slightly haunted

obeydontstray  asked:

For the fic wars can I request El trying to make Hopper admit that he's in love with Joyce


“You let her beat you,” El observed from the passenger’s seat and Jim Hopper drove down the country roads, away from the Byers Residence.

“I did not.”

“That move was easily avoided, and I saw the box of trophies you still keep hidden. You’re a chess master.”

“Was - like a million years ago- and Joyce is really good too.”

El wrinkled her nose and turned her gaze to the passing trees and flying snow outside of her window. “She really isn’t. You weren’t playing at all like you taught me.”

“Maybe I’ve been training you to lose against me.”

“That’s pre-preposterous,”.El replied, carefully tripping over her Word-of-the-Day. She heard her father sigh deeply. When she looked over, she saw that he was frowning at the road, his lips pressed firmly together in a severe line. “Why did you let her win?”

Jim chuckled. “You do notice how competitive Joyce gets during Game Night, don’t you? Everyone lets her win because she’s a sore loser.”

“That’s not it. Will doesn’t let her win.”

“Will is her baby, she’s not going to bring out Sore Loser Joyce on him.”

“I don’t let her win.”

“Same logic.”

El furrowed her brow and worried her bottom lip at the statement. The idea of being someone’s baby sparked a light in her chest that radiated warmth throughout her entire body – a pleasant glow that left her slightly breathless.

“You think she thinks of me like she thinks of Will?”

Jim turned to her, his stern, contemplative features softening when he caught the wide-eyed hope projecting so nakedly from her small face. He grinned, reached over, and ruffled her curls before turning his attention back to the road.

“She absolutely does. Joyce told me the other day that she loves you like a daughter.”

El exhaled at the news, her eyes stinging slightly. “Yes?”

“Yeah.”

“How does she love you?”

Jim’s grip tightened on the steering wheel to the point where El could actually see his knuckles go white. For a split second, his exuberant expression vanished and was replaced with one that looked haunted and slightly winded – he switched back in a flash with a dismissive chuckle.

“I don’t think she does at all, kid.”

El crossed her arms over her chest as she attempted to process his reply. “But she feeds you.”

“Yes. She feeds you too.”

“And has us over at least twice a week.”

“So you can socialize with Will.”

“And she let you win at Five-Card Stud.”

“I told you to stop wandering around the table and reading other people’s cards!”

“And she looks at you the way I catch Mike looking at me sometimes.”

“That boy is a menace.”

“And you do the same.”

“She’s very, very easy to look at!”

“And you love her.”

“Yes– hey!”

El shot her father a victorious grin.

“She does all the same things you do to show her that you love her.”

“It’s… complicated.”

El shrugged. “That’s what she said when I pretended to have cramps so I could talk to her in the bathroom.”

“YOU DID WHAT?”

She shrugged, a Cheshire Cat grin on her face.

Fictober 5-Sentence Challenge: Day 18 - Haunted House

Fandom: Fairy Tail


Lucy whimpered, pressing her face to Natsu’s chest, clutching his shirt with both hands. “This year’s haunted house is the best one yet!”

Happy snickered, “You ain’t even scared!”

Natsu hugged Lucy closer, shielding her in his arms, “We don’t come here to get scared.”

“We come here to snuggle in public,” Lucy looked at Happy and stuck out her tongue, “we liiiiiiiiiiiiike each other!”

“Rum & Coconuts” - h.s. Part 6

****** I did some research on some of the songs for this story so I’m actually doing research now for one shots what has my life become. I hope you all know the extensiveness that has started to go into this craziness you’re all welcome damn.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5

—–

—–

Harry kept his album from you for quite some time. You instantly asked to listen to it, obviously, and after talking with Anne on the phone once you’d broke the news of your engagement to your families, you were shocked to find that Harry had already played it for her. 

“You played it for your mum?” you cried, “What is so wrong about it that you can’t play it for me? What did I do?” you begged.

Harry just watched you fall apart while sitting in that damn yellow seat, smirking as you fumed at him and paced back and forth. 

“How am I supposed to support you and sing along when I haven’t even heard your music?” you whined. You had gotten into his habit of twirling around your engagement ring whenever you were nervous, and Harry joked that if you kept doing that then you were accidentally going to lose it at some point. 

“I want it to be special,” Harry said, standing from the seat and resting his hands on your shoulders, giving you a sincere smile as he used his index finger to lift your chin. “Don’t pout, angel,” he mimicked your pout. “I promise you’ll love it.”

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Aftermath

A/N: This is a fic for Mimi’s RomCom Fluff Challenge @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog and for Suzanne’s 100 Followers Writing Challenge @sea040561​ . The prompts are bolded in the fic (first Mimi’s, then Suzanne’s), but detailed in the second A/N after the fic, because I don’t want to give out spoilers at this point. :-) Thanks guys for letting me participate and congrats on your milestones! Hope you like it — My thanks goes also to @boxywrites for beta’ing! Your input was a great help!

Pairing/characters: Dean x reader, Sam

Warnings: A tiny bit of angst (sorry Mimi, please forgive me - it’s just to set the scene!), mentions of a minor character death, fluff (yes, it’s there Mimi), and plenty of silliness with hopefully some laughs.

Word count: 1673


Originally posted by demondetoxmanual

Dean walked straight to the bunker’s library - and straight to the whiskey. You exchanged a worried glance with Sam. He had noticed it too; how quiet his brother had been the whole way home, how his rare smiles didn’t reach his eyes. You both knew the signs. Dean thought it was his fault the hunt hadn’t gone as planned. The djinn was dead, yes, but so was its latest victim; the teenage boy who had gone missing six days ago hadn’t been dead for more than a few hours when you got there. It hit you all hard - you just couldn’t save everyone no matter how hard you tried - but Dean blamed himself. And if you didn’t break him out of his head, he would only drink himself to oblivion and feel even worse tomorrow.

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5

95z being magnets feat. me in the bg

anonymous asked:

hey connor, what are your thoughts about jareds gradual growth spurt??

oh look a few changes in my terrible style

Domino Suo - A Dean Winchester Fanfiction

Title: Domino Suo

Chapter/One shot: One Shot

Author: @peskipixi

Characters: Dean Winchester (Dom!Dean) / Unnamed OFC (kinda reader-insert)

Genre: Here be smut

Author’s notes: I blame this squarely on this gif that the lovely @pattibie2410 sent to me the other day. So technically it’s her fault. Unbeta-ed, be forgiving and kind please. I live for feedback, as always! 

