#bonusprompt

[sesskag-annual-falloween-event]

Mistress of the Sea by EchoHuntress

Player: EchoHuntress Title: Mistress of the Sea Trope: Monster Transformation: Dragon Summary:  A report of dragons destroying a coastal village in the Western Lands as the Inu no Taisho sending Sesshoumaru and his mentor out to assess the situation. Rating: G Warnings: None Word Count: 1756 Level: Hanyou

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34813936

[fairyqueennerd]

Nalu Week- Bonus Prompt- Drive

Lucy parked her car in her garage in a rush as she could see the erupting smoke from her house when she was nearing it, most probably from the kitchen and the reason is only one- "NATSU".

Lucy and Natsu started dating a year ago. It was kind of spontaneous event, like Lucy started working in a company named fairytail, the name came from some fantasy of the owner and her friends, was what she was told when asked about the name of the company by her co-worker which was- yes. Natsu.

It was her first day of appointment and she was nervous, obviously everyone is on the first day she was waiting at the lift not knowing exactly where to go like, she asked the receptionist and she said something but now she failed to remember which floor she said 'was 4th or 5th ' she was working this out in her mind when she met Natsu for the first time.

"New Here?" Someone said beside her.

Surprised she turned towards the voice, and noticed a boy around her age with pink hairs? very handsome face and body, she noted in her mind then met those smoldering black eyes which awaited an answer with a smirk? Shit! She was checking out the boy before her with him noticing it too.

She was red with embarrassment and blinked blankly at him with a simple "Eh"

"I take that as a yes" he said and laughed, and Lucy lo-liked his deep voice and laughter.

"Which department?" He asked this time she answered.

"Editing department"

"Oh Wow! I m in the same department." He exclaimed and Lucy was kind off happy to hear that cuz that meant she would see him often. What she didn't expect was him to be working right next her desk. When they got in the lift they had their formal intros done and some casual talks was going on when the reached their department on the 4th floor.

By the end of her first day she and Natsu were friends then he asked her for a cup of coffee in the nearby café and after that they were best friends. That was when she realised they had most of things in common even their apartments' was in the same lane just a few blocks away, but after coffee she took her car but Natsu started barefoot she was surprised that he was walking cuz their apartment was close but not close enough that you could walk, that too everyday. She offered him a lift but he cringed and declined she was upset thinking maybe she offended the boy somehow and regretted it, but seeing her sad face he clarified that its not her fault and he had severe motion sickness.

It took her a while to fully analyse what he said, she was very disappointed cuz of two things firstly he didn't look the type to have motion sickness and she loved long drives. Eh! how was it even connected with him having motion sickness.

She looked at his expression half expecting half afraid of her reaction, and all she managed a small

'Uh! Ok.'

And she left and during her short journey she was thinking what exactly was he thinking and the way she reacted was that rude? Would it be awkward between them? But why was these thoughts making her this restless she met the boy today only.

But next day it appeared all normal Natsu talking casually to her and she did the same. Occasionally he came to her house for weekends and came to know that she write stories and maintain a daily diary too. Later his visits became more regular and he started teasing her a lot.

They were best friend, very close best friend to be honest, suddenly out of blues he proposed her, well not so sudden but after another boy named Sting joined their company and she had to do a project together with him and the next time Natsu came to her home unexpectantly, Sting was therer sitting with her.

They were in a cozy relationship, a bit of talking, bit of teasing, and lots of love.

During their relationship she came to understand the level of seriousness of Natsu's motion sickness he was complete green, the patches for this didn't work anymore on him his body became resistant to it so he stopped purchasing them.

Lucy always wished to go on a romantic long drive with her boyfriend but that wish was lost after she got Natsu still she enjoyed all the time she spent with him.

Those long walks to the office, dinner at a fancy restaurant or playing board games in her house she loved them all. Natsu was practically living with her and sometimes even cook food though most of the time he burns them, like was happening right now.

Lucy rushed to the kitchen to find flour on the floor, splattered water, burnt food and of course a laughing Natsu.

"Welcome Home, Luce" That boyish grin he gave her saved him from any probable outburst from her. She sighed and smiled back, silently signalling him to leave before he gets a Lucy kick.

After getting freshened up she cleaned the kitchen and prepared some snacks for them. Today was their one year anniversary but nothing was special except Natsu was home earlier than her as he was kind off busy the whole week, tried to cook something special for her …..and… burnt it.

"Luce get ready we are going out"

She was kind of surprised by this sudden plan.

"But I made the snacks." She said dumbly.

