without like spoiling anything crazy (because this will probably be my next fic haha) ummhmhh d3r/dorian and avery are brothers kind of. i cant decide if theyre actually related or just super close or whatever
ANYWAY dorian moves out for college and avery MISSES HIM and dorian misses him too but of course hes not gonna actually say that, right. anyways they arrange a little minecraft thursday type deal where every thursday (the one night a week that d3r doesnt have class) they hop on a discord call and play minecraft. avery would also probably try to drag him into skyblock as well, which d3r HAAATES (fondly) and does it anyway
"oh but honey!!! but honeyturtle!!! youre the number one d3rking fan!! wheres the king!!" so you see
hastur is an english major, much to the disdain of everyone in their life, because damn it kid you should be pursuing engineering!!! youre so good at it!!! but theyre like nope im readin my books or whatever. they much prefer to use their insane computer ability for nefarious things. may or may not include hacking a certain block game.
anyways, hastur and dorian are placed as roommates. d3r fucking hates this tall annoying bitch thats always doing weird creepy shit and has a weird way of talking and has weirdly double-jointed hands and keeps GRIEFING his BUILDS
hastur cant beat avery at skyblock though, so thats what really matters. and sometimes they help dorian with his engineering homework (not that dorian needs it, of course, but hastur rather likes leaning over his shoulder to "review his work")
Must share my Gyutaro idea I need you all to know how feral I am for him.
You work in the entertainment district at the same house as Warabahime. You're simply a maid of sorts who also helps get the girls dressed and put their makeup on before opening. You don't treat clients or anything like that. You just sort of blend into the background. And oh boy does the oiran not like you. She hates you so much just like she hates everyone else. She thinks you're too soft.
But Gyutaro on the other hand who can watch you work from behind his sister's eyes, feels drawn to you. You're so sweet to everyone around you. Despite Ume being so cruel to you it seems you still treat her with kindness. He watches the way you help the young girls clean even after being so worn down from your own chores. Sees you bring smiles to everyone around you. And you're so pretty that it makes his head spin and his skin itch. He wants to peel you open and crawl inside.
He begs her, his crackling voice filling her brain annoyingly, "Ume please stop being so mean."
And she can just tell, he's whipped. Usually, Gyutaro doesn't take a liking to anyone. The only people that matter in his life are Ume and himself. But you, you hold his attention in the most irritating way.
Begrudgingly, she let's up. Just a bit. And the more her brother falls in love with you the more she starts to acknowledge you. Slowly, awkwardly, she befriends you all for his sake. She asks about you, knowing he's listening, and she throws in these absentminded comments about her 'wonderful big brother'.
One night, she asks if you want to meet him. And then she helps you sneak out of the house with her. She leaves you in a dark alley, promising she'll be right back, she just has to go grab him, and you start to wonder if all her random kindness was just to lure you out and kill you or something. People have been disappearing around the district. It wouldn't be impossible.
After a few moments you work up the courage to go looking for her. But suddenly, as you spin around, there's someone there. Looming over you, shrouding you in his shadow, is the brother that Warabahime told you about. You nearly jump out of your skin but surprisingly you don't scream or shout. You don't cry and run like he assumed you would. You don't even look away.
In fact, you seem to be struggling to do so. You've never seen someone who looks quite like him before. Someone so tall, somehow wide and thin at the same time, with proportions that seem out of place, black marks on his face, with green and black hair tied back, it's all so odd. He doesn't speak, just waits with a boiling pit in his stomach. He knows you'll scream soon. It doesn't matter how often Ume tried to convince him otherwise.
"They aren't like that. Don't be such a baby."
He's disgusting. He knows that. He's wrong. Definitely not meant for someone as beautiful as yourself. You deserve better than him. You are better. He just wanted the chance to meet you. He should have never come out. That pit grows as you stay silent, gnawing at him down to the bone, and he can feel it twisting into that blind rage.
Of course you'd think you're better than him.
When Warabahime finally slips back into the picture she glances between you two like she's watching a play that's about to turn tragic. You start to move, shuffling slowly until you're behind her, and you bow your head to hide. Your wide, round eyes poking out and staring at him.
"He's so pretty."
