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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
Delusional WeaponsWe were weapons, nothing more. All the glory? The honor? Lies.
We were told we were as Gods, that we were special, unique, One of a Kind, Powerful.
We were disposable weapons, granted, powerful weapons beyond nuclear level warheads, but still, weapons, nothing more.
We should have noticed earlier, but in truth, how could we? We trusted them, because we didn't know any better, and there was never another choice to contemplate beyond them.
Such childish ‘Gods’ we were, just falling in line, accepting what we were told, letting them do as they would, utilizing our powers at their command, slaughtering their enemies like so much cattle. Less a turning of tides, more a declaration of Victory.
In theory, we were Gods. In practice? Tools!
Can you blame us though? We were hardly objective, and they took pains to make sure the gild on the cages shone brightly, locking us in traps of our own making, the power we let them take from us being our downfall. Letting them tell us how it wo
The VoicesHe awoke from nightmares to the sound of strange distant voices. He wasn't sure what he was hearing at first, but as sleep cleared from his mind, his focused sharpened. It sounded like a great many people gathered in one place, speaking, laughing, maybe even crying? It was eerie how it could be either, especially so early in the morning. He tried to make out what was being said, but no matter how loud the speaking became, it was always indistinct. Annoyed and a little nervous, the sleeper got up and stood by the window. He was sure if he peeked outside, he'd get a good look at the disorderly congregation. Who could be up at this hour? Waiting for the voices to rise again, so he could better pinpoint their direction, he peered through the blinds into the half light. The voices stopped instantly. The sound just cut off completely the moment he looked out the window. Had he been seen? How had they noticed so quickly? Stranger yet, if that were the case, then why couldn't he see a single s
What was that?“What was that?!” I ask myself.
Flash. There it was again. I slowly drew back the covers and crept towards the window. Click. I unlatched and pushed the window up, slowly. I don't want to be caught. That was the best thing about the living in the attic. I can sneak a peak at any commotion.
“What was that?!” I muttered on an exhaled to be discrete.
The bushes were rustling. Wind, definitely the wind or maybe even one of the local cats. They are always ruling the streets after everyone has gone to sleep. There it was again. I strained my eyes, staring at that one spot. Were my eyes being fooled? A dark figured emerged, dashing from the bushes and vaulting over the fence into my next door neighbour’s back garden.
“What was that?!” a third time I had asked myself this tonight.
A robber? Probably. I've never seen any of the locals that athletic before. Another vault. He was in my garden now. It ran. It was out of my view. Did it go to the front? I t
1Chapter 3:The Grim Reaper Appears
That's when my father showed up.
He was in his human form; snow white skin,long black hair which covered his eyes,and green eyes.Those features alone keeps the women around him...but I stay far away from him as possible because...none of them are my mother.I beg my father to tell me who my mother is but every single time I bring her up..he disappears in a puff of black smoke.
Anyway,my father walked up to Jim and Eric then placed his hands on their shoulders.
Eric and Jim turned around and Eric dropped the gun.
My father smiled and stared in the boys eyes,"you are very lucky that my daughter didn't get killed by you two.You are also lucky that Shawn here was there when he was..or else..you'll end up dog food.Now run along and never be by my daughter again".
Eric and Jim ran inside the school,bumping into Shawn's injured shoulder.
I growled,"hey! Watch it!".
Somehow,I can heal up a person's wound..but Death can only cause them..weird right? Anyway,I use
HoldingThe accident wasn't her fault. She hadn't caused it; this wasn't her doing. And yet, she was the one being interrogated amongst grey bricks and demanding tones, demeaning eyes.
"Did you do it?"
"That depends on what you mean by 'it'. There's many a response I could give."
"Don't screw with me, Mrs. Cray."
"It's Miss, now," she whispered somberly. "And I hadn't planned on doing so. I like to get to know a man before fucking with him."
"Inappropriate comments will get you nowhere," he chided.
"And questioning me will get you even more time spent with me. So, we can either do the simplest thing and let me go, or we can play cat and mouse, so long as I get to be the cat. And don't smirk, because I can see your mouth start to twitch into a smile, a smile that mocks and teases because cat has other synonyms, the one you're conjuring being 'pussy'. Now, that can be demeaning, because as a man of authority, you'd love to classify me as a weak-willed woman who'll crack under pressure.
"Or, my f
Death's Offspring chapter 2Chapter 2: Meeting Shawn
I walked down the street to my school I've hated since I enrolled.But,that wasn't what was recently on my mind.All I wanted to do was find Shawn and make sure he's okay.Why? Because of what happened yesterday when I was almost killed.
It was lunch time and I sat outside alone,eating a small bowl of peaches,on the front steps of the school.I was recently bullied because of my difference. Everyone knew Death was my father,but none of them showed fear.Like they wanted me to kill them..or try to.I'm not as powerful as my father,but on my 15th birthday,which is in a few weeks, half of his destructive power.Anyway,two guys,Jim and Eric walked outside and Jim sat on my right and Eric on my left.
"And what do you two idiots want now?",I asked them,picking up a peach.
Eric grinned and stared at my chest,"you know what we want Kristy..and we are going to get it".
I rolled my eyes and popped the peach in my mouth,I chewed two times then swallowed.
"And your su
Sebastian scuffed his shoe against a mark on the granite floor, looking up as John emerged from the washroom. The sniper ran his eyes up and down along the doctor, checking for any last-minute fixups. He reached out and straightened John's tie a smidgen before clapping him on the shoulder. "You'll do fine, mate," he reassured his nervous friend, "If we can handle Afghanistan, you can handle one measly little hearing."
John chuckled, "Yeah, sure, but Afghanistan wasn't in front of a judge and audience!" He licked his lip, gaze falling somewhere past Seb's knee. "And somehow, it feels like more is at stake here. Silly, yeah? One man's honor, more important than an entire country?"
Sebastian only smiled grimly. "Depends on the man," he offered gently. It had been a rough few months, watching John work to undo everything that Jim had orchestrated. Almost everything, anyway. He couldn't undo the most important part.
Lestrade, flanked on both sides by very stern-looking lawyers, was ushered
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More