"well then just pack them we can eat it later In the t…"

"What?"

"Nothing you just go and get ready I will pack the snacks."

Since Natsu didn't even gave her a hint to where they where going she let that gut feeling decide her attire for the evening, she picked something casual just like Natsu a plain pink sleeveless top with white leggings and a light makeup.

When she came in the living room all set to leave but, Natsu was nowhere to be seen.

"Natsu?" she whispered, just then she felt him behind her before she could turn around she was blindfolded, with him saying 'it's a surprise'.

She let him take the lead and relaxed in his hold on her hand. They walked a while, it seemed around the time and distance it would take to reach Fairytail.

But what where they doing near their workplace? Was he taking her to the restaurants there? But they were all fancy and Natsu didn't like to go there unless it's for business. Then pizzaries? But why would he blindfold her for she knew those place too, also this time the path they were taking was bit longer and with a lot of turns. Where was he actually taking her?

Lucy and her thoughts came to an abrupt stop when Natsu stopped and opened some gate and led her in closing it behind them and opened her blindfold.

Her eyes slowly adjusted to the surrounding to see….. Nothing. It was pitch dark. She called-shouted for Natsu.

"I m here." A spotlight was switched on and it was on a Mercedes Benz S-class Cabriolet with its roof folded.

Lucy was speechless.

"Come on Luce" Natsu led her to the car and opened the door for her, she sat down and put her seat belt on as of habit.

It was when Natsu sat next to her switched on the ignition that she came to he senses.

"OMG Natsu what is this? You are driving? You taking me on a drive? Her happiness was very well reflected in her eyes and excitement was very evident.

"Actually a long drive, well kind off…" he trailed of.

Realisation hit her like a brick.

"Oh shit your motion sickness." Instantly his face paled "L-Luce.." he said weakly as a warning and in a fraction of seconds just like it drained colour, his face was normal again and he gave her the brightest smile and said-

"You just wait and watch"

Suddenly the room was filled with lights no not lights but with brightness something like sunrise. In front of them was a screen showing a window through which a hill was seen far away, also in either side there was two more screen showing a house set up exactly like HER!

"Luce, you know, the scenery there" he pointed to the hill in front of them "is awesome lets go have a view."

Then he started driving the car. Fake, though the screen showed them moving through the streets she could feel the cool air on her face and Natsu played the radio. She hummed along with the music playing on the radio watching the scene on her side all the apartments of her lane were there, they crossed Natsu's apartment not too long ago.

"Lets go faster." Natsu announced to her and increased the speed and there was a gust of air on her face. Things on the screen started moving faster too she felt like she was going on an actual long drive, and she was enjoying it a lot.

Lucy increased the volume on the radio stood up in her seat let her hair loose and started singing and dancing with Natsu singing the lyrics with her and concentrating partly on the road and partly on her laughing and smiling along with her.

As they neared the outskirts of their town which was kind off roadside shopping area she saw a purse and cried out.

"Natsu I want that purse. Please Nat-.." she slapped her hand over her mouth over her stupidity but Natsu grinned slyly and stopped the car looked back and started driving to her utter amazement on the screens too they were going backwards and stopped right in front of that shop. Natsu got out and opened the car door for her, Lucy was just stupidly watching him as he told her to pick the purse she liked, she blankly pointed at the one she liked on the screen.

His grin only widened.

"Great choice Luce, We would take this one he pointed to the same purse and took out his wallet to pay for it. He paid by his right hand and extended his left to her which had a bag.

Lucy looked dumbly at him then his extended hand, was he carrying this when he got off and opened the door for her? She was confused but finally accepted it and to her utter amazement indeed it had the purse she had asked for and when she looked at the store it was not there.

She was at complete loss of words and thoughts the only thing in her mind was 'HOW THE FUCK DID HE DO THAT?'

"Hey your intense look is scaring me." Natsu said with a sweat drop.

"Let's go eat something." He said and took her to MacDonald's on the same path, naturally the same was displayed on the screen.

They entered and he pointed to the empty seats near the counter "Let's go sit there."

Once they were there he left her for a second and came up with a table next with two chairs, pulled her chair out for her and went to place order.

She watched on the screen and was in another surprise when Natsu was on the screen waiting in the line when His chance came she heard him say "Two chicken burgers." And when he got the order he walked towards her on the screen then suddenly not there anymore but in front of her with the burgers smiling widely, very amused by her expression.

