BBC SH - Reunion - Mrs HudsonThe door clicked closed with a barely audible noise.BBC SH - Reunion - Mrs Hudson3 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Mrs Hudson let her shopping bags drop to the floor, sighing as her tired arms gained relief for the first time since she'd left the shop.
Above her 221B felt shadowy and cold.
It always did.
Oh well, she was old. She had lost many. She knew better than to dwell upon the past.
But it would be dishonest to deny that she still felt the painful little tugs on her heart whenever she thought of her boys.
Her poor lovely boys.
She sighed. She was being maudlin again.
Her joints were aching with the damp of the persistent January rain which numbed her toes and chilled her to her bones so she reluctantly hauled her bags up again and waddled awkwardly through to 221C.
She needed a cup of tea.
She paused as she reached her door.
It was partly ajar.
She bit down a moment of panic, shaking her head miserably. She could have sworn she had closed it.
Must be going senile. Oh dear, oh dear . . . It was all downhill from here. Next thing she'd
BBC SH - A Study In Starlight IIIt was the insistent sort of rain.BBC SH - A Study In Starlight II3 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Not heavy per say. Just . . . There. Inside, it was nothing worse than a comforting sort of background noise. Outside, it was a persistent chilling percussion on your body which led to a pervasive sense of discomfort.
John wiped a drip off the screen of his phone, pondering. He was sat at a bus-shelter, trying to summon the courage to ring someone.
Then, before he could talk himself out of it, he pressed dial.
It took a few rings before the person at the other end picked up.
"Hi Mum, it's me."
~Oh, hi John! Give me a moment; I'll put you on speaker.
-Is that John?
"Yeah, hi Dad."
-Are you alright?
John blew out a breath. "Not really."
"Just . . . I . . . Mum, Dad . . . How's Harry doing?" This last was asked with a slight tone of pleading in his voice.
There was a long, awkward silence.
"You still there?"
He heard his Dad sigh.
-She's in hospital again. We were just about to pick up the phone and r
BBC SH - Reunion - OpheliaThe sterile tunnels of the London Underground were familiar territory for Ophelia. She had trod the paths to Oxford Circus and Liverpool Street and Mornington Crescent so often that frequently she did not even open her eyes. Just let her feet guide her.BBC SH - Reunion - Ophelia3 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
She knew every crack in every tile, every dot of gum on the floor, the optimum places for the musicians who performed in the winding passageways to stand to achieve the best harmonics.
And today, with the January rain streaming off her purple hair to run in rivulets down her clothes, Ophelia Holmes trod those tunnels for the last time.
In her damp hand- protectively wrapped in a clear, plastic bag- she had a plane ticket to Canada.
The flight was due to leave at 03:45 tomorrow morning.
She'd never really thought about her country much. In her heart she knew that no matter where she ended up she would always be English. The same way that Anya, despite her Ontario accent, would always be the girl from Archangelsk. Despite the million char
BBC SH - Medic DayJohn Watson sat back in his armchair, feeling a strange giddy sensation of excited pride.BBC SH - Medic Day3 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
This was a momentous day.
The first time ever that his parents had visited him at 221B.
Mr. And Mrs Watson were sat on the sofa, looking around with approving curiosity as they sipped at the cups of tea their son had just handed to them.
"Is he ever going to move?" Mrs Watson asked, inquisitively nodding towards Sherlock who was sat in his armchair.
"No, probably not for another couple of hours. He's currently shifting through old cases in his head to try and find a link." John admitted, looking at his flatmate who was staring into the middle-distance with a deceptively vacant expression. "Don't take it personally that he hasn't greeted you. When he gets like this he doesn't notice anything."
"Doesn't this get a bit boring for you, when he's like this?" Mr. Watson said, scooping Gladstone off the floor and fussing over the delighted bulldog.
"I used to, but now I just like the quiet." John admitte
We AreI am the friendWe Are4 years ago in Settings More Like This
who lost his best friend today. I can't move, can't speak. I crumple into myself. I never knew. He never told me anything. I saw them, heard them taunt him. They dragged him down down till that smile of his was just a ghost.
I didn't know it hurt him so much. But somehow I knew someday I would have to face this. I saw the shadows forming, the future setting itself up. I wanted to grip him, pull him close, and never let him go. He had been my best friend, the kid I couldn't think of never seeing again because I never had to. I feared the day that I would wake up and know I would never see him again.
And it came and I don't know what to do. There's nowhere to turn, no one to call, and I wonder if this hollowness will be there forever.
