#blogofjohnhamishwatson

[axholmes]

Continued from here.

Sherlock hummed, shifting from where he sat at Jo’s bedside and rising, moving to the end of the former professor’s bed for the chart. With it in hand, he handed it to Jo,

“About right.” He murmured, sitting back in his chair, picking up the blanket and resettling it over his lap. “Read over your chart.”

There was no point in hiding the it from Jo. One way or the other, Jo would find out when the doctor came in.

                                                                                                               { we-are-londons-finest }

[axholmes]

Closed |  BoJHW

Sherlock stood there, the chill of London's winter seeping in through the thickness of her beloved coat. Dispassionately, she gazed down at the body before her, a neat bullet hole in the middle of the body's forehead. It wasn't a person anymore, after all.

It had stopped being a man the second a bullet tore through its head, splattering brain and blood behind it.

“Why am I here, Lestrade?” She questioned, hands tucked into her coat for warmth. “It was a hit, even you can see that, no?” She titled her chin, the tickle of a curl against her throat and irritated, push the hair back off her shoulder. “Clean; through and through. Obviously professional. You'll find nothing off the bullet, no prints, nothing.”

It wasn't even a two on her list. If there had been an MO? Something to tie it to other hits or murders? It would have gotten a higher rating. As it was, it was a dull murder; one would have to be blind to not see it was a mob hit.

There was no reason for her to be here.

[axholmes]

Closed | BoJHW

Sherlock had known John was going to hide his suppressants; knowing and seeing? Were two different things. When he forced himself to climb from the bed and leave the comfort of the scent of John and their recent mating behind, Sherlock dragged a hand down his face, willing himself to not get angry at his missing medication.

There would be no finding it, of that Sherlock was sure. John would do more than hide them, after all: he would throw them away.

That had been three weeks ago.

The first week had been fine; Sherlock's body was still overcome with the bonding, was still settling in as a mated omega.

The second week, everything had settled and Sherlock was beginning to feel what he had long since suppressed. An omega, after all, was more than just womb; while the lacked the strength of an alpha, they had the senses of one.

The third week? Those senses Sherlock had long suppressed, came back.

It was overwhelming and he laid, sprawled on the couch with a cool, damp cloth over his eyes to block out the world around him and, to attempt to tame the throbbing in his skull. Migraines were awful things.

[xxxholmes-blog]

blog-of-john-hamish-watson

“I don’t know! That’s why I’m freaking the fuck out, Sherlock!” John snaps. “She somehow lost the tail…I was doing more to protect them. If one of her enemies showed up, the tail would alert Mycroft and the police.

“Are you saying she left or that she was kidnapped?” He watched John’s face. Did John even know what really happened? Probably not - his panic was taking over his sense. “Let’s go to the flat and see what clues we can find before Scotland Yard messes it up.”

[labbornson-blog]

+2

“Do I know you?” Seamus asked, trying to place the face before him. He didn’t think he had seen them before - but then, faces were difficult. 

[mister-sherlockholmes-of-2-blog1]

blog-of-john-hamish-watson

“John, you know things about women,” Sherlock said suddenly out of the blue from his armchair, folding down the top of the newspaper in his hands to look at his best friend.  “I need you to tell me something.”

[diglestrade]

blog-of-john-hamish-watson replied to your post: ofkingsman asked:◊ ( greg probabl...

//Oh my Gods what app or website did you use to put it on an ACTUAL post-it?

This

[wolfbaneautumn]

Werewolf of Baker Street

It was like any other brisk stroll in Regent park, It was late enough for the park to be scarce. There was enough cover to not be seen, or heard. However early there was a commotion near Manchester Square that had gotten the police attentions, apparently a large dangerous wolf had been spotted, a search had started in the area. What they didn’t know was that the dog had gotten over to Regent Park in just a few minutes passing through Baker St with some difficulty creating a mother loud ruckus which made the police move over there. This had al started with some sort of fight on the street, a group of chavs or soccer hooligans getting into a brawl, which got the attention of the officers. Kayla breathed heavily she had found a dense area with a lot of tree’s and shrubs to keep her hidden. She was a large creature, and the fight with the chav's had ended up in a couple stabbings amongst the two groups, sadly she had ended up with one of those wounds which had sliced her open pretty badly right underneath her ribcage, which intact caused her to turn, and then more hell broke loose. Kayla usually kept to her human self, only when she was in danger or harmed did she ever accidentally turn. Now she lay hidden in Regent park and was trying to calm down and hopefully get to a hospital. Shifting her large form she winced pinning her hears back and put a hand to the wound. Hopefully no one had seen her, she did make quite a commotion getting here and she new the officers were nearby.