a gigantic hound

8

I saw it too, John. A hound, out there in the Hollow. A gigantic hound. Once you’ve ruled out the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be true. Look at me. I’m afraid, John. Afraid. Always been able to keep myself distant, divorce myself from…feelings. But look, you see, body’s betraying me. Interesting, yes? Emotions. The grit on the lens, the fly in the ointment.

The One Where Sherlock Apologises

Pairing : Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Summary : Imagine Sherlock convinces you to go to Dartmoor, promising you a holiday. But you realise he was working a case and argue with him. After solving the case, Sherlock comes to your hotel room and you tell him his deducting skills were the reason you fell for him in the beginning.

Sherlock was known for being difficult, rude and ignorant. He would put homemade pills in your tea in the morning to see what would happen and even though you loved to watch him work you hated being a part of his experiments and argued with him constantly about it.

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anonymous asked:

Zoo do u know if there will be BIG doggos? Bc my bb is a gigantic Irish wolf hound and she would be v happy to know that I can play with one in game (I doubt it but idk)

i want big flurfy doggos sOoOOooooO much so maybe hopefully??

Crossroads [2]

Characters: Winchester brothers x sister!reader, demon

Words: 2500

[Angst, character death, blood]

Part 1

A/N: The parts in italics are flashbacks (towards the end). Also, beware; this is sad.

Your name: submit What is this?

The three months went by in a flash. Although you wanted to spend as much time as possible with Dean and Sam, there were days you wished that you could just get it over with. They say that there are two kinds of people in the world; the ones who would like to know when their time was coming, and those who didn’t. You surely were one of those who didn’t want to have an idea.

At least you had a plan. You were going to act if as nothing was wrong, it would be like any other day. Because Sam and Dean didn’t know. Then, at night, you would tell them that you were going on a walk to clear your mind, and you were going to promise them not to be out too long. And then you would never return, that would be the last they saw of you. That was the nicest way you could think of to do it. You didn’t want them to know, worry or worst of all; see it happen. You had one mission, to make it hurt as little as possible. Do not break their hearts.

The only problem was that the day, was today. And the plan wasn’t going as planned.

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What “stories” is Mary referring to?

OK, of course, I see; that’s it – the stories. Conan Doyles’ amazing detective stories at the hands of our “Baker Street boys” have once again been interpreted into a new adaptation, this time played out in our own modern times. But it’s still about these wonderful stories; nothing else matters.

But wait – what ‘stories’ exactly do you refer to, Mary / AGRA / Rosamund / Gabrielle-or-whatever-your-name-is? Series 4 may have lots of Conan Doyle canon references, but why doesn’t it have a single coherent crime story? Not one!

If the cases were that important, wouldn’t we be able to follow them as they unfold, basking in the brilliance of these fascinating adventures and their clever resolutions? Or at least be privy to some logical deductions and conclusions about them from the great detective Sherlock Holmes, narrated by his loyal friend Dr John Watson?

I think the ‘stories & adventures’ approach, in a traditional meaning, might be valid up until the beginning of Series 3, but then the coherent plot line gets abandoned in favour of a rather different content. Which means Mary’s words about ‘stories’ above may not be relevant. So – why not take a closer look at all of this show’s stories to see if they actually merit the name? I’ll go through all of them one by one since Series 1, focusing on the factual events in them, trying to evaluate their narrative interest as plot line and see where we end up in S4. I will try to not go into any personal issues for Sherlock Holmes or other characters – just the stories, as ‘objectively’ and free of Sentiment that I’m capable of. (And this is a monster post, so please bear with me).

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THE SIGNS AS GREEK MYTHS:UNDERWORLD

ARIES: Hecate, Goddess of Magic, Witchcraft, The Night, Moon, Ghosts and Necromancy.
TAURUS: Cerberus, Gigantic Hound which Guarded the Gates of Hades.
GEMINI: Hermes, God of Animal Husbandry, Roads, Travel, Hospitality, Heralds, Diplomacy, Trade, Thievery, Language.
CANCER: Persephone, Goddess of Spring Growth, Queen of the Underworld and Wife of Hades. 
LEO: Cronus, Titan God of Time and the Ages.
VIRGO: Hypnos, God of Sleep.
LIBRA: Nyx, Goddess of the Night. 
SCORPIO: Hades, God of Death and the Dead.
SAGITTARIUS: Thanatos, God of Non-Violent Death.
CAPRICORN: Erinyes,  Goddesses of Revenge.
AQUARIUS: Charon, Ferryman of the Dead.
PISCES: Moirae, Goddesses of Fate.