They talked about random stuffs from work to home to friends, after finishing they left, but she couldn't help but noticed that like when they were about to leave, not really though, Natsu had made her stop abruptly on whatever she was saying and said they should leave and the same time it showed on the screen as if they were leaving and going back to the car and the journey started again this time they were nearing the route for the hill.

Soon both the screens were filled with the scenery of the forests and wild. Lucy was loving it but what she loved the most was when Natsu used some spray for the Nature's musty odour.

In the front screen she could see the slope ahead and the cures and on the sides it was the scenery she was so involved by now that during the curves she was working on her instincts bending towards Natsu during each curve, coming forward for when he was supposed to apply breaks, during straight paths where he was driving at immense speed,going into her seat plus the air works was awesome.

Soon they reached their destination the top of the hills Lucy got off on her own going forward to have a view and sure enough after a couple of seconds it showed the view there.

"So Beautiful.." She said with gleaming eyes.

"Yeah" He replied scratching his cheek looking at her.

She was so overwhelmed by this that she threw herself towards him and connected their lips together, Natsu caught her and kissed her with equal passion. Soon they parted breathing heavily.

"Happy Anniversary Luce."

"Happy Anniversary Natsu."

And they Kissed again with much more intensity and passion.

Natsu spread a mat and they had their mini picnic there with the snack she had prepared and..

"Mira Prepared this?" She asked with the suspicious cupcake she never prepared.

Natsu eyes widened as if deer caught in headlights.

"Ah! Yes" he said adverting his eyes.

Lucy rolled her eyes and asked the question she was most curious about right now.

"How did you do this." She pointed to the car and the screens.

"This? Well we have friends." That was his only reply as if it explained everything. She raised her eyebrows in question, asking for further explanation.

"Well this car belongs to Gray and Juvia and we are right now at my garage." When her eyes widened he quickly cut her off with his explaining. "I took you in rounds so you won't realise we were here and the editing stuff was of course done by the editing expert that is me." Lucy rolled her eye at his cocky attitude but that was true.

"Filming credits to Levy and Gajeel the shop thing it was my hunch that what you would choose and where so many filming and editing, this thing took me nearly 3 months now preparing for this big day." Before she could say anything, he shushed her down and said.

"I wanted to complete your long -term dream on this very day of our one-year anniversary to go on a romantic long drive with your boyfriend. Oh yes I found this in your diary. Sorry I read it a bit " he gave a very less apologetic smile.

Lucy was least concerned about him reading her diary, she was so so so happy that she cannot explain it in words. Silent tears of happiness flowed down her cheeks. Natsu was surprised and upset that he made her cry.

"Oye Luce.. hey I m sorry for re-" he started saying but was cut off by her arms wrapping him in a bear tight hug.

"I Love You Natsu a lot, I Love you." She repeated it again and again as if it was not enough.

"I love you a lot too." He said hugging her back and kissed her head.

"I am sorry I didn't give you anything today." Lucy said avoiding eye contact with him.

"Stupid you are with me that's all I need." He said as if it was an obvious statement.

They stayed there watching the scenery till sunset by Natsu's sun setting and till Midnight in actual time and then went back in another long drive, the drive she always longed for.

A/N- Well i enjoyed writing this. Natsu is so sweet. well i tried to explain in what all he did but if any further confusion then its just that he had put Gray's car in his garage and Levy and Gajeel were the one shooting every scene as Natsu had told them from her room to the streets and the hills also the shop and restaurant and if Lucy had not voiced it out then he would have suggested it and managed it somehow cuz everything was pre-planned. This is for the bonus prompt of Nalu week. Drive.

[dropkickwritersblock]

Nyarlathotep goes to the beach.

If anyone’s into Lovecraftian lore, here’s a bonus prompt! 

[teamgreengovernment]

[teambluegenius]

I'm On My Way

Year 1 – Cork, Ireland.

  Hunting Moriarty’s web was never going to be easy. The strands that spider had spun for his crime syndicate had extended across over six countries in Europe, and in each of these the gossamer strings became more and more intricate and difficult to follow. He had created the perfect crime network, and even though he had died, it continued to run like clockwork and without interruption. The task set out for Sherlock was huge, gargantuan, and gathering all the information required would stretch the limits of every contact he had ever had, and that included his connection with Mycroft in the British government.

  Sherlock had decided to come to Ireland to Moriarty’s home country. There was no advantageous reason to do so- his family had forced their son out of their lives when the high-standing, Foxrock reputation and luxurious lifestyle had first been threatened by Moriarty’s dealings. Because of this, Jim had been quick to leave the country, and as such held only a tenuous foothold in Ireland, one that fell quickly apart after his death in London. No, the reason Sherlock had come was not for strategic purposes; he was here for a more childish and selfish reason. It was petty, but it was something he needed to do for himself. His life had been torn to pieces by this man, and he needed this one win to keep him going until his arduous task was completed, and that could take months, or even years.