Warnings: Established Dom/sub relationship, angst, spanking, fingering, oral sex (both ways), discipline, bondage, aftercare 

You snorted out a surprised laugh as the door opened to let in a very pissed-off looking Dean. He turned slowly to where you were sprawled on the bed, dressed in pajama shorts and a tank top, candy wrappers littering the bedside table and Netflix paused on the TV. You’ve been bored stiff with Dean out on a hunt and Sam with him, so you had been keeping yourself busy by being an utter slob.

“Is there something you find amusing, pet?” He asks as he jerks at the tie around his neck irritably.

A chill of premonition ran down your spine, wiping the residual smile from your face. He really was irritated. You watched as he finally loosened the tie enough to be able to pull it from his neck and toss it to one side. Sitting up and crossing your legs, you were about to answer, but he crossed the room in two long strides and grabbed your face, his fingers digging into your cheeks.

“I said, is there something you find amusing?”

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anonymous asked:

Hey so do you think you could do a kind of "previously on sims" kind of thing where you describe what happened in the lost screenshots? It doesn't have to be that long or detailed just the gist of what we missed. It's fine if you don't have time though.

Oh man it was some GOOD STUFF

  • Adrien  and Lotte’s mom babysat Nova together and bonded as in-laws <3
  • Emma got a promotion so she and Lotte moved to their new apartment!!
  • Hugo and his roommates plus Piper and her roommmates (basically everyone who lives in San Myshuno) threw Emma and Lotte a housewarming party where everyone got to faun over a VERY FUSSY Nova. 
  • Louis crashed the housewarming party and he and Piper argued before she stormed off with her roommates :^) 
  • Then we got a really nice Louis, Hugo, Emma bonding moment where his older siblings tried to calm him down (he was SUPER ANGRY) and give him advice.
  • Alya and Nino went on a couples retreat that was hella romantic and also slightly haunted?? (there where ghosts, idk)
  • Hugo and Penny threw another bangin party where Penny hooked up with her neighbor Akira ;)
  • Nova became a toddler!!!
  • Bri and Dom took a tour of Forgotten Hollow together to learn more about vampires
  • Emma waited until Lotte was asleep to take Nova to the Humor and Hijinks festival, where she let her child wander around alone amidst live fireworks. 
  • Also: Adrien and Nino where dressed like punks and playing pranks on each other, which Emma joined in on. 
  • Adrien went on another space trip and brought back a little bundle of joy which Marinette wasnt feeling at first but quickly grew to love <3
  • Louis went to the bar by his house and picked up a random chick, effectively signaling the beginning of his slut phase.

I…. think thats it???

Needless to say im pretty bummed you guys wont get to see this :(

Lost Series // Part Nine

Part One  Part Two  Part Three  Part Four  Part Five  Part Six  Part Seven  Part Eight

Pairing : Jerome x Fem. Reader

Requests are closed. xx

Sorry if it’s kind of confusing.. I wanted it to be a little more interesting with Y/N getting her memories back and regular flashbacks just didn’t seem right. Lol. Oh and still not rewatching the episode so it’s not word for word. xx

Originally posted by punkbandsharry

Originally posted by intellectual-psychopath

Italics are memories ..


My breath was heavy and I couldn’t move my eyes away from the chair in front of me. It felt as if I just woke up from a coma. Different memories came back in flashes. At first it all came back, different pictures moving around my mind so fast I couldn’t make sense of it. It didn’t feel like memories. It felt like a movie that I’ve seen one too many times.

For the first time after being revived, I turned to look at Jerome. A gasp leaving me as I saw his face. I quickly pulled my hand up to cover my gaping mouth. Jerome noticed this and frowned slightly before allowing a haunting grin to overtake his features.

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There’s a Certain Slant of Light, Ch. 1

Based on this post by @gutsybitsies. Title taken from the poem of the same name by Emily Dickinson. No actual Stanley Cups were harmed in the process of writing this fic (please suspend your disbelief; I know the keepers of the Cup would never permit such blasphemies as occur in this first chapter. Thank you for your patience. :))

Disclaimer: Characters are not mine; all credit goes to ngoziu.

ETA: Now also found on ao3!


There’s a certain slant of light,
On winter afternoons,
That oppresses, like the weight
Of cathedral tunes.


Kent Parson peers down at the Stanley Cup with considerable distaste. Sticky brown caramel is stuck to the rim, and the metal is shiny with oil from the leftovers of the popcorn from Swoops and Mags’s date night—which, like, good for them, Kent had liked every one of their photos on Instagram, but to not have the decency to wash it out afterwards? He thought better of them, he really did.

“Isn’t there a rule or something to prevent this type of blatant desecration?” he complains to Richards, the representative/so-called “keeper” of the Cup from the Hockey Hall of Fame, since the actual Trustees of the Cup are both pushing ninety and can’t be bothered to follow a fancy metal trophy around the world on its adventures with hyped-up jocks.

Richards gives him a look. His eyes are dark and a mix of slightly haunted and completely done with this shit. It’s a look that tells Kent loud and clear that he has Seen Things. “You’re a hockey player,” he says. “You’ve done this before. What do you think?”

Kent grimaces. “But isn’t it common courtesy not to leave clean-up to the next guy?”

“Jeffrey Troy said, and I quote, ‘It’s payback, bitch,’” Richards says, completely deadpan.

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Let’s Go

Request: One were fem!reader is in a mental hospital and lestrade thinks she has information about a case. Lestrade tells Sherlock to try and figure out the information but when Sherlock gets there he deduces that she’s not insane just trapped in her own head. He breaks her out or something along those lines and I’d like some fluff if possible 

Warnings: None.

A/N: I’m thinking about a part two, but I’m not completely sure. What do you think? This is so weirdly written, it reminded me of something I would have written a long time ago, I hope it doesn’t suck.

Masterlist

Originally posted by famouspeople

“Who is it?”

“Y/N Y/L/N. She’s in a mental hospital, but it seems like she had been escaped during the same time the murder was committed. I need you to go and talk to her, see if you can get any information.” Greg replied.

Sherlock nodded his head and put his gloves on, as Greg handed him a card with the name and address of the hospital on it.

.

“One visitor at a time please.” The woman at the front desk rolled her eyes. John nodded his head and went to sit down.
Sherlock looked around the room. Despite the fact that the people seemed relatively happy, there was a slightly depressed mood haunting the room.

“Name.” The woman said, without even bothering to look up from her computer.

“Sherlock Holmes.”

She looked up for just long enough to confirm his words, before shrugging and turning away again.

“Mr Leives will show you to the room.” She gestured towards a young man with large round glasses and messy blonde hair.

