Mermaid whump drabble for the WoW Birthday Whump Event!
Heed the tags please ☺️
__________
She should have heeded the warnings.
She should have noticed the signs.
How many had told her to stay away from the island? How often had she heard about the Hunters that ghosted the surface, lying in wait for merfolk like her? How many whispers had rippled through the water, warning of the traps the Hunters set for all who would stray too far from home?
Every child knew those tales. And yet she swam right into a Hunter’s net.
She never even had the chance to see it, the net was so perfectly camouflaged. One instant she was swimming along, perfectly content to explore, and the next she was snared. She writhed and thrashed, pure instinct taking over. Every movement got her more tangled. The sharp fibers bit into her skin, slashed at her scales. She smelled blood in the water. Gathering her wits enough to try to pry herself free proved completely useless. Every attempt at pulling the fibers away ended with thin cuts on her hands.
She cried out. Shouted for help.
No one could hear.
But she must have alerted something.
Something above her.
The monsters, the Hunters, had either heard her shout or seen the thrashing. There was a sudden, awful pull, the net wrapping tighter around her, forcing her to curl in on herself, tangling her up in her own tail. And she was pulled up. Towards the surface.
Pure terror stole away any further attempt at escape.
She’d never been to the surface before. She had no idea what would happen to her.
She had no idea if she could breathe.
And yet she was dragged relentlessly upward, towards a horrible unknown. All she could do was hope against all hope that the Hunters would be merciful.
Find The Missing Piece (Sherlock x female reader) (chapter two)
“You don’t remember the name Sherlock Holmes?”
I glanced up. “No. Is that your name?”
He grimaced. “Yes.”
“Pleased to meet you.”
He grimaced again. “We’ve met.”
*
The reader gets temporary amnesia after being kidnapped by Moriarty. Based on a prompt by @observingletters - I hope you enjoy it!! Also on a03 - second chapter of three.
Chapter Two: Watch This Be The Wrong Thing
I’m not proud
Guess I’m just scared of you shootin’ it down
You could be bad, but I wanna find out
And I wake up in the middle of the night
With the light on, and I feel like I could die
Cause you’re not here, and it don’t feel right
Isn’t it fun thinking I’m right when I’m probably wrong?
Holding my breath like I met someone
I’m gonna bend till I break and you’ll be my favourite mistake
God, I’m jumping in the deep end, it’s more fun to swim in
Heard the risk is drowning, but I’m gonna take it
- Risk by Gracie Abrams
Two days passed, and I was still an interloper in my own life. My memories didn’t return. Everything felt as weirdly unfamiliar, utterly alien, as they had on the very first day.
It didn’t help that the people I knew knew me, very well. John and Mrs Hudson often forgot, speaking to me with a cheerful ease that I couldn’t reciprocate. I wasn’t the girl they knew, not any more. I was…someone else. The problem was, I didn’t know quite who that was.
Nothing much happened. John had taken me back to Baker Street, and Mrs Hudson had asked if I wanted to play chess with her. I thought she meant actual chess; as it turned out, she had a computer game of it, with weird little angry rabbits instead of chess-pieces. When Sherlock returned, he came straight to her flat while John went upstairs, and regaled us with the mystery of a dead woman found with her head inside a wood-burning stove, all the while searching through Mrs Hudson’s fridge for cinnamon rolls.
Even the simplest little things felt jarring. John put cayenne spice on my fried eggs in the morning, along with salt and pepper; I never remembered having that, and yet it didn’t feel wrong in my mouth. Mrs Hudson knew how I took my coffee. Sherlock…
Sherlock was another matter.
I watched him sometimes, curled up on the sofa while I pretended to read science-fiction books I’d apparently already read. He was busy solving the case from 221b, and that involved turning the wall behind the sofa into a sticky-taped, safety-pinned disaster of paper and pictures. He was full of energy in a way I didn’t understand. He could be still, utterly still, hands steepled under his chin, gazing into the distance. Then - up. Over to the sofa. Jump onto the back. Grabbing something, murmuring under his breath, leaping flamboyantly back down, his dressing gown whirling around him.
I didn’t understand Sherlock. I didn’t understand why I shared a flat with him. I didn’t understand why this arsehole of a man - as Greg had described him in an old text I’d found - put up with me, wanted me around, wanted to keep me safe.
