The endless sea of darkness he was now crossing. Fighting. To get back to him.
John.
They had asked for a speaker.
Someone to tell the story of their loved ones' death.
They had sent for Sherlock.
Speaker for the dead.
As Sherlock pulled up the file again to review Mary's history before and after he had left John Watson behind on this alien planet, to live his 'normal' life with her ...
He found instead,
That John Watson ...
had gone through hell.
.
Had Mary been the cause?
The file contained so little. Most of it redacted.
Even as he scanned through the federations records, he watched the layers peeling away - no doubt Mycroft's hand at work - revealing more ... and more atrocities.
Mycroft was ensuring Sherlock had the full picture.
But ... did John know?
No.
He could not have known. She would have ensured it.
Sherlock swallowed against the bile rising in his throat ... Looking at these bloody, gruesome clinical trials. Experimental murder. Not to mention the history of assassination and genocide she had supported and assisted in throughout the years before she knew John ...
If John had known, he would not have called for Sherlock. He would have killed her himself.
The knot in his stomach grew, at that thought.
What if?
.
What if John did know? What if he had done it? Was that worse?
Could it be worse than shattering a man's entire world?
He would hate Sherlock forever ...
... Perhaps he already did?
.
Perhaps he thought Sherlock knew? And had kept it to himself all these years?
.
He didn't know.
He wished he had now.
He wished he had looked more closely. Instead of blinding his eyes and turning away.
.
Sherlock imagined - for the first time - being in someone else's place. John's place. Weaving the tale the public should be told. The happy family. The intrepid researcher. The close-knit village devistated by their great loss ...
Not the horror they should be shielded from ...
That there was a war brewing. One stoked and fed by a society anathema to the federations goals. Bringing destruction against the indigenous creatures in every system ... on every planet ... that they claimed to be assisting and learning from ...
And one battle Sherlock needed to win first.
To have John by his side again.
.
He would need him.
He always needed him.
That was why he left.
.
He closed the file. Closed his eyes. And made his plan.
Far from perfect.
Far from home.
But
So near
To something he thought he'd lost ...
Something
Called ...
Hope.
.
SPEAK FOR ME /// by helloliriels /// Ender AU for @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt #154
Tagging @johnlocky @fluffbyday-smutbynight @myriath @fawnhickory @janetm74 @gaylilsherlock @topsyturvy-turtely @raina-at and any other tumblr authors who might want to hop in! 100-1000 words.
“I’ll have you know–” began Minerva, but she was cut off when Rowena seized her forearms and pressed her against the corridor wall, the force of the impact knocking out a surprised gasp.
Rowena smiled darkly at the sound. “Let me guess, darlin’,” she crooned, one hand snaking up to grasp Minerva’s gold-and-scarlet tie. “You’ll have me know that good little Gryffindors like yourself don’t get mixed up with evil Slytherin skanks like me. You’ll have me know,” Rowena continued, using the tie to draw Minerva closer, “that you don’t really like girls, not like that, anyway. You’ll have me know,” she hissed, their faces now so near that Minerva could feel Rowena’s breath on her lips, “that it was just a one-time thing, what we did last week, an’ you’d just as soon forget it lest it get out and ruin that reputation you’re so. Very. Proud of.”
Minerva sucked in a breath and glared. She reached up and yanked at Rowena’s tie, the other girl’s eyes widening in surprise as their foreheads knocked together.
“I’ll have you know,” growled Minerva, “that you talk too bloody much.” And before Rowena could respond, Minerva kissed her.
Hank McCoy (Beast)/Newt Scamander/Sherlock Holmes, Bed sharing
for @katiehavok
2. Bed sharing
“The bed’s too small…” Hank said, his tone more righteous and matter-of-fact than Newt cared for. “It’s too small for even me...I’ll expand once I hit my REM cycle. Can’t stay in my human form while I’m unconscious.”
Sherlock frowned, apparently deep in thought as he circled the piece of furniture. “It is rather miniscule, but there are several ways we can make this work. We could sleep in shifts, we could find extra pillows and blankets and sleep on the floor...we could--”
“Expand the bed with magic because one of us is a wizard…” Newt muttered under his breath and pulled out his wand.
I did the Destiel on my own blog. But here’s a bonus Constandestiel ‘cause I can.
“Wha… what happened?” Castiel asked as he woke, confused and looking up into a semi-familiar face.
"Spell. You fainted… right into me arms, luv. Ya know, if you wanted me attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes. Winchester’s always tellin’ me how easy I am." Constantine winked at the prone angel.
“So not the time,” Dean snapped from his position under the smashed window.
“Nah. Myrddin’s a piece of piss, mate” Constantine smirked.
“I believe I have to agree with Dean,” Cas said sitting up carefully. “But we shall continue this conversation later.”
It had been weeks, and Sam was going stir crazy. But he had yet to come up with a case that was more interesting than the bacon cheeseburger that Dean was all but making love to across the table.
Sam always felt a little dirty watching Dean eat. "Okay," he said. "What about this: London's greatest detective suddenly goes nuts and kills himself. Jumps off the roof of a building."
Dean didn't look up. "So? Beautiful minds are unstable bastards. Could have just been suicide."
"You didn't let me finish," said Sam. "Wanted criminal also commits suicide. At the same time. On the same building." He turned the newspaper around and dropped it in front of Dean. "Shoots himself. Sounds like an angry spirit to me."
Dean finally looked away from the burger and down at the newspaper. "Not our division," he said.
