-girl @ghosts-of-hogwarts @propinquify @pregnant-piggy @selenes-sun @heyquxxns @henqtic @finnwrld and @anyone who would like to continue!

Questions:

1. First fanfiction; 2. Most recent fanfiction; 3. Favourite fluff fanfiction; 4. Favourite angst fanfiction; 5. Favourite character to write about; 6. Favourite fanfiction of your favourite character;

[luna-orlha]

Title: Road Crosses  Fandom: Sherlock Genre: Action, Adventure Ship: Sherlock & OFC, SIblings broship Characters: Sherlock Holmes, OFC (Lucy Holmes), Mycroft Holmes, very very brief mentions of 007 Word count: 2591 Triggers(s): ... injuries? Rating: T Additional Tags: Lucy is a master of disguise, Sherlock gets himself into trouble Summary: Sherlock goes undercover after Reichenbach and Lucy decides that she'll shadow him in order to protect her brother. (007 tags along and Sherlock doesn't know better) Notes: I apparently wrote this a long time ago and never posted it. I found this while cleaning my drive and figured why not. Also, HEY! This is my 50th story on Ao3. Haha! Anyway, this writing style of mine is old and I wonder why I fell out of it. There are some snippets in my drive of this fandom that has great dialogue. I love this one particularly.

“She’s sleeping beside a dog.” “Yes. John,” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I can see that.” “Since when she had a dog?” “Since yesterday. Animals are good therapy. She did always love dogs.” Mycroft answered from the doorway. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t scream down the hallways.” “And cats.” Sherlock added, ignoring Mycroft’s jab. “She used to bring home cats.” “There was snuffle-face.” John said, remembering of the brown and white stray she brought back into the apartment. “Then you experimented on it.”

And this one too!

John parried her easily, accidentally knocking her into the wall. She slumped against the wall. “Oh god. Sorry, sorry, sorry. Are you okay?” He hurried over. Lucy got up and threw a punch at him which he quickly dodged. “John, she’s still trying to kill you. I don’t think you should go close.” “Yes. Thank you Sherlock. Can see that.” 

Lastly.. this is part of a series: Indestructible Holmes siblings

Ao3

Bogota, Colombia

“Sherlock! Wake up!” Sherlock’s head rolled limply in her head. “Come on!” She reached over and slapped him hard. Lucy was risking everything to pull him out of Colombia and that didn’t even begin and end with her cover. Everything would be futile he wasn’t alive. The man groaned, the large red handprint on his face would leave a bruise but it had broken him out of the shock that he was going into. Lucy slipped back into her cover as he became more conscious.

“Who are you?” He half moaned.

“Sstay down you idiot!” She put on a lisp accent, pushing him down to the seat. Still focusing on the bumpy road ahead, she shot him a concerned look when he did not press his questions on. “Cwot would be very disspleassed with me if I let anything happen to you.”

The van behind had been following them for the last 5 minutes. Lucy swore vehemently, muttering a hang on to the semi-conscious Sherlock, swerving the four wheel drive down an alley. A perfect tight swerve into an alley that could barely fit, she didn’t think there were going to be any drivers as good as her. She swerved down another lane, twisting and turning to throw their pursuers away. The car was going into a ditch somewhere tomorrow.

Pity.

She liked it very much. Free from the pursuers momentarily, she fumbled the dashboard and threw Sherlock a bottle of beer. He raised an eyebrow at her. There wasn’t time to explain. She spun the car into another alley, this time with another car waiting. Flinging Sherlock’s door open, she helped him into the other car and slid into it. Her hand reached to the backseats while still driving down the roads, this time in a less hectic pace.

“Put it on. Dissguisse and pouw the beew on youwsself.” Lucy didn’t need to explain further. Wherever they were going, there was no way Sherlock was going to be able to walk straight. It was less apparent and far less obtrusive pretending to be drunk and reeking of liquor. The hastily bound bandage had down a good job in slowing the blood flow to an ooze, she observed with another side-glance. He was far too quiet in this situation, had he seen through her disguise? She had eluded him even at point black in London before, there was no reason for her ability to disguise to slip up.

Sherlock groaned as he shrugged the clothes off. He was somewhat unhappy that Mycroft had sent someone to shadow him and apparently haul his ass out of there yet in the back of his head, he was very relieved. He didn’t remember how the man had done it but it was clear that he was no slouch. His mind was blanking out, unable to deduce the man that was driving. He did however agree that the man was a very good driver and had clearly a contingency plan.  He stifled another moan of pain as the man pulled him out of the car to their apparent destination. Sloshing the beer over his shoulders, he beamed widely as he could, leaning heavily onto the man to guide him to where they were going. A building with four stories and clearly no lift. “Please tell me we’re not going to the four floor,” he muttered. He didn’t think he was going to be able to climb all the way up and his rescuer didn’t have the physique to carry him up.