I’d know when my memories returned. But they hadn’t yet.
It rained on, water slamming against the glass and bricks. Somewhere in London, a man I’d never heard of was possibly planning to kill me.
****
I didn’t know how the argument even started. It blew up, like a microwave when metal went in it. I think I was asking about Moriarty? Or perhaps Sherlock had been trying to grill me for answers I didn’t yet have. But on the third day, bridges were burned.
“Because only you could be idiotic enough to lose your memories!” Sherlock was bellowing, now, clutching a chemical test tube in one hand and scientific goggles in the other. I stood in the lounge doorway, motionless. “Time is of the essence! Moriarty is out there, and anticipating his next move is vital. You are the last person to be in direct contact with him - and your levels of helpfulness have, so far, been less than zero! All you’ve done is manage to avoid being killed. Congratulations! A turnip could manage better than you-”
Did I always take this sort of thing from him? I wondered abstractly. My hands were fisting onto the sleeves of my crossed arms. I could feel my heart pounding, protected by the cage of my limbs. My knees were locked straight, trembling violently. I couldn’t stand shouting people.
Sherlock barrelled on. “And here I am, trying to solve murders while keeping your helpless self from danger. God, Mycroft was right - you’re all goldfish. Just goldfish. Useless and so apt to die. I bet you never even got kidnapped. You probably walked right into Moriarty’s lair, foolish enough to think you could come out unscathed.”
I sucked in a breath. How can he make assumptions like that?
“Okay,” I said, voice small. “Sorry for being a bother.”
“Bit late now, isn’t it, when you’ve already lost any memories that could have been useful and most of your scant intelligence besides-” Sherlock cut himself off. “Where are you going?”
My coat was cold as I pulled it on. I would have answered, but tears were stinging the backs of my eyes, and I didn’t want to stammer with sobs.
“Y/N, the stupidity-” I heard the clink as he put the test-tube down. Hot panic spread through me.
I whirled. Bared my teeth. His eyes widened. “Don’t. Stop. M-me,” I bit out, and then I stormed out of the flat before he could try to.
****
Once the rain stopped, the sun peeked out. I walked aimlessly, choosing roads and alleys at random, trying to clear my head. Though wasn’t that the start of all my problems? That my head had been cleared?
Stop thinking about Sherlock.
But that was like asking myself to not breathe. I couldn’t stop thinking. Not about how he’d snarled at me, how he’d seemed to genuinely believe that my injury was somehow purposeful and deliberately hindering him from finding his archenemy. I had thought Sherlock could be my island in this.
But I was wrong.
I’d ended up in a park. I walked around for a bit. There were some parents out with their young children, free after school. There was a toddler with their grandparents, throwing bread to ducks. I walked on, hands shoved into my pockets. The leafy trees dripped water placidly onto the gravel paths. The grass was slick with water. Dandelions and daisies would spring up in abundance in a day or two.
I stepped over a busy little earthworm and stopped by a bench. It was sort of wet. Oh well. I sat down with a sigh, gazing out at the pond in front of me.
I didn’t know where I was. I had, absolutely, completely, no fucking clue. I was probably still in London - I hadn’t walked that far. But I had certainly not walked in a straight line either. And I didn’t have my phone. Or any money. Which was a shame, because I’d been out for two hours, and now I was hungry.
Tears burnt the backs of my eyes again. I pushed them away. I knew one thing - even if that one thing had changed in the past two years that I’d lost. I hadn’t become who I was by being weak. I had to be strong for myself, because no one else was going to be. And I never, ever, ever gave up. If I told myself I’d make it through something, I would, because I was that bloody stubborn.
Even if that stubbornness had led me to a park bench somewhere I didn’t know, in a city that felt alien to me.
I studied the way a raindrop looked in the sunshine. Birds tweeted above me. A pigeon landed near my earthworm, and I clapped my hands loudly, startling it away with a rustle of wings.
I had thought Sherlock was someone I could trust. Someone who I could rely on. I didn’t know why I’d assumed that. Had it been based on the stories I’d heard, or the photos I’d seen? Or because he’d imprinted on me somehow, being the first person I’d seen when I regained consciousness? Or because of something different?
Anyway, I’d been wrong. He’d shouted at me. He’d looked at me like he’d hated me. Looking after me was a chore, a necessity because once I regained my memories, I could be useful. But I didn’t want to be useful.
