#the only difference about them is that holmes is alive. sorry james

[corposeco]

[missmollybloom]

New Fic: Couples Retreat

Summary: Two months after the phonecall from Sherrinford and Sherlock Holmes can tell that things haven’t been the same between the detective and his pathologist. With Molly pulling away from him, will an undercover case at a couples’ retreat be enough for Sherlock to show his pathologist that things can go back to normal between them?

(And, as it’s a Sherlolly fic, do you really think “normal” will remain “normal” for long?)

 A/N: So here I am with another WiP. I’m trying a few new things. In terms of plot, I’ve never written a case fic before - so wish me luck! In terms of process I’ve actually plotted the whole thing out so (hopefully!) I shouldn’t write myself into writer’s block and should hopefully update regularly. Here’s to good intentions. I hope you like it!

Also on Ao3 here.

Chapter 1

Sherlock Holmes didn’t like change. Of course, this fact shouldn’t have come as a surprise to anyone. He was, after all, a man who had lived in the same flat for the past ten years, worn the same make and style of Belstaff coat for just as long, and once mourned his favourite brand of ball-tip pen going out of business by sulking on the couch for two weeks.

But the change which Sherlock found hurtling towards him this time was no mere inconvenience like the pens, or couldn’t be handled by stocking up on a cupboard full of identical coats. This change had the power of turning his whole world upside down.

So shaken was Sherlock by the news that it took John only five minutes in his presence for him to declare the detective’s mood so “un-fucking-bearable,” that he was banned from visiting John’s flat until he “pulled his head out of his arse.” Both of these statements were said by his friend mere moments before slamming the door in the detective’s face.

Sherlock couldn’t help it. So blindsided was he by the change that was coming upon him that he had no means to process it outside of the piercing verbal barbs he had flung at his friend. Barbs that were not received well and would, in any other circumstances, have led to a black eye or two.

Sherlock got off lucky – nary a bruise from John shoving him out the door - and only because John knew the one fact that Sherlock was only just discovering: If Molly Hooper left London, Sherlock Holmes would be lost.

Even though Sherlock had no idea before that day that Molly was even contemplating such a thing, there were hints that he missed.

Although he and Molly had been able to continue working together after the awkwardness of explaining that phone call to her, things in the past few months were decidedly different from before.

Molly, for her part, took his explanation well, understanding the situation Eurus had put him in. Nevertheless, there had certainly been a reserve in their exchanges ever since. Sure, she’d do the autopsies he requested, and would work late to run extra tests, but it was all delivered with the cool detachment of a colleague, none of the warmth he’d come to expect, value, even enjoy from Molly.

Even their companionship, the comfortable silence spent working side-by-side in the lab had evaporated over the last few months.

Earlier that morning, the morning Sherlock’s world fell off its axis, he strode into an empty lab that he could tell she’d only just vacated. At the time, it didn’t even cross his mind that she was making every effort to limit her time with him.

But now, as he lay on the couch in Baker street, reflecting on the day that was, he realised that she most certainly was.

---

Earlier that day, Molly heard Sherlock’s familiar voice echoing down the hallway outside her lab. On the phone to John, she guessed. She didn’t bother packing up before leaving through the side door, escaping before he could find her in the lab. She needed some air, needed some space, needed anything other than Sherlock Holmes, and Beppe’s café just down the road from Barts would do the trick.

Making herself scarce whenever Sherlock came around was a habit she had formed ever since the phone call from Sherrinford a few months ago. Of course she couldn’t keep working at Bart’s and never see him, it was, as Mycroft Holmes had called it all those years ago, Sherlock’s “home from home”.

Molly decided that she’d do what he needed for his cases but nothing extra.

No late night phone calls where he used her as a sounding board.

No walks through London like they had spent in the long nights of his recovery after the Culverton Smith case.

Certainly no invitations to eat takeaway in her flat.

Not that he had tried to resume any of their friendship rituals since that day, either.

What the detective didn’t see, or couldn’t perceive in all his intellect was that Molly was a woman in pain. Not for any lack of the detective’s observational prowess; rather, Molly didn’t trust herself to give him the opportunity to see her, had built a wall around herself so thick and although the cement hadn’t yet hardened into toughened concrete as yet, she knew well enough that time spent in Sherlock’s presence would only weaken the foundations, causing the wall to crumble and herself to be revealed.

That phone call had for a moment fulfilled every hope she had ever held for their relationship, only to have said hopes dashed with the sudden silence of the suspended phone line. Even if she kept a kindling of the flames alive for a few hours afterwards, his explanation was a deluge of rain, making it impossible to stoke the embers of her hope back to life again.

It was early morning the next day after the phone call when he arrived. He looked like shit and this was in the opinion of someone who had seen him after faking his death, had seen him hanging over a toilet bowl vomiting bile because his detoxing body couldn’t handle any food, had seen him at his lowest.

But his sunken eyes had seen ghosts that day. He’d also, she’d soon learn, seen her on a screen with a countdown timer that – with four men already dead at Eurus’ hands – gave Sherlock no reason not to believe counted the seconds ticking away in the final minutes of Molly’s life.

“I had no other choice, I hope you’ll understand and one day, even forgive me.” He had asked.

“There is nothing to forgive.” She had lied.

The phone call was an experiment, just as he had said. Just not his.

And the words, said twice and so convincingly, were mere lies to save her life.

How could she ever be so daft as to believe them to be true?

She needed time and space to rebuild from the ashes – which was becoming increasingly difficult with the frequency with which Sherlock had been visiting Barts in the last week.

But Molly Hooper had another plan. There was another way she could maintain her space and heal her heart.

---

Sherlock lay across the lounge at Baker Street. His hands were steepled under his chin as he replayed the events of the day again, scouring them for any hints at what was to come.

Sherlock was about to follow Molly out to her favourite lunch place when his phone rang. Normally, he’d ignore a call from his mother, but with the wounds wrought by Eurus’ reappearance from the dead still raw, he had softened of late in his treatment of his parents.

The recovered memories from his childhood now revealed why his parents had always fretted over him so much.

“Morning mother,” he began.

“Oh Sherlock, I’m so glad you answered. Are you well?”

“Yep,” he said, popping the P. “Is that why you called? Checking in on my health? Because it’s easier to text.”

“No dear, it’s Cheryl Williamson – do you remember her, from my square dancing troupe?”

“Yes,” he lied, without any attempt to sound convincing.

His mother continued, “Well it’s her son, James. Well actually it’s his wife Melanie. You see, she’s missing and I was hoping-“

“Solved it.” He cut her off.  “She left him.”

“No! That’s just the thing!” His mother persisted, “They’d just been to a couples’ retreat.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. So far, so boring.

“Can you please look into it for me?”

He didn’t have the heart to say no. But he also knew how little attention he could give such a case and still count it as keeping his promise to his mother. Five minutes on the internet should do the trick.

��Of course I will.”

Sherlock hung up before his mother finished showering him with effusive praise.

He needed a computer, and he knew just where to find one.

Having succeeded in avoiding Sherlock earlier, Molly was shocked to find him in her office sat at her computer when she returned to Bart’s.

“Sorry. I had a case,” was his greeting.

“Won’t be long,” he added, all without looking up from the screen.

“Oh, that’s ok, I’ll just-“ Molly placed down her take-away bag from Beppe’s café on the desk and turned to leave.

“You can stay.” He said, gesturing to the visitor’s chair. “It is your office after all.”

As much as she wanted to leave, there was a not insignificant part of her that missed the companionship they used to share as they worked together in the lab. She opened the take-away tiramisu cake and started eating it.

“MrsDawson1976 isn’t a very strong password, Molly”.

“I’ll be sure to change it.”

“I would have pegged you for a Pacey fan, anyway.”

“I would have assumed you would have deleted all knowledge of American teen dramas from the 1990s.”

She should have left it at that, but it was Sherlock and he was on a case, so curiosity got the better of her.

“What’s the case?” she couldn’t help asking.

“Missing woman. Wife of a son of a friend of my mum’s.”

“What a good boy you are,” Molly teased with a wry smile. “Any leads?”

“Not a one,” Sherlock said, frowning, eyes scouring the screen for more clues. “It seems that she left early from a couples retreat four weeks ago and vanished, leaving no trace.”

This was where she would usually chime in. This was where she would have joined him on his side of the desk, standing so close that she could see the stubble forming on his chin, nose filled with the scent of him, a scent she craved and had to admit she had been missing.

But she didn’t join him.

Instead, she stood.

“Good luck with it,” Molly said, standing, punctuating her exit by throwing the empty cake container in the bin.

---

Sherlock watched her go. It was the longest time she’d voluntarily spent in his presence in months, and it had only been a few minutes.

He had seen in her a vacillation, a moment in which she may have come and helped him, but it evaporated in an instant, and Sherlock was left alone.

His searches for Melanie Williamson had yielded no clues. Her mobile phone was dead. Her accounts had not been accessed. Her car remained on the street where she’d parked it in front of her flat before taking the train to North Norfolk for the couples’ retreat.

The woman, it seemed, had evaporated.

Curious indeed.

Online avenues of inquiry all exhausted, Sherlock was about to turn off Molly’s computer when an email alert popped up. Normally, her inbox was full of messages from Mike Stamford, or questions from her various trainees, or subscriptions to online shopping sales from H+M or Topshop, her brands of choice.

He would have ignored all these. But not this one. This one he had to open based on the preview text alone.

 From: Recruitment@Glasgow.Royal.nhs.uk

Subject: Progress of your application

Dear Doctor Hooper, thank you for your interview on Zoom last week. We are in the final stages of reference checks and will inform you of our decision in the coming week.

Warmly,

Jane Harper

HR manager, Glasgow Royal Hospital.

 Molly had applied for another job.

Molly had interviewed for another job.

Said job was in Glasgow.

This wouldn’t do. Sherlock strode out of Molly’s office and upstairs to the one man who could make sense of what was going on.

It turns out that Mike was in the middle of a call when Sherlock arrived, and from what Sherlock heard, it was the reference check that the email referred to.

“Hang up.” Sherlock declared.

“Sorry?” Mike said.

“Hang up!”

Sherlock didn’t wait, placing his fingers on the receiver cradle to cut off the call.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Mike asked, face reddening.

“What do you think you’re doing, Mike? Molly can’t leave Bart’s!”

“She can if she wants to, mate. Do you know how many headhunters have been after her in the past 10 years? She’s said no to every single one.”

“But what has changed?” He asked himself, rather than Mike.

---

Having reviewed all available data from the day, Sherlock stood from the lounge. Taking his violin out of its case, he plucked at the strings, hoping the familiarity of the instrument would give him peace, help him understand.

He didn’t know how long he had been playing, or precisely what he had been playing, but from the look on Mrs Hudson’s face, it had been a while, and not necessarily music that was soothing to the soul.

“I need to sleep Sherlock,” his landlady had pleaded. “I’ve got the ladies coming over to play bridge tomorrow.”

In the past he would have snapped at her. In the past he would have taken out his frustrations on the wall or on the mantlepiece.

Instead, he stood, grabbing his coat and leaving without a word.

He walked for hours through the streets of London. It was a habit he used to do alone, but during his detox and recovery, Molly had joined him.

Over the course of a few weeks he had shown her all the cases he could remember, those details he hadn’t deleted or outsourced to John’s blog to keep an historical record of.

As he walked tonight, he wasn’t recounting cases, he wasn’t even focusing on the case at hand – the disappearance of Melanie Williamson. All his attention, all his mental energy was spent unpacking the curious behaviour of his pathologist.

It was obvious that Eurus’ little game, her emotional vivisection, was not without its cost. He could see that now, so clearly. Molly had withdrawn from him, and rightly so. But, if he was honest, he had allowed her to.

It would only take one visit to her flat with chips, one phonecall to chat through his thinking in a case, one day like the day they’d spent solving crimes together after his return from the dead and she would see what he already knew, that nothing needed to change, they could return to how things were before Eurus came and fucked everything up between them.

And that was the answer – a case – and one staring him in the face!

Two birds, one stone.

---

It was 5am when Molly awoke to a not unfamiliar sight of Sherlock Holmes stood over her bed.

“What is it?” she said, voice horse, eyes bleary.

“I need help with a case.”

Molly reached for her dressing gown, pulling it tightly around her as she sat up.

“Is there a body?” she asked.

“No.”

“Well, is there some test you need?”

“No.”

“Then what do you need?”

“You-“ a beat, the couplet had passed between them on a night completely different from this one.

Sensing the charged atmosphere in the air, Sherlock continued.

“Four weeks ago, Melanie and James Williamson attended a couples retreat in North Norfolk. Melanie left the retreat early and hasn’t been seen from since.”

“So what do you need?”

“I need you to go undercover with me at the retreat.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No – I’m sure you’ve heard the word before Sherlock.” Molly paced to the kitchen, putting on the kettle.

“I’m familiar with it, but I don’t understand,” he said as he followed her.

“I can’t drop everything and go chasing after white rabbits with you whenever you feel like it.”

Sherlock didn’t understand the reference.

“Alice in Wonderland, look it up sometime.”

Sherlock persisted in his questioning “Why not?”

“I’m not John. I’m not your partner. I’m your-“ Molly paused, stuck for words. “I don’t even know what I am Sherlock. But whatever it is it doesn’t entail being at your beck and call 24/7. I have my own life.”

She didn’t say it but he knew. Glasgow loomed unspoken between them.

He wanted her to stay in London, wanted to tell her how important she was to him, how he couldn’t do his job without her help. He wanted to say he was sorry that things got so fucked up by his sister. He wanted to commit to making things go back to just like they were before the phone call.

He was going to say it all, but the sound of a text alert from Greg sliced through the silence between them.

Sherlock read it, then showed Molly the screen.

James Williamson didn’t show up to work yesterday.

“Two people, Molly. I can’t go in there on my own.”

Everything he could see in Molly, the clench of her jaw, the intake of air sharply through her nose, the fingers balled into fists at her side told him she was about to say no.

Which was why Sherlock was so surprised when she agreed.

“Yes. I’ll go with you.” She said, “but I have some rules first.”

[seehowsupplethespineis]

Some Crazy 19th Century Literary Characters Live Together And It Goes About As Well As One Would Think

(Hullo! Yes, it has been awhile since anything has been posted here, and I’m breaking that hiatus with this bit of utter nonsense! Drawing Entity and I had a roleplay recently with classic literary characters who are a bit sketchy, so I decided to take that concept and turn it into a story. Is it to be taken seriously? Nope. This is just me poking fun at some characters that I love in a “what if” scenario. It’s all meant to be humorous and ridiculous.)

(Characters include Van Helsing from Dracula, Moreau from The Island of Doctor Moreau, Griffin from The Invisible Man, Frankenstein from Frankenstein, Gray from The Picture of Dorian Gray, Jekyll and Hyde from Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Moriarty from one of the Sherlock Holmes stories, and Raskolnikov from Crime and Punishment.)

(Note: I know all the characters come from different decades, so this is broadly set somewhere in the mid-1800s. They’re all about as old as they are in their stories. Also, when you see “<...>,” that means they’re speaking in Russian, since Raskolnikov is Russian.)

(Warnings: Blood, violence, weapons, mentioned mauling, gore, hangover, mentions of drinking, generally apathetic characters, brief mention of depressive behavior)

Morning light managed to escape the neverending grey of the mist outside. It shone through the dew speckled window and shined a light on Abraham Van Helsing, who’d been awake for the past three hours or so reading science article after science article. Some of them were new, some of them he’d read but needed a refresher on. Van Helsing wasn’t one to sleep in when there was reading to be done or work to complete (work usually meant preparing for his next escapade into the cemetery, or simply going to teach at the local university).

Glancing at the clock on the wall, the old man saw the time to be half past 7.00, which meant breakfast would be served shortly. Folding up his magazine, he slowly slid out of bed, stretching cramped muscles. Becoming increasingly old meant that he was wiser with each day, so he supposed it was only fair his body maintain balance by withering away. It didn’t make the ache in his back any less irritating, though.

Van Helsing got himself washed up and dressed, then proceeded to the door. He noticed the doorknob shone more than usual. With a sigh, he withdrew his handkerchief from his pocket and turned the handle with it wrapped around his hand. We really must confront Moriarty about this.

