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@shrlxckedarchives
!! A T T E N T I ON !!
SHRLXCKED IS MOVING!
THIS IS A VERY IMPORTANT PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT THAT I HAVE FINALLY DECIDED TO MAKE THE MOVE ONTO A SEPARATE ACCOUNT.
The side blog problems have finally pushed me over.
PLEASE RE-FOLLOW MY NEW BLOG >>> HERE <<<
(URL is the same)
Please reblog this to signal boost it. Thanks!!
"I can't keep pretending that I don't care." - shrlxcked
Her face was growing redder with every passing second, her heart racing as she stared back at him, those words that left his mouth only causing half a seconds pause.
“Why now? After all this time, after everything we’ve been through, now is the time?” Molly spat, one hand coming to rest on her hip, the other burying itself in her hair as she turned from him.
“I”m getting married Sherlock, you wished me happiness and now he’s not good enough? Now, you care? What in god’s name are you playing at?”
She was baffled and angry. Sherlock had asked here only to insult her fiancee, to tell her that her engagement was a mistake and Molly didn’t know how to feel.
“That was before I met him.”
Sherlock knew that it was useless to argue with her about this, people and their sentiment, you couldn’t talk them round once they had an idea planted. He only wished that she would see REASON, Tom was a complete moron and Sherlock genuinely felt that she at least deserved better than that, even if she would never want Sherlock himself. He could live with that as long as she were with the RIGHT person. Molly would never understand that Tom wasn’t that person until it would be too late and she would be heartbroken, and Sherlock would have to watch her ride through the tidal wave of hurt once more.
He was convinced that he was right, he could see right through Tom, he could see things that Molly could not. Despite it all, he really had no idea what to SAY, how to speak in a way that didn’t come off condescending and that which would make the situation WORSE.
“I always cared, and I never said he was good enough. He is looking at other women and I suspect that within the month he will have gone off with one of them, under your radar, of course.”
His lips pursed. That didn’t come out quite as gently as he’d hoped.
“Look, Molly…I—…I’m not trying to anger you. He is a moron, he does not appreciate you, at all, and you deserve better than the likes of him.”
His tone was desperate, yet composed, he needed her to SEE, but he had predicted that it was a fruitless endeavor. He had to try, though. He hated the fact that he even cared, that his time and effort was going to this sentimental drama that made his brain ROT, but he cared far too much for her and no longer could he let her toddle off to certain heartbreak.
Molly stood in silence, faced away from him as tears stung at her eyes. Her arms came to wrap around herself, hands gripping at her upper arms, digging into her FLESH.
“Do you really think me that blind? He’s not the brightest, Sherlock. Surely you remember the wedding.” she said, voice soft, eyes staring at the ceiling above, blinking rapidly to ease the burn.
“He’s good to me Sherlock..he’s kind. He’s the only man I’ve been with that’s treated me like I mattered, that put me first. I should at least give it a shot shouldn’t I? Try to make it work. That’s what normal people do.” she said, turning to him and taking a deep breath, trying to reel in everything she was feeling.
“Who’s going to want me Sherlock? How many more years do I have to play the dating game? I don’t want to end up alone.”
His face twisted into an image of regret when she had begun to cry. He blinked, confused, uncomprehending.
—— I didn’t mean—...
He listened to her words, his breath caught in his chest, unsure of what to do, what to say to make it better.
You DO matter. To me. Clearly he isn’t the only one —— Normal people..... What normal people? Give WHAT a shot? — there is no shot to GIVE.
But nothing could have prepared him for her final words;; who’s ever going to want me. And suddenly, against his own volition, he was stepping towards her.
“ You matter. To me. You always have. “ “ You don’t need someone to...—to be worth something, Molly. As long as you continue to deem yourself worthless, it will never matter how highly anyone holds you. “
Calling All Fellow Writers of Sherlock
{{ This is just a small PSA for those who write Sherlock and struggle (either RP or regular prose). There is this blog called @amateur-deductions that gives a lot of tips and tricks for deduction, reading body language, crime scenes, etc etc that helps A LOT - I repeat - A LOT, with writing in the aspects of Sherlock that most of us struggle with. There are actually quite a few of blog very similar to this one, check out their LINKS PAGE (click) for a list of other blogs that post information on deduction and other related resources.
