granite cold, detached; granite tall i stood

>> prof. moriarty (acd), indep., est. 2012. in the distance, cold, dismal - a shadow creeps upon the earth. in its grasp, the greatest weapon: anonymous, he slays; the ghoul. whoever dares to find the brain must first consult the beast. if unprepared or unannounced, an audience might very well prove fatal.

[sebastianwouldbeappalled]

Do you ever feel lonely?

            “That would require an innate necessity for company and a striking inability             to satisfy one’s own needs – neither of which I can relate to at all. Rather             I understand this as a misguided attempt at thwarting your own loneliness             by seeking out someone who suffers just as much.                                                            Might I direct you to Mr. M. Holmes instead?”

[sebastianwouldbeappalled]

[sebastianwouldbeappalled]

dismantled, he says. two years and he is confident, forever still the haughty boy. last piece of the puzzle, and a puzzle it is, and doesn’t he just love a little mystery? the thrill of the chase? the pride that comes with the solution?

            pride, however, does go before the fall.

the further he runs, the deeper he sinks, the more he disappears – and so he runs. the old cycle of addiction, like quicksand now, same old patterns all over again. a junkie won’t ever not be a junkie. and so what does it matter if the external threat seems overcome when what matters lies within the trojan horse?

            source code: corrupted. identity: compromised. virus: fatal.

dismantled, he is, that sherlock holmes. and this is where we strike.

[sebastianwouldbeappalled]

"You have several broken ribs, do try to relax."

hurt meme

            “Four”, sounds flat, diminished in force - it’s less to save resources than to keep his breathing shallow, to avoid feeling every single fracture like a jagged knife scraping his lungs. And yet it conveys a calm unbroken: steady, slow. Patient. In regarding his gracious host, he tilts his head as much as is allowed, looking - above all else - curious. He could be doing this all night. “Let’s not neglect being precise”, pause, breath, the schoolmasterly tone still in place, “sloppiness does all sorts of harm.”

[brookrichie]

“Would you just stop shouting? Jesus, we’re in the middle of the street.” He’s mortified more than nervous, he’s never taken well to causing a scene in public.

[sebastianwouldbeappalled]

            His voice drops to low and gentle within just a second, he even       goes so far as to lean in to murmur: “Why, afraid to draw attention       to yourself?”

          Of course, the calm survives only so long as Richard is desperate to believe it - he has no difficulty reverting back to full volume without even blinking. “As you should be. Look at the state of your shoes, for Christ’s sake, and you expect me to show myself in public with that? You can be positive it isn’t my voice that makes people stare.”

[sebastianwouldbeappalled]

"There's a reason fairytales are for children."

            A hum at first, the pretence of thoughtful, transforms             into a rather approving: “Quite.”     It is certainly one of his stranger triumphs to have fostered an obsession in others with something he considers so trivial. “I do say I must agree, get them acquainted with bloodshed and desolation at an early age, foster their creativity.” Wearing the trademarked storyteller’s smile might as well end in him breaking into a recitation of Hänsel & Gretel right there and then. “Ever wonder what sort of cannibal little Rosie would make?”

[blggr-deactivated20190528]

you didn’t kill Mary.   Mary died  saving  your life,  it’s  her  choice.   no one  made  her do it,   no one could ever make mary do  anything,   but the point is,   you didn’t kill her.          IND.    MR. HOLMES   AND   DR. WATSON       penned  by  jules  and  maggie.

