Sherlock pulled the sheet back from the cadaver, reaching for a fresh pair of gloves before gingerly lifting a roll of pale, cold fat. "How recent was the surgery?" He murmured softly to Molly, spreading the flesh to inspect the scar, "looks like about four months, based on the healing pattern?"
Molly nodded, but remembered that Sherlock (probably) wouldn't see her behind him, so added, "Yes, the stomach was stapled in late April, though was poorly maintained."
"Excellent," Sherlock grinned as he made a small incision along the scar, "This is as close of a match to my case as I could hope for. You've been most resourceful."
Molly blushed a bit at the compliment, turning toward her work computer. "You're welcome."
Texting: Part FourSH: Bored.Texting: Part Four4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
JW: I'm eating dinner with Sarah. Hack my computer and update your website or something.
SH: But I have not had any good cases in a while and thus am bored... Hope you don't need your pillow.
JW: What have you done this time?
SH: I'm behind bars. Scotland Yard got a bit jumpy and so when I came on the scene... Bring a cake with a metal file.
JW: Are you serious? How is it you still have your phone? Cake? Not pie with a laser or a crumpet with a lock pick? What flavor would you prefer?
SH: Chocolate, though if you could find a laser I'd prefer that. And I told them I would rather text than have my phone call.
JW: And they let you? I'll bring chocolate but I can't guarantee the laser.
SH: Good. Surprisingly they did. I was joking when I said it too.
JW: Some people can't distinguish sarcasm from seriousness. What about Lestrade? Can't he do anything to get you out of there?
SH: He's not here. Across the city I think.
JW: No one has bothered to let him know? Are Donovan a
Boo-Boo "No! Sherlock, get a plaster!" John whined in horrified astonishment as the younger, curly-haired nuisance of a boy scratched gently at a congealed scab on his right calf. "It'll bleed!"Boo-Boo3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"I know, I want it to," Sherlock replied matter-of-factly as the scab fell to the carpet of the nursery floor. "It interests me, see?"
Blood, red and thin, seeped from the un-healed wound in his leg. It had been cut in the first place only four days ago after Anderson had gone on a rampage with an ankylosaurus figurine. In all fairness he had been provoked by Sherlock's attempts to shut him up by placing a Mr Men band-aid over his lips. Mr Happy's smile was ripped in two. Sherlock smudged the blood over his white skin, rolling up his trousers over his knees in order to get a better look. John chewed his lip worriedly.
"Are you sad, Sherlock?" he asked his friend anxiously. He remembered hearing something about people who cut themse
BlanketIt had been days since Sherlock had slept, but John didn't really worry. Of course he worried a little bit–with the protectiveness he felt for Sherlock and his doctor's instinct how could he not? But he knew that eventually Sherlock's body would shut down, (despite Sherlock's protests), and force him to rest. And so when John came home that night after a slow day at the clinic, the sight of Sherlock slumped in his usual armchair did not surprise him in the least, and it brought a smile to the tired doctor's weary face and a certain contentedness to his heart. He imagined it was how a parent must feel after watching their child struggle for days on end and then at long last find peace.Blanket4 years ago in Romance More Like This
He saw Sherlock's bare feet and noticed that he wasn't wearing his coat and scarf either. So he went to his room, grabbed the blanket off the bed, and came back into the study. He knew he didn't have to worry about waking Sherlock up, so he took as much force as necessary to properly wrap the blanke
Oneword: DismissedOneword: Dismissed3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"Dr. Watson." John looked up from his hands with a miserable yet somehow still blank expression. His supervisor continued. "You're a talented physician. You know that, and I know that. You've been with us for more than two years! But ever since you've resumed your Extracurricular activities, your performance and attendance have taken a serious turn for the worse." The chief surgeon leaned across his desk with an expression which could almost be construed as worry, but not quite. "We simply can't keep a salaried doctor on the payroll if he doesn't show up. You understand." John nodded and stood to leave when he was dismissed. He wondered if Sherlock would mind terribly that he no longer had a day job. Now that they were drawing in enough cases to support both halves of the rent, he supposed, probably not.