As he stepped out onto the landing, Van Helsing heard soft footsteps immediately stop. Turning, he caught sight of a squat, hairy man with roguish features paused in front of the door to Jekyll’s quarters. The man looked at him, then at the door, then back again.

Van Helsing gestured impatiently, “Oh, go on then. Don’t make Jekyll late for breakfast.”

The short man grinned, tipped his top hat, then proceeded quietly into Jekyll’s room. Van Helsing cast his gaze up to the ceiling as he moved to the staircase. Hyde had been late to return, which meant he’d probably gotten up to his ears in trouble, which meant an angry mob banging on their door sometime this morning, which meant Van Helsing had to hurry and eat so he could calm the troubled citizens.

Quickening his pace, he reached the ground floor and strode purposefully to the dining hall, hoping their cook had finished preparing the meal. They’d gone through several cooks this month, either because the last one quit or disappeared without a trace in the middle of the night. It was always the same story, and sometimes Van Helsing was glad he didn’t know the exact end.

Griffin was the only one at the table when Van Helsing arrived. He could tell by the floating robes at the far end, as well as the floating newspaper.

“Good morning, Dr Griffin.”

A “harumph” was the only response.

“Did you sleep well?”

“No.”

“I am sorry to hear that.” Van Helsing settled himself at the head of the table, folding his hands in his lap, “Any exciting news today?” 

“Just the usual political drivel.” The paper began folding itself in mid-air then went sliding across the table. Van Helsing caught it and examined the newsprint for himself. As always, he scanned the pages for any mentions of unusual happenings, like a missing corpse or reports of a blood-sucking creature. He found none but knew that hardly meant there were no vampires in the area.

The door opened just then to admit a young man with dark hair and a wary expression.

“Good morning, Rodion Romanovich.”

Raskolnikov gave Van Helsing a tight nod then seated himself beside the older man, hunching over in his seat.

“How did you sleep?” Van Helsing asked.

The young man considered how to respond for a few seconds before alighting on the proper words, speaking with a thick Russian accent, “I slept well.”

“Perfect!” Van Helsing beamed. Raskolnikov seemed pleased with himself.

“Good morning, housemates!” The door was thrown open and Dorian Gray sauntered in, flashing everyone a dazzling smile with perfect teeth. Raskolnikov shrank in his seat and Van Helsing was sure he heard Griffin sigh.

Gray collapsed neatly into a chair, throwing his legs up on the seat beside him, “I trust you all had a good night. I can say that I did.”

“I’ll bet,” Griffin huffed, “I saw you drinking in the common room when I went up to bed at midnight.”

“Oh, I was just having a bit of fun. You all can be such downers and sometimes spirits are the only way to lift my spirits.”

“How are you not hungover?”

“I didn’t have that much.”

“Didn’t- You and Hyde nearly finished our entire supply!”

“Mr Hyde was with you?” Van Helsing spoke up.

“He was for about an hour, then he said he had ‘business elsewhere’ and jumped out the window. Strange fellow.”

Van Helsing nodded gloomily. A drunk Hyde running amok in England was not good.

“I think we should be prepared for another mob, then.” he said as someone else came into the room.

“Another mob?” Dr Moreau paused in the entryway, “But I covered my tracks!”

Van Helsing looked up, “Beg pardon?”

Moreau frowned, “Are we talking about me?”

“We were not.”

“Oh, well then, I guess I’m safe.” The vivisectionist quietly took his place beside Griffin. Van Helsing considered questioning him but decided against it; there was an unspoken policy of don’t-ask-about-my-illegal-activities-and-I-won’t-ask-about-yours in this house.

James Moriarty was the next to arrive. His serpentine like gaze raked over his housemates as he stood by the door and fixed on Van Helsing.

Van Helsing waved, “Yes, professor, I am still alive. Try harder next time.”

Moriarty came to sit next to Gray, “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re speaking of.”

“Poison on the doorknob? Really?” Van Helsing continued, “How childish.”

“I can assure you, my fellow professor, that if I wished you dead, I’d go about it in a more clever way.” Moriarty sniffed, “Poison is far beneath me.”

Van Helsing rolled his eyes, “Well, if it wasn’t you, then who?”

“Perhaps it was one of those vampires you’re always going on about.”

“Nonsense! I’ve vampire-proofed this house. No creature of the night is coming in here.”

“My mistake.” Moriarty sighed. He turned in his seat, “Where is that cook? Breakfast should have been on the table five minutes ago.”

“He’s new here.” Van Helsing said in the cook’s defense, “Give him time. It can’t be easy catering to... people like us.”

“You mean mad people.” Gray translated, “It’s alright, you can say it. We all know you people are crazy.”

“ ‘You people’ not including yourself, I presume.” Griffin grumbled.

Gray grinned at him, “You presume correctly.”

Raskolnikov frowned at all of them and leaned over to Van Helsing, “<What are they talking about?>”

Van Helsing folded up his newspaper, “<We are just wondering where the cook is.>”

“<Has another one disappeared?>”

“<I hope not.>”

The doors were once again pushed open and a timid young man trudged in. His appearance was quite professional, though Van Helsing noted his hair was not properly combed back and his hands fidgeting and nervous. His skin was an unnatural pallor and his expression quite haggard.

“Sorry I’m late.” Dr Jekyll slowly sat beside Raskolnikov, nearly toppling out of his seat. He shaded his eyes against the lamp light “I slept in.”

Everyone exchanged an almost imperceptible glance at that, but no one said anything out loud. Jekyll still hadn’t quite grasped that everyone here was well aware of his “secret.” Van Helsing figured he should let him know sometime, though he couldn’t pretend seeing the doctor flustered as he struggled for alibis wasn’t amusing.

“How are you today, Doctor? You seem… off.” Van Helsing said politely.

Jekyll’s restless gaze snapped up to the older man, “Oh, no, just… slept… wrong.”

“I see...” Hyde must have left him with a serious hangover; his excuses were usually a lot better put together than that.

The table lapsed into silence, broken only by Gray’s humming and the crinkling of paper as Moriarty read the news.

It was Moreau who spoke next, “Where’s Frankenstein?”

Everyone glanced around, having not noticed their housemate wasn’t there.

Moriarty sighed, “He’s probably sulking in his room again.”

“Who wants to go get him this time?” Griffin asked.

When no one was quick to volunteer, Van Helsing took up the initiative, “I’ll fetch him.”

He left the others to their tense silence and marched up the stairs to Victor Frankenstein’s bedroom. The poor man always seemed to get up late and go to bed early, unless he was seized by some fit of scientific passion, though he inevitably dissolved into sobs afterwards. The young scientist always seemed to feel guilty about something.

The old man reached his door and knocked firmly, “Mr Frankenstein? Are you alright?”

There was no response.

He knocked again, “We’re all gathered for breakfast! We would appreciate it if you joined us!”

Still nothing.

Van Helsing huffed in annoyance, “Mr Frankenstein, you have stayed locked up in your room since yesterday morning, and, as far as I know, have not eaten anything since. Now come out of there and have a meal with us.”

There was a long pause, then Van Helsing heard bolts slowly slide back behind the door until it was open enough for a ragged face to peek out.

“Good morning.” Van Helsing said.

Frankenstein gave a long sigh, “I don’t deserve a good morning.”

“Well, I think you do.” the professor slowly pushed the door open wider, “Are you ready to come down?”

“If I have to be.” Frankenstein stepped out into the hallway, blinking against the light from one of the windows. Van Helsing noticed he hadn’t changed since yesterday morning, and probably hadn’t changed since the morning before that.

The two of them walked back downstairs together and into the dining room.

Everyone was gone.

“Hello?” Van Helsing called, a cold feeling of dread creeping upon him, “Dr Moreau? Mr Gray? Rodion Romanovich?”

“In here!” someone called from the side door leading into the kitchen. Van Helsing exchanged a glance with Frankenstein and they rushed to join the others.

All the residents were gathered in a circle around Griffin, who was crouched over a still form on the ground. Van Helsing immediately recognized it as the cook they’d hired not a week ago, despite the blood coating the victim from head to toe and his torn features.

Griffin lifted the cook’s arm by an un-marred section of skin then let it flop to the ground. He cleared his throat, “This man is dead.” he declared.

“Obviously, Sherlock.” Gray said.

“What did I say about using that name?” Moriarty groused.

“How did this happen?” Van Helsing demanded.

Raskolnikov was suddenly very alert, “<It wasn’t me!>”

Moriarty shook his head, “This wasn’t done by a man. This is the work of a wild animal…”

Everyone grew quiet, then slowly turned to Moreau, who was trying to sneak unnoticed out of the room. He paused as he realized they’d caught him.

He sighed, “Alright, in my defense, I was sure that lion was human enough.”

“It’s a lion, idiot!” Griffin exclaimed, “Human doesn’t factor in!”

“I was making progress! He even started speaking!”

“Did he say he was hungry?” Gray asked.

Moreau glared at him, “He wasn’t that intelligent!”

“Yet you let him run amok!” Griffin yelled, sleeves waving in agitation.

“I kept him locked in the closet!”

“Oh, so that’s where you’re supposed to keep a man-eating lion?!”

“He broke out of his cage! Where was I supposed to put him?”

“Um, guys,” Jekyll’s voice was quiet and only Van Helsing seemed to hear him, “Where’d the lion go?”

Bang!

Everyone jumped as the front doors shook from the force of a mass of people throwing themselves against it.

Oh, the mob. Van Helsing had nearly forgotten to expect them.

“Everybody be quiet!” he shouted. The authority in his voice served to silence the bickering scientists, “We’ve got another angry mob outside and a lion on the loose! Now is not the time to argue among ourselves!”

He paused, formulating a plan, “Moreau, you, Frankenstein, and Moriarty find that lion and kill it if necessary. Gray and Jekyll, you come with me to handle the mob. Griffin, Rodion Romanovich, since no one can either see or understand you, keep yourselves locked in one of your bedrooms and stay together.”

“Fine by me!” Griffin had already grabbed Raskolnikov’s sleeve and was racing out of the room with the confused Russian in tow.

“Why must I stay here and handle Moreau’s mess?” Moriarty asked with a sniff.

“Because you’re the smartest of all of us.” Van Helsing said slyly, “You’ll slay that lion easily with that clever head of yours.”

Moriarty nodded, conceding that he was in fact the smartest. Moreau looked distraught.

“Don’t kill it! I’ve been working on him for months!”

“It’s either him or us, pal,” Gray shouted over his shoulder as he sauntered out the door, “And I’m too pretty to die.”

Van Helsing followed the retreating socialite, Jekyll lurching after them.

There were about 30 citizens gathered outside from what Van Helsing could see as he peeked out the window, each armed with all manner of crude weaponry, including brooms and shovels. Bracing himself, Van Helsing pushed open the door, making the crowd fall back.

“What’s all this about?” he asked, trying to appear friendly.

“You know very well what it’s about!” a woman cried, “There’s been a murder in the village, and Mr Hyde is to blame!”

Jekyll gave a quiet “eep” behind Van Helsing. The professor turned to see the doctor’s pale face, deducing that Hyde probably did commit this crime. It wouldn’t be the first time.

But perhaps… “How was the victim killed?” he asked.

“He was beaten by his own cane until his head caved in!”

No, that was Hyde alright. Part of him hoped it might have been the lion or some other crazy person.

“I saw him from my bedroom window!” a man shouted from the back, “He was coming from the murder scene!”

“Lots of people probably came from the general direction in which the crime was committed,” Gray said with an easy smile, “That doesn’t necessarily have to mean they did it.”

The townspeople seemed taken aback, not from Gray’s words, but from his dashing smile. It always seemed to stun anyone subjected to it, at least anyone who didn’t know Gray well enough to see he was an awful person.

Van Helsing seized their advantage, “Exactly! You cannot convict a man with such flimsy evidence. As far as I can tell, no one actually witnessed the murder, so no one can testify. Hyde was simply minding his own business on the city streets, as he is wont to do.”

“B-But…” Gray’s smile intensified and the protester shut up.

Van Helsing slowly stepped back into the house, leaving Gray to further calm the mob. He was good at that. Jekyll had remained partially indoors during the whole interaction and leaped back into the safety of the parlor.

“Now that that’s settled,” Van Helsing began, “I suppose we should help-”

“AAAAAAAUUUUUGGGGGHHHHHH!!!”

Van Helsing and Jekyll jumped in fright at the scream emanating from upstairs.

“Who was that?” Jekyll shouted in alarm, clasping his hands to his ears. From the dining room, Moreau, Frankenstein, and Moriarty came pouring out.

“Egad, the lion must be up there!” Moriarty cried.

“THE LION’S UP HERE!” Griffin’s panicked scream confirmed Moriarty’s suspicion, “HELP US!!!”

“I’ll get a sedative!” Moreau rushed to his room.

“Forget the sedative! We have to put it down!” Frankenstein seemed seized by a fit of determination. He’d grabbed one of the kitchen knives and brandished it as he followed Moreau up the stairs, “You will never kill again, monster!!!”

Gray poked his head inside as he heard all the shouting, “What the heck is going on in here? You’re ruining my progress with this crowd!”

“The lion’s going to eat us!” Jekyll screamed and started running for the backdoor, face-planting into it first before managing to throw it open. Moriarty glanced from him to Van Helsing, then followed the retreating doctor.

“What?!” Gray looked to Van Helsing for guidance.

“Just keep them calm!” Van Helsing instructed and sprinted toward the staircase, “We’ll handle this!”

Taking the stairs two at a time, Van Helsing made his way up to the second level. He’d barely made it halfway before he was gasping for air, his old legs wobbling like jelly. Sprinting had been a bad plan.

“No!” Moreau had a loaded syringe in hand and was chasing after Frankenstein, who was already to Griffin’s bedroom door, “Don’t kill him!”

Frankenstein kicked the door open as Van Helsing made it all the way up, putting on a burst of speed.

The lion was, indeed, very human-like. While it still hunched over, it remained upright, its digitigrade legs trembling with the effort. Its face was feline yet something in the shape of the jaw and the arch of the forehead and nose gave it a human air, an altogether grotesque combination. It had hands with long fingers ending in sharp claws but still no thumb. The torso was thin, crooked slightly to make it stay standing. The tail stuck out so it could keep its balance.

Griffin and Raskolnikov were backed into a corner, the invisible man with a chair leveled at the beast. He turned as the others rushed in.

“Took you long enough!”

Raskolnikov was saying something in Russian too fast for Van Helsing to translate. All he could catch was “ax,” before the young man was darting out of the room, narrowly avoiding a swipe from the lion.

“Get back, monster!” Frankenstein was leaping forward, knife poised to drive into the creature’s chest. The lion growled and sank awkwardly down onto four legs in order to leap at its new prey.

“No!” Frankenstein was tackled by a flying Moreau and they landed in a heap on the floor. The vivisectionist struggled to his feet as he held Frankenstein down.

“It’s alright!” he said to his creation, “We can talk about this! Just stand up and come with me. Four legs bad, remember?”

The lion growled, crouching lower, “Do not… want… two legs. Want… kill… you!”

It pounced on Moreau and Frankenstein who screamed in terror as Griffin and Van Helsing both yelled in alarm.

Then the creature fell dead on the floor.

Raskolnikov had managed to bolt past Van Helsing and driven an ax into its head, killing it in an instant. Blood spattered the young Russian’s clothes and dripped onto Moreau’s pants.

The doctor stared in silent horror for a few seconds then shoved his creation off him and staggered to his feet, syringe falling from slack hands. Frankenstein followed suit, still gripping the knife like he was afraid the lion was only faking death.

Griffin set his chair down and stepped forward, “Good job, kid! Another moment and we’d all have been dead!”

Van Helsing released a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding, “Yes, fortunate you found that ax in time.”

Raskolnikov didn’t seem to hear them, his gaze fixated on the blood soaking into his pants and socks. He let the ax fall from his grip, where it slowly slid from the gaping wound in the lion’s head and fell to the ground with a thud. Van Helsing frowned as he noticed the Russian had used the back side of the ax instead of the frontal blade. Then he watched as Raskolnikov reeled out of the room and into the hallway, disappearing around the corner.

Griffin shrugged, “Must not like the sight of blood.”