“No. Jusst the ssecond,” the man lisped. His lisp was terrible, how did was he even a shadow? A man with such terrible lisp would stand out like finger. Sherlock shook his head, focusing his thoughts on deducing the man in order to dull the burning pain in his abdomen. Small sized, local accent with lisp. One more flight of stairs. Blond hair, blue eyes. The man probably wasn’t in this line because of his ability to blend in. His physique indicated flexibility rather than strength.

A man was waiting for them when they reached the second landing. Sherlock had assumed his mind was blanking out due to his inability to deduce the man, but it wasn’t. The man that was waiting for them, a doctor, was perfectly deduced. He turned back to his rescuer.

“Who are you?”

The man only smiled and nodded to the doctor. “Ssafe hewe. Leave you in hiss handss.” The latter was directed more to the doctor than him.

Sherlock watch the man turn to leave and after a moment, he asked the doctor. “Who is he?”

“No one. None of us know his or her real name.”

“Her?”

The doctor nodded, his attention focused on stitching Sherlock’s wound. “He dressed very convincingly as a female. If it weren’t for his adam’s apple, I might have assumed it was a girl dressed as a man.” Sherlock nodded and with the strenuous week’s events he found himself extremely tired. “Sleep. I’ll wake you.” And though his mind rejected the thought of sleeping in an unfamiliar and uncertain whether it was secure place, his body drifted off.

It’s been done. 35 Catherine C Road. 16-23-42-01-32 – Senka

Will you be following him? – MH

If not me then who? Someone needs to keep him out of trouble. – Senka

Says the one who gets into trouble all the time – MH

:( Meanie. See you soon. XOXO – Senka

Stay safe – MH

Mycroft sighed and pinched his nose bridge. His sister and brother were going to be the death of him. Sherlock had no idea what she had risked for him but he couldn’t know that Lucy was shadowing him. Though he knew she was good at her job, he still couldn’t help but worry. This was the most dangerous thing that he had ever let her interfere and it was not his choice. If Sherlock slipped up or if her cover was blown, he would be losing the one if not both of his most important people. The thought festered like a dark pit in his stomach and there was nothing the almighty Mycroft could do except hold his breath.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Kaunas, Lithuania

She snuck along the rooftops. Sherlock didn’t know she was shadowing him, watching his back as he limped across the bitumen. He was injured but not fatally. She would not risk exposure to assist him when he was perfectly able to do so.

A pursuer.

Her dagger left her hands, burying deep into the man’s neck even before Sherlock saw him. The pursuers would know someone is watching for him now. But she would leave it for another day. At least Sherlock was as home free as he could be.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Karagandy, Kazakhstan

Blasted Sherlock. She swore. He had to fall terribly sick. She slipped into the room, carrying a small haversack. This time, she hadn’t bothered to disguise herself. He was sick and a familiar face would help him feel better. She placed the cool towel on his head and set about making a tiny gruel for him to stomach.

“Lucy?” he whispered through his dry cracked lips. She hovered over him, checking him once over. “Lucy is it really you and not some hallucination?” He pulled her close, savouring her natural smell and body heat. “Oh god it’s really you.”

Sherlock wept uncontrollably and she patted him awkwardly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come earlier.”

“I kept dreaming the Moriarty caught you or killed you or he was torturing you somewhere.”  He was blabbering. He had been stuck out by himself all alone for so long and Mycroft could only help him so much.  Sherlock could never bear to ask him about Lucy. The years of their estranged relationship taking toll on him. Did she think he was dead as well? Was she weeping over his grave? Did Mycroft let her know the truth? Was she safe? Those questions plagued him at night. Dreams of Moriarty torturing her, the broken John standing over his grave, Molly watching as he left that night, Mycroft watching him as he walked into the airport. Then he dreamt that one of them had died, that he failed them and they had died. “Why didn’t you contact me earlier? Why?”

“I couldn’t. I can’t.” She wiped his grimy face with a clean towel and pressed him back into the bed. “They were watching you too closely. You’ve no idea what I’m risking to be here.” She laid a hand on his too warm face and kissed him. “Sleep. I’ll be here when you wake.”

Sherlock watched her as she busied about the stove. It had been far too long since he had seen that view. The day she left he had been busy throwing one of his ridiculous tantrums and never got to say good bye. She came back several times in-between her missions but it was never quite the same. It felt like she had been torn from his side. He watched her until his eyes drooped heavy from exhaustion and sleep overtook him.

It was evening when he woke up again. It was all a fever dream. A dream that is his sister was alive and well who came to take care of him. Sherlock laid his hand on his eyes. Taking down Moriarty’s web was far more taxing that imaginable. He wondered once again how his sister had been able to do all of it in the last four years. Had she suffered in silence?

