WatchingHe is very active for a man who was supposed to be dead. In fact, he is, without a doubt, the most active dead person, except from Irene Adler. They text each other a couple of times, sharing their 'Everybody Thinks I'm Dead' stories.Watching4 years ago in Drama More Like This
He got bored very quick. He hated being stuck in the small room, and after the first time he had shot at the walls, Molly had taken the gun and thrown it away. He didn't have any cigarettes and he couldn't update his blog. All of his favourite activities had been taken away from him. Which was why he started pacing the floor often.
Finally, after three months, he got to go outside. He walked around in the shadows of London, letting the Homeless Network know he was still there. Not many of them seemed surprised. He asked them to bring him news of anything suspicious, especially around Baker Street. He still wasn't that Moriarty was truly gone, and if he was right, he would make sure that he would not get to John or Mrs. Hudson.
After six months
For Alia: Sherlock's ReturnIf Sherlock had believed in a deity, he might have thanked him/her/it the moment John walked through the door of the ex-consulting detective's newly acquired bookshop.For Alia: Sherlock's Return4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
In the years after the unfortunate Reichenbach affair, Sherlock had been forced to go undercover, to let everyone think he was dead and buried, disgraced. Even Mycroft had been in the dark until a year ago, until Sherlock had been forced to go to him for help. But the need for discretion had passed, his enemies sought out and destroyed so that they could never harm any of his friends ever again.
All that was left now was to wait for the moment that he could reveal himself to John without inducing serious psychological damage on his friend. So, naturally, Sherlock bought a bookshop on Baker Street. Okay, so Mycroft had bought it, and under duress too, but that was of no consequence. All that mattered to Sherlock was that sooner or later, John would find it and enter, and then... Well, he would figure that out when the tim
Sherlock- BoxJohn blinked at the box in the middle of the floor. It was fresh, new. The label on the side was addressed to Speedy's café, so John knew it wasn't originally meant to be in the flat. Mrs. Hudson wouldn't randomly leave a box in the middle of the floor, and John definitely hadn't had anything to do with it, so that left Sherlock.Sherlock- Box4 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
As far as things Sherlock brought back to the apartment, a cardboard box was mundane, at best. That was part of what worried John. He moved to examine the box, speculating as to what could be inside.
The first thing that he noted was that it was upside down. The bottom of the box, which was now the top, was still sealed with packing tape. Closer examination showed that the tape across the top of the box (now tucked underneath) had been peeled off, so the only opening was at the bottom. This also meant that it had been opened, which reduced the fear that Sherlock was stealing a café's mail.
With a huff, John plopped down in his chair, staring at the b
GuardedWhy do you cross your armsGuarded3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
In front of your stomach
Like you have to
Hold yourself together,
Keep everything inside?
Why do you act
Like you are broken
And all you can do is hold
Onto the pieces?
Why are you silent,
As if a word could shatter you
At any moment now?
ExperienceI don't want sleepExperience3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
To make me forget
What you did,
Even when you
Could almost close
In that instant.
I don't want to cry
Myself to sleep,
Hating you for
That was also
I don't want to
And have to hope
That super glue
My smile on.
I don't want to forget
That made me say
Is what gives me
Something to learn from.
SwayedThe girl always and only drew hands.Swayed3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
She was neither bad nor good,
And she dreamt of being an artist.
Everyone said a doctor would be better,
A teacher would be better,
An engineer would be better.
So, she sold her pencils and decided to use her feet.
Option #2You're my backup plan if option one fails,Option #23 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
My go-to number two when everything tumbles
Out of my hands and I can't get a hold on life.
You're my escape route that I talk to
When my highway is not so high anymore,
And I often wonder:
Am I also your option two?
The Reason for LiesYour pointed question pokes at my chest,The Reason for Lies3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Pawing for an answer that will bend your lips.
I could check my head for a lie that's sure to please you
And hope that guilt doesn't get me in the end,
Since all you really want is my agreement.
I know I'd get away, but how far could I run
Before your eyes showed up in my head again?