“I didn’t want it dead.” Moreau said quietly, drawing everyone’s attention to him, “If I could only have reached it…”

“Well, you didn’t, though I can’t say I’m not disappointed it didn’t manage to eat you.” Griffin glared, “Now get this carcass out of my room.”

Van Helsing was too tired to get caught up in another argument and trudged back to the stairs. Frankenstein was soon beside him, fingering the kitchen knife.

“You might want to put that back.” Van Helsing pointed out.

The younger man started at his voice, “Oh, yeah, I guess so…”

“It was very brave of you to confront the lion as you did.” Van Helsing added.

Frankenstein’s jaw clenched and his gaze had a far away quality to it, “If only I had before…”

He turned swiftly and disappeared back into his room before Van Helsing could ask what that meant. Sighing, the old man walked slowly back to the ground level.

“It’s safe to come in!” he called.

Gray opened the front door and came inside, the mob apparently having left, “Is it dead?”

“Yes, Rodion Romanovich killed him.”

Gray sighed in relief, “Good! Tell that vivisectionist to cut out those experiments or we’ll all be mauled to death.”

“I’ll encourage him to work on herbivorous specimens instead.”

“Great.” Gray grabbed his coat from the hanger beside the door, “Well, I’ve got a date at the theater. See you!”

The door made a resounding thud as it closed, just as the back door opened and Jekyll and Moriarty peeked inside.

“You said it’s dead?” Jekyll asked.

“Yes.”

The doctor stepped inside, Moriarty right behind him.

“I’m, uh, off to my room then.” Jekyll said. He had a pained look on his face, as if trying to hold something back. Van Helsing gestured for him to head back upstairs, realizing his other half was about to rear his head as a result of all the excitement. The doctor hurried up the stairs as fast as his flimsy legs would allow.

Moriarty nodded to Van Helsing, “I’ll be in the library should you need me.”

“We could have used you when handling the lion.” Van Helsing said a tad testily.

The criminal mastermind quirked an eyebrow, “I am not in the business of slaying brutes, professor. If you need someone to do your dirty work, I suggest you enlist another’s help. Good day.”

He marched off with all the rigid pomp he could muster, which was quite a lot. Van Helsing sighed, knowing, as master of the house, he should probably help Griffin and Moreau with the dead lion. He slowly marched back upstairs.

And I thought battling Dracula would be the most excitement I’d get in my life...

[honeypiehotchner]

Deception -- part five

Some angst! So sorry. But it’s only a little. 

“I’ve decided something.”

           “Have you?” I ask in surprise. I can always tell when it’s going to be a good session because John begins talking before he even sits down. Like now. He threw that statement out into the air as he hangs his coat by the door. “Well, I am excited to hear about this decision. Let’s get started.”

           And so, it begins. For the fifth time, John and I are sitting here across from each other, only this time, I don’t think it’ll be as painful to get him to talk to me. He even seems like he’s having a good day today, and I know good days can be rare.

           “So. What have you decided?”

           “I’m moving out,” John replies, nodding and seeming sure of himself. “I’ve gotten a place somewhere else, away from Baker Street. And I’m thinking of getting a different job, too. Closer to the new place.” He shrugs, the façade beginning to fall away as a sad smile crosses his lips. “It’s a fresh start.”

           I smile sadly. “I’m proud of you, John. It’s a big step. But it’s okay to feel…strange about leaving Baker Street.”

           “Is it strange?” John replies, mostly asking himself. “I mean, I only lived there for two years. Not long enough for it to be a home—”

           “There is no time requirement for a place to begin feeling like home,” I counter. “That feeling can come within weeks, months, years, decades. It can happen quickly or not at all.”

           John nods, but doesn’t acknowledge any of that. “Well, I need a fresh start. It’s…It’s hard living there, going through his stuff.”

           I tilt my head. “Have you been going through his stuff?” He never told me that he had actually been able to sort through Sherlock’s things.

           “Somewhat,” John says quietly. “Mainly cleaning up experiments he left in the kitchen so I can cook. I got tired of maneuvering around them, I suppose.”

           “Ah, so you have been eating.”

           “Yes, I’ve been eating,” John mutters, brushing past the fact. “But he left a mess. He always left a mess. Hardly ever cleaned up behind himself and would never let me or Mrs. Hudson clean anything. Mrs. Hudson went to dust off the table yesterday and stopped herself.” He chuckles sadly. “Even in death, Sherlock is still preventing her from dusting.”

           “It’s perfectly normal to still respect the dead’s wishes from when they were alive.”

           John narrows his eyes. “Why is it normal?”

           I hesitate, not entirely sure why he’s asking. We’ve been down this road before. Where he asks a question but only to argue, not because he really wants to know the answer. And judging by his expression, I think this is another one of those times.

           So, I answer accordingly.

           “Believe it or not, grief is normal,” I pause, holding up my hand so he won’t interrupt me. “I’m not saying it’s normal because I’m saying it’s a positive sunshine-and-rainbows thing. I’m saying it’s normal, so you’ll stop beating yourself up for the way you’re feeling. It’s normal and valid to miss someone, John, and it’s absolutely understandable for you to be feeling this way after your best friend died.” Even if he still hasn’t really told me – of course, I know what happened, but he hasn’t told me the rest of what went down. He hasn’t talked about it. Whenever he’s talked about Sherlock, it’s been about what he used to do when he was around. And that’s the extent of it. There hasn’t been a single mention of that day Sherlock jumped since John’s mention of it during our first session.

           But I don’t need to tell John that he has to talk about it because he knows he has to. He just doesn’t want to.

           He shakes his head. “This isn’t normal.”

           “What’s not normal?”

           “This!” He yells, flinging his arms in the air. “This situation, it’s not normal! It’s not normal to listen to your best friend try to convince you that he’s nothing but a fraud – begging me to believe what the papers are saying. And it’s not normal to watch him fall to his death, even after I told him to stop it and after I tried to tell him not to jump, it’s—” He stops himself, realizing he’s talked about it again, finally let it spill out after three weeks of trying so hard to avoid it.

           “John…”

           “No,” he shakes his head. “I don’t want to talk about it. I can’t.”

           “John, you’ve just told me your friend was begging you to think he was a fraud and that he jumped after you tried to talk him down. That’s traumatic enough to send anyone on a downward spiral.”

           “There was so much blood,” he mutters. “So much blood, it was…” He clears his throat. “You know, I’ve been to war. I have seen my fellow soldiers die in front of my eyes, but none of them have hurt as much as this one.”

           “You were talking to him right before he jumped, John,” I reply. “The others were probably sudden, and you were at war. You knew it was something that could happen.” It never hurts as much when it happens in the moment like that. Because they can always be spoken about as a hero, dying while fighting the good fight and while fighting for a cause bigger than themselves. Suicide is different in that way.

           “I never thought Sherlock would jump,” John shakes his head. “Never.”

           “What did he say to you, John? Why did you think he wouldn’t jump?”

           “Because it was all Moriarty,” John seethes. “Richard Brook is what everyone calls him now, but he’s James Moriarty. He’s the same man that tied a bomb to me and tried to kill us both in a darkened swimming pool all those months ago. He made the whole nation believe Sherlock was some insane twat, but Sherlock never cared about what people thought of him. He hated people, thought they were all idiots.” I nod, taking notes blindly as I let him continue. “I’m angry with him. It makes no bloody sense!”

           “What doesn’t make sense?”

           “Aren’t you listening? Why would someone as dense as Sherlock Holmes, jump to his death because a bunch of people thought he was a fake? It was never about his reputation. He hated being in the papers—”

           “Did he hate being in the papers, or was that a deflecting tactic he used to hide the fact that he liked the attention?” I pause. “I’m only asking because from what I’ve heard, Sherlock doesn’t sound like a person to hate something – the press – when it strokes his ego. Especially if they were originally for him.”

           John taps his fingers almost angrily on the arm of his chair. “I don’t know.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know, and I’m starting to think I didn’t know him at all, really.” I open my mouth to reply, but he stops me. “And if you say that’s normal, I might leave.”

           I close my mouth, nodding sheepishly. “Fair enough.” I pause. “Can I ask… Why do you care about Sherlock’s reputation? I mean, you said it yourself, he didn’t care what people thought of him, so why should you?”

           “I guess I just thought if he wasn’t going to care, then someone had to.”

           “But why you? Why put that burden on your shoulders to take care of someone else’s reputation? Especially if they don’t care about it at all. Why not look after your own and only your own?”

           “Because he’s my best friend,” John replies, voice breaking. “He never saw himself as a genius detective – not really. He’s cocky, so of course he’d tell people he was one, but I know that’s not what he really saw when he looked in a mirror. I caught him muttering different deductions about himself one day. Manipulative. Cold. Fragile.”

           “So you wanted to take care of him.”

           “No, God, I’m not his mother!” John nearly screams. “I don’t know what I wanted, but I don’t want everyone thinking he’s a fraud!”

           “John,” I sigh, leaning forward. “It’s okay to care about how he is seen, but there are ways to take care of and preserve Sherlock’s legacy that don’t entail you running yourself into the ground.”

           “Like what?”

           “Like, I don’t know,” I shrug. “Donate some of the science supplies to a local school. Put them to good use. Tidy up the flat at Baker Street, maybe take some of his books with you to your place to remember him by. Keep up your blog—”

           “My blog?” John reels back. “I haven’t mentioned my blog.”

           “Forgive me for Googling you,” I admit. “I had heard about it but was never interested enough until you began talking about the cases you two would go on. I had to investigate. I apologize if I overstepped a boundary in doing that.”

           He nods, and for a moment I think he might actually storm out of my house, but he doesn’t. He does what I should’ve expected because I know – from his blog, and from how he acts sometimes – he’s witty on his own.

           He folds his hands together, almost smirking. “What did you think of it?”

           I decide to humor him. “I thought it was interesting. Well written. No wonder so many people read it and have grown to love you two. You wrote about the cases and about Sherlock in such a way that can… You wrote about him so personally that I felt myself beginning to think I was there with you, running around, solving murders.”

           He nods, all sign of a smile wiped from his face. He obviously wasn’t expecting that answer to come from me, and that’s okay. It always brings me a strange sense of pride when I can catch him off guard enough to render him speechless. It’s hard to do.

           “Look,” I pause, glancing to my watch. “We’re almost out of time, but I really want you to think about keeping up the blog. I know it’s not easy to talk about, but maybe it would be easier to write it out. And it would keep his legacy alive. You don’t have to mention Richard Brook or Moriarty or any of that. You can just talk about Sherlock.” I smile softly. “People love the blog because of how authentic it is. Keep being authentic, and they’ll keep reading.”

           “Okay,” he nods seriously. “Okay, I’ll think about it.”

           “Good,” I chuckle, surprised that it was that easy. “I’m glad.”

           “Just promise me one thing,” he blurts, to which I look at him expectantly. “Don’t read it.”

           “Okay,” I reply slowly. “Can I ask why you don’t want me to?”

           “Because if I write something I want you to read, I’ll bring it here and discuss it in here.”

           “But the blog is public, John, anyone can read it—”

           “I’m asking you not to.”

           “Okay,” I let out a laugh, only agreeing because I know he’s not going to give up. “Alright. I won’t read it. You have my word.”

           “Thank you,” he nods.

           “You’re welcome,” I reply, giving him a strange look as I stand from the chair, ready to walk him to the door.

           He swings his coat back over his shoulders as I stand at the door, ready to pull it open once he is done. As he steps in front of me, he smiles briefly, such a contrast from earlier when he was angry with me for saying grief is normal. I pull the door open, allowing him to step through.

           “Oh, and John?”

           He spins around, eyebrows raised. “Yeah?”

           “Thank you for the other day. Walking me to my car in the rain and all.”

           “Oh,” he chuckles, remembering. “It’s no problem.”

           “Still. I appreciate it.” I tap the door absentmindedly. “Have a nice day, Dr. Watson.”

           “You too, doctor,” he smiles, walking down the front steps and onto the sidewalk. He casts one more glance my way before he’s out of sight, leaving me both satisfied and confused by this session.

[astudyinimagination]

Let’s cut to the chase: this fic is about Sherlock Holmes and vampires

So either you’re going to be interested in it or you won’t be, because this story unfortunately does not have a title yet. (Nor is it Halloween anymore—I spent the first 45 minutes of NaNoWriMo finishing up a different fic, oy!) So... sorry about the delay and the lack of a proper title. When I have one, I’m sure Tumblr will be the first to know.

Warnings: Violence, soft-core gore, and what basically amounts to fantasy rape. These are vampires we’re talking about, who tend to feed non-consensually on their prey. If anything approaching sexual assault triggers you, please do not read! I wanted to do due justice to the idea of vampire feeding/conversion being akin to rape a la lack of consent, physical violation, and mental/emotional trauma, and that is what I have tried to do.

So please, if you can’t handle that, scroll right past me!

Professor James Moriarty appears at the head of the path that leads towards the Reichenbach Falls, standing between Sherlock Holmes and the safety of the land beyond. The mist from the falls is swirling thicker and seemingly darker now, more akin to a London Particular than the spray of a pristine waterfall, and the air has chilled, and Holmes shivers.

Perhaps Moriarty might let him go yet. No, Holmes cannot entertain such foolish notions. Not only are they unrealistic but they are also traitorous. To run now would be to turn his back on everything he has fought for, everything he believes in. He does not wish to die, but he cannot be certain that he will survive this encounter—there is a grim, inexorable purpose in those ice-grey eyes—and he needs to see this through to the end.

Watson and Mary and their unborn child, the Irregulars, Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft… even Lestrade and all his colleagues… they will be safer for it.

This is his duty, the duty he’s chosen for himself, and he would never forgive himself if he falters now.

He lifts his chin, squares his shoulders, and walks forward, nodding a greeting to his adversary. “Professor.”

Moriarty stands unmoving. “Holmes.” A beat, and then: “You wish to write a farewell note to your companion, no doubt.”

Holmes’s heart beats so quickly that it is a wonder he can’t hear it. “If it is not too much trouble.”

A trace of a smile flashes across the older man’s features. “Not at all.”

The detective inclines his head in thanks, then sets to jotting down his last words to Watson. Forgive me, dear friend—this is for your own safety. Finishing the note, he tucks it underneath his silver cigarette case—from Watson last Christmas, no less!—on a rock, and now he can no longer delay the inevitable.

He stands straight and returns his attention to his opponent, who looks paler now than ever, even more corpse-like than before… but it is his eyes that both bewilder Holmes and make him shudder. There is an inexplicable crimson gleam in those eyes, as if glinting dully in the light of a dying fire. The detective feels colder, and tries to mask it with a dry smile. “Well, then, Professor. Is there anything else that needs to be said?”

The domed head begins to oscillate slowly, serpentine, and the other man’s voice is scarcely less sibilant. “I grant you one last chance, little detective. Run now, back to your friend, and let me go my way, and you may live.”

Holmes can’t help barking an incredulous laugh. “You cannot seriously expect me to accept such an offer, sir.”

Moriarty smiles thinly, his lips seemingly as unnaturally red as his eyes. “Well then. It is a pity, but I did give you a last chance.”

He springs forward, and Holmes throws a hard right hook… only to have a hand meet his fist in mid air, blocking his blow and holding his hand in place with ease. Holmes stares, and Moriarty’s lips peel away from his teeth in a facsimile of a smile, and his canines are strangely long…

And then Holmes is crashing to the sodden ground, hurled to it with no more consideration or difficulty than if he’d been a rag doll. He regains his feet, only to receive a stunning blow across his face, breaking his left cheekbone if the sudden agony in his face is any indication, and knocking him to the ground once more.

He looks up, and the tall Professor seems to have grown taller still, black mist curling around him, face hideously contorted in a feral snarl. “Foolish child,” he hisses, swooping down and pulling Holmes up effortlessly by the neck, dashing him against the cliff wall and making his vision flash white for a moment.

Fire jolts through Holmes’s body, every inch of him in pain now, and his best adrenaline-fueled efforts to pry Moriarty’s hand from his throat are as useless as if he were a child.

Moriarty simply increases the pressure. “Do you begin to understand now?” he says mildly, conversationally, as Holmes gasps for breath. “I was not boasting when I told you that you had not realized the full extent of the forces I command. I have lost a mere fraction of the men who call me ‘master,’ and they shall be replaced. You sought to play your wits against me—I who have commanded nations, and intrigued for them, and fought for them, hundreds of years before you were born, little detective.”

