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Chicken Soup"Where do you think you are going?" John did not need to turn around to know that Sherlock would attempt to make a break for it the moment his back was turned.
"Just getting a book," Sherlock lied, looking wistfully at his coat and scarf. Maybe if he just ran he could get away, he was faster than John and could soon out run him. But then where would he go? The only lab that still accepted him uninvited was Bart's and that would be the first place John would look. He refused to go within a mile of Mycroft, and Lestrade would be on John's side no doubt. No, he would have to stick it out and hopefully just annoy John to death. He kicked his legs up and dramatically fell onto the sofa as an expression of his exasperation. "How long do I have to be imprisoned?"
"A week, and you are not imprisoned you are sick." John placed a freshly washed cup upside down on the sink to drain.
"If I am being held against my will then I am imprisoned." It was like talking to a child.
"I am very temp
Sherlock-Reader: Face Forewards FIRST PARTYou sighed when you tried to open the door of your new resident. Loaded with various suitcases and bags, you pressed your nose against the doorbell. Like always you were too lazy to carry your luggage in a couple of times. When you had seen the add in the newspaper you couldn't believe your eyes. 221B Baker Street was a beautiful apartment and conveniently located, because the University of London wasn't too far away. You decided to move out off your parents' house, because you wanted to try living on your own. The only downside of the place was that you had to live with a complete stranger, but you had the strength to survive any person, even the worst. The door slowly opened and a small elder woman stood in front of you and smiled at the sight of you, struggling with your stuff.
"Welcome dear," she said friendly, "I am your housekeeper Mrs. Hudson and you must be (Y/N)."
"Hello and yes," you mumbled quickly and wished you could introduce yourself properly, but your back was cursing a
Haunted Ch1"How long has he been dead?" Sherlock stooped over the body and gave the blue lips a sniff.
"Not long, about an hour and a half. The neighbour heard screaming about six o'clock and called the police. They broke in and found him like this." Lestrade flipped open his notebook and read out all the important information he had gathered so far. "The victim's name is Phillip Dalton, a music agent from Surrey. He lives here with his son Joseph after his wife committed suicide last year. According to the medical examiner, the time of death corresponds with the time the scream was heard and the call to police, but the neighbour did not see anyone fleeing the scene from the front, and there are no signs of forced entry at any of the doors or windows on the premises."
"You notice the angle at which the knife was inserted?" Sherlock interrupted, and then he explained before either John or Lestrade could reply. "Upward force from low down." He then mimicked the action, practically having to get dow
Sherlock's Shadowy Past - p1John had a lot of things on his mind on January 13th. He had effectively been avoiding taxis after his first adventure with his new flat-mate Sherlock Holmes. Occasionally he rode in them when Sherlock was with him, mostly because he didn't want to look like a complete wimp, but on the whole John had avoided cabs for the last several months. But Sherlock didn't shop. For anything. Ever. So he had spent the better part of the morning riding the tube to various parts of London picking up an equally assorted array of groceries. He was currently carrying, among other things, formaldehyde, eggs, toothpaste, bullets and a vast quantity of milk. God only knew what Sherlock had been doing with the last six containers that had been bought in the last week, maybe just pouring it down the drain, but John was getting awfully tiered of waking up to dry breakfast cereal because a certain flat-mate had used/drank/poured out all of it. Plus for the last week or so John had been more or less living at
Enchanted - Ch1"I was so drunk! I had no idea what I was doing!" The group of girls beside you laugh, you smile and pretend to be interested in what the girl next to you is saying. It is your first week of lectures at university and the group of girls you decided to tag along with are lovely, but you just don't have the same interests as them. You cannot help but let your imagination wonder as you start daydreaming about what kind of fascinating lecture you may have this morning. Fresher's was fun, but you couldn't wait to start learning about the world of forensic science, how every reaction works and how you piece together each detail to produce an answer to the problem.
People were still coming in to the lecture in dribs and drabs, some in a group, some on their own, each looking for a spare seat where they could see the screen for the presentation you knew the lecturer would do. There is a seat next to you but you don't really want to sit next to a stranger so you make no effort to offer it to so
"You know, he's secretly pleased to see you here."
"Yeah, he likes to see familiar faces together. It appeals to his "
The large pile of papers made a satisfyingly large thumping sound as they hit the bottom of the recycling bin.
John smirked, rubbing his hands against the knees of his jeans in an attempt to rid them of the inevitable dust and dirt. Slowly, he stood up, straightening with a grimace, stretching his back after long hours of cleaning. Looking around the room, John saw progress.
The room was far cleaner than it had been in the morning. John, finally convinced Sherlock to move his most important papers into a cabinet and allow John to throw out or organize th
The ScarfThe scarf.
A simple scarf.
But this scarf's so much more than the others I have in my closet.
This one was yours.
What it was doing in my closet was beyond me... And then I remembered.
Mrs. Hudson going through your things to pack up into storage, only for me to barge in and insist rather outspokenly that everything stay exactly where it was.
Bless Mrs. Hudson for understanding and putting up with me...
But before I closed the door to your room, I saw your scarf that you had haphazardly laid over a chair. You were never one for cleaning... I don't know what possessed me to take it for myself, but I had decided that under the circumstances, you really wouldn't mind.
And now here it was again in my hands, almost a year since you...
Once again, I try to swallow the lump in my throat and wipe my eyes. It doesn't happen as often now, but sometimes it sneaks up on me out of nowhere. Slowly I run my fingers over the soft fabric; it seemed like you were always wearing one of these.
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