HENRY  KNIGHT

________________________________________________________________

THE INTERESTING STORY OF A VERY INTERESTING CHARACTER

Henry Knight  is a man hunted by a reccuring nightmare (he is not the only one). Because of that Henry has a therapist (as others have as well). Despite of it he comes to Baker Street and asks for Sherlock's help. Henry tells his story … everyything he can remember of the tragic and traumatic event that caused his problems.

More under the cut …

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You know, there’s a rather warm company gathered on the moors: a half-crazy maniac-killer, gigantic bloodthirsty hound and a sociopathic consulting detective, he’s here incognito. 
Avoid the moor in those hours of darkness when the powers of evil are exalted! x)

Hello Detective Chapter 37

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3   Part 4   Part 5   Part 6   Part 7   Part 8   Part 9   Part 10   Part 11   Part 12   Part 13   Part 14   Part 15   Part 16   Part 17   Part 18   Part 19   Part 20   Part 21   Part 22   Part 23   Part 24   Part 25   Part 26  Part 27  Part 28  Part 29 Part 30  Part 31  Part 32  Part 33   Part 34   Part 35   Part 36   Part 37   Part 38  Part 39   Part 40     Part 41   Part 42   Part 43   Part 44   Part 45   Part 46   Part 47   Part 48   Part 49   Part 50  Part 51  Part 52 Part 53  Part 54  Part 55   Part 56  Part 57 Part 58 Part 59 Part 60 Part 61

The Hollow was like nothing you had ever seen before. It was like you were down in the earth surrounded by large trees. You felt like the headless horseman was going to come running through the wood any moment. In all fairness, the place did have an eerie feel about it. It seemed like the temperature dropped ten degrees when you got there. You moved closer to Sherlock as you looked around.

When you made it to the bottom your head began to spin. You noticed several large foot prints on the ground. There was something so dark about the place. You began to feel light headed. It was almost as if every breath you took was making you more and more light headed. Like you were breathing something you shouldn’t. Your heart was racing, almost like fear.

You began to hear howling and as you turned around to find the noise your legs gave out. You fell, completely unconscious. You had never fainted before, there was something wrong with this place. On your way down, as your eyes rolled to the back of your head, you tried to grab Sherlock’s arm but you missed.

“Y/N?” Sherlock yelled, as he turned and saw you on the ground. He knelt down beside you, placing your head in his hands. He was shaking in fear, he couldn’t believe what he had just seen. He checked to make sure you had a pulse, which you did. You were just out cold.

“Oh my God. Oh my God.” Henry kept repeating. “You saw it, didn’t you? She must have seen it.”

Sherlock picked you up and carried you out of the Hollow. Once at the edge of the woods near Henry’s house you ran into John. Another howl filled the air.

“Did you hear that? Oh my God, what happened?” John asked when he saw Sherlock carrying you.

“We saw it. We saw it!” Henry cried.

“No, I didn’t see anything. She’s unconscious, she must have fainted.” Sherlock answered.

“What? What are you talking about?” Henry asked, knowing Sherlock had seen something.

“I didn’t see anything.” Sherlock repeated as he carried you into Henry’s house and laid you down on a couch.

“I saw it. He must have. I guarantee she saw it too, that’s why she fainted.” Henry said. Sherlock knew that wasn’t the reason you fainted, it must have had something to do with the fact that you were sick. He was having trouble believing what he saw though. Henry kept rambling about seeing it.

“Henry, Henry, I need you to sit down. Try and relax, please.” John pointed to a chair while he checked on you. He too checked your pulse, relieved when it was there. John used his flashlight to check your pupils. You seemed to be fine, you would have a terrible headache when you woke up though.

“This is good. I’m not crazy. There is a hound, there is. And Sherlock, he saw it too. No matter what he says, he saw it.” Henry said.

You began to stir while John knelt beside you.

“Y/N? Y/N, can you hear me?” John asked, as your eyes slowly blinked open.

“John?” You asked, slowly looking around. “What happened?”

“You fainted, we need to get you back to the Inn and to bed. I knew it was a bad idea to bring you…” John began.

“Did you see it?” Henry asked you suddenly. Your head was spinning, you had a migraine, and you just wanted to go to bed.

“I don’t.. I…” You muttered, holding your head in your hands.

“Henry, I’m going to give you something to help you sleep, but I need you to calm down okay? I need to get Y/N home.” John said, as he helped you to your feet.

