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Sherlock leaned back against the cool bricks of the underpass, letting his head rest on the dank surface as he exhaled a thick cloud of tobacco smoke and breath-fog. The fog swirled around him and wrapped gently around his mind, providing a quieting buzz laid over the over-stimulation of his beloved London. The couple passing by, with a concealed quarrel about diets? Not important. The car going overhead with one wheel flatter than the others? Not relevant. Had to focus on the case. Sherlock closed his eyes and ran over the details of the crime scene again. Could Lestrade possibly be on to something with the fingerprints on the window pane?
His thought process was crudely interrupted as his wrist was grabbed roughly and the cigarette plucked from his fingers. "Oy, this park is public property of the commonwealth, smoking ain't allowed. Go home, yeah?" The middle-aged copper with a family of five tossed Sherlock's butt to the gravel path and snuffed it out with his shoe, a pitiful hiss
Sherlock laid back as the darkness and the high-thread-count sheets enveloped him, rolling onto his side to fix a gaze on the crescent moon as he contemplated the night's events. The adrenaline and endorphins from an exciting case well solved had long since subsided, leaving his general mood at a low buzz. The night had been interesting. What had started as merely an accidental accompaniment, bringing the new flatmate along to prove a point to Lestrade, had turned out to be a valuable partnership. Even without being asked, the quickly-loyal doctor had gone to great measures to ensure Sherlock's safety.
Burying his face into the cool down pillow, Sherlock drew a breath and tried not to think about what might have happened if the sharpshooting veteran hadn't rushed to his side. Failing that, he tried to keep from wondering what difference it would have made in the world if he'd actually gone through with swallowing that infernal capsule.
The light at the end of the hallway flickered softly as Violet crept her way down to check on her boys. A creak at the door alerted them both, and the mess of dark curls and the neat fawn hairline raised to greet her, smiling faces beneath each. Mycroft was lying in bed on his stomach, a great textbook propped in his arms as his two-year-old brother straddled his back and bounced on his shoulders.
"Why Mycroft, I'm surprised at you," Violet smirked, "I thought you'd asked me to keep your brother from bothering you while you work?"
Mycroft glanced back at Sherlock, who met his grin with a smile made of teeth he was still getting used to having. They turned back to their mummy as Sherlock burst into giggles. "Sherlock and I have formed a treaty," Mycroft explained with a more reserved smirk, "I read aloud my homework to him, and he does his best not to be annoying. Or bite."
"We're learning! About worms!" the toddler supplied helpfully.
Violet chuckled behind her fingers and entered the
"You ever regret how things turned out?" Wilson glanced at House out of the corner of his eye before focusing back down the length of his pistol. He fired a few shots at the target hanging at the end of the range, glancing most past the edges of the paper before he managed to get one through the black painted head of the vague humanoid silhouette.
House snorted softly, too soft to be heard with the ear protection on. "Which things?" He answered back when Wilson paused his firing for a second. Then, as an afterthought, "Yes. Of course. Obviously." He watched as his friend braced himself against the recoil of the small firearm, hitting a few more times through the target. "What about you," he changed the subject as James reloaded, "Don't you ever wish one of your marriages had worked out?" He smirked and aimed down the range with his pistol held sideways, emptying his clip into the torso of his target. "Then you could be spending your last days with a beautiful woman instead of a miserab
A creak of the stairs alerted Sherlock to a visitor. The hard soles against the wood sounded out the oxford shoes. The slower pace revealed a tall but not-fit man. Sherlock met Mycroft at the door before he could knock and wake the doctor sleeping on the couch. The elder Holmes glanced at John's curled form with a curt smile, and let himself be ushered into the kitchen, where he spoke in hushed tones to his brother.
"I'm sure you've heard about Mummy."
Sherlock snorted and nearly raged before he remembered to reign it in. "You know I don't keep tabs on family. Unlike some of us."
"She's dead, Sherlock." Mycroft's fingers tightened imperceptibly around the handle of his umbrella.
The detective was silent then. He scowled at the burns and scrapes in the kitchen table. He fidgeted and glanced around, anywhere but at Mycroft, until the overbearing silence forced him to look up. "Well what do you want me to do about it?"
The elder Holmes sighed softly. "Come to her funeral this Friday. You
Sherlock slouched another fraction of a centimeter, hunched over his laptop with a bloodshot gaze. The poor machine was running at full capacity, its fan working overtime to try to prevent a premature death by overheating. The screen glowed steadily into the rest of the sitting room for its third night straight. Sherlock reached a hand out to his side, reiterating his silent request with a snap of the fingers after a moment passed with his hand still empty.
John sighed and placed the horrific energy drink into his hand. "Is this really necessary?" He eyed the growing pile of empty cans with a growing sense of alarm. "This can't possibly be healthy, Sherlock."
