Wilting PosiesWilting Posies4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Sunburst lingered in a dusty, long unused room of his home, revisiting memories from nearly twenty years before. His golden-yellow coat and red mane caught the light of the setting sun and bathed the wall to his left in yellow and pink. Against the same wall was a dresser, on top of which sat several framed pictures of a mare whose coat and mane colors mirrored those shining on the wall.
The scenes in the pictures varied. One was of the mare stretching her pastel yellow wings and looking on the viewer with a smile. Another as she ran a brush through her pink mane, one eye focused towards the camera and a pleased smile on her face. She was clearly very pregnant and was practically radiating love. At a glance one could tell it had been taken in the same room, a brush next to the frame with several long strands of pink hair further proof; it was the same brush from the picture. Several other photos were clustered with the rest, all of the same mare. There was not a single p
The Death of His Beloved (France x Jeanne)The Death of His Beloved (France x Jeanne)3 years ago in Drama More Like This
They called him the country of love. But did it ever occur to them that he didn't always want that title? The connotations were hurtful, denotations hard to live up to at some points. Sometimes he wished that he could duplicate the German's behaviour and concentrate on nothing but work. But even doing so wouldn't help, seeing as the battles of his country were part of his job.
A set of eyelids fluttered open to unveil orbs decorated in an azure hue. Their owner stumbled out of bed, avoiding the bathroom's shattered mirror altogether. He daren't even use one to evaluate his clothing for the day. Why should he? He already knew that it was atrocious, no need to remind himself. He had been wearing the same outfit for the past week, during which he didn't so much as vacate his dwelling at all. The cardigan's top five b
Promise Of An Iris Ch 4Promise Of An Iris Ch 43 years ago in Romance More Like This
Chapter 4: Struggle
Hours later Jeanne found herself near the river under the willow tree, her eyes staring at the fish as they swam up and down the streams. She held her knees close to her chin and remained silent, she was hurt by La Hire's accusations about her being romantically in love with France. A soft sigh escapes her lips as she glances up towards the star filled sky.
She places her hand over her chest as she begins to think about what was the cause of her inability to communicate with the angels. "W-What if... I-I have committed sin... But it has to be the sin of pride..." she whispers thinking about what sins she could have committed, suddenly an Iris dangles in front of her and she glances over her shoulder to see Francis leaning against the willow tree holding out a single white Iris.
Jeanne smiles sweetly at the nation as she accepts the flower and inhales its wonderful scent, Francis proceeded to take a seat beside her and look at the sky. "I heard from one of
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
Sherlock-Criminal Mastermind 2John Watson sighed.Sherlock-Criminal Mastermind 24 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
He and Sherlock's breaking and entering attempt was not going well so far. He hadn't believed Sherlock when the man had initially told him that all criminal activities the great detective took part it always went disastrously wrong but he was swiftly coming to realise the truth behind Sherlock's words.
John had nearly had a panic attack at the sight of Milverton's pet snake, Sherlock had single-handedly destroyed half of the man's furniture and they had been here for over an HOUR and they STILL hadn't found the blackmail materials they were searching for.
The length of time that they had been illegally occupying the property whilst the owner was at the theatre was making Sherlock jumpy and as such he was having John stand look out whilst he searched Milverton's study alone. John knew it was a worthy task, but after a while it did become chronically dull.
He sighed again. Then, reaching onto Milverton's desk, he hefted a crystal paperweight in his hand and held it up
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
SH-The Ghost of Covent Garden1John Watson was rapidly losing his patience. His jaw was clenched, his teeth were gritted and he could feel a vein twitching in his forehead. He knew his poker face left much to be desired and even now he could feel his expression dissolving into one of utter disgust.SH-The Ghost of Covent Garden14 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
That however was nothing compared to the expression of outright loathing on Sherlock Holmes's face.
John looked as though he was two inches away from slapping their 'client'. Sherlock looked as though he was two millimetres from going for John's gun.
Their client was a young woman who was thin, verging on emaciation, and almost offensively blonde. She was a professional classic soprano at the Royal Opera House in Covent Garden. They had already heard a lot too much about her 'big break' at the opera house, her 'darling' audience and her precious muse. Both John and Sherlock had already noted the girl's jittery demeanour and bad habit of sniffing regularly, and were both of the opinio
BBC Sherlock - Day OneJohn Watson sighed irritably and looked at his watch. Unsurprisingly his train was late. Probably the wrong sort of leaves on the line again. Either that or the entire thing had fallen through a hole in space and time and was currently being used as a chew toy by some beast from the dungeon dimensions. He had heard weirder excuses during his time spent on trains; mind you he didn't have a very good track record with that form of transport full stop. Something invariably went wrong. On one memorable occasion the driver, who had been trying to sneak a cigarette on the job, had dropped hot ash in his lap and accidentally set fire to his trousers.BBC Sherlock - Day One4 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
John and the other bewildered passengers of the 9:00 to Norwich train had subsequently been treated to the driver shrieking over the intercom for one of the ticket men to come and assist him in 'putting his knackers out.'