Travelling by sea was Sherlock’s only option, as it was the easiest way to avoid detection and he did not want to leave any traces of his time in Ireland. He had arrived by ferry to Cork harbour early in the morning, and was outside the Central Statistics and Records Office by nine o’ clock. Getting in was easy; all he needed was an official-looking badge and an authoritative air and soon he had been given the appropriate clearance. He was led to a computer and after a brief explanation about the operation of the system was left to his own devices.

  It wasn’t hard to find. Not wanting to waste any time, Sherlock typed in the first name he needed, that of Richard Brook. Up came his records, a series of fake facts; there were his fake parents, fake birthplace, fake driving licence and fake education, a whole new identity that had been masterfully created and sold as truth to the entire world. Even through his utter contempt and loathing for this man, he couldn’t help but admire the attention to detail.

  Sherlock pulled up another window, one entitled ‘James Moriarty’.  This time he read through the profile with much greater care, noting any alterations in his change of address or the universities he had attended for the possible contacts and leads which could come from them. The biggest surprise to him was Moriarty’s PhD in mathematics from Trinity College Dublin. It wasn’t so much a question of his qualification; he never doubted for a second that Jim had the mind to complete one, but it was the fact that he hadn’t become bored of academia halfway through the course. It had happened when he had been studying as an undergraduate student in college.

  Sherlock looked at the clock and realised that he had lingered for far too long. He had to be going.

  “Goodbye, James Moriarty,” he said softly, and with great satisfaction he deleted the records. It was if he had never existed at all.

    Year 2 – Trier, Germany.

  Sherlock had no idea what interest Moriarty had in the quiet, though touristy, town of Trier, but his search had led him there, so there he went. It was quiet; the crisp January air seemed like it was holding its breath. Snow lay in a small dusting on the medieval buildings and cobblestone streets, and everyone who had any sense was staying inside from the slippery conditions and the bitter cold. Sherlock was not one of these people, and he moved carefully but deliberately down the streets to his current destination. He had had several days to get used to his new environment and now knew the streets well. Of course his map was not the same quality as the standard he had set with London, but it was good enough.

  A hooded figure appeared in the distance. Though there were many lights lit all around him, he could not see the man’s face from far away. Sherlock made not attempts to disguise himself and walked right up to meet him. They shared a quick exchange in German, before the man walked away, beckoning for Sherlock to follow him. Sherlock did as he was told, and they walked down a maze of side streets before entering a shabby house, one that retained none of the quaint charm of the tourist village. Inside were two other men. He was quickly searched for weapons and then told to sit down.

  Their conversation was conducted in German. Sherlock explained his situation to the men, leaving out some of the important details like who he actually was. It had taken a whole year to find these people, his first lead. They were three men who had fled from Moriarty’s underworld and had been on the run across Europe ever since, using old contacts and tricks of the trade in order to avoid detection.

  “We thought we were safe when Mr Moriarty died,” one of the men told Sherlock. “But his grip is strong, even in death.”

  “No,” agreed Sherlock. “Death will never conquer that man, but I intend to do so. Do you know who the person in charge is now? It must have been his second in command; did he come to power when Moriarty died?”

  “No one knows his name,” he replied. “Apparently he was a former military commander based-”

  A shot rang out, and the man speaking in front of him crumpled to the ground. The other, the man who had frisked him, stood with a revolver in his hand.

  “Put your hands in the air,” he said, waving the gun at the two men left standing.

  “Hmmm, I thought you’d be the mole of this group,” said Sherlock, sitting back in his chair. He didn’t raise his hands. “It’s a small tick you have. You see, whenever you’re lying you touch your left ear.”

  “How do you know this? It’s only the first time we’ve met you.” He gestured more insistently to his gun, warning Sherlock to comply with his orders. Sherlock had no intention of doing so.

  “The thing is, Mr Hundt, oh yes, I know your name too, is that I’ve been watching you and your gang for days. Based on my suspicions, I decided to have a chat with your two friends earlier about you. They didn’t believe me at first but I think the penny started to drop when they realised that no one had caught up with you for months. Considering the contacts Moriarty has, he never would have allowed you to escape if he didn’t think there wouldn’t be anything to gain. In essence, this group, led by you, became the best double agents against the people resisting Moriarty. Now I don’t know about you, but I don’t think your friends in Trier would be too pleased to hear about that. Gentlemen, if you please.”