I actually wrote a Sherlander ficlet with Magnus/Molly as the pairing. It's sort of short, but I've only seen the first episode of Wallander. Once I've seen more and have a better handle on Magnus as a character, I might write a much longer story. This was really fun and I adore the crossover, plus I'm really proud of this, considering that not too much time went into writing it. So here it is! Enjoy everyone.
“So what made you choose this case, Sherlock? Seems a bit- ,” she paused, searching for the right words. “Unlike you…”
He barely glanced up at her, but it was nothing she wasn’t used to. “I’ve known Kurt for years,” Sherlock replied offhandedly. “He found this case particularly vexing and called me up as a favor. Besides,” he smiled in the strange, manic sort of way that only appeared when he was being entertained by a difficult case. “This one is at least an eight.”
Molly tried not to be too worried about what exactly that meant. She should, after all, be used to Sherlock’s strange mannerisms, but sometimes it was still hard for her to keep up. Luckily, she didn’t have to dwell on it much, seeing as an older gentleman who she had never met before walked into the lab right then. This got Sherlock’s attention.
“Ah, Wallander,” the detective said. “I think I’ve discovered what the compound is in that soil sample you gave me. It should lead us to the dump site if you’ll only give me a moment to wait for the results.”
“Fine,” the man, Molly figured that he must have been the Kurt Wallander whose case Sherlock was working on, responded. “I should take a copy of the results over to Martinsson at the Yard before we head out.”
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “One of your men?”
Wallander nodded. “However, he seems to have no trouble fitting in with yours. That Detective Inspector? He’s let Martinsson make quite the little home for himself. Heard the two of them going off about football right before I left.”
A computer buzzed and Sherlock swiveled in his chair to face the monitor. “Well the results seem to be- ,” he was cut off suddenly by the loud and shrill ringing of the older detective’s phone.
“Yes?” Wallander said, answering it only after the thing had exhausted its insufferable ringtone. “Oh, wonderful,” he deadpanned. “Yes, of course. We’ll be right there.” He hung up and turned to the other man. “Anne-Britt and John are over near Trafalgar Square. She says they’ve found something urgent, want us to come and take a look.”
“Then we should go now,” Sherlock replied, picking up the freshly printed chemical results with a flourish. “No time to make a copy of this for your assistant though.”
Wallander shrugged. “Eh, he can make the copies for us. It’s what he does. We’ll have to hurry and run it over to the Yard, though.”
“I could take it,” Molly piped up. Both men turned to her abruptly, having forgotten that she was even in the same room. “That is, if you’d like me to. It just seems like you’re in a rush to get to the Square, so I thought that,” she stopped, not wanting to ramble and look even more like the foolish girl she was.
“Yes, that’s just what we need Molly,” Sherlock said without even a hint of thanks in his voice. He handed her the papers.
Wallander, at least, nodded at her graciously. “Just take those over to Magnus Martinsson; he’ll know what to do with it.”
Before Molly could say another word, both men were out of the door and rushing towards what must have been a new crime scene. She sighed and trudged out of the hospital, her thoughts on the consulting detective and his attitude towards her. She got a cab quickly enough and sat down heavily. She enjoyed helping him and didn’t mind running these errands or even being dismissed. The thing that bothered her so much is that she liked to think of the two of them as friends. Sherlock never seemed to want any part in anything that even resembled friendship with Molly. If anything, his coldest toward her was helping her childish crush on him to lessen greatly.
The cab stopped in front of Scotland Yard and she got out, heading straight to the floor that she knew Greg Lestrade’s team worked on. She immediately found the kind Detective Inspector and gave him a shy smile.
“Afternoon Greg,” she said.
“Hello there Miss Hooper,” he replied, giving her a grin. “What can I do for you today? Got anything for me from Sherlock?”
“Actually, yes,” she said. “Some lab results came in and he wanted me to bring them over. Kurt Wallander mentioned that one of his men was working here and would know what to do with them.”
“Ah, that’ll be Martinsson,” said Greg. He stepped around Molly and called into the hallway. “Magnus, some files are in for you.”
An unfamiliar man turned the corner and walked into Lestrade’s office to join him and Molly. “And what else is new?” he replied with a smirk. “Is that it?” he asked.
Molly stared at him. The man, Magnus, was tall, lean, and incredibly handsome. The mischievous look on his face was making her knees quiver and his eyes were an unbelievable shade of blue. She felt her cheeks going red right as she stood there. Molly tried to will herself to stop gawking like a schoolgirl and say something, but she was even more worried about what might come out of her mouth. And who could blame her? He was so beautiful!
“Um, yes. Yes, these are the files. The results that Sherlock had me bring over. These are it. Yes.” She had found her voice, but the rambling was sure to be even less flattering than the gazing had been.
Thankfully, he didn’t seem to find her nerves to be unappealing. Instead, he laughed slightly and gave her a huge smile. “Thank you for bringing them. I suppose Wallander couldn’t be bothered to do the menial tasks himself and is resorting to sending pretty girls over instead.”
“They, um, they had a case,” she stutters, trying not to be too thrown off by the fact that he had called her pretty.
“Well,” he said, his icy eyes never leaving hers. “Don’t they always? I’m Magnus, by the way. And you?” He was holding out a hand to her.
“I’m Molly Hooper,” she replied in an almost whisper. She reached out a trembling hand to his. He took it gratefully and gave it a shake.
“Well Miss Hooper, it was very good to meet you.” He released her hand and she tried to hold back the girlish sigh that was threatening to escape. “I hope I can see you again sometime.” And he left, leaving Molly standing behind, completely stupefied.
Maybe she should make running these errands for Sherlock into a habit. Because honestly, she really hoped that she’d see Magnus again too.