Holmes stares at him, his struggle to breathe forgotten as he tries to process what he just heard. Hundreds of years.

Moriarty laughs, a smoky, rumbling laugh that chills Holmes’s blood. “And still you do not understand.” With his free hand, he draws a fingernail up the side of Holmes’s neck, but the fingernail is more like a talon… and it slices the skin open.

Dazed and confused, Holmes can only groan softly in discomfort, blood trickling freely down his neck.

Moriarty chuckles and draws Holmes away from the cliff wall and into his arms in a cruel parody of a father’s embrace. “But very soon,” the Professor murmurs, “you will understand only too well, and you will wish you did not.”

“Understand… what…?” Holmes croaks past an abused throat.

Moriarty only smiles, and bends down until Holmes feels Moriarty’s teeth on his neck, and the detective shudders, a horrifying suspicion pushing its way through the fog in his head. Then, his flesh is pierced, and he cries out in agony, struggling feebly against his tormentor. There’s a rushing, throbbing sensation, and he realizes that blood is being drawn—no, is being sucked—right out of him.

“No,” he whimpers, feeling weaker every second. “Please…”

But Moriarty pays him no heed, and soon his arms are the only thing keeping Holmes upright, the detective’s legs giving out beneath him.

At last, Moriarty raises his head, sharp teeth glistening with blood. Holmes’s blood. The detective would vomit at the sight had he the strength to do it.

The older man—no, the monster—raises one hand to stroke Holmes’s cheek, as if in affection. “You will be blood of my blood,” the thing murmurs, and at last Holmes truly understands.

Moriarty was never human, and now his best, cruelest victory over the man who tried to stop him will be to make Holmes like himself.

“Please,” Holmes rasps, loathe to beg but having no choice, no strength left to do anything else.

Moriarty puts one icy, white finger on Holmes’s lips, making him gag, and gives him a revoltingly paternal smile. “You may thank me one day.”

Holmes does not clearly remember what follows next. He is forced to suck Moriarty’s cold blood, that much he knows, and then he is borne up by strong arms and he is rising, rising into the sky, even as he’s burning, fever wracking his abused body, and then he’s sinking to the ground again, the blessedly cool earth, and there is a voice somewhere above him and also very far away: “There. One last mercy. The good doctor shall undoubtedly return soon, and when you wake, you shall wake hungry. It would be such a pity were you to feed upon your dearest friend because you could not help yourself.”

Then he is alone, alone for days—or perhaps only hours, he doesn’t know. He only knows the fever, and the darkness raging within him, seeking to remake him from the inside out.

But then, at last, he hears a blessedly familiar voice, dearest to him in the whole world, calling his name. He tries to reply—Watson! I’m up here! I need you!—but the words come half-formed out of his mouth in gasps. It’s so difficult to breathe now, so difficult…

And Watson has no way to know that even as he mourns his friend for dead, drowned in the falls, that friend is burning to death on a ledge high above him, Watson’s sobs the last thing Holmes hears…

When he wakes, he is confused. The sky above is dark, the deep dark before the first vestiges of dawn, and there’s an ever-present roar in his ears, and the ground beneath him is cold and damp. The ground. The sky.

Why is he lying out of doors?

He shivers, and tries to rise, and as he does, a powerful wave of hunger washes over him. No, not hunger. Thirst. That’s it. He needs… not water… no, not water, but not food either…

He pushes himself slowly, unsteadily, to his feet, and the roar suddenly makes sense. The Reichenbach Falls. Moriarty. Memory returns to him in a rush, scarcely less swift and powerful than the falls themselves, and he drops to his knees.

James Moriarty is a vampire.

Holmes checks his pulse at his wrist, and only when panic begins to claw at his insides does he feel the faintest thread of… something. He presses his hand to his heart and waits, counting the seconds, and at the end of a minute, his spirits sink further still. His heart is beating only every ten seconds, far too slow to work properly, far too slow for him to still be alive…

James Moriarty made him a vampire like himself.

Tears prick his eyes, and Holmes wants to throw his head back and scream at the sky for the unfairness of it. He had only been trying to do his duty to his fellow man, the best way he knew how. He had been ready to die—he would rather have died than become a monster!

Already he feels the hunger-thirst—for blood, he realizes—grow louder, more insistent. He needs blood. As much of it as he can get.

Moriarty’s parting words return to him and Holmes swears fervently. A last mercy, indeed—and Holmes hates the vampire for making him grateful for it. He cannot return to Watson now, not like this—what if the blood-need takes hold of his senses and he turns on Watson? He can’t put his friend in danger like that!

He needs to stay away, on his own, for now, possibly forever, if he cannot learn to master this need. For sake of his own sanity, he must. He cannot, he will not lose himself to what Moriarty has unleashed in him.

Still weak, still wracked with pain, Sherlock Holmes climbs down from the ledge and staggers back up the path and into the mountainous forest. Forgive me, Watson—this is for your own safety.

[mizjoely]

Fandom Things That Drive Me Batty - For Real

OK, you (meaning at least six of you lol) asked for it. Here is the rundown of things that drive me batty within our fandom, ranging from the petty to the - well, they’re technically all petty, and I admit that. Below the cut because if you don’t want to know - please don’t read. Because there are some very common things in there that I know other people like. This is entirely my own personal opinion on things. You have been warned. Also they are in no particular order and I try to explain why they drive me nuts instead of just listing things.

IMPORTANT: I am also guilty of some of these things in my own writing and posts and I know it. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t still drive me batty.

It’s also important as you read these to mentally add “Unless it’s written really well” to the end of each item. Because there are always exceptions to every rule, including every whining word you read below.

Sherlock giving Molly an anatomically correct heart necklace - some things i can read over and over again, this one just makes me roll my eyes now and feels like too much of a fandom cliche. (And I freely admit, it’s something Molly would probably love but completely squicks me out.)

Sherlock being an ass to Molly after the ILY - unless it's really really well written, it makes me crazy. I don’t doubt that he’ll continue to be himself but I think the idea at the end of TFP was that he has grown and learned and changed enough that him backsliding enough to start manipulating Molly again is extremely out of character.

Molly leaving Sherlock (after TFP or even before that). I don’t see that happening at all. She really doesn’t seem like the type to run from her problems.

Molly being suicidal, especially over Sherlock. That is kind of a long-standing NOPE for me, even before S3. She seems way too strong for that sort of reaction to anything short of a terminal illness diagnosis (or if it’s the only way to save someone else’s life).

Molly being the victim of domestic abuse, from Tom or anyone else, and needing Sherlock to rescue her.

Mary’s voiceover at the end of TFP. I loathe that more than I can express, because it doesn’t sound like HER - it sounds like Mofftiss putting their own excuses into her mouth. (I also hate the term “my Baker Street boys” now because of that, sorry folks.)

People STILL bitching about how much they hated S4 (with the exception of people who are mad that Mary died - that I'm totally on board with that). I personally loved it - including the very James Bondian feel that I got from TFP. They have always lived in an extreme reality, as someone pointed out in a post at the beginning of the year, and when you live in an extreme reality, you have to have extreme villains.

Sherlock needing to call his post-Moriarty villains “the worst” (I’m looking at you, Magnussen and Smith). It’s a contradiction on my part, yes - I accept the extreme universe(TM) but at the same time I hate that sort of hyperbole. But I HC that it’s Sherlock sort of subconsciously hyping things up for John (especially in TLD) and so I just roll my eyes.

People griping about Moriarty being overused and that he should have just stayed dead. I would have squealed with joy if it turned out he was actually alive because he’s still my favorite Holmes villain (with Eurus a very close second). He’s like The Master - I don’t even need to know HOW he survived, I’m happy to accept that he did, be it via sci fi or supernatural means, or if he just managed to fake his own death.

Molly and Irene being friends. I really don’t think these two women would get along with each other because to me, they are way too different from each other. I love Irene; I am equally happy reading fics where she’s a nemesis and when she’s written as an ally and I totally believe she and Sherlock had sex after Kurachi and definitely had a huge amount of chemistry. But I think Molly would be insecure about her and jealous (BUT I also enjoy fics where she’s neither of those things) and I think she also would be more than a bit critical of her life choices and amorality (hey, just because she’s ok with that aspect of Sherlock doesn’t mean she would be with anyone else, we all have our weakspots and exceptions to rules).

Moriarty being completely influenced/used by Eurus, and thus not responsible for his own actions (up to and including his suicide). To me, he and Eurus had an immediate connection and understanding of one another and mutually made use of one another. It feels lazy (and this goes for the show writers as well if that was truly their intent) to just write Moriarty off as Eurus’ pawn. That man was batshit crazy before he met her, and I’m betting he had a death wish before he met her as well. After all, he was already obsessing over Sherlock before that Christmas visit.

Woobifying Eurus - that woman is never going to be normal because she was BORN that way. If she had no empathy at the age of five and still has no empath in her 30s, she’s not going to gain it suddenly juts because Sherlock hugs her and promises to bring her back to land. She will connect with him but if she ever gets free - look out world. I also personally think that she would go after Molly if she ever DID get out because look what she did to Victor and John, the two people outside their family that were closest to him. Just because she didn’t really plan to blow up Molly’s flat (and we only have her word for that), doesn’t mean she has a soft spot for her.

Molly being written as if she's still S1-2 Molly even after S3 & 4 - come on people, get a grip. We know she’s not a pushover; we know she can see Sherlock very clearly and we know she isn’t willing to take his shit. I know some folks will try to say she’s “reverted” because of thing that happened in S4 - but in my HC she brought him the ambulance as requested because it was for a case, and was only nervous when John answered the door because she wasn’t expecting to see him there. She certainly wasn’t a wilting lily when they meet up with John again!

Sherlock crying at the drop of a hat - in my mind, he's the "therapeutic one time crier" type, not the "endlessly weeping and beating his chest in anguish" type. (Unless it’s written really well, of course.)

Sherlock and Molly having cutesy pie nicknames for each other. Just not my thing, sorry. (It’s not a make-or-break thing for me reading a fic, just not my thing, as I said.)

Vilifying mummy and daddy Holmes for what happened to Eurus. I feel VERY strongly that they are not to blame in this except for perhaps being overly swayed by Uncle Rudy (he’s the REAL villain, in my mind but that’s a different post). Just as Mycroft was overly swayed by his uncle (if not freaking brainwashed since he was a teen when this all happened) I firmly HC that the Holmeses were scarred by how little therapy helped for Eurus and so worried about something like that happening to Sherlock that they let him rewrite his memories for his own protection. And by the time they realized it was the wrong thing to do - well, it was too late. And they had Mycroft assuring them that it was the RIGHT thing to do.

Woobifying Mycroft. The man is devious and cold-blooded in spite of the thawing we see in S4 (and that I hope to continue to see should S5 ever happen). Yes, he loves his baby brother but I really don’t see him and John ever becoming best buds or him and Mrs. Hudson sitting down for tea or treating Molly with anything but cool distance (and maybe some small level of affection if she and Sherlock ever did get together romantically). I used to feel that his barfing in TFP was OOC but then I realized he’s like Moriarty - doesn’t like to get his hands dirty, doesn’t like legwork - and especially doesn’t like the idea of personally being involved in wetwork. All he ever had to do in the past was make a phone call or send an email and poof! Elite assassins went out and did the dirty work for him. I also think he has been a HUGE enabler of Sherlock’s drug habit by being so damned overprotective of him. Yes, in the context of TFP that makes more sense, but when I saw that flashback during TAB of him and Sherlock and him keeping that notebook - all I could think was that of COURSE Sherlock will keep doing dangerous things (not just drugs) if he knows that Big Brother will ALWAYS save his bacon. So I prefer to read him that way - as a complex, flawed human being who’s made mistakes and will continue to do so, but to whom sentiment will always be something he actively disdains.

Continuing to villify John for his behavior in TLD after Sherlock forgave him. If we’re willing to let bygones be bygones with Mary because Sherlock forgave her, we should do the same with John. Criticise him, make him face consequences in fics, yes; making him an utterly irredeemable character for his awful mistakes, no. (No, John, it’s never ‘just texting’ and you know it no matter how much you made your mental Mary say it was OK; and no, John, it is NOT okay to beat your best friend almost to death just because you were feeling guilty AF about your wife’s death.)

[hurricane-jenn]

Who Says You Can’t Go Back?

Hey guys, so as promised I have a new fic coming you way. I have actually been working on this since right after the finale, but was worried that no one would care about Teddy’s side of this as much as I do. I didn’t touch it for months, but when they announced that Kim Raver was coming back I took it as a sign that people do care about Teddy and finished the chapter. This chapter is very Teddy centric because I was setting things up, but future chapters will focus on Amelia and Owen as well. 

Thanks to @jordan202​ for telling me I wasn’t crazy for writing it, and to @em-m-j​ for proof reading it, and telling me I wasn’t crazy to post it.

Widow. Teddy Altman hated that word. But despite her aversion to it, over the years she had let it define her. It was easy to be the widow. She never had to explain away her sorrow. Prospective dates fled at the mention of it. And that's what she wanted, wasn't it? Ever since Henry died she had been living in a haze. She moved to Germany and never looked back. Not having to spend every night it the apartment they shared helped, but sleeping alone had never gotten easier. She threw herself into work and tried to put her husband out of her mind. She kept her head down, didn't make friends, she poured herself into work. And that had worked for a while, for years actually. She made herself numb to the emotions. She prevented herself from feeling the powerful loss that was always there, on the edge of her subconscious.  Not only had she lost her job on that rainy day in Seattle, but when she made the decision to leave, she lost everything. Her last connection to Henry, her home, her friends. Friends. That part hurt the most, almost as much as losing Henry, because she made the decision to leave them. Of course they tried to keep in touch. At the beginning Arizona called every week, and Callie would send videos of her daughter, letting Teddy see how the little girl was growing. Even Owen, who was never good at communicating would send emails. He let her know what was going on with his life, how Cristina left, how he met someone else, how they were married now. He seemed happy. But all those emails and phone calls from her friends went unanswered. Teddy couldn't face the fact that they were all happy and moving on with their lives. They all took the curve balls life threw at them with grace and moved on stronger than ever. Teddy couldn't admit to her friends that she had not. She had spent so much time shutting people out, running from her past, that she forgot what it felt like to have someone there for her. That was until the day her past caught up to her. 

It was just a normal day at the hospital. Well as normal as her days get. She came into work, smiled politely at her coworkers, but didn't stop to chat. That's how you make connections, a thing Teddy had avoided ever since she came to work here over five years ago. She could name every person in the hospital, but if she was ever asked any details about their lives she would have to admit she'd never really talked to anyone long enough to get to know them. She stopped in at the doctor's lounge before rounds to grab a cup of coffee and was surprised to hear rushed conversations happening all over the room. It was obvious something big had happened. She walked up beside Patrick James, a neurosurgeon she knew. He had started around the same time as her and was probably the one person she had even had small conversations with. She hadn't shared much about her life, but he had talked her ear off about his on more than one occasion. In fact, she had been dodging his dinner invitations for over a year now. "What's going on?" Teddy asked Patrick curiously. "I haven't seen it this buzzing since that time they ousted the plastics chief with no warning." "We have a new patient," he replied meeting her eyes.

He seemed shaken and she didn’t understand why. “We are a hospital, we get new patients daily. Is this a particularly gruesome case or something?”

“Not gruesome per say,” he replied. “They found a woman, in Afghanistan. She’s been missing for 10 years, she was presumed dead. No one knows where she’s been this whole time, they just found her in the basement of an abandoned house after a raid.”

Patrick continued talking, but Teddy didn’t hear anymore. When he noticed he’d lost her he waived his hand in front of her face. “Teddy, earth to Teddy. Are you even listening to me?”

“What is her name?”

“What?” Patrick replied confused.

“Her name, what is it?” Teddy questioned more forcefully.

“Oh, umm I don’t remember. Megan something… Megan Hall? Megan Holmes? Megan Hope?-”

“Hunt?” Teddy interrupted, trying to take a deep breath. “Was it Megan Hunt?”

“Hey, yeah, I think that’s what it was.”

Teddy’s face went white and she started breathing heavily. She didn’t want to get her hopes up, but this could be it. Her old friend, her best friend’s sister.

“Teddy? Teddy? Altman! Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I think I’m about to,” Teddy replied.

