AU: Moriarty succeeds in burning Sherlock’s heart out.
some rainy days, I could swear you’re walking through our door
still, I look up - all that meets my stare is nothing at all.
Whhhhhhhhy would you do this?
Malicious to innocent in 0.3 seconds
Jawn is a soldier. Jawn respects strength. Maybe if I growl at him. Nope, didn’t work. He’s being surprisingly recalcitrant. That’s surprising. Jawn is being surprising. I love it when he does that. I need a new approach. Jawn has pictures of kittens on his computer. Jawn likes innocent. I shall be innocent for Jawn. Maybe if I ask nicely, Jawn will give them to me. Commencing Operation Ask Jawn Nicely…
Oh god this YES
It’s a glimpse, nothing more. A flash of dark hair and high cheekbones and pale eyes. And John knows it’s insane, knows it’s impossible, but it looked exactly like him.
Their eyes meet for a second, and the pair on the other side of the tinted taxi window show no signs of recognition. But not for a moment does John let himself believe it could be anyone else. He simple didn’t see him in the crowd, or did not have time to react between recognising him and the car drifting smoothly around the corner.
He must believe these things, because he must believe in who it was in that cab.
There was no-one else like him. No-one else it could have been.
It was Sherlock.
It is all John can do not to drop his bags as he races around the corner, breathing that name repeatedly under his breath. For the first time since Switzerland, he runs with no limp, he runs like he only ever did with Sherlock.
But even free from psychosomatic pain, he is not as fast as a car. He knows he will never catch it. “Sherlock… Sherlock…” he pants, even as he grinds to a halt in the middle of the road. He feels the name bubbling up inside him, becoming a shout as the car disappears.
For several seconds, John just stands there, watching the point where the taxi disappeared. He is aware of people around looking at him, a car slowly pulling towards him, expecting him to move. He doesn’t care. It has just hit him, really, truly, that Sherlock Holmes is dead. He will never ride a London cab again, never look over the city with those cool, colourless eyes. No matter how hard John wishes, he will never come back.
The car behind him beeps its horn, and John limps away.
Sherlock turns and watches the figure, once he is sure it can no longer see his face. It runs after him, mouth forming his name over and over. As he watches, a burning desire grows, and he wants nothing more than to stop the taxi, jump out and gather the man in his arms. He never meant to hurt anyone. He never meant for this.
“You know that guy?” the cabbie asks, noticing what Sherlock is staring at. “You want me to stop for him?”
Sherlock turns around, catching the driver’s eye in the mirror. “No, it’s fine. Keep driving.”
He has whipped out his phone before he even knows what he’s doing.
Take care of him.
He has already sent the message before he taps out an afterthought.
Seconds later, his phone chimes.
Already picked him up. Have been following him since he left Baker Street.
And before he can even draw the breath to think of a reply, it seems that his brother also has more to say.
He’s crying. I don’t know what to do.
There is anger that message. And desperation. And remorse. And most of all—there is guilt. The words blur in his vision, and with trembling fingers, he wipes the tears that have dropped on the screen of his phone.
Neither do I.
He never sends that last message.
oh god fandom you fucking kill me.
Sweet Odin on a pogo stick - MARTY THIS IS PERFECT.
Loki strode through the museum, smirking to himself, London was going to be the perfect place to start this entire production.
He rounded a corner and hoisted his staff, swinging it through fully two-hundred-and-seventy degrees to connect with the security guard’s face even as the man turned to question him, sending him flying. The body slid along the marble floor and came to a halt in the middle of the crowd - silence fell as he glared around at the men and women in evening wear.
Then someone screamed and the panic began.
Sherlock and John, at the back of the room, didn’t even have to look at each other.
“Absolutely.” Sherlock cut his blogger off before catching John by one cuff and dragging him through the crowd, out a side door and almost slamming bodily into Dean Winchester, lurking in the shadows as usual.
“Do I even want to know what you’re doing here?”
“He bought me. Something about an event that I can help out with?” Dean jerked a thumb over his shoulder and Sherlock leaned to one side, biting back a groan as he spotted the man in the glasses and the brown pin-striped suit, sonic screwdriver hanging at his side as he observed the chaos with one eyebrow raised.
“Is that-” John began, but Sherlock cut him off, again.
“Yes, it is, now be quiet!”
Lok strode through the crowd, allowing his outfit to morph from the suit-and-tie to his leather and metal Asgardian ensemble, complete with his massive horned helmet. He then proceeded to cast a half-dozen copies of himself around the square, herding the panicked crowd back into a confined space before slamming the staff onto the ground.
“Kneel before me.”
Lestrade, at the edge of the crowd, recognised the threat immediately and began shouting for people to obey.
“Do as he says!”
“KNEEL!” Loki shouted, not even acknowledging the D.I.’s attempts to get the rest of the humans present to do as he said.
Sherlock, just out of sight, poked his head around the edge of the building and his eyes widened in shock as he saw that the man who had just moments ago been in a rather dapper bespoke suit was now dressed in black leather and gold, holding a staff that emitted a strange blue light and raising his hands above the now-kneeling crowd, beginning a speech about how this was the natural state of humanity.
“Loki?” The Doctor’s eyebrows drew together as he recognised the green-eyed god, and Dean chuckled.
“Look at the guy’s helmet.”
“Do you really think now is the best time to joke, Dean?” Sherlock demanded, even as John tugged at his cuff, attempting to get his attention - there was a holographic copy of the god approaching the four of them, in the alley behind the museum. They were about to be caught.
“Sorry.” Dean muttered, just as the Loki-copy found them.
WELL SEND ME TO THE DEEPEST LEVEL OF HELL IF THIS AIN’T FREAKING BRILLIANT
BLESS YOU, MY DEAR
ahahaha this is beautiful.
#It looks like john and sherlock are on a date at the fair #and sherlock sees a balloon and is like #jAWWNNNN LOOK AT THE RED BALLOON JAWN #JAWN DO YOU SEE IT #and john is like #sigh #yes sherlock its a fucking balloon
/flails /dies THE TAGS
John’s romantically involved with someone
- Unwilling to share him
- Irritated with his lack of observation
- Fond of long, dark coats (and flipping the collar up)
Paging Dr. Freud…. Dr. Freud, please pick up on extension three….