Mr Leives ushered Sherlock to the halfway that was just left of the front desk. They walked until they reached the fourth room to the end of the hall.

“She doesn’t like visitors.” He stated. Just before opening the door for Sherlock.
As soon as he walked in he saw you, sitting on a chair just gazing out of the window.

“Ms Y/L/N,” He greeted you.

You lifted your head slowly, then turned around to meet his eyes.
He reached his hand out to yours, you furrowed our eyebrows and shook his hand reluctantly.

“I’m here to confirm your whereabouts on December third.” He smiled quickly before frowning and staring into you.

You cleared your throat, “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

He rolled his eyes, then changed the subject completely, “Why are you here?”

“Umm..” You looked around the room anxiously.

“Jesus.” He squinted his eyes shut. “You’re not really mad are you?” He asked, but it seemed more like his was asking himself. “How did you get out of here before?” He looked around the room quickly.

You pointed to the window that was behind your chair. He walked over to it only to see that it was now clamped shut with metal bars.

“I see. So you did escape.” He caught you.

“Well, yes, but it wasn’t to do anything bad.”

“You seem-” He ran his eyes up and down your body, “Useful… How would you like to get out of here?” He looked around the room for any source of escaping.

“Around now is the time mostly the workers go on lunch break,” You told him. “It really wouldn’t be that hard to just walk out of here. Especially because the door is unlocked. And they probably forgot about you already.” You shrugged. “But I don’t have a place to stay anyway.” You looked down.

“I think I can… Help you with that.” He walked to the door slowly.

Sherlock was surprised to see that you were right. You could basically just walk straight out of the building without anyone noticing.

“This is John,” He gestured toward his friend that was sitting on one of the couches.

“Sherlock!” He whisper yelled as he stood up. “Is that…?” He looked at you. Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

“You can’t just… What if she’s completely insane?!” He whispered the last part.


“Then that will make three of us.” Sherlock said out loud. “Let’s go.”


June/27/2017


Tags,

@ 8181pjh

Soft Names, Soft Touches *

Chapter Eight (NSFW)

Previous Chapter

Pairing: Bucky x OC | Word Count: 4.3K+   *NSFW*

Warnings: Swearing. A little angst. A lot of smut. Russian that may or may not be correct.


A few nights later, just shy of three in the morning, Franki woke in a sweaty mess, blankets tangled around her legs, breath coming in heavy pants, and heart pounding. She’d dreamed of China, of beatings and drugs and experiments. She’d dreamed of being strapped to a table as her bones were broken and her body healed, only to be re-broken again and again. There was no pain. Only nothingness. Only numbness. It was the constant emotional and mental abuse that wore her down. The distress of never feeling anything.

Pressing her hands to her face, Franki shuddered, tears coming to her eyes. She felt so numb, so frozen, so… dead inside. It made her sick to her stomach. Snuffling, she wiped the few drops of moisture that escaped from her eyes and pushed back her now soiled bedding. Getting up, she stripped the sheets from the mattress and then the clothes from her body, tossing it all in a hamper to deal with later.

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Let Me Take Care Of You - (Dean Winchester x Reader)

Prompt: 3-3, “Fighting”, “Look me in the eye; are you sure you’re alright?” - requested by the lovely @highlighhttt

Warnings: Swearing and Angst 

Word Count: 775

A/N: thank you lovely for requesting. I decided to write this as a Dean x Reader Drabble, if you want me to write the prompt with another character just let me know!

Originally posted by frozen-delight

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I don’t want to die

Sherlock x reader

Note: So I wrote this on the night right after the airing of the episode, almost a month ago, then I felt my end wasn’t good enough, so on @prettyxlittlexwriter​‘s suggestion, I tried to lenghten it a bit. And that’s how it got from a 4 pages and 1521 words to 8 pages and 2723 words. So yeah… And I worked a lot on it, that’s also why it took me so long to post it, but now here we are! As usual, thanks to @prettyxlittlexwriter​ for beta-reading it, otherwise it would be exploding with basic mistakes I keep making for some reasons and she helped me A) to find where to lead it when I lengthened it and B) to find how to end it correctly (if none of you have guessed by now, I suck at finding the right way to en something x( )

Anyway, I’ve got to say Spoiler alert for the two first episodes of season four (The six Tatchers and The lying detective) especially for the second one, so don’t read if you want to avoid any spoilers.

Now, time to enjoy!


“Tell me how you feel.”

“I… feel scared.” his voice was barely above a whisper.

The other man scoffed, taking off his right cufflink, slowly rolling up his sleeve, clearly enjoying the moment.

“Be more specific, you only get to do this thing once.” he chuckled softly, a sadistic smile creeping to his lips.

“I’m… scared of dying…” answered his victim, furrowing his eyebrows, seemingly confused.

His killer took of the left cufflink, rolling up his second sleeve. The tension was almost tangible in the air.


“STOP IT!” his friend violently pushed him against the wall. “STOP! IT! NOW!” anger filled his voice. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING? WAKE UP!” he slapped him across his face, earning a surprised groan from him.

Without even waiting for his answer, he punched him so hard the man fell on the ground, nose bloodied, probably broken. And he punched again, and again and again, unleashing his rage, stress and all the other toxic emotions he had bottled up lately against his friend, who only looked at him with surprise, groaning in pain with each new hit.

Another punch and then he kicked him and kicked him before the staff of the hospital entered hurriedly in the room, alerted by the screams of horror Smith’s daughter had let out a bit earlier; and stopped him, grabbing him by his shoulders and pulling him away.


“You wanted this, uh?” he asked.

“I have… reasons…” answered the other man, in a husky voice, blue-grays fixed on the wall in front of him.


“Let him do what he want, he’s entitled. I killed his wife.” the injured man muttered sadly, his stormy eyes full of pain.

“Yes you did.” he answered harshly.

And without any more words, he left the room, his once best friend still on the ground, a hurt look on his face.


“But, you don’t actually want to die.”

The sadistic pleasure the man gained from the moment showed in his tone.

“No.” answered the murdered, without any hesitation.


He just arrived on the crime scene when she showed up with governmental accreditation, passing through the tape directly to the body laying on the ground. He glanced back at her as she leaned on the opposite side.

“You?” he exclaimed, slightly surprised by her presence. “I’d thought your recent near-death experience at the hands of a serial killer would have scared you away from crime scenes for the rest of your life.”

“And I thought I’d catch him for good but I didn’t and yet here I am, quibbling around a dead body with a weirdo.”


He blinked, trying to chase away this ghost from his past.

