#right after that i saw BOTH managers trying to type at once. hahahahaha

[fingertipsmp3]

Drama is happening in the work group chat

[franeridart]

I'm so glad Kirishima is getting so much spotlight, he really deserves it!!!! And it looks like hes gonna get more, since hes in the main group along with Deku, Uraraka and Tsuyu. I;m so hyped!!!

Honestly!!!!!!!!!!! That’s one interesting group tbh, Kirishima and Tsuyu’s interactions are always incredibly adorable to watch and seeing Kirishima interact for so long with pure and good people is gonna be hard on my heart (I mean, you know I’m 100% a bakusquad fan but they’re all at least in part assholes and Kiri fits with them just right, he can be just like Sero and Kaminari and I love it, but then his interactions with Amajiki have been so pure can you imagine an arc filled with that I’m already crying)

I just hope my other faves won’t completely disappear through this arc haha sigh

Anon said: So which Kacchan quote do you like best "Die your bacteria fucks, dieee!" or "BRING YOUR DAMN TRASH TO ME"?

LMAO SORRY ANON BUT MY FAVE GOTTA BE

WHAT A GODDAMN DISASTER THIS BOY IS

Anon said:there's a terushima week. thought i might tell you bc i miss you drawing him ;3; might wanna join? :3

Anon said:Terushima week is this next week! (@terushimaweek) Might we maaaybe see some cute lil bokuroterus sometime soon? ;)

As I’ve already said, sadly I’ve found out about this too late to be part of it - I’m not completely ruling out the possibility of doodling something one of the days, but I didn’t have the time to plan anything and I’m still in the middle of working things through with the bakushima week and bakugou’s birthday so I don’t know - they 19th is Teru’s birthday so maybe I’ll draw something for it, but it’s also a super busy day for me so it really depends on how soon I’ll be able to finish everything else I’m working on orz I’m sorry guys I seriously had no clue about this till, like, five days ago o

Anon said: What are your thoughts on KiriDeku b/c I'm not even that into it but as soon as I saw art I was like "OMFG I DIDN'T KNOW ANYTHING SO PURE CHOULD EVER EXIST!!!" My following thought was that'd you may have something interesting to say (as you always do, I luv it), so here I am 😁 Also, I love the blog, your amazing art, and you!! I truly appreciate all you do ❤️❤️

Awwww thank you!!! And I dunno, as things are now my opinion on a possible ship might change soon enough because it looks like their interactions amount is about to skyrocket, so anything I say right now is just a temporary answer? But generally I find their friendship incredibly adorable, though as of now I don’t think I can see anything romantic between the two... mostly because even though I’ve seen them being friendly and supportive of each other I don’t think I’ve ever seen them actually connect over anything that wasn’t Bakugou?? Being friendly and supportive is just how they both are with everyone, before I can say I ship them I’m gonna need something more singular to their relationship

I might be totally biased here considering where my main shipping lies, though haha

Anon said:HOSHIHINA!!!! YESSSSS!!!! PLEASE!!!!!! I think this is like.... my new OTP or well... a new OTP that I will gratefully put on the shelf next to all my other children in love!! oh yeah and THANK YOU for introducing me to both BNHA and d grey man! I'M IN LOVE!!! oH and YOUR ART IS AMAZING!!! KEEP IT UP!! I WILL GRATEFULLY SWALLOW UP ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING YOU POST IT'S AMAZING!!! YOUR OC'S TOO!!! Have a nice day!!

So much!!! HYPE in this ask!!!!! I LOVE IT!!!!! Oh my gosh!!!!!!!!!!!!! Thank you so much for EVERYTHING anon I hope you’ll have the best day!!!!!! *O* And I’m SUPER GLAD you gave dgm and bnha a try!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Anon said:Aww the kiss. I know you posted it the other day, but it wouldn't load on my tablet. They're so cute, those two. 💜✌

*lays down forever* they are aren’t they those pure idiots !!!!

Anon said:I'm laughing so hard. Literally everyone that read the new chapter was like expectation vs reality. I love my idiots. Also yas to HoshiHina

HoshiHina is an A+ ship with A+ potential and I think I’m being slowly but surely swallowed by it - then again, what Hinata ship don’t I ship even ??? the mysteries

Anon said:To answer you question on what cheese sticks are, they're this disgusting processed cheese stick, also known as string cheese, and it's p much what it is, cheese in the form of a small stick that you can pull apart into strings and eat like that! (as you may have noticed, I'm not a fan hah) ((I don't know if you know the artist mookie, but she made a comic about bokuto eating a cheesestick whole before)

Anon said: cheese sticks = string cheese? D: they are delicious i promise

I’m seeing conflicting reports here (lol) but yes this might be a problem for me only because as I said I’m Italian but what I’m failing to see here is what kind of cheese are these things supposed to be ???

Anon said:Are you into Kuroken?

Only as very good friends, I don’t ship it romantically at all

Anon said:I love your bakushimas, SO SO SO MUCH. God, and with the latest chapter, I just can't wait for more interactions with them. God, seeing as I think Kirishima was filmed by the people that were there, I want to see Bakugou's reaction to his new move.

This took me long enough to answer that we now know Baku’s reaction was total and utter envy at how popular Kiri is LMAO - but yeah I still think Baku already knew about Kiri’s new move! After all he most probably came up with it as they trained for the license exam and I can’t believe he wouldn’t test it against Bakugou to make sure he actually turns unbreakable? Also proud-of-himself Kiri yelling at the squad to check out his new move is too much of a good image I can’t let that one go hahaha

Anon said:I started following you for Haikyuu but started boku no hero academia in order to understand what your other drawings were so I thank you (and blame you) for getting me hooked on another anime and manga :)

I’m!!!!!! HAPPY you ended up liking it???!!!! *O*

Anon said:I just wanted to tell you that you're my most fave artist here in tumblr istg i go to your page everyday just to go back at the fanart you drew if you didn't have any new, but when u have, my heart just swells and i fuss over it. God bless you because you opened my eyes for bakushimanari when i was just kiribaku back then.. God i love denki sfm right now bc of you, im sad bkk week is over though ahh and laven. Jfc i love your laven pls draw them more if u can 😘 i hope you'll have a great day!!

Don’t!!!! worry anon Laven has been my #1 otp since I was sixteen at this point it’s just not gonna leave me ever, I’ll definitely draw more of it in the future! And thank you??? so much?????? Oh man!!!!!

Anon said:Everyone in class 1-A: *trains as if they're gonna be in a battle royal and need to (literally) slaughter the competition* Competition: OBSTACLE RACE YAY

Well, the anime did change the training scenes a lot lol but LMAO anon they’re highschoolers what were you expecting hahahahaha it’s already savage enough as it is, I assure you lol

Anon said:Hi hello yes are you up for some angsty stuff because my brain turns even the sweetest moment to that, like what if kaminari saw bakushima's first kiss and he becomes so sad b/c he crushes on them both but he pretends not to and starts teasing 'em like a true bro while hiding his feelings and idk it's only if you want but yeah, how's your day been?

..........I would lie if I said I didn’t think about this while drawing that kiss R I P my multishipper heart is gonna kill me BUT IT’S OKAY I’m not one for unhappy endings so consider this - Denki sees them kiss, since he’s best bro and both Kirishima and Bakugou tend to wear their hearts on their sleeves he already knew this was gonna happen so he’s like, sad but resigned it hurts and he wishes he didn’t have to see it but he loves them both so much that he can’t help but being happy for how happy they are at the same time too (sure, being part of that happiness would be a dream coming true, but he’s used to never coming first he can deal with this hahahahaha r i p)

Meanwhile a bit after the kiss once Kiri is a hundred per cent sure Bakugou isn’t going to explode his head off if he mentions his very huge crush on Kaminari he does and Bakugou’s like, shit, it’s not like he’d mind it because Kaminari is, well, he’s Kaminari and Bakugou isn’t sure why but he’s comfortable to be around and easy to talk to and he’s stupidly pretty and like, yeah, okay, he might be into him too, maybe, he isn’t admitting anything here (not like he needs to, as stated already he’s pretty easy to read), but Kaminari’s also the no homo type of het so it’s not like they can do much about this threeway crush or whatever, and Kirishima’s like sure, I know, I just wanted to be open about this to avoid trouble, which is very sensible and will cut us on a lot of miscommunication angst this is getting out of hand let’s skip ahead I always forget how much fun I have writing this kind of bullshit

For however much Kaminari swore he could deal with it and how much he’s actually managing to deal with it he’s also the same brand of open book Baku and Kiri are and while it was easy to act like friends with no romantic feelings when everyone was doing the same, trying to hide from Bakugou and Kirishima while they’re openly in a relationship turns out to be more or less impossible, mostly because he can’t seem to avoid the longing stares and sad smiles and the I have to go I just remembered I have a thing to do bye’s when it becomes too much, and Kirishima might not be the brightest but he’s perfectly in tune with everyone’s feelings and Bakugou might stomp on people’s feelings more often than not but he is the brightest which means they notice and they’re like god fucking damn it - Bakugou in nature isn’t one to talk about problems until they burst out in fits of anger, but thank god he’s got Kirishima right there and they might not be 100% sure they got the reason for Kaminari’s weirdness right but they’re exasperated and they at least want their friend to stop being weird and avoiding them, they miss him (and Kaminari seriously misses them too he feels so stupid for how big of a deal he’s turning this into) SO they corner him and talk it out cause I’m a slut for open and honest communication and Kaminari straight out starts crying from happiness and relief before they’re even done talking and Kirishima starts crying right after him because sympathetic crier supreme and Bakugou’s like you know what I changed my mind fuck both of you emotional disasters I’m out

(spoiler he isn’t really)

[im-always-fangirling]

Eager - Park Jihoon

A/n: Lolololol heyy there, here’s a random scenario (that’s why some things may seem unexplained) ❤️ I wrote this one in bullet form heh. but anyways, let me just say that park jihoon is indeed bae. ;))

Summary: you manage to muster whatever courage you have to ask for a dance from the one and only park jihoon.

Words: 1621 words.

Genre: fluff

-----

soon, you found yourself standing in front of the group that jihoon was standing with.

the boys all looked at you, including the breathtaking winkboi himself.

you instinctively smile to relax yourself but somehow that didn't work because jihoon's beautiful sparkly eyes (cringeworthy, but hey, there's truth to this) were still on you.