He brought you back to the Inn & pub and Sherlock was sitting in front of the fire. When he saw you walk in, holding onto John’s arm for support, he jumped to his feet.

“Are you alright?” He asked, placing his hands on your arms, examining you. You nodded slowly.

“I was taking her to the room.” John said.

“I’ll take her.” Sherlock said, leading you back to the room while John stayed in the pub.

Inside the room, Sherlock sat you down on the bed and sat down next to you.

“Did you see it too, Y/N?” Sherlock asked, nervously.

“I don’t remember, I don’t think so.” You began to cry, he wrapped his arms around you. “Sherlock, that place, there something bad there. I heard something and when I turned around everything just went black.”

“I know, I know. I don’t know what I saw. I’m sorry, I got you into this mess. You could have been safely at home.” Sherlock said as he held you.

“It’s not your fault. I don’t know what happened in the Hollow Sherlock, but it wasn’t your fault.” You told him.

“Go to sleep.” Sherlock said, kissing your forehead. You nodded and laid back in the bed. You crawled under the covers as Sherlock left to meet John in the pub.

As Sherlock returned to his chair in front of the fire his mind raced. He was trying to save face with you, but once he was just with John he let go. He couldn’t believe his own eyes in the Hollow.

“Henry’s in a bad way. He’s manic.” John said once Sherlock sat down next to him. “Totally convinced there’s some mutant super-dog roaming the moors. And there isn’t, though, is there? If people knew how to make a mutant super-dog, we’d know. It’d be for sale. I mean, that’s how it works. Listen, on the moor I saw someone signaling, Morse. I guess it’s Morse. It doesn’t seem to make much sense. U,M,Q,R,A, does that mean anything? So, okay, what have we got?”

Sherlock took in a deep breath, his hands folded under his chin as he did. Sherlock said nothing so John continued to talk.

“We know there’s footprints, because Henry found them, so did the tour guide bloke. We all heard something. Maybe we should just look for whoever has got a big dog.” John offered.

“Henry’s right.” Sherlock said suddenly.

“What?” John asked confused.

“I saw it, too.” Sherlock said with shaking breath.

“What?” John asked again, thinking he was joking.

“I saw it too, John.” He said once more.

“Just… Just a minute, you saw what?” John asked, skeptical.

“A hound. Out there in the Hollow. A gigantic hound.” Sherlock said, shaking, as if he was having another psychotic break.

“Um, look, Sherlock. We have to be rational about this.” John smiled, thinking Sherlock was crazy. “Okay, now you, of all people, can’t just… Let’s just stick to what we know, yes? Stick to the facts.”

“Once you’ve ruled out the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be true.” Sherlock said quietly.

“What does that mean?” John asked, shaking his head. Sherlock picked up his glass of whiskey, his hand shaking.

“Look at me, I’m afraid John.” Sherlock laughed at himself. “Afraid.”

Sherlock took another sip of his drink.

“I’ve always been able to keep myself distant. Divorce myself from feelings. But look, you see, body’s betraying me. Interesting, yes, emotions. The grit on the lens, the fly in the ointment.” Sherlock said, clearly Henry wasn’t the only one who was manic.

“Yeah, alright, Spock just… Take it easy.” John said, looking around the pub to make sure no one else would see Sherlock like this. “You’ve been pretty wired lately, you know you have. I think you’ve just gone out there and got yourself a bit worked up.”

“Worked up?” Sherlock asked rudely.

“It was dark and scary…” John began, feeling like the only sensible adult in the room.

“Me? There’s nothing wrong with me.” Sherlock argued. He began breathing deeply, he places his fingers on his temples.

“Sherlock.”  John began, shaking his head, looking around once more. “Sherl…”

“There is nothing wrong with me! Do you understand?” Sherlock yelled. Everyone in the pub now had their eyes on him. “You want me to prove it, yes?”

John kept his head down with an angry look on his face.

“We’re looking for a dog, yes? A great big dog, that’s your brilliant theory. Cherchez le chien!” Sherlock began speaking fast. Look for the dog. “Good. Excellent. Yes. where shall we start? How about them? The sentimental widow and her son, the unemployed fisherman.”

Sherlock pointed to the two seated at a table against the wall.

“The answer’s yes.” Sherlock said rudely.

“Yes?” John asked, confused because no question was asked.

“She’s got a West Highland Terrier named Whisky, not exactly what we’re looking for!” Sherlock wailed.

“Sherlock, for God’s sake!” John scolded.

