BBC Sherlock - CakeJohn stood in the kitchen doorway and stared.BBC Sherlock - Cake in General Fiction More Like This
Sherlock Holmes was baking. The tall, slim figure had his back to John, a bowl cradled in his arm with all the ease of a master patisserie chef.
"You're staring John." Sherlock said, not turning round.
"And you're baking."
"And we have both just established that we have a firm grasp of the obvious." Sherlock said, amused, as he carefully sifted flour into the bowl and proceeded to mix it thoroughly.
"Are Tristan, Isolde and Persephone coming round then?" John asked, remembering the only other time he had seen Sherlock baking, that time for his little nieces and nephews in an attempt to spite Mycroft by violating the sugar embargo he had placed upon his offspring.
"No." Sherlock said, spooning the mixture into two cake tins.
"Can I not do something simply because I enjoy it?"
"Yes but you're not just doing it for giggles, are you?"
Sherlock smiled at John's accurate deduction. "No. Not this time no. But the point still stands. I
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 Garden3 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 Ghost of Covent Garden2"John?"SH-The Ghost of Covent Garden2 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 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 Garden1 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 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 II 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
BBC SH - Unspoken TruthsThere is no terror comparable to a nightmare.BBC SH - Unspoken Truths in General Fiction More Like This
Certainly, terrible things happen in the waking world and they shatter your heart into glassy shards of pain. But after a while the feelings become too big to comprehend. You just feel numb. You tell yourself that you must be asleep, that none of this is real. A simple act of kindness from your brain in an attempt to deal with the dreadful reality. Shh, it says, it's alright, you may be asleep. You may wake up yet . . .
Of course you never do, but you can cling to that tiny little notion and use it as your lifeline until your heart settles enough to process the truth. You see that the horror is real. You waver but stand tall. Then you gently let go of the comfort of delusion and take your first step on the road to acceptance.
Nightmares have so such sense of mercy. Nightmares worm black tendrils deep into the heart of you and find the piece that hurts the most, curling around it and whispering treacherously that this is your reality now.
BBC Sherlock - Christmas Special"Oh bloody hell . . ." John Watson groaned.BBC Sherlock - Christmas Special in Humor More Like This
"I am guessing that the letter which fell out of the envelope along with your Christmas card from, to judge by the traditional religious iconography on the front, one of your more elderly relatives is not a welcome one." A voice drawled from the sofa.
"Decidedly not." John mused, staring at the letter with no faint contempt.
"Is it from an elderly relative?" Sherlock enquired for the sake of his own curiosity, awkwardly wriggling his way onto his front and dislodging Dante in the process. The cat hissed angrily at his master before slinking off and concealing himself under their Christmas tree which had been smuggled into their flat by Mrs Hudson. Attempts to remove the tree had resulted in pointed hints about eviction so for the sake of their tenancy agreement they left it be. Although Sherlock was still rather annoyed at his plastic skeleton being removed to make room for it.
"My Great Aunt and Uncle. Edith and Ernest, both ag
SH - Purple Hair-DyeMrs Hudson tutted mildly and looked up at her ceiling.SH - Purple Hair-Dye 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 - The Case of the Dancing Men IThe Personal Blog of Dr. John H. WatsonBBC SH - The Case of the Dancing Men I in General Fiction More Like This
Sherlock and I have just returned from assisting on a rather bizarre case in Dartmoor. (Remind me to elaborate further on that one as soon as the Official Secrets Act allows . . .) However, it was the incident at the car rental offices which really put the icing on the proverbial cake.
Due to there not being much by way of public transport in the area, we decided to rent a car for practicality's sake. As I do not have a license, Sherlock was in charge of driving.
Because I know for a fact that several members of Her Majesty's Constabulary read this blog, I will not elaborate on any specifics relating to his driving. Let's just say that being passenger in a car which Sherlock Holmes is controlling is an experience which I do not wish to repeat.
When we arrived to return the car there was another gentleman entering at the same time. I had a go, but could not figure out much. Expensive suit, very wrinkled, tie undone. Looked as thoug
BBC Sherlock - A Good ManLestrade lived on his phone. He'd be the first one to admit it.BBC Sherlock - A Good Man in General Fiction More Like This
He was always reluctant to lend his phone to people. Partially because of his phone's practical value. But mostly because of one number in his contact list.
Most of them he was fine with. But this one made him unaccountably nervous.
He knew he was being irrational, his motives for having the number in his phone really were completely pure.
However, his line of work made him automatically distrustful of the kind of man who had the number of a thirteen year old girl in his phone who wasn't family.
Originally, after he had had to scrape Sherlock off the floor and take him to hospital, he had attempted to contact Sherlock's big brother. He knew Sherlock had one and that he was some bigwig in the government.
Imagine his surprise when a slender, dark-haired girl of thirteen with curiously familiar eyes turned up in his office.
Upon opening the door and finding her in there he had frozen in shock.
" . . . Can I help you?"