Sherlock pulled himself up, pushing the thoughts of his sister and his irate brother aside. There was a set of clean clothes on the broken side table with an envelope.

My associate will find you three past dusk. Be ready. Food on the stove. You’ll need it.

It wasn’t signed off, but he knew who it was from. Mycroft favoured large loopy cursives and Lucy favoured tight cursives that were slanted terribly, almost messy yet somehow equally elegant. This was undoubtedly from Lucy. Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief and stumbled towards the stove. It was rice gruel with chunks of carrots, mushrooms and chicken. He shook his head thinking that perhaps it hadn’t been a fevered dream.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Leipzig, Germany

“You’re a bloody ass!” Lucy ducked again, feeling the whiz of the bullet fly pass her wig. This time she was in the cover of the same man Sherlock had met earlier just that she chose to change the accent. She wouldn’t fool Sherlock if she tried to take on another role. Her height was far too noticeable for a man as observant as him.

“You’re my sister’s operative, aren’t you?” Sherlock chuckled. The pain was definitely making him weird. He had been lying in a pool of blood when the blond man swerved the van beside him, blocking off the gunfire momentarily and dragged him into the van without much care for the pain shooting through him. They had far more important things than to worry about his pain, far more like getting away. It was the second time the man had came to save him but it was his fourth time seeing the man. The man was good at disguises, Sherlock grudgingly admitted that. “Your accent changed.”

“Yes.” Lucy wasn’t afraid that he’d recognized her. She had placed on well-made silicon mask to hide her true face. Though why he recognized her as her operative and not Mycroft’s was bothering her and so she asked.

Sherlock folded his other hand over his bleeding side. His leg would probably need stitches too, judging by the amount of blood seeping through his hastily made bandage. “Mycroft wouldn’t have sent the same operative to shadow him. He may or may not send a local agent to shadow me instead of risking cover. My sister, on the other hand, probably values your ability to adapt and instead of sending someone that might be half assed, she chose to send someone good.”

Lucy was impressed. Not by his very wrong deduction but the fact he managed to deduce and say all that with a bleeding side, a broken leg and probably a concussion. Well, that was Sherlock alright. He never did things half-assed. She smirked and Sherlock took that as an affirmative.

“How is she?” He asked. Since that envelope, he had not gotten any news. He could have asked Mycroft but his pride wouldn’t let him.

“You could have asked your brother for your sister’s number.”

“I could contact her through the phone?” Sherlock couldn’t dare to hope. Most undercover agents were rarely that easily contactable. Even for him, Mycroft could never contact him. He would wait for Sherlock to contact him in order to tell him news. For two people constantly on the move, working behind the scenes, he had doubted he would be able to contact her. All the running and pretences will whittling him down. Two years ago, he would have been excited for all his adrenaline rush, now he just wanted a day to sit down, have a cup of English tea and not worry for pursuers or giving his cover away.

Sherlock closed his eyes. “Don’t sleep now. You have a concussion.” Lucy reached out and shook him. He wasn’t waking. She hoped it was from exhaustion. Muttering an apology, she dug her finger into his leg wound. The pain jolted him awake. “Stay with me until we reach the hospital.”

“We’re going to the hospital?” He murmured.

“Yes.”

“Why? It’s not safe.”

“You have a grade three concussion. Your right tibia is broken, you probably need ten stitches on your right thigh and you have a gun wound on your side. You need to go to the hospital. There is no underground doctor here that is capable of that.”

She jerked the handbrakes, allowing the car slide into a tight-fitting alley and pulled out a black mobile phone. “Eugenio. Incoming. Three on tails. I’m heading to the hospital.”

Sherlock marvelled at the efficiency of his work. He had previously seen his driving skills but he never knew the full extent of it. Barking commands on the phone, formulating plans and pathways and all while aggressively driving to shake the tails off. He lost track of time between the burning pain running through him and holding back the nausea. There was an almost audible relief when the van finally came to a stop and he was loaded onto a stretcher. The man was rapidly firing in German to the nurses. Just as they wheeled him away, the man pressed a paper into Sherlock’s hand.

A number.

Sherlock hesitated for a long time. Was he putting her at risk by texting her? He gave himself an insufferable sigh and pressed the send button.

Hello – SH

It was many hours later when he received a text.

Good god! Moving to Melbourne finally. Heard this news from Mattie. You know right? :) - Senka

It was a code. A simple enough code. Senka was probably her codename.

"Good to hear from you :) - Senka"

She knew he’d recognize he and it also told him that the phone she had was easily comprisable. He had to be careful with what he typed. Still, it was better than nothing. Sherlock felt his eyes wet and quickly deduced it must have been all the tension and exhaustion building up that was causing him to be excessively emotional.

Emoticons are only used by people who do not have sufficient linguistic skills – SH

terrible as ever I see. – Senka