[sebastianwouldbeappalled]

easternwiinds:

          her   movements  complement   his   almost  perfectly .      she   walks   closer  to   the   glass  separating   them .      the   concrete  ground   beneath   her   bare   feet  feels   cold ;   it   is   a   chill   that  echoes   all   the   way   to   her   spine .     ‘  maybe   my   next   christmas  present   will   be   a   window  so   i   can   get   some  sunlight   in   here . ’      her   fingers  hover   next   to   the   glass  wall   like   she   would   press  piano   keys .      ‘ did   you   miss   me ? ’

            Miss her. Like one might miss picking at a purulent wound, perhaps. The satisfaction of tearing your own flesh apart, watching it lapse in your own mirror picture.      “I am under no illusion that if you so wished, you’d long be drowning in sunlight down here.”         There is no such thing as closing the distance with this amount of security, measured steps take him as close as the very edge of her playpen and reverberate within -- Silence of the Lambs, indeed --, but he needs no physical contact to confirm: the fascination is unbroken.             “Oh, terribly. You know how emotional I get.” His reply is of course delivered without any trace of intonation. “How’s Big Brother treating you?”

[winterfellis]

[sebastianwouldbeappalled]

subject identified; @patricianborn​ (x)

             "Birthday”,     he provides both without preamble and without ever   being asked. “Easter, name day, St. Nicholas. Valentine’s day.”    Mycroft   Holmes might be running short of supportive family members, but certainly   not of excuses to hand out gifts in reparation. Moriarty’s always been the   helpful type. “Need I go on?”

[sebastianwouldbeappalled]

tigermarked:

      any victory, no matter how small, is accepted readily with a pride that blossoms a smirk across his features ( what an animal i am ). there’s an acceptance of subordination, of a mind likened to rusted clockwork in the way it pales in comparison to moriarty’s, and he’s long since made a home of his place beside london’s criminal mastermind. 

      perhaps, it’s the abrupt progression from a small victory to a greater assault ( sustained by that exact ego ) that tightens fingers around his resolve. perhaps, it’s the animal in him that defies command despite his commendable––if not reputable––military career.  ‘ i suspect you’ll be needing more than just a leash, soon enough. ’  if moriarty thinks him an animal, he’ll be the best damn animal the man’s ever seen.  ‘ do i get a treat, perhaps, seeing as i’m doing so splendidly? ’

            Buttons, this is. Pushing them in the exact right order, discovered through rigorous testing and evaluation, going through the settings to see what one likes best. Today, the custom interface of Moriarty’s choosing seems to be:    gently disgruntled, the self-satisfied smirk only just wiped off Moran’s handsome face. This is what proves to be truly entertaining,   if only for the odd minute in between more pressing matters: Making him navigate the narrow plane    between feeling appreciated and utterly disposable. It’s the little twitch in his resolve that does the trick; in tilting his head to regard him properly, Moriarty smiles.

            "Come to think of it, I suspect a leash might even suit you rather well.       A matching muzzle, perhaps?” Of course he looks at him as if imagining       it right there and then   --   a deliberate once-over, a weighted pause   --       before he narrows his eyes, a doubtful hum on his lips.   “Then again ...       a pet which requires physical restraints in order to behave can’t be much       of a worthwhile pet at all.”

[sandcvstles]

hurt meme.

“ i got you. it’s gonna be okay, you’re going to be okay.”

“i feel like everyone’s miles away from me.”

“my mind is a dark place. you don’t want to be there.”

“i know this hurts, but you have to stay awake.”

“don’t close your eyes, please don’t close your eyes!”

“i just want to be numb, i don’t want to feel anything.”

“please don’t do this, don’t act like you care.”

“you don’t care, nobody cares, just leave.”

“you’re my friend, of course i fucking care.”

“i can’t give up on you, so please don’t give up on yourself.”

“i love you so much, i forgot what hating myself felt like.”

“i fucked up, why do you not care?”

“i can’t walk, just go on without me.”

“you have broken ribs, take it easy.”

“i have no idea how to do cpr.”

“whose blood is that?”

“apply pressure to the wound, don’t let go.”

“don’t you dare fucking let go!” 

“what the hell happened to you?” 

“are they dead? did you kill them?” 

“do you know what you’ve done?” 

“you’re either with me or against me.” 

“who the hell did this to you?” 