Not when I was lost. Utterly lost, in every way imaginable.
Time passed; people walked by; pram-wheels crunching on the path; a young woman giggling as she typed on her phone. I sat and stared until the pond changed colour, reflecting the now bright-blue skies above.
Then someone rounded the bench from behind and stood in front of me. I jerked, banging my elbow on the bench’s metal armrest. “God!”
“No, not quite,” Sherlock Holmes said, dropping down beside me, pressed together from shoulder to knee.
I opened my mouth. Shut it. My eyes stung with the pain as I rubbed my arm gingerly. Budge over, I should have said; there was the entire bench free, after all. “How the fuck did you find me?” I demanded instead. “I don’t even know where I am!”
“You always come here,” Sherlock said simply. “Right to this very bench.”
He turned to look at me, the wayward collar of his woollen blue coat rubbing against my puffa jacket. I took a deep breath. It stuttered and caught halfway through.
Then my face was on his shoulder and I was crying, huge ugly sobs that left no room for me to breathe.
Old tobacco. Something scientific. Something softer like ancient wool. Faded cologne. A strange smell of chips. An overpowering whiff of licorice sweets. They were all scents I caught, each time I inhaled roughly, desperately. There was a gloved hand on my back, patting it awkwardly as I wept.
“I’m not…I’m not a-anyone any m-more-” My voice was choked, buried against his coat. “I’m n-not myself, and not m-my twen-twenty-two year o-old self - I’m not a-anyone, Sherlock, I - I feel so l-lost-”
“Shh, shh,” Sherlock muttered stiffly. “You’re - Well, soon enough you’ll be everyone. You just need to be patient.”
“W-what if I n-never recover?”
“Don’t be absurd. Of course you will. The doctors said you will, and while I generally think doctors are a waste of time, they have their uses occasionally. Being annoyingly right about head injuries is one of those uses. I should know, given the five times I’ve had concussion.”
I listened to the low rumble of his voice and forced myself to calm down.
He didn’t apologise. I didn’t bring it up. Somehow, we didn’t need to. When I had finished crying, I stayed there, face hidden, even though my neck was starting to get a weird crick in it. His arm was still on my back, shielding me from the view of any potential busybodies.
When I was ready, I lifted my head. He stood, offering his hand. When I was up, he interlinked our arms. We walked back to Baker Street, through the twilight and rush-hour craziness, in silence.
****
The next day, Sherlock came up the steps slowly. I raised my head from my book, peering at the door as he came through it, still slow.
“Hey,” I said hesitantly. “Where’s John?”
“Scotland Yard.” Sherlock turned around to hang up his coat, and I gasped.
“Ohmygod!”
“Yes.”
The back of his left shoulder was covered in blood. There was a rip in the white shirt, and the blood encrusted the fabric. I scrambled up, book and blanket tumbling to the floor.
“Sherlock, what happened?”
“I had an altercation. A few, actually.” Sherlock faced me. There was dirt on his face and his hair was mussed up. As I moved closer, I could see a long scratch winding under his jaw. “Went to a fairly rough part of London. Tracking down a suspect in Caroline Victors’ death. Her cleaner. Someone took offence to…I’m not sure what, exactly.”
I smiled, but only momentarily. “You need the hospital!”
“Pfft, it’s not that bad.” Sherlock’s light blue eyes caught mine. “Mind hel - oh.”
“What?”
“No, forget it.” He huffed. “You know first-aid. This wouldn’t be the first time you’d patched me up. But you don’t remember.”
“...Shit. Sorry.” Guilt gnawed at my insides. “I can try, anyway, if you want.”
“No, it’s fine. John will be back shortly.” Sherlock crossed the room to his armchair and sat down, leaning forward, elbows braced on his knees.
“But what happened?”
“Penknife stab. That was the cleaner.” Sherlock smiled ruefully. “I wasn’t expecting it. She was small and timid - rather like Molly…Perhaps, on re-evaluation, I should have been expecting it.”
“But what did you do to annoy them that much?”
Sherlock snorted. “How the hell would I know? John said once that he always hears ‘punch me in the face’ when I speak. So.”
“Oh. Harsh.” I felt a pang of pity for him. I walked over, perching on the arm of John’s armchair. “Painkillers? Anything I can get you?”