“Look at the jumper he’s wearing, hardly worn. Clearly he’s uncomfortable in it. Maybe because of the material or more likely the hideous pattern, suggests it’s a present, probably Christmas. So, he wants into his mother’s good books. Why? Almost certainly money. He’s treating her to a meal but his own portion is small. That means he want to impress her but he’s trying to economise on his own food.” Sherlock said.

“Maybe he’s just not hungry.” John argued.

“No, small plate, starter. He’s practically licked it clean. She’s nearly finished her pavlova. If she’d treated him, he’d have had as much as he wanted. He’s hungry and not well-off, you can tell by his cuffs and shoes. ‘How do you know she’s his mother?’ Who else would give him a Christmas present like that. I suppose it could be an aunt or older sister, but mother’s more likely. He was a fisherman, the scarring pattern on the back of his hands is distinctive. Fish hooks. They’re quite old now, suggesting he’s been unemployed for some time. Not much industry in this part of the world, so he’s turned to his widowed mother for help. ‘Widowed?” Yes, obviously. She’s got a man’s wedding ring on a chain around her neck, clearly her late husband’s and too big for her finger. She’s well-dressed, but her jewellery is cheap. She could afford better, but she’s kept it, sentimental. Now the dog. There are tiny hairs all over her leg, from where it gets a little bit too friendly, but none above the knees, suggesting it’s a small dog, probably a terrier. In fact it is, West Highland Terrier, called Whisky. ‘How the hell do you know that Sherlock?’ She was on the same train as us and I heard her call its name. And that’s not cheating. That’s listening. I use my senses John, unlike some people, so you see, I am fine. In fact, I’ve never been better, so just leave me alone!” Sherlock whisper yelled.

“Yeah, okay. Okay.” John said, clearing his throat. He knew there was something wrong with Sherlock. “But, why would you listen to me? I’m just your friend.” John sighed.

“I don’t have friends.” Sherlock said the word as if it disgusted him.

“No. I wonder why?” John said sarcastically, standing to leave. He went out the back of the pub and saw the same flashing light that he did earlier in the night. He thought it strange and decided to see where it was coming from.

After John discovered the light to be from a shaking parked car, he turned back, embarrassed. On his walk back to the pub, Sherlock texted him saying that Henry’s therapist was in the pub and he wanted him to interview her. John didn’t know why he should, to that Sherlock sent a picture of Dr. Mortimer, a beautiful biracial woman with long hair. John smirked and shook his head, on his way back to the pub.

An hour later, John was sitting in the pub, drinking with Dr. Mortimer.

“More wine, doctor?” John asked her smiling.

“Are you trying to get me drunk, doctor?” She replied laughing.

“Thought never occurred.” John flirted.

“Because a while ago I thought you were chatting me up.” She smiled.

“Oh! Where did I go wrong?” John asked, fake offended.

“When you started asking me about my patients.” She said, taking a sip of her wine.

“Well you see, I am one of Henry’s oldest friends.” John lied.

“Yeah, and he’s one of my patients, so I can’t talk about him. Although he has told me about all his oldest friends. Which one are you?” She asked.

“A new one?” He joked. “Okay, what about his father? He wasn’t one of your patients. Wasn’t be some kind of conspiracy nutter… theorist?” John said, correcting himself.

“You’re only a nutter if you’re wrong.” She said.

“Hm, and was he wrong?” John asked.

“I should think so.” She laughed.

“But he got fixated on Baskerville, didn’t he? With what they were doing in there. Couldn’t Henry have gone the same way, started imaging a hound?” John asked, wanting her to join in.

“Why do you think I’m going to talk about this?” She asked, laughing. John laughed too.

“Because I think you’re worried about him and because I’m a doctor too. And because I have another friend who might be having the same problem.” John said. Louise Mortimer sighed, she was about to talk when Dr. Frankland suddenly appeared, slapping John on the shoulder.

“Dr. Watson!” He smiled.

“Hi.” John said awkwardly, knowing Louise would never talk now.

“Hello.” Frankland said cheerfully to Dr. Mortimer.

“How’s the investigation going?” He asked John.

“What, investigation?” Louise asked John smiling.

“Didn’t you know? Don’t you read the blog? Sherlock Holmes, Sergeant Y/N Gregson.” Frankland said.

“Sherlock who?” Louise asked confused.

“Private detective, this is his PA.” Frankland said.

“PA?” John asked.

“Well, live in PA.” Frankland said, not sure what he was trying to insinuate there.

“Perfect!” John sighed sarcastically.

“This is Dr. Mortimer, Henry’s therapist.” John introduced.