He stood in Liverpool Street Station and stared vaguely up at the departure times board, getting jostled by the regular commut
SH-The Ghost of Covent Garden2"John?"SH-The Ghost of Covent Garden24 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
The sleeping man didn't stir.
A hesitant moment, then a gentle shake to the shoulder through the quilt. "John?"
Sherlock sighed and ran his hand through his hair, lowering himself to sit on the side of John's bed. He was always reluctant to wake John up He'd had to administer his own awkward, tentative brand of comfort to the man in the traumatised aftermath of a nightmare much too often to take for granted the undisturbed sleep the man did have Nevertheless, he was tingling with the need to move and he'd implode from sheer frustration if he had to wait for the man to wake naturally.
So he decided to try the, admittedly slightly dishonourable, but sure-fire method of waking someone up.
He hauled the end of John's quilt up and tickled the man's bare feet.
The doctor lurched into consciousness with a yelp and a thrash, staring up at Sherlock with a bleary, bewildered face.
"Oh good, you're awake." Sherlock said, cheerfully, deciding to feign obliviousne
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 . . .
SH-The Russian Ballerina 1"Hmm . . ."SH-The Russian Ballerina 14 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
John Watson slid his eyes sideways, eyebrows slowly creeping up his forehead.
He had long since learnt to be wary of that interested little 'hmm' from his flatmate. The last time John had heard that particular 'hmm' from Sherlock Holmes, the end result had been his one decent suit getting ruined after an unfortunate dip in a bog, Sherlock getting part of his head shaved and both of them finding a hidden cache of smugglers booty. Most of it got subsequently donated to the National Gallery. The rest was in their safe, bar a diamond ring which they gave to Mrs Hudson and a sapphire embossed locket which they gave to Sherlock's eldest niece, Ophelia.
John turned and looked at his flatmate.
Sherlock was facing away from him, his dark curly head bent over his laptop, eyes fixed on the screen.
"Hmm?" John echoed Sherlock's tone in an effort to coax an explanation from the recalcitrant detective.
"Hmm . . ." Sherlock repeated, his baritone rumble sounding increasingly pleased.
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
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
Promise of An Iris Ch 11Promise of An Iris Ch 113 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Chapter 11: A Dream come true
A gust of cold wind made a howl as snow began to fall from the heavens once again, Francis stares at the field where the irises grew every spring. He was bundled up in a navy blue wool coat, his golden blond hair was tied by a deep blue ribbon a gift he received from his beloved Jeanne.
Heartache filled his soul, he just couldn't be without her. He missed her so much he wished she would return to him once again, he watches as his breathe becomes visible as he makes his way through the snow covered field.
His eyes glanced about the city of Orleans, "Papa, wait!" cries a small voice causing him to stop in his tracks, he glances over his shoulder and his eyes fall upon the small child. A beautiful pale blond haired girl with the same gorgeous teal eyes that Francis loved oh so much, her cheeks were rosy red as she tries to catch her breath.
She wore a small blue dress under a darker blue coat, a small smile comes to Francis's lips, she rushes to catch up to h
I'm sorry, MycroftI'm sorry, Mycroft3 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
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
Ghost of A Rose Ch 1Ghost of A Rose Ch 13 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Chapter 1: Old Memories
The summer winds howl with rage as the heavens continued to shed tears, the pines and oaks dance to the storm melody. A young long blond haired man runs through the rain mud clasping to his pants and shoes; he carries an umbrella in one hand while he cradles bouquet of white roses in the other. He is tall roughly around five nine and is very handsome with captivating indigo blue colored eyes; with fair colored skin to go add to his homely looks. He is the representative of the country of love also known as France, yet he was given the human name Francis Bonnefoy. Panting he finally arrives to his destination, an old cemetery in the city of Orléans. A city that harbored many memories for him, some good others painful and not very welcomed by his conscious. Steadily he places a hand on the iron gate and pushes it, it moans as it gives way and yields to him letting him in. Slowly he begins to make his trek in grass moving towards the far back
SH: After the Bombs Chapter IVGood old John Watson never let any of his friends down. Loyal to a fault, he would do anything he could to help. Talk to powerful siblings, go to the police, and do it all again. Despite the fact that Sally Donovan clearly hated the idea of anyone willing to help Sherlock Holmes, she was willing to help John Watson. She was cursing Sherlock all the way through and being her aggressive self, but she did give John what he wanted.SH: After the Bombs Chapter IV4 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
"Inspector Lestrade is at a crime scene," Donovan said as she shuffled through papers that clearly weren't her own. "But he did mention they found something." Donovan glanced at John. "Though I'm not sure if I should give you this information."