"can i dance with you?"

after popping the question, you swear that your heart was going to burst out from your chest.

you even thought of masking it all as some kind of a 'dare' that your friend gave you because even though there's not much of it, you still want some of your womanly pride left

"sure."

he agreed not long after and you wondered whether this was a dream or not.

apparently the look of disbelief and surprise on your face was quite obvious.

but that was all immediately replaced with joy when you see jihoon smiling at you in such a polite and shy way.

the boys that he was hanging out with gave suspecting smiles towards jihoon, who merely told them that he'll be back.

he stepped out from the circle that he was in and walked towards you.

when he was close enough to you, he offer out his hand,  and you instinctively take it.

the two of you head to the dance floor and at that moment, a slow song was playing.

you stiffly place your two hands on jihoon's shoulders and you try to appear less nervous by making eye contact with him.

however, after only one second of looking at him, you couldn't take it and looked away.

then, you feel two hands on your waist.

"hey, if it makes you feel better, i'm actually nervous too."

with those words being said, you look back up and finally noticed that the boy's face was a little bit more red than usual.

"wow." you couldn't help but feel amazed at the fact that he might be feeling all the butterflies that you are.

he gives you an assuring smile, "yeah, we're nervous. but we might as well enjoy this."

and with that, the two of you start to sway along to the music and somehow the awkward distance that you guys had at the beginning of the dance had decreased.

both of you spent quite an amount of time talking to each other and getting to know each other while dancing to those slow songs.

"you know, i saw my grandparents dancing to this very song in the living room while they were babysitting me. they even switched on those yellowish lights and had rose petals around them."

"what, seriously?"

jihoon nods and you couldn't help but let out an 'awwwwwww'.

the image of two couple dancing together made your heart melt.

"that's really romantic."

as you two maintained eye contact, you realize that your heart was beating in a faster pace than usual.

with an unsure look on his face, he questions you "so, are you enjoying the dance?"

"are you kidding me?" was your first response.

then, with a genuine smile, you try to make your point clear as possible

"park jihoon, i love dancing with you."

not long after replying him, you realize how straight forward you were and how RED jihoon's face was getting.

still, the two of you maintained eye contact and proceed dancing in a somewhat comfortable silence.

after a moment of dancing in silence, jihoon speaks up, "you know-"

he paused for a moment and you were confused at his sudden stop.

"yeahhh???"

he keeps silent for a while before blurting out the words, "i love dancing with you too."

and you really can't help but smile at his words.

because this is all so unreal for you.

not long after that, the two of you stopped dancing and actually decided to just sit outside and chill.

jihoon actually went back in after to get you a bottle of mineral water from the vending machine, fearing that the water served might be spiked.

"here", he offers you the bottle after opening the lid for you and you didn't forget to thank him for it.

after quenching your thirst, you decide to break the silence, "you're quite a good dancer."

he smiles, "yeah, but it's mostly because have a good partner to dance with."

"stop, you're spoiling me with all these compliments."

he chuckles and you really take your time to admire his laugh.

he looks at you and smiles, and that was the moment you ask him, "is it alright if i get your number?"

and once more, you were thrown in a roller coaster of feelings.

your sudden forwardness surprised jihoon, but he got his phone out from his pocket anyway.

"yeah, sure."

and the two of you passed each other your phones.

you wondered whether you should save your number with a special name or not, and so you did.

you passed it to him and was surprised to see he saved himself as 'dance partner ;)'

he stares at his phone and now you're starting to somehow regret a bit on saving yourself as 'your admirer :P'

he smiles and questions you in a tone close to teasing, "your admirer?"

somehow you were glad that he didn't feel disgusted or whatsoever, "yeah, you're an admirable person."

he nods, then with curious eyes, he questions you, "why do say so?"

"i notice how you're always so diligent and i admire that. not to mention, you're one of the most gentlemen dude i know and that's really hard to find in young people these days."

he was listening to everything you said intently and you somehow feel embarrassed after blurting everything out.

"it's funny how you say 'young people these days' like you're an old lady." he teases.

you pout, "aw come on, i was so cheesy for you and you chose to notice that part?"

the two of you let out small chuckles and then continue talking about other random stuffs.

overall, you two enjoyed talking to each other and got to know a lot about each other.

when the event was almost over, the two of you head in.

"yah park jihoon! c'mere bruh."

a boy who you know as one of your classmates pulls jihoon over and literally starts twerking in front of him.

jihoon looked like he wanted to bleach his eyes from whatever he was looking at and you couldn't help but felt a small amount of pity for him.

still, you decide to just sit back and watch jihoon, who was now taking up the role of a 'pole' in pole dancing, on the dance floor with his friend.

you found yourself staring at how handsome he is despite all the cringing his face did.

just before the whole event ended, jihoon somehow managed to escape his friend.

"well, wasn't that a show you guys put on"

he awkwardly smiles and scratches his head, something that you thought was adorable to watch.

"well-"

"jihoonie!"

the friend who literally dragged jihoon to dance with him called out among the crowd and jihoon could only sigh

you realize that slowly, people are starting to leave the place

"uh, i guess we should get going?" you suggest, though you wished the night could last forever

"yeah, i guess so. but um-"

before he could continue on, the dude who had a dance with jihoon starts pulling him away.

he stares at you apologetically while trying to pull away from the dude.

you smile, "it's alright. we still can see each other on monday, right?"

with that, jihoon's face lightens up as he smiles too, "yeah, we can."

then, jihoon allowed himself to be pulled away by his friend

when you got back home, you took your time to wash up

then, lie on the bed and end up checking your phone, smiling when you see 'dance partner ;)' in your contacts.

you contemplated to text him something and thought for quite a while

you end up typing and sending, 'seriously though, you're a great dancer. thanks for dancing with me, i appreciate it. hope you rest well and see yaa.'

and surprisingly, you received a text almost immediately after you sent it.

'i enjoyed myself tonight, hope you did too. nights ;)'

the text was short and sweet

still, it manage to have an effect on you because your heart pinched a bit when you saw the wink face.

you deducted that somehow jihoon also thought of sending you a text because you literally received his text a second after you sent yours

and you knew your deduction was right when you receive another text from him

'hahahahaha glad you think so. its funny how we texted each other at the same time.'

you couldn't help but smile as you reply him, 'nahhh i was totally earlier than you heh xD'

not too long afterwards you receive a reply, 'i blame my wifi hahahaha.'

and before you could continue to text him, you see him sending in another text, 'hey, i'm gonna sleep now because i'm visiting my grandparents tomorrow and i'll have to take the morning train.'

'you mean the ones that used to slow dance together in the living room?'

'hahahah yeah, and they still do btw.'

'awww, i still can't get over the fact that they're so cute and sweet. hahahaha, goodnight btw. :))'

'sweet dreams ;) talk to you tmr.' he sent and once more you found yourself smiling widely.

your heart melted at the fact that he mentioned about talking to you tomorrow

with that, you fell asleep almost immediately, eager for a new day.

little did you know, park jihoon shared the same eagerness.

[voltagefanfic-angstlover-blog]

Jin Namba fanfic: Obstacles part 11

Obstacles part 11:

In the academy, instructor’s office:

All the instructors are sitting at the table, discussing any information they have on YN and Asahi Kyobe.

“Ayumu, any updates on YN’s whereabout?”

“Nothing so far, both their cell phones are off so I can’t trace them. Asahi has disappeared ever since and no one has saw him. I can’t believe how much work this crazy doctor has put me through yet I still can’t find him.” Ayumu said, annoyed.

“However, I did manage to find this after hacking through all his personal computer. I found the formula for the antidote.”

!!!

“Great work! Send it to the hospital lab now.” I cannot describe how ecstatic I feel upon hearing that news. With the formula, now we can create an antidote. That means YN’s condition is no longer a death sentence.

“No, send it to my colleague. She works with more advanced equipment and an elite team. I’ll ask a personal favour.” Ishigami chimes in.

“I appreciate your help.”

Ishigami’s lips curves upward slightly acknowledging my appreciation.

Now we can create the antidote, I’m just worried about YN’s condition. It’s already 2 days since her disappearance and we heard nothing from her so far. Her condition was not great and now she’s not in the hospital receiving treatment. What if her condition gets worse, what if I’m too late…..

My earlier elated mood turns gloomy again at this thought.

“YN is a strong girl, I’m sure she is going to be fine.” Shusuke pats me on the shoulder reassuringly.

“Chief, you have all our support.” Ishigami’s word is short but it’s nothing short of supportiveness.

“I’ll give him the interrogation of his life and let him taste what it is like to mess with public safety squad.” Kaga smirks.

Looking at all the instructors, I’m so grateful to be their boss.

“Thanks guys. ……Thank you.”

My tired features relief into a smile and they all do so in return.

“Chief, no need to thank us. We always have your back. Leave everything to us for now. Go home and take some rest. You need the energy to work and look for YN right? I’ll inform you straight away if we find something.”

Goto is right. Fatigue is dulling my senses and judgement. I need to take some rest so I can have the physical strength and mentality to find YN.

Nodding in agreement,

“I’ll leave things in your capable hands.”

Goto offered to drive me back and I took up his offer, I’m in no ideal condition to drive.

I got back to my apartment and it was all dark and empty. I miss having YN here, her cooking, her smile and scent and everything.

I stretches my stiff back, I miss having her putting heat patches on my back too.

I sigh and take off my suit dumping it on the couch. I took a quick shower and went to bed.

The bed feels cold without her warmth, I reach over to the other side and lay my hand on her pillow, imagining her sleeping face.

I quickly shake off the feeling and close my eyes. Let me escape from all the heartache just for a moment, even just for a duration of a dream.

I imagine YN’s smiling face and my whole body relaxes.

I miss you, little bird.

It didn’t take much effort and I drift into deep sleep.

 YN’s POV:

In a dark room.

Cough, cough…..Ah….I feel like my lungs are burning.

I open my eyes groggily and scan my surrounding. I’ve been in the dim room for 2 days now. I rotate my wrist, still bound to the chair.

Cough, Cough.

The next moment, someone forces a pill in my mouth. It’s Dr Kyobe.

I lift my eyes looking up to the man, he puts a glass of water near my lips and I take the pill down with the water. Thirst caused me to take big gulps and I choked-

Cough cough!

Just for a moment, I felt soft pats in my back.

After a few minutes, my coughing subsided and the burning sensation in my lungs also dampens.

Dr Kyobe walks away and sits down on a nearby chair.

2 days ago, I was in the hospital, out of nowhere, my heart started to hurt followed by chaos of machine beeping and doctors trying to resuscitate me. The last thing I remembered before losing consciousness was the long beep by the heart monitor.

The next time I’ve woken up I found myself alone with Dr kyobe in an isolated dark room.

Now that I’m taken away, I really misses him. I wonder how chief is doing. Is he working hard trying to find me? I picture chief’s panicked face and I feel a sense of anxiousness rising.

I shift my head towards Dr Kyobe and examine his face.

