#murphyblues

[delsebby-archive-blog]

Duffel bag swung over his shoulder, he climbs the couple of steps from the front porch as he enters the only place he's ever called home. He's finally finished moving the last of his stuff in-- not that he had an incredibly huge amount in the first place, and as glad as he was to be back, the guilt that he would be putting Murphy and the young boys in harm's way continuously plagued his thoughts.

"I uh- ..Can I help out with anything?" He asks, seeing Murphy over at the sink.

[tinkeringwithtime-archive-blog]

+ murphy--blues picked up the pliers

You ever wonder what it would be like to be able to just ― read minds? On a whim?

 I do sometimes... 

[delsebby-archive-blog]

"Happy New Year, son." Here, have a big hug from your emotional, surrogate father. " 'nother year, lad. Glad you're here today."

And you know as well as I do that I wouldn’t be here without you. Happy New Year’s, Da.

[snipersmoran-archive]

dcijluther

avenger-babysitter

murphy--blues

'Evening, sir. You look as if you're searching for someone?

[xevanescent--archive]

{;5}

    "Yeah?"  He's tired, yes, but he's trying-and failing-not to sound it.

[mycroftthegreat]

Vandalization.

Vandalization. The nuisance that beleagued his city. Executed by the sacrilege of youths, who gave not a shit towards the wrong they were doing. He despised the sound of spray cans. The rattling of pressure, only to spew some brightly coloured acrylic onto the walls of property.

Had it been any other building, he wouldn't have cared so much. But in the fact that before his very own eyes Mycroft's offices were submitted to the plague of pigment, his reaction was much more fervent. The boy whom he snatched--a shrill accomplishment on Mycroft's part--began blubbering an explanation. Mycroft was quick to pin him against the bricked wall, partly to shut him up, and also to cast his dominance over the matter.

He had asked for his name. Timothy. When asked where his parents were, Mycroft received no response. With a rough shaking of his collar, where Mycroft had grasped his shirt, the boy had barely opened himself.

It took not ten more minutes for the official to get what he needed: Murphy's Home for Troubled Boys. Troubled seemed to be an understatement. He had found the address, tossed the boy into the back of his car, and was en route. Fortunately the day did not call for Mycroft so attentively. Elsewise, he would have just left the degenerate be.

[delsebby-archive-blog]

the basin street blues.

After four in school fights, six street brawls-- five of which were broken up by the police, and one of which ended Del up in the hospital,  Del Lestrade's mother was at her wit's end. Add  the underage drinking, and Del was racking up quite the file for himself.

The last brawl made the police offer Del a choice. Juvenile jail, or a certain home that had just recently been made. The youngster wasn't a complete idiot, and went for the latter. After all, this home couldn't possibly compare to any form of prison.

When asked how long he was supposed to stay there, the response never really came. And Del pretended not to care, did his best to ignore the tears from his mum, and packed his bag and went to the station where the man who was supposed to take him to his new home was supposed to meet him.

[delsebby-archive-blog]

murphy--blues came searching.

Well, look who it is.