Sherlock if you get an email from my sister do not open it.
Your warning comes fifty-three seconds too late.
Oh god - I am going to kill her!
Don't expend the effort John. I don't see what you're so upset about anyway. You were already aware of the nature of our fans.
Yes I'm aware but that doesn't mean she has to rub it in my face! It's embarrassing.
If you're so upset perhaps you should shut down your ridiculous blog. And what's embarrassing about it? I find it rather intriguing.
It's not ridiculous! Intriguing!?! They're plastering the web with drawings of me in nothing but red pants! How the bloody hell is that intriguing!?!
I think you've just exhausted your exclamation point allowance for the week.
It's intriguing that they've correctly deduced our various sexual kinks. Not the sort of thing I'd spend my cognitive energy on - but each to their own. At least they're using their minds for something.
He couldn't run fast enough he never could. No matter how hard he tried he couldn't get there before the whistling pierced his ear drums and the bombs exploded. The world always spun, as debris and flames mercilessly assaulted him, burying him alive beneath the cast off and leaving him dying beneath soil and shattered pieces of his men.
He couldn't cry out, he couldn't breathe or scream for help because his throat felt wired shut. The world spun again, his head endlessly echoing the piercing shriek of another missile before the bayonet came down on him.
And suddenly he could scream again.
"Alfred. Alfred. Alfred "
Cold sweat poured down his face as he stared wide-eyed and unseeingly at the man before him. He was shaking so badly, and he couldn't relax any muscle in his body. He was tensed, bracing for the bayonet's inevitable impact while still buried and alone.