Without averting his gaze from the level 82 shaman, Sherlock raised the eyebrow on the side John could see. "You know I only ever do ridiculous things out of necessity. Like getting into fist fights with you, or eating, or riding in a hot air balloon. If it weren't the only way of getting to this hacker, I wouldn't be doing it. He
Alternative Solutions (My first Steampunk)
"There's GOT to be a way around it," Sherlock raged softly from his corner of the flat, lifting his magnifying goggles away from his eyes to rest in a tangled black nest of curls. The tiny chart of the underground facility stared elusively back at him, its secrets no less divulged than they had been an hour ago. "But there's nothing for it," Sherlock sunk into a state of lamentation in his armchair, legs outstretched until his saddle-print boots nearly intruded on John's personal space.
"The bases are air-tight, not even Mycroft could sneak someone into one of them. They've got double and triple backups on everything, a checkpoint every three yards. There's no way in and no way out without being privy to the fifty-digit sequence of a puzzle that only their approved pilots have memorized."
John looked up over his bulky newspaper, one eyebrow quirked.
"Not that I couldn't easily memorize it, of course," Sherlock snapped hastily as he glanced at his fobwatch for a split second, "But the p
With each passing moment as John passed through the hallways, the wary old veteran wished more and more that he'd been able to bring his gun. Its reassuring pressure against his back would have been a welcome addition as the shouts and jeers clamored in at him from all sides. The guard kept to a tight path down the center of the halls, away from any potential grasp of the prisoners behind the bars.
After what seemed like a marathon of a trek through the facility, John found himself at the enclosure of the most dangerous convict in the entire prison; one Sebastian Moran. The ex-colonel didn't even acknowledge his existence as John approached. The shaggy locks John had grown accustomed to during their year of friendship had once again been sheared back, as once they had been in military days. His eyes seemed sunken in and lifeless, with no purpose left to kindle his usually passionate obsession with an assigned task. Moriarty was gone, his career was gone, his target was taken from him,
John sat up straight in his armchair as Sherlock stomped up the stairs with a couple bags of groceries. The doctor had to remember to close his mouth as he watched the introvert bring the goods into the kitchen and store them properly in the refrigerator, even going so far as to dispose of the oldest experiments in the back, which had started to mould over the previous week.
John stammered for a second, then gave up on wording and followed Sherlock into the kitchen. Curling his arms around the detective's diminutive waist as the last item, a pint of milk, was shoved into the door, John let his chin rest on Sherlock's shoulder as he gave a firm squeeze of affection. "What brought this on?" He nosed gently behind Sherlock's ear, eliciting a soft rumble against his chest.
"Why, I'm certain I've no idea what you mean," Sherlock teased, "I was just being a responsible flat-mate, like usual." He curled his fingers in with John's, who leaned in against him gently until he was pinned against t
The Business of Murder"Well, now that we're through with the pleasantries, Mr. Daniels, I must ask: Why is it that you want to die?"
Joseph Daniels sighed and slumped down in his seat, the picture of unkemptness. His face looked tired, with large bags underneath his eyes and at least three days' worth of stubble. His hair was a mess, his clothes were disheveled. He seemed to exude an aura of despair.
He surveyed the room he was in, which was quite his opposite: neat, orderly, unremarkable. Blank, white walls, some filing cabinents, three windows looking out on downtown. He was sitting in a plain, wooden chair in front of a plain, wooden desk with merely a fake houseplant and laptop on top.
The woman behind the desk, typing notes on the laptop, was similarly forgettable. She was dressed in a black pantsuit, her dark brown hair in a bun. Her eyes were blue, but otherwise ordinary. She wore little makeup on her plain face. She was as unremarkable as the room, which was how she liked it.
She had introduced hers
The FountainThere were sixteen tall windows. She'd counted them over and over when she was small, her chubby finger outstretched as she spun in tiny circles. Eight walls, sixteen windows, thirty-two black curtainsthe arithmetic of her childhood.
"Eight window seats, Daddy. Eight buttons on eachsixty-four. I counted."
The fountain stood dry and dead-center in the middle of the black and white tiles. Eight sides, eight lion-mouth spouts. Sixteen limestone mermaids poised gracefully around the edge. Four thousand and ninety-six blue tiles. Five hundred and twelve white.
And two doors. Always the two doors, huge and solid and radiating a sense of looming disdain. The rough oak had bitten her hands and it bit them now, when she pressed her palms against it. The doors eased open like wings outstretching, coming to rest against stone doorstops.
Her boots clicked against the marble flooring as she advanced, each click reverberating through the silent room. A mute ghost of a man stood in
CassandraEven in death, Cassandra was lovely.
Her hair cascaded over her ivory shoulders in sable cataracts, pooling in the soft hollow between her breast and throat. She was wearing the white nightgown, the one she knew I loved, and the fall had thrown it up, weightless, in gossamer drifts across her legs. Her bare toes were painted salmon-pink, the same colour as the roses in the crystal vase by the door.
So elegant, my Cassandra. I might have expected that she would sprawl, as one imagines that people do when they have died suddenly, but her body refused to surrender its accustomed grace. One hand curled beside her face; the other lay, palm up, across her cocked hips, its open fingers tenderly beckoning. Her eyes were closed, peaceful, the fringe of dark lashes sooty and familiar upon her fading cheek. Her lips were parted in expectation. At any moment, she would wake, look up at me, smile. Cassandra.