“Good.” chuckled the first one, still rolling his sleeve, a big smile on his lips. “Say that for me. Say it.”


It was early when he showed up to Scotland Yard, this time, with a case he had resolved within the night, but someone else was there before him.

“You, again. How?” he asked furrowing his brows.

“I might not be as keen on deduction as you but I’m far from stupid and I’ve got my way around in the darkside of London.” she replied.

He scoffed.

“I’m surprised you didn’t got actually murdered this time.


“I don’t want to die.” the victim answered firmly, eyes fixed on his tormentor.


“Well you’ve just killed a man.”

“Yes.” cut him his new flatmate.

An awkward silence fell for a few seconds.

“That’s true isn’t it?” added he, looking around the street, hoping no one had heard them. “But he wasn’t a very nice man.” he justified himself.

“No, no he wasn’t, was he?”  nodded the detective.

“Frankly a bloody awful cabbie.” answered the doctor.

The other one chuckled, eyes glistening with sincere joy.

“That’s true, he was a bad cabbie. You should’ve seen the route he took us to get there.” he jokingly added, as they crossed the police tape.

“Stop it!” giggled his new found friend. “It’s a crime scene we can’t giggle! Stop it.”


“Again.” asked the entrepreneur.

“I don’t… want to die…” reiterated the dying detective, eyes tearing up.


“So how long have you known her?”

They were sitting at a table in a small bistro, waiting. For what, they weren’t sure why themselves but still waiting nonetheless, chitchatting, simply enjoying the moment

“Ten years, more or less.” he answered, pausing before he explained. “I saved her life and she decided to become the bane of mine ever since.” he told his friend. “She’s annoying, but smart when she wants to, so my brother hired her to follow me around-”

“Keep an eye on you, actually. Make sure you don’t make too much of a mess around London.” she cut him off, appearing from nowhere and sitting beside his companion.

“Like a babysitter.” giggled John.

His friend simply chose to ignore his comment, blue-grays full of irritation as she laughed softly.

“Like a babysitter” she agreed, slightly smirking.


Again. He was haunted by them, memories of better times. He tried to focus his attention onto the man trying to kill him.


She stormed out of the house, angrier than ever before.

“Sherlock Holmes what have you done this time?!”

“Drugged the punch.” bluntly replied the man as she reached him.

“You did what?! Oh you bastar-”

She didn’t even had time to reply, falling weakly to the ground as he caught her in his arms before she hit the it and carried her inside his parent’s house.

“I swear I will kill you…” she muttered sleepily, cradled in his arms.

“Sure Y/N, sure…” he smiled to himself.


One more. Always her. Why did she had to torment him? Why couldn’t she let him be for once?

“Once more, for luck.” whispered the serial killer, enjoying the feeling of power filling him as the detective’s eyes filled with remorse and tears.


“I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU DON’T STOP IT NOW I’LL LEAVE YOU HERE!” yelled the woman he loved, eyes full of anger.

“YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND Y/N!” Sherlock roared. “AND YOU WON’T, BECAUSE YOU DON’T KNOW HOW IT IS TO NEVER BE ABLE TO STOP, TO NEVER HAVE A MOMENT OF PEACE IN YOUR MIND, TO BE TRYING EVERYTHING YOU CAN TO HELP PEOPLE AROUND AND STILL GET REJECTED BY THEM, TO FEEL POWERLESS AS YOU WATCH YOUR LOVED ONE DYING AND SUFFERING FOR YOU. YOU DON’T KNOW THIS AND YOU’LL NEVER DO!” he motioned angrily towards the syringe. “AND THIS IS MY ONLY WAY OUT OF THIS!”

She looked at him for a second, shocked by his sudden outburst.


He fixed his gaze on the ceiling.


“You’re right. I don’t.” her voice was now calmer than ever before. “But I can’t just stand here and watch you destroy yourself…” She walked to the door of his flat and turned to Billy. “ I can’t believe you’re letting him do that, I thought…  I thought…Well anyway I was wrong!” She turned back to Sherlock. “And you, don’t come to me unless you’re done for good with that.”

And with those harsh words, she left, slamming the door behind her.


“I don’t want to die…” his voice broke at mid-sentence, a single tear escaping his eyes, full of regrets.

Of course he didn’t wanted to, not without apologizing to them one last time, not without holding her in his arms for a last moment.

His killer pressed a button on one of the machines beside his hospital bed.

“I don’t…”


She smiled at him, her eyes glistening of joy. He held her against him in a tight embrace, chin resting upon her head, her scent filling the air, her presence awaking all his senses.


“…don’t want to die” begged the broken man, nearly sobbing.


“I love you Holmes.”


Smith leaned over him, enjoying his despair.”Awfully…” he whispered.

All this time she had been his anchor, the only person who could calm him with a simple look, the only real constant in his life for the last fifteen years. And now that panic filled his stomach, he wished with all his heart she could have been there. If he was to die, he would rather have it in her comforting presence than alone with a serial killer.



She held him in her arms, whispering to him in a soft and appeasing voice, getting through him in a way that only she knew how, as he kept groaning in intense pain.


He looked beside him, almost wishing he was still high enough to hallucinate her, sitting on the chair, holding his hand in a calming gesture.

But he wasn’t, and she wasn’t there either.

“… here it comes.” warned the other man, rising up and increasing the dosage to a lethal dose.


“Save John Watson, Sherlock.” pleaded his now dead friend, eyes locked with his own through the screen. “Save him.”


He didn’t wanted to die but he had to. For the sake of his friend. For the sake of those he loved.


“You can’t save John because he won’t let you. He won’t allow himself. The only way to save John, is to make him save you.”


“So tell me, why are we doing this? To what do I hold the pleasure?” asked Smith, walking to the opposite side of the bed.

“I wanted to hear your confession. I needed to know I was right.” answered Sherlock, in an hoarse voice.

“Why do you need to die?” further enquired the other one.

“The mortuary. Your favorite room.” The detective paused for a second. “You talk to the death, you make your confessions to them.”

Culverton Smith sniffed and turned to the wooden chair at the end of the bed, shaking his head as he sat there.

“Why do you do it?” asked the other one.

“Why do I kill?” repeated Smith, asking the question to himself. “It’s not about hatred or revenge, I’m not a dark person. Killing human beings…” he stopped at mid-sentence, uncontrollably laughing,  “It just makes me… incredibly happy.”

The man rose from his seat, still laughing, and slowly walked to the head of the hospital bed, taking his time, explaining his reasons.

“You know how you feel when you see a dead people? Pretending to be dead and it’s just… a look that people like to have.” he shook his head slightly, voice barely above a whisper, each of the men with his eyes fixed in the other one’s.