You whisper it with nerves prickling up your spine. It's hard to explain how you feel looking at him. Yes, he's clearly not human, and you should probably be worried about dying, but you aren't. You're too busy looking into his eyes before tearing your gaze away in embarrassment and flushing a pretty shade.
Warabahime repeats your words, louder, a tone of disbelief in her voice at what she's hearing. And Gyutaro barely let's his gaze flicker to her.
Him? Pretty? You think...
Gyutaro reaches up with both hands, scratching at his face, grumbling about how you have to be lying. The way you watch him from behind his sister without an ounce of digust in your eyes makes it worse. He'd been so resigned to believing you'd reject him that it's impossible to accept.
Your lips part and you gasp at the sight, stepping back into his view, "you shouldn't do that! You'll hurt yourself!"
Care.
You care.
You're caring.
For him.
His hands still, sharp nails prodding at his cheeks, until you reach up and gently take hold of his wrists. Slowly, you bring his arms down.
Why aren't you running? Why are you even letting him look at you? Why are you touching him? He's going to taint your beautiful purity. His inky blackness of filth seeping into the flowery petals of your soul.
My Hero Academia is Officially Ending and I'm Fucking Coping 😭
So, it was officially announced early today, June 24th, 2024, by Shueshia and mangaka, Kohei Horikoshi, that My Hero Academia/Boku no Hero Academia will officially end in 5 chapters on Chapter 430. The last chapter will be released at the beginning of August after 10 years of publication in Weekly Shonen Jump magazine if all goes well.
I woke up to this news. I'm sitting here on my laptop typing this as a way of coping tbh. On the outside, I'm numb and stunned. On the inside, I'M SCREAMING, CRYING, THROWING UP, MOURNING LIKE I LOST A LOVED ONE WTF 😭
*sigh* But, this was going to happen eventually. It was only a matter of when. When Horikoshi said that we would have more epilogue to cover, I thought "Maybe he'll give us 10 more chapters!" Turns out it is 6-7 chapters instead... In Horikoshi's defense, 6-7 chapters are much longer than what most mangaka have given us for epilogues to their stories. I'd rather have him give us 5 more chapters of an epilogue than rush it in 1-2. Plus, if possible, we could potentially get 19-20 pages per chapter which might be just enough to wrap everything up. And since final chapters of manga tend to be longer than usual, we could get extra pages in the last chapter to finish everyone's arcs and the story properly.
Still, it's so wild to see a series I have loved for years and have such a strong attachment to end as I am following it. I have been a part of many fandoms before and have stuck around them for years (Pokémon, Supernatural, Doctor Who, Breaking Bad, and many more), but it's not often that I've been there there to see a series come to it's conclusion. Sometimes that can turn out well (Breaking Bad) and other times I've seen it end badly (Supernatural; only read about it and it was not great. I bounced after season 13? and I am so sorry to the fandom). My Hero Academia is one of the very few series I will see through to the end.
I'm really coping here, honestly. I've been a fan of My Hero Academia since 2018. I first heard about the series randomly through the internet, but I didn't fully introduce myself to it until I listened to a cover of The Day on YouTube (I forget the artist, I'm so sorry). I thought the song was so cool and that led to me listening to more covers of MHA OPs (Peace Sign is still GOATed btw). This eventually led me to the manga and the anime where I became truly immersed in the series. I started reading the manga around the Joint Training Arc (I think) which was definitely an interesting time to read the manga because the chapters where so short due to Horikoshi dealing with health and I think moving conflicts at the time. It was still an enjoyable arc and enough to keep me interested in reading from the beginning. I want to say I started the anime around season 3?, but I started at the beginning and worked my way up from there. "Shoto Todoroki: Origin" was the episode that finally solidified my love for the series and is still my favorite episode of the series.
To say that MHA has an important place in my heart is an understatement. (⚠️Warning: very quick mention of suicide) I was very sad and depressed in the latter half of 2018. My life didn't feel like it was going anywhere and I was close to giving up entirely. (⚠️ ). Finding and loving MHA during that time honestly might have saved my life. As strange as it sounds, it was one of the few things that brought me genuine happiness at the time. I had something to look forward to every week and it was thrilling. I still remember debating whether Deku or Shoto was my favorite character. Shoto took the top spot in my heart, but Deku is a very close second 🩵💚.
