|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
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
Approaching DisasterThe brownish black wolf perched on top of a rock boulder, head raised up in silent concentration as he begin to assess the atmosphere with his heightened sense of smell.
He caught a whiff of something in the air, a musky scent he had never come across in his life up until now. Whatever it was, he could tell something was definitely wrong, especially when a flock of birds stormed the skies, panicky flying in the opposite direction where deep, booming noises sounded.
This could only mean one thing - danger was now advancing and he must warn his family.
Digger"Cripes," he says, wiping sweat off his furrowed brow.
You watch him, silently clutching your shovel, watching him lean on his. He is an unbothered boy. Annoyed maybe, but not troubled.
He shakes his head and leans onto the shovel, gently tossing more of the dirt to the side of your feet. The lantern flickers as the two of you shuffle in the moonlight. You do not entirely drop your gaze as you join him in digging; he is so intent that he will not catch you looking, and you have just noticed the cigarette tucked behind his ear, a previously overlooked detail in the fabric to consider, to reconsider, to remember.
Minutes drag. His hands are thinner than yours (you've had time to think and in your time together, you've decided his entire frame is fox-like; rail-thin) but calloused and he does not bother with gloves like you do.
The metallic scrape of spade to packed dirt simultaneously calms you by the rhythmic movement, the certainty of each swing, but the full moon makes
Not Ready"You didn't forget to get a new key right?"
"Be home by eleven!"
"If you're breaking curfew, I hope you have your key."
"I hope you get locked out."
I really wished I had actually listened to my family more often. I didn't have my key, it was one in the morning, and the only keys I had were my car key and old house key. We had to change the locks because someone broke in 2 weeks ago. Unfortunately my thick head didn't think it was necessary to put my new key on my key chain. At least it was a dry summer night so I wasn't freezing to death outside while I stood at my front door.
I sighed seeing all the blinds closed and windows locked. I sat on the porch swing and soon laid down. It was late, I was tire, and this swing was the closest thing I had to a bed right now. I looked out into the empty neighborhood t see every house full of darkness. I soon closed my eyes and fell into step with the silence. I began to slowly drift to sleep. Or so I hoped.
Extract from 'Project Maze'
"Please, I beg of you. Don't-" Jeanette interrupts abruptly, "I don't care about you in any single way, shape nor form. You are a sick man; you don't need help, you know what you need? You need to be euthanized! You don't deserve to live, Hanson! I'm goin' to Derek's house. I am more in love with him, than I will ever be with you! I hate you!" Jeanette storms out in anger, but with a grin of joy on her face. She walks out the door way and turns back to look at Hanson on his knees. She spits on his door mat, and walks down the steps and to her car.
After about 20 minutes still on the floor, Hanson slowly gets up. Dragging his feet to the door he softly closes it. Feeling numb, Hanson grabs Cronus and proceeds to his bedroom. He turns on one of his favorite childhood movies, and lays down. Cronus keeps brushing against Hanson's face, unknowingly smearing his tasteless tears into the soft fur of the pure whit kitten. Speaking openly, Hanson gurgles, "Jus
hijos de las sombrasEL PRINCIPIO DEL FIN
hola mi nombre es moroni y esta es la historia de como mi mundo fue destruido y no por una guerra ni por una invasion alien sino por un arma biologica que es capas de mostrar la forma de toda tu maldad interna y esto comenzó así.
era un día tranquilo eran como las 3:30 pm y me encontraba solo en casa mis abuelos abian ido a visitar al médico junto con mi tío y mi padre había salido junto con mi hermano a comprar dulces para la tienda y me abian dejado 100 pesos para comprar comida en la tienda de al lado y como me había dado hambre sali a comprar algo y de regresó a casa escuché un ruido por unos arbustos, me acerqué a ver que era pero apenas me acerqué al arbustos de el salto una estraña criatura, mi cuerpo se paraliso del miedo al berla era horrible es como si a un jaguar le hubiesen arrancado toda la piel y le estuvieran colgando las entrañas, estaba tan asustado que ni si
UntitledBlinded by Terror
(Written by: Hyacinth Ashley Palacios)
Senna Hartloch, an eleven year-old exquisite young girl, who’s tall and smart with golden blonde hair and bright blue eyes, lived with her family in a mansion. She loved her family more than anything in this world. Senna was once a jolly, joyful and a sweet girl, but all that changed because of an incident that changed her life, FOREVER…
July 11, 1995, it was a brilliant autumn day with vivid orange, yellow and red maple leaves, falling on the ground. Senna and her father-William, decided to go for a trip out in the city to buy souvenirs and some stuff for their servants and for Senna’s mother-Madame Celina.
William-who’s now in his mid-forties with a slack face, piercing green eyes, of medium-height, and got hints of silver in his sandy brown hair, has married Celina-who’s now in her late-thirties with silky blonde hair and big blue eyes, her forehead, cheekbones and chin were perfectly propo
Alexander's JournalMy recent case began when the chief had briefed me on what I was to do next. Being a Homicide Detective I happened to have veered into multiple situations that would make those of faint heart die of cardiac arrest. Never though had I seen one so twisted and strange as the one the chief of police had now sat in front of me. " Hello agent Alexander... New case, you should like this one." I took no happiness in taking the newly made manila folder and opening it to show me the faces of several women and four men. " The new ones got the nickname The Corrupter. Personally I think that name is pretty damn stupid but... He's put others of our men out of the case, though I think you'll be a good match." I nodded "I'm not always grim enough for these kinds of jobs... Maybe a vacation." The chief smiled and chuckled " Don't we all kid, don't we all."
I picked up my brief case and pulled on my gear to holster my pistol, I learned never to trust myself without such a pistol or some weapon of some s
Mr. Veracity"What do you want?" His voice was steady and unnerving. He stood absolutely still, his back facing me. If I had not heard his voice, I wouldn't have known he had spoken at all.
"You know why I'm here." My voice suffered in comparison to the deep booming note that came before my weak faltering strand of circumvention.
His head turned slightly. I could see the tip of his nose, highlighted by the single light source of a lamp in the quiet and still office. I was the loudest thing in the room, my breath ragged from all the running I had done to get there. "You avoid the question, Rowan."
The words chilled me to the bone. "Give them back."
He turned and looked at me at last. There had never been a sharper contrast to me than Mr. Veracity (a pseudonym, surely), and there never would be. His grey eyes and long chin looked down at me coolly, one grey eyebrow raised towards his neat salt-and-pepper hair. A good foot taller than me, he had to look down into my hazel eyes with disinterest. His sh
Chess GameThe sun shined through the window into the dark room. In the center sat a table with two men across from each other. The first man wore an Italian style suit, a gold Rolex watch, and three rings were on his right hand. The first two said “Cosa Nostra” the last was a larger ring saying “our thing”. His grey hair was combed back and gelled in place and gave a view of knowledge and wisdom. He had a stare that gave off an image of power and it demanded respect. He sat on the side closest to the window and directly across from the door.
The other man was less clean cut, wearing a cheap suit, a brown overcoat, a police department issued watch, and a holster with an M9 was visible inside the right coat pocket. His hair was messy black with grey streaks on the sides, his eyes showed a tired sign, but also gave off a feeling of unnerving to viewers. He sat on the chair between the other man and the door
To the right of the first man was a cell phone, on the other a pair
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
Keep in Touch!
Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More