72. Insomnia - JohnlockJohn lay awake in bed, an all too familiar violin screeching downstairs. Of course, it wasn't actually screeching, but at three in the morning it might as well be. Now if it had been in the afternoon or sometime that wasn't in the middle of the night, the violin would be quite pleasant.72. Insomnia - Johnlock3 years ago in Romance More Like This
He squeezed his eyes shut and held his pillow up against his ears. The action was futile, he knew from doing so several times before. Upon realizing that it still wouldn't work he let go of the pillow and opened his eyes with a sigh. He kicked off the blankets and stood up, walking over to the door of his room. He opened it up just enough to poke his head out and yelled, "Would you keep it down! Some people are trying to sleep!" He tried his best to sound threatening and angry but it only came out as tired and groggy and not intimidating at all. The sound of the violin paused for a moment and John thought that he finally got through to him. Unfortunately he didn't and the screeching continued. John sigh
PatientI was seriously contemplating killing my flatmate.Patient3 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
When I woke up this morning, I found Sherlock curled up asleep on the couch: red flag one. He tends to be an annoyingly early riser. I shook him awake, hoping that he wouldn't go into attack mode once he'd been startled into consciousness (It's happened. He'd raked my arm with his nails before he realized what was going on.). His eyes didn't snap open as they had in the past, but fluttered, as if he was battling for the energy.
"Wha-?" he croaked, then winced.
"Sherlock," I said gently, "It's nearly ten."
He groaned and flipped onto his stomach, burying his face in the cushion.
"Are you feeling all right?"
"I'b fide," he mumbled into the sofa.
"Really? Because you seem to be suffering from the majority of the symptoms of a cold."
His shoulders shook with a sneeze that he couldn't quite suppress.
"Make that all."
"Go away, John. There's dothing wrong with-" achoo! "Be."
I rolled my eyes and set about making some tea. "I hope you
The LessonThe Lesson3 years ago in Romance More Like This
"Honestly John, it's really quite simple."
"No, Sherlock! It's not 'quite simple!'"
"Of the two human beings in this room, which one is more able to make a well-informed and intelligent decision on the difficulty of a certain task?"
"I really think there's only one human being in this room: me. But in any case I should cause I'm normal."
Sherlock scoffed. "Ugh. Boring. Now try it again."
"Sherlock, my fingers are tired. I seriously can't play anymore. My fingers are going to start bleeding and I'm going to get an infection."
"Are you insinuating something about the cleanliness of my bow?"
"Actually, maybe I am." John set the violin down on the armchair. "You've come home soaked in blood before."
"Pig's blood." Sherlock murmured.
"As if that makes it alright!" John shouted, throwing his hands up in defeat. "How am I supposed to know what sort of rubbish gets on your bow?" He crossed the room, desperate to get away from the world's most aggravating flatmate, and let himself fall onto the
Texting: Part TwoJW: Sherlock are you up yet? I need you to bring my briefcase to the clinic. It's on my bed.Texting: Part Two4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
SH: Ugh. Why so early!
JW: Early? It's noon! Are you feeling well?
SH: I can barely open my eyes, the sun is giving me a migraine-headache, and my arms ache. I'm tired. Get your bag yourself. I'm going back to sleep.
JW: Want me to bring you anything? I'm on my lunch break. I can go to Belladonna's if you like.
SH: No, just leave me alone to die.
JW: Don't be dramatic. I'm coming home to check on you. What are your symptoms?
SH: I'm not being dramatic, I really am dying! I can't breathe and my nose is on fire on top of that. I can't speak for my throat and my head is pounding and hot but the rest of me is freezing.
JW: I'm on my way home. rest up. Hungry?
SH: Probably, but I doubt that I'd actually be able to eat anything. Every type of food I can think of seems completely abhorrent to me.
JW: Soup it is then. Preference?
SH: I just told you I didn't want to eat. If you bring that here and I th
Sherlock- BelieveCONTAINS POST-REINBACH SPOILERSSherlock- Believe4 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
What was he doing here?