Contrast to his previous friendly nature, he spoke very few words to me in the past days and only forces pills into my mouth once in a while to help with my coughing. I asked him why he would do that and all he replied was to simply keep me alive.

I’ve tried asking him why he took me away from the hospital but to no avail.

But I too am stubborn and I ask the same question again and again:

“Dr Kyobe, why are you doing this?” Expecting no answer but to my surprise, he opened his mouth with a nostalgic and faraway look in his eyes.

“5 years ago, my family was happy until one day my sister in law contracted a rare disease. My brother is a medical researcher so he was frantic in trying to come up with a drug to cure her. He was so close to finish the drug too! But that man, Jin Namba! He has to interrupt and arrest him for illegal conduction of clinical trial! The drug was forced to leave unfinished and my sister in law died with no cure! My brother also took his own life. Just like that! Gone! They are gone! All because of that man!”

Dr Kyobe stood up with rage knocking over the chair.

Clinical trial? That means with human?

“Your brother….killed people while testing the drugs?”

“What do you know? It’s mere sacrifices for the name of science! Do you know how many lives he could potentially save with the drug and how many lives he have saved in the past with the drugs he developed? Yet the judges and jury all decided that he is guilty and separate him from his wife at the worst timing. That action took their lives. He was such an amazing brother and researcher. He could have achieved so much yet he died in prison! They should all pay. All of them!”

He roared with anger and resentment.

“I’ll let them have a taste of what true pain feels like, when they have a close encounter with death.” He smiles was cold and he turns his head towards me.

“As for you, I gave you the toxin from the pathogen that infected my sister in law. You will experience the same pain as her. He can feel the same hopelessness my brother felt when he couldn’t save her. You can die hating Jin Namba because he’s the one who interrupted the creation of the drug. I kind of liked you and feel sorry for you, you remind me of my sister in law. But don’t hate me for this. Hate him. Karma is a beautiful thing, don’t you agree? What goes around comes around. ”

Dr Kyobe walks out the room slamming the door. Just for a second, I saw a small box with flashing light outside in the hallway. Is that a bomb?!

I starts to panic and wiggles around in the chair. No matter how hard I try, the rope just would not budge.

What is he planning to do?

I settle down as fatigue overtakes me. Chief…I miss you, I want to go home.

 No one’s POV:

In the academy monitor room:

“Chief, I just tracked down YN’s cell phone signal. It’s located in an abandoned building on the south edge of the city.” Ayumu types away flagging a location on the map.

Jin looks ecstatic and relived at the same time that they finally managed to find YN’s where about.

“Chief, have your phone ready just in case you get any calls from her.”

Just on cue, Jin’s phone vibrates showing YN’s name on the screen.

Quickly connecting the phone with cables, the phone screen shows on the larger monitor.

Jin hits the pickup button and Asahi’s face appears in the video call.

“Long time no see, detective.”

“You!! Where is YN?!”

“Not so rushed shall we?” Asahi Kyobe turns the phone and YN comes into view.

“YN! YN! Can you hear me?”

Hearing chief’s voice, YN looks up to the phone Asahi Kyobe’s holding.

“Chief….Chief!”

“YN! Don’t worry, I’ll come and save you!”

YN look so tired and scared, but she shakes her head.

“Alright alright, enough reunion time. Let’s get back to business.”

“What do you want?” Jin glowers.

“More like what would YOU want? A bomb is set to detonate somewhere and sometime soon. You can go and disarm that bomb all you like, but if I don’t hear this explosion, then I will kill her. So what do you want? Her or the public? Or? Maybe if you come by yourself and take her place, I’ll let her live too. How about that? Aren’t I generous? You took 2 lives from my family and I’m only one from you. What a bargain. Hahahahaha.”

The call then ends with Asahi’s crazy laughter.

Jin bangs his hands on the table with frustration.

“Ayumu, do whatever you can to find that bomb. We have to stop it.”

Jin then picks up his phone and informs Ishigami about the bomb dispatching officers to scout out potential spots.

“Chief, what are you planning to do?”

Ayumu is obviously asking which one Jin will choose out of the two.

“They are both important to me.”

It might be an ambitious thought but I will not let it go down without a fight.

I have no idea when and where the bomb is located, I don’t have much time.

“Ayume, I’ll leave the bomb searching to you and the other instructors, I’ll go and find YN.”

“He easily let you tracked his location, just that one point is making everything suspicious. Chief, it’s too dangerous to go by yourself.”

“I’ll still have to go even it’s dangerous, YN’s waiting.”

Jin then turns to leave for the door without saying anymore.

“Chief!”

Jin’s POV:

“You are finally here. I see, I’ll give you points for that.”

Asahi Kyobe steps out from the dark as soon as I step my foot into the building.

I quickly point my gun at him.

“Watch it, or this one will go off too.”

I follow his hand and I see YN, sitting on a chair unconscious and bound with a gun pointing at her head.

“You….!” My voice is low with anger and I tighten my grip on the gun.

“you should drop the gun if you want to ensure her safety.” Asahi points his chin towards the ground.

I slowly kneel down and place my gun on the ground.

“Jin Namba, 5 years ago, you arrested my brother and caused them to die. It’s time you pay back that debt!” Asahi Hyobe’s body shakes with rage and his voice drips with hatred.

“Your brother’s research killed several people, what he conducted was a crime!”

“Silence!” Asahi points his gun towards me.

“He was meant to achieve so much more in his life. He has done so much for people but he died in prison! All because of you!”

“Crimes needs to be punished, that’s why we have laws.”

“Shut up about the law crap! Don’t make yourself so righteous! Look at you, kneeling on the ground and your fiancée is dying. All this happened because of you! If you never made the arrest, my brother and my sister in law wouldn’t have died. If you didn’t arrest him, the drug would’ve been developed! If you didn’t arrest him, your fiancée wouldn’t be sitting here today dying. This is all your fault!”

His words and accusation hammers me hard in my heart. If I really didn’t make that arrest 5 years ago, he wouldn’t be taking his revenge now, YN wouldn’t get involved in this.

I furrow my brows doubting my past decision.

“…..No, chief didn’t do anything wrong. It was your brother who committed the crime. How things unfold afterward was unfortunate but what your brother did was inexcusable. Chief did the right thing. Even if I die here today, I support his decision nevertheless.”

YN who has awoken weakly interjects but looks into my eye with love and affection.

That’s right, ensuring public’s safety and upholding justice and law is my job and passion. I do not regret the decision although what happened afterward was beyond what I can expect If I can choose again, I will arrest him again, that is who I am, I’m the chief of public safety.

“But he still doesn’t deserve to die!”

“No one deserves to die. And no one should have the power to decide someone else’s life. Not me, not you, not your brother.” I said with new found resolution.

“SILENCE!” Asahi Kyobe roars and pulls the trigger.

YN quickly rams her body into him knocking them both over sending the bullet straight to the ground.

BANG!

Asahi regains his posture and aims the gun at YN this time.

“YN!”

I pick up my gun and readies my aim. Just before he pulls the trigger again, I was a second faster.

BANG!

The gun flew from his hand and he crouch his hand in pain.

“Ahhhh!!!!”

 Changing to YN’s POV:

I watch Dr Kyobe crouching on the ground holding his bleeding hand in pain.

Chief quickly runs towards me giving me a tight hug with me still bound to the chair.

I miss his warmth and smell. I bury my head into his embrace and tears finally begins to roll down.

“Chief…I miss you so so much.” I croak.

“Me too, little bird.” Chief showers kisses onto my forehead.

“This is not over yet!” suddenly, Dr Kyobe shouts holding a remote in his hand. Terror fills my eyes.

The bomb! He must have hidden it else where as I can no longer spot the bomb in the hallway.

Also registering what Dr Kyobe is trying to do. Chief quickly pushes me down onto the ground and holds me tight trying to protect from the explosion.

So this is where everything is going to end?

I wiggle my bound hands trying to free them so I can hold chief. Chief tightens his embrace, so much that I feel like we will become one.

Atleast I can die his chief’s arm. My tears seep into chief’s suit.

“I love you chief.” I whisper burying my face in the crook of chief’s neck.

“I love you too little bird.”

The next moment, Dr Kyobe’s thumb pushes the button.

 Continutes into part 12

A/N: Yay, I finally finished writing this chapter, it was super long to write. Not too long until the end so please stay tuned! Again I welcome any comments! Thank you all!~

[consultthisdick-blog]

The Beginning

Or, A Study in Pink, Part II

Read on AO3

Summary: After being invalided home from Afghanistan, John Watson was only looking for some peace. Instead, he managed to get himself caught up in a whirlwind of serial killings, car chases, and awkward dinners, and it was all thanks to a man by the name of Sherlock Holmes.

After the tragedy of Series 4, let’s take some time to rewind back to the beginning, back to when John and Sherlock first met. ‘Back to Baker Street’ tells the story of BBC Sherlock, the way it always should have been

Part I

Later that afternoon, after John returned to his bedsit with the groceries, he fished his phone out of his pocket and sat down on his bed. He couldn’t help but be curious, so he checked his sent messages to read what Sherlock had been texting. He had hoped that it would provide some explanation to his character, but all it did was confuse him even more.

If brother has green ladder arrest brother. SH

‘Arrest brother’ couldn’t be interpreted in many different ways. Arrest meant arrest. Arrest can’t mean anything other than arrest. But why was Sherlock Holmes calling for an arrest?

After several minutes of pondering the text, John shoved his phone back into his pocket, sat down at his desk and pulled out his laptop. He closed the webpage showing his blog, and only hesitated for a moment before typing ‘Sherlock Holmes’ into the search bar.

The search results showed a single website: The Science of Deduction.

John read through the site, which was apparently Sherlock’s own blog. He skimmed through most of it, but was able to come to one logical conclusion about him: he was absolutely mad. And for some bizarre reason, John felt compelled to write about him.

He entitled the post ‘A Strange Meeting.’

I don’t know how I’m meant to be writing this. I’m not a writer. Ella thought keeping a blog would help but it hasn’t because nothing ever happens to me. But today, something did. Something happened.

John paused for a moment and bit his lip before continuing.

I was walking in the park and I bumped into Mike Stamford. We were sort of mates when we were students. We got coffee and I mentioned that I wanted to move. He said he knew of someone in a similar situation. So we went to Bart’s and he introduced us.

Except, he didn’t. He didn’t introduce us. The man knew who I was. Somehow he knew everything about me. He knew I’d served in Afghanistan and he knew I’d been invalided. He said my wound was psychosomatic so he didn’t get everything right but he even knew why I was there, despite the fact that Mike hadn’t told him.

It didn’t occur to John that this was the most he’d ever considered posting on his blog. But he kept writing, as if writing this post was going to somehow make sense of everything that had transpired.