Seeing MHA end is heartbreaking, honestly. I'm watching something I truly love come to an end. We'll still have the anime, movies, and spin-off series to keep us busy for the next few years, but the manga that started it all is coming to a close. It feels so, so surreal. God, is this how the Haikyuu fandom felt when it’s manga ended? My hope is that this fandom can be kept alive long after the series is over. The MHA fandom DEFINITELY has it's flaws, but it also has a lot of good in it too. I have seen incredible art and fanfics come from this fandom. I have laughed and hyped up some of the best moments of MHA with people who love it too. I know that the fandom is collectively mourning its end and I know we'll all cry bittersweet tears when it ends. If anything, I am glad to see Kohei Horikoshi end his momentous story on his own terms. I hope it ends up being one of the best manga endings in recent Shonen Jump like how Haikyuu's was. I think Horikoshi can do it. Regardless of how it ends, My Hero Academia will be one of my favorite pieces of fiction. I am really glad to be here to celebrate it.
When they arrived back at 221B, John and Sherlock were still out of breath. They had decided against taking a taxi back home and instead walked. They are immediately greeted byMrs. Hudson. Her hair was slightly out of place, and she appeared to be extremely stressed. Her eyes began to water.
Mrs. Hudson, what’s wrong?” Asked John, as he quickly made his way over to her, giving her a hug to help calm her down.
Mrs Hudson began patting John on the back as she struggled to find the words. “Sherlock, what have you done? They’re all upstairs. Say it’s a drug bust!” By the end, she was practically yelling at him. Immediately John and Sherlock dashed up the stairs.
Exiting her flat, Y/N rushed towards her aunt. “Auntie M, what’s wrong?” Mrs. Hudson could only point up to 221 B. Deciding that her distressed Aunt was more important than whatever was going on upstairs, she guided Mrs. Hudson back into her apartment. Bringing her over to the sofa, she placed Mrs. Hudson down, wrapping a pink and green hand-knitted blanket around her shoulders. Y/N made her way over to the kitchen where she began heating a cup of tea for her aunt all while Mrs Hudson was nervously chatting about what Sherlock gets up to in his apartment. She cared for Sherlock as if he was her own son. The same went for John. “I tell him that he should stop with all those strange experiments!”
“I’m sure you do Auntie M,” reassured Y/N, handing Mrs. Hudson the steamy cup of herbal tea. Sitting down, Y/N intently listened to her occasionally nodding her head in agreement. Loud footsteps and occasional yelling, mostly done by Sherlock, could be heard from upstairs. It was hard for Y/N to determine what they were saying since the sound was muffled by the walls. The ringing of the doorbell interrupted Mrs. Hudson’s worried rant and they both rose to answer the call. Y/N, not wanting to disturb her aunt’s calmed state, told her, “I’ll get the door”. Making her way out of her aunt’s apartment and into the hall she paused trying to see if she could hear the conversation upstairs better. The doorbell rang again, and she turned to open the door. She was greeted by a familiar smiling face of an elder man.
He slightly pulls down the front of his hat in greeting. “Have we met before Miss?” His smile grows wider.
Y/N’s eyes widen in realization. Her grip on the door tightens as her jaw clenches. “No… we haven’t.” She shakenly says.
“Righ’ your the American from the airpor’ who turn’d down my offer.” Y/N gulps. “The cab Mr. 'olmes called is here.” He looked down towards his hands and Y/N’s eye followed till it landed on a gun pointed directly at her. “I suggest you get in the car, while we wait for the famous detective to come. It’s quite cold outside.” Y/N shuttered and took in a deep breath.
Not once breaking eye contact, Y/N called out, “Auntie M, can you tell Sherlock the cab he called is here? I’m going out to make sure the cab doesn’t leave”.
Mrs. Hudson came out of the apartment with the blanket still wrapped around her shoulders. “Of course, dear.” Y/N slightly closes the door, so her aunt doesn’t see the firearm as she makes her way up to Sherlock’s apartment. Once her aunt was out of sight, she grabbed her jacket from the coat rack and made her way out the door. The man latched onto the arm and pulled her in close so that the gun was pointed directly between her ribs. Y/N winced in pain. Once they reached the car, he opened the door and Y/N stepped inside.
“We’ve found Rachel, Sherlock.” States Greg as he straightens his overcoat.
