Dinky Doo's Father Revealed"Mom, who is my father?"Dinky Doo's Father Revealed4 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Ditzy Doo paused in making dinner, the grey pegasus's body stiffening as her eyes widened in shock. Turning, she looked at her daughter Dinky Doo and blinked slowly. She held her breath for a moment, slowly counting to five before letting it out. In her head, she had known this day would come, but she had hoped her little filly would be older.
Ditzy Doo knew about how the other foals made fun of her due to her mother being 'special'. As cruel as the foals Dinky's age were, they would grow out of this stage eventually. The real painful barbs were from the mares and stallions around town. The aghast looks and the back-handed compliments towards them both when they were out shopping or having dinner. The whispered conversations and darting looks. That hurt them both far more because at times they would even say such things to their faces.
But they long ago stopped letting it phase them. Dinky knew all too well her mother understood and comprehended far more than t
SH: Cuddling Can't Be SimpleSH: Cuddling Can't Be Simple3 years ago in Humor More Like This
Cuddling Can't Be Simple
(BBC's) Sherlock/John semi-fluff
"What do you want?"
John's brow furrowed, forming well-worn wrinkles as he settled heavily against his too-thin friend. The first time he'd heard Sherlock utter this specific question had been three weeks ago, just after John had finally given in to the soft smirks, the messy dark curls and absentminded touches. Oh, and stupidly adorable clumsy flirting. On both their ends.
Considering the compromising situation they'd been in when Sherlock had asked, he hadn't given the question much thought.
But now he'd kept asking, days and weeks after their flurry of shouts and giggles and confessions. It hadn't taken him terribly long to see the pattern; any time he invaded Sherlock's personal space, The Question was uttered. But why? Any attempts to call Sherlock out on the odd inquiry was met with curious, stupefied eyes and a circular conversation that ended with Sherlock deducing John was the one being obtuse.
SH-The Ghost of Covent Garden3It was 3:00 am in 221B Baker Street and John Watson had long since succumbed to sleep as a result of his rude awakening at such an early hour of the morning. He lay curled in his armchair, his breath leaving him in small whispering bursts that were almost but not quite snores.SH-The Ghost of Covent Garden33 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Sherlock Holmes was lying spread-eagled on the floor in front of their chairs, Dante the cat a heavy mass curled in a heap on his master's lean stomach and Gladstone sleeping contentedly in the warm nook between Sherlock's arm and chest.
Sherlock had retrieved the headphones from the skull on the wall and was listening to music, his eyes closed as his mind bounced smoothly off the notes echoing through his head. He was attempting to get his mind in a suitably operatic place. It wasn't really working.
Night-time sharpens, heightens each sensation . . . Darkness stirs and wakes imagination . . .
Silently the senses abandon their defences . . .
Good grief, Lloyd Webber has a lot to answer for . . .
JohnLock - Safe and SoundIt was, to the day, three years since Sherlock Holmes walked of the roof of St Bart's.JohnLock - Safe and Sound3 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
For John Watson; three years of pain and grief and misery; three years spent pushing everyone except Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade away. Even Mycroft checked in on him once in a while. Three years during which he had been the same person he was after returning from Afghanistan; the limp was back, he went to therapy, he tried to blog, but there was honestly nothing going on in his life that was worth blogging or writing about.
Honestly, who would want to read of the misery of an ex-Army doctor who still believed Sherlock Holmes when everyone apart from Molly, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, Mycroft and himself found him a freak; a fraud?
Still, there were signs out there that others believed Sherlock as well. Posters coming up all over London which said "Moriarty was real" and "Richard Brooke was a fraud", graffiti in the exact same paint that was used in their second case which stated "I believe in Sherlock."
BBC Sherlock - Day TwoAs the sun was just starting to rise on London, Sherlock Holmes lay on the floor of 221B and stared upwards. His legs were propped up on the sofa with his back flat against the floor, his sharp eyes writing notes on the ceiling.BBC Sherlock - Day Two4 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
Cases: Dundas and Moran.
-Posed blood stains which are mirror images of each other.
Purpose: Unknown, possibly symbolic.
Motivation: Desire to send a message? Obsessive behaviour? Self-destructive leaving of clues in order to aid the capturing process?
Method of manufacturing: Unknown, difficult to pose liquids exactly. Created with a pipette or stencil? Maybe a frozen mould which is then thawed to create the shape? Ask Lestrade for Molly's results on the blood to see if there is evidence of temperature changes.