The grafiti'd skatepark was buzzing with the rebellious youth of London. Hair filled with gel and hairspray and even a few individuals with feathers was dyed all colors imaginable, and a few others that even John Watson had no name for. Clothes were ripped in all the wrong places for any hope of practicality, and a few men had their pants slung so low that the doctor had no idea how they managed to walk.
The army doctor shifted from one leg to the other, before quickly shifting back at the shot of pain up his right leg at the application of pressure. Damn limp. Damn leg. Damn just damn. What was he doing here? It was stupid. He was stupid.
Ten seconds. That's all he was getting to show up. Ten seconds and then John was leaving. He didn't have time for this. At this very moment he could be curled up in the corner of a dark hotel room pretending to be dead. Maybe if he pretended long enough it would happen. A man could only ho
Texting: Part OneSH: Bored.Texting: Part One4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
JW: I'm sorry. Pester someone else. I'm working.
JW: What do you want me to do?
SH: Something entertaining.
JW: And what qualifies as "entertaining" to you?
SH: I don't know, just do something. I'm bored. Or find me another serial murder case or something. My mind is stagnant, John, stagnant.
JW: Why don't you ask Lestrade or your homeless network?
SH: They're boring.
JW: And I'm somehow not?
JW: How is that?
SH: They're stupid.
JW: You think I am intelligent and Lestrade isn't?
SH: No, I think you're simply more intelligent. He is not.
JW: I see... Well, flattery, intended or not, will get you nowhere. I have another patient coming in.
JW: So, Sherlock, I needed to tend to my patient. Someone has to bring in money to pay the rent.
SH: I do pay rent. They've put me on payroll for the crimes I solve and I get paid per hour.
JW: By Scotland Yard?
SH: Yes, who else would it be? Random people from the street? Actually, that's not such a bad idea...
VintageJohn walked up the stairs to his flat feeling very satisfied. After Sherlock had destroyed his favourite jumper during one of his mad science experiments, it had taken John weeks to find another one to his liking. Even though he wasn't normally choosy about his clothes, he felt that he was allowed one guilty pleasure, and for him, that was selecting his jumpers. He was especially pleased because not only was this one good quality and comfortable, but it was also inexpensive. He had found it in a thrift shop just down the road. He would wash the garment later, but for now he just wanted to feel the familiar weight of the knit. Entering the sitting room, Watson coughed and waved away green-coloured smoke. Wait, green? No, he didn't want to know. Afraid of what might happen if he came upon his flat-mate by surprise, he announced,Vintage4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"Sherlock, I'm back!"
The curly-haired man only grunted in reply. John resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Sherlock could be such a pain sometimes, but at least
Texting: Part ThreeSH: Getting milkTexting: Part Three4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
JW: You? Get milk? Are you feeling well?
SH: Yes I was just passing the store and I thought we needed milk. I bought four gallons.
JW: Thank you... please leave on whole entire gallon free from experimentation. And I don't mean between the four jugs- I want one whole jug to myself!
SH: But I've gotten them for a purpose. What do you mean leave a whole gallon? I need them.
JW: I should have known. You only told me because you didn't want me to use them, didn't you?
SH: Yes. They are in the fridge. I will be back later. For now, Lestrade has me at a new case. Solved easily, leave my milk alone.
JW: Next to the severed head, I presume. You don't need my help on the case, do you? I won't make any promises about the milk
SH: Not this one. I've just seen the scene and it is hatefully dull. The murderer was the son. How predictable. And I've gotten rid of the head. Your over reactions got annoying after the third time. Besides, I kept the eyes... Don't microwave anything.
I'm sorry, MycroftI'm sorry, Mycroft4 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
He just stood there, hands in pockets, looking at his big brother as nothing had happened. Well, it was his usual look, the one that couldn't tell you much of the thoughts and emotions hidden behind those eyes. Actually, Mycroft was not much different, they were brothers after all and they were both extremely good at hiding feelings. So they were standing staring at each other trying to guess the following movement of one another. Sherlock expected everything, just everything, he never knew what could Mycroft do if his honour was wounded, and Sherlock was sure that it was. He hadn't told his brother about the plan, he had made him consider his little brother dead. It hurt, it definitely hurt. Not his feelings, but his pride. He had always been the person who knew everything about everyone. And now he was fooled by his own little brother. And that fact made the great Sherlock Holmes feel nervous. Like he was again five years old standing before his brother with his broken toy in one han
The drugs."John!"The drugs.3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I heard my name. Sherlock called me. I set down my cup of tea and my paper, and sprinted towards his room. When I opened the door, Sherlock was on the ground, apparently he stumbled out of bed.
