trajektoria

[John:] Sher-- --lock, is the only one that gives me hell But somehow beside him like a fool I dwell He's damn sociopathic prat, I know him well But nonetheless I fell deep under his spell His eyes, his hair, I cannot turn away my head This strange longing makes me wish that I was dead Dread, I pray this burning crush will pass and go away How could it come to this when I'm not even gay? Oh my dear Lord, I can't believe, I'm still in shock How can this be that I have feelings for Sherlock? [Irene:] Sher-- --lock, when my eyes upon his features fell He was perfect, instantly I could tell Those dark smouldering desires I cannot quell I'd tra

Twinkle, twinkle little John How I wonder where you've gone? When I died I couldn't know That your death would soon follow I won't see your smile no more Since you lie here on the floor There is blood and life is done Twinkle, twinkle does the gun I am sorry to be late Three years after fateful date I so wish to join you too If I only had a clue I still wonder where you've gone Twinkle, twinkle little John

BBC Sherlock/ The Hunger Games crossover Chapter 6: Let me entertain you Several hours later Sherlock found himself in an elevator going to the bottom level of the Remake Centre. Somehow he had survived the preparation stage and fitting the costume, but just barely. It had been very hard not to shout abuse at his incompetent stylist and her pathetic helpers. Still, under the circumstances Sherlock had remained shockingly nice and patient, keeping his mouth shut and letting his crew do their job in faint hope that they actually knew what they were doing. Now he regretted it bitterly. He never felt so utterly idiotic in his entire life. The

"No, no, no, where is it?!" Sherlock was muttering to himself incessantly, turning his whole room upside down. He had spent almost half a day on a futile searching spree and his scarce patience reserves were almost used up. Good thing though that John was still at work and didn't ask any inconvenient questions. Every person has a secret they won't ever disclose, especially to their loved ones, because they're simply ashamed. Sherlock wasn't an exception and he would curl up and die if John were ever to find out that the world's only consulting detective is short-sighted. To top it all, with quite significant sight defect – more than fo

– Nie, nie, nie, gdzie to jest?! – Sherlock mamrotał pod nosem jak mantrę, przewalając cały swój pokój na lewą stronę. Spędził prawie pół dnia na bezowocnych poszukiwaniach i jego niezbyt obfite zasoby cierpliwości były już na wyczerpaniu. Dobrze chociaż, że John wciąż siedział w pracy i nie zadawał niewygodnych pytań. Każdy człowiek ma jakiś sekret, którego nie zdradzi za żadne skarby świata, szczególnie przed najbliższymi, bo po prostu się wstydzi. Sherlock nie by&#

Once upon a time in the Land of Magic there was a Paper Kingdom. Everything there – tall trees, narrow, winding paths, tiny streams, and even the sky and the sun – was made of paper. Only one person lived in the Paper Kingdom, a young and beautiful girl. She had lean paper legs, nimble paper arms so eager to reach out and embrace anything that was wonderful, charming little paper face with wide paper eyes, shapely paper nose and paper lips, which remained closed most of the time because she was very calm and quiet person. She wore a paper dress, reaching to her knees and pretty paper shoes, and she always put her paper hair into t

To: john_watson@gmail.com Subject: You're an idiot I know you're on the plane now, busy chatting with your war buddies and whatnot, so you probably won't read this message until you'll get to the base and settle in. Frankly speaking, I don't care when you'll read this, the time won't change the way I feel about this whole nonsense. What came to your mind to go back to Afghanistan, really? Don't you have enough excitements and rushes of adrenaline here in London?  And what am I supposed to do without my blogger and assistant? The criminals won't wait patiently until you come home. You can't possibly picture me working with Anderson and the sk

Just an ordinary morning like many before. Sherlock was sprawled on the couch in his dressing gown, browsing through the newspaper and John was bustling about the kitchen, making breakfast for both of them. He was convinced that if he left Sherlock in charge of his own nourishment, the man would simply die of starvation. A bit not good for the world and for John, so he accepted grudgingly the role of the detective's dietician. Something was different that day, though. A characteristic melody came in through the slightly opened kitchen window, breaking the silence that normally permeated the flat at this hour. One of the neighbours was listen

Dear Teen Me, It's been more than six years since we saw each other for the last time. I guess I should be asking then how are you holding up, but – honestly – let's skip that part. We've never been big on etiquette and rules of politeness, right? Best friends don't need that nonsense. Courtesy is used only to veil shallowness and our relations are anything but shallow. And besides, I know everything about you. Far more than you know about yourself. Well... To be honest, that's not an incredible feat. Poor you, always so clueless. Let's take sexuality, for instance. I know that you've never paid much attention to this subject, b

Six o'clock in the morning, Saturday. A call from Lestrade. Yes, a case, come to Scotland Yard at once. Sherlock hung up with excitement, John just groaned plaintively. Friday was hellish at the hospital and he definitely could use some rest. Watson was determined to sleep through the whole morning, no matter what. Sherlock didn't waste any time, though. He sprang out of the bed, already wide awake, and delved into his wardrobe, preparing clothes for today. "Come on, John! Don't dawdle! The adventure awaits!" Sherlock urged him in an upbeat tone. John covered his head with a duvet, mumbling something incoherently about the place where Sher