A body layed in a pool of blood, he was one of the first on the crime scene, Scotland Yard barely arriving. He kneeled beside the dead. Woman, blond, emerald eyes locked to the ceiling, empty of any spark of life. Tiny marks on her wristband, she was wearing a bracelet, probably stolen by her assaulter. Knife wound on her torso, clothes bestially torn apart, laceration on her pale skin, probably made by fingernails. Young.

Really young.


“That’s not what dead people look like. Dead people look like things. I like to make people into things, then you can own them.” he explained, eyes glistening with excitation as he rose up.

He marked a pause.

“You know what, I’m getting a little impatient.”

He pressed a button on the hospital bed, lowering its angle and stared at his victim with anticipation for an instant. He then proceeded to slowly walk to the right side of the bed, as Sherlock trailed him with his grey eyes, getting more and more tired by each passing second, the poisonous saline’s dosage filling his veins.

The killer adjusted his plastic gloves and leaned a bit, towering above the man.


She sank like a rock. She had always been scared of deep water, she had never learnt how to swim and now, it was going to kill her. He heard John screaming his name as he hit the surface rather hardly. The freezing temperature of Thames river in this winter night piercing his skin as he reached to her and grab her arm, pulling her up to him. Holding her tightly, he swam to the surface, his lungs screaming for fresh air.

Reaching it, he dragged her unconscious body to the shore, praying he had caught her in time, checking for a sign, any sign, she was still breathing.

“Come on Y/N…” he mumbled, trying to revive her. “Please… Breath Don’t do this to me… Please!”

The time seemed completely stopped until she finally cough, gasping loudly for air, coughing the polluted water out of her lungs.

“Sherlock…” she cried, shivering the cold air, clutching to him as if he was her lifeline in the middle of her panic attack, struggling to breath.

“It’s alright Y/N, I’m here…” he said, in a soothing voice, holding her against him, in an attempt to calm and warm her up, as John ran to them from the bridge. “Shh… it’s okay, everything will be fine…”

“Take a deep breath… it’s over now.”


“Take a deep breath if you want.” whispered the cold blooded killer, before he placed his right hand on the man’s mouth, pinching his nose with the left one, successfully blocking any access to oxygen.

He gasped panic filling his eyes, hands weakly gripping his killer’s, in hope of freeing himself.

“Murder is a very difficult addiction to manage. People don’t realize how much work goes into it.” explained Smith, a smile plastered on his face, painfully choking him. “You have to be careful, maybe if you’re rich or famous… and loved… it’s amazing what people are prepared to ignore!”


“John!”

Their panicked screams filled the air as they rushed to the huge bonfire. The crowd stared at them, completely shocked, while they kept screaming his name, trying to free him from the fire.

“Help!” his called echoed through them, barely audible with the crackling sound of burning wood and the horrified screams from the crowd.

“John!”

They kept throwing away the burning planks and branches, burning the skin of their hands, crying his name until their voices broke, coughing in the smoke. He was in panic, his best friend was going to burn alive in front of his eyes because of him.

“John!”

The fire was bigger and bigger as they dug deeper into the burning pile, heart racing, praying to reach him in time.

After a long and agonizing minute, they finally pulled him out of the bonfire, breathless, right before it collapsed on itself. If they had be there one mere second later, he would have been killed.


The injured was trying to free himself but to no avail, everything around him getting blurrier, his head spinning with the lack of oxygen. He wanted to scream, call for help, do something but he simply couldn’t, the saline in his veins weakening and killing him.

“There’s always someone desperate who’s about to know my sins. But there’s no one to suspect it when I do it here, it’s easier to suspect something else. I just have to ration myself to select the right. Heart. To stop.”

Sherlock slowly stopped fighting, powerless, the world darkening around him, he could hear the soft and insidious whispers of death calling to him. His eyes were closing themselves as he was resigning himself, giving up in the fight. But the entrepreneur didn’t wanted the fun to be over so soon.

“Maintain eye contact! Maintain eye contact!” he ordered him, whispering.

The constant beeping of the machines beside him was now erratic, faster than before, his heart struggling to beat without the needed oxygen while his killer repeated his mantra again and again.

“Maintain eye contact.”

Beep.

“Maintain eye contact.”

Beep.

“Maintain eye contact.”

Beep.

“Maintain.”

Beep.

“Eye.”

Beep.

“Contact.”

Everything was blurry, his voice distant, the beeping faster, but barely audible, his heart now the only thing left to hear, its beating covering everything else. Smith kept muttering to the dying man, who was now deaf to the world. Sherlock wanted to scream, call for help, but his forces were leaving him for good.

“Y/N.”

Beep.

“John”

Beep.

“Mary…”

Beep.

“I’m sorry.”

Beep.

“I failed you.”

He couldn’t fight anymore. He was dying. The game was over… And in his last instants, his thought were focussed on them.

His friends.

Beep.

His family.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.

BANG

There was shouting and commotion, but none of it mattered now. They had come for him, and he was alive.

Music Series: Anchor by Mindy Gledhill (sequel to Leather and Lace)

You can wring my blood, sweat, and tears out of this one, I swear.

Although the story came very quickly and easily, finding the right song took an eternity! I apologize for the wait, but here it is. I hope it was worth it. I hope that the lyrics relate the way I want them to, and that this imagine conveys how lives can become unnecessarily out of control, and it takes something drastic to bring everything into perspective and show you what matters most.

Someone please remind me next time to always start with the lyric, not the imagine. Thank you to each of you who submitted a suggestion, and to the Anon who requested this song. I appreciate it!

This is the sequel to Leather and Lace (a part three is coming shortly, mostly finished). It’s called “Anchor” by Mindy Gledhill. Slightly haunting with the background vocals and piano accompaniment. Love it. You can find this song on my Harry Styles imagines playlist on Spotify.

At the risk of sounding narcissistic, please let me know if you liked this one. Questioning myself a lot lately. xo

Shelli

***********************

Keep reading

Night terrors

Hanzo opens his eyes. The air has the sweet smell of cherry blossoms.

He lays flat on his back, surrounded by long flowing golden white grass. He blinks a few times and gets himself to his feet.

He’s in a field of tall grass and flowers, the sky a brilliant blue, the wind gentle and sweet. A single cherry blossom tree sits up on a hill, it’s peddles blowing hanzo’s way. The wind blows his downed hair gently, whispering his name.

He starts towards the tree, getting closer the whisper begins to grow louder. He blinks, a figure appearing on the hill.

