[ ex•cep•tion•al ] @hismascot-blog - Tumblr Blog

#I LITERALLY DONT KNOW WHAT TO ADD #I LEGIT CAN'T #THINK OF ANYTHING #BC IM STILL SO DISTRAUGHT ABOUT THIS #(even tho joan was breaking up with him thAT'S NOT THE POINT HE WAS STILL A GOOD GUY AND I)#but k e n d a l l #yh ill move in with u u wanker i #( && keepsakes. )#( && valentine's day. )#( && kendall tag. )#addictedtobeinghimself #submission #( && submission. )

&& moriarty.

[ Regardless of the others stoic nature, Jamie’s features never falter. ]

’To what do I owe this delightful visit?’

helping herself to a seat, chin raised ever so slightly as she crossed one leg over the other, she'll internally sigh at her bright exterior.

' by now, you'll know sherlock went back home to london. '

a statement, rather than a question, for now.

#fakedpersona #( v; && unnamed. )

&& ira.

there comes a little bit of a grin. one she will do her very best to attempt to quench of it’s intensity, of which is a somewhat successful venture, but really quite genuine; because, in truth, there she was, worrying herself away as well. ira has never shared a room with anyone before. always locked up in her own space and claiming it’s there because she needs it, like she doesn’t get enough top grade isolation throughout the course of the day anyway. she sits herself on her bed, pulling up her legs to cross them, & tilts her head to the side slightly.

’ yeah, it’s ira. ira carter. ‘

( a pause. ) ’ does that mean you have some? ‘

hopeful, really, is her tone. quite wistful. ira often seems to sport that sound. really, it’s quite pretentious, but that seems to be exactly how ira likes to operate the most; her favourite things in life being just burning with it. she will, then, decide there’s no point in waiting around.

’ you’re joan watson, ’ she starts. ’ how did they mess up the… thingy? the name thing? ‘

it isn't like her to be nervous about things such as these -- but, then, the last time she was forced to invade another's space, it had resulting in a door being closed upon her face. plenty of other things besides that, of course, so many of them being rather positive, but as first experiences went? it hadn't been the best.

no matter. joan had always put herself out, in some shape or form.

&& so, to her question, she'll give a gentle sort of grin, two things that should be rather contrary, but aren't -- somehow -- upon her features. ' yeah. in my bag, let me just---- '

at that, she'll sit upon the bed parallel to the other's, hand rifling in the main compartment, only to return back into sight holding not one, but two packets of the famed chocolate.

' they put me into the system as 'john'. && probably neglected to tell ofsted that, last week; so much for 'outstanding', huh? here---- '

#addiikti #( v; && another brick in the wall. )#b l e s s

hismascot-blog

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hismascot-blog

&& sherlock.

it was … less than he anticipated. less remarkable, at least. less cataclysmic. he’d be tempted to call it relaxing were it not for the persistent ache in his chest as survival instincts that should have long been eliminated by human evolution forbade him from giving up his last breath. his jaw tightened, his throat con- stricted, his muscles clenched in what he could only imagine was an effort to make his body air tight. the water smothered his senses; restricted some, altered others. soon there were spots cropping up at the edges of his vision and the ache in his chest sharpened while the rest of him began to go numb.

but all that he’d expected; he’d held his breath under- water for extended periods of time before. his interest was in what would happen after the survival instincts disengaged; he wished to know to what extent he could ignore survival and still survive, how far over the line he could step while still being able to return.

only he didn’t wager it’d actually end up being akin to relaxation. he didn’t want to be able to liken drowning to falling asleep as so many narratives claimed, he wanted to experience something, something right at the brink, but as consciousness left him at the bottom of the tub he was left, yet again, disappointed — and s l i d i n g over that line ——

a line that, once joan watson caught hide or hair of, he would not be allowed to cross. she wouldn't let him, nor allow anything of the sort, if it were up to her. which, it wasn't -- there would be no denying his free will, not ever. why on earth would she want try? his independence still remained as crucial as his life.

' sherlock----! '

she'll hardly give herself time to gasp at the scene before her, tugging him from the water, her worry for her partner friend conflicting with that quintessential calm she had to uphold, for the sake of the both of them, as it always had whenever something of the sort happened. marcus sprang to mind, or at least might have done had she really the time to ponder on him, or indeed, anyone else.

no, she couldn't do that -- instead, she'll have a hand checking his breaths, another his pulse, not allowing herself to be ANGRY at him yet. that would come later, she'll promise internally, hands upon his chest, jaw clenched as she began the first of the necessary compressions.

#( v; && to build a home. )#( t; && sub·merg·ed. )#addictedtobeinghimself #welcome back byn here havE THIS FUCKING PLOT IDEA YH THIS SEEMS SWELL #tw drowning #tw suicide

&& flamelikewoman.

' how was your date with zachary? '

#flamelikewoman #makes bleugh noises i need a rewatch #( v; && to build a home. )#( && starter. )

still haven't managed to watch the latest (to you guys in the us) episode yet, bc of work, but if someone wants a starter, hIT ME THE FUCK UP OK YH GOOD

#aka i'M STILL DYING BC IVE MANAGED TO AVOID SPOILERS SOMEHOW #( && out of cases. )#no one tell me what's happened if u tell me i will slaughter ur first born goat

&& ira.

well, she looks friendly enough. of all the potential people that could have walked through that door frame & solicited unwittingly from ira a preceptive judgement; one that she would do her very best to deny & abstain from the use of; joan watson, of course, her name was, managed to just skip past it. ira will swallow absently, a polite smile flitting forth over slightly rouged pink lips, as a hand rises subconsciously to brush her hair through her fingertips. she gestures toward the only other unoccupied bed with a glance.