-The cosmetic surgery at the same clinic. Had the two men met?
Briefly rolling over to check the notes Lestrade had given him revealed they
Error - Reichenbach ficA/N: A portion of John's dialogue in this belongs to the BBC, Moffat, Gatiss, etc. because it was just too beautiful to change.Error - Reichenbach fic3 years ago in Drama More Like This
This contains "spoilers" for the episode of the Reichenbach Fall
It was quiet when John arrived back at 221B. The steps creaked under his feet when he walked up the steps as they usually did, but when he reached the landing at the top, there was no Sherlock sitting on the sofa or at the kitchen table. Pain slashed through John's chest like a white hot knife. He was really gone dead Tears pricked at his eyes, and his leg shook a bit under him.
The army doctor moved slowly through the sitting room and sat down in the armchair. Everything seemed to jump out at him at once; the skull that sat on the mantle, the books that Sherlock has recently read, the newspaper that had been crumpled slightly before being discarded on the table, the lab equipment that still sat on the kitchen table, the chair still pulled out slightly as though waiting
Nine Months Gone"Look, Dean, I'm sorry-"Nine Months Gone3 years ago in Drama More Like This
"Shut the hell up!" Dean screamed at Cas. His eyes were red and tears coated his face. His hands were clenched tightly, as if trying not to jump and attack the angel standing before him. Cas ran a frustrated hand through his hair, trying to find the right words to say. Dean didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to hear Cas's pathetic excuses. He just wanted him to leave. Leave like he did nine months ago.
"Dean, if I told you, it'd only be worse. You know I had to do what I did," Cas said after a long, tense moment. Dean scoffed.
"Yes, because leaving me alone for nine months, literally ALONE, and lying to me- is totally okay! Why do you think I'd just let you waltz back into my life after you hurt me?" Dean's voice cracked on the last sentence, and he looked toward the ground, clenching his fists even tighter and biting his lip.
Stop crying, he shouted at himself in his head. He's not worth your tears. He's not. He's not. He's not. He's-
"I didn't mean&
I BELIEVE IN SHERLOCK HOLMESEvery big change of John's life begins at St. Bart's in one way or another.I BELIEVE IN SHERLOCK HOLMES3 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Living with Sherlock. (The address is 221B, Baker Street.)
Sleeping with Sherlock. (It's not just an experiment. But I don't think that my work will like it.)
And then living without Sherlock. (Goodbye, John.)
He shouldn't have been surprised then that another part of his life also starts here.
It's a normal evening, with John starting to work late. The week after Sherlock's death (he still can't think of it without a lump forming in his throat) he stopped working at the clinic and instead got a job at the morgue.
He can't stand listening to people who think they are bad off when he recalls listening to Sherlock's voice, almost breaking, looking down at John and reaching for him. It's easier to look at a corpse and find out about their lives on his own.
So he's just walking into the morgue, passing the clipboard they put on the wall there, looking over the notes ("Someone can take my shift
BBC SH - Reunion - MycroftThe Diogenes Club was old. The dark wood panelling and the high ceilings marking it out as a relic of a bygone era.BBC SH - Reunion - Mycroft3 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Rather like many of its inhabitants.
And like every old thing, it was a bit battered around the edges.
Normally, Mycroft Holmes saw the grandeur and the glory of the building's past.
But today, in the gloom of January with the rain pattering with insistent consistency against the window, Mycroft found it hard to ignore the flaking paint and chipped wood surrounding him.
But then again, the entire world seemed a little bit tarnished now.
He sat in the window seat, a glass of brandy cradled in his lax fingers, gazing numbly down at the hooded and umbrella-d figures hurrying along in the street outside.
The door opened and closed quietly; informing him that someone else had entered The Stranger's Room.
He raised his brandy to his lips and gave it a sip.
The figure moved towards the window, following Mycroft's line of sight.
They stood in silence for a moment.
Then a low voic
QuenchableThat thirst.Quenchable3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
It was killing him.
He'd tried milk, but it was too creamy and the taste was thick in his gullet and mouth. Juice was an unwanted explosion on his tongue- the tantalising flavour made his gums sting and throb. Coffee, tea, cocoa: they burnt his insides and boiled his stomach. Water was boring, soda made his nose fizz. The thirst didn't go away. That was until the doctor arrived.
"Um, Sherlock?" John asked anxiously, putting the paper back down on his lap. The book was uninteresting. Something about legal troubles.