Sherlock turns towards the man, “Who is she?”
“She’s Jennifer’s daughter. Well, dead daughter,” He replies, looking quite proud of himself.
Sherlock frowned, causing his forehead to crease. “Why? Why her deceased daughter’s name?”
Just then, Anderson comes into the room holding the pink suitcase. “We found the case. Even better, we found it in the hands of our favourite psychopath.” Anderson turns to Sherlock, giving him a smug smirk.
Sherlock glared back at Anderson. “I’m not a psychopath. I’m a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research, Anderson.” Turning back towards Lestrade he questioned, “How long has the daughter been dead?”
“Dead for 14 years, was stillborn.” Explained Lestrade.
John chimed in with an idea of his. “You said that the victims all took the poison themselves, that he made them take it. Well, maybe he ... I don’t know, talks to them? Maybe he used the death of her daughter somehow?”
“That was ages ago, why…” As if a lightbulb went off in Sherlock’s head, “She was clever. Jennifer Wilson was trying to tell us something.”
Before he could continue, Mrs. Hudson had entered the room explaining to Sherlock that his taxi was there, and that Y/N was waiting in the taxi for him. “I didn’t order a taxi, Mrs. Hudson. You can tell Y/N to let it leave.”
“But Sherlock,” pleaded Mrs. Hudson.
“Shut up, everybody, shut up! Don’t move, don't speak, don’t breathe. I’m trying to think.” Sherlock brought his hands to the sides of his face and began to rub his temples. “Anderson, turn the other way. You’re putting me off.” Anderson was about to snap back at him, but Lestrade shot him a glare. Like a puppy with its tail between its legs, he complied with Sherlock’s wishes. A few minutes passed by in silence. Then Sherlock began to smile. “Ah! Clever! She was cleverer than you lot and she’s dead. She planted her phone on him. Planted her phone on the killer.” He began pacing around the room, occasionally stopping in random places. “She knew she was going to die, so she left us a clue to her killer.” Everyone in the room shared a look of confusion, none of them having the courage to ask. Sherlock noticed this and continued. “Rachel!” Lestrade looked at John for some answers but found none. John was just as clueless as everyone else. “Rachel is not a name,” Sherlock explained. “John, there's an email address on the luggage label.”
John goes over to the luggage and reads it aloud. “jennie . pink @ mephone . org . uk”. Sherlock nods, pulling out his computer and opening the Mephone website, and begins typing the email in. John comes up behind him as Sherlock is about to type in the password. “It’s Rachel, isn’t it?” inquires John. Sherlock nods.
Scoffing Anderson remarked, “So we can read her emails, impressive Sherlock.”
Not taking his eyes off of the screen, Sherlock retorted, “Anderson, don’t talk out loud. You’ll lower the I.Q of the whole street.” Then looking towards Lestrade as he began to explain, “We can track the GPS on her phone. She’s led us right to her killer.” Pressing some buttons he continued, trying to track the phone.
“Sherlock, dear. Y/N…”
“Mrs. Hudson, isn’t time for you to take your hip soothers?”
When the computer finally loads the location of the phone Sherlock and John can’t help but be confused. “How can it be here?” mutters Sherlock. He stands out of the chair and begins pacing the room again. Discussion between John and Lestrade occurs, but Sherlock zones them out. “Who do we trust, even if we don’t know them?” muttered Sherlock. Glancing out the window, he saw a black cab. Who do we trust? Someone’s missing. Y/N...Where’s. Sherlock’s eyes widen and his breath hitches for only a moment. He turns around and dashes towards Mrs. Hudson. “Where is Y/N, Mrs. Hudson? Where’s your niece.” His voice grows quieter. “Please, it’s urgent.”
Mrs. Hudson repeated, “I’ve tried to tell you. She’s waiting in the taxi for you. The one you called.” Without another word, Sherlock heads towards the door.
Sensing something wrong, John rushes after him. “Are you alright Sherlock?”. Sherlock stops and looks over his shoulder back at John.
“Just popping outside for a moment.” Without another word, Sherlock was gone. The uneasiness in John’s stomach did not disappear. Reluctantly he returned to the apartment.