“No, thank you.” Sherlock glanced up at me. “Remember anything yet?”
I drooped. “No.”
“It’s been five days since you woke up.”
“I know.”
“It’s annoying that you don’t remember m - Anything.”
“It annoys me too.”
Sherlock pulled a face. “I have always found common phrases to be unbearable trite, but…” We heard the door opening downstairs. He stood, one hand holding his side. “Get well soon, won’t you?”
****
The room was dark at night. Well, at dark as anywhere in London could ever be. My window faced the back, not the front of Baker Street; and my woollen curtains were quite thick.But when I woke up, tongue heavy and eyelids puffy with sleep, I knew I wouldn’t be alone in approximately-
The door opened and Sherlock came in, quietly, moving more gently than I’d ever seen. I rolled onto my back as he closed the door without clicking it and walked over, tying up his dressing-gown.
“Sh’lock?” I mumbled. I tried to lift my head a bit as he stood by my bed, just a dark silhouette, more shape and guesswork than proper colour.
He cleared his throat. Quietly. “Apologies. I…”
“What?”
“Shh. John is next door.”
I knuckled my eyes. “What’s happening?”
“Nothing. Nothing. I just…” Sherlock huffed. “I needed to check on you,” he said, sounding aggrieved, like it was all my fault somehow, like I’d remote-controlled him up the stairs or something.
“Why?” I couldn’t see his expression.
“...I had a dream,” he said curtly. “About what Moriarty could have done to you. Is that enough? If I wanted to be interrogated, I would phone Mycroft.”
“...Oh.” I was far too sleepy for this. “I’m here, I’m…” I was not okay, was I?
Sherlock sunk to the floor.
“What are you doing now?” His head was suddenly on a level with mine - only for a moment, before he dropped his face, burying his forehead against the edge of my bed.
“Well, I can’t squeeze into your bed. It seems rather rude. John would tell me it was a ‘bit not good’.” His voice was a muffled low murmur.
I looked at him for a long moment. Then I was shuffling backwards. “There’s room.”
Sherlock raised his head. “What?”
He had a nightmare, and you already know that you typically share a bed with him. I patted the space I’d vacated, shuffling back until my back was against the wall.
Sherlock looked between my eyes and hand. At least, I assumed he did, judging by the way his chin swivelled slightly. “The floor is hardly the worst place I’ve-”
“Just come here.”
Emotion swelled, welled; I could feel it, like an unspoken earthquake, from Sherlock. I didn’t know why. The words had no familiarity for me, but for him…
He swung himself into the bed, tucking his legs under the duvet. Rolled away. I hesitated, then shuffled closer once he’d finished moving.
I have a sleep impediment. Your company, as we discovered one night, solved that problem.
“...Have you slept at all since my accident?” I murmured. Sherlock stiffened at my sudden question.
“Bits and pieces,” he replied evasively. “Here and there. I’ve been busy. Moriarty, Caroline Victors…”
And me.
Mindful of his injured shoulder - I could smell the antiseptic and bandages John had applied yesterday - I shuffled closer still.
It’s just a hug, isn’t it? Lying in bed. Horizontally, like. It’s innocent. That’s what he said. This isn’t unfamiliar for either of you, even if you can’t remember it right now.
Stomach twisting, heart pounding, warmth spreading along the back of my neck, I disentangled my left arm and slung it lightly over Sherlock’s waist. He was surprisingly warm. My fingers curled automatically into the edge of his dressing-gown - the material was worn-smooth, faded from so much usage.
We both waited. Then Sherlock let out a long, slow sigh. Emboldened, I edged closer, my nose just brushing the back of his shoulder, not enough to put pressure.
“Goodnight,” I whispered.
He murmured something incoherent.
Just before I fell asleep, I sensed him shift back slightly, until our bodies were aligned, knees tucked into each other like two spoons who had no clue what the hell they were doing in the dishwasher.
****
Sherlock was gone when I woke up. The room was tinted a pale yellow, as the morning sunlight battled against my drawn curtains. I stared at the space where he’d been, wondering when he had left. My hand lay limply on the edge of the bed, as though my arm had been wrapped around him all night.
I tried to think about the past two years, but they were still non-existent. So instead I stretched my legs out and turned my mind to Sherlock and the anathema that was my relationship with him.