▼ -shrlxcked
Send a ▼ for my muse to own your muse in handcuffs.
“Well, well, how are we feeling?”
“Don’t worry Mr Holmes, the effects will soon wear off. In fact you’re awake far sooner than I was advised. Now why is that I wonder..?”
Can’t move.. — .. Metal…. —…Arms above head….. ——
—.. Handcuffs…?
Sherlock dizzily awoke to a slurred voice. No concept of what was going on, except that he was handcuffed in a horizontal position and could not move. He coughed and his head lolled to the side with a guttural groan.
The figure focused just a bit, enough to make out some details—
— brunette hair fixed elegantly belstaff…? my coat??
red lipstick.. ——
“ Ir-…— “ ❝ Ms. Adler..—— ?? ❞
ι'м noт aғraιd oғ dyιng. ι aм aғraιd oғ тrυly lιvιng.
It’s My Note
Sherlock was FADING, pieces of him cascading into darkness. He is no longer aware enough to grasp the situation, to realize she has called the ambulance. And for a moment, it’s almost like he has slipped into the arms of death, he can not determine if he is even alive, if he isn’t simply an apparition fixed to this spot. He can’t feel his body, can’t gather any sort of experimental results that prove that he is anything more than a detached consciousness.
His body begins to shake as he seizes up, and the situation escalates from bad to WORSE—his vitals spike to a dangerously high level. By some cruel design, the phone in his pocket begins to chime—it’s JOHN, who has just found the note and calls in a panic much like Molly had done.
By the time the paramedics arrive he has gone dreadfully still, a still beating pulse the only HOPE that can be salvaged. Sherlock feels as though he has already drifted off, eerily aware of the scene, as though detached from his body and onlooking from afar. He wants to fight, to wake up, to get to his body which feels so FAR AWAY but it was although he were bound in chains, unable to move, unable to breathe, unable to CALCULATE a solution.
{🌼} She’s still kneeled over him when the paramedics arrive, frantic, but helpless. Had his wounds been visible she would have been in her element, sacrificing her scarf to apply pressure, forcing him to stay awake, but his wounds were those she could not see, the damage inflicted something that escaped the naked eye, and all she could do was clutch at his wrist hapless, trying to count under her breath, even as her eyes filled with tears and the sound of her own frenzied heartbeat filled her ears.
She fell away like a discarded toy once they started to work on Sherlock’s body, left on the dank ground it felt just like always had, she had served her purpose, and was exhausted for it. She could hardly see past the sea of bodies that were now crowding around Sherlock’s prone form, speaking in low, urgent tones that remain unheard by her. She felt NUMB, as though someone had took her forcibly by the shoulders and held her down in ice cold water, in fact the words sounded to her as though they were spoken underwater, and try as she might she could never make them out.
Moments pass, it feels like an eternity. Her phone buzzes constantly, but she barely registers it, her eyes fixed on the paramedics. She couldn’t tear her gaze away, almost as though she couldn’t spare another breath until she knew he was alright; and all of a sudden they announced they were taking him to hospital, and she was bundled in a blanket by god knows who, and they were asking her a million questions.
What did he take???
What did he TAKE?
What did he take??
And through fumbled apologies and frightened tears she tries desperately to tell them she doesn’t know, he never told her, and no, she doesn’t have the slightest clue how much except enough that he anticipated it would kill him. In the end, they find the syringe that were almost smashed underfoot, and she’s riding in the ambulance, holding his hand as she watches the street fly by, lights flashing in her face.
