Hermione. Listens to podcasts and reads The Observer on her phone at the same time. Has extra bag containing her heels which she puts on when gets to office; keeps it neatly under her feet freeing up the seat beside her.
Ron. Has no idea how to get off. Has no idea how he got on for that matter. Also why does this bus take so long? Why didn’t they take the Knight Bus? Although there is always the chance someone has taken their Hippogriff on the Knight Bus, and they do shit a lot, and Hippogriffs aren’t allowed on London Buses.. That said, something does smell like Hippogriff shit.
Draco. Casting disinfectant charms with no regard for the Statute of Secrecy. Knows how to swipe his oyster card thank you very much Pansy it’s not his fault the gates slammed shut early.
Pansy. Unapologetically does her makeup. Always misses the last train home. Spends a fortune on mini-cabs.
Cormac McLaggen. Manspreads.
Hagrid. Can’t fit through turnstile for the Tube. Sad that he can’t bring Buckbeak.
Harry. Stands always. Even when tube isn’t crowded. Can’t stop staring at the pale blond head in front of him. Is it? Could it be? Why is he here? It wasn’t him yesterday, or the day before, or the week before that .. But it might be today. Very suspicious. Is always late and blaming train delays because he keeps getting off at random stops and following random blonds to make sure that they are not a certain person getting Up-To-No-Good™
Luna. Has never seen such a concentration of Wrackspurts in her life as when she surveys the commuters on the 7.18 Northern Line Tuesday morning.
The day is April 23rd, 2017. It’s an ordinary Sunday afternoon in London.
The crowd bustles, trains whirr, birds chirp.
Life in the city is business as usual.
Three teenage girls take photographs outside 187 North Gower Street, soaking in the ambiance of the Sherlock set. They step into Speedy’s for a cup of coffee.
The women lament over the loss of their favorite show. On March 8th, the BBC announced Sherlock would not be returning for a fifth series, and cowriters Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss were quick to assure their fans that it was time to lay the beloved program to rest.
But what the women saw next changed their lives forever.
This tip is aimed at sugar babes who have a certain level of financial security to rely on without working in the sugar bowl.
Don’t ask your Sugar Daddy to reimburse every little thing! Remember you’re trying to come across as an independent woman that doesn’t *need* a man to live this luxurious lifestyle…
You’ve arrived at the bar early? Buy yourself a drink, better yet get one in for your Daddy too. This not only shows you’re mature and confident, but reassures front of house / bar staff that you’re not on the ‘look out’.
If you’re meeting him in the town / city you live in, there’s no need to ask him to pay your fare. Girl, you’re a grown woman, you should be able to afford an oyster card or a train ticket for a few stops down the line. (Of course he should pay if you’re travelling out of town)
Don’t ask him to pay for your weekly grocery shop at the local supermarket, this should be something you can cover yourself! However there’s nothing too wrong if he wants to take you to nice restaurants or foot the bill for your excursion to Fortnum and Mason’s.
The point is; if you expect him to pay for every little thing you do, he will start to lose interest. He will also see this as a form of control over you. In his eye’s you’d be lost without him - after all, you’re implying you can’t afford a train ticket or basic groceries…
All you had to do was pick up the tissues and get into your room without being noticed by Sherlock, who was at the kitchen table looking into his microscope. Luckily, Mrs Hudson and John were not in so you didn’t have to talk to them. You loved the pair of them dearly however now wasn’t the best time to speak to them. Today was an off day to you. You woke up not in the best of spirits. Nothing had triggered your bad mood, it was just one of those days. Work had been a bummer too. You had been given a lot of paperwork by your boss and your co-workers had not been pleasant to you. You had left your oyster card at home so you couldn’t catch the bus or tube. You had to walk back to the flat. Normally, you wouldn’t mind a walk but it was raining hard. You just broke down when you got to the door of the flat but had wiped away your tears as you climbed the stairs into the living room of 221B. Sherlock was engrossed in his work so you thought that he would not notice you because he normally does not when he is working. Oh how wrong you were.