I am the mother
who has to bury her son years before his time. I never knew what went on in his head. I saw his face, saw the fear in his eyes, but I could never break through. He wouldn't tell me. He was too
FagFag. Queer. Sissy. Gayboy. Princess.Fag3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Every day I'd get up and go to school.
Every day they would be waiting for me.
From the time I walked in till the time I walked out, and even after that online and on the phone; I couldn't escape the names. I couldn't escape the disgust.
I came out as gay in the eighth grade, and it wasn't that big of a deal. Nobody in my family minded and most were actually very supportive. Even the kids at school didn't seem to care that much. It wasn't until another boy came out as gay, Eric Dewitt. I had always had a bit of a crush on him and it wasn't long before me and him became a couple.
I guess that's what it took to make it real for all my classmates, because after that it was hell.
At first I would get beat up, but Eric and the school administration put a stop to that. After that came the names and the looks.
The names were bad, the looks were the worst.
When somebody looks at you as if you were less than nothing, as if you were the filthiest scum on the
That is So GayWow. That is so gay.That is So Gay4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I mean it. That is so homosexual.
Or maybe it is so jewish.
Or so asian.
Or maybe so black.
Or so kid-who-never-gets-off-their-computer.
Or so jock-who-will-peak-in-high-school.
Or so dumb-blond
Or so hetero.
When you say 'thats so gay,' i say 'thats-so-idiot-who-really-needs-a-dictionary.'
It's not hatred, it's incredulity.when i was ten years old myIt's not hatred, it's incredulity.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
teacher asked the class,
"if you were god, what would
and i remember
biting my lip so hard
that it bled. carefully,
i wrote about
how i would teach
kids from an early age on how to
love yourself and no one
else and that there is no such thing as
an almighty power that will pity
you and answer your desperate prayers
at three a.m. because you're the only one
who has that kind of control.
when i handed it in she just looked
at me like i was the
her child's bed. the next day i
was sitting in her office wondering
why it was so wrong to
talk about what's in your heart at a catholic
school when that's what the priest tells
you to do at every sunday mass and
the teacher asked me
another question, "do you
hate god?" and i
wanted to scream "yes, yes!" because
how can a god let the world
slip through their fingers like this one has?
but instead i answered,
"no. i just don't think there is one."
and sat in the chair,
staring at the cross on t
Denied RegretDenied Regret3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I've been everywhere
I've seen everything
I don't want to see it again.
Bad things happened.
As they should,
but you see
these things didn't make me feel good.
They were like thousands of knives,
poking at my skin
Wanting desperately to break in.
I have taken him away,
His life and heavenly soul.
Would it matter
If I didn't regret a thing?
I'd be a murderer and a thief
Since the day I was born
Sprouting was the ground knotted and twisted
My limbs creak with pain
My heart beats with anger
Of these things I've done
Because darling, as you can see
I am not real
I never want to be
I'd regret the moments that I would see
You don't enjoy life so much
When you realize you're not loved.
I can't write poetry for dead girls.there are tooI can't write poetry for dead girls.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
many pills in this
world and too
much misery in
the human heart
but that didn't mean
that you could just
up and leave when
we both know it
could have gotten better
and i miss you like
a wolf misses her pack
or a goddamn dragon misses
her fire and i'm sorry
that i can't give you
a bouquet of jasmines
(they were your
favorite, after all,
because that was
the only princess
with a pet tiger)
because poppies are
too cliche and i'm
sorry i wasn't there
when all you needed
was a hug and for someone
to whisper "it's okay,
you're perfect enough
for me, don't listen
to that junkie bitch
who just happened to
give birth to you" and did
you know that i'm still waiting
for a reply to that one
email about the world's
best puns because fuck,
there's a stubborn part
of me that still refuses to
believe that you're gone.
Darling, Don't You DareTo the girl who skips dinner,Darling, Don't You Dare11 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
Because her reflection hurts more than
To the boy who wears sweatshirts
On hot summer days,
Because he doesn’t want his mother to cry over his
To the boy who weeps uncontrollably
Until he falls asleep,
Because it’s the only way to escape into his
To the girl who spends her days in her bedroom,
Because the dark is more peaceful than her
To the child who gets angry,
Because no one understands.
To the teens who self-harm,
To the ones in recovery,
To the ones that just can’t do it anymore…
For the girl who skips meals
And the boy who wears sweatshirts,
For the boy who cries,
The girl who hides,
And the ones who just can’t do it anymore.
You’ve come this far.
Don’t you dare give up on it, now.
Internet FriendsInternet friends are fake, unreal, untrustworthy.Internet Friends7 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
Parents say , “Don't give your information
to someone who may do something dirty!