  The door burst open, and several men wrestled the man with the gun to the floor. Sherlock turned to the hooded man, the one who had led him through the streets of Trier to this house. The man was kneeling beside his friend, and seeing that the man no longer had a pulse, closed the man’s eyes.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Sherlock said. “But I really need your help. This man, did you know anything about him?”

  “No, I’m sorry,” he replied. “We heard rumblings that this man had something to do with the Irish IRA, but beyond that…” He didn’t finish his sentence, instead turning back to his friend.

  “Thank you,” he said. “That is more than enough information to go on. I really appreciate it.” Sherlock turned to leave, but the man called him back.

  “There’s a man in France who you might want to find,” he said. “Moriarty… he had bank accounts in Zurich, lots of them. This man is not a friendly one, but his information could shut down the funding for all of Moriarty’s schemes. If you find him, he could give you the answers you need with a bit of… persuasion.”

  “What’s his name?” Sherlock asked.

  “Marcus Camus,: he replied. “The last time I heard, he was lying low in Strasbourg. But that was six months ago. He has probably moved on.”

  “Thank you,” Sherlock said again. He hesitated for a second, then fished in his pocket and took out a card.

  “Call the number written here. Tell them you were speaking with a man named Odysseus. The person on the line will know what you’re talking about. He works with the British Government. He’ll keep you safe.”

    Year 2- Metz, France.

  The information Sherlock had been provided with was accurate, though out of date. Marcus Camus had indeed been in Strasbourg, but left two months previous when the authorities caught wind of his presence. Sherlock had spent almost six months trying to track his new location. He had asked, nudged and persuaded people for whatever information he needed, and roughed up a few more who hadn’t been as willing to part with what they knew. Some, not a lot but enough, had tipped off Marcus before he could get to him, and so the search began all over again. However, this was to be expected. Moriarty’s secret keepers had been chosen for a reason.

  Sherlock was getting tired. He had been running around in circles for almost eighteen months now, and he seemed no closer to achieving his goal. His life in London seemed like a lifetime ago, and he hadn’t had any contact from England besides a short encrypted note from Mycroft in March, and that was only a small briefing about new intelligence he had obtained about Moriarty’s network in Budapest. He had no news or information about the lives of Mrs Hudson, Lestrade, Molly, or John. He often wondered how they were, but he didn’t even dare make any contact with them, be it by telephone or via the web. It was too dangerous. There would be time when he got back. For now, he would be left to wonder.

  Six months of searching had led him to the city of Metz in France. Not having organised a place to stay, he wandered the streets, taking in the city for the first time. Sherlock at least now had a face to go with the name, though Marcus Camus was the kind who had no qualms about changing his appearance. Anecdotal evidence from the people he had question implied that Camus had at least four different hairstyles, and was not averse to changing his eye colour using contacts.

   Camus was not the only one who had made drastic changes to his complexion. Sherlock had also done the same; gone was his dark, curly hair and instead it was now short and red. Since information had leaked to Camus about a man with dark hair looking for him, Sherlock had thought it best to change it for his own sake. His thoughts wandered back to John; he wondered how his friend would react to seeing Sherlock as a ginger, but he then admonished himself, forcing the indulgent idea from his mind.

  A church could be seen over the roofs of the buildings in town and Sherlock, for no reason in particular, found himself walking towards it. He had never been a religious man; to him, comfort and satisfaction could only be found in hard facts, and the hypothesises based around them. He only liked puzzles that could lead to an answer by examining the clues, not by taking things on faith. Still, religion did have its uses; it was a powerful motivator and brought peace to the many who adopted its teachings. One of the beautiful things about religion which even he would agree to was the exquisite art and architecture which were made and created with the money the Catholic Church accrued during the Renaissance period. While he and so many of his classmates had been forced to endure the tedious torture of Shakespeare, France and Italy had a world of culture to gaze at in their everyday surroundings. That said, Sherlock would never concede that any city in the world was greater than his London.

  Soon he had arrived in the open plaza where Metz’s church stood, as magnificent as any in France to behold. It was night time, and a few couples were walking together, hand in hand, in the lazy, mid-summer heat, ignoring all others but themselves as they spoke in hushed whispers of love. Sherlock passed them without another thought, and made his way inside the church. The large, heavy main doors were closed for the evening but a side-door for those seeking night time prayers and respite remained open, and it was through this he entered. The church was dark, save for the lights of a few candles placed at the side altars on the left and right of the nave. He was alone, save for two other people who were praying.