I googled him when I got back to the flat and found a link to his website, The Science of Deduction.

It’s mad. I think he might be mad. He was certainly arrogant and really quire rude and he looks about 12 and he’s clearly a bit public school and, yes, I definitely think he might be mad but he was also strangely likeable. He was charming. It really was all just a bit strange.

So tomorrow, we’re off to look at a flat. Me and the madman. Me and Sherlock Holmes.

John posted it before he had a chance to talk himself out of it, let out a deep breath, and leaned back in his chair. So, perhaps he wasn’t entirely honest; saying that Sherlock looked about 12 was slightly unnecessary hyperbole. It was better than the alternative. John couldn’t afford to like someone like Sherlock Holmes.

His head somewhat clearer, John closed his laptop and placed it back in the drawer, ready to prepare himself a cup of tea before bed. John closed the drawer, and didn’t give his gun a second glance.

When John opened his laptop the next morning after brewing his usual cup of coffee, he found that Harry and Bill Murray had taken to conversing in the comments. Again.

What the...?!?! Harry Watson

Mate, have you gone gay? Bill Murray

Hahahahaha!! He can’t be! The way he used to look at Clara! Harry Watson

Any word from her? Bill Murray

Nah. It's fine. Anyway we're talking about my brother!! Harry Watson

John downed the rest of his coffee and brought his fingers to his temples. He re-read his post from the night before and grimaced, knowing that it sounded more like something found in a purple diary under a pillow than on the public blog of a retired soldier.

Can’t you two email each other or something? This is meant to be for me to record my thoughts John Watson

He knew that his response wasn’t going to do anything; it would take more than that to get Harry off of his back. John wished quite frequently that he was an only child, and Harry, as the years went on, had only fuelled this desire, uncouth as it might be. Harry had to know that John had never looked at Clara like that, that he wasn’t jealous of Harry for having Clara. It was far more complicated than that, and sometimes John wished that it was as simple as quietly pining for his sister-in-law. Ex sister-in-law, now. Clara was lovely and kind and witty, and deserved so much more than Harry could give her, even Harry knew that.

But what Clara had represented to him…that’s what John had wanted: a place to find comfort and support and love, someone to care for. John was a doctor. Caring for people was his job, it was his purpose. And now, as he gazed around the dingy room, he knew that he couldn’t even care for himself.

His cane felt heavy in his hand and John remembered the gun in his drawer.

Turning away, John made his way into the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror, his cane leaning against the sink. He stared at himself for a while, his mind somehow drifting back to Sherlock Holmes and wondering how a man could read his life story just by looking at his face.

John stood there for a long while, looking, trying to see what Sherlock saw. He didn’t understand; the man must be mad. When John looked at his reflection, he didn’t see his military records or his doctorate or his history of unsuccessful therapy. John saw tired eyes and thin lips and worry lines that weren’t carried by most young men. He saw simple clothes shielding a body that wasn’t as strong as it looked. Flexing his shoulders and straightening his back John stood to attention the way he used to, in the hopes of once more seeing the soldier he had been. For a moment, John thought that he could see Captain Watson in the mirror, but it faded before he could get a closer look.

He shook his head and splashed his face with water, trying to shake the sound of gunfire from the back of his mind.

Back in the other room, John’s laptop sounded a notification. He sighed and sat back down at his desk to view the new comment on his blog. It was from Bill, not Harry.

Not denying it then? Bill Murray

John frowned at the comment and tried not to retaliate too hard. He wasn’t gay, that much was true, but if Sherlock was, he didn’t mind at all. So that’s what he said.

I'm not gay. He might be. I don't know. It doesn't matter. John Watson

It wasn’t a lie. But it certainly didn't feel like the entire truth. Bill didn’t need to know that. Neither did Sherlock, as far as John was concerned.

That evening at seven o’clock, John walked past the final few houses on Baker Street before number 221. 221B was a black door with a gold knocker next to a shop with a red banner that read ‘Speedy’s Lunch Bar & Café’ in strong white letters. John knocked on the door of 221B and heard a car pull up on the kerb behind him.

“Hello.”

John turned to see Sherlock thanking a cab driver, wearing a different suit but the same coat as he had been the day before.

“Ah, Mr. Holmes,” John said, extending his hand in greeting.

“Sherlock, please,” he replied, taking John’s outstretched hand and shaking it.

John immediately dropped his gaze and gripped at his cane. “Well, this is a prime spot,” he stated. “Must be expensive.”

“Mrs. Hudson, the landlady – she’s given me a special deal. Owes me a favour,” Sherlock explained, speaking to what must have been a very interesting spot over John’s left shoulder. “A few years back her husband got himself sentenced to death in Florida. I was able to help out.”

“Sorry, you stopped her husband being executed?” John asked, stunned.

“Oh, no,” Sherlock replied, finally catching his eye. “I ensured it.”

Before John could make heads or tails of it, the door to 221B opened and Sherlock stepped up to tightly embrace the woman behind it, whose arms had opened graciously when she saw him.

“Sherlock,” she smiled, releasing him. “Oh, hello, dear.”

Sherlock stepped down from the doorstep to let John into view. “Mrs. Hudson,” he said, “this is Doctor John Watson.”

“Hello,” Mrs. Hudson said, this time her warm smile directed at John. “Come in.”

“Thank you.” John nodded at her and stepped over the threshold, with Sherlock close behind.

Once they were inside and the door closed behind them, Sherlock looked at John and gestured at the stairs. “Shall we?”

John nodded and his cane was a deadweight in his hand. He gazed up the stairs after Sherlock, who had bounded up them to the first floor landing. With a clenched jaw, John followed him up the best he could, willing his leg to be kind to him today.

Once he made it up the stairs, John found Sherlock waiting patiently for him by the door to the flat. John nodded appreciatively and Sherlock opened the door for them both, and John watched as he stepped proudly into the centre of the room.

John looked around the living room and nodded to himself. It was more spacious than he had expected, with tall bookshelves framing either side of a large fireplace, in front of which sat two large armchairs. Opposite the fireplace on the other side of the room was a large couch and coffee table, and separating the two was a hardwood desk. Above the desk, a strange animal skull was mounted to the wall between two grand windows. John turned around to take in the rest of the flat, first its odd wallpaper, and then the snug kitchen that branched off the near side of the living room, and then of course the monumental amount of clutter that really had to be sorted. Despite its eccentricities, John liked it.

“Well,” he said, “this could be very nice. Very nice indeed.”

Sherlock smiled and breathed what John was class as a small sigh of relief, had it been anyone else. “Yes. Yes, my thoughts precisely.”

There was a comfortable pause, and then the two began to speak.

“Just as soon as we get this rubbish cleaned up…”

“So I went straight ahead and moved in.”

John paused, realising that he had just mistaken all of Sherlock’s belongings for boxes of rubbish, and shifted in his place. “So this is all…?”

Sherlock, clearly embarrassed, stepped across the room and began to shuffle his things around, trying to minimise some of the mess. “Well, um,” he said, throwing some folders into a box, “obviously I can, uh, straighten things up a bit,”

John moved to protest but Sherlock, with his back to him, didn’t notice. Instead, John watched as Sherlock moved in a haste of billowing coats, taking a small pile of unopened envelopes from the coffee table on one side of the room over to the fireplace on the other, before placing them on the mantelpiece and stabbing them through with a penknife. Next to the mutilated letters, John noticed something else.

“That’s a skull,” he said, gesturing to it with his cane.

“Friend of mine,” Sherlock smiled back, before pausing to revaluate. “Well,” he continued, “when I say ‘friend’…”

Anything John might have asked about Sherlock’s ‘friend’ was cut off by Mrs. Hudson, who had come up the stairs behind them.

“What do you think then, Doctor Watson?” she asked, picking up a teacup and saucer from the coffee table as Sherlock took off his coat and scarf. “There’s another bedroom upstairs, if you’ll be needing two bedrooms.”

John glanced at Sherlock, who had is back to them, and then back to Mrs. Hudson. “Well, of course we’ll be needing two…”

“Oh, don’t worry, dear!” Mrs. Hudson fussed. “There’s all sorts ‘round here. Mrs. Turner next door’s got married ones.” She said ‘married ones’ in a strong whisper as she gestured to number 223. It dawned on John a second too late that she thought he and Sherlock were together. He looked over to Sherlock again, expecting him to confirm to Mrs. Hudson that they weren’t involved in that way, but Sherlock simply continued his awkward mission to tidy up. John wondered for a moment if Sherlock actually knew what was being insinuated.

He decided that he wasn’t going to question it, and so he brushed off the armchair closest to the kitchen, fixed the cushion, and sat down, resting his leg after climbing the stairs. While Mrs. Hudson was in the kitchen, John watched Sherlock for a brief moment, before deciding that it was time for at least a partial explanation, or, at the very least, conformation that Sherlock Holmes was as mad as a hatter.

“I looked you up on the Internet last night,” John said.

This apparently sparked Sherlock’s interest, as he turned to face him, the movement smooth and elegant. “Anything interesting?”

“I found your website. ‘The Science of Deduction.”

The corners of Sherlock’s mouth quipped upward. “What did you think?”

John said nothing and raised an eyebrow, still not convinced of Sherlock’s honesty on the blog. Sherlock’s face fell into a frown.

“You said that you could identify a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb,” John said, in the belief that this was enough to justify his scepticism.

“Yes,” Sherlock agreed. “And I can read your military career in your face and your leg, and your brother’s drinking habits in your mobile phone.”

“How?” John asked.

Sherlock simply turned away, smiling to himself, and John still felt like there was a joke that he wasn’t in on.

“What about these suicides then, Sherlock?” Mrs. Hudson came back into the living room, this time holding today’s newspaper. “I thought that’d be right up your street. Three! All exactly the same.”

John heard the sound of a car pulling up outside the flat, and Sherlock moved over to the window and pushed back to curtain to look.

“Four,” he said, voice grave as he peered out to Baker Street. “There’s been a fourth. And there’s something different this time.”

“A fourth?” Mrs. Hudson asked, glancing between Sherlock by the window and the paper in her hands. John stared at Sherlock, only breaking his stare from the elegant silhouette at the sound of heavy footsteps coming up the stairs.

A young yet silver-haired man wearing a dark coat strode into the room, and John watched as Sherlock whirled around to face him. The intruder made no move to acknowledge either John or Mrs. Hudson, but looked at Sherlock right in the eyes, his shoulders tense and his face morphed with regret.

“Where?” Sherlock asked, not seeming to bother with introductions.

“Brixton, Lauriston Gardens,” the man replied.

Sherlock frowned. “What’s new about this one? You wouldn’t have come to get me if there wasn’t something different.”

