Mr Wolf and the Pigeon KingBefore my mother died she used to tell me endless stories the sort that you could never understand where she'd got them from, but enjoyed the colours she laid out in your mind with them anyway. Some I'm sure were pulled straight from her head as she went along, and others were obvious favourites of hers from when she was a little girl ('The Willow and The Nightingale' and 'Little Sun, little Moon' were ones she recounted often). Amongst the numerous tales I was regaled with one of them stuck in my mind particularly stubbornly, and this was the tale of Mr Wolf and the Pigeon King. For an odd reason it was always one I liked, but I had little idea of how pertinent to me it would gradually become as I wandered through the years that were to be my life.
'As a young man' she would begin, 'Mr Wolf was renowned for being particularly handsome he had delicate features often said to be in competition of the serenity of a woman. He lived alone in a little cottage by a tree and a sm
sherlock fanfictionPerhaps I should try to explain though that is all I ever seem to do where exactly upon I stand, if that makes sense.sherlock fanfiction3 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
I apologise in advance for readers that are keen to explore discourses that pertain mainly to solid fact; this piece of writing is not entirely appropriate to that approach, and after spending far too much time reading John's writing I seem to have inherited his habit of telling a story backwards.
As I alluded to earlier, I am explaining where I stand. Obviously, as you have little context, I could be standing on an upturned bath with a drawing of a bull pup on my head declaring that the end is nigh.
I am not.
I suppose by writing this, I am trying to explain John Watson to myself.
It is a part of my life I have never fully understood and as one who's business it is to fully understand, this has left a small niggle firmly wedged into the pit of my mind, grinning at my lack of comprehension for it. Possibly if ever I have been short with John, it was
Sherlock fanfiction part 2What?Sherlock fanfiction part 23 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
Wait, what; what is this?
I can't think but...
But I can always think.
When all else fails it is the sole thing that still functions.
I still had the offending item in my hand that had rendered me useless. A note, short and sweet; though far too terse and too jagged to drag through any thought processes.
'John is most definitely alive though I can't guarantee that that will last very much longer - he does rather struggle, but I imagine that would be the army training. Shall have to figure out a means of dampening his spirit.
These are the sparks; let us see how quickly your heart ignites.
And I give no clue as to where we are you're clever, figure it out.
No other possible combination of words could have offended me more; it was as though someone had shot me through the chest, forcing my body to reel forward from the impact of the shock. Furniture, cutlery, life fell aside, to make way for my form loosing balance momentarily and I fell to my knees.
But my brain
Sherlock fanfiction part 3"Perhaps next time you shouldn't jump in front of a gun?" John smiled at me warmly, "though far be it from me to give the consulting detective the advice."Sherlock fanfiction part 33 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
I allowed myself a laugh. "Yes, I rather think you're right it was not the most pleasant experience in the world. And the after-effects are simply ghastly."
I was confined to either bed or sofa at home and John, in a feeling that I knew was well meant, had stuck me in front of the television.
Dull, dull, dull.
Why are these people considered interesting enough to be given timeslots; and people actually watch this? People are interested in what they have to say?
Needless to say I was encased in veil of hate. But I knew if I so much as moved, not only would I be shouted at by John, but I could actually make my shoulder worse; and seeing as I need this arm, the best thing to do was put up with the dreary existence. Do consulting detectives really need both arms?
That's a stupid question, Sherlock, you can