“Y/N,” Sherlock said. “I’ve found out what poison…” He trailed off when he saw tears in your eyes as you picked up the box of tissues from the coffee table. “You’ve had a bad day. You tried to sneak in without me noticing your arrival. You had been gloomy this morning so your bad mood had starting this morning. Also, you were happy yesterday evening so nothing big had triggered this. Your mood has worsened throughout the day.” You cried after your boyfriend had finished his deduction. You were tired, drenched by the rain, and you just were not feeling up to anything. Sherlock cocked his head slightly. He had seen you cry before however it was not as bad as this. You were normally bright and happy whereas today you had just completely broke down in front of him. He could tell you felt weak and that you did not want to cry in front of him but you did. Sherlock himself felt a bit disappointed that you were scared to weep in front of him because he was your boyfriend. However he knew that he wasn’t the best person when it came to comforting crying women. He stood up and walked over to you. He wrapped his arms around you and you cried into his shoulder.
You found yourself lying in Sherlock’s arms on the sofa while he absentmindedly played with your hair. You were both drifting off to sleep when John walked through the door.
“Oh sorry!” He exclaimed. “I’ve woken you up! Um… tea?”
“Please,” You replied smiling. Sherlock had fallen asleep. Your mood had definitely lifted though.
“Okay we gotta make this quick” Joe rushed as he pushed Taylor’s body against the door to slam it shut and began leaving sloppy, wet kisses all over her. Taylor’s heavy moans kept his pace speeding as his hands roamed around the buttons on her top which he began to undo as fast as possible.
“Patrick will be home in not too long so-” he ripped Taylor’s shirt off of her, placing his hands on her waist as he left a trail of kisses down her body. Taylor pulled him up slightly as he quickly removed his top, whilst Taylor unstrapped his belt.
The only thing that you needed right now was a hug. But could you get one? No. You had an endless list of places you would rather be. You did not like this forensic conference. Normally, you enjoyed your job but the last few months had been hard. Firstly, you had received a promotion that everyone was dying to get so it was understandable that people would be jealous. However, people gave you dirty looks constantly and you was sure that people were speaking about you behind your back. Some gave you horrible comments to your face. You often worked closely with Molly Hooper however she wasn’t in the meeting. She was on holiday. You had massive amounts of paperwork or just work in general and you often found yourself doing other people’s. You were sick of it.
You were all gathered round a table while your boss was at the front giving the presentation. You longed to be in Sherlock’s arms however you knew that would not happen. He was always to engrossed in his work and often felt like he didn’t need any company. You knew that dating Sherlock would mean that there wasn’t a lot of physical affection but you did want it occasionally. You knew he wouldn’t understand though so you didn’t mention it. He probably wouldn’t listen anyway. Your boss was droning on about work ethic, the new technology that would be used, etcetera. You felt isolated. Apart from your boss, no one else liked you in that room. You missed Molly. She was normally sat next to you keeping you sane. It was killing you.
Time seemed to have slowed down and you found yourself staring at the clock more frequently as you began to become desperate to leave. It appeared that everyone else became bored as well as they brought their attention to you. Like per usual, you began to get glares from them and you could hear whispers when your boss was not paying attention. Normally, you could deal with it but some days it just really hurt. Today was one of those days. You’d bottled it up all day so when the meeting finally ended, you excused yourself from a conversation with your boss and ran to the bathroom where you balled your eyes out. Luckily, no one else was in there to hear you cry. After wiping your tears away, you left. The bad day didn’t end there. Some of the tube lines were closed for maintenance so you got the bus as you knew the Underground would be packed. You waited for the bus but your oyster card had no money on once you finally got on the bus so you ended up walking a long way back to Baker Street. It began to rain and you didn’t bring a coat considering it had been a warm summer day. You hadn’t brought an umbrella either because you’d been so busy that you didn’t see the recent weather warnings. It was rush hour so the streets were jam packed. You shoes were not fit for walking longer distances so your feet were killing you. You just wanted to be home.
Sherlock just glanced over at you before returning to his violin when you walked in. This really annoyed you but you knew it was best not to argue. You dried off and changed in your pyjamas. You walked back into the living room.
You opened your mouth to speak but Sherlock spoke before you did. “No,” He said. “I won’t hug you. I’m too busy.”
You predicted he’d say something like that. “Well it would be nice if you cared for once.”
“I do. I’m just busy.”
“Well you don’t look like it.”
“I am. I don’t always have to hug you when you ask.”
“I never ask!” You exploded. You were letting all of your anger out as rage built up inside you. “It’s just a cuddle and you hardly ever show physical affection! I know you don’t like it much but it would be nice for once. You never take my feelings into consideration anyway! You’re always stuck up your own arse and your work always comes first. My day has been shit but you don’t care! You’ve probably noticed that I’ve come home from work upset for the last three months, because you are Sherlock fucking Holmes, but have you asked me about it? No. Would you listen if I told you? No! But do I listen to all your rants over petty things like John occasionally not listening to you? Yes! I never ask for anything off of you so just a hug would be nice!” You stormed into your shared bedroom before he could reply. You threw yourself down onto the bed and laid on your side. After the events of the today, you needed a rest.