“Wait, did you know her?”

“If she is in fact Megan Hunt, then yes I did. We served together overseas. Her brother served with us as well. I also worked with him in Seattle, he is- well was my best friend,” Teddy admitted, unable to meet Patrick’s eyes.

“Oh shit Altman I’m sorry. Look I know this is probably hard, but you should get in there. They need to confirm it’s her. You know before they notify her family.”

“Right,” Teddy replied, but she made no move to leave.

“I could come with you if you want, into the room. You know, for moral support.” Patrick said placing his hand on her shoulder.

“Um thanks Patrick,” she said shrugging off his hand. “I think this is something I need to do alone.” God this guy was relentless.

She exited the doctor’s lounge and stopped at the nurses station to find out which room Megan had been assigned. After she got over her initial shock she realized it was strange she hadn’t already been paged when Megan arrived. As chief of surgery she would usually be the first to be called on something this major. But maybe the case wasn’t surgical. That could be it. The nurses had informed her that Megan had come in unconscious, and had yet to wake up. She was severely dehydrated and malnourished so she was on fluids and they were monitoring her. Maybe Megan’s injuries weren’t that major. However the thought she didn’t want to consider was that it could be likely that the majority of Megan’s injuries weren’t physical, but instead psychological.

Teddy had to stop that line of thinking. It would do her no good to worry until she had actually seen Megan. She followed the familiar hallway until she was outside of the room she was told was Megan’s. She knocked on the door lightly before entering. There were a few nurses in the room fiddling with wires and tubes. Teddy was also surprised to see her boss, the chief of the hospital, Matthew Lehman standing at the foot of the bed.

“Chief Altman,” he greeted her as she entered. “Were you paged? I wasn’t aware this case was surgical.”

“Oh no I wasn’t paged,” Teddy said clearing her throat. How did she explain this? “It’s just, I spoke to some of the other doctors. The hospital is buzzing about this woman. I just had to ask, is this woman Megan Hunt?”

“We believe so,” the chief replied, confusion crossing her face. “Do you know Megan Hunt?”

“I did. Or well, I guess I do. It’s so complicated. We thought Megan was dead. For ten years, we have been going on with our lives, and she was alive this whole time. God what is Owen going to say?”

“Owen?” Chief Lehman asked.

“Megan’s brother, Owen Hunt. He is a friend of mine, he was the Chief of Surgery at the hospital I worked at in Seattle. Has he been informed yet?”

“No, we have not called the family yet. We wanted to be sure it is in fact Megan before we make the call.” He sighed taking in Teddy’s shocked expression. This wasn’t going to be easy. “Chief Altman. Teddy. You knew Megan Hunt, would you be able to identify her?”

Teddy nodded solemnly, she knew he would ask this. “Yes sir, I can.”

She took a step towards the bed, taking in the form under the covers for the first time. The first thing she noticed was the red hair. It wasn’t as bright as it used to be, and not nearly as lush. But it was red, just like Megan. She took another step forward, finally letting her eyes rest on the woman’s face. It was very hollow, and coloured with bruises and cuts, but she was certain. The woman in front of her was Megan Hunt. Teddy let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. Megan was alive. All this time in captivity and somehow she made it out. They let her down. They stopped looking and moved along with their lives, all the while Megan was suffering. She felt a pang in her heart, that was the way she had felt when Henry died. Though their circumstances were different, she had felt abandoned. She wished her friends had stayed sad like her, hadn’t moved on. Much like she now wished they hadn’t given up on Megan, that they had continued looking. Teddy felt tears in the back of her eyes threatening to escape.

She turned towards her boss and nodded. That was all she could muster, tears had already begun pouring down her face. He nodded back, understanding her message. He motioned for the nurses to follow him, and they exited leaving Teddy alone with Megan.

She pulled up a chair and sat beside her friend. Though Megan was bruised and beaten, she looked so peaceful. Teddy stroked her hair, taking in the familiar sight, glad that something on her friend was relatively unharmed. She let the tears fall freely, happy to be alone. The blonde laid her head down beside her friend’s own red hair and sobbed into the pillow.

Teddy was startled awake when a nurse entered Megan’s room. She must cried herself to sleep there. Oh god that is embarrassing. She lifted her head and glanced at the clock. 5 pm, that meant it would be morning in Seattle. That meant about now soldiers would be showing up at Owen’s house to inform him. She hoped he wasn’t alone when he found out. She should call him, she knew she should, but the idea of it terrified her. What if the soldiers weren’t there yet and she had to be the one to tell him. She knew that information would be better coming from a friend, but she just couldn’t bare to be the one to tell him.

Every time she thought about being the one to tell Owen, she thought about Cristina informing her that Henry was dead. She remembered that scene, how she didn’t believe her at first, how Cristina had to talk her through it. It would go down similarly with Owen, only this time Teddy would be giving a life instead of losing one. And the selfish part of her; that was still mad at Owen for firing her, or for telling her Henry’s surgery went fine, that part of her didn’t want to give him good news.

She waited by Megan’s bedside for over two hours, until she was sure Owen would have been informed by now, and then she picked up her phone. It rang four times and then clicked to the answering machine. She left a message. “Owen, it’s Teddy. I’m sure by now you’ve heard. Please call me back. Decisions need to be made. We are in the process of transferring her to Madigan, we need to know what you want done when she arrives.” Simple, but that was all she could get out. Over the next few hours she alternated between sitting with Megan and checking up on her own patients. She also tried to call Owen a few more times, to no avail.

Hours later, as it was getting very very late, Teddy was stopped at the nurses station filling in a chart. She could hear the nurse talking to someone on the phone, but paid no attention to it until she heard her own name.

“Chief Altman,” the nurse said when Teddy looked up. “There is a woman here on the phone, she was asking about our patient Megan Hunt, and then she asked for you by name.”

“Is it Evelyn, her mother?” Teddy replied. God she did not want to be the one to explain this to Owen’s mother.

“No, I don’t believe that’s what she said her name was. She sounded younger.”

Teddy motioned for the nurse to hand her the phone. “Teddy Altman,” she answered.

“Hey, Doctor Altman. This is Amelia Shepherd from Grey Sloan Memorial. I-uh-I work with Owen Hunt,” the woman stuttered out.

Amelia Shepherd. That name sounded familiar. Shepherd? Maybe she was a sister of Derek’s? Yes that must be why she knows the name. Teddy must have meet her when she was visiting her brother.

“Has Owen been told?” Teddy answered.

“Yes.”

“Has he told Evelyn yet?”

“No.”

“Can you put him on the phone?” Teddy asked, unsure what she would actually say to Owen.

“One sec,” the woman replied. After a brief pause she came back on. “He won’t.”

“What can I do for you?”

“I-I’m calling about his sister.”

“Megan is in good hands here,” Teddy replied, unsure why she was having to convey this information to a coworker and not Owen himself.

“Okay, uh yeah, we just need to confirm-”

“It’s Megan, I saw her. I tried to call him, there are plans he needs to make. She is being transferred to Madigan Army Hospital. They need to know what their orders are when she arrives.”

“Right,” the woman answered.

“Does he want to meet her there?”

“No,” the woman replied, sounding like she was thinking a plan up. “Could we transfer her here as soon as she touches down?”

“To Grey-Solan?”

“Yes, to Grey-Solan.”

“Yes, I can arrange that.”

“Thank you so much,” the woman replied, and with a click she was gone.

Things moved very quickly after that conversation. Megan was prepared to be transferred, and Teddy found herself being ordered to accompany her. Her superiors seemed worried that Megan could regain consciousness during the flight, and thought having a familiar face may help to calm her. Teddy was happy to be accompanying her friend, so she could keep an eye on her, and be kept up to date on her progress, but she was not excited to be returning to Seattle.

She held Megan’s hand for the duration of the exceedingly long flight, praying she would wake up, but also praying she didn’t wake up while they were on this plane. When she felt the wheels hit the ground she let out a sigh of relief. Doctors rushed to meet the plane, sweeping the gurney off with them. Teddy stood up quickly ready to follow. But she stopped when she saw who awaited her on the tarmac, Owen was there, an unknown brunette by his side. She had not prepared herself for this. She didn’t think she would have to see him so soon.

[a-fools-jester]

23 and 94 from the writing prompt thing? 🌟🌟🌟

I’m finally back and done with this! 

Pairing: James Moriarty/ Sebastian Moran

Fandom: Sherlock Holmes fandom

Warnings: ummm… I guess mentions of traumatic events that happened during Christmas, slight implications of depression or something similar, a not-so-chaste kiss, and… yeah that’s about it. Oh yeah, James Moriarty is not an unfeeling psychopath in this one. He soft.

James was sitting on the coffee table,his knees pulled up to his chest as he stared at the fire, andSebastian placed his laptop bag onto the sofa. “You’re aware thatthe coffee table isn’t meant for sitting, yeah?” Sebastian askedsoftly, and James kept on silently staring at the flames that dancedin front of him. Sebastian let out a soft sigh, moving to where thegenius was sitting and sitting beside him, letting the sound of theflames crackling take over.

“It’s 6 am, Sebastian, too early forvodka,” James told him, eyes clearly showing he disapproved ofSebastian’s life choices, and Sebastian grinned merely back at him,hand holding a bottle of vodka he was well on the way of finishing.“I mean, for god’s sake, you’ll end up dead in 5 years if you don’tstop with the drinking and smoking.”

Sebastian shook his head. “Nah, Imean, I’m made of tough stuff. I’m pretty sure I can survive a bottleof vodka at 6 am once in a blue moon and a few cigarettes a day.”James hummed noncommittally, eyes still staring at the fire.

“What’s wrong?” Sebastian asked,his tone softer as he stared at James who seemed off in a waythat Sebastian didn’t like in the slightest. Curled up like he was,his his knees to his chest, James looked vulnerable and wassurrounded by a melancholic cloud. Sebastian knew that every timethat winter came, James’ previous life and energy faded into lethargyand apathy, yet somehow he didn’t expect this to come today ofall days.

James shrugged halfheartedly. “I hada bad dream again,” he mumbled, eyes blank and voice monotonous.Lifeless. Everything in him was hollow and dejected, and Jimwas missing from his person completely.

The first thing that Sebastianstruggled to learn about him was that Jim Moriarty and James were twovery different personalities.

Jim was all steel and hard edges,hands stained in blood not his own and eyes that had flames dancingbehind them, a taunting voice that could haunt a person into theirdreams until it had been corrupted and turned into a nightmare. JimMoriarty was the persona- the manifestation- of every dark, impurethought, and every urge to hurt and destroy that had been experiencedby humanity through the ages. It was a mask he carefully worked tokeep alive and believable to gain everyone’s respect and fear, theone he put on to keep from being hurt again.

James was softer, fond unguarded eyesand softly spoken words, gentle touches in the dark because he feltlike the light would turn him into a pile of dust. He was silk andtears, whispered apologies and tight embraces, the boy who hid behindhis mask that was still covered in the blood that drowned him yearsago. He was hurting, grieving, vulnerable and afraid to let anyoneget too close to him.  Jim was calculating, cold, the businessman atthe top of his empire, but James was the man who would watch Gleewith a friend, the man who got teary eyes at the rooftop when he saidgoodbye to someone who was the closest thing he had to a friend,someone sad and dejected who didn’t know how to connect with othersbecause of a mind that had always been a blessing and a curse thatleft him flying high above the rest of humanity, not knowing how tomake contact.

“What was the dream about?”Sebastian asked, though he already had a strong feeling he knew whatit was about. It was a recurring dream that James had told him aboutseveral times already, yet the only way he knew how to help, the onlything he’d taken away from the brief time he’d spent in therapy afterbeing discharged from service, was that it helped to talk about thetrauma.

James let out a small huff, a brittlesmile forming on his porcelain face. “You already knowwhat it’s about, Basher,” he said in his sing-song voice, beforethe energy seemingly left him as suddenly as it came and he merelyblinks back at Sebastian. “It’s about Lily. The orphanage. Thegroup of kids. You know the rest.”

And Sebastian does. He knew this storywell enough he could likely write a book based on what happenedduring James’ childhood, with Lily- the little girl who lived in aworld of her own- and the hurting kids at the orphanage, hardened byyears of maltreatment at the hands of their ‘caretakers’, turning tomock and bully just as they had been. One day, of course, they’d gonetoo far, the bullying and taunts went too far and Lily tried to runoff, but one of the boys tried to grab her, a grin on his face as hetried to say we��re just joking. She wrenched herself free,forgetting where she stood, and slipped, falling down the stairswhere her younger brother stood with wide eyes, anguished eyesstaring at his dead sister laying at his feet.

James had watched it unfold in frontof him, cataloging each face that had given a hand in killing hissister and he swore vengeance. He swore he would stop their laughingif it killed him, and sometimes, Sebastian thought that it did killhim, or at least a part of him. Sometimes Sebastian saw that versionof James, terrified and filled with fire that he wanted to use toavenge his sister even if it turned him into ashes.

Sebastian didn’t say anything else,letting James lean against him as they stared at the fire. It wasJames who broke the silence. “Why do you stay here?”

“You know why I stay here, James.For you.”

James looked up at him, eyes unguardedand bared and unbearably sad. “But why?”

“I love you, andeven if it’s not exactly normal and most people think I’m insane forloving you because my chores at the house usually consist of mehaving to get rid of bloodstains from your billion-pound suits ordispose of the human organs you experimented on, I still love you,you bastard,” Sebastian responded, “and before you tell me not touse that 'deplorable l word’, you can’t be mad at me for saying it.It’s Christmas.”

Jamesscoffed, “you seem to think that the day matters to me at all.Christmas doesn’t give you a free pass to drink vodka in the morningor get your ashes on my furniture, Sebastian. If you put out one morecigarette on one of mybooks or files, I will burn your cherished cars and everything elseyou own.”

“Noted.”Sebastian said with a silly grin on his face, staring at James.“Though really, you need to be a bit more festive, get into thespirit of it all. How about we go to dinner?”

“Dinner? Howboring, Basher. Really, you ought to know I’d say that by now,”James replied, a soft yet still tired smile on his face, and he movedcloser, pressing a not-very-chaste kiss to Sebastian’s lips before hepulled away and stood up. “But! It’s a good excuse to get you intodecent clothes for once, so I suppose I’ll take the offer. I’m havingthe fanciest restaurant in London cleared out and reserved for us, sobe ready in an hour.”

“What’s wrongwith my clothes? I meant a humble, not luxurious dinner. Onethat, well, allows us to pretend we’re a normal couple and not twoblokes, one of which is a criminal mastermind and the other who’s agun for hire.”

James looked athim in mock offense. “I’m a consulting criminal, thank youvery much, and please, don’t be too humble, you’re more than just agun for hire now. I think at this point, you’ve earned the titleof… my Second In Command, who specializes in assassinations andhacking jobs. You’re not a freelancing gun for hire now, no! You’remy own personal assassin.”

“An assassin,going by the technical definition, is-”

James scowled athim, “If you finish that sentence and try to correct me, I will-oh, well, how do I put this?- ruin Christmas for everyone in thiscountry. Get ready. We leave in an hour.” And with that, he stalkedout, and Sebastian merely stared after the man for a few moments,eyes fond in spite of the odd dynamics they had in theirrelationship. He’d have a midlife crisis some other day, becausetoday was Christmas and he wanted to spend it with the one he loved.

That’s sorta a gift because it took a while lol @awkward-freaks-soul I hope this makes up for the fact that I took forever! Sorry. And I’m sorry if this pairing wasn’t what you wanted, but they were on my mind at the time of my writing this, so I hope this is fine. If not, send in another prompt and I’ll be sure to type of something better (in a shorter amount of time!) :D 

[soledadgeek]

Masterlist of Awesome - Part 3 (Other Fandoms)

Hello everyone! It’s been a while! But here’s a new rec list ;) Although, for the Sterek fans following me, this is strictly other fandoms, sorry. Been away from Sterek in a while and that’s the result!  Here’s a listing of what you’ll find!