My hand found the banister, gripped the aged wood and guided me down the stairs, through th
Cretaceous YardThe call came in at 1500 hours, exactly twenty minutes after Leviner returned from his break. He picked up the phone and listened.
"We'll be there right away, sir."
On the other side of the desk, his partner looked at him. "A homicide?"
"If only we could be so lucky," Leviner snorted, making Ellsie wince.
It was just another case of illegal dumping. Once the 'cera crew had cleared away the overgrowth of ferns, Leviner stalked his way in. "What do you see?" Ellsie called. Although the entrance to the small shed was large enough to easily accommodate Leviner, there was no way Ellsie was fitting inside. Not that it was her fault. Maiasaurs were designed to be out grazing in the fields, not solving crimes. Leviner tried desperately not to think of her as delicious, delicious cattle. If he even so much rumbled his stomach at her, she would turn him into a raptor pancake with one large foot.
Tromping over the carpet of flattened leaves, Leviner swatted a small dragonfly out of the way, deftl
RoderichxReader: Dead dreamsHe grinned at you as you pointed the knife down towards his face; whispering for you to plunge the blade deep between his eyes. Tears stung your eyes, and you shook your head.
"No." You could barely hear yourself. "I can't."
"You have to" His smile seemed to grow past the barriers of his cheeks.
Cold fingers snaked their way down your arms. You trembled and screamed as the wrapped slowly around your hand, securing the knife in you grasp. Although you fought, the hands pulled your arms above your head. You tried to get away from the hands, but they held firm. His face never changed from its pleading expression.
"Do it (y/n). End it." He coaxed. "End my life"
You felt the hands begin to bring your arms down. They forced the faster and faster down. You slammed your eyes shut but you still saw his smile.
Clutching the bed sheets, you jumped awake, still screaming. A bright light collided with your eyes as Ludwig broke down your door, wielding a wooden spoon.
"(y/n)! What's wrong?
Which C.M agent are you?
Criminal Minds journal fill in
 your friends/family think you overwork yourself
 you are generally always serious
 your job/work is your life
 your belief in justice keeps you going
 it is rare to see you smile
 you prefer the role of leader
 you've lost someone you deeply love
 you want to save everyone
 you always find a reason to simile
 you initially come off as daunting, but have a good soul
Aaron Hotchner /10
 you're pretty and tough
 your hardest work is behind the scenes
 you understand people, and pick up on their emotions
 your afraid of getting hurt, and hurting others
 you have a piece of jewelery you wear sacredly
 you grew up in a small town
 you work tirelessly and you're driven
 you work well with others
 you're a good public speaker
 you've had a suicide hit close
ExperimentalShe'd fall asleep and wake up still in the same room. Still not
sure how long she'd been gone. The lights flickered and then went
out. Then the sirens began to sound, and red lights took over. She
waited for the usual suits and the white coats to enter her room, it'd
been like clock-work. They'd enter her room ask her a few questions,
insist she take some pill and if she resisted they'd hold her down and
inject her then give her the pill.
She waited, expected to be hurried out or moved but nothing happened.
The lights flickered back on briefly before going out completely
again this time the red lights and sirens took on a new urgency.
A female voice came over the intercom "There's been a breach in the
lower levels all non-essential personnel please evacuate the
building. There's been a breach in the lower levels, all non-essential
personnel please evacuate the building."
The voice continued to drone down and then there was a clicking on the
lock functions of the door. The spartan room
Of Charmers and Knives - A Mal x Alejandro FicIt was barely morning in Camp Wawanakwa.
The sun had just started to rise through the night sky, and birds were beginning to sing their morning songs as they went in search for breakfast. Of course, for the contestants who were on the island, there was still a few hours until they woke for the long, difficult challenges Chris put them through.
Of course...there was a camper that was up and moving.
His name was Mal, and his only goal in life was to cause as much trouble and chaos as he possibly could. In fact, that morning he was in the deeper part of the Wawanakwen forest where he had "over-heard" from Chris was the site of their special "100th episode" challenge - digging a pit-trap with a shovel he swiped from Chef's tool shed. After he deemed the trap deep enough, he then proceeded to cover it with multiple long twigs and leaves so it would blend into the forest floor.
"Hehe, this outta slow a few of those worthless peons down." Mal chuckles darkly - speaking in his regular voice si
The Doctor came running across the mountains of rubbish at the echoing sound, the Master bellowing in pain and anguish as his body died yet again. Unsure of how to help, but certain that he must try, he frantically rushed to Koschei's side, trying to ease the pain of the last member of their ancient race. "Talk to me," he cried, trying in vain to get through to the maddened Time Lord, "Let me help you!"
"Can't you hear them?" the Master shouted again, tapping four times against his head. "They go on forever "
Our DutyWe swallowed the path home
Because we were hungry,
Though starving is an ongoing
Story, an empty bag
Dancing in the streets,
Full of an unfastened voice
Walking through the house,
Wind unchained, heart admonished.
Heaven fills its eyes, crawls away,
That sleeping boat content to follow
The vacant waves, intervals
Of dying that we dare not interrupt,
And we watch the kind ear shrinking
From our charcoal docks; heaven
With a full stomach crawls away.
This is what we were put here for.
Keep in Touch!
^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More