They're liars, evil and rapist in waiting.
Their compliments and gifts
are just another form of baiting.”
I'd like to think that we judge without
getting to know,
what happens on the other side of the mouse.
Internet friends are there when we're alone,
till 2 a.m on weeknights,
chatting with us until the pain is gone.
They're always there to confide,
when we're sometimes
on the verge of suicide.
Pulling us through our depression,
begging us not to relapse,
not to succumb to our regressions.
“Get help, not attention,” they'll tap in chat,
as a response of a picture,
that'll show our wrists all hatched.
Sometimes it's the little things they do for us,
like sending “You're amazing” “You're beautiful”,
“You're so full of love.”
They encourage us at times when our “friends” don't,
Yes, I am a teenage girl Yes, I am a teenage girlYes, I am a teenage girl2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
No, I don't squeal over One Direction
No, I don't wear mini skirts
No, I don't curl my hair everyday
No, I don't need my phone 24/7
Yes, I am a teenage girl
Yes, I prefer Edward Scissorhands over Edward Cullen
Yes, I like violent video games
Yes, I like action movies
Yes, I listen to Rock
Yes, I am a teenage girl
No, I don't draw hearts all over my homework
No, I don't spend 20 minutes trying to make myself resemble a porcelain doll
No, I'm not afraid to cry
No, I don't party every weekend
Yes, I am a teenage girl
Yes, I hate reality shows
Yes, my hair is short and messy
Yes, I'd rather walk in the woods
Yes, I am okay with mice
Yes, I am a teenage girl
Yes, I'm different
Yes, I'm strange
Yes, I'm my own person
Why is that bad?
Why do you hate me for that?
Why can't I just be myself without your criticism?
Why is it horrible if I'm not just like you?
I don't have a problem with it
Maybe the problem
BBC SH - Reunion - LestradeHis phone rang.BBC SH - Reunion - Lestrade3 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Lestrade sighed and reached for it, noticing how Donovan looked over her shoulder at him from where she was driving the car. "Hello?"
"Sir," He recognised Evelyn's voice. Young, relatively new, he had recognised her potential when she first joined and helped her learn the ropes. As such Sergeant Evelyn 'Evie' Makepeace was fiercely loyal to him.
Even now after everything that had happened.
He sighed. "I'm not 'Sir' anymore Evie. I'm just Greg, remember?"
To her credit, Donovan tried not to look too smug at that.
"Whatever you say, Sir." Evie said, slightly darkly. "You need to get back, Sir. Fast."
"Why? What's wrong?"
"Someone you need to see."
" . . . You'll want to see for yourself, Sir."
"Wha . . . Look, alright . . . We're an hour and fifteen minutes away. Tell whoever it is they might want to go away and come back later."
There was a pause.
"He said he'd wait."
Lestrade frowned. That did sound odd. Informers never lingered long at the Yard for fear they mig
BBC SH - Lullabies - BIt was very rare to catch Sherlock Holmes humming.BBC SH - Lullabies - B3 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Occasionally the odd bar of a violin tune as he was composing, yes. But it was highly uncommon to find him with a song stuck in his head.
But John Watson was a clever man, and he had spotted a pattern.
When Sherlock texted Ophelia, occasionally John would find him gently murmuring a tune to himself as he typed.
He didn't put two and two together until a few weeks later when a song came on the radio.
At the beginning of the tune, Sherlock looked up.
He never looked up normally.
After a moment, John realised that it was the same song that he caught him humming very so often.
A piece of a puzzle slotted into place in his head.
"Is this the song then?" He asked.
"Excuse me?" Sherlock said, distractedly.
"You said that the only song you can vaguely tolerate is a song that you used to sing to Ophelia when she was little. To judge by your reaction when this came on, I'm guessing it's this one."
"Very good." Sherlock said, nodding at John's th
BBC SH Reunion - MollyThere was nothing nicer than being curled up warm in your bed with nothing but the hypnotic dance of the rain on your window to gentle the silence.BBC SH Reunion - Molly3 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Molly Hooper was balanced on the very cusp of sleep, her duvet snugly moulded to the shape of her body like an embrace.
One of her eyes cracked open slightly.
She mentally scolded herself for falling asleep with her book in her hand and the bedside light on, but was too comfortable to get too irritated at herself.
She sighed, contented, and let her eyes slip shut once more.
Molly Hooper had always wanted to help people. Born cleverer than average, her father and mother had been so proud when she'd became a doctor. And she had loved it. For a while.
