#thefallchangedeverything

[becauseimcleverinlatinarchi-blog]

[ tell me what you find ] welcome starter

As much of an unfounded resentment he bore against archeologists, the Doctor couldn't entirely dismiss their dig - ups. To be truthful, during times like these, when not he but his poor old rattling TARDIS need a pitstop, he actually liked to hook - nose through them himself. Well, not literally. Not many exciting excavation sites these days. Took a few decades back or forth for those. It was in a manner a little more simple -- in the manner of a museum. The high halls echoingly whispered with the quiet voices of the visitors, accumulating to a deeply chattering choir high up under the acoustics of the domed roofs. The Timelord, hands pocketed, had entered the large white main hall several times, exiting and entering various points that allowed him such, skirting past the most popular exhibits ( had seen them all real time -- and, okay, interfered with a few of those ) and ducking his head for the descriptions cards of much less crowded ones, eyes coruscating with the glee of trips formerly unplanned and now right in the making. He'd only passed the Egyptian halls quite quickly, however. Bit nauseating, seeing the remains of a friends or two so blatantly and brutally on display for all to examine. In a quieter department, he scuttled up to the back, and found himself right next to another rare soul regarding the museum's stow - away treasures. Good people, those had to be, having attention for the underdogs -- and good people were ones he was always interested in talking to.  And so, he leaned in, just the slightest, and smiled. " Lovely, isn't it? " 

[goonimpressagirl]

|| thefallchangedeverything

Staring at her reflection in the mirror, Irene reapplied her signature blood red lipstick. She wasn't expecting any clients any time soon, but she always liked to be prepared just on the off chance that one would drop by, and she was always willing to accept them. 

She heard the door bell ring not once but twice, whoever it was was keen. A few minutes later her assistant returned upstairs and informed her that someone was waiting in the living room for her. She smirked and smacked her lips together and made her way downstairs.

She stepping into the living room and raised an eyebrow when she saw a familiar face sitting there.

[evangelineholmes]

26.295 | thefallchangedeverything

In a few hours it would have been exactly three years - which meant thirty-six months, or one thousand and ninety-five days, twenty-six hundred two thousand and ninety-five hours - since her brother's death. After so much time one would have assumed that she would have stopped counting, but Evangeline couldn't help. Still she hadn't figured out whether the things was hurtful or helpful for her, but she didn't care: three years were such a long time, she had grew used to it: no one seemed to find it weird - she had lost her brother: apparently, despite the fact that "a lot" of time had passed, she was still excused for many weird things she had grown up to do. She hadn't been there that day, when Sherlock had died, and apparently everyone thought it was a good thing - but she wasn't sure. All she had been able to know what had happened thanks to John, but what had happened was that the morning she had told her brother to be careful and don't do anything stupid, and the same day she had been told that her brother had killed himself after confessing that all the homicides and the whole Moriarty thing was a fake - that he was a fake. A lie, of course - her brother would have never done anything like that, he wasn't a fake. She had been knowing him since he was nine, she knew what he was able to do and what not: she knew that everything that had been said about him had been lies, and yet she couldn't even try to rehabilitate him: no one would have listened to her, she was only a little sister who didn't know about her brother's dirty secrets - and Mycroft, who could have helped her, spent all his time in his stupid club, without saying anything. It had been like losing two brothers, not only one. She would have never believed he would have been so shocked by Sherlock's death - but she guessed that probably she herself would have been overreacting, according to a stranger - it was stupid, though: her relationship with Sherlock might have been weird for other people, but she loved her brother to death. She had always considered the chance that he could have got hurt and badly injured, but dead. She had never really considered the possibility that one day she would have really stood in front of her brother's grave.  She sat on the couch, and looked outside the window. From her window, she could almost see the roof of the St. Bart's - or it seemed to her, in that moment: she was much closer to it than John, the only person she was sure was doing the same thing - suddenly, she found herself wondering if he was doing the same thing know, and what was he thinking. Maybe he was feeling the same way – or maybe he had just went on with her life. For as selfish as it could be, she preferred the first option on the second. 

[fobwatched-mydearwatson]

A Change of Times || thefallchangedeverything

John told him not to open the watch.

He didn't know why he was so adverse to the idea, but he just knew that watch didn't want to be opened, and no matter how much Sherlock said it was an inanimate object therefore couldn't want anything, John was almost positive he felt the same.

But one quiet afternoon at the flat, in was brought up, and then brought out of his room. And, after a very snappish argument, the watch was open. 

And suddenly it was very clear why that watch should've stayed closed and hidden away.

God, his head was going to burst open, he felt like he could barely breathe, and then he could breathe all too well; a sudden rush off blood to everywhere was accompanied by a shooting pain through his chest. It felt like someone was pulling him apart and putting things back in a different order.

But that wasn't the worst part, oh no. John felt like his mind was tearing itself apart, filled with memories he'd never lived, people he'd never met, and so much pain...

It was unclear what he'd actually said — he doubt it was anything coherent, and he could feel the tear tracks on his face— but with a sharp gasp, John Watson ceased to exist.

Or rather, became a part of the man sitting across from Sherlock.

Taking another breath and shooting a tired look at his flatmate, the Doctor spoke up, saying, "Sherlock Holmes, what part of the watch doesn't want to be opened was so hard to understand?"