Merlin / Merthur

Suits / Marvey

Supernatural / Destiel / SamxDean / SamxDeanxCas

White Collar / Peter/Neal/Elizabeth

James Bond (Daniel Craig’s) / 00Q

London Spy / Alex/Danny

Fandom: James Bond (Daniel Craig’s)  Pairing : 00Q

Temeraire by professorfangirl (lizeckhart) / 8858 w. / E

"At Bond’s age anything like love was trapped and walled away, a scorpion under a glass; what he felt now was like the fire at Skyfall, filtered through icewater light. And yet it was there, it was possible: one more reckless leap, one more deadshot fall, one more defiance of loss. It was there, waiting in the way Q’s eyes lingered on him, the intelligent desire in their depths, patient, saying, 'we have almost all the time in the world'." 

Does Your Mother Know? by sorion / 17561 w. / M 

“He told me… that he’d loved and trusted people with his life before, and that it didn’t end well. And he told me… that he would trust me with his life… and his death.” 

“Wow. Now I don’t know which one of you to warn off of breaking the other’s heart, anymore.” 

The Inevitability of Time by dhampir72 for missMHO / 27055 w. / M 

When they meet for the first time at the National Gallery, Bond has a strange sense of deja vu. 

For the 00QNewYearParty as a gift for missMHO. 

Mister Kiss Kiss Bang Bang by sorion / 31571 w. / M 

Despite Bond making a kind of running joke out of Q’s “exploding pen” remark by requesting one at every opportunity… it was Q who mentioned it first. The reason behind it is quite simple. They both like to blow shit up. And then they realise that that's not the only thing they have in common. 

Denominations by WriteThroughTheNight/ 33299 w. / Series / T 

Part 1: Denominations by WriteThroughTheNight

"Q confirms that he's an Empath three months before his first day of primary school, and the deciding of Denominations that comes with it." 

OR Q is smarter than anyone gives him credit for, and an Empath to boot. 

The Haunting of Skyfall Lodge by BootsnBlossoms, Kryptaria for shipimpala / 36522 w. / E 

All his life, Q has seen ghosts. For years, he's searched for scientific proof to back up what he knows to be true. Finally, he starts a YouTube channel to chronicle his adventures of exploring haunted sites. His latest location: Skyfall Lodge. 

Yours, J by swtalmnd / 41104 w. / Series / G to E 

Part 1 : Yours, J by swtalmnd

Bond sends letters. Q is vexed. Q-branch starts a betting pool. There are an appalling amount of sweets. Also, 002 is a bit of an arse. 

Alley-Cat Quartermaster by Only_1_Truth for MinMu / 41274 w. / M 

This all started with a conversation with my Queen of Plotbunnies and Paladin of Writer's-Block Slaying, MinMu: So many fics include Bond breaking into Q's flat. What if it was the other way around? 

Summary: After the death of M, everything is in shambles. MI6 is trying to stay afloat and not let its enemies scent blood in the water; the new Quartermaster is orchestrating a flurry of activity to keep his branch at pique efficiency and therefore his agents alive; 007, the agent hit hardest by the death of the old M, is going through the motions and throwing himself into his work. Everyone is a little bit broken, and a lot exhausted. So when Bond and Q end up together in unexpected circumstances, perhaps the outcome should not be so unexpected... 

Ordinary Numbers by BootsnBlossoms, Kryptaria / 44 175 w. / T 

More than anything, Mike Taylor wanted to be ordinary. Being a genius, he learned early in life, meant people expected too much. A career at the MI6 Help Desk seemed the perfect way to guarantee a lifetime of obscurity, until he got a very unusual tech support call. 

Bewitched by BootsnBlossoms, Kryptaria for Jennybel75 / 51888 w. / M 

A few months after the Skyfall incident, Q's sister gives him the excuse he needs to finally take a last-minute holiday at her cottage in Wales, but a priority two security threat means Q can't go alone. For James Bond, the choice between a visit to Psych to discuss overwork or two weeks in the countryside is no choice at all — especially not with the lure of his enigmatic young Quartermaster as a companion. Then again, 'enigmatic' doesn't even begin to cover the truth of who the Quartermaster really is. 

Perfect Fit by saturn_in_retrograde / 53189 w. / E 

Two men. Three continents. Ten cities. Twelve months. Time and trouble enough to fall in love. In which Q sweeps James off his feet with his awkward flirting, genius intellect, smart mouth, sexy librarian cardigans, raunchy sense of humor...and those red, red lips like cherries. 

Mercenary by BootsnBlossoms, Kryptaria / 66075 w. / E 

Five years ago, Commander James Bond of Her Majesty's Royal Navy left England in disgrace, escaping a court martial -- and what should have been a promising career in MI6 with Alec Trevelyan, his oldest friend. He becomes a mercenary, selling his military expertise to the highest bidder, though not once does he act against England or her interests. Now, new intelligence has possibly located Bond in the United States, and Alec is tasked with the mission to bring him back to MI6. But to do so will require a very unique type of field operative -- one Bond will never suspect. Enter Aidan Green, codename Q.

Brave New World by ForzaDelDestino / 70581 w. / No Rating 

After the events at Skyfall, life was different for Agent 007. M was gone—no, there was a new M. There was a new Headquarters. He had a new flat, in which he was still unpacking boxes of belongings. And--bloody hell!--an associate of Raoul Silva had materialised. Then there was the matter of that new, young Q…a lanky, bespectacled boy with a mop of dark hair, who was in serious need of an attitude adjustment...and far too wary when it came to what Bond had in mind for him. 

[References to quotes from Skyfall and one or two much earlier James Bond films.] 

Quriosity by dr_girlfriend/ 82391 w. / Series / 82391 / E 

Part 1 : Quriosity by dr_girlfriend

COMPLETE! Bond finds himself increasingly curious about his enigmatic Quartermaster. 

Excerpt: "Your prior hotel is no longer secure, I will direct you to a new location. Your luggage has already been transferred. A field agent and medic from the Diréction Générale de la Sécurité d'État will be waiting at the side entrance. I have cleared them both personally." In contrast to his crisp dry English, Q's pronunciation of the French words was fluid and flawless, the throaty tone of the fricatives sending a surprising jolt of awareness straight to Bond's cock — all the more remarkable given his degree of blood loss. "You're wasted on Q-branch, you have the voice for a phone-sex call-in line." The words slipped out of Bond's mouth without forethought, although he had plenty of time to think in the sudden pause that came afterward and stretched on for endless moments. Bond hadn't realized until now how Q was always there, with an immediate reply. In all their banter Q had never before been at a loss for words. Ever. 

Red Queen to Overwatch by BootsnBlossoms, Kryptaria / 86175 w. / M 

After returning from the dead, James Bond moves into a new secure flat, only to find that his new neighbour is either: a scruffy teenager, a brilliant computer geek, a mad scientist, or the sexiest genius he's ever met. Two of these things turn out to be true. Well, three, once the Red Queen gets involved. 

Blue-Eyed Monster by Only_1_Truth / 118361 w. / M 

Yes, this version of 007 was a terrifyingly smart agent, and M wondered long and often whether it had been a good idea to promote him to the position. Usually, the title was the dangerous part - being 007 meant deadliness - but this time, M feared that a certain man with ice-blue eyes and scruffy blonde hair had dragged in more danger to the title than it had previously possessed.

Enter MI6's new Quartermaster: an unassuming, bespectacled genius with no mind for subterfuge but plenty of genius behind a dry smile. Curious 00-agents and young boffins don't always mix in predictable ways... 

The Love Song of James Bond by Fightyourdragon / 204 407 w. / Series / E

Part 1 : The Love Song of James Bond by Fightyourdragon

“Knowing your history, and adding to it the fact that I am not entirely unaffected by sharing a bed with you, I think it would be pointless to pretend that we are going to able to share this house for the next two weeks without fucking over every available surface.” Q smiles at the look of shock on James’ face. Clearly he hadn’t been expecting such a direct approach and Q presses on before he has a chance to recover. “However, when it happens it will happen on my terms.” There was definitely a significant gap between the time Bond was breaking down over M's death in the chapel to the time a confident Bond walked into Mallory's office to accept his newest assignment. What, or more importantly, who, put him back together again? Basically, lots of porn with plot.

Fandom: James Bond (Daniel Craig’s) and Sherlock  Pairing : 00Q, Sherlock/John Watson 

The Love Affair of Willoughby Holmes and James Bond by LadyRa / 31057 w. / Series / G to T 

Part 1 : Why Mycroft Worries Constantly About His Youngest Brother or How Willoughby Holmes Wooed and Won the Heart of James Bond by LadyRa

The youngest Holmes holds a minor position at MI6, but somehow still manages to do more damage than Mycroft at his worst. 

Post Skyfall AU, Q is a little younger and a tad more innocent, and Alec is a good guy and still alive. 

Reichenbach Falls didn't (and won't) happen. 

Fandom: James Bond (Daniel Craig’s) and London Spy  Pairing : 00Q, Danny Holt/Alex Turner 

*If you don’t know London Spy, please go watch it, if only because Ben Wishaw’s in it and awesome as usual!!! 

Face of Innocence by FaerieChild / 6268 w. / T 

During difficult times, James Bond retreats to the Mediterranean island of Corsica and the home built for his late wife Theresa di Vicenzo. Onto his private beach stumbles a young man who is clearly a lost soul. Both have known loss, both know what it is to feel alone and in that first moment, something nameless sparks between them. 

The Truth of Truths by blackidyll / 8747 w. / No Rating 

For weeks, Q has no idea who the man with a permanent bed in MI6 Medical is. Well. More that he doesn’t quite understand the significance of Alistair Turner, why MI6 decides to keep him within headquarters instead of transporting him to another facility, one more suited to caring for a coma patient. Then M gives Q orders to find a program created by a certain MI6 cryptanalyst, a program now in the Security Service’s possession, with strictly worded instructions to scour it from existence. And Q understands. 

A London Spy/James Bond crossover where Q and Danny are entirely separate people and they lead their lives as they did in the series and the movies. The key here is that Alex works for Bond and Q's MI6 - the one portrayed in Spectre and headed by M(allory). 

Secrets, Spies, and Family Ties by Brihna / 37778 w. / M (Series but I only liked part 1) 

When Danny Holt shows up on Q's doorstep, he is unprepared for the tale he has to tell. Is MI6 really responsible for the death of Danny's partner, or is there more to these strange happenings than meets the eye? Q must decide just how far he is willing to go to help his brother find the truth. 

Fandom: London Spy  Pairing : Danny Holt/Alex Turner 

*If you don’t know London Spy, please go watch it, if only because Ben Wishaw’s in it and awesome as usual!!!

It's more than what it cost you by Teatrolley / 1916 w. / No Rating 

Alex loves Danny’s sweaters, but he also loves Danny in the suits, and the secretiveness of the bee-printed socks and sunflower-printed pants he’s wearing underneath them. Danny wears the sweaters less, but it’s all right, because Alex learns to love this new side of him, too. 

 __ What Alex means, during the soulmate conversation, is that love has to be adaptive to last. His is, but is Danny's too? Alex isn't sure. 

Supersymmetry by drinkbloodlikewine, whiskeyandspite for GulliverJ / 24335 w. / M 

Alex holds his hands in Danny’s hair, placing a kiss against his brow. It will have to suffice as apology for now, surely the first of many. He doesn’t wait a moment more than that, however, despite how badly he wants to feel Danny close to him, despite the frequency at which they vibrate together. Their waves must propagate faster, first, rising in pitch before they can settle to low and comfortable quiet. Alex fakes his own death and he and Danny leave London to finish his work elsewhere. 

A story of a scientist and a romantic, speaking different languages and saying the exact same thing. 

Fandom: James Bond (Daniel Craig’s) and White Collar  Pairing : 00Q, Peter/Elizabeth/Neal 

Whoever Fights Monsters by circ_bamboo, feelslikefire / 107327 w. / E / (Series but I preferred this part) 

"Should I start, or would you like to?" Neal asked Q. 

"Are you going to draw this out?" Q said. "It's really quite simple. Some years ago, before MI6, before Neal's little bond mishap—" 

"Alleged bond mishap," Neal said—mostly out of reflex, Q thought. 

"You were convicted by a jury of your peers," Q said. "It's somewhat less alleged at this point. Nonetheless, before . . . that, Neal and I . . . were acquainted." 

Or: When Q hears that the FBI is bringing one Neal Caffrey to British soil for an investigation, he's fully expecting trouble with a capital T. 

Naturally, what he gets is much worse: par for the course when you're dating James Bond and you're old friends with an international art thief. 

Fandom: White Collar  Pairing : Peter/Elizabeth/Neal 

your favorite old-fashioned fairytale romance by sinead / 12443 w. / E 

Such a small touch, that whisper of skin against skin. 

Perfect Beautiful Good by OnYourMark / 16201 w. / E 

Neal Caffrey doesn't know it, but he's probably the best thing that ever happened to Peter and Elizabeth's sex life. 

Never Leave A Trace by copperbadge/ 16664 w. / E 

Neal Caffrey can steal souls. Peter Burke has two shadows. Everything's normal...except when it isn't. 

The Love Nest by china_shop / 17488 w. / E 

Neal came into Peter's office and closed the door after him. He seemed pensive. 

"Um, Peter?" 

"What?" Peter looked up, caught himself blushing, and looked back down at his paperwork. "What is it?" 

"Your wife just asked me out on a date," said Neal. 

Fandom: Supernatural  Pairing : Destiel 

Famil(iarit)y by Niitza / 14914 w. / G 

Deep down Dean always knew, from the moment that skinwalker bit him all those years ago, that this is how he'd end up: a stray, unwanted by dad - who stopped seeing him as anything else than a watchdog for Sam a long time ago -, and unwanted by Sam - who wanted him to be anything but. 

So here he is, with nothing but his own senses and fangs to keep himself safe and fed, with nothing but his own hide to keep himself warm. And winter's just getting started. Fortunately, he's found the right kind of town to get through it, the right neighborhood to pilfer until the worst is past. Even, maybe, the right house.

Skazka - A Woodland Fairytale by Angrysouffle, Nishka  / 17786 w. / E 

Satyr Dean's seemingly idyllic existence of getting drunk and debauching virgins is chanllenged when he meets Dryad Cas. Friction and embarassing leaf munching ensues. Throw in a half-Demonling brother who is keen to look up tree sex in the lore and Cas' suspiciously sexy sensing root, Dean is about to take phallic worship to a new level. Will this unlikely couple find their happily ever after? 

The Lonely Sea and The Sky by whelvenwings / 23212 w. / G 

When Dean, a little lost and a little lonely, finds himself wishing on a star one night, he doesn't expect anything to come of it, and certainly not for the star in question to fall right out of the sky. 

The very last thing that he could have possibly anticipated is Castiel - winged, angry and looking for the grace that he lost in the fall, so that he can get back to Heaven. Dean's a little fascinated by Castiel, and Castiel is intrigued by Dean and his seafaring life. But Castiel has to go back to Heaven, and finding the grace has to be his first priority, even though it often seems he would rather put Dean first. 

But Dean knows it's foolish to hope. After all, a bird may fall in love with a fish - but where would they live? 

The Mirror by cloudyjenn / 24568 w. / M 

When Dean touches a strange mirror, he's whisked away to one alternate reality after another and it doesn't take him long to realize the universe is trying to tell him something. 

When Charlie Met Cas by riseofthefallenone / 24666 w. / M 

Charlie is back in all her glory. The Winchesters have showed up on her doorstep and she’s making the best of it the only way she knows how. By being the little sister Dean never wanted and shipping the shit out of Destiel. 

There Might Have Been a Time by SailorChibi for Mirenithil / 24692 w. / E 

Like everyone else Dean has always looked forward to his 21st birthday, when his countdown timer would appear and tell him how much longer he had until he met his soul mate. And at least then he would know whether or not he was an alpha like John always wanted, even though the name of his soul mate was written in a weird language he couldn't read. 

But then it actually happened, and Dean was positive he actually met his soul mate... unless that was a dream. 

On the other hand, as the years go by and his countdown ticks away, the increased strength and vision, lack of a need for food or sleep, and weird new growths on his back that seem to be growing feathers(?!) suggest otherwise... 

The Request by cloudyjenn / 36770 w. / M 

When Sam Winchester prays for his brother, Castiel is finally sent on his very first assignment. But what should be a simple love match turns into much more and Castiel finds himself risking everything to ensure the happiness of his extremely frustrating charge. 