Around ten minutes later, you felt a weight next to you on the bed and arms wrapping around you. The body then pressed itself close to you.
“I’m sorry,” Sherlock mumbled.
You sighed. “Just because I yelled at you-”
“No I’m not hugging you out of sympathy. I want to. I genuinely am sorry.”
“I can’t believe that the famous Sherlock Holmes is apologising.” You smiled.
“Don’t take it for granted.” He sighed. “I do listen to you and I definitely noticed you had been upset. I deduced that your co-workers (with the exception of Molly) had upset you so I went and spoke to them about it. They obviously ignored me. I was going to ask again however I did not want to pry into your business as you scolded me about that beforehand.”
“I’m sorry for yelling.”
“I don’t mind." You fell asleep in his arms peacefully and he fell asleep soon after. You may not be the most perfect couple but who cares about perfection?
The only way to the place you’re going is through a dark passageway. It’s a sunny day, but you can’t see to the other side. Everyone else keeps walking past the passageway as if they don’t see it.
The Northern line isn’t running above Camden Town. The buses have stopped going that way too. People start referring to North London like it’s Manchester. “That’s just how things are up North,” they say. “My sister moved up there but I haven’t heard from her in months.”
It’s been raining for days. It is always raining. Your flat is damp, condensation collecting on the insides of the windows. The walls are weeping. Your feet are wet. You will never be dry or warm again.
A pop up shop opens on Portobello Road. It sells herbs and homeopathic remedies one week, crystals and amulets the next. The third week, it’s stocked with rabbit’s feet and animal skulls, lizard skins and strange feathered things. People can’t get enough. The week after that, the store is gone.
You roll your eyes at a group of tourists taking a Jack the Ripper walking tour: a dozen of them winding through the alleys and pubs, following a guide holding an umbrella above his head. You see the same group again later, and there are only ten of them now. The guide looks straight at you. You look away.
There’s a red telephone box on every corner. The tourists like to take pictures inside, outside, on top of them. Every night, after midnight, all the telephones begin to ring. Your mother told you never to answer. You cross the street to avoid the sound, pulling your scarf tighter around your throat as you scurry on.
It’s summer and the ponds in Hampstead Heath are spreading. The grass is growing higher, up to a man’s chest. It’s all marshland now, all the paths and bridges swallowed up by rising water and vegetation. That’s just how things are now, up North.
You run down the steps into Piccadilly Circus and weave through the crowd to the ticket barrier. You touch your Oyster card to the reader and it beeps disapprovingly. The reader flashes the message: Seek Assistance. You try again and get the same message. You’re irritated, you’re in a hurry. You look around for a ticket agent, but you don’t see anyone. The booths are shuttered. The station is empty. The lights are flickering. There is no one here to assist you.
Prompt:“dan being late for work or something, racing into the train station, running into phil, falling onto the ground with him, falling in love with the guy below him, and then he tries to run into him every day, getting to know him more and more, as he drops his stuff every day. one day he’s not there, but his business card is, and he decides to visit him.”
Summary: Q can only hope that he’ll be (relatively) fine at the end.
Q was almost halfway home when he realized that there was a problem.
He’d lost his train of thought when someone bumped into him, nearly pushing him forward down the rest of the stairs that led to the Tube below. He also nearly lost his grip on his mobile, which would have spelled the end of a week already going badly. It was early evening on a Friday, and he was tired after a long week of meetings and various disasters. Missy had thrown up earlier that morning, and Q was dreading the day’s potential carnage in the flat. He also missed James, who was out of the office for several weeks with Alec to train the latest batch of potential Double-O recruits.
Prompt: This is a fanfiction that I was hoping someone else would write but it was too good for anyone to just wait around so I decided I would do it.Dan is full of morphine and is pretty damn drousy and as Phil takes him home, Dan lets go of a confession he would have never made in his right state of mind.
As we left A&E, I basically had to drag Dan out. He was on mass amounts of morphine after being in the hospital for the night and damn, he was heavy. We both stumbled our way to the tube and got on. I could barely pull out my Oyster Card without Dan falling flat on his face. Once I found us a seat and we were both settled in, he started giggling, and just leaned himself against me, soon enough falling asleep. Oh deer, this would be a long ride.