"Mm?" Sherlock was mid day-dream. The other man's neck had been stained a strange, pinkish honey tinge of an after tan.
"Are you alright? You look different."
Sherlock straightened up in his post-modern geometrical chair and crossed his legs like a monk meditating. His eyes were ringed with indigo and his mouth was chapped. His skin was near translucent and his hair didn't shine in the light. It looked as though it was painful to breathe and think. Sherloc
SH - The Russian Ballerina 4Sherlock Holmes was rapidly coming to realise something. It is difficult and uncomfortable to ride pillion on a dirt-bike, even at the best of times.SH - The Russian Ballerina 44 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Especially when it is being controlled by a teenager whose general scatter-brained air and drug habits were common-knowledge to all who knew him.
And, as said teenager was traversing London's darkened, rain-slicked streets with a reckless disregard for the state of his bike or his passenger's spine, in a desperate attempt to prevent the death of Sherlock's niece, this could hardly be considered as the best of times . . .
The brakes howled as Banjo's dirt bike skidded to a halt at a curb, the battered Ford Fiesta following them screeching to a stop and missing them by all of six inches.
As the occupants of the Fiesta scrambled out, Sherlock tore the helmet from his head and gasped as the cool air hit him.
"She must be clos-" He began but he froze as a sound sliced through the air.
A gunshot like a distant crack of thunder.
Then a desperate
BBC Sherlock - Day ThreeSherlock Holmes sat cross-legged in his armchair, glaring at nothing.BBC Sherlock - Day Three4 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
How? How did Lestrade manage to screw up that badly? He had let a psychologically unstable, symmetry-obsessed serial murderer slip through his fingers with the result that a fifth victim had been killed. And NOW his methodology was evolving, the previous four victims had been men in their early thirties; the latest one was a seventy year old woman who had gone to the surgery three days before the first murder for a check-up appointment after a face lift. And as the killer's technique changed, the harder it would be for Sherlock to anticipate his next move.
Sherlock tangled both his hands in his curly hair and yanked in an attempt to vent his frustration.
A small meow made him look up.
Dante, his great-aunt's kitten was sat on the arm of his chair, looking at him. This was unusual as the animal in question was widely thought of as the spiritual reincarnation of Caligula and had the very bad habit of biti
BBC SH - The Case of the Dancing Men IIIt took less than twenty seconds after Alison Cole's revelation for Lestrade to go marching from the church for the police radio in one of the cars, instantly radioing in an alert.BBC SH - The Case of the Dancing Men II3 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Even now as the woman opened the door to Cole and Tydfil's flat, Sherlock had no doubt that various wheels in the clunky Scotland Yard machine were grinding into life, setting in motion whatever procedures they supposedly had for finding missing children.
Sherlock deeply doubted that they would work.
The flat was dark, the curtains pulled in an attempt to keep out the heat of the day. A reasonably effective measure, since the flat was far cooler than the London streets outside. From what John and Sherlock could see through the gloom, the walls were painted in various subtle shades of blue, grey and cream.
Sherlock stalked away down the hall, leaving John with Alison Cole.
"How did your brother and Rhodri meet?" John asked, softly.
The woman gave a wan smile, her composure waning. "They were on the undergroun
The Right AmountDean licked his lips. Hmm, not bad. He rubbed his hands off on the apron and added a little bit more sugar. It needed to be the perfect pie, or at least the perfect pie for Dean. He started whistling while stirring through the pastry. It was almost ready for baking.The Right Amount3 years ago in Romance More Like This
He grinned when he heard a fluttering noise behind him. "Ah, Cas, you are just in time!" He turned around and gestured Castiel to come closer. "You've got to taste this."
"Dean, there are more important things going on right now," Castiel said, though he felt his own curiosity take over as he stepped forwards.
Dean snorted and shrugged. "Those things can wait. It's Christmas, Cas!" Dean patted Castiel on the shoulder when he appeared next to him. Castiel frowned as he looked at the white and brownish stuff in the bowl. Could that be more important than saving the world? Castiel cocked his head in confusion.
Dean dipped his finger in the pastry and held it up to Castiel's face. "Come on, tough guy," he said amused
Home For Christmas part 1 Home for ChristmasHome For Christmas part 13 years ago in Romance More Like This
Sherlock staggered tiredly into his tiny flat, pressing his back against the door to force it closed against the blizzard that was picking up outside. He unwrapped the scarf from around his nose and mouth before switching on the lights with numb fingers. The bare bulb in the center of the ceiling flickered before washing the room in wan yellow light. Sherlock set about starting a fire and, as an afterthought, turned on the radiator which sat by his bed.