John watched the exchange intently, soaking up every word.

“You know how they never leave notes?”

“Yeah,” Sherlock nodded.

“This one did. Will you come?”

This had apparently sparked Sherlock’s interest, and John watched as the excitement danced on the corners of his mouth and his eyes.

“Who’s on forensics?” he asked.

“Anderson.”

Sherlock grimaced. “Anderson won’t work with me.”

“Well, he won’t be your assistant!”

“But I need an assistant!” Sherlock protested.

The man ignored him. “Will you come?”

For a brief second, John’s heart leapt wildly in his chest and he momentarily hoped that Sherlock would ask him to fill that position; the near promise of being useful again – of some kind of adventure – was fare more tempting to him than wasting away alone in a dingy bedsit. But Sherlock did no such thing, and John sat in silence.

“Not in a police car,” Sherlock replied. “I’ll be right behind.”

John saw the tension in the man’s shoulders release as he let out a deep sigh of relief. “Thank you,” he said, before leaving the apartment and going back down the stairs.

At the sound of the front door slamming, a wide grin spread across Sherlock’s face and he leapt into the air, clenching his fists in excitement.

“Brilliant!” Sherlock exclaimed, twirling around the room with the most enthusiasm John had seen in a very long time. “Yes! Four serial suicides and now a note! Oh, it’s Christmas!”

He picked up his coat and scarf headed for the kitchen, not sparing John a second glance. John supposed that he had been right all along: Sherlock Holmes was barking mad.

“Mrs. Hudson, I’ll be late,” Sherlock continued. “Might need some food.”

“I’m your landlady, dear, not your housekeeper,” Mrs. Hudson quipped.

“Something cold will do! John, have a cup of tea, make yourself at home. Don’t wait up!”

John couldn’t help the sinking feeling in his stomach as Sherlock left the apartment without him.

“Look at him, dashing about!” Mrs. Hudson said pleasantly. “My husband was just the same.”

Not knowing how to reply, John said nothing.

“But you’re the more sitting down type,” she continued, turning toward the kitchen. “I can tell. I’ll get you that cuppa and you rest your leg.”

“Damn my leg!” John said, with much more force than was necessary. But, in the heat of the moment, he couldn’t seem to control himself. His bloody leg was the reason he was in this mess. He was supposed to be a soldier, he was supposed to be in Afghanistan, and not sitting in a chair while his madman of a flatmate was gallivanting around London doing God knows what and his landlady made him a cup of tea.

Mrs. Hudson, the poor woman, had gasped at his outburst and turned back to him shock.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry,” John said, immediately apologetic. “It’s just that this bloody thing…” He trailed off and hit his bad leg with his cane.

Mrs. Hudson smiled and waved it off. “I understand, dear,” she said. “I’ve got a hip.”

“A cup of tea would be lovely, thank you,” John nodded, picking up the newspaper that she’d left on the arm of his chair.

“Just this once, dear,” Mrs. Hudson said. “I’m not your housekeeper.”

“Couple of biscuits too, if you’ve got them.”

“Not your housekeeper.”

She left the flat and went downstairs, and John folded the newspaper in half, skimming the headlines. His eyes narrowed at the story on the front page, ‘Transport Minister Third Suicide.’ It was the third suicide that he’d heard about on the radio, the ones he’d written about on his blog just the other day. But it wasn’t the large picture of Beth Davenport that had caught his attention. No, underneath the headline was another picture, one of the man that asked Sherlock to come with him to Brixton. And underneath this picture was a small caption:

DI Lestrade, in charge of the investigation.

Detective Inspector Lestrade. What would a Detective Inspector want with Sherlock Holmes? Before he could read more, Sherlock’s voice interrupted him.

“You’re a doctor.”

John put down the paper and looked to Sherlock, who was standing in the doorway putting on his gloves and had apparently been waiting outside for Mrs. Hudson to leave.

“In fact, you an Army doctor.”

“Yes.” John staggered to his feet as Sherlock walked toward him.

“Seen a lot of injuries, then?” Sherlock asked. “Violent deaths?”

John frowned. “Yes.”

“Bit of trouble too, I’ll bet.”

“Yes, of course,” John said quietly. “Enough for a lifetime. Far too much.”

Sherlock smirked. It was almost seductive. “Do you want to see some more?”

“Oh, God, yes!”

Grinning broadly, Sherlock spun on his heels and lead the way out of the door and down the stairs. John followed him as fast as his leg would allow, and called out to their landlady.

“Sorry, Mrs. Hudson, I’ll skip the tea,” he said. “Off out.”

She was there when he and Sherlock reached the bottom of the stairs. “Both of you?”

“Impossible suicides? Four of them?” Sherlock gushed, taking her by the shoulders and kissing her loudly on the cheek. “There’s no point sitting at home when there’s finally something fun going on!”

Mrs. Hudson looked from Sherlock to John and tried not to smile. “Look at you, all happy,” she chided. “It’s not decent.”

“Who cares about decent?” Sherlock opened the front door and gestured for John to follow him, which he did, eagerly. “The game, Mrs. Hudson, is on!”

John followed Sherlock out onto Baker Street and closed the door to 221B behind them. Sherlock hailed a taxi and the two got in, the air between them thick with anticipation. John, still feeling uncomfortable staring at Sherlock for too long, divided his attention between the busy roads outside the cab window and Sherlock, who was studying his smartphone intently.

They sat in silence for a long while and a million and one questions floated in and out of John’s mind, each more complicated than the last. Sherlock, however, seemed completely at ease leaning elegantly against the cab door, his face illuminated by the light from his screen.

Just when the silence was becoming almost unbearable, Sherlock lowered his phone and turned to John. “Okay, you’ve got questions.”

“Yeah, where are we going?” John asked, every other question he had come up with suddenly evaporating.

“Crime scene,” Sherlock answered. “Next.”

“Who are you?” John continued. “What do you do?”

“What do you think?”

John thought for a moment, hesitant. “I’d say private detective…”

“But?”

“But,” he continued, “the police don’t go to private detectives.”

Sherlock smiled, apparently pleased with this answer. “I’m a consulting detective,” he explained. “I’m the only one in the world. I invented the job.”

This still didn’t explain much but, at this point, John didn’t find that surprising at all. “What does that mean?”

“It means that when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me.”

“But the police don’t consult amateurs.”

This was apparently the wrong thing to say, as John found him subjected to a very poignant look, so tastefully executed that he wondered if Sherlock had practiced it in front of a mirror.

“When I met you for the first time yesterday I asked you ‘Afghanistan or Iraq’,” Sherlock stated. “You looked surprised.”

“Yes,” John affirmed. “How did you know?”

Sherlock shook his head. “I didn’t know; I saw. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself says military. But your conversation as you entered the room said trained at Bart’s, so Army doctor – obvious.”

John stared at him and opened his mouth to interrupt, but Sherlock paid no attention and continued.

“Your face is tanned but no tan above the wrists. You’ve been abroad, but not sunbathing.” Sherlock looked down to John’s cane and then to his bad leg. “Your limp’s really bad when you walk but you don’t ask for a chair when you stand, like you’ve forgotten about it, so it’s at least partly psychosomatic. That says that the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic. Wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan – Afghanistan or Iraq.”

Lost for words, John racked his mind for something to say. “You said I had a therapist,” he managed.

“You have a psychosomatic limp,” Sherlock stated. “Of course you have a therapist. Then there’s your brother.”

“What?”

“Your phone.” Sherlock held out his hand and John fished it out of his coat, handing it to him. “It’s expensive. E-mail enabled, MP3 player, but you’re looking for flatshare; you wouldn’t waste money on this. It’s a gift, then.”

Turning the phone over in his hand, Sherlock ran his fingers against the back. “Scratches,” he said. “Not one, many over time. It’s been in the same pockets as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn’t treat his one luxury item like this, so it’s had a previous owner. Next bit’s easy. You know it already.”

“The engraving,” John supplied, watching Sherlock tap the words with his forefinger.

Harry Watson From Clara xxx

Sherlock hummed in agreement and resumed his monologue. “Harry Watson…clearly a family member who’s given you his old phone. Not your father, this is a young man’s gadget. It could be a cousin, but you’re a war hero who can’t find a place to live. Unlikely you’ve got an extended family, certainly not one you’re close to, so brother it is. Now, Clara. Who’s Clara? Three kisses says it’s romantic attachment and the expense of the phone says wife, not girlfriend. She must have given it to him recently – this model’s only six months old. Marriage in trouble, then – six months on and he’s just given it away. If she’d left him, he would have kept it. People do; sentiment. But no, he wanted to get rid of it. He left her. He gave the phone to you, and that says he wants you to stay in touch. You’re looking for cheap accommodation but you’re not going to your brother for help? That says you’ve got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife. Maybe you don’t like his drinking.”

“How could you possibly know about the drinking?” John asked, completely baffled.

“Shot in the dark,” Sherlock smiled. “Good one, though. The power connection: tiny scuff marks around the edge of it. Every night he goes to plug it in to charge but his hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man’s phone; never see a drunk’s without them.”

He handed John back the phone, who took it and placed it back into his pocket.

“There you go, you see – you were right,” Sherlock said.

“I was right?” John asked. “Right about what?”

“The police don’t consult amateurs.” He turned away from John, who gazed at him in amazement. For a moment, they lapsed into silence.

“That…” John began, his mind buzzing as he tried to comprehend even a small percentage of what had transpired. “That was…amazing.”

Sherlock’s head whipped around to look at him, and he stared at John so intently that he wondered if he’d said something wrong. For the first time since they’d met, Sherlock Holmes appeared to be struck dumb.

“Do you really think so?” he asked, after a long stretch of silence.

“Of course it was,” John gaped. “It was extraordinary; it was quite extraordinary.”

“That’s not what people normally say,” Sherlock admitted.

“What do people normally say?”

“‘Piss off.’”

John laughed and shook his head, and Sherlock chuckled along with him before turning to gaze out of the cab window.

“We’re here,” he said, the cab slowing down and stopping a few hundred feet away from a road barricaded by police tape. The street was illuminated by the red and blue flashing lights from both the police cars and an ambulance, and Sherlock thanked and paid the cabbie before leaping out, bounding around the back of the cab, and opening the door for John before he could even reach for his cane.

“Did I get anything wrong?” Sherlock asked, leading John toward the police tape.

“Harry and me don’t get on,” John admitted. “Never have. Harry and Clara split up three months ago and they’re getting a divorce. Harry’s a drinker.”

Sherlock looked mildly impressed. “Really?” he asked. “I didn’t expect to be right about everything.”

John smirked. “Harry’s short for Harriet.”

Realisation dawning on his face, Sherlock stopped in his tracks and groaned. “Harry’s your sister.”