After much struggle and a lot of pulling, I got to Dan’s house. Even though he was awake, he was not willing to help drag any of his own weight. His parents weren’t home and I obviously couldn’t leave him alone, so I sighed and pushed my hand into his pocket, searching for a pair of keys. Luckily, he had them so I opened his door and hauled him inside and to his room.
His familiar smell washed over me and it somehow relaxed me. I smiled to myself. Oh god, why was his smell making me happy?
I dropped him onto his bed and he just groaned and rolled over. He was in his leather jacket and sneakers so I just shuffled over to his side and helped him take off his shoes and pulled the leather garment off and placed it on his computer chair. Just as I was about to go downstairs and let him rest, I heard a slightly muffled sound, followed by a stream of soft chuckles.
”Dan, do you want something?” I said quietly. The laughing just continued.
”Phi-iii-ll!” He dragged out my name, rolling around so he was now facing me as I stood slightly annoyed in the doorway.
I trudged over to his bed and got on my knees so I would be at level with his body that was currently lying on the bed. “Yes, Daniel?” I said with a smile, using his full name just because I knew he hated it.
”Ew, Phil.” The giggles continued. “Can you… stay here with me?” He said, words slurring slightly from the morphine. “Please?” He grabbed my hand and yanked me down onto his bed.
I yelped and fell on top of him, but he didn’t seem to mind. I didn’t really mind either, if I was being honest with myself. It felt wrong though. We were friends, best friends, so why was I on top of him, in his bed, smiling? I decided it would be best to roll off of him and just lay by his side. We stared into each others’ eyes for a few seconds and he had the stupidest grin on his face.
”Sure, I’ll stay as long as you need me.” The words I uttered were so true, but in a much deeper manner. I felt him snuggle into me and he sighed, pressing his head into my neck. It was an odd sensation, realizing how well we fit together.
”Just until I fall asleep.” he said, snuggling closer.
”M-kay…” I submitted to his cuddle and allowed myself to relax into his warm touch.
For the next few hours, I just listened to him as he rambled on about absolute nonsense. He was mentioning some sort of llama conspiracy then changed the topic to how much he loved the taste of white chocolate Malteasers but how they should fill them with different flavors. I couldn’t help but laugh every now and then at the utterly ridiculous things he was saying. I wondered how long the morphine would last.
Finally, he started slowing down his talking until it stopped completely. I smiled down at him and just as I was about to leave, I heard three little words. They were enough to make me stop moving. I looked at him. His eyes were closed. Was he sleeping? It was just the morphine that made him say that, right? Oh my god…
I had been at Dan’s home for a few hours now, just allowing him to sleep. That was until I heard a key rustle in the lock downstairs. That had to be his mother, so I decided that was my cue to leave.
I separated my limbs from Dan’s, allowing myself one kiss to his forehead before getting up and exiting his room. I thought about it for a second, then wondered why I felt compelled to do that. I walked downstairs where his mother was taking off her shoes.
”Hello, Mrs. Howell.” I said politely, trying not to scare her.
She did jump slightly but once she saw who it was, smiled and relaxed. “Oh, Phil, honey! What brings you here? Where is Daniel?”
”I just brought him back from A&E and he’s in his room resting. A bit drugged up, I might add.”
”Oh, well you must be exhausted. Please, stay. Have a cup of tea or something.” She offered, already going to the kitchen to get her kettle.
”Yes, of course.” I gave her a smile and took a seat at her kitchen table. Me and her made mindless small talk, and I told her about my Uni. life. She was just like my mother, always wanting to know about what I am up to. She was a nice woman, always making it easy to talk to.
After a few minutes, I heard a door open and close and footsteps coming up behind me. I turned around and saw Dan, slight bed head, walking up to us.
”Hi, mum.” He said quietly, and gave her a quick hug.
”Dan! I hope you got enough rest. I wouldn’t want you to get sick again.” She patted him on the head and kissed his forehead… the same forehead I kissed merely a few minutes ago.
His eyes met mine and for a moment, I thought I saw something there. It looked like, affection? No, I had to have been imagining.
”Well, I’m going to go set up dinner. Phil, you and Dan could go up to his room and relax for however long you want. You know you’re always welcome here.” She gave a warm smile then waved us off.
Dan began walking to his room, so I silently followed close behind, and as soon as we made it up, he closed his door behind us. I took a seat on his bed and he just stared at me. I think the morphine had worn off by now. He seemed fine, just a bit tired.