Dropping down onto the couch in a flurry of dust, he began to remove his gloves and dig his mobile out of his pocket. “No news,” read the message from Mycroft, dated December 24th. Today. Christmas Eve. Sherlock let his head drop to the back of the couch with a sigh. His first Christmas Eve away from John. His first Christmas Eve being dead. He ran his hand over his face, prickly, he needed to shave.
He sat in silence, listening to his radiator clank into lif
An Unexpected Novel - SherlockIt's been much too long (two days) since the last case and John has hidden Sherlock's gun. He'll find it in a momentit's either behind John's dresser or rolled up in a towel with the linensbut right now he can't be bothered to get up off the sofa.An Unexpected Novel - Sherlock4 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Bored. Bored bored bored bored bored bored.
He doesn't have any experiments to run. Freezer burn invalidated the last one and John said he was sorry but it had certainly looked like bagged gravy to him, and the freezer seemed like a suitable place for it. And Sherlock had asked peevishly what kind of person puts gravy in bags? and John had snapped back about how oh don't tell me I'm supposed to evaluate your actions according to the standard of 'people' now. And so Sherlock was sulking. For the loss of his not-gravy (river water and sloughed flesh emulsification, actually), not for the retort, which was actually a reasonable one.
He doesn't know how John does this, the long, quiet afternoons. Sure, John
Everyone had bad dreams."It is said that in the final days of Planet Earth, everyone had bad dreams. To the west of the north of that world, the human race did gather, in a celebration of the pagan rite to banish the cold and the dark. Each and every one of those people had dreamt of the terrible things to come. But they forgot. Because they must. They forgot their nightmares. Of fire and war and insanity. They forgot. Except for one..."Everyone had bad dreams.3 years ago in Drama More Like This
- - - -
John Watson awoke with a start. He'd had the nightmare, the same nightmare he'd had for weeks now. That face laughing, taunting.
Sherlock was having nightmares too, but he said he'd forgotten them.
John pulled a hand through his hair, and sat up straight. The room was a bit of a blur. All he could make out were the red and green Christmas lights that Mrs. Hudson had draped across the room, as her little way to make the flat look festive. He waited for the dizziness to pass, and then made his way to the kitchen, where he found his flat-mate solving Su-Doku
The Return of Sherlock Holmes7:30 am. John switched off the alarm and got out of bed, for a second, just a split second he was about to call out, "Sherlock, are you up?" but then it all came crashing back down on him like a nuclear bomb. He could hear them all saying it, 'Sherlock Holmes was nothing but a fake.' It made his blood boil that they could believe such nonsense, Sherlock was the best man he ever knew, and his best friend.The Return of Sherlock Holmes3 years ago in Drama More Like This
John walked into the kitchen of 221b and opened the fridge. Since Sherlock had died it had been cleared out. No more of his experiments lay waiting in the fridge. No more severed heads or eyeballs. It had been disgusting, but in a strange way John missed that. He looked at the bare fridge and thought to himself, 'We're out of milk.' A tear rolled down his cheek as he smiled, a small, sad smile. He made himself a cup of tea and went to sit at his desk. Sherlock's violin lay perched up against the windowsill, John picked it up and plucked at the first string, then the second, then the th
Benedict Who?Hey, Greg, you busy? - JWBenedict Who?3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Nope. Just finished a case. What's up, John? - GL
Kinda hoping for some company. Been a hard day. - JW
I understand. 8 month anniversary today, isn't it? - GL
... Yeah. So if you wouldn't mind coming over? - JW
Sure. I'm over at Molly's. Give me 20 minutes? - GL
See you then. - JW
A polite knock on the door about half an hour later had John limping to the door to open it. Greg Lestrade walked in, a small smile on his face. John closed the door and led the way to the armchairs in the center of the room. John took Sherlock's old chair while Greg settled into John's usual chair.
"So," Greg started quietly, staring at John. "How you holding up?"
"Been better," John said sadly. "Been worse. It just kind of hit me all at once today, you know?" Greg nodded, sending John a compassionate glance.
"What do you want to do?" Greg asked curiously. "Trade stories, sit in silence, watch telly?" John huffed out a strained laugh and ran a hand through his hair.