“Look,” John said, diverting back to the situation at hand. “What am I supposed to be doing here?”

“Sister!”

John looked around uncomfortably, noticing that they were at the receiving end of quite a few dirty looks from the officers surrounding the scene.

“No, seriously,” he said, much quieter should any of them be listening. Vulnerability wasn’t very attractive at the current moment. “What am I doing here?”

“There’s always something!”

Sherlock, still apparently hung up on his mistake (and quite an understandable one, at that), ignored him and marched up to the police tape, where he was met by a dark-skinned police officer with sharp eyes and a disapproving mouth.

“Hello, freak,” she jeered.

“I’m here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade,” Sherlock said, his voice cool and scarily monotonous. It struck John that this was Sherlock being professional.

“Why?” the officer interrogated.

“I was invited.”

“Why?”

“I think he wants me to take a look.” John could tell that Sherlock had very little patience for this woman, and he wondered if she always taunted him like that; it was obvious even without Sherlock’s deductive genius that the two did not get on.

“Well you know what I think,” she chided, “don’t you?”

Sherlock smiled pleasantly and lifted the police tape, ducking under it. “Always, Sally,” he said, then taking a dramatic breath in through his nose. “I even know you didn’t make it home last night.”

“I don’t…” she began, before finally noticing John. She jabbed a finger in his general direction and turned back to Sherlock. “Who’s this?”

“Colleague of mine,” Sherlock replied. “Doctor Watson. Doctor Watson, Sargent Sally Donovan. Old friend.”

John smiled, but it was lost on her.

“A colleague?” she asked. “How do you get a colleague” Then, she turned to John. “Did he follow you home?”

Caving under the tension, John turned to Sherlock. “Would it be better if I just waited and–”

But Sherlock lifted the police tape defiantly and John, who apparently had no other choice, stepped through.

Donovan scowled at Sherlock and John stepped between them, defensive of his new…colleague.

“Freak’s here,” Donovan said into a radio, deciding not to pick a fight. “Bringing him in.”

She turned away from them and began to walk toward and old house swarming with police officers and people in protective clothing. Sherlock walked beside him, and John found the gesture oddly comforting. He watched intently as Sherlock’s eyes roamed over their surroundings, analytical and inquisitive as they approached the façade of the old house.

The door to the house opened and from it emerged a small team of forensic investigators, all wearing the same protective coveralls. One of them, a sour-faced man with thin lips and dark hair, approached them, glaring a Sherlock with obvious distaste.

“Ah, Anderson,” Sherlock said, addressing him pleasantly. “Here we are again.”

Anderson pursed his lips. “It’s a crime scene,” he sneered. “I don’t want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?”

“Quite clear,” Sherlock smiled. He then took in another deep breath through his nose, just like he had next to Donovan. “And, uh, is your wife away for long?”

“Oh, don’t pretend you worked that out,” Anderson scoffed. “Somebody told you that.”

“Your deodorant told me that.”

“My deodorant?” Anderson took a step toward Sherlock and crossed his arms, his glare never once wavering.

“It’s ‘for men’,” Sherlock dramatized quirkily, as if he were speaking to a child.

Anderson blinked. “Well, of course it’s for men! I’m wearing it.”

“So’s Sergeant Donovan,” Sherlock said, and John looked over to see that Donovan’s eyes had widened in shock, confirming the accusation. John tried to hide his smile as she and Anderson shared a panicked look, and Sherlock bounced on his heels proudly.

Sherlock sniffed the air again and didn’t look Anderson in the face. “Ooh, and I think it just vaporised,” he said, glancing over to John. “May I go in?”

“Now whatever you’re trying to imply…” Anderson began, angrily pointing a finger at Sherlock.

“I’m not implying anything.” He strode up the path to the front door of the house, his eyes wide and innocent. “I’m sure Sally came ‘round for a nice little chat, and just happened to stay over. And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees.”

John ducked his head and tried not to laugh, following Sherlock through the door and into the house and made sure to take a quick glance at Donovan’s knees as he passed her.

“You shouldn’t have done that, you know,” he whispered to Sherlock, who lead him into a small room on the first floor.

Sherlock shrugged. “I know. But my way’s more fun, don’t you think?”

John didn’t reply, as the room was uncomfortably full of officers and investigators, including Detective Inspector Lestrade. They were all wearing the same blue coveralls.

“You need to wear one of these,” Sherlock said, pointing to a pile of the coveralls on a table, and John nodded, leaning his cane against the wall and picking one up.

Lestrade looked at him, confused, and turned to Sherlock. “Who’s this?” he asked.

“He’s with me,” Sherlock answered, curtly.

“But who is he?” Lestrade pressed.

“I said he’s with me.”

John, despite this constant reassurance from Sherlock, really didn’t feel like he belonged beside him at a crime scene. He was very out of place — more so than Sherlock would be at Sunday mass — with his limp and his cane and his wary eyes. For a moment he wished that he was back at Baker Street drinking tea and doing crosswords with Mrs. Hudson; Sherlock appeared to be the only one who wanted him here and, by the looks of things, Sherlock wasn’t even wanted here.

He looked over to Sherlock, who had bypassed him and Lestrade and had picked up a two pairs of latex gloves, handing one over to him.

“Aren’t you going to put one on?” John asked, noting Sherlock’s lack of coverall.

Sherlock shot him a look, and John rolled his eyes and accepted the latex gloves, making no further comment.

“So,” Sherlock said, turning once more to Lestrade. “Where are we?”

“Upstairs,” Lestrade replied, moving over to the staircase.

Sherlock followed him and looked back at John, making sure he was still close behind. John’s cane clunked on the old stairs and he grimaced, wishing that old houses didn’t sound so hollow.

“I can give you two minutes,” Lestrade said as they reached the second flight of stairs.

Sherlock looked up at the winding staircase and put on the latex gloves. “May need longer.”

“Her name’s Jennifer Wilson according to her credit cards,” Lestrade continued. “We’re running them now for contact details. Hasn’t been here long. Some kids found her.”

He stopped once they reached the second landing, and John’s bad leg thanked him. Lestrade opened the door and lead them in, Sherlock following quickly and John not too far behind. The air in the room was musty, and the floor was ridden with dust. John looked around, the muted grey of the walls reminding him of his bedsit, and he didn’t find the comparison terribly comforting. The room itself was devoid of furniture except for a rocking horse in the far corner. Old scaffolding poles braced the far part of the ceiling, not too far from where a couple of large holes had been knocked through one of the walls. Everything else John assumed had been brought in by the police; portable lighting had been set up, illuminating the room with a weak glow. In the middle of the floor, a beacon within the monochrome walls, lay a woman’s body, face down on the bare floorboards, and dressed head to toe in bright pink. Next to her hand, five letters had been scratched into the floor: RACHE.

First as a doctor, then as a soldier, John had seen many corpses in his life, but the harrowing shock was the same every time.

John looked over to Sherlock, and was surprised to see that, as he stared at the corpse, his face was twisted with regret. The three of them stood in silence, all focused on the body of Jennifer Wilson, before Sherlock whipped his head to look at Lestrade.

“Shut up.”

Startled, Lestrade shook his head. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking,” Sherlock clarified. “It was annoying.”

Lestrade then looked back at John, and the two shared a surprised look. John didn’t know what to say, he didn’t know if he could say anything without disturbing Sherlock, and so didn’t say anything, watching, intrigued, as his flatmate stepped slowly toward the corpse. He moved swiftly, moving around the body with smooth, lithe movements, his coat pooling around his ankles as he crouched down for closer examination. John didn’t know what he was looking for, or if there was anything to be looking for, but, somehow, he knew that if there was, Sherlock Holmes would be the one to find it.

This carried on for another minute before Sherlock abruptly stood up, appearing to have finished his investigation.

“Got anything?” Lestrade asked.

Sherlock shrugged, nonchalant. “Not much,” he admitted. He peeled off the gloves, reached into his coat pocket to retrieve his phone, and began typing.

“She’s German.”

John turned around to see Anderson leaning casually against the doorway.

“‘Rache’,” he elaborated. “It’s German for ‘revenge’. She could be trying to tell us something—”

He was cut off by Sherlock, who had walked briskly over towards the door and closed it in Anderson’s face, not glancing up from his phone.

“Yes, thank you for your input,” he said. The door slammed loudly and John watched as Sherlock moved to stand in the middle of the room, once more beside the corpse of Jennifer Wilson.

“So she’s German?” Lestrade asked.

“Of course she’s not,” Sherlock replied, not offering anything else on the subject. “She is from out of town, though. Intended to stay in London for one night…” He smiled smugly, turned off his phone and pocketed it. “…before returning home to Cardiff. So far, so obvious.”

“Sorry,” John said, speaking for the first time since entering the room. “Obvious?”

“What about the message, though?” Lestrade urged.

Sherlock ignored him and turned to John, who faltered slightly at the intensity of his stare.

“Doctor Watson, what do you think?”

“Of the message?”

“Of the body,” Sherlock clarified. “You’re a medical man.”

Before he could move to get a closer look, Lestrade stepped forward. “Wait, no, we have a whole medical team right outside.”

“They won’t work with me,” Sherlock said, repeating his words from back at Baker Street.

“I’m breaking every rule letting you in here!”

Sherlock smiled through his teeth. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Because you need me.”

Lestrade stared at him defiantly, before lowering his eyes in defeat. “Yes, I do,” he said. “God help me.”

Smiling, much more genuine now, Sherlock turned back to John. “Doctor Watson.”

“Hmm?” John glanced from Sherlock to the body, then from the body to Lestrade, silently seeking his permission to comply with Sherlock’s request.

“Oh, do as he says,” Lestrade muttered. “Help yourself.”

He turned and opened the door, stepping outside and leaving Sherlock and John alone with Jennifer Wilson.

“Anderson, keep everyone out of a couple of minutes.”

Sherlock took that as his cue to move, and he ushered John to where he had stood beside the corpse, squatting down beside it. John followed the best he could, his leg twinging in protest as he awkwardly lowered himself onto one knee, using his cane to support himself the best he could.

“Well?” Sherlock asked, eyes bright and triumphant.

John glanced at the closed door and leaned over the body so Sherlock could hear him.

“What am I doing here?” he asked softly.

“Helping me make a point,” Sherlock answered, mimicking his whisper.

“I’m supposed to be helping you pay the rent.”

Sherlock shrugged. “Yeah, well, this is more fun.”

“Fun?” John questioned. “There’s a woman lying dead.”

“Perfectly sound analysis,” Sherlock noted, “but I was hoping you’d go deeper.”