  Sherlock slid in to one of the pews at the back of the church and sat there in quiet contemplation. He thought about himself and how his life had changed so much in the last year and a half, he thought about what he still had left to do, and he thought about John. In fact, he mostly thought about John.

  By the time he snapped out of his own thoughts, he was alone. He berated himself and not being more vigilant and wary of his surroundings. He couldn’t allow himself to dwell on John; had there been one of Moriarty’s men in this church he would be dead right now. Sherlock stood up, stretched, and made his way to the side door.

  He noticed it out of the corner of his eye, and just in time too; a tiny bit of metal glinted in the candlelight and he ducked to avoid a candlestick aimed at his head. It hit the wall with a deafening clang, and reverberated throughout the empty church.

  “Bonsoir, mon ravisseur,” said a voice. The light did not reach where he was standing and so his form was obscured by the shadows, making his voice sound like it was coming from the darkness itself.

  “I hate villains who talk,” Sherlock replied, looking for a way to get his back to the open space of the church. He didn’t like being cornered. “Well, unless they’re telling me things I want to know.”

  “I never wanted to kill someone in the house of God, but I feel that on this occasion you have left me with no choice.” He stepped out of the shadows, brandishing a gun. Sherlock was surprised the man had answered in English.

  “Hello, Marcus,” Sherlock said, exhaling a slow, contented breath. Finally. Finally.

  “And goodbye to you, Sir,” he replied, pulling the trigger.

  Sherlock lunged forward as the shot was fired, sending the bullet that was meant for his chest into his clavicle. The bone shattered, sending pain like an electric shock coursing through him. He tackled Marcus to the ground. The gun clattered away, just millimetres out of reach. The two men brawled on the church floor, throwing punch after punch, kicking whenever they could at weak, vulnerable points on each other’s bodies. Sherlock, knowing he would not win in a fair fight of strength in his condition, mustered all his strength and used both of his legs to kick Marcus hard in the stomach, throwing him off Sherlock and allowing precious seconds for the consulting detective to grab his gun. Both of them stood still.

  “Tell me about Moriarty’s bank accounts,” Sherlock said.

  Marcus laughed. “You must be joking,” he replied.

  “Does it look like I’m joking?”

  “What do you need with his bank accounts? A petty thief would know not to try and steal from Moriarty.”

  “Well, I am no petty thief,” said Sherlock. “And besides, Moriarty can’t do anything to me. I killed him.”

  This seemed to take Marcus by surprise, though he did his best to conceal his shock. “Dead or alive,” he said. “I am loyal to Moriarty.” Marcus ran towards Sherlock, and shouldered him hard on his shattered collarbone. Sherlock was caught off-guard and fell back. He tensed and fumbled for grip, but in doing so pulled the trigger without meaning to. The bullet shot straight into Marcus’s stomach.

  It was like time slowed as he watched Camus fall to the ground. Every second, every action he made as he clung to life would stay with Sherlock till his own death, but he would never be able to remember the sounds. This was not the first time he had seen a man die before his eyes, but this was his first kill. He dropped the gun, then thought better of it and put it in his pocket. His rational brain was trying to guide him, but the emotions welling up in him were like nothing he had ever experienced and drowned that rationality out. Vaguely he remembered that he should check the pockets of the man before him, and rifling through them he found a key card to a hotel in the city, and his wallet. Sherlock stood up, holding onto a church pew to steady his shaking legs. His mind was screaming at him to get out of there, to run and never look back, but he remained, frozen as he looked at the body before him.

  He had never wished John were with him more than that night.

  Year 3 – Zurich, Switzerland.

  It had taken Sherlock seven months to come to Zurich. After the events in Metz, he had sent out an emergency SOS to his brother in England who had arranged medical assistance for Sherlock and organised a discreet but effective team based in France to dispose of the body. Sherlock had required surgery, and it had taken aeons for the shattered bones in his shoulder to regrow. During his down time, he busied himself by making plans to access the bank in Zurich. Sherlock, even in the state he was in at the time, had the foresight to head to Marcus Camus’s hotel room to get what he could. He had found some things, namely a few bank account details, and almost a million euro in cash. However, when Sherlock had been allowed to leave the private hospital at which he was staying, he redoubled his efforts in tracking down the leads he had gained. It seemed that there was unrest in Moriarty’s underworld at the disappearance of Camus and the money, and taking his absence as desertion, plans were being made to secure the funds of the crime syndicate. A large amount of this was being done electronically, and Sherlock had people on Mycroft’s end working on that, but some other money, rumoured to be about three hundred million, was going to be transferred to Budapest if Camus didn’t surface by March.