“John.” You called, now appearing behind John.

“Ah speak of the devil.” Dr. Frankland smiled.

“Are you Sherlock?” Dr. Mortimer asked you.

“Oh no, thank God.” You smiled.

“This is Sherlock’s girlfriend, Sergeant Gregson.” Dr. Frankland said, you smiled to the woman who seemed relieved. She must have assumed, like many do, that Sherlock and John are gay.

“Listen, tell Sherlock I’ve been keeping an eye on Stapleton. Anytime he wants a little chat. Alright?” Dr. Frankland said to you.

“That would be great if I could find him. “ You said, that was the real reason you came out.

“He went back to the room I thought.” John said.

“No, he never did.” you said, and John sighed, he felt as if he was a babysitter.

If you recall the very beginning of TGG, there’s a scene with Sherlock interviewing a prisoner (Barry Berwick) in Minsk. I think this is could be an explanation of the emotional reasons for the case, but I think it’s likely there’s a plot motivated reason, as well. That’s how the show works.

I know Sherlock takes the case because John wants the money:

But since that was never referenced in the episode, I don’t think that’s a good enough reason to include the whole scene.

TGG has a bunch of Eastern European references in the Five Pips case that Jim sets up; Sherlock even points it out for us:

SHERLOCK: You know, it’s interesting. Bohemian stationery, an assassin named after a Prague legend, and you, Miss Wenceslas. This whole case has a distinctly Czech feeling about it. Is that where this leads?

So it would’ve been easy to tie this case back into the TGG somehow, but they didn’t. It’s such a pointless scene: why didn’t they cut it? It’s more than just pointless; it’s sloppy, and I really don’t think this show is sloppy. But whatever Barry’s case is about has been hanging for a long time; most people probably don’t even remember it.

Eastern Europe was also in TRF:

(x)

And it’s huge in season three:

1) Sherlock starts off TEH in Serbia where he’s rescued by Mycroft.

2) CAM’s documents on Mary are in Cyrillic, used in a lot of Eastern European countries - including Serbia.

3) Mycroft is tracking something in Poland in HLV:

4) Sherlock is supposed to be sent on a suicide mission to Eastern Europe.

5) The newspapers Janine brings Sherlock mention “Eastern Europe Erupts!” 

So I think Barry Berwick is a hint to something - the really big something that Jim’s got going - all the way back in season one. Here’s how we know Jim’s involved with Barry:

These are definitely set up the same. That means Barry is tied to Jim: the cabbie is Jim’s agent; Barry is Jim’s agent (whether or not he knows it). 

Barry repeats this idea that someone has told him about Sherlock in the episode, so it must be important:

BERWICK: … Everyone says you’re the best!

Sherlock has been recommended to Barry by someone: I really can’t imagine that it’s anyone except Jim as Sherlock isn’t even close to famous in S1 yet. Also, the fact that it's so long-term can really only mean Jim.

The more you look into the dialogue of this scene, the stranger it gets. Go back and watch the video - here’s some stuff to look for:

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Neither of these stories – The Copper Beeches or The Greek Interpreter – quite lives up to its opening evocation. The way of accounting for the sticking plaster seems, indeed, entirely unsatisfactory, and since Watson tells us that this ‘singular case’ is 'still involved in some mystery’, we are almost inclined to suspect that the affair concealed something else which the detective had failed to penetrate…
—  Edmund Wilson, Mr Holmes, They Were the Footprints of a Gigantic Hound! (1945)
You Think It Was a Dog, It Wasn’t a Dog


There’s a reason “Hounds of the Baskerville” is right under “Redbeard (see file)” on Magnussen’s list of Sherlock’s pressure points, and I think I know what that reason is. Redbeard was never a dog. Sherlock only thinks that it was. Redbeard as a dog is the symbol of Sherlock’s repression over his lost sibling. Sherlock does exactly what Henry Knight did when he suffered trauma at a young age. Sherlock “invented this to account for it”. 

 But what could be so bad about that loss that a young Sherlock would have to repress it in order to cope? Losing a sibling is hard, yes, but there are causes that children die from that aren’t so traumatic that one sibling would have a much harder time coping with the loss than the other, so much so that repression becomes the only option. One child wouldn’t necessarily be that much more traumatized than the other. Unless it was that one child’s fault. Whatever happened to The Other One, it was at least partly Sherlock’s fault and he invented Redbeard to account for it. 

 Where else have we seen trauma manifest itself as the memory of a dog? Sherlock genuinely believes that he lost a dog named Redbeard, just as Henry Knight believed that he saw a gigantic hound. 