The cab was freezing, despite the thermometer stating that it was 21.6 degrees Celsius. (70.88 degrees F) Y/N was facing straight ahead. Her face was filled with worry. She fiddled with her hands to distract her from the gun pointing at her. Inside she was panicking. Her whole body is stiff as a board. Her knuckles turned white, as she clenched her hands into fists. Her mind had gone into defence mode. She noticed how the driver kept his stare on her from the corner of her eye. His face contorted into a spine-chilling smile. A stray tear escaped her eyes as they waited and waited for Sherlock to come downstairs.
“If Mr ‘olmes doesn’t make an appearance. At least I have you. Fate has a funny way of fallin’ into place.” The man chuckled. “An’ ere I thought you were the one who got away.”
Eventually, the sound of a door could be heard. Followed by the sound of footsteps. Y/N prayed to God that it was Sherlock, but she knew having hope in these situations was never a good thing. To her luck, Sherlock opened the side door and entered the cab. Taking the seat behind Y/N. Sherlock acknowledged the driver and the cab took off. Turning his head to look at Y/N through the rearview mirror, Sherlock noticed she was extremely distressed. Multiple iridescent tears coated her now pale cheeks. Sherlock didn’t know why, but he felt guilty. He felt guilty for leaving her in the care of a serial killer. He felt guilty for pushing her away. Maybe if he had been a little more kind, she wouldn’t be in this mess with him. He felt even more guilty thinking of the possibility of what could have happened if he had waited even longer to reach the cab.
Jeff, the cab driver, became more comfortable as his newfound power over the two in the cab increased. Sherlock noticed this. He also knew that he would get cocky. Discreetly he pulled out his phone and hit the record button, then placed it back in his pocket. Again, Sherlock was right. “No one ever thinks about the cabbies. You’re invisible. A proper advantage for a serial killer.” Jeff smugly explains.
Sherlock urged Jeff on. “Is this a confession?”
Jeff took his eyes off the road. “Yeah. An’ I’ll tell you what: I didn’ kill those four people, Mr’ olmes. I spoke to them. One on one...an’ they killed themselves.”
“I want to understand. I want to know what you said to them,” demanded Sherlock.
Jeff chuckled, “Alrigh’ Mr’olmes. I’ll talk to yer…”
“And then you’ll kill me?” inquired Sherlock.
The car came to a red light and Jeff turned back to look directly at Sherlock. “No...you’re gonna kill yourself.” The stoplight turned green, and Jeff turned back to face the front.
“What’ll happen to her? Are you going to have her kill herself as well?” Sherlock asked. Y/N’s eyes grew watery at the thought, and she took in a shaky breath.
“No…after you’re dead. I’m gonna shoot her wit’ this gun. Righ’ here,” Jeff said as he brought the gun up to Y/N’s head.
Y/N’s hand turned completely white from her grip. Sherlock looked in the rearview mirror making eye contact with Y/N. If his blue eyes could convey a message, they would be saying “Don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to you” Even if she was still angry with him earlier, the gesture was all she had.
Feeling his power slowly disappear, Jeff blurted “I was warned about you.”
Sherlock raised his eyebrow in intrigue. “Who warned you about me?”
Looking at Y/N, Jeff replied, “Just an old friend.”
Leaning closer to Jeff, Sherlock asked “Who?”
Jeff chuckled, feeling an air of power being restored to him. “You’ve got yourself a fan.”
Looking out the window, John reports on what Sherlock is doing. “He just got in a cab. Now he’s driven off in the cab.”
Having enough Donovan bellowed “He bloody left again! We’re wasting our time!”
An idea pops into John’s head as he reaches for the computer. Silently praying to God that he isn’t right. He presses the reload button on the GPS. Grumbling stirred the quiet atmosphere of the apartment and Lestrade let his tired officers go home.
“Why’d Sherlock do that? Why’d he leave?” interrogated Lestrade.
John shrugged his shoulders, “Don’t know, but I have an idea. Just hope to God that I’m wrong.”
Lestrade approaches him, a wave of concern washing over him. “What is this idea?”
“It involves tracking the phone.”
The computer beeps signally that the site had reloaded. Upon further inspection, the GPS was on the move. John clenches the bridge of his nose. “God Sherlock. I swear you’ll be the death of me.”
Lestrade looks at John and then at the screen, then back at John. “What is it?”