And how long could I live, knowing I made you smile
With a twisted truth so easily forged?
"At least I'd make you happy"... I tell myself.
Because as long as you stay unaware of this,
Nothing I say can ever hurt you.
So it's very important that you never find out,
For as soon as you question me, all these lies start to burn.
BBC Sherlock-BabysittingJohn Watson rubbed his eyes wearily and summoned the last fragments of his patience. "Alright, run it by me one more time. You did what?"BBC Sherlock-Babysitting5 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
Sherlock Holmes was, for some unfathomable reason, sopping wet and covered in soap suds. His clothes were plastered to his skinny frame and he stood dripping in front of Watson's armchair, peering down at his friend through his sodden fringe. "I ran through a car wash." He explained, calmly, for the third time.
John sat back in his chair, his eyes closing despairingly, and asked the question again. "Why?"
"Chasing a suspect."
"And it didn't occur to you to go around the car wash instead of through it?" Then John remembered this was a guy who, on the very night he met him, got hit by a car whilst chasing a suspect. Sherlock may have been incredibly intelligent but the tunnel vision he got when a suspect was in sight often led him to do chronically stupid things. Rather like running through an operational car wash . . .
"Well, he w
Sweet DreamsLet me sing you to sleep with vitriolic pride,Sweet Dreams2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
I will write a requiem to keep you warm.
Your dreams will leave you no place in which to hide.
Let me sing you to sleep with vitriolic pride,
Remember to rue the day you smiled at me and lied.
Drift away beneath this hard, imperfect storm.
Let me sing you to sleep with vitriolic pride,
I will write a requiem to keep you warm.
My AminalsWhen I was 4 years oldMy Aminals3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I named all my aminals
Because they were mine
And I could do that.
I had a monkey named Swingy,
A duck named Swimmy,
And another monkey named
And on my next birthday
I got a unicorn pillow
And it was my favorite thing
In the whole world.
I always called him beautiful.
And later I named him beautiful
Simply because he was
DN - L x Reader - TrustDN - L x Reader - Trust4 years ago in Romance More Like This
-CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR DEATH NOTE!-
You knocked on the door shyly
"Come in. The door's open"
You blushed as you opened the hotel door. You saw L, or Ryuzaki as he asked you to call him, sitting in his usual fashion, holding a book in his hand ... in his usual chair. He invited you to headquarters after every meeting was done. You and he were very close ... in fact, you loved him. You sat next to him and he looked at you with a smile
"Hello, (Name). It's so good to see you" He said
You mimicked the way he sat and he smiled at you
"(Name) ... there's something you should know" He said, his smile dropping
You became concerned. He had shared all of the information about the case with you ... he even told you that he suspected that Light Yagami was Kira
"(Name) ... I fear that ... within a few days, I will be dead" L said
You gasped as tears began to form in your eyes. The idea of L dying wasn't pleasant. It broke your heart to even hear him talk about the possibility of it happening
Eyes of MineIt hovers over the surface, scanning for an imperfection.Eyes of Mine3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
It comes up empty, but doesn't stop searching.
If my pupils were lasers, your neck would be slit,
But at least you would know it was me.
If my iris were replaceable, your neck would be collared;
If my lashes thinker, you'd be tied to me forever.
If my mouth were not drowning, I'd say you were mine.
It bores into your skin, burning, stabbing, clawing.
It doesn't hurt you or even touch you, so I quit.
If my eyes stopped seeing, your neck would be black,
But I know it would still be there - just not for me.
If my iris were irreplaceable, you'd be free from my grasp;
If my lashes weren't thick, you would never be bound.
And since my mouth is still drowning, you may never be mine.
The Green of my Heartbeats5: Red, rude, a bully.The Green of my Heartbeats3 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
She was bored, propping her face up on her palms. Her teacher, high-voiced and chirping in fuzzy green flurries, was writing rows of sevens on the board. White chalk. The sevens were glimmering in turquoise, and she smiled.
Sevens were nice, friendly. Seven would never eat nine. Nine was just a baby, like her brother at home.