“Genji?” He breathes out shakily, the figure was calling his name, waving an arm. Hanzo swallows and starts running towards the tree. The figure continues to call his name.

The sky grows dark. The wind beginning to grow harsh and whistle, dark clouds rushing to cover the sky. He stops, looking up at the sky. Thunder clashes louder then the roar of 100 dragons. Hanzo clasps his hands over his ears closing his eyes, he shakily looks up towards the tree, Lightning jags across the darkened sky, stabbing the tree, catching it ablaze. Hanzo’s eyes widen, his eyes searching for the figure of his long dead brother. He starts running towards the tree, screaming his brothers name.

A bright flash surrounds the shimada, making him shield his eyes. Once The flash dies he opens his eyes again.

Panting he looks around, every thing around him was a dark void, the faint sound of thunder still rumbles, he looks around, walking backwards.

Stepping back he trips over something. A squelch escapes his throat as he falls. He hits the ground with a hard snapping thud, like a gun shot. He groans and shakily sits up, at his feet lays the mangled body off his brother, wheezing and gasping for breath, blood spilling from deep open sword wounds.

Hanzo’s eyes grow wide, his pupils shrinking, he chokes out a cry and turns to his knees and reaches out to hold his brother, only resulting of his younger brothers body to crumble to ash. Hanzo shakily sits on his knees, then grips handfuls of the ash and sobs. “I-I’m sorry…Genji…Please…j-just..come back to me.. please..You didn’t deserve this..,” he whimpers, tears slipping from his eyes, sliding down his cheeks.

Something splats onto his hand, he sniffles and glances over. A red droplet of fluid, slides off his hand, hanzo shakily looks up, clouds are now visible in the darkness of the void he’s in, red lighting flashes in the clouds, and the thick red fluid begins to pour from above, drenching hanzo’s clothes, the heavy smell of metallic and iron fills the air. Hanzo’s eyes widen as he gets to his feet. The fluid was blood.

He looks around frantically, searching for any sort of way out or shelter, he stops, his eyes latching onto a figure that is limping and staggering forward. Hanzo stairs silently,

Frozen.

The figure was Genji. Zombified and withering, covered in wounds, his skin falling from his body, teeth exsposed, his clothes torn.

Hanzo couldn’t move, he was paralyzed, watching in horror as the decaying image of his brother kreeps closer.

He began to cry again, his heart aching. The figure crept forward, and reaches out its boney hand, to touch hanzo, hanzo stands there shakily, starring into his brothers, cold, faded eyes.

“…Genji…,” he whispers, shakily reaching out his shakily hand, touching the hand to the creatures face.

The skin of the figures cheek grows warm when hanzo comes in contact. The wounds begin to heal, the skin repairing itself. Hanzo’s whines softly,his heart beginning to thud.

Genji blinks and looks at him.

“H-hanzo…?” He murmurs, staggering forward. Hanzo braces his arms to catch him but he only fades away before he falls into his embrace. Hanzo stumbles, his arms hugging himself. He chokes up and stairs at his hands and screams out in furry.

The blood rain continues to pour. Hanzo drops to his knees, gripping his head, screaming out until his throat aches and his lungs burn. He sits up his knees, crying.

he opens his eyes after a while. seeing feet, he looks up. A cybernetic human stands there, holding a tip of a sword to hanzo’s throat, its eyes angry, his irises and pupils red.

“I…will never…forget,” it growls and draws the sword back to swing. Hanzo’s eyes grow wide and he raises a hand to speak. The cyborg slashes the sword, hacking it into the side of hanzo neck.

The archer chokes, blood rushing into his throat, bubbling up into his mouth. He gurgles, blood slipping from his lips, he gasps for breath, the blood filling his lungs at a alarming rate, the ground seems to collapse from underneath him as he begins to fall into the darkness of the void, he hazily watches as he falls farther from the cyborg, still standing on the platform. His eyes flutter and close. The faint call of his name it what sounds like his mothers voice, draws him to open his eyes.

He turns his head shakily, trying to find her. “Mother…?” He murmurs. The call to home begins to grow loud and frantic, turning into Jesse’s voice. It turns into a desperate cry.

Hanzo opens his eyes. jerking up in a cold sweat.

“Darlin, thank god, You’ve been muttering and screaming for the past thee hours,” McCree whines worriedly.

Hanzo turns and looks at Jesse, his heart racing, he quickly wraps his arms around the gunslinger. McCree jumps slightly, before carefully placing his arms around his darlings body.

Hanzo cries into his chest, sobbing. Jesse sighs shakily and fixes the comforter and lays down again, pulling it high up on him and hanzo. He lays his head into his pillow, pulling hanzo close, lifting the shirt on his back to stoke his spine carefully. Hanzo cries shakily, nuzzling into Jesse’s bare chest.

Jesse quietly hushes him whispering softly in his ear. Hanzo grips onto him, curling up slightly, haunting images of that dreadful night creeping into his mind.

McCree kisses hanzo’s head carefully. “It’s okay Darlin’…it w’s just a dream…” he says quietly.

“I’m a murderer…” hanzo chokes out coughing through his tears. Jesse sighs shakily and pushes his hair out of his face, kissing hanzos eye carefully.

How could he tell him the truth about Genji, if he knew he was alive… he just isn’t ready for that.

“Hannybee… j'st try not to think about it” he says gently, pulling him closer, nuzzling his head. Hanzo whimpers in response, nuzzling into him shakily. McCree sighs, rubbing his back, humming softly, lulling hanzo back into sleep.

McCree kisses his head gently, holding him close and tight. He gently closes his eyes, falling into his own slumber.

The Signs + Mythical Creatures

Aries: Dragon
The intensity and power a dragon holds makes me think of Aries, along with the fire-breathing aspect. Dragons seem to be beautiful and powerful, but hot tempered. They’re also often guarding treasure in stories, which could symbolize an Aries’ protectiveness for the people they love.

Taurus: Forest Sprite
In Spiderwick, there are beautiful little sprites dancing among the tree leaves and collecting fruit, and it reminds  me strongly of Taurus. Their peaceful appearance, combined with their beauty and comfort with nature speaks to me for this sign.

Gemini: Sphinx
I know this might be a bit of a cliche, but it’s undeniably Gemini. Half-human, half-lion creatures who force humans to answer riddles is a very compelling, mischievous, and calculating concept.

Cancer: Mermaid
Every Cancer I meet has something about them that reminds me of saltwater. They look at peace when they’re surrounded by water. The allure and beautiful gentleness of mermaids combined with their slightly haunting features reminds me heavily of this sign.