John looks at Lestrade, frustration seeping from every pore. “He got into a cab with the killer.”
Arriving at their destination, Jeff escorts the two out of the car, grabbing Y/N and jabbing the gun into her side. Sherlock follows Jeff, his eyes locked onto the gun in Y/N’s side. “Where are we?” He asks, trying to distract Jeff’s focus on the silent brunette.
“You know exactly where we are Mr’olmes.”
“Roland-Kerr Further Education College.” States Sherlock. Jeff nods as he and Y/N enter the building. Sherlock follows close behind. The college was empty, just like any school during the breaks. It was cold. The air was dry from all the air conditioning. The architecture was quite old but it was modernized by all the technology found in the rooms. Eventually, they arrived at their destination which was some sort of study hall. Jeff dragged Y/N and sat her down, then took a seat beside her. Sherlock stayed by the door, observing the situation. Taking out two darkly tinted bottles, Jeff placed them on the table. One in front of him and one in front of the seat that Sherlock was supposed to sit in. Walking over to the table, Sherlock snatched up his bottle and took the seat opposite Jeff. His blue eyes locked onto the woman who kept glancing down towards the gun in Jeff’s hand and then back at Sherlock.
“What do you think? '' inquires Jeff as if he’d just invited a friend to his home. Sherlock shrugs his shoulders in response, his gaze not leaving Y/N. “Gonna give you some time to think this o’er while littl’ lady and I have a private chat.”
A cry leaves the woman’s mouth. Sherlock’s voice becomes firm, “She stays here.” Jeff sensing Sherlock’s challenge brings the gun to Y/N’s head. “I hate to mess up my plans, but she ca’ go first.” Reluctantly Sherlock backs down as the cab driver escorts Y/N out of the room.
Y/N’s composure breaks the further away she gets from Sherlock. All she can think about is the gun jabbed against her back. Eventually, they enter a classroom. From her blurred view, Y/N sees that all the desks and chairs have been pushed up against the walls. There were many windows present in the room and under the windows were heaters. The man dragged Y/N across the room, shoving her to the ground. Y/N couldn’t help but yelp in pain as her wrists made contact with the hard floor. Afterwards, the man grabbed her wrists and handcuffed them to the heater. Tears were now falling freely down her face and she began to cry.
“Now now, littl’ miss. We can’t have that.” Then he pulls out a gag and covers her mouth, muting her cries. “Sit there and be a good littl’ girl.” Crouching down in front of her, the cab driver took a minute to wipe the hair and tears from her face with the gun. In response, Y/N shivered, and the man smiled. He stood up and with that left. Leaving Y/N alone in the dark with the hanging threat of death looming above her.
It had been 5 minutes since the man had taken Y/N. There were times when her cries and whimpers could be heard and Sherlock so desperately wanted to rescue her. Though he knew if he did he would have to explain to Mrs. Hudson why her niece was shot in the head because of his impatience. Eventually, the man returned to the room; without Y/N.
Sherlock stood up and demanded to know where Y/N was. The cab driver smiled. He motioned to the pill bottles in front of them “It’s up to you, you and this pretty littl’ lady are who’s gonna die ‘ere.”
“No we’re not,” informed Sherlock.
“That’s what they all tell me, Mr’olmes.”
“Bit risky, wasn’t it? Taking me and Y/N under the eye of probably a dozen policemen and women.”
“Nah. You call that risk?” Jeff motions to the bottles in front of them with the gun, “This is a risk.” Sherlock cocks his eyebrow at Jeff. “You’re gonna love this Mr. ‘olmes.”
“Love what?” Sherlock narrows his eyes at Jeff, “Oh, I see. You’re telling me that you’re a proper genius too. Right, Jeff?” Jeff only smiles in response gesturing his arms out wide, practically waving the gun in Sherlock’s face. “Two bottles. Explain.”
“There’s a good bottle and a bad bottle. You take the pill from the good bottle, you live; take the pill from the bad bottle, you die” explained Jeff.
“But both bottles are the exact same.”
“In every way. It’s a game you see.”
“A game?”
“Of course, you’re the one who chooses. Whatever bottle you choose, I take the pill from the other bottle. Then we take the medicine together. As I said, it’s your choice.”
“How’s Y/N come into this? Why'd you drag her along?”