An Accidental Incubus by jupiter_james / 39969 w. / E 

On a hunt gone wrong, Dean finds himself cursed to be an incubus. While Sam and Charlie rush to find a cure before the change is permanent, Castiel decides to become Dean's "offering" when the hunter begins to deteriorate under the effects of the change. 

The Souls of Men by nagapdragon/ 40641 w. / E (Also Sabriel) 

Sam hates that moment in an exorcism, right after the demon leaves, when the daemon explodes into a puff of gold and they know they’ve failed one more person. Every time they finish a job where someone doesn’t make it, Aurora curls around Machaera in a silent reminder that far too soon, they’ll have to watch Machaera turn to a pile of gold dust, too.

Starting in Season 3 and moving on through the timeline. 

Try-Something Tuesday by almaasi / 48284 w. / E 

Human AU. Dean Winchester teaches a third-grade class. He's new to this whole ‘bisexual’ thing - but by pure happenstance, he meets Castiel: a particularly dapper male librarian who moonlights as a substitute teacher. Dean's curious and Castiel is willing, so why the hellnot? 

Except, fate never intended it to be one-time-only... (with art by valiantparadox) 

The Prophet Must Die by imogenbynight / 54455 w. / M 

"What about Castiel? He seems helpful... and dreamy." 

Something about the comment just isn't sitting right, and Dean's jaw twitches. He stares at the wall in the dark, and at a quarter past four in the morning, it hits him. 

"Asshole," Dean hisses under his breath, sitting up straight, "that sonofabitch kept publishing." 

In All Your Borrowed Finery by vanishingact / 67950 w. / E (Equal part Sabriel!!)

Dean finds an interesting symbol in Kevin's angel tablet notes and, against Sam's counselling, uses it in the heat of battle with a pair of angelic assassins. Side effects include pain, disorientation, and uncontrollable new appendages for the Winchesters. A disgruntled Castiel and a delighted Gabriel show up to help. Hunting (and life) gets interesting when wings are involved. 

Includes artwork! (Both relationships are featured in detail, but the plot happens to be *slightly* more Sabriel-driven.) 

Forget-Me-Not Blues by noangelsinthegarrison / 68689 w. / E 

Sam and Jess are getting married and Dean couldn’t be any happier for them. Honestly, they’re kind of disgustingly perfect for each other and Dean’s pretty damn excited about staying with them the week before the wedding. He’s Sam’s best man, of course, and he doesn’t even mind that Jess has her own best man to share in all the organisational duties. The more the merrier, right? 

Except Dean must have done something to epically piss off the universe because Jess’s best man just happens to be Castiel friggin’ Novak. He’s got even hotter since High School, but apparently no friendlier and if Cas wants to spend the week pretending like they’ve never met before? Fine. Two can play at that game. 

How (thanks to Gabriel) Dean and Castiel (accidentally) raised each other (and Sam). by Vera (Vera_DragonMuse) / 69693 w. / E (Also Sabriel) 

In which, Gabriel meddles with the time line and Castiel becomes Dean's angel rather sooner than intended. 

How (thanks to Gabriel) Dean and Castiel (accidentally) raised each other (and Sam). by Vera (Vera_DragonMuse) / 69693 w. / E (Also Sabriel)

In which, Gabriel meddles with the time line and Castiel becomes Dean's angel rather sooner than intended.

All the Way by cadignan, Guu / 80919 w. / E 

Castiel spends the first two weeks of college in much the same way he spent the previous years: alone with his books. He’s fine with it—he enrolled in college to learn, after all. Then in his first chemistry lab, he has the bad luck of being paired with snide, good-for-nothing Ruby, and the further misfortune of sitting behind Dean Winchester, the world’s most beautiful distraction. 

Ruby catches Castiel staring at Dean and makes him an offer. 

Have Love, Will Travel by squeemonster/ 94054 w. / E 

Castiel Novak is a reclusive writer with a childhood so tragic it's left him terrified to leave his home—until his overbearing brother, Gabriel, drags him out for a night on the town full of booze and strip clubs, and he encounters Dean Winchester, a mesmerizing and mysterious stripper with secrets of his own. Both men find themselves inexplicably drawn to each other, and soon Dean's private dances for Castiel become much more, as both men confess their troubles and find solace in each other's company. But neither can seem to find the courage to take their relationship further than the intimacy of the club's VIP Room—and just when Dean's own brother gives him the excuse he needs to finally admit his feelings, Dean discovers something that brings it all crumbling down. Will they find a way past their demons and their trust issues, and back to each other? 

The Best Years of Our Lives, My Ass by ireallyhatecornnuts (CharleyFoxtrot) / 110801 w. / E 

AU after Season 8, episode 6, "Southern Comfort." 

Dean goes to sleep in a motel room in Texarkana, and he wakes up 17 years old, in his childhood bedroom in Lawrence, Kansas, 1996. He has no idea how he got there, why his parents are still alive, why his brother is an adorable freshman with no memory of his adult life, and why the only ally he has in this place is the angel he left behind in Purgatory – somehow also 17 years old. They have to get out, that's the important thing. Only, falling in love with his angel wasn't a part of the plan.... 

Kiss the Baker by Ltleflrt/ 115159 w. / Series / M and E (ltleflrt.tumblr.com) 

Part 1 : Kiss the Baker by Ltleflrt 

Jo is pregnant and craving something a little bit unusual. When she sends Dean on a mission to find her some chocolate cake donuts with bacon sprinkles, he's sure that he'll fail. Luckily his partner Benny comes to his rescue and introduces him to a quirky little bakery that sells all kinds of weird (and delicious!) baked goods. And they do special orders! Dean finds excuses to keep going back, and Castiel finds excuses to keep giving him special treats. 

Cursed Or Not by Ltleflrt / 115223 w. / E (ltleflrt.tumblr.com)

While experimenting with magic when he was a kid, Sam accidentally cursed Dean. Now, Dean is forced to wear a spelled amulet constantly, or he'll turn into a random animal. For a little over a decade, he's learned to live with the curse, and has even found it useful in some cases, but he sure would be happier without it. 

When he meets a witch named Castiel, he's offered a deal. Instead of assuming all witches are bad, Dean can spend a season getting to know him. If at the end of the season, Dean still thinks he's evil Castiel will send him away with his memory wiped of the whole experience. But if he learns that Castiel is not the monster Dean assumes he is, he'll lift Dean's curse. It's an offer Dean can't bring himself to pass up. 

Hooked On Your Love by Ltleflrt/ 122217 w. / Series / E (ltleflrt.tumblr.com)

Part 1: Addicted To You by Ltleflrt

Dean is a Warlock. A very very drunk Warlock. Oh, and a horny Warlock. Hey, he knows how to summon a succubus! He should totally do that. Hell yeah! Guaranteed hot sex! Except that spellcasting while drunk is a Very Bad Idea. He's just too drunk to remember that. 

Painted Angels 'verse by WinJennster / 133969 w. / Series / All Ratings 

Part 1 : Painted Angels by WinJennster for ANobleCompanion

Author Castiel Novak has finally hit the big time, with a book based on his failed college relationship with a brilliant painter. He's put all his pain behind him, but at a book signing, he comes face to face with Dean Winchester for the first time in twelve years, and the reunion doesn't go like Cas hoped.

Dean's a broken man, with a lot of scars and secrets, shoulders weighed down by his demons and self loathing. Cas sees a second chance with the man he's never stopped loving, but Dean's moved on, and is about to get married. Sam launches a "brilliant" plan to reunite his brother and his best friend, but Cas is worried it will all blow up in their faces, and he'll go through the agony of losing Dean a second time. 

Satin and Sawdust by Ltleflrt / 159594 w. / E (ltleflrt.tumblr.com)

When Castiel moves out of Jimmy's house and into his own place for the first time, he saves money on buying a home by investing in a Fixer-Upper. He knows nothing about how to fix the many problems the house has, but he figures he's smart enough to figure it out. Unfortunately it's not too long before he learns that he's way in over his head. 

Thankfully his new neighbor Dean is a handyman, and agrees to help him out. He knows Dean has a bit of a crush on him, but he's not taking advantage of it, really. Dean's a great guy, and quickly becomes a good friend. But a flash of satin under Dean's toolbelt changes everything. 

Like Cats and Dogs by sweetdean / 188749 w. / E 

Dean Winchester, Alpha, lead Hunter for the Pack, is in need of a mate. His wolf is out of control, he's on edge, and nothing seems to be doing the trick. Dean is convinced that he'll never find a mate, but when the Pack's Council forces him to figure it out before he ends up going rogue, Dean doesn't have much of a choice. 

Problem is, Dean isn't interested in what the members of his pack have to offer; and that means looking elsewhere. Dean knew his mate would have to be different. He just didn't know what "different" would really mean, and how "different" would bring his whole world crashing down on top of him. 

Angel's Wild by LimonadeGaby, riseofthefallenone / 389271 w. / E 

But that’s the whole reason he’s here, isn’t it? He’s not out here hunting Humans. He’s not even hunting deer, or bears, or anything else that featured in Bambi. He’s out here, freezing his nuts off every night, because he’s hunting Angels. 

Sometimes Dean wishes that Angels were like how they’re described in the Bible. How people from time too old for him to care much about thought Angels were messengers and warriors of God,protectors of Humans. He knows that how they’re really described in the Bible is actually pretty terrifying, but at least they were told by God that they’re supposed to love Humans, right? That’s a thousand times better than what Angels really turned out to be. 

Writtenby:riseofthefallenone Artist and co-author: limonadegaby 

Out of the Deep by riseofthefallenone / 909874 w. / Series / T and E (this takes serious dedication but so worth it... don’t be scared ;)) 

Part 1 : Out of the Deep by riseofthefallenone

Stay away from the light-beds. Stay in the deep. It is the first thing hatchlings are taught the moment their fans unfurl and they can swim without their parents to buoy them along. It is the first rule, the first law. It is the beginning of every boogey-monster bedtime story told when they settle against the cliffs to sleep. Castiel should have listened better. 

Fandom: Supernatural  Pairing : SamxDean (no rude comments plz!) 

Stay The Distance by lazy_daze / 23934 w. / E 

"You know why. I'm not leaving my brother alone out there." 

Sam is dependent on Dean's touch and closeness after the wall falls - Dean's presence reminds him of why he chose to wake up, and keeps the memories at bay, allowing Sam to function. 

The brothers have to face up to what happens when their Winchester codependency becomes literal, and the physical, spatial and temporal boundaries of their bond blur the line between familiar and suffocating, comforting and limiting. 

Hit the Ground Crawling by jonny_vrm (elmo_loves_me) / 28122 w. / E 

After Sam pulls Dean out of Hell, Dean stops talking. It takes a week for Sam to convince Dean to open his mouth so Sam can check that his tongue hasn't been cut out. It takes two weeks for Sam to accept that Dean really isn't talking. Then it takes a week of silence, the two of them sitting in the Impala like ventriloquist dummies, sitting in motel rooms like human taxidermy, before Sam decides to start talking for the both of them. 

Old Country by astolat / 40639 w. / E (crossover Harry Potter) 

Sam and Dean go to Hogwarts. 

(spoilers for All Hell Breaks Loose, Deathly Hallows) 

Courting Death by theproblematique / 50723 w. / E 

Sam Winchester lived the first six months of his life in a happy family; the next twelve years as John Winchester's only son, and the last decade as an orphan. He's supposed to die at twenty-two trying to save the woman he loves from a fire, because he doesn't have a brother to pull him back. But the night Sam meets his Reaper he discovers that Death is overly fond of pop-culture references, too beautiful to be real, and reluctant to kill him. 

Fandom: Supernatural  Pairing : SamxDeanxCas (no rude comments plz!) 

Not a bird by zation / 11100 w. / E 

Castiel finds himself alone in the Winchesters’ motel room and as he waits for the brothers he feels the need to groom his wings. Sam and Dean eventually arrive and things get out of Castiel’s somewhat confused hands. 

Or, The one where Sam just couldn’t let that opportunity pass him by. 

Share Each Other Like An Island by TheGeminiSage / 27576 w. / E 

Dean never expected to see his amulet again, much less with Sam's soul inside. But after a century in Hell, Sam's soul is broken so badly that Castiel says it'll take a lifetime to heal, and that's a lifetime they don't have, not with Sam's body still hellbent on killing Bobby. 

Together, Dean and Castiel set themselves the task of learning the amulet's complicated history, and just what Sam did on his last night on earth. 

Enfleurage by saltandbyrne / 29155 w. / E 

Castiel is a struggling perfumer with a rare gift. When a handsome new customer orders a custom scent for his husband, Castiel is drawn into a world he never imagined. Dean and Sam have secrets, and Castiel might be the only person who can share them. 

CollegeAngels.com by tiptoe39 / 33540 w. / E 

AU. Dean and Sam have always been a little too close, and Dean knows it's wrong -- so he heads to college, hoping that he'll meet someone there who will keep his mind off his little brother. He meets Castiel, who has a business proposal for him --- join Cas in bed, and online, for live webcam site CollegeAngels.com. Through Castiel, Dean learns about sex, kink, and freedom, and he finally feels pride instead of shame for who he is. 

But then Sam gets accepted to the same school, and he wants to live with Dean... 

Fandom: Supernatural  Pairing : None 

Into This Wild Abyss by jacyevans / 17809 w. / T 

A year after Sam jumps into the cage, Dean finds him alive, but missing an integral piece of himself - his daemon, Astrid. Dean knows she isn't lost, and he and his own daemon, Saskia, embark on a quest to find a way to bring her home. Their search brings them to Lyra Belacqua, a mysterious hunter who tells them that the only way to find Astrid is to speak with Death. Death offers Dean an ultimatum: become Death for a day, and he will do everything in his power to bring Astrid back. However, this means doing the unthinkable - Dean must leave Saskia behind. 

Fandom: Suits  Pairing : Marvey 

In The Middle (Before I Knew I Had Begun) by PanBoleyn / 4398 w. / M 

It's an accident, when Mike touches Lyla. But everything follows from there. 

(Or maybe everything follows from the moment Rhi saw the golden tiger and all she could think was how beautiful she was.) 

love will come through (it's just waiting for you) by tattooedsiren / 7113 w. / M 

"I just need more time," Harvey says, almost begs. 

Because he's not ready for this, not yet. He knows, the way he's certain Mike does too, that if they do this then that's it. For better or worse, this will either make them or completely ruin them. 

They are standing at the crossroad of that, but he's not yet ready to choose his path. 

The Cat That Walked By Himself by Xanthe / 8737 w. / T 

Everyone has a soul animal, but the ability to see them has faded. Harvey Specter possesses not only the ability to see them but also to transform into his own soul animal. Harvey likes to think of himself as the cat that walks by himself, but that changes when he meets Mike Ross, and comes face to face with the rarest soul animal of all… 

Extract: If Harvey hadn’t had the Specter gift for seeing into a person’s soul and glimpsing the true self within, then he would have sent Mike Ross packing the minute he showed up for a job interview carrying a suitcase full of weed. The reason he didn’t was because he looked into Mike’s soul and saw something he’d never seen before - and it shocked him to his core. 

Second Spin by machtaholic (cinderella81) / 12999 w. / M 

It all started when Kyle broke one of Harvey's records. Kyle knew a guy who knew a guy. In comes Mike Ross, owner of the record shop Second Spin. 

There are sparks, but both men are fairly stubborn ... but don't worry, this is me. It has a happy ending. :D 

a life sentence (in your arms) by tattooedsiren / 13086 w. / T 

Harvey doesn't know why the following words come out of his mouth. It's the lawyer in him, he supposes, always trying to get to the truth of the matter. And besides, he's been accused of many things over the years, and tact is rarely one of them. 

"So, are you a prostitute?" Mike bursts out laughing. 

"No, no I'm not. But it's a common misconception. I'm a professional cuddler."

something inevitable by tattooedsiren / 14853 w. / E 

He would be lying if he said he wasn't tempted. Because he has known Mike for a grand total of twenty minutes and already knows that Mike would work hard, could excel if given the chance. And more than that, he likes this kid, his bravado and cheek, the way he can give back as good as he gets. And Harvey only expected to find someone he could tolerate; he never anticipated finding someone he actually liked. But he can't do it. There are bigger things at play here. He would be betraying Jessica - she’s done so much for him, more than he could ever enumerate, and hiring someone with no degree is not a fine way to repay her. 