Leo: Siren
The allure of a Leo is exciting, irresistible, and dangerous. The confidence and radiating aura they give off is captivating. Their beautiful smiles alight with mischief made it impossible for me not to put them as this tricky creature.

Virgo: Werewolf
Virgos have always reminded me of wolves, with their quiet, powerful, intelligent energy and their protectiveness of their loved ones. They’re very loyal and brave, and that loyal mentality lead me to this creature.

Libra: Elf
Elegant, charming, willowy creatures really says Libra to me. Their talent in archery and magic is captivating. There’s a delicate reservedness to them, and yet they’re one of the most alluring mythical creatures of all.

Scorpio: Vampire
I contemplated giving Siren to Scorpio, but a Scorpio’s allure is different than that of a Leo’s. It’s dark, entrancing, and a little bit seductive. It shouldn’t be attractive, but it is. The introversion and wisdom of a vampire really says Scorpio to me.

Sagittarius: Phoenix
I see Phoenix given to Scorpio all the time, and I agree with it, but I also feel that the Phoenix is very Sagittarius. It is a symbol of freedom, independence, and resilience, and that is Sagittarius to me.

Capricorn: Centaur
I admit, I based this off of the centaurs in Harry Potter. The wisdom, patience, and ancient history surrounding them is very Capricorn to me. That being said, they’re also wild and free, which I love for this sign.

Aquarius: Griffin
“A creature with the body of a lion, the tail of a snake, and the head and wings of an eagle.” Something about the eclectic parts of this creature, and the way that it’s bizarre and yet powerful really says Aquarius.

Pisces: Will-o’-the-wisp
This legendary mythical creature is a beautiful light that beckons travelers to follow. I love it for Pisces, because it’s whimsical and entrancing and eerie. There’s something incredibly beautiful about it that makes you want to keep watching and figure it out.

And They Had Cake

A/n: Ok so….this originally was going to go in a slightly more sexy direction. And then it became deep. Sue me. I feel like I really want to do really emotional, wordy, well done smut for them now but I just don’t have the brain focus at the moment. But if there are any ideas for prompts for these two, smutty or otherwise, please send them to me. I love some Adlock ideas. Enjoy. Set immediately after The Lying Detective.




How was the cake?-IA


That was certainly not what he expected the text to read. And furthermore, it probably isn’t what she really means to ask. With the Woman, there’s always a code. A subtext. They say more than they say, more than they type.


But still, he feels his brows furrow, confused. He wasn’t going to ask how she knew that John had dragged him out for cake. He had long since stopped asking questions like ‘How did she…’ with her. No, what confused him was why she had not shown her face. Not that he desired for her to. Absurd idea. But if she knew about the cake, he can presume she was watching them, meaning she has to be in London. On the rare happenstance that they both end up in the same city on his birthday, she usually shows up at 221 B, in his thinking chair, asking him to have dinner with her. He never says yes. They had dinner in Karachi. And Montengro. Possibly once in Wycombe. But he never gives in and says yes when she specifically asks. It has to be, at least partly, his idea.


But every time he says yes, his head is left spinning afterwards. All this science and research done to figure out how the human body reacts to sex. Physically. But he has not read nearly enough on how it affects the mind. He would compare her affect to a drug. Not cocaine, no. That leaves you feeling wiped out afterwards. Destroyed. More like ecstasy, ironic as it sounds. Because it leaves your senses vibrating and anticipating more.


So one could easily deduce why he had not responded to that question. The confusion of why she sent it instead of appearing. The impossible deductions about what she actually meant by that question. Any path he could take concerning the text all lead down very distracting, very frustrating roads. Tempting, but…he had other pressing concerns. Or he thought he did. In his present state of withdrawl and being babysat, he couldn’t seem to remember what case he was supposed to be focusing on. Oh yes, the serial killer. Done. John came back.


He walks past the skull on the mantel, old buddy, to his room and sits down on his grey, rumpled sheets. His phone is in his hand and the screen has her text pulled up, but he doesn’t know how that happened. He sighs at himself. He’s found that sometimes his hands go on autopilot, starting to answer her before he’s decided if he wants to.


He lays back in bed and his fingers hover over his phone. He kept having the annoying desire, itching at him, to talk to someone. For them to tell them he was not a monster. He was human and made a mistake. But he also wanted to be assured that being human was also alright. That he hadn’t lost his touch, wasn’t a common person. He couldn’t even stand the idea. He had considered John, for half a second. But John was the epicenter. He was too close to the disaster. Molly was coming to watch him soon, but she was almost too sympathetic. She would indulge him too much. No, he needed a mix between the two. Not angry, not overly kind. But honest. And someone that knew and understood the way his brain worked.


That’s why his fingers kept going back and forth between typing out a reply and throwing his phone to the floor. He knew who he wanted to talk to. She was the only person he really could talk to about this. But it would open so many doors he didn’t want to walk through right now. He was not emotionally capable at the moment.


Sentiment, he cursed at himself as he sighed and called uncle, typing out a reply.


Vanilla with cheap frosting. But edible-SH.


He wasn’t sure how she would interpret that. Or if she would even reply. Sometimes she answered rapidly. Sometimes she never answered at all. He assumed it depended on her schedule. And whether she was running for her life.
But the moan sounded out in his silent bedroom, cutting through the flat.


Does John not know that you don’t like vanilla?-IA


He pauses at that, maybe just a tad surprised, an uncommon emotion for Sherlock. He does not remember ever mentioning his cake preferences to her. And he remembers everything he has said to her. Not nostalgically, but the way a computer copies files to a back up drive to keep them safe.


No. How is it that you do?-SH


We had dinner on your birthday once. Do you not remember?-IA


He can tell when she means dinner and when she means dinner. They never had DINNER on his birthday. The memory floods his mind palace now. They were in a run-down French restaurant, right outside of London, after he had first showed his face again in the country after being presumed dead. They were trying not to be seen. The waiter had come around with a desert cart. He had been feeling particularly hungry that night so he picked up a slice of cake.


You got chocolate cake. I had crème brule.-IA.


He raises one eyebrow to himself, impressed.


That is an astute observation, Miss Adler.-SH


I had already guessed from our other dinners that you don’t like vanilla things, though-IA.


He has to put the phone down and pinch the bridge of his nose, attempting to prevent a headache. Just as she showed her intellect, she had to fire back with innuendo as well. That time, he knew, she did not mean dinner.


You were not in my chair when I returned-SH.


Did you want me to be?-IA


It was an observation of a broken pattern. You are in London. But you didn’t come to violate my chair.-SH.