  February had rolled around once again, and Sherlock had made it Zurich. He was disguised as a homeless person and had been so for over three weeks. If there was one thing he had learned from the homeless network he had employed over the years in London, being homeless meant you had the best ears in the city. In Zurich, money talked, and he was listening oh so very intently.

  Sherlock found out that there were four people who were the ringleaders of this money transfer, and they were all the top brass in Moriarty’s crime syndicate, saving for the military commander who, despite both Mycroft and Sherlock’s best efforts, remained unknown and elusive. It seemed that due to the large amount of money involved, no one wanted to risk trusting another member, especially since Camus had dropped off the map with a lot of money in his possession. The time of the grunts was finally over, and now the big boys were in play.

  One woman by the name of Sarah Asper was leading the transfer of money by courier. Sherlock had arranged for low-key surveillance of he whereabouts, as well as trucks to intercept the money as it was in transit. However, his conditions were simple; only he would have access to Asper, and all authorities would turn a blind eye to the means he used to get the information they, and he, wanted. They reluctantly accepted. Sherlock was satisfied that he could break her easily enough.

  The operation on the day was a huge success. The media reported that the Swiss authorities had apprehended three of the four leaders of a major criminal organisation along with a substantial amount of money that could not be disclosed for legal reasons. They assured the audiences at home that they would apprehend the fourth without delay.

  Sherlock had forced Asper out of the vehicle she had been driving and dragged her by the hair into a side alley in a dubious part of town. Screams wouldn’t be headed in this place. He took a gun out of his coat, Camus’s gun, and pointed it in her face.

  “Tell me the name of Moriarty’s second in command,” he said. His voice was dripping with malice.

  “Why should I?” she said, and Sherlock responded by breaking one of her fingers. She screamed in agony, and to Sherlock she became smaller in front of him. He broke another, and another, and soon her face was streaked with tears and mascara.

  “I’m not kidding,” he said calmly. “The pain will stop when you tell me who you’re working for.” Asper hesitated, and Sherlock made to reach for another one of her fingers.

  “Please don’t hurt me!” she screamed. “Please!”

  “Tell me!”

  “H-his name is M-Moran,” she said, stuttering over her words. “Sebastian Moran.”

  “Where is he now?” he pressed. “What’s he doing?”

  “He’s in London,” she said quickly, looking to avoid more pain. She looked up at Sherlock, and as if seeing him for the first time, realisation dawned on her face. She smiled, a smile that was disturbingly similar to the smile of James Moriarty.

  “You’re Sherlock Holmes, aren’t you?” she said. “Everyone thinks you’re dead.”

  “Oh I am very much alive, and I plan to stay that way.”

  “If you can call this a life.” The smile wouldn’t leave her face. A nervous shudder crawled up Sherlock’s back, one he tried his hardest to suppress. “Tell me,” she continued. “Have you read John Watson’s blog recently? Apparently he’s finally moving on.”

  Anger blazed through Sherlock’s blood, and he thrust her back against the wall. He didn’t think; pure fury had taken hold of him and he let it control his actions without any hesitation. He put the gun to Sarah Asper’s head. Her eyes opened wide in terror, but he didn’t see it. He just pulled the trigger.

  Year 3 – London

  It was with hesitant steps that Sherlock walked up Baker Street. It had been three years since he had been in London, and though much had changed most of it was still the same. He was glad for that, though his mind map of the city would take some time to amend.

  So Sebastian Moran was conducting business in London. Now that he was cut off from any funds and his crime ring disbanded, he was stuck here for now at least. Sherlock was sure that a man as clever as Moriarty’s right-hand man had some contingency plans if ever something like that occurred, but Sherlock wanted to get this business done as soon as he could. Considering Moran’s extensive military experience however, Sherlock wanted to make sure that he was as prepared as he could be. To do that required a visit to 221B Baker Street.

  Sherlock stepped lightly up the two steps to his base, his home, and stopped before the door. Everything had remained the same; the green door, fraying slightly, and the gold lettering were comforting beacons of familiarity and safety for him after three years running from everything that had made up his identity.

  John was inside. He knew, because Mycroft had told him so, and Mycroft was never to be doubted about these things. Mrs Hudson had gone shopping, so he would answer the door if he knocked. If he could gather the courage to knock.