But, like sand in an hourglass creeping up the sides of the glass, the ones that she simply couldn't have saved began to accumulate.
Her parents worried about the falseness of her smile. She never had been good at pretending she was alright when she wasn't.
Then one day, she quietly informed them
BBC SH - Lost and FoundA man sat alone in a bar.BBC SH - Lost and Found3 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
There was a neat little pyramid of glasses in front of him. Ten shot glasses in one pyramid. Five in a half-completed pyramid. Three pint glasses.
His jacket sleeve had trailed in a puddle of something blue. He grabbed vaguely at the material and sucked the liquid away.
Glacier mint vodka. From a puddle left by an earlier patron.
The bar man came over.
He pushed a handful of coins towards him.
"Alone again?" He said, ignoring the money.
He nodded and tapped pointedly at the coins.
"I should cut you off." He said, despairingly.
"How much wood could a wood chuck chuck if a wood chuck could chuck wood." He said, his voice wooden. "I'm fine. Hit me."
He sighed and took the money, giving him another pint. "Mate, I have seen a lot of people in my time and believe me you are not fine."
"More fine than I would be without it." He mumbled into the pint.
The sick gyroscopic whirling in his head was a welcome companion now.
It meant he wouldn't dream tonight.
Zansho Morishita Ref SheetZansho Morishita Ref Sheet5 years ago in Profiles More Like This
First Name: Zansho
Last Name: Morishita
Age: Mid 20's
Body Build: Athletic/Muscular
Height: 5'10"-6'2" (not decided yet)
Hair Color: Black
Hairstyle: Naturally Spiky
Eye Color: Metallic Gray
Physical features: Band-aid on nose,eyes turn from Gray to Golden yellow when enraged.
Shirt choices: Slim fit T shirts,Sport Jerseys,Hoodies,Polo shirts,Tank top,no shirt >=3
Pant choices: Jeans,Shorts,Sweatpants,Muay Thai/MMA Shorts
Shoe Choices: Any shoes he might find cool and comfy (Mostly Asics "Onitsuka Tigers" or Nike Cortez)
Other things: Pre-wrap for training and MMA Matches,Baseball caps, Huge blue baseball bat(Look at Shoma's baseball bat for refrence lol),Ray Ban Aviator sunglasses or Ray Ban Wayfarers sunglasses
In development: Body/Battle scars- I still can't decide where to place them
Personality-Tough Guy,A bit cocky,very outgoing,loves to have fun,Kind to others he cares about,doesn't take crap from anybody,hot head at times,Compassionate
BBC Sherlock-Christmas DinnerJohn Watson rolled his eyes as he heard yet another smash coming from Sherlock's bedroom. He had never ventured past the (faintly-charred) door and had no ideas of the horrors which lurked within. But, he mused, given that it belonged to a man who kept eyeballs in the microwave and frequently attempted to create plastic explosives in the kitchen sink, chances are he probably had some nefarious experiments in there. Experiments which, to judge by the noise, were currently being knocked to the floor.BBC Sherlock-Christmas Dinner5 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
"Sherlock, we're going to be late." He called through the door.
"I know, I know!" Came the irritated response, coupled with a sound like a parrot being sat on.
"Mycroft specified 6:30. If we're to get to Holmes House in time we've got to leave in the next five minutes. Especially since taxis are always so scarce on Christmas eve." John said, re-reading the invitation he held in his hand.
"I know." There was a high pitched whizzing noise and a thud as something embedded itself i
Vietnama cellar door was beginningVietnam6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
to open somewhere in all of us
emerging somewhere between
the throat and the spine,
spitting out ink as it burrowed deeper,
giving a new place to hide and store
smiles for better days,
a place for matchbooks and
milk cartons and anything in-between
a place to harbor unkept promises and
other multitudes of sorrow.
had been placed on shelves with chipped
high above the earth
were brought underneath us once again
at this not-quite cemetery,
the all-encompassing "i-love-you"
buried deeply in the mix
of scattered blades and bones
as we learned
how to confront skeletons
belonging to strangers other than ourselves.
from passing by the roses strewn
at the feet of the fallen and feeling
the names of the dead on the cold, wet
stone, there became a certain
satisfaction in breathing
and even more in realizing we still could.
A lesson in realism:you areA lesson in realism:1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
There is no such
thing as stardust
floating in your veins or
gloomy poetry stitched
right into your heart.
Your blood is made of
iron - unbreakable,
unbending and unmatched
by any other stronghold,
for you are a fortress
that they will never invade.
wipe those tears away
and know that
you are the only one
who can reinforce these walls.