Well, it was too late to back out now. John dragged his bad leg into a kneeling position and saw Lestrade reenter the room as he leaned in to closer examine the body. First: cause of death. Swallowing and trying not to think about the number of times he had done this in Afghanistan, John put his head close to hers, sniffed, and pulled away, then examining the skin on her right hand before looking again across to Sherlock.

“Yeah…” he began. “Asphyxiation, probably. Passed out, choked on her own vomit. Can’t smell any alcohol on her. It could have been a seizure; possibly drugs.”

“You know what it was,” Sherlock said. “You’ve read the papers.”

John had only read one paper, the one back in 221B, but he knew to what Sherlock was alluding. “What, she’s one of the suicides? The fourth…?”

“Sherlock,” Lestrade interrupted. “Two minutes, I said. I need anything you’ve got.”

Sherlock stood, and John followed, albeit much less gracefully, and leaned  once more on his cane.

“Victim is in her late thirties,” Sherlock began. John recognised that voice; Sherlock had used it twice on him already. That was his deduction voice. “Professional person, going by her clothes; I’m guessing something in the media, going by the frankly alarming shade of pink. Travelled from Cardiff today, intending to stay in London for one night. It’s obvious from the size of her suitcase.”

“Suitcase?” Lestrade asked, eyebrows furrowed.

John, sharing his confusion, looked around the room in search of such suitcase. He found none. Sherlock, however, was too wrapped up in his own head to notice.

“Suitcase, yes,” he continued, distractedly moving about the room, his coat flouncing behind him in a dark wave. “She’s been married at least ten years, but not happily. She’s had a string of lovers but none of them knew she was married.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Lestrade moaned. “If you’re just making this up…”

“Her wedding ring,” Sherlock interrupted, pointing down to the woman’s left hand. John saw the wedding ring, and it looked completely unremarkable, exactly like every other wedding ring he’d seen his entire life. “Ten years old at least,” Sherlock stated. “The rest of her jewelery has been regularly cleaned, but not her wedding ring. State of her marriage right there. The inside of the ring is shinier than the outside — that means it’s regularly removed; the only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. It’s not for work. Look at her nails! She doesn’t work with her hands, so what, or rather who, does she remove her rings for? Clearly not one lover; she’d never sustain the fiction of being single over that amount of time, so more likely a string of them. Simple.”

“That’s brilliant.” The words tumbled out of John’s mouth before he could catch himself, and he awkwardly smiled as Sherlock paused to look at him, eyes wide. “Sorry,” he said, urging Sherlock to continue his explanation.

“Cardiff?” Lestrade prompted.

Sherlock frowned. “It’s obvious, isn’t it?”

“It’s not obvious to me,” John admitted, knowing he spoke for both himself and the Inspector.

Sherlock looked between the two of them, baffled. “Dear God, what is it like inside your funny little brains? It must be so boring.” And, before either John or Lestrade could get another word in, Sherlock was off again. “Her coat: it’s slightly damp. She’s been in heavy rain in the last few hours. No rain anywhere in London in that time. Under her coat collar is damp, too. She’s turned it up against the wind. She’s got an umbrella in her left-hand pocket but it’s dry and unused: not just win, strong wind — too strong to use her umbrella. We know from her suitcase that she was intending to stay overnight, so she must have coma decent distance but she can’t have travelled more than two or three hours because her coat still hasn’t dried. So,” he paused, fishing his phone out of his pocket. “Where has there been heavy rain and strong wind within the radius of that travel time? Cardiff.”

He held out his phone to show John and Lestrade the webpage he was looking at earlier; it displayed today’s weather for southern Britain.

“That’s fantastic!” John gaped, stunned in utter awe at this brilliant madman.

Sherlock turned to him and leaned in. “Do you know you do that out loud?” he asked.

“Sorry,” John apologised. “I’ll shut up.”

“No,” Sherlock countered, quickly dismissing him. “No, it’s…fine.”

John stared up at him in surprise and saw Sherlock give him a brief, shy smile. He realised that Sherlock was pleased with the compliments, he liked the compliments. Then, he remembered earlier in the taxi when Sherlock had deduced him; Sherlock had said that people didn’t usually react well to his deductions. John wondered if there was anyone else at all who thought them to be brilliant, and if Sherlock had ever heard them say it. With that thought in mind, John told himself that, throughout the night, he would remind Sherlock at every possible instance of his mad brilliance. If he got to see that shy, private smile again, it would be worth it.

Lestrade coughed loudly, and John looked away from Sherlock and down and the floorboards.

“Why d’you keep saying suitcase?” Lestrade asked.

As if he had just remembered that they were at a crime scene, Sherlock spun around in a circle looking around the room. “Yes,” he muttered. “Where is it? She must have had a phone or an organiser. Find out who Rachel is.”

Lestrade crossed his arms. “She was writing ‘Rachel’?”

“No,” Sherlock retorted sarcastically. “She was leaving an angry not in German. Of course she was writing Rachel; no other word it can be. Question it: why did she wait until she was dying to write it?”

“How d’you know she had a suitcase?”

Sherlock pointed down to the corpse. “Back of the right leg: tiny splash marks on the heel and calf, not present on the left. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand. Don’t get that splash pattern any other way. Smallish case, going by the spread. Case that size, woman this clothes-conscious: could only be an overnight bag, so we know she was staying one night.” He squatted down by the body, fingers ghosting over the backs of her legs as he examined them more closely. “Now,” he said, “where is it? What have you done with it?”

Lestrade shook head and said, “There wasn’t a case.”

Sherlock looked up at him. “Say that again.”

“There wasn’t a case,” Lestrade repeated. “There was never any suitcase.”

At this, Sherlock immediately stood up and headed for the door, walking straight past John and Lestrade and called out to the police officers standing outside. “Suitcase!” he shouted, hurrying back down the stairs. “Did anyone find a suitcase? Was there a suitcase in this house?”

“Sherlock!” Lestrade called out behind him. “There was no case!”

“But they take the poison themselves,” Sherlock said, slowing down and looking up the stairwell at them. “They chew, swallow the pills themselves. There are clear signs. Even you lot couldn’t miss them.”

“Right, yeah, thanks,” Lestrade grumbled. “And…?”

“It’s murder!” Sherlock expressed, gripping the railing. “All of them. I don’t know how, but they’re not suicides, they’re killings — serial killings.” He clasped his hands together in front of his face in delight. “We’ve got ourselves a serial killer. I love those. There’s always something to look forward to.”

Lestrade looked to John who shook his head, having no clue what Sherlock was talking about. “Why are you saying that?” Lestrade asked, shouting down the stairs.

“Her case!” Sherlock gasped, almost having reached the ground floor. “Come on, where is her case? Did she eat it? Someone else was here, and they took her case.” Then he spoke more quietly, talking to himself rather than John and the baffled Inspector. “So the killer must have driven her here; forgot the case was in the car.”

“She could have checked into a hotel,” John supplied. “Left her case there.”

“No, she never got to the hotel,” Sherlock said, shaking his head. “Look at her hair! She colour-coordinates her lipstick and her shoes. She’d never have left any hotel with her hair still looking…Oh!”

Sherlock stopped, realisation dawning on his face, and John for the life of him couldn’t understand what it could be.

“Oh!” He spun around in pure delight.

“Sherlock?” John called down to him.

Lestrade leaned over the railing. “What is it,” he asked. “What?”

“Serial killers are always hard. You have to wait for them to make a mistake.”

“We can’t just wait!” Lestrade said.

Sherlock began to hurry down the last flight of stairs. “Oh, we’re done waiting. Look at her, really look! Houston, we have a mistake! Get on to Cardiff: find out who Jennifer Wilson’s family and friends were. Find Rachel!” He reached the bottom of the stairs and John watched him disappear from sight.

“Of course, yeah,” Lestrade called, waving the officers around them to follow Sherlock’s instructions. “But what mistake?”

Sherlock ran back into view, his eyes ablaze with excitement. He leapt up the first few stairs and looked fervently from John to Lestrade and back again. “PINK!”

And he was gone again.

Lestrade turned to John, who shook his head, baffled, before going back into the room while Anderson and his team followed closely in his wake.

“Let’s get on with it,” Anderson grumbled, pointedly ignoring John as he passed.

Seemingly forgotten by everyone else, John hesitated on the landing for a moment before deciding to go back downstairs to find Sherlock. He turned to say goodbye to Lestrade but saw that the Inspector was too engrossed with giving stressed orders to his officers to notice John’s awkward fumbling. So, John began the long and painful descent down the stairs. As careful as he was, John was still occasionally knocked about by hurried police officers, who pushed passed him without so much as a second glance. His grip tightened on his cane as his hand threatened a tremor. Slowly, but surely, he eventually made it to the bottom of the stairs, where he removed his coverall and latex gloves, his head bowed so as to attract as little attention as possible. He put on his jacket and left the building, making sure to stay out of the way of the people who were actually supposed to be there. Once he was back out in the street John looked around in search of Sherlock, or for any sign as to where he had gone.

“He’s gone.”

John looked over to Donovan, who was standing back by the police tape.

“Who, Sherlock Holmes?” he asked, walking over to her.

“Yeah, he just took off,” she said. “He does that.”

A heavy weight settled in John’s chest, as he realised that he had been, once again, forgotten. “Is he coming back?”

Donovan shook her head. “Didn’t look like it.”

“Right.” He looked around the street, trying to think of what to do from here. “Right, yes. Sorry, where am I?”

“Brixton.”

“Right. Er, do you know where I could get a cab? It’s just, er…well…” John glanced down at his cane, “my leg.”

Donovan’s face softened slightly and she lifted the police tape. “Yeah,” she said. “Try the main road.”

“Thanks,” John smiled curtly, ducking under the tape. He was about to walk away when Donovan spoke again.

“But you’re not his friend,” she stated, and John turned back to her, confused. “He doesn’t have friends. So who are you?”

“I’m…I’m nobody,” John said. “I just met him.”

“Okay, a bit of advice then,” Donovan offered. “Stay away from that guy.”

“Why?”

She laughed. “Do you know why he’s here? He’s not paid or anything. He likes it. He gets off on it. The weirder the crime, the more he gets off. And you know what? One day just showing up won’t be good enough. One day we’ll be standing around a body and Sherlock Holmes will be the one who put it there.”

John stared at her and tried to process her words; they didn’t really make sense. Sure, Sherlock was a bit mad and wasn’t exactly the most tactful of people, be he didn’t seem to be violent. “Why would he do that?” John asked finally.

“Because he’s a psychopath,” Donovan said, so nonchalantly that it made John uncomfortable. “And psychopaths get bored.”

Back from the entrance of the house, Lestrade called over to her.

“Donovan!”

“Coming!” she said, before turning back once more to John. “Stay away from Sherlock Holmes.”