”So, what did I miss while I was out?” He said, sounding like the same old Dan, a hint of playfulness in his voice.
”Oh, well you went on many rants about llamas and talked about Malteasers for hours. Not much different from any other day.”
He chuckled and then looked at me again. “Hm, anything else?”
”Well…” I stuttered, not knowing how to word it. “You did say something else.” I instantly regretted bringing it up. I felt my awkward self creeping up.
”Now you have to tell me! You can’t just begin a sentence and stop.” He jokingly punched my arm.
Be a man, Phil. You mentioned it, so just say it. ”Uh, you said something while I think you were sleeping. We were cuddling and then-“
”Wait, what? We were cuddling?” He interjected. He seemed baffled by the idea, but a slight blush spread across his otherwise pale cheeks.
”Maybe that wasn’t the right word. I was just in your bed because you asked me to stay with you.” I corrected myself.
I saw him begin to say something, and then he stopped himself. “Okay, well what did I say?”
I took a deep breath and met his intense gaze. His chocolate colored eyes just melted into mine and I couldn’t help but feel a warmth surround me. “Well, you said the words ‘I love you’. I’m not sure who they were directed to, but you said them.” I could feel my own cheeks flushing. It all felt so embarrassing. Why would I care if he said it to me, or if he just said it at all?
He hadn’t said anything for a while, and I realized why. He was visibly shaking. Instantly, I was standing and holding him. “Dan? Dan, are you okay?” I shook him slightly, but he just remained still.
”You weren’t ever supposed to know about that, Phil.” He whispered, a single tear falling down his cheek. “Besides, I always knew you would never return the feeling! I would have never said that if I wasn’t full of drugs.”
So it was meant for me. My heart fluttered at the thought. What was that feeling? Did I feel the same for Dan? Did I actually return the feeling? In that moment, I realized all the wasted time I had spent denying myself of this feeling I had. Love. I loved Dan Howell. The realization of that was painfully amazing.
Instead of saying anything, I just looked at him, and leaned in without second thought. Our lips pressed together and his stiffened body unwound around me, and in no time, I felt him kissing back, our needy tongues dancing around each other. His arms wove themselves around me and pulled me impossibly close. Finally, we pulled apart to take in some air, and I used my fingertip to wipe away the lone tear on his face. He was smiling. Not his usual smirk, but a genuine smile, and it was so breathtaking that I had to lean in and give him another kiss, quick and meaningful.
”We should have done that a long time ago.” I breathed against him, and he just snickered and rested his head against my shoulder.
So finally I found where I was supposed to be. My home was in the warmth of Dan, but who would have known that some morphine would have been the way to find that out.
summary: dan goes missing and phil is left with the broken pieces.
note: idk what to think of this, i really don’t. it’s probably the least original thing i’ve ever written, but then again, it definitely went places i didn’t expect. i swear i was just trying to mess around with this one, but then… well. 7k words.
a fair warning: i don’t know if it’s good. i don’t know if it’s interesting, or if it works, or if it’s done characteristically. i only know it’s a study in overdone clichés and i hope it makes some sort of sense.
The clock ticks the time away, and Phil stares because he’s not sure if he believes it. The hands say it’s been two hours since the door closed after Dan when he went to the shop, but Phil knows very well that the shop is only ten minutes away, and he thinks that the clock must be lying but he doesn’t check the one on his phone because clocks aren’t people and only people lie, and if the clock isn’t lying Phil doesn’t want to know.
Dan left his mobile plugged to the charger and Phil listens to the ring echo through the flat and doesn’t hang up, even when he can hear the ringtone and knows Dan won’t be picking up, even when it reaches voicemail and Dan’s recorded voice tells him to leave a message and Phil wants to ask where he is but knows he won’t get an answer.
He lets the phone drop to his side and tells himself to stop thinking about it, because he’s not Dan, who thinks problems over so much they turn themselves into a different problem that never existed in the first place – he’s Phil, and Phil doesn’t think problems over at all and pretends that it makes them fade into the shadows of the wallpapers even when he knows it doesn’t.
He doesn’t know if it’s better, but it’s all he has.
He falls asleep on the sofa in the lounge, and it’s two in the morning and Dan’s been gone for five hours, and Phil dreams of shadows and fear.
The Oyster card particularly resonated with me since I was debating whether or not to start this new Insta account. I took this to mean it was a “pearl” of an idea or that the world is my oyster, so just to go for it! 🙊💕