“are you alright? you hit your head pretty hard…” 

“i can’t see!! what’s happening to me?” 

“when was the last time you ate?” 

“what do you mean you’re fine? you are not fine!” 

 “i’m fine, it’s just a flesh wound, i’ll be okay.” 

“for how long? how long were you bottling this up?“ 

“there’s so much blood, you won’t last.” 

“are you… throwing up in there?” 

“why aren’t you eating?” 

“just breathe… you’re okay, i promise, just breathe.” 

“i can’t breathe, i can’t –” 

“i woke up, & you were gone.” 

“just tell me something, was it really worth it?” 

“it’s okay to hurt & breakdown. you don’t have to be strong all the time.”

[sebastianwouldbeappalled]

predomiinates:

     She makes a point of never taking him at his word. Unless it’s a threat or a direct order. Tonight, she knows exactly what her purpose is. She is a distraction, a ploy to make strangers jealous or envious. Irene is more than happy to play her part, even at the expense of witnessing an opera she has her doubts about. She spares a sideways glance at the man she hangs off of, her own lips curling into a heartless grin. 

      “Unlike her I have never forgotten the words under the glare of a bright light.” Another glance his way, one to those that are attempting to not be obvious as their own gazes linger on them. “It would be an unthinkable disaster should it happen again.”

            Duo infernale, the centre of attention: curious how easily one can turn a whole hall worth of wealthy heads just by procuring the right company. No one quite dares to look away when one Irene Adler enters, so adept at commanding the room with just the smallest movement, bare shoulder, knowing smile. While immune to the more carnal aspect of it all, Moriarty does fully understand the effect his most darling escort tends to have -- and that, unlike mere arm candy, she holds much more value than a trophy to garner envy with.

            “Wouldn’t it just?” No, her purpose here isn’t to be pretty; though that certainly will not go amiss and earns her a complacent smile more often than not. Rather it’s her expertise, her experience, her appreciation for the finer things -- and the proclivity for gossip. “Explosions, executions, butchered operas; I do so enjoy the odd disaster now and then. Always more romantic to share.”

[sebastianwouldbeappalled]

bbcmycroft:

     He never did get along quite well with the man before him. Oh, they could be perfectly pleasant to one another when the time called for it. He could be pleasant to anybody if he had to. But there is always something between them that he couldn’t quite pin down. “The ever disappointing brother.” Funny, because he’s also talking about himself. Which he’s sure Jim has picked up on. “You would know, with your interest in him.”

            Quite droll, this tendency to hide behind double meanings even when it’s clear       they are both, without question, in the know.    “Sore spot, is it?”    As such close to       irresistible, like a scab that won’t come off, the desire to pick at it until you see blood.       His smile is idle, slow, the threat less absent than lurking somewhere murky and dark.       It’s all in good fun. He just wants to play.             “I would recommend owning up to it. Embracing it. Surely being the black sheep of       a family of junkies and murderers should be a challenge even for you.”

[damnmuse]

[easternwiinds-deactivated201703]

          ‘  oh !  ’      despite   the   rather   cheerful   sound   that   escapes   her ,   nothing   else   betrays   her   excitement .      she   even   hesitates   to   turn   around .      ‘  did   you   grow   BORED   of   being   dead ?  ’

@sebastianwouldbeappalled   liked .

[sebastianwouldbeappalled]

            “Like every bathetic fashion trend, it lost its appeal the second everyone was doing it.“ His curiosity remains unbroken just as his voice remains monotonous. Yet again it’s like approaching a precipice he cannot help but plunge into -- and devour all the same. “Though I will say you still wear the deathly pallor exceptionally well.”

[sebastianwouldbeappalled]

( i will just say: wow. and: everyone talk to me about this episode please. )

[sebastianwouldbeappalled]

( one week later and i am distraught. #gross )

[sebastianwouldbeappalled]

( i will just say: wow. and: everyone talk to me about this episode please. )