Jeff leans closer toward Sherlock, “Pretty littl’ lady saw my face. When I saw her with the good old Mr. ’olmes, I couldn’t just let her get away, now could I?”
“You said that I’d kill myself,” states Sherlock.
“Well, it’s all part of the game. You see, in one of the bottles, there’s a good pill and a bad pill. You take the pill from the good bottle you live; take the pill from the bad bottl,and you die. Your choice, Mr ‘olmes.” Sitting comfortably back in his chair, Jeff smiled. “Take your time. I want your best game. Don’t worry, you can’t see through the bottle.”
Glaring Sherlock hissed, “It’s not a game. It’s chance.”
“I’ve played 4 times Mr. ‘olmes. If it was chance, I’d be dead. No, it’s a game of chess.” Jeff licks his top lip as he observes Sherlock.
“Are you ready Mr ‘olmes? Ready to play?” cackles Jeff.
“Still just chance. Those 4 previous times, just luck.” Remarks Sherlock.
“I know ‘ow people think, Mr ‘olmes. I know ‘ow people think, I think. I can see it all. Everyone is so stupid, even you.” Sherlock crinkles his nose. “I think it’s time to play, Mr. ‘olmes.” smiles Jeff motioning towards the bottles.
Placing his elbows on the table, Sherlock enters his signature thinking pose. “I am playing, and now it’s my turn. There’s shaving foam behind your left ear. Nobody’s pointed it out to you. Obviously, you live on your own; there’s no one to tell you. There's a photograph of children. The children’s mother has been cut out of the picture. If she’d died, she’d still be there. Estranged father. She took the kids, but you still love them, and it still hurts. “Jeff winces and his grip on the gun tightens. “Three years ago – is that when they told you? Told you that you’re dying?” Jeff chuckles in response. “You didn’t kill those people out of bitterness. This is about love. Your children.”
“You’re good, Mr ‘olmes. My kids won’t get much when I die, but I have a sponsor.”
“Sponsor?”
“For every life I take, money goes to my kids.”
“Who’d sponsor a serial killer” interrogates Sherlock.
Jeff leaning forward whispers to Sherlock, “Who’d be a fan of Sherlock ‘olmes?”
“Who?”
Who’d be a fan of Sherlock ‘olmes?.” Jeff nods towards the bottles. “Choose.” Sherlock’s gaze looks between the bottles.
Standing up out of his seat, Sherlock remarks, “What if I don’t choose either? I could just take Y/N and leave. Walk out of here.”
Sighing, Jeff brings the gun to face Sherlock. Jeff smiles, “You can walk out, but I get to shoot you and littl’ miss in the head.” He makes an explosion sound. “Or you can take your 50-50 chance.” Sherlock’s jaw tightens as he sits back down. “Play the game.” Sherlock swipes up the bottle in front of him.
“Oh, interesting.” chuckles the man, motioning for Sherlock to take the pill “Go ahead, Mr ‘olmes. You know, you’re not the only one to enjoy a good murder. There are othersoutt there just like you, except you’re just a man…and they’re so much more than that.” Sherlock’s nose twitches in distaste for the cab driver.
Sherlock looks at the bottle and picks it up. “What d’you mean, more than a man?”
The cab driver chuckles, “I bet you get bored, don’t you? I know you do. A manlikese you. What’s the point of being clever if you can’t prove it? Take the pill, Mr. ‘olmes.” Sherlock lowers the pill down eyeing the man. “You’d do anything…anything at all…to stop being bored.” Then Sherlock glances at the pill bringing it closer to his mouth, Jeff, the cab driver follows.
A gun fires. A body falls to the floor. Sherlock looks in the direction of the shot. Finding John holding a gun. John dropped the gun and ran out of the room. Coughing from beneath Sherlock erupts. A pool of crimson-red blood flows out of Jeff. Something in Sherlock snaps and he grabs the collar of Jeff’s shirt. “I was right. Wasn’t I?” Jeff doesn’t respond. “Who was it? Who’s the sponsor? Who’s my fan?!” he demands. Jeff just chuckles, coughing up blood. “Give me a name.” Jeff just shakes his head. Sherlock responds by squeezing the injured shoulder and Jeff gasps.
