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
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 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 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 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 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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
Promise of An Iris Ch 2Promise of An Iris Ch 23 years ago in Romance More Like This
The trees sway with the wind as the heavens cry from above, the dark clouds moved slowly. Jeanne stood in the rain staring at the tombstones before her, Here lies Jacques D'Arc, beloved husband and father. Beside his grave was another that said Isabelle D'Arc, a loving wife and mother. Jeanne gulped as she could feel the tears sting her eyes, Francis informed her that after her death Charles IV made them nobility, but she felt like he only did to ease his guilty conscious.
Jeanne jumps when she has the sudden feeling of being watched, she glances about the cemetery in Domremy-La-Pucelle. She turns to leave her eyes grow wide in disbelief, standing before her were the spirits of her parents. "Jeanne, our dear child..." Isabelle whispers Jacques puts his hand on his wife's shoulder and looks at Jeanne with worried blue green eyes. "Jeanne you have to listen to us... Listen very careful to what we have to say..." he says to her, Jeanne gulps but nods although s
Sherlock: Consequences IIThe Consequences of Our ActionsSherlock: Consequences II4 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
SH - Purple Hair-DyeMrs Hudson tutted mildly and looked up at her ceiling.SH - Purple Hair-Dye4 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Sherlock was pacing about like an angry dog. John must have been called into the surgery again as he could normally get Sherlock to sit still.
Although in extreme circumstances this did necessitate gaffer taping Sherlock to a chair.
She heard the doorbell go and the thunder of feet on the stairs.
He opened the door.
"And hello to you too." Ophelia teased. "You were expecting Lestrade?"
A pause and, from her own flat, Mrs Hudson could almost see the expression on Sherlock's face, challenging his niece to explain herself.
"John has his own key so doesn't need to be let in and the only other person who can warrant such an enthusiastic canter down the stairs is the good detective who brings you your cases." Ophelia said, smugly.
"Very good." Sherlock stepped to the side to allow his niece entrance. "He thinks he might have a case for me. And you are here . . . ?"
"Can I borrow your bathroom? Or your kitchen? Anywhere with a suppl
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
Sherlock: Consequences IThe Consequences of Our ActionsSherlock: Consequences I4 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
"I am so changeable," Moriarty's voice echoed through the room, reverberating against the tiles, making it sound hollow. "You can't be aloud to continue You just can't."
The words did not matter. They could have been anything. It was the voice, that voice that seemed to crawl into your head and stay there, moving along the inside of your skull. Any of those things would not have mattered to Sherlock, he would not be intimidated so easily. Except Moriarty was something new. He could not judge his motivations, could not gage his reactions.
And the cold fear that crept up Sherlock's spine was starting to show on his face. His eyes betrayed it. His back was still turned to Moriarty, so he wouldn't see. But John saw. Sherlock looked at John. John's face was almost apologetic, as if this was somehow his fault. It wasn't a reasonable thought.
"I would try to convince you ," Moriarty's voice echoed through the hollow space. "But e