letter pressed

He kept the photograph, along with the letter, neatly pressed within the small book. It sat in his shelf – filed, secure and contained – amidst the various biographies and references, to be kept there until work required its reappearance. 

And that, he had decided, was the end of that.

Yet weeks later, while perusing his indices for a case involving tobacco ash, he found his hand reaching for the small bound book instead. 

Why he should be reading it when he had more pressing matters to attend to, he couldn’t say. The case was closed. There was no more information to be gleaned from within her letter, or from the photograph itself. The Woman’s face stared at him with condescension, and just a touch of mischief, between the pages of the book. He snapped the book shut and slid it back into its place.

It did not stay there for long. When Watson was out, he found himself reaching for the book and the photograph, absentmindedly at first, then with increasing urgency, and a mild sense of guilt – as if he were engaging in something illicit or sinful – with every encounter.

It was as if the Woman within refused to be contained inside the book and shelved. He should have known, truly, that she was simply too much – too clever, too real, too unsolvable a mystery – to be boxed into a single photograph, a simple footnote.

Every time he opened the book and stared at her face within, studied her handwriting, it seemed to him that she came alive and taunted him. And yet, he could not leave it alone. She would not let him.

The next morning, he packed his luggage. Unwilling to leave the photograph which had so enslaved him, he plucked the item from its home in the shelf, and without thinking about it, he placed it within his watch.

With a hurried goodbye to his landlady, Sherlock Holmes set off to Montenegro.

___________

By SorrowsFlower

04.07.17 || July is so hectic I’m honestly quite scared? Thank you so much for 2k followers - that’s amazing we can’t really believe it :)) we appreciate all of the likes and kindness so much xx

Happy New Comic Book Day! Today is the kick-off of our SQUARE ONE program—first issues of our flagship titles for only $1!

This first round includes:

Find your local comic shop with findacomicshop.com or comicshoplocator.com and add your favorite comics to your pull list so you never miss out on an issue!

Which of our dollar comics are you excited to read this week?

  • someone: my zodiac -
  • me: the zodiac killer was a serial killer who operated in northern california in the late 1960s and early 1970s. the killer's identity remains unknown. the zodiac murdered victims in benicia, vallejo, lake berryessa, and san francisco between december 1968 and october 1969. four men and three women between the ages of 16 and 29 were targeted. the killer originated the name "zodiac" in a series of taunting letters sent to the local bay area press. these letters included four cryptograms (or ciphers). of the four cryptograms sent, only one has been definitively solved.
Cardiovascular Palpitations Part 1 (ft. Jeongguk) [M]

Originally posted by theking-or-thekid


โ†’ fluff, angst, smut, mentions of blood/surgery
โ†’ Jeongguk ft. Taehyung | friendswithbenefits!au, doctors!au
โ†’ part 1 | part 2 |ย story talk

It was complicated. But it worked. You two were doctors, cardio surgeons at that. Complicated was usual, it was your business, your work, your lifestyle. And neither of you had time for an actual relationship, for the hours of work for writing heartfelt letters or planning dates out on the beach. Both you and Jeongguk needed quickies in the stockroom, someone to dress up and look hot so he can get revenge on his ex, someone to give a blow job or finger you to relax your nerves before an important presentation, someone to understand the burdens and harsh lifestyle of being a doctor. And somehow in that chaos, youโ€™d found eachother and it worked out.ย 

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Crutchie and the Top Bunk

I keep seeing posts with people saying stuff like “If Crutchie couldn’t even come to the window, how was he on the top bunk Jack??????”

I dunno about you guys, but I imagine the reason might have something to do with the fact that Snyder is an abusive asshole who enjoys treating kids like crap.

I mean, think about it. Crutchie is practically dragged to the Refuge by his bad leg, where he gets roughed around some more by Snyder who keeps asking for information on the strike. Crutchie, of course, says nothing until Snyder decides to give his interrogation a rest for now. Crutchie is then stripped of any personal belongings and is told that he’ll be escorted to his bunk. He’s practically carried there by Snyder and another boy, he can hardly move after all. They get to the room, and looking around, there aren’t a lot of bunks open. There’s already at least three boys piled into each bed, and most of them don’t look eager to add another into their already crowded sleeping arrangements.

So Snyder decides to be a bit more horrible to the already suffering boy in hopes of making him give up the newsies plans and tells him he’ll be sleeping on one of the top bunks, to keep him “away from the vermin”.

And Crutchie’s face just goes really white as he realizes what’s actually happening, that he’s being punished further, but he doesn’t say anything because god knows Snyder doesn’t like “back talk”. So without a word, he limps over to the bunk and braces himself. Another boy, a bit taller than him, comes by to help. He doesn’t say a word, but he looks at Crutchie like he wishes he could do something. But instead, the boy boosts him up as quickly as he can so as to get it over with.

Crutchie nearly blacks out after he’s hoisted onto the top. His ribs and leg are screaming, his vision is blurry, and he wants to cry because Jack promised he’d never end up in a place as terrible as this and he doesn’t know how long he’s going to last. He hears Snyder over the ringing in his ears sneer something about being back to question him later, and how if anyone decides to take pity on the crippled boy and switch bunks with him they’ll find themselves sleeping in the cellar for a few weeks.

Crutchie sleeps fitfully after that, quick bouts of rest interrupted every time he shifts the wrong way and feels like he’s about to pass out from the pain. A day goes by, and the next evening he finds himself writing to Jack, though he has no idea how he’d even manage to deliver a letter from inside the Refuge. When he finishes, it’s back to trying his best to ignore the emptiness of his stomach and the aches from his wounds.

He cries out when somebody shakes his shoulder a few hours later, but stops when he’s told there’s a Jack Kelly at the window for him. In his excitement, Crutchie makes to climb down off the bunk and immediately regrets it when he suddenly can’t breathe. His vision tunnels, but amidst the pain he does catch a glimpse of a familiar face staring at him, horrified, through the metal bars of the window.

When he can manage to catch his breath and the intense throbbing in his leg dulls to an ache, Crutchie shakily retrieves his letter from the folds of his shirt, handing it off to the boy who’d helped him up during his first night. He watches Jack’s face as he’s told why Crutchie can’t come to the window, and feels a weight lift from his shoulders when the letter is pressed into Jack’s shaking hands. There’s a brief moment where Crutchie thinks Jack is going to read the letter right then and there, but thankfully he doesn’t, tucking it instead into his shirt pocket with care.

They make eye contact from across the room, both wishing they could be just a bit closer to the other. But in the end, there’s nothing either of them can do. Jack mouths “I’ll be back for ya’”, the tear tracks on his face glinting silver in the moonlight, and Crutchie smiles back as convincingly as he can and pretends just for a second that Jack really will be able to rescue him.

Then Jack drops out of sight from the window, and Crutchie breaks.