Sherlock’s eyes grow dark with fury. “The NAME!” bellows Sherlock.
Giving in to the immense pain in his shoulder, Jeff gasps “Moriarty.” It’s barely loud enough for Sherlock to hear, but he’s satisfied and drops the dying to the floor. Blood stains his right hand.
At some point in time, a few officers entered the room, Greg comes forward asking Sherlock where Y/N is. They eventually find her tied up and gagged a few rooms down, Her face stained with tears and her wrists red from her struggle. Sherlock just stands in the doorway as they free her. One of the officers wrapped an orange blanket around Y/N’s shoulders and took her outside, taking her away from the high-functioning sociopath. Placing her inside an ambulance for her to be checked out. Sherlock approaches the ambulance. Sitting only a few feet away from Y/N in the back of the ambulance. An EMT places a blanket on him and He keeps taking off the orange blanket and an EMT keeps replacing it.
“I’m not in shock!” Exasperated Sherlock. By now the news reporters had shown up. They always seemed attracted to crime like mosquitoes to blood. Their flashing lights caused Y/N to wince. Rising from his seat Sherlock moved to sit next to Y/N. “I’m sorry,” was all he could muster. To say Sherlock was ashamed wasn’t enough. Y/N could only nod in response. “Are you alright?”
“No, I was kidnapped, held at gunpoint and had my life threatened,” explains Y/N. A pregnant silence fills the air. “I thought that he’d…I thought that he shot you.” It was Sherlock’s turn to be silent. Then she shivered. Noticing this Sherlock took off the orange blanket from his shoulders and places it around her. Y/N looked into Sherlock’s eyes giving him a soft smile. Then she brushed her hair away from her face and wiped the salty, dry tears off her cheeks.
A cough interrupted the two of them. It was Lestrade. “We’ll bring you two in tomorrow. You can go when you’ve recovered.” They nod. They sit there for a while longer. Sherlock glances over at the woman noticing her eyes getting heavy.
“Would you like to return home?” asks Sherlock. She nods and then reluctantly Y/N removes the blankets from her figure and the two exit the ambulance.
John was waiting for them on the other side of the police tape, away from all the reporters. “Donovan’s just been explaining everything, dreadful. Are you alright Y/N?” asked John in concern.
“I’m not dead.” She replies quietly.
Sherlock looks at John for a moment, then quietly replies, “Good shot.” John slightly blushes from embarrassment, failing to look innocent.
“Are you alright?” asks Sherlock.
John slightly nods, placing his hands into his pockets, “Yes, of course. I should be asking you two that.”
“Well, you just killed a man,” comments Sherlock.
“Well, yes, I…” Knowing that his friends have seen through his horrible attempt at a lie he sighed,
“That’s true, isn’t it? But he wasn’t a nice man.”
“No. No, he wasn’t really,” reassures Sherlock. Turning towards Y/N he placed his hands on her shoulders. Causing Y/N to slightly jump. “Let’s get you back to 221b Baker Street.”
“No cabs,” mutter Y/N.
“No cabs” repeats Sherlock offering her a sympathetic smile.
John couldn’t help but smile. His eyes crinkled at the corners. The three of them make their way back to Baker Street, and a comfortable silence fell across the trio. They were oblivious to the fact that someone was watching them from a black car down the street. The windows of the car were tinted so darkly, no one could see inside.
“They could be the making of my brother. We’d better upgrade their surveillance status. Grade Three Active.” Ordered Mycroft.
His assistant looked up from her phone. “Sorry, Mr. Holmes. Whose status?”
Mycroft’s eyes squint at the three figures as they grow smaller and smaller, eventually turning on a street, and disappearing from view. “Sherlock Holmes, Doctor John Watson, and Miss Y/N L/N.”
That’s the end of the first episode! Next week will be a new story that I’ve adapted to fit the BBC TV series. I hope you enjoy it. Please comment below if you would like to be added to the tag list.
Tag list: @starlightaurorab @biggerthancalli13 @themartiansdaughter
Description: It's Hermione's last night at Hogwarts. She and an unexpected dance partner generate enough heat to burn the floor.
Review: Oh. my. GOD. Never would I have thought that I could be so turned on just by the description of two people DANCING. This is a oneshot turned "fiveshot" really, but do yourself a favor and read it!!!