What, exactly, were we? We weren’t friends. We weren’t just friends. Or flatmates. Flatmates, or friends, didn’t share beds.
But he couldn’t sleep without me. Hmm. Why not?
My eyes widened as I suddenly realised. Nightmares. He had nightmares. That had to be the answer. He’d had one last night, and come up to check on me, but instead of leaving, he’d decided to sit on the floor by my bed. If I hadn’t done anything, he probably would have fallen asleep there.
So we shared a bed because he had nightmares and slept better with me there. But was that a thing peculiar to me, or did he just need a bedmate to not feel alone?
Some part of me wanted to believe I was special. I sighed to myself.
He was attractive. Gorgeous, if I was being honest, though I hadn’t especially considered it; I’d been a bit busy. I knew I liked him as a friend, regardless of whatever past-me had felt. I’d read about the unhealthily codependent relationships as a teenager. Being in one of them was a new one for me.
What had Sherlock been to me? Had I been in love with him? How could I not know if I had been in love with someone or not?
Had he ever been in love with me?
No. Of course not. Someone like Sherlock didn’t fall in love. I didn’t believe it.
Because we talk. You know, like a functioning relationship. Instead of…
Greg had looked at me, then. And Sherlock had reacted defensively.
I groaned, staring up at the ceiling. I could hear movement downstairs. I didn’t know, I didn’t know, and I wouldn’t know until my memories came back. Time to get over it and get on with my day.
****
“We need to go to a library,” Sherlock said as I walked into the lounge, holding a cup of coffee John had handed me. The great consulting detective was sitting at his small desk, tapping away on a laptop. “John has a date.”
“Meeting with an old friend, actually.”
“Not according to what your texts say.”
“Sherlock, I told you to leave my phone alone!”
“Oh, pfft. You should choose better security codes. The date when your bankcard expires? Pathetically easy. Anyway.” Sherlock glanced up at me. “Want to visit the library?”
He had absolutely no self-awkwardness about what had happened last night. I decided to follow his lead. “Okay. Do I have a membership card?”
“No. But all that means is that you can’t be held responsible when you set fire to the archives.”
****
Sherlock dumped me in the main part of the library and went off to the dusty old archives. He’d explained it was a necessary part of Caroline Victors’ murder, or something. I’d been too busy enjoying the warm sunshine to listen to him.
I strolled around for a bit, and then ended up in the children’s bit. I recognised some of the books. The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe…The Voyage of the Dawn-Treader…my fingers brushed against the worn spines of the Narnia chronicles. There, at the end, was my favourite. The Silver Chair. I pulled it out, and padded across a plush rug to a brown sofa that squeaked when I sat down. I faced the exit, hoping I’d spot Sherlock in my peripheral vision if he left without me.
The library was quiet. There were a few bespectacled librarians of various ages and genders at different stations; an old man reading a newspaper; a woman in her thirties browsing the romance section. It smelt of old books and ancient ink, and something bright and fresh like lemon washing-powder. The walls were thick enough that the roar of traffic outside was muted to an indiscernible hum. I flipped my book open and started to read, glad I wasn’t up in the boring archives with Sherlock.
Rereading old books feels like hugging an old friend. God knows I needed that. The words were familiar, yet every sentence was a quietly pleasant surprise. At least here was one thing I could remember from my past.
The sofa squeaked again as someone sat down. I tensed, glancing up over my book. It was just a man, holding a huge tome in his hands. It looked like a medical dictionary of some sort. He didn’t look at me, so I glanced back down, mildly peeved. Did he have to sit here? Though to be fair, this sofa was the only place in the entire building that currently got any sunshine.
There was intermittent rustles as we turned our pages, and then…
“Your book looks more interesting than mine, I have to say.”
The man was studying my book, one eyebrow arched. He smirked as I met his brown eyes. His hair was dark, far too gelled; and he was dressed in a suit.
“...Probably,” was all I could say.
“Can I just ask…do you come here often?”
Well, how the fuck would I know that? I gave a demurring little hum. Before I could look back down, or just stand up and leave, the man spoke again.
“Narnia. That place where time happens differently. Wouldn’t you just looove to go there? It would be so much more fun. Eternal winter!” he said, putting on a squeaky voice. “I’d be the White Witch. Bagsy.”
The hairs stood up on my arms. He had a slight accent now, his voice changing slightly. His eyes gleamed. He knew me.