"I don't think I
Hobbit - Little Acts of HeroismDwarves couldn’t swim, Bilbo had been surprised to discover.Hobbit - Little Acts of Heroism2 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
There were a great many things which, although they seemed quite natural to the dwarves, initially mystified the little Hobbit. Their method of greeting each other by smashing their skulls together was only the first incident in which he became aware of their unfamiliar customs. He quickly discovered more over the next few days of travelling and, in the privacy of his head; he wryly conceded that Gandalf had been right. The world was most certainly not in his books. To be entirely truthful, he learned more about the peoples of Middle Earth from one talk with the well-educated and surprisingly chatty Dori, than he had done in his entire life up until that point.
Needless to say, Dwalin’s nipple-ring had been a major eye-opener and even now the company liked to do impressions of Bilbo’s squeak of surprise upon noticing it. Bifur’s injury too had alarmed him, although in truth the axe firmly lodged in his
SH-The Ghost of Covent Garden4Ophelia tousled her still-damp hair as she sat outside her tutor's office at the university. She sighed glumly and tugged a lock of her hair forwards so she could double check the temporary black dye had not faded her previous purple colour too much.SH-The Ghost of Covent Garden43 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
"Ah, Ophelia. So sorry to keep you waiting." Her lecturer, a woman whose excessive thinness came from an inability to sit still rather than vanity, suddenly appeared carrying a stack of boxes.
"Let me." Ophelia grabbed the boxes so she could open her office door.
"Thanks, as I said, sorry to keep you." The woman said, apologetically.
"You wanted to see me about my assessment results." Ophelia's voice was wooden.
"Yes, for the performance." The woman picked up a scrap of paper and fidgeted awkwardly. "I'm sure we both what we're talking about."
Ophelia stared into the distance, nodding.
"Now, I don't want you to worry love. I've already spoken to the exam board and they've agreed to allow you to re-sit the performance assessment. It's hones
The Dirty GraveFollows my previous fic, The Empty Kitchen (link in the description below) but can be read as a standalone.The Dirty Grave3 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Mycroft pursed his lips with displeasure at the images that popped up in his email. FAKE, PSYCHO, and several other choice words were spray painted on the marble headstone and surrounding grass.
The man who was the British Government paused for a moment to study the woman sitting next to him before speaking. Her clothes were in an older woman's style, her hair done in a simple bun at the nape of her neck to accent the few natural grays that had sprouted. Tasteful. Comfortable. Completely unremarkable. Plain pearl earrings and a knotted pearl necklace. A silver charm bracelet with an old type font M.
He went through the list in his head of average names starting with M for women in their mid-thirties to early-forties. "Mary?"
"Minerva," she corrected without even looking up from her phone. He smiled pleasantly. A rarer name but very plain clothes: She w
Sherlock- Cafe JWWWarning- contains post reichenbach spoilers/angstSherlock- Cafe JWW3 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
A John Watson's War Fic
He didn't realize it was Valentine's day until he got to the coffee shop.
Being in the shop was an event led up to by pure chance and dumb luck, or more specifically, dumb bad luck. The motel's coffee machine had been out of order, and so had his stove (what could he expect at that price? This marked the last time he cheaped out on a room), leaving him without either of his two sources of caffene.
So, being a rational man, he'd gone out to get coffee. He'd never been in this little shop before, but he could deduce that the streamers and strings of pink and silver hearts strung low across the ceiling were a new addition. That paired with the high number of couples making googly-eyes at each other across the little round tables and the dead giveaway 'Happy Valentine's Day!" sign hung across the wall behind the counter informed him of the date.
He limped up to the counter to a bright young brunette on the othe
Dead and Buried(After Reichenbach)Dead and Buried3 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
John didn't flinch, didn't even look surprised when - one fine, ordinary morning just like any other - he found Sherlock sitting in his chair with raised brows and an expecting look in his eyes.
"I'm back," he said and John only responded with a quiet "I know" and fell silent on the matter.
This wasn't right, Sherlock thought, didn't fit with how he'd imagined John react. He had imagined yelling and heated arguments, maybe even objects thrown and abuse being shouted. Calm resignation was one of the traits John did not possess - or rather, should not be able to possess. It was puzzling. Sherlock didn't like puzzles (yes, solving them was nice, was wonderful, was what he strived and lived for, but puzzles themselves were not likable in the least), but it seemed that this one needed further investigation.
John had started seeing his therapist again. Sherlock wondered why, for he still believed her to be rather incompetent. One time, he told Joh