Everything that lay in Sherlock’s field of vision was a blur of indistinguishable faces and objects. Not a moment seemed to have passed and suddenly he could hear a siren blaring far, far off in the distance—faces surrounded him, a hand gripping his but he could not make anything of the situation other than that he felt DEAD.
dying dying
DYING
dying d y i n g dying
He was far too distant to feel any form of fear or terror, exactly, but rather his mind was going blank, blissfully, as the pain and the noise and the sensation that had TERRIFIED him slowly drained away until all that was left was a sheet of w h i t e .
And in the next moment, he was in the emergency room, covered in tubes and plastic and gloved hands. Needles in his arms, tubes down his throat, he felt as though he were cemented to the table. He could not move, could not think, he could not process the situation——
..— intravenous lines —.... ... ventilator .. h-...hemo...dialy..sis.... cold..... cold..... hot.... it’s cold... Molly... J-John....
Molly........where’s Molly.....
she was j-just here....
Isolated in his mind, by imagination he felt himself begin to convulse, fighting against the tubes and the wires and screaming at the t o p o f h i s l u n g s .
— let me go.... where’s Molly.... John..... give me—.....
In reality, he was as still as death. As he lay in the unit—unconscious, his body and his vitals constantly monitored closely, the doctors working to lower his body temperature and calm his heart rate, attempting to flush the drugs out of his system—the hallucination ravaged him until he couldn’t TAKE IT anymore, until he wanted to DIE just to end the PAIN, the panic, the loneliness, the confusion.
pleaѕe don'т leave мe ; ι'м тιred oғ вeιng leғт alone
{{ Continued from here w/ @mollythepathologist }}
It had been a TRICKY situation, or perhaps out of context, not tricky at all—a perfectly convoluted plan gone wrong.
—— It was intense. I was on the brink of DEATH, — but I escaped with impeccable timing — .....at the expense of a blow to face.
Or, perhaps, he had simply lost his footing, tripped, and face planted into pavement...
but Molly didn’t need to know that.
“Mm, perhaps a combination of the two.”
He gave a wry grin, but quickly winced as the contraction of muscles sent fine strings of pain through his entire face. He was grateful that no one had been around to see his clumsy mishap, greatest of all John, although he was certain had Molly known the truth she would give him an earful of mockery as well.
also does anyone else look up definitions for words you 100% already know but check anyway like 3 times to make sure you don’t use it wrong and make a fool of yourself
and at once i knew i was not magnificent
Sherlock knew that the man was deconstructing him, it was obvious by the focus in Jim’s face. He wasn’t doing it well, Sherlock acknowledged,
——probably appearance based. Mmm. He thinks I look odd. —Everyone’s a critic.
“And exactly how did you think I’d smell?” Sherlock spat, raising a brow, remaining apparently unfazed by Jim’s invasive touch along the bottom hems of his shirt. He knew where this was going to lead, he wasn’t THAT dense. His senses came alive, his mind suddenly racing.
Danger? Pain? Intimacy?????
Danger? No. The situation wasn’t dangerous, per say—weird? Oh yes, weird as hell. Potentially regretful.
Weird. Very weird. oddly pleasurable. interesting. want.
— if this is what it takes ——
Sherlock swallowed. And with a newly found courage, his hands suddenly grabbed onto the man’s lapel and pulled him up until their faces nearly met.
“What do I smell like?”
When you get this, respond with five things that make you happy. Then send to the last ten people in your notifications anonymously.
{{ I was going to respond to this in character but eh.
1. Cats 2. Sherlock 3. Traveling 4. Getting compliments/appreciation on my art/writing/etc 5. Dance
i have g r e e t e d dear
A G O N Y
i have clasped hands with
D E A T H
one is my
D E S T I N Y
the other is my
F R I E N D
So we’re good, then?
Reblog if you have no triggers when it comes to what you rp.
This is for people who might have twisted ideas for rp, and want people to know they’re open to it. Doesn’t mean you condone, but if you want the dark stuff, the stuff that makes people squirm, and aren’t triggered — I think it’d be good to let people know. Triggers aren’t something unacceptable, of course. But I think it’d be good to help people find others that don’t have that limit to themselves and are fortunate enough to not experience triggering things.