I can violate whatever you like.-IA


Avoidance is not appealing.-SH


Some time passed before her next reply, the clock ticking.


I am giving you time. To detox.-IA


I would rather have a conversation.-SH


He had to curse himself as the three little dots appeared on his phone, indicating she was hesitating about replying.  He had never openly told her that he needed her to just….talk to. She usually came to him. And even then, half of what they spoke was code.


But sure enough, her reply came in not seconds after his doubt.


Oh whatever about? I’m sure the great detective has all the answers.-IA


Maybe, as horrendous as it is to consider, sometimes I am human.-SH
Of course you are.-IA


Now that shocked him. So much so that he had to put down his phone. Those words on the screen haunted him slightly…..what did she mean? She, of all people, knew how disastrous he was at emotions. He swallowed thickly, unused to the very uncomfortable tightening in his throat. He had heard it described as panic….but what was he afraid of?


Finally, on a crazy whim, he decided it would be better to just call her for this. And so for the first time, her ringtone for him rang out. Not his text alert. But the ringtone of an incoming call from Sherlock Holmes. Oh, a girl could be so lucky at times, she thought to herself.


She picked up the phone with a red manicured hand and couldn’t suppress the curl of her smirk, “Mr. Holmes.”


“Irene,” he sighed, her first clue that something was amiss with him. Seriously. The only time she remembers him saying her first name by itself was during dinner. It was Ms. Adler in public. It was a disgruntled Woman when he was upset with her. It was Irene Adler when he was proud. But only ever just Irene during intimate times….


So, quite appropriately, she frowned at his response, “Sherlock? What is the matter?”


He let out a humorless laugh, “Surely, you have updated yourself with the goings on of my life. Or your sources have. You know what they like after all.”


His voice cut, hurting her because he was hurting, “Don’t. Darling, you know deflection won’t work on me.”


He snorts in disbelief and he can almost hear her responding eyebrow raise of annoyance.


“You have never successfully lied to me, Sherlock.”


He wanted to deny it, to snap at her out of grief. But ultimately, he was too smart for that. He knew she was right. They were too similar to get away with lying to one another. One side of the coin cannot deceive the other.


“What did you mean? When I said I might be human, you said that of course I was,” he sounded slightly bewildered. He was hiding it with a gruff tone, but his voice was colored with a hint of something else.


She refrained from rolling her eyes as she would normally. This was serious. And rare. Something she understood that Sherlock did not. She had to explain it carefully to him.


“I have always known you were human, darling. You act like it is a recent development in your life, but Sherlock Holmes, you have always been just a man. Brilliant, maddening, slightly crazy. But human none the less. Perhaps more so than any other man.”


“No,” he spoke slowly, “That’s….not sensible. I have never quite understood all the pesky human emotions clouding all the people around me. With John and….with Mary….I started to. They were my friends.”


There was conviction in his voice. And pain. She noted the pain. It must be why he called.


“….Dear, why do you do what you do?”


“Excuse me?”


“Why do you solve crimes?”


He laughed at that, “Because-the game…the thrill of the chase, the high of the mystery and deductions. I enjoy it. You know that.”


She laughed at him, like the way a mother would shake their head at a child failing to tie their shoes, “No. I’m sorry, but no. Well, yes, that’s a part of it, but….with your brain, Sherlock, you could have been….a Nobel Prize winning scientist….a world renowned neurosurgeon….but you CHOSE to be a detective.”


He blinks, his brain trying to process her point, “Yes….I did. And?”


She sighs, almost frustrated that he isn’t getting it, “There is only one reason someone solves crimes, Sherlock Holmes…”


He did not respond.


“To help people,” she finally explained, “You have one of the greatest minds of our age and you chose to use it simply to help. Not to invent new technologies, not to get fame or money. But to get justice for the wronged in this world. And, I’m sorry, Sherlock, as much as it may ruin your image you have of yourself….that is the most human desire a man can have.”


Ah…he understood the panic now. Calling Irene meant he would have to face a mirror, stop lying to himself. If he wasn’t quite human, abnormal….then he wouldn’t have to feel the loss of his friend as intensely. But now that she’d let loose his secret, he had to feel it.


“….You know, don’t you?” His voice was low.


She almost wanted to play dumb and ask ‘know what?’, but it would be insulting him, “….Not the details, but, yes. You lost a friend. Not John, or you’d be on the floor. But someone almost as close….I surmise his wife?”


He swallowed the bile coming up his throat and nodded uselessly-she couldn’t see, “Yes. Mary. She was, uhm…” he trailed off, overwhelmed and somehow still sounding dignified. The posh boy.


“You don’t have to tell-“


“She died protecting me, took a bullet, as it were…”


She inhaled sharply, stunned by how much his voice broke during the admission, “Sherlock, I…”


“Please, Irene, you’re too smart to be sorry for something you had nothing to do with.”


She scoffed, almost offended, “I am not sorry for her death. How could I be? I didn’t know her. I am sorry for your pain. I do know you. And…knowing you, you must not be handling it well. You said you and John were friends….are you not know?”


“That’s the best part,” he smiled without joy, “It was my fault. You see, I swore to protect them. I promised Mary that I would keep all harm from her and John and the small Watson…”


She scowled at his guilt, almost mad at him for it, “Dear god, don’t put that on yourself! What did you expect yourself to do? See her coming to shield you and shove her out of the way in that split second?”


“No, Irene, but I invited her! I kept inviting her into dangerous situations with me! Because she was clever and I liked having her around and she helped me!”
Irene pulled away from the phone, taking a deep breath to calm herself. He was raw. A raw genius is never a good thing.


“I know, Sherlock. Trust me, I’ve…dealt with similar situations. But you didn’t force her. If she didn’t want to endanger herself, she wouldn’t have gone with you. From what I hear of Mary Watson, she was the type that lived off that danger. Like you. That’s probably why you liked her. No matter what you did, she probably would have ended up in another dangerous place, of her own accord.”


“You didn’t…no, you didn’t know her. She had a daughter. She wanted a safe, normal life with her. And with John. And I wanted to give them that…”


“Has anyone ever told you that you can’t always get what you want?”


He actually laughed aloud. He couldn’t believe she’d achieved that. She smiled in relief and decided that the rest of the conversation needed to be in person, “Mr. Holmes, do you want to have dinner?”


And they had cake.

anonymous asked:

dumb headcanon time: locklear will sneak into laundromats and fall asleep on the machines. hes the "plague doctor laundry cryptid" and the town he haunts is slightly terrified of him

This would not be the slightest bit out of character for him tbh. He needs constant adult supervision.