  Asper’s words had unsettled him more than he wanted to admit. Sherlock was afraid that him breezing back into John’s life, after being dead for so many years, was the last thing his friend ever needed. Sherlock was scared, so scared, but he had been alone for so long, and he didn’t want to be alone anymore.

  He had done so many things in the past three years; he had lived rough, been wounded, had even killed two people. He had changed from his experience; he was harder now, a tougher and braver Sherlock. And yet, the bravest thing he could ever possibly do, the toughest thing he could possibly do, even after all he had been through, was knock on that door.

  It was time to be brave. It was time to be tough. Sherlock lifted his hand and knocked.

[teambluegenius]

(untitled fic)

I did a thing.

“Sherlock!” John called up the stairs, “What in the fuck are you doing?” “Is that you John? I’m just experimenting on some shit or other for a case.” “Excellent. I am bringing home milk and bread and Jam and beans because that is the only food we have ever mentioned, so I feel the need to continue to beat the dead horse, if you know what I mean.” “Do you know, I actually don’t. But that’s fine. I never meant to be so bad to you.” John walked all the way up the stairs even though he was an idiot and a baby or something I don’t know. “What did you say?” He asked when he got to the landing half an hour later. “Nothing.” “No, I heard you say something.” “Oh no, it was just the heat of the moment, don’t worry.” “Right. So how’s the experiment coming?” John asked, putting away the vastly overused groceries. “Oh I finished that. The flesh is boiling off the bones in a vat by the window at the moment. In the meantime, I thought i might entertain myself with some crafts.” John looked over Sherlock’s shoulder and then spluttered like a fish that was being made to swim in a vinegar ocean without a snorkel. “Sherlock, are you making voodoo dolls?” “Yes. One of Mycroft.” “Why?!” “Because he won’t listen to me when I say that communism is the best thing for this country.” “Why do you care?” “I don’t. Red is just my favourite colour. I told him as much, and said ‘That was simply my two cents, you can take it or leave it’, and leave it he did.” “So are you releasing pent up frustration, or do you actually hope is eyes get plucked out of his head?” “Go away John.” “I’m not trying to be a nuisance.” “I know, but you are trying in vain, so kindly fuck off.” John huffed and did as he was told. He went to clean his room while humming to himself. “Mmduouou zm zm zm...” “John!” Called sherlock, “Shut up, I can hear you!” “Sorry!” He shouted back, even though he wasn’t sorry at all, taking extra care to stomp all over the ground because he felt like being an asshole. All of a sudden there was a mighty explosion and John passed out or something. A little while later, he woke up to the smell of smoke and other shit that happens during an explosion, I have no idea, use you imagination. “Oh fuck.” He said, before running down the stairs to find Sherlock and get the fuck out of the burning building. He found him under passed out under the table and dragged him outside. ____ As it turns out, Sherlock didn’t have to get his brother to turn to communism because some unnamed country had come to fuck everything up and destroyed all the governments. “Well, what the fuck are we going to do Sherlock?” “I’m not sure.” Said Sherlock because he’s a useless idiot. “We’re stayin’ alive!” Cackled a homeless, legless man on the side of the road. “...Right.” Said John. “Hey John, let’s go loot a supermarket or something.” “Oh, so you only want to do the shopping when there’s been a dystopic revolution?” “Well. My greatest strength is also my greatest weakness.” “What? That doesn’t make any sense.” “I think I have a concussion.” “Alright. Well, be careful when we’re looting then.” ____ They lived that way for six months before they learned that Mycroft had been holding the world together, but all of a sudden his eyes burst open and he bled to death, leading all the revolutionary groups in the world to strike all at once so really this was all Sherlock’s fault. They escaped on a boat and went to hide in the south of France and it was super hilarious and great because they were just naked a lot of the time, and Sherlock let John fuck him because there were no women around, so whatever, that’s what friends are for. Then Sherlock accidentally got pregnant and everyone was like what in the fuck, because mpreg had previously not been a thing. Luckily, this is my story, so anything that I want to happen does happen. They has a tiny baby boy and named him Jim after Moriarty because why the hell not, he’s a clever guy. They all lived happily ever after, except until the second revolution came, and Jim had to go off to war to fight for the freedom of the people or whatever, we’ve all read these stories before. While he was there he fell in love with Jim and Seb’s son and then they had sex and Jim jr had to be sent home from war because now he was pregnant and it was all just a big soap opera mess.

[teamyellowcaptain]

sorry i keep using moriarty but i just love him <3

[teamyellowcaptain]

Bonus Prompt

By: katiethezombie (Team Yellow Captain)

Inspired by Death Will Never Conquer by Coldplay

resources: x