What we can learn from Henry Knight/HOB: 

-The pub owner says “demon hound", and Henry says that Louise “thinks I have to face my demons” which aligns perfectly with the s4 trailer’s focus on demons. 

- They never found his dad’s body. The Other One is still alive, that’s why there wouldn’t be a body. 

-Sherlock explains the chemical aerosol dispersal as “pressure pads in the ground” which sounds an awful lot like “pressure points”. 

-When they’re leaving the Baskerville lab, Sherlock tells John that “it’s time to lay this ghost” in reference to the hound. We all know how much Mark has loved talking about ghosts lately.

-Before Sherlock goes into his mind palace he says that the answer “has to be something, something very deep”. This is not only how repression works, but it is also exactly what he says/does in TAB. 

 -Sherlock tells Henry that “It wasn’t an animal, not a monster, a man” While Henry remembers the hound as the thing that killed his Dad, Sherlock remembers Redbeard as the thing he lost. What’s important is that if Henry’s wasn’t an animal, but a person, then so was Sherlock’s. 

 -“Couldn’t cope, you were just a child so you rationalized it into something very different” is what Sherlock says to Henry as he’s trying to get him to remember. Whether Sherlock realizes it or not, he’s familiar with this because it is exactly what he did. 

 -At the end, John says that the inn owners didn’t put down their dog because they "couldn’t bring themselves to do it” and Sherlock says that he doesn’t understand the sentiment that would prevent them from doing so. So, he never actually had to put a dog down. Or rather, he doesn’t have the latent emotional connection because didn’t actually care about it because it didn’t actually happen. He only reacts emotionally if the actual name Redbeard is said.

Sherlock’s reaction to the entire hound case is intense. He thinks that it’s because he can’t trust his senses, which is a valid thing to unhinge him. However, I think there’s more. I think his subconscious starts to get to him, because a part of him realizes that the further he goes into Henry’s case, the deeper he goes into himself. His panic attack by the fire and his desperation to figure out what causes the hallucinations are defense mechanisms, distractions, so that he doesn’t get too close and accidentally unravel his own, extraordinarily similar, circumstances. If you think about Sherlock comparing himself to Henry and his repression, it gives a whole new meaning to “There is nothing wrong with ME”. It could be as if Sherlock is defensively saying “I’m not the one with this problem, it’s Henry, this is about him not me!” 

Finally, while there is a lot more that I could say comparing Henry to Sherlock (and many other metas far more detailed than mine have already done so) this last bit is, in my opinion, the clearest clue the show has given us that Sherlock’s traumatic loss has manifested itself in the form of Redbeard. John says to Louise “I have another friend, who might be having the same problem”. There we have it. Sherlock is having the exact same problem. 

tl;dr Redbeard was never a dog, Redbeard is Sherlock’s “childhood trauma, masked by an invented memory”.

Counting the Days

Author: Skylar
Characters: Reader (Y/N), Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester
Paring(s): Reader (Y/N) × Dean Winchester
Word Count: 2,061 *whoop! whoop!*
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: major character death/reader death, angst, mentions of demons/Hellhounds, metions/descriptive of Hell/Purgatory, mentions of torture, bad decision making, more angst, extra angst, so. much. angst.
Song Inspiration/Lyrics in the story

A/N: Wow, this is a lot longer than what I normally write. This is an original idea that I came up with and I just love this song so so much. I hope you enjoy it, but I just have to warn you that this contains major feels, which made ME cry and I’m the one who wrote it. There will be a part 2 (which I’m working on right now ^-^) from Dean’s P.O.V. I hope I don’t stab you in the feels too hard. ♡ ily and I’m so not sorry about this.

(Y/F/N) = Your Friend’s Name

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  It’s been 364 days. 364 days. 362 days since that werewolf hunt took a turn for the worst. 363 days since I decided I couldn’t handle it. 364 days since I kissed my soul goodbye. 365 days since Dean woke up and I told him he’d been out for 48 hours. One year of torturous countdowns up until this moment… and now I have just one day to live.

Love of mine
Someday you will die
And I’ll be close behind
To follow you into the dark

 I couldn’t tell Dean or Sam. I couldn’t handle the disappointment on their faces. I’d been lying to them for a year about what really happened on that hunt. I never told them that Dean had died that day. I ‘forgot’ to mention the look on his face as I watched the werewolf rip his heart out of his chest. I kept quiet about the crossroads demon I made a deal with the very next night. If today was my last day on Earth, I was not going to ruin it by watching my friends pity me as I flinched every time I heard the tick of a clock.