“Who are you?” I said, closing my book.
“Don’t stand up, or I might just have to kill you,” he singsonged, quietly enough that no one else could hear.
My heart started to thunder. “Who. Are. You?”
“Aww…you don’t even recognise me? Sweetheart, I’m offended. I thought our time together was special. Meant something. Maybe it didn’t to you, seeing as you just…” He leaned in, lips pulling back slightly, eyes widening until I could see the whites, “forgot.”
You kidnapped me. I couldn’t say it aloud. You’re Moriarty. You are the man who kidnapped me, just because you’re Sherlock’s archenemy, and you’re sitting on a sofa with me, in a library.
The world pulled in, swirled back out, my surroundings ebbing like tides on a barren shore.
“Aww, just look at your face.” Moriarty grinned. He didn’t look like a kidnapper. He looked like a well-dressed lunatic. “Baby can’t believe it, can she? Y/N, may I introduce you to Jim Moriarty?” He held out his hand.
I gripped onto the book. “What happened? How did I get amnesia?”
“What, you think it was an accident?” Jim dropped his voice, fluttering his eyelids. “Sweetheart, nothing I do is ever an accident. Moriarty doesn’t mess up. Hey, I should put that on a t-shirt.”
“I don’t think it’s possible to…to give someone amnesia…” My heart was pounding so fast it actually hurt.
“Oh, babe.” Moriarty pouted. “I excel at doing the impossible.Just ask your boyfriend Sherlock. When he comes back, that is.”
I hadn’t realised it was medically possible to feel any more panicked. “What have you done to him?”
“Done to him? Right now?” He tilted his head. “Nothing. Well, apart from killing Caroline Victors, but that’s practically a gift, right? He does love the game, does Sherlock. It’s one of the reasons why I like him. I needed to keep him occupied just a teensy lil’ bit longer. It’s not quite time yet, you see.”
He’s going to kill me. I looked around desperately. There was a vase on a side-table, stuffed with synthetic orchids. If I moved quickly enough, I could grab it up and smash it. There was only one librarian within view, and their back was turned. They weren’t going to be useful.
“I’m not going to kill you,” Moriarty tutted. “Don’t be so boring, Y/N. That’s boring. What are you being?” He held up a finger. “Boring.”
I stared at him, wide-eyed, terrified. Everything felt too compressed, too loud, yet nowhere near real enough. Every shallow breath brought with it a stink of aftershave.
“Don’t you worry your pretty little head, sweetheart,” Moriarty murmured, leaning forward, angling his body towards me. “I’m not killing you yet. You, you see, are special. You’re a very important piece on my chessboard. You’re the queen that I’m saving, right until the last moment. Nice and safe, until I can use you for the ultimate checkpoint.”
Move. Scream. Headbutt him. Do something.
But it was like being hypnotised. I couldn’t look away from his brown, white-ringed eyes.
“Now,” Moriarty drawled, his voice a lilted slur, “try not to scream.”
What?
His foot, in its smart brown shoe - his foot shot out and kicked my ankle, just above the protection of my grey ankle boots. Hard.
There was a moment. Then the pain hit. I sucked in a sharp breath. Tears rushed into my eyes and I let out a moan through gritted teeth. Dimly, I was aware that Moriarty had stood, his book falling to the sofa. A hand brushed the top of my hair. “Sorry about that. Last injury till the end, I promise, darling! I’ll see you at the finish line. Or maybe - just maybe - before that.”
I heard the automatic doors whisping open as he left. It was like a plug had been pulled. The panic rushed through me, over me, numbing me to the pain of my ankle. I didn’t know what he’d done. But even just uncrossing my legs hurt, hurt so much. I dropped my head, shaking, fingernails gripping into The Silver Chair-
“Y/N. Y/N, breathe.” A hand was on my shoulder, and there was a rustle of fabric and paper. I looked up. Sherlock was kneeling in front of me, a sheaf of papers in Moriarty’s vacated place. “Look at me.”
I shook my head. “It - it was him,” I got out.
Sherlock’s eyes widened. He looked at me narrowly, seeing my emotional state. Then his eyes darted to Moriarty’s abandoned book. He snatched it up, sneered, and threw it back onto the sofa.
“How long?” he demanded. “What did he say? What did he do? Are you alright? For God’s sake, girl, why didn’t you just come to the archives with me?”