John let out a long sigh. "Donovan, Sherlock isn't the criminal, and we need to stop Moriarty."
"I know that," Donovan said, clearly trying to restrain herself, but as always she found that difficult when it came to Sherlock Holmes. "But you're talking about risking your life for him and he isn't worth it!"
John shook his
SH:The Insurance Executions IIJohn tried to shift his leg in a slightly less awkward position, but it was impossible with Sherlock's crutches wedge inside the cab with them. Although, Sherlock seemed untroubled by it.SH:The Insurance Executions II4 years ago in Drama More Like This
John was thankful when they finally reached the police station. The cabbie helped Sherlock get out, leaving John to struggle with the crutches. Aggravated beyond reason, John clambered out of the cab, dragging the damn crutches behind him. He walked over to Sherlock and handed him the crutches, but Sherlock refused to take both of them, instead he insisted on just using the one.
Even in his slightly incapacitated form, Sherlock was still the one leading with John walked just behind him, rattling on and on about why Sherlock needed to use both of his crutches. "Sherlock, it will cause permanent damage if you put too much strain on it before " Sherlock did his best to drown out the incessant 'good advice' of his friend. It wasn't necessarily that he distrusted John's opinion, or dismissed his advic
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
ComfortComfort3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Molly looked from the door to her kitchen at the man who was clearly too tall for his chair. She was used to being ignored by him in the lab, not talking to her or even looking as she would hand him what ever tool he asked for. But that was usually in front of a microscope, and this This was after an impossible situation. One that she herself would not be able to get through on her own.
Sherlock seemed determined to be alone.
Leaving John would possibly be the hardest thing Sherlock would ever have to do in his life. Knowing that John would have to go through every day believing his best friend had killed himself right in front of him made Molly want to shove Sherlock out the door and straight back to Baker Street. It was hard to look at him. Just sitting there. Like nothing mattered. Not anymore.
His voice surprised her. It was oddly calm and emotionless. Not that Sherlock talk with emotion before, but this was just Empty.
"I'm sorry," Molly said, walking
Ghost of a Rose Ch 6 and 7Ghost of a Rose Ch 6 and 73 years ago in Romance More Like This
Chapter 6: Capture
France feels the soft touch of another's hand putting a damp cloth on his forehead. He grabs the hand that was caring for him, he pants weakly as he stirs trying to force himself to awaken. "J-Jeanne... Forgive me...." he whispers still thinking he had done something to cause Jeanne's spirit not visit him. His body ached so badly, it felt like it was on fire. Fire. The word triggered more memories, ones of darker caliber.
The war was nearing an end, he could feel it in his heart where he also felt something else. A human emotion, one that enjoyed feeling very much. Love. He was in love with Jeanne D'Arc; and if he were human and if she was not married to the Lord. He would ask for her hand, he wanted to be with her so badly he longed to tell her how he felt.
France was making his way to the field of Irises. It was Jeanne's favorite place to be it was also the first place he realized he maybe falling for her. France stops when he sees Jeanne standing under t
Sherlock: Consequences IIThe Consequences of Our ActionsSherlock: Consequences II5 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
Following Lestrade into the building, John felt completely out of place, but he was certain that if he didn't investigate and than got back to Sherlock, insults would follow.
The crime scene was one of London's biggest libraries. It was a cold building and even its interior seemed mainly made up out of concrete. It felt wrong to John to call this a library.
They entered, what ironically turned out to be the true crime section of the library, to find the body of a middle-aged man. He had been shot once in the head. John kept his distance while Lestrade talked to the agents already there. Evidently he had told them to get out, because one by one the passed John on their way to the next room. The last officer to leave bumped into John and grunted an apology.
"You have five minutes," Lestrade said before he left as well. John was aware of the fact he was only granted this kind of freedom because of his connection to Sherlock.
Less than a minut