"You okay?" I asked.
"HowdIgethere?" He asked.
I couldn't help but notice that he even looked amazing after being drugged, being brought here by the police, which was an awkward ride with cameras flashing, not the press, no, all the police officers that Sherlock had insulted, and yes, those were a lot. Then he had been sleeping for 9 hours, I suppose that's the longest he's ever slept. He never slept much. He was still wearing his black shirt, he looked kinda handsome, always did. I loved his shirts, they were so typically Sherlock. We hadn't bothered to change him into a normal T-shirt.
"Well, I don't suppose you remember much, as you weren't making a lot of sense, oh, I should warn you, I think Lestrade filmed you on his phone." I thought it'd be best if I didn't tell him about the oth
The Friendly Sniper Part 3Fandom: BBC SherlockThe Friendly Sniper Part 33 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
With new information in hand, Mycroft set himself to do something he had not done in many, many years. He went for a walk. The park was old, but the grass was still as green and well cared for as it had been when he had been a boy. Teenager, really. Sherlock had been the one with boundless energy, bouncing about the house until Mummy had ordered him outside (and Mycroft with him to keep an eye on him).
He couldn't be settled with just running around the park with the rest of the children like any other 5 year old. Not that Mycroft had ever really expected him to but it would have been nice to be able to just sit under the tree and read while his little brother wore himself out.
Instead, Mycroft had been reduced to... playing.
Pirates, spies, hide and seek. The games were the usual type but the rules far too complex for any of the other children to understand.
The hand signals had been developed for their spy game (something Mycroft was surprised Sherl
A kitten and a bulldogJohn Watson enters the living-room on 221b with the intention to clean it at last. To be honest this thought has came to him not because of his amazing flatmate or his improbable experiment. No, he has decided that just because no one has done the cleaning literally for ages. And Mrs. Hudson refuses helping them, trying to avoid visiting John's or Sherlock's rooms. Just for her own sake.A kitten and a bulldog3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
So the former doctor with the duster in his right hand walks across the living-room, making his way to the window.
"John. Why are you doing this?"
Sherlock Holmes lazily opens his one eye, lying on his armchair upside down.
"Because I can not actually breathe in this damn flat."
The detective yawns, muttering something like "breathing is boring." John shakes his head and carefully moves the reams and countless amounts of notes, newspapers and photos from different crime scenes.
Suddenly he hears quiet noise. John turns his head and looks at Sherlock. "You sneezed."
Sherlock glance at him with his eyebr
Freaky and his little Johnny - Prologue (ITA)Freaky and his little Johnny - Prologue (ITA)3 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Anche quella sera pioveva.
Grosse nuvole si erano addensate due giorni prima, verso mezzogiorno, e da allora lo scroscio d’acqua non aveva smesso di battere sulle case.
Le strade erano tristi e vuote, nessuno aveva voglia di uscire con quel tempaccio, erano tutti rinchiusi in casa o in un pub, per rallegrarsi e scaldarsi in compagnia.
Bé, non proprio tutti.
Nelle cantine di una delle case più antiche della città un’ombra si muoveva lentamente, sola e infreddolita, facendo tintinnare lievemente le catene che la tenevano legata.
Dopo molti giri a vuoto della cantina, l’ombra finalmente si sedette in un angolo, quello più lontano dalla finestrella sbarrata che dava sulla strada.
Odiava quella finestrella.
Gli dava una visione del mondo esterno che, seppur ristretta, lo faceva stare male, perché lui, di un maschio si trattava, rinchiuso in quella cantina, non sarebbe mai potuto uscire.
E in più quando pioveva, spesso faceva entrar