So as much as he wants to go back, to say, "You're hired, you start on Monday," he can't. He won't. 

Instead he says, "The coast is clear." 

[AU in which Harvey doesn't hire Mike in the pilot episode.] 

Crescendo by smartalli for starskeeper / 26334 w. / E 

Music & Lyrics inspired AU. Harvey Specter was on top of the world and on top of the charts – until his father died and his partner betrayed him, abandoning Harvey to launch his own solo career. Without him, without a partner to compose the music, Harvey’s career is in jeopardy. And with just a month left until his album is due, the clock is ticking. He thinks he’s done for, until he passes by a storefront and sees a man in a gray hoodie, hunched over in front of a piano, fingers flying over the keys. 

Grande Soy Triple Dirty Chai by friskaz / 38301 w. / M 

Every fandom needs a barista au. 

Original prompt on the kink meme: "Harvey is (still) a lawyer. Mike is the only barista that gets his coffee order right, and isn't afraid of a bit of intelligent and snarky banter." 

I don't feel right (when you're gone away) by IDreamOnlyOfYou (lauren3210) / 47575 w. / E 

Harvey loves his suits. But there maybe something else he loves more. He just needs a little something to help him realise it before it's too late. 

Better Days by turnyourankle / 58520 w. / E 

June, 1999. 

Mike Ross has just graduated high school, and is about to enjoy one last carefree summer before attending Columbia University. With two part-time jobs, demanding friends, and having to prep for college, Mike thinks his summer is set. 

What he doesn’t expect is developing a crush on his friend’s older brother.

Pizza-Verse by Closer / 65613 w. / Series / T to E 

In an alternate universe, Harvey's still the best closer in New York but Mike's not a runner for Trevor: he's a pizza deliveryman, Harvey's favorite pizza deliveryman. And Harvey's discovery that Mike's more than he lets on will change everyone's lives... 

Told and retold through Mike, Donna, and Harvey's point of view, with new scenes and reactions each time. 

 Part 1 : Pizza And A Movie by Closer

Fandom: Suits and Teen Wolf  Pairing : Marvey and Sterek 

Uneven Odds by Dark_K / 93273 w. / M 

Harvey is having a tough time adjusting to the way things are at the firm right now. Mike doesn't know if he'll ever have Harvey's trust back. Derek is afraid he's made all the wrong choices, and Stiles... well, Stiles may be a little too broken to know what to do anymore. 

The one where they are brothers - they just have no idea what that means. 

Fandom: Merlin (BBC)  Pairing : Merthur 

The Wall of Arthur by supercalvin / 4557 w. / M 

In a surprisingly good David Attenborough impression, Gwaine said, “Here you see the remarkable mating ritual of the Merlin and the Arthur. Which involves mostly insults and swearing.” 

Or: How Merlin and Arthur Met and Why There is a Restroom Wall Dedicated to Arthur’s Ass 

Strike of Lightning by helloearthlings / 4830 w. / T 

Uther's commandment was very simple: If there should come a day when Arthur met his soulmate, he would drive a sword through their chest and kill them on sight. 

All's Well That Ends Well by StormDancer / 6298 w. / E 

Merlin spent the week and a half that Arthur was gone splitting his time between crafting careful explanations that never ended up explaining the important things, the things that would make Arthur listen, and making half-baked plans to escape to Ealdor. 

He found a number of fire-proofing spells that would have no effect if they decided to cut his head off, and figured out how to adapt an invulnerability spell he had been trying to find a way to cast on Arthur without him noticing so that it would protect him from being decapitated, but it would have no effect on anything but metal. 

Despite all his frantic searching, he did not find a teleportation spell, because that would have been too simple and if there was one thing Merlin had learned in his years at Camelot, it was that nothing was ever simple. 

The Pact by Cori Lannam (corilannam) for vissy / 17700 w. / E 

The ancient Albion Pact demands that the Prince of Wales must take someone magic born as his soul-bonded consort by the time he is 30 or face death. Before he was a Detective Inspector Warlock, Merlin Emrys was young and in love and made a promise to Prince Arthur -- and now Arthur is calling it in. 

The Crown of the Summer Court by astolat / 24339 w. / E 

"The king sent me to get you," Merlin said, with a tone that implied strongly that he wasn't rolling his eyes where Arthur could see, but just wait until his back was turned. 

"He said you're to get changed into formal clothes and meet him in the Great Hall, there's a delegation coming from the Summer Court." 

The Practice Boyfriend by giselleslash / 24495 w. / M 

Merlin’s been in love with Lance for years, but he hasn’t had much experience dating and he wants to figure out the ins and outs of dating before Lance comes back into his life. 

Cue Arthur and his manwhoring ways, ready and willing to show Merlin the ropes. 

Stars Above, Stones Below by Destina / 46843 w. / E 

After the disastrous end of his betrothal to Gwen and the regret of his offer to Princess Mithian, Arthur swears off finding a wife until he's ready to wed. When Merlin offers himself to Arthur as bedmate, Arthur suggests they hand-fast in secret for a single year of mutual pleasure without obligation. 

As their year together unfolds, and secrets and betrayals unravel around them, Arthur and Merlin learn there is no such thing as uncomplicated pleasure. Everything they thought they knew can change in the span of a single year. 

Emrys Ascending by tricksterity / 110864 w. / T (crossover Harry Potter)

In the depths of the Crystal of Neahtid, Merlin sees the resurrection of Lord Voldemort, an event that will tip the balance of the world so far out that only he has the power to intervene and set it right, or stop it from ever happening. For that, he'll have to pose as a student and attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. 

The only problem is, he's been chosen instead of Cedric Diggory as a Triwizard Champion, and there's a recently reborn Arthur Pendragon in Gryffindor House. 

A Modern Manservant by Mamalazzer / 112645 w. / E 

A modern magical comedy very loosely based on Ugly Betty. 

Publishing king Uther Pendragon has had enough of his playboy son seducing every female assistant he has ever had so he hires Merlin, a man he is sure Arthur will never sleep with. Merlin would be more insulted by this fact if he wasn’t so busy trying to juggle his duties, save Arthur's skin from ruthless fashionistas and keep his magic a secret at the same time. 

Expect appearances by oil-lathered knights, the occasional mad druid, a perverted Will and a mental caretaker who lives in the basement and keeps harping on about coins and destiny. 

The Student Prince by FayJay / 145222 w. / M 

A Modern day Merlin AU set at the University of St Andrews, featuring teetotal kickboxers, secret wizards, magnificent bodyguards of various genders, irate fairies, imprisoned dragons, crumbling gothic architecture, arrogant princes, adorable engineering students, stolen gold, magical doorways, attempted assassination, drunken students, shaving foam fights, embarrassing mornings after, The Hammer Dance, duty, responsibility, friendship and true love... 

This story was inspired by the thought of Prince William of Wales (and indeed the current Max von Hapsburg) studying at the University of St Andrews; it is also, as the title suggests, at least a little inspired by the operetta 'The Student Prince'.

And that’s it lovelies!! Hope you enjoyed the rec ;)

[impatient14]

EMP Theory is Alive and Thriving

I want to preface this post with this: I am in no way trying to offend or upset the people who do not believe in EMP. This show can be read in so many ways, even by the people who agree on most things. I respect everyone’s opinion. This is just mine! 

So, with that said, I want to go through some things I noticed in The Six Thatchers that (to me) are Extended Mind Palace smoking guns. Let it be said that I have only watched the episode twice so there is definitely going to be more to add to this list. 

1.) The story about death in Sumara. It was mentioned multiple times, by multiple characters. Almost like they were all given the same script. And you may be like, well, yeah, they are actors in a show, but writers do not give actors the same brain. But it is like Sherlock, Mycroft, and Norbury all share a brain. They all bring up the story without any of the characters speaking to each other about the story first. Sherlock’s dialogue is a voice over, which is not time stamped. It is possible that Mycroft and Norbury brought up the story and then Sherlock used it in his monologue to the audience, but why did Mycroft and Norbury both think of the story? Because they share a brain. Sherlock’s brain.

2.)  As @tjlcisthenewsexy pointed out, the sharks, CAM, water, and the death story are also very telling. This post/thread sums it up far better than I could.

3.) Intuition, Premonition- these words were used to describe Sherlock’s feelings about The Six Thatchers case. Premonition is defined as a strong feeling that something is about to happen, especially something unpleasant. Sherlock is anticipating his death, and his intuition is telling him that Mary is involved. Its almost as if she is responsible for his murder in the first place…

4.) The odd transitions and reality breaks. The water imagery over Sherock’s face and in the background of certain scenes, Mycroft and his office busting just as the MT busts were doing throughout the episode, the overlay of a cracked bust on the side of Sherlock’s face. There is an argument for production style here, but its all so very over the top. Much more so than ususal for BBC’s Sherlock. Its almost like they want you to question what you are seeing…

5.) The Damn Skull. In case you can’t tell. Its glowing, almost like an x-ray. Like, an x-ray of someone who is currently laying in a hospital bed. Its fucking glowing guys. Adding onto the fact that it was blue in HLV, something is seriously wrong here.

6.) Mary and John sleeping on opposite sides of the bed from where they slept at the beginning of HLV.

7.) AJ doesn’t care about killing people enough to slit the throat of one of the Thatcher bust owners (unless it was really Mary who killed her), but doesnt shoot Sherlock when Sherlock tells him he is Mary’s friend and he will protect her. Um. Okay.

8.) Sherlock Holmes. His first and last name was said multiple times, by multiple people. Almost as if the entire world is centered around him. We hear his full name multiple times in his confrontation with AJ at the pool. “Who are you? Sherlock Holmes. Who is Sherlock Holmes? Not a policeman.” (This is a reference to ACD or canon Sherlock Holmes who is always described as “Not a policeman or vigilante, just a logical man with an eye for detective work.”) AJ’s “Goodbye Sherlock Holmes” is haunting me too, and not just because of the cheesy line. Where else have we heard someone say, “Goodbye Mr. Holmes”? (Honest question, I know its significant…help! EDIT TO ADD: A couple people have pointed out that this is what Irene texts Sherlock in ASiB. I do remember this, but it isn’t what I had in mind. I feel like I can hear someone say it…like in a threatening way the way AJ does…any takers?)

9.) “Sherlock the dragon slayer.” Mary says this to Sherlock after she gives him what looks like a wickedly smug smile. First of all, how the hell does Mary know Sherlock sees himself this way. When he and Mycroft had this conversation, she was in the middle of passing out in John’s arms. Unless she knows Sherlock sees himself this way because the conversation with Mycroft took place in Sherlock’s mind, just as this ones does. 

10.)”My Darling.” Mary begins her letter to John in the most old fashioned, cheesy way. Its not the way Mary Morstan talks…but it is the Mrs. John Watson talks- from TAB. “I don’t mind you going, my darling, I mind you leaving me behind.”

11.) Mary’s disguise on the plane was a joy to watch, but it reminded me of someone else. Sherlock. Sherlock loves disguises and theatrics. The vicar from ASiB and the french waiter from TEH spring to mind. 

12.) The number 6. Six months of bristly kisses. 6 months until SHerlock was to die in exile. 6 years that AJ was held in captivity. 6 Thatcher busts. A metaphorical 666 carved into the baby’s head. Highlighted 6 before giving us this:

The number 6 is important to Sherlock, but why?

13.) John’s blog. There should be multiple blog posts for us to read and yet, there aren’t. Its not that Joe is no longer available, bc they’ve told us he has a project for this series…why stop updating the blog? Because there have been no more cases and John is too busy sleeping by Sherlock’s hospital bed. oH, and The six Thatchers? Already a case Sherlock solved. Years ago.

14.) Scene in Georgia. The ambassador says, “I’ve got something they’d love if I could just get out of here” (Paraphrasing). The man asks what and the ambassador replies, “Amo.” She has love. Just like Sherlock has love and has figured it out and if he could just get the hell out of that coma, out of the damn hospital bed, he could give it to John- and John would love him in return.

15.) The two lengthy rapid deductions Sherlock makes are about Mary.

16.) The white papers of doom. There are three of them. Mary to Sherlock (drugged), Exx to John (temptation), and Molly to Sherlock from John (emotional distress). There was a white note of doom in TAB too. Miss me?

17.) John’s cheating story line. It fits in with TAB (see below), but I think its more complicated than just that. We get him texting someone Hey and them replying with the same.Then we get the night time text messages. They seem to be written between people who are at the beginning stages of their relationship, but are still intimate in some way. The Its been too long and Miss you implies they’ve spent time together, but the Night Owl? implies they don’t know each other very well. So, taken alone, this could definitely be from the bus woman. John then breaks it off with his This isn’t a good idea. I’m not free. Things wont end well. It was fun getting to know you a little. I’m sorry. Then the bus stop girl is waiting for him at the bus stop and he smiles at her and then looks guilty- the same look he had when he decided to keep the paper instead of throwing it away. This is what we see. HOWEVER there is more there. First, when John opens the paper to text Exx for the first time he does so horizontally, however, the image they show us has the number broken vertically, as if the paper were folded vertically and Exx isn’t broken up.

Then we’ve got Sherlock saying he deletes all messages from John that begin with the word “Hi”, then we see John text someone (E xx) with the word “Hey.” .The paper that the woman (E) gave John was already in her hand when she was sitting on the bus, she was fiddling with it when they made flirty eye-contact. She then wrote something on it before giving it to him, but the presence of the paper beforehand is suspicious. Almost as if she was planning to hand that exact paper to John anyway, before they even flirted. We’ve also got Sherlock telling John and Lestrade, very specifically, to take the bus home from the crime scene. Sherlock set John up. Why? Because that is the part he needs him to play. He needs John to feel guilty while Mary piles on the manipulative hero-worship and then dies in his arms. All of the text messages themselves are off. Almost like they are in code or written to different people. As if it is Sherlock writing for LiR, while channeling himself as well. 

18.) TAB. Basically the existence of TAB is the biggest smoking gun of all. Within that episode, Mofftiss established multiple things. 1.) Sherlock sometimes goes through lengthy mind palace scenarios (with the aid of drugs) to work out a case and we, as the viewer, could be subject to watching them. 2.) A bride fakes her own death with a big splat of blood and drama, then returns to kill her husband- who was cheating on her. 3.)Sherlock made a promise to someone about keeping their spouse safe, and that promise was broken. Lady Carmichael- “You promised! You promised you’d keep him safe!” John- “You made a vow!” Let it be said that Lady C was playing Sherlock there and that she wanted her husband dead all al- OH WAIT. Actually, we never get confirmation that it was Lady C that set up the whole thing. Sherlock makes that deduction, but then Moriarty shows up and ruins the reveal. Either way, its the same story line. Sherlock makes a promise to keep someone safe and fails. 4.) we have the text messages that Sherlock sends John and Mary at the end. Mary’s reads: The Curtain Rises.The Last Act.Its Not Over. John’s is just literal directions as to where to go. He didn’t tell Mary where to meet him. There could be an argument that this would imply that Mary was already in on some sort of plan to fake her death, but the exact same phrasing was used in TAB. 

19.) Mary’s video. A posthumous message that parallels Moriarty’s in many, many ways, which includes the phrase, Save John Watson. Where have we seen the phrase Save John Watson before? It was the answer to part of the skip code in TEH. John or James, indeed.

20.) “You’ve been having a reoccurring dream.” I feel like this might be an actual scene, just placed out of order. This scene might be from after Sherlock wakes up. He explains to her what he went through in his MP and she (as any therapist would do) interprets it as a dream. A reoccurring dream. That’s exactly what TAB and TST is. Its the same dream told differently. He goes to Ella after he has awoken and recovered and asks for her help in figuring out what to do with the emotions he has decided to acknowledge. (EDIT: This may actually be EMP too…read this.)

I think 20 is a good number to stop at. Im sure there will be more in the future. Please feel free to add on at your leisure. 

The most important thing to realize here is that Mary is the villain and Sherlock is figuring out how to best her, protect John, and stay alive at the same time AkA- The Final Problem. 

Tags:

@monikakrasnorada @isitandwonder @tjlcisthenewsexy @ebaeschnbliah @yan-yae @gosherlocked @the-7-percent-solution @longsnowsmoon5 @tendergingergirl @may-shepard @loveismyrevolution