No blinding lights
Or tunnels to gates of white

  I know what’s going to happen. I’m going to Hell. Gigantic hounds only I can see will rip me limb from limb before dragging my soul to Purgatory. Darkness and anger will consume my being as I go through unbearable pain. All of it was worth it. Anything is worth watching Dean smile these past few months. The only regret is not being able to tell Dean that I love him. I love him and that is why I chose to sell my soul. To save him. It’s a small price to pay for making sure Sam has his brother. The only thing left to do was make an excuse to leave for tomorrow.

Just our hands clasped so tight
Waiting for a hint of a spark

  Taking a deep breath, I make my way to the Bunker’s library. Sam and Dean are both on laptops looking for a new case.

  “Hey Y/N,” Dean says, not looking up from his screen.

  “Hey,” I reply, walking to stand in front of the table the brothers are sitting at. “I just got a call from a friend of mine, Y/F/N. She’s another hunter… She needs some help on a case in Wichita. It should just be research and a salt ‘n’ burn. Pretty simple,” I lie.

  “Oh, okay… Want some help?” Dean asks, looking up at me. I force myself not to get lost in his deep green eyes as I come up with an escape.

  “Nah,” I shrug nonchalantly. “It’s just a two girl job.”

  “Want some company on the drive down?” Sam asks, still researching.

  “I can just take the Charger from the garage,” I offer.

  “Sure?” Dean presses. I’m mentally fight with my cliché feelings for the man in front of me. I would love to spend my last few hours driving around with my boys. I would be so much happier sitting in the Impala, listening to classic rock and joking around with the Winchesters.

  “Yeah, I’ll be fine,” I lie again. “I’ll see you guys in a couple of days.”

  “Have fun,” Sam jokes, giving me a little wave. I want to walk over and hug him and cry. I want to tell him how much he means to me, and how thankful I am to have him as my best friend. I want to say goodbye properly, but I know any of these things would seem suspicious.

  “I’ll walk you out,” Dean says, standing up. I walk with him to the garage, wishing I could tell him how I feel. I wish I could be honest with him. I just want to have a little more time with Dean.

In Catholic school
As vicious as Roman rule
I got my knuckles bruised
By a lady in black

  I shove my duffle into the trunk of the 1971 Charger and shut the lid. I only packed a bag so as to fool Sam and Dean. I can feel the eldest Winchester watching my every move as I prepare to leave the Men of Letters Bunker for the very last time.

  “Are you sure ya’ don’t want me to come with you?” the hunter asks again.

  “Dean, it’s just a salt ‘n’ burn. I’ll be fine.”

  “I know you’ll be fine, but I’m bored,” he whines. “Me and Sammy can’t find any new cases; plus, I wanted to spend some time with you.” He gave me a puppy dog face, and I managed a small chuckle. “Y/N, let me come with you,” he practically begs.

  “Why do you even want to come with me?”

And I held my tongue
As she told me, “Son,
Fear is the heart of love”

  “‘Cause I like you, Y/N,” Dean grins. He took a step closer to me… very close. I found myself trapped between a rock and a hard place, or in this case, Dean and a classic car. “I thought it was kind of obvious. I guess I wasn’t conspicuous enough,” he chuckles lightly.

  My mind took a moment to register what he was saying. Dean likes me? I felt like I had a billion butterflies in my stomach and my words got caught in my throat. It took a minute for my brain to catch up with reality before I felt like I was being stabbed straight through the heart. I remembered the real reason I was leaving and I forced a smile onto my face.

So I never went back

  I didn’t know what else to do and I knew this was my last chance. I stepped up on my tiptoes and pressed my lips against Dean’s. Our lips began to move in sync while he pulled me flush against him. I felt his hands slide down to my waist and he rested them on my hips as I wrapped my arms around his neck. We stayed like that for what seemed like forever, and yet it didn’t seem like long enough.

  Dean smiled at me when we pulled apart and says, “I’ll take that as an, ‘I like you too, Dean’,” he chuckles.

  “I like you too, Dean,” I confirm.

  “Still sure ya’ wanna go on the hunt alone, sweetheart?” My heart fluttered then broke all over again at the sound of my new petname.

  “Yeah,” I nod. “I’ll see you soon.”

  “Be safe, okay?”

  “Okay,” I say, holding back a sigh.

  “Call me if you anything.”

  “Okay,” I say, climbing into the Charger. “Goodbye Dean.”

  “Bye, Y/N.”