’ it’s okay. i don’t bite. ‘

spoken with an airy, far away sort of voice, really. she rises from her chair and tugs her pastel pink knitted jumper down slightly in order to make her way across the room, where she’ll pluck out, from a small, cyan fridge beside her bed, two bottles of glitterberry j20. one is held out toward joan. a peace offering, of some sort. ira doesn’t necessarily need to speak all that much, nor does she need to falsify the meeting with synthetic smiles & vain joy; but she would do her best, of course, to make sure she’s making a friend here.

honestly, her experience with the elite hadn't, thus far, been any better with those back home in queens. she missed her friends, mainly, but it surely wasn't all draw- backs here -- no, she'd made the odd few more, ones to distract her until it came to writing another bunch of postcards && letters home.

letters. really, it did seem rather silly. boarding school && letters, like something straight out of a bronte novel, when one put it like that. however, that was rather far from the truth, unfortunately.

still, she had sherlock. mycroft also seemed rather nice, as did that andrew in her math class.

dragging her bag through the door, placing it dismissively on what seemed to be her side of the room, joan gave a gentle laugh ---- quite suddenly not sure what she had been worrying about, as she took the bottle of j20.

' thanks. uhm, ira, right? ----...do you like peanut butter cups? '

#and just like that a beautiful friendship was born #( v; && another brick in the wall. )#addiikti

gayscifi

#tbt

&& moriarty.

hismascot

[ It’s a smile that almost entirely lights up the blonde’s features.]

’Joan!’

time to work on being unshakeable. keeping that in mind, her features will remain utterly neutral.

' ----------moriarty. '

#fakedpersona #hello hi holla #( v; && to build a home. )#thanks for the starter uwu

&& ira.

hismascot.

—— RIDICULOUS. —— that would be how ira would describe this situation. she’s not entirely a social person either way, if she were honest; peering half-blankly out the window at the cloudy day before her. how on earth do you get someone’s name wrong, & make such a bloody mess of it? she couldn’t say she knew herself. so very used to being on her own, it was frustrating, really; the prospect of sharing a room & being so exposed to someone making her feel entirely quite concerned. she jumps a little when the door opens, however; sitting up from her lounged position at the window. a tense moment passes, before she manages to say

’ —————— hi. ‘

only opening the door a tad, she'll peer in, hesitant at first -- after all, she was yet again the INTRUDER, though she'll hope she's made at least a little more welcome than she had been before. or, at least, sherlock had warmed, after all, && part of her did consider him being sorry to see her leave his wing.

she couldn't stay there all year though, now, could she?

' ......................hey. '

stepping forwards, not entirely certain on whether she were allowed to make herself at home just yet, she'll glance hesitantly around the room, though the look is appreciative. it was kept relatively tidy, which was more than what she could say for life with sherlock, nor did it carry a mysterious odour.

#adiikti #( v; && another brick in the wall. )#cries a bit jfc #sorry ira #no heroin for u

rosamundpike

#bby!sherlock stop the madness #i still haven't seen the social network tbh -winces-#( v; && another brick in the wall. )#( && dupin. )

opulenti

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Brutal Hearts ft. Coeur De Pirate Bedouin Soundclash

I don’t mind that you only call me when you want, And I’m just glad you want me at all

#living a coeur de pirate appreciation life #( && music. )

hismascot-blog

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hismascot-blog

&& sherlock.

hypoxia. pulmonary edema. cardiac arrest.

D R I P .

brain damage. morbidity.

D R I P .

death.

D R I P .

he knew the risks. from conception to execution, sherlock remained very conscious of the risks his experiment posed. in fact, the risks drove him to it. not that he’d become a thrill seeker, he’d just grown… tired. he’d engaged watson on the matter and she’d responded appropriately, not a word, not a sentiment out of place, but had done nothing to calm his contemplations regarding the meaninglessness of existence.

though sherlock had ruled out any potential benefit of relapse. he didn’t wish to surrender to the incessant drip drip drip of existence, he wished to overcome it. to extenuate it. were he a more arrogant man he might’ve desired to best it, but he was level-headed enough to realize there was no way to best the drip just to, perhaps, match it for a time. meet it. push its boundaries, perform the proverbial dance between the drops …

and so he submerged himself in the brownstone’s bath.

----n o t h i n g .

peering on into the living room, lips pursed, joan gave the slightest of scowls, allowing a rather quizzical expression to alight her features now there was no one to witness it. fishing her phone from her pocket, she checked -- quickly -- he hadn't sent her a message, but no; again, nothing, the only notification being that of yet another email.

D R I P .

it's only now she's quiet, now she's escaped the noise of the odd taxi outside && the (mediocre) busker only a few yards down, that she'll hear it----

D R I P .

glancing on up, that frown will only go deeper -- still, hadn't sherlock always told her to use her initiative? trust her gut? not that she'd ever made a habit of doing as he told her, but still...

D R I P .

something doesn't seem right here.

&& so it's with little hesitation that she'll dash up the stairs, boots thudding upon each step, precipitation ascending as quickly as she herself did.