She was only five. Fives were bullies, nasty. Bright garish red, like B. B was red, but he was not as rude. He forgot things though. Like his keys. Impatient.
She sighed, her head slipping and resting on her wrist. She could feel her pulse on her cheek.
"Seven!" said her teacher, continuing to fill the board. "Say it with me. Seven!"
Later, they got to practice identifying numbers. She had learned before, at home. Kindergarten was not meeting her new knowledge expectations.
Sitting at the table, she strived to make conversation to ease the ache inside her brain. "I like sevens. Aren't they the prettiest color you've ever seen?"
They boy next
Incompetent LimbOnce on another day, I wrote a poemIncompetent Limb3 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
With my left hand
Because I wondered if my left could write
Just as well as my right
And I wrote a poem because that
Seemed more meaningful than my name.
And I wrote and erased repeatedly
Just to waste time
Because I really didn't care about my left hand.
After all, they don't do much
Unless your left hand is equivalent to my right,
In which case you might find your right hand
I Won't SpeakI'm sorry; I won't speak, lestI Won't Speak2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you know how I feel, or
feel how my heart aches,
in silence, and conceals how
much I care for you, and the
things that I go through:
should I drown in my fears, or
spill my heart to you?
How to Fix The WorldHow to Fix The World3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
an execution, while play
The howling strings
Of the cellos
Of the veins
Of the time
To the discord
Are the who and what,
the how and the why
Ever lost to that
of the cords
of the strings
of the howling
"Fix this", they cry,
the masses whose
words fester and boil,
carried words, spoken indirect
of the leaders
of the struggles
of the home
of the brave
The final breath
of humanities dying words
"in ashes, from ashes"
She speaks, so melancholy
of the future
of the present
of the past
"World!" She pleads
with a cry, so finishing
"Heed and listen!"
To them she speaks
Of the necessary
of the desired
of the curses
of their blessings...
Skin.I love the way life leaves its mark on our bodies.Skin.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Every laugh and smile etched in the crinkles around your eyes and mouth;
Those tan-lines the time you forgot about sunscreen
Because you were so hell-bent on reaching that mountain peak
Or when you just became lost in the gentle lap of waves at the shore;
The scars you got skateboarding in the park at summer dusk
Or when life became pain and it was your only release.
Our bodies are a record of our memories and experiences
They are our travel journals and emotional diaries
Our delicate armour to the elements.
And no matter its colour, its stature, if it's not quite intact
If you sometimes think it takes up too much space, or if it has pointy corners
Your body is the vessel for your soul, and every wonderful facet of who you are
Sparkles from the surface of your skin.
Skin that may grow to be wrinkled, tanned, scarred, well lived-in
Although not always embraced by you the way that others embrace it.
Take the time to explore the s
One summer chap 1 England.One summer chap 15 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
It was across the country, across the ocean, and it rained there. a lot. but guess what? i didn't mind. i hated my life here in california, i didn't belong under any circumstances. i didn't have perfect platinum blonde hair, i wasn't model-height, in fact, i am only 5'2", and i don't act cool all the time. i'm a goof. people give me weird looks because i don't dress
From the eyes of my fear.From the eyes of my fear.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
"Hello" I whisper. "Hello friend." I say again slightly louder then before. "Hello friend or friend that could
be!" I yell hoping to be seen. I know that we speak defferently, but maybe if I try slower and louder
something might break through. "H e l l o!" I shout. "Can you hear me?" I ask knowing there will be no reply.
My heart slows, my body droops, my eyes glaze over. I am alone. I am hanging on by a thread. Someone sees me.
"Hello, can you hear me?" They're coming closer. My heart is racing! "Hello!" I shout "Hello friend or friend
that could be." They turned away. "Am I ugly? Am I scary? Am I to small to be a friend?" Same as allways. I am
seen, but not heard. I get their attention, but quickly lose it. I know that a giant could never be friends
with a small unheard thing, but it shouldn't hurt to try. Guess I'll have another fly.