If Heaven and Hell decide
That they both are satisfied

  I hold back hot tears as I pull out of the Bunker garage. I don’t know where I’m going now, but I know I have to get away. I look in my rear view mirror and see Dean smiling and waving at me as I drive away. Not being able to say goodbye properly breaks my heart.

  My mind wanders as I keep my foot firmly pressed on the gas pedal. I don’t know how long I’ve driven, or how far, but I can’t bring myself to care anymore. All I can think of is Dean. Dean Winchester. My Dean. His laugh. The way he gets those crinkles by his eyes when he smiles. His stupid, corny jokes. His beautiful green irises. His ridiculous attachment to his car. The childlike face he has when I made pecan pie. His warm hugs. His deep voice. His lips.

  How will Dean handle the relization that I’m gone? What about Sam? Or Cas? I wrote them a note on my bed, telling them how much I care about them all, and that this wasn’t their fault. I begged them not to make any deals for me.

  I turn the radio on, going to take my mind off the Winchesters. As if fate was playing a cruel trick on me, ‘Carry On’ by Kansas started to play. Thr floodgates burst as the guitar solo started. This was— is one of Dean’s favorite songs. I choke back a sob as tears stream down my face.

  I shakily reach out and change the station. Trying to even my breathing, I hear Ben Gibbard’s voice drift from the speaker as ‘I Will Follow You Into the Dark’ by Death Cab for Cutie starts. “How appropriate,” I think, chuckling weakly.

Illuminate the “No’s” on their vacancy signs

  My thoughts lead me to the night Dean told me about his time in Purgatory. It had been three months since he’d gotten rid of the black eyes, and the Mark was passed on to another unfortunate soul. Sam had been out on a solo hunt and Dean and I were asleep in our respective beds.

  I remember hearing the elder Winchester’s screams, and I jumped into action, sprinting to his room. When I got there, Dean was thrashing around on his bed, entangled in his sheets. I ran to his side, shaking him and yelling— no, begging him to wake up.

  “Dean! Dean! Wake up! It’s just a dream, Dean, wake up! Please, wake up!”

  The hunter shot upward in his bed, breathing heavily. He tackled me to the ground in a crazed daze, his hands closing around my neck. Dean studied me with an feral look in his eyes before coming back to his senses and releasing me. He ran a hand through his hair, an anxious habit of his I’d noticed.

  “Y/N… Y/N, I’m sorry… I’m so sorry. I jus— I just thought—”

  “Dean, it’s okay. It’s okay now,” I replied breathlessly.

  We sat in silence for what seemed like a lifetime. I slowly got up from the floor and sat myself next to him.

  “You— do you want to… to tell me about it? It might help to talk,” I whispered.

  “It was about my time in Hell,” he says, almost inaudibly. “I’m not sure you really wanna hear about that…”

  He wouldn’t meet my eyes as he fidgeted next to me, anxiously carding a hand through his hair again. “Dean, you know you can tell me anything,” I assure him, trying to soothe him by rubbing a hand on his back.

  Dean sniffled before letting his head hang defeatedly. “I— the demons… Alistair… they tourtured me for, well, for what felt like years. A month here is like a decade down there. I took on their pain for 30 years… Then, I just— I jus—,” he started to sob. “I broke…” He looked at me with tear filled eyes. “I gave in… They… they made me… I tourtured and killed so many… so, so many,” he practically whimpered, voice cracking.

  I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and he sobbed into my neck. He clung to me tightly like a child to a security blanket. I’d never seen Dean that broken before.

If there’s no one beside you
When your soul embarks

  Now I know what’s coming for me. Torture. Pain. Killing. Anger. Hatred. I don’t know how long I will last, but I know I have to hold on as long as possible for Dean.

  After crossing the state border into Oklahoma, I found an isolated forest area and pull over. Turning off the car, I put the keys behind the sun divider and get out, leaving any and all of my remaining possessions behind. I start my journey deeper into the woods.

  I have no idea how far I’ve walked. The world around me numbs. Suddenly, loud howling rang in my ears as I stop in my tracks. I know it’s the Hellhounds. It’s over.

I will follow you into the dark

  Unbearable pain ripped through my body as the smoky black hounds tear my body apart. My life flashes before my eyes while screams pass through my lungs. The last thing I remember is Dean’s smile, before everything went black.

I will follow you into the dark

When you drug your friend’s drink and check to see that he’s actually drinking it so you can ignore his trust issues and lock him in a lab and convince him that he’s about to be eaten by a gigantic hound.