#fff154

[helloliriels]

SPEAK FOR ME

.........by helloliriels for @flashfictionfridayofficial

Sherlock looked out across the sea of stars.

Small pins of light in the endless darkness he was now crossing. Fighting. To get back to him.

John.

.

He had asked for a speaker.

Someone to tell the story of a loved ones' death.

He had sent for Sherlock.

Speaker for the dead.

Sherlock pulled up the file to review Mary's history. To research and uncover what had happened? ... Before and after he had left John Watson behind on an alien planet to live a 'normal' life with her ... his dream life ... until she had suffered her untimely death.

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? This side of Mary?

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. To stop her. 

To stop the war. 

.

The knot in his stomach grew, at that thought.

.

What if?

He swiped back through to the request in haste. Reading it more closely this time:

.

. Speaker Request: specific

. Reference: 221BXNB SH URGENT

. Speaking for: John Watson

.

John Watson.

Not Mary Watson.

Sherlock drew in a gasping breath. Shaking as he tried to suppress the rising hysteria within himself, the adrenaline now rushing unimpeded through his veins …

.

He was an idiot!

It wasn't Mary he was speaking for …  it was John. His. John?

Was he on trial then? For her murder? Why didn't it say???

Sherlock imagined - for the first time - being in someone else's place. John's place. Weaving the tale the public needed told. The happy family. The intrepid researcher. The close-knit village devastated by their great loss …

The accident that caused her death. 

How grieved he was by seeing his wife, this way.

How his little child would grow up without a mother.

.

Not the horror they should be shielded from … 

The inevitable war now brewing … 

.

John's bravery knew no bounds.

And he deserved someone to stand by his side! If only Sherlock was not too late!!!

He sent an urgent message to Mycroft. Hoping-beyond-hope that Mycroft could stay the order in time! To prevent the local authorities from accepting John's coming confession, and buy Sherlock enough time to make the journey and solve the case!

This was no longer a speaking. It was a rescue.

.

Sherlock 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.

.

Speaker for the Dead /// Ender AU /// Johnlock /// 500 words

SORRY! Had to re-write this one. Immediately saw the flaw in it once I posted!

@johnlocky @ohlooktheresabee @fluffbyday-smutbynight @gaylilsherlock @myriath @arwamachine @7-percent @shelleysprometheus @simplyclockwork @discordantwords @fawnhickory @janetm74 @topsyturvy-turtely if you want to join in! 100-1000 words, every Friday there's a prompt!

[renee-writer]

Not Perfect

For @flashfictionfridayofficial 154 prompt, Far from Perfect

Not perfect

Far from it

Nevertheless

You love me

You sing songs over me

Quieting me with Your love

How can You look at me

Far from perfect

And see someone worth Your love?

What type of love is this?

That keeps You looking for the prodigal son,

Or daughter

With wide open arms

That forgives a denying Peter

A doubting Thomas?

The type of love that tears the temple curtain

Giving us access to the Holy of Holies

That dies for us,

Sinners, doubter, deniers and, scoffers.

That remembers us, we who are but dust,

Who are just a puff of wind in eternity

Far from perfect

Far from home

But,

It isn’t about us!

No

It is Your perfect love

Your brilliant grace

That welcomes us beggars to Your table

That lifts us up to a seat there

Gives us a home in heaven

Allows You to live in us here on earth.

We are far from perfect

Thanks be to You, my precious Savior

You are.

[phantom-does-a-thing]

Wow! Flash fiction Friday!  That means it’s Friday already and I actually had an idea for this one.  I recently made some new OCs and I have fallen in love with them tbh so I had to write something with them.

For context: The world this takes place is a world of floating islands above a relatively uninhabited, hostile surface.  Cordelia is an owl-person which is straight up just a really big sentient owl.  Theo is more humanoid with bat-like wings and horns.

545 words @flashfictionfridayofficial​

“My island fell.” 

Theo remembered Cordelia saying that when the two of them first met, and Theo had understood.  She had understood that the feelings were still raw and it wasn’t something that Cordelia liked talking about.  If Cordelia had ever talked about it.

But she hadn’t known that Cordelia had kids, or that she had a husband.  She didn’t know that Cordelia had a family, one that she left for months on end for her research.  The owl hadn’t even known when the island fell because there was no communication on the surface, and any time an island fell it was kept a big secret.

Cordelia wrapped a wing around Theo’s shoulder, tucking the younger girl close to her body.  If Theo had known, maybe she wouldn’t have been so harsh about Cordelia calling her a fledgling.  She wouldn’t have yelled at Cordelia for being too protective.  She would have understood if she had known.

“I’m sorry,” Theo whispered, meaning it genuinely, “I didn’t know.”

Cordelia bristled, her feathers ruffling with the pungent surface wind.

“It is alright, ” Cordelia clicked her beak a few times, refusing to look at Theo.

Theo’s bare wing, not fully healed yet, stretched out to return Cordelia’s side hug.

“Are you okay…?” Theo asked, biting down on the inside of her mouth as she stared at the ruins of what looked like a very recently fallen island.  Houses and other structures splintered and smashed together while the grass and all the plant life had died long ago with the falling-sickness.  There was still a little smoke simmering from where things had caught fire in the fall.

Cordelia finally turned her head to look at Theo, an unquantifiable sadness in her eyes, “Do you think I was a bad mother?  For leaving them?”

Theo’s eyes widened, “Cordelia…”

“I thought what I was doing was good,” Cordelia’s beak clacked as she spoke, the golden, artificial tip glinting in what little light slipped through the trees, “I thought my research was helpful, but all it did was keep me away from my family.  I got nowhere.  And lost everything.”

“That doesn’t make you a bad mother,” Theo leaned her head on Cordelia’s feathered side, “a bad mother leaves her children because she doesn’t want them.  You were trying to help figure out what was going on.”

There was a bitterness in Theo’s tone, one that she didn’t intend for Cordelia to hear, but it was obvious that the owl had picked up on it.  Her expression softened just a little bit as she hunched down to be more on Theo’s level.

“You were abandoned?” Cordelia asked gently.  Theo just shrugged and looked away.

“Doesn’t matter, I’m here now,” Theo said, “and I’m here with you.  It’s not perfect but that doesn’t matter.”

“It’s not perfect,” Cordelia echoed, “but we make it work.”

“We have your nest and your research,” Theo continued, “we can figure out what’s going on.”

“We sure can try.”

Theo cracked a small smile.

“Let’s investigate,” Theo pulled away from Cordelia, her wings hiking up to hold a little higher off the ground as she began the small trek towards the crumbling remains of the island in front of them.  Cordelia chirruped softly and began to follow.

[helloliriels]

Sherlock looked out across the stars.

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.