John watched as she walked toward the house, mulling over what she’d said. From what he had seen, Sherlock was no more than a strange young man with an even stranger mind, but these people had known him for longer than he had and they all hated him, tolerated him at best. Perhaps it was best if he just went home — to his bedsit — and forgot that this had ever happened.

Sighing, John turned away from the scene and began to limp down the street in the direction of the main road. It wasn’t too long before he came to a telephone box, which began to ring as he passed it. John stopped and looked at it for a few seconds, wondering if he should answer it, but decided against it and continued down the road. The phone stopped ringing.

It wasn’t long before John made it to Brixton High Road, and he tried (and failed) to hail a taxi three times before stopping on the corner outside of a busy restaurant. He stood there, defeated, as the wind picked up and nipped through his too-thin coat. As he was about to walk off again, the payphone on the wall of the restaurant began to ring. John looked over at it cautiously, watching as one of the waiters from the restaurant moved to pick it up, but it stopped ringing before the lad had the chance. Shaking his head, John continued on down the road, weaving in and out of the crowd.

He walked firmly past another telephone box determined not to look at it, but it too began to ring. Mystified, John stared at the phone and wondered whether or not he should answer it. Curiosity got the better of him, it always did, as he pulled open the door and picked up the phone.

“Hello?”

The line was filled with static, and a man’s steely voice spoke to him. “There is a security camera on the building to your left,” it said. “Do you see it?”

John frowned at the odd message. “Who’s this? Who’s speaking?”

“Do you see the camera, Doctor Watson?”

He froze when he heard his name, and immediately recognised that he had stepped into something much larger than himself. He looked through the left window of the phone box and scanned the building for the camera. He saw it, a CCTV camera high up on the wall, and pointing straight at him.

“Yeah,” he said into the phone. “I see it.”

“Watch.”

John complied and watched as the camera, which had been pointing straight at him, swiveled away to point at an unremarkable part of the road.

“There is another camera on the building opposite you,” the man said. “Do you see it?”

John looked across the road to the second camera, which was also pointed toward the phone box. He hummed his acknowledgment, staring. The camera immediately swiveled away, just like the first one.

“And finally, at the top of the building on your right.”

Like the first two, this camera also turned away, and John was completely off the record. He could disappear right now and no-one would be able to tell what happened to him…

“How are you doing this?” John asked into the phone, growing slightly panicked. He tried to keep himself calm, steadying his balance, but it was months since Afghanistan and he had forgotten what it felt like to be in danger.

A black car pulled up at the kerbside by the telephone box. It was clean and sleek and expensive and obviously well looked after. John’s grip on the phone loosened as the driver got out and opened the door to the back seat.

“I would make some sort of threat,” said the man’s voice on the other end of the line. “But I’m sure your situation is quite clear to you.”

The phone went dead and John put it back down, weighing his options. He could make a run for it, but running was completely out of the question given his leg and, even if he could run, he didn’t think that it would do much good. If whoever had called him was able to watch him from CCTV, then he could be under surveillance anywhere in London; trying to hide seemed quite foolish. Knowing that there wasn’t much that he could do, John left the phone box and got into the car.

An attractive young woman sat next to him behind the passenger seat, her eyes fixed on her BlackBerry, ignoring him. Sherlock had ignored him too, and that was why he was in this mess.

“Hello,” John said, hoping to start a conversation (and potentially find out where he was going).

The woman looked up from her phone and smiled brightly at him “Hi,” she said, and turned back to her phone.

“What’s your name, then?”

“Er…” The woman contemplated his question for a minute before answering. “…Anthea.”

John huffed. “Is that your real name?” he asked.

“No.” She smiled at him again in the same way that John suspected she would at a small child. Or a dog.

He twisted around and tried to look out of the rear window, but it was darkly tinted and he couldn’t see anything other than muted lights from cars and street lamps.

“I’m John,” he said, turning back to Not-Anthea.

Not-Anthea smiled down at her BlackBerry. “Yes,” she said. “I know.”

John felt like he should have suspected that. And he was growing quite tired of feeling like everyone else knew more than he did.

“Any point in asking where I’m going?” he asked, growing impatient.

“None at all…John.”

John nodded, his lips pursed. “Okay.”

He didn’t speak again for the rest of the journey.

[forthelalaland]

A day full of love ❤️

My pamily? My pamily? Ohmayghd!!! *he he*

Our grade school teachers once taught us that family is the basic unit of the society. And I have grown to agree with that. Because I can never picture myself without my family. I don’t know where I will be if not for them. They are the ones who picked me up even in my darkest days, took care of me in my weakest moments, loved me despite all my wrongs and imperfections.

My family is my living source of strength, peace, and love in my life. They are my basics; my comfort zone - where I can be me, whatever I wanna be when I am with them. I love my family sooooo much! They are the first (and forever will be!) and best presents I ever received from God. My family means everything to me that is why I am doing all I can to make them happy. 💖

My family has always had this close ties to each other, that strong and intimate family connection where my mum’s and pap’s family really turned into a one, big, happy ohana. My sister and I grew up with our grandparents since our parents were working. Actually, ate is much closer to the father side while I am on the mother side. But hey, we love them both, of course. *heart hearts*

Papa’s parents passed away already. However, I still can remember those memories I had with Lola Sabel and Lolo Terio even if that was a long time ago already. I love those talks with them while they were in the rocking chairs, those random gifts given by our grandmother to us, and most especially, those singing afternoons with grandpa. Oh geez, I am starting to get teary-eyed...

I am the type of person who cherishes the moment in front of me. While my mother’s parents are still here with us, of couuurse, I am trying my best to give them the love they deserve. Especially me, I am a lola’s girl! Kindergarten to now that I am still working, Lola Ining still treats me like a princess. Lolo Pedro and Lola do make me feel that all the time. Hashtag spoiled! Hahaha!

When I was a kid, I used to stay at grannies’ house every weekend. I always have that giddy feeling inside me when I am on the tricycle going to nanay’s. Why? Because they have a sari-sari store and I want to help in organizing her racks. That’s what triggered my OC-ness. LOL! Mama also said that I can train my math skills there. But huy, I hate that subject. Huehue. And the truth is, I have playmates there. Wala kasi dito sa’min. Hahaha. And since bata, I love being there - just enjoying and letting my imaginations rule. Hihihi. Let me add that sissy and I have the most delicious breakfast all the time whenever we are there! Walang palya, promise. Sometimes, Jollibee pa since it is just walking distance from the house. So, imagine that? Who would not love this kind of grannies who take care their granddaughters so fine like that? They love my parents, yes, but they do it twice to us! The roots are just the best. =)))))

The day we have been waiting for, March 4, 2017, when my Lola Ining turned 75 years you-ld (young and old, ya kno bc nanay will be mad if she read this haha) has arrived. The family was not able to give her any big birthday celebration for the past years so we took the chance of having it this year. Nanay has been a wonderful blessing to lots of people. Indeed, she deserves this best moment of her life! Hihihi. Being with her since I was a kid, it was me who organized the event. Well actually, it is all of us but I am the punong-abala - from the meeting with the Max’s manager to the sending of invitations, plus packing of souvenirs and until the day it came. I was a bit nervous because I might fail this event. But really reaaally excited because Lola does not know about this. Yuuup, this is a surprise birthday bash. 🙌🎉

At that day, my sister and I headed to Max’s, earlier than anybody else to set-up the place (but it was already nice when we went so just a little organizing left yay five-stars for that!) and to take care of Lola’s guests. It was so good because aside from nanay’s family, us, I really can say there are many people who love her. I thought I was the only one excited but they are more hyped than me! Hahaha! I appreciate everyone’s presence because they are not late. I actually was a bit embarrassed because I let them wait for nanay, and the food. Hahahahaha! But everything was worth it, I tell you! Our plans fell on the right track. As what we have talked about, Mama and Papa will fetch our extended family and we must disappoint her when she will know sissy and I have work at her special day. Then, the guests must coordinate with us so the surprise will follow. Hihihi. SML!

When Lola entered the function hall, we turned the lights off but you can say that the happy air was floating. Funny how she was ranting why they were going inside this dark place of the restaurant but when the lights were opened and the confetti popped, the moment just got slow-mo. My Lola heard the happy birthday song, saw the people dear to her heart, and I don’t know!!! All I know is that it was just an amazing moment! *heart heart heart*

There is no definite program for Lola’s birthday party but we have some things prepared. After Lola thanked each table for coming, we let the restaurant serve the yummy (and heavy gosh busooog!) lunch then. To have an ice breaker while eating the desserts, we played some video greetings from nanay’s relatives outside the country. Everyone was touched, especially Lola’s dabarkads. They even wanted me to upload this little throwback video made by Tita Elein who is in Abu Dhabi already because they love it. Hahaha! Since Max’s has a partnered photographer for events like this, we also had better photos. What do people love to do when they are on parties, take pictures right? Or am I the only one? Hahahahaha! We had photo-ops with everyone before leaving. And indeed, it is a captured moment of forever - as if like lola just celebrated her debut and turned 18. Hahaha!

Since we are in Ayala already, we continued the day together. Yeeezzz, family day! Been so long since we did one eh. Huehue. After the party, my parents went to the supermarket but I did not come because I stayed with my friends. I had my best friend Rov and boyfriend Yasmin with me today as well. They supported my event and they are my family too so they are welcome! My fam treats them like they are members too anyway. Hihihi. Also, bantay ako nila Lolo and Lola. You know, old people, do not want to walk for a long time because they feel tired easily. He he. But okay sooo, Landmark has this contest that when you purchased a certain amount, you can play a game and of course, has a possibility to win. My tito and boyfriend played a ball balance game and flipping a bottle stuff like that. Syempre, cheer cheer ako dun. Hahahahaha! They won little gifts from the supermarket like lotion, wipes, and tissue. Yay, thanks Landmark because the two enjoyed! Hahaha! And most importantly, a family day is of course, with God! We attended the anticipated mass and I am happy that the mass presider is my favorite priest, Fr. Jun Sescon! Learrrned a lot. Should I tell you to repent and come back to God this Temptation Sunday? Hihihi. Thanks for this, Father! And G! I love you God! We love youuuuu! 💖💖

But if you think that will be the end of this post, wait wait, just a minute because the day does not end here. We had luscious dinner at Buddy’s and unlimited twirl ice cream at Family Mart. It was me who asked for a dessert because y not? Hahahahaha! I do not want to end this day, that is why. They kept on complaining how full they are but he he, sorry na, it is like the best family day I eeeverrrrr had again after I can’t remember years eh!?! Don’t wanna add cheesy words pa because you can see how blissed I am. What happened today seems to be just simple but it is full of love, sooo much love. 💖 💖 💖