“You told me I could s-stay here!” I protested. My hands were shaking on my knees. Sherlock sighed, and took them in his own. His fingers were cold.
“Yes, fine, I concede to being gravely wrong about that - I had thought Mycroft’s security detail would be more vigilant than this, I clearly made an error - What happened? What did he say?”
“He k-killed Caroline Victors.”
For a full minute, Sherlock did absolutely nothing, just stared into the distance, eyes flicking around like a maniac, seeing things that were only visible to him. Then he shook his head. “Fine, yes, another of his games. I’ll tell Lestrade. What did he say about you?”
“That my amnesia was intentional.” The panic was slowly receding now. I focused on Sherlock’s face, and tried to carry on. “And…that he wouldn’t need me again until…the end. Because I’m…” I hated even saying the words. “His chess piece. His queen.”
Sherlock’s lip curled like he’d smelt something rancid. “Very distasteful of him.”
“I didn’t - I didn’t even know what he looked like…”
“Yes, an oversight. I should have shown you pictures. Come on. We need to get back to Baker Street.” He stood.
I started to stand, not thinking. There was a sharp, red-hot stab of pain through my ankle and all the way up my leg. I cried out, collapsing back into the sofa, biting my lip to keep from shrieking at the second jarring sensation.
“What is it?” Sherlock demanded, alarmed. I tasted the tang of metal as blood welled in my mouth. “What is it?” He looked up at my face. Alarm upgraded to pure terror in a millisecond. “Y/N-”
“It’s fine,” I gritted out. “He kicked my ankle.”
It sounded so absurd. And yet, it hurt so much.
Sherlock dropped to his knees again, peering at my left ankle. There was nothing to be seen - my tight jeans covered the injury. “Did you hear a crack?” he asked, eerily calm now.
“I…don’t know.”
He straightened. “Give me your hands.”
I didn’t think I could walk. But I held up my hands anyway.
“This will hurt,” he warned. “Put your weight on your right foot.” Then he tugged me upright. More pain shot through me. I tried hard to disassociate it, swaying onto my right shoe, half-collapsing against Sherlock. My left foot was held up awkwardly. Like an injured animal, there was no way I’d be putting it down on the floor.
“Alright,” Sherlock said, his voice in my ear. “Try to embrace your inner distressed damsel.”
What? Before I could say anything, he stooped, hooking an arm under my knees, and lifted me. I suppressed a yelp of pain, shock and indignance as my head landed against his shoulder. “Seriously?”
“You can’t walk. The injury isn’t bad enough for an ambulance. John can fix it.” Sherlock rounded the sofa and crossed to the exit. I bit hard on my lip as my leg got jogged. “Stop that. It’s bleeding.”
The doors slid open. An old man was coming in. He looked at us askance, then saw my pained expression and nodded approvingly at Sherlock. I caught the edge of Sherlock’s reciprocal lip-twitch, and something in me broke. Or maybe it had already broken, and this was everything flooding free.
“What. Are. We?” I hissed. Warm air hit my face and I closed my eyes against the sun, directly above me.
“What do you mean?” Sherlock carried me down the steps and to the edge of the pavement. He dithered. “This may be a tad difficult.”
“Are we more than flatmates? I don’t get it! Are we in some kind of weird situationship?”
Sherlock hesitated for a moment, scanning the road. “I’m hardly the best person to ask,” he said evenly. “Ah. Taxi!” Somehow, he flapped his hand that was under my knees, and got the driver’s attention.
Getting into the cab was painful. Once I was seated, with Sherlock opposite me, and we were driving, I glared at him, trying to laser-beam my pain into anger directed at him. You’ve started this conversation. You just met the man who plans to kill you. Don’t be cowardly now. “I still want answers.”
He couldn’t pretend he didn’t know what I meant. “And my answer still stands. I’m a high-functioning sociopath with a limited understanding of human emotions or relationships. Especially those with strict definitions set by other people.”
“Stop it,” I began. Then the cab pulled over.
Getting out was horrible. Sherlock left me leaning against the cab for a moment while he opened the front door of 221b, then came back and scooped me up again. I shouldn’t have felt that comfortable being carried like that. It shouldn’t have felt…okay.
“No, stop it,” I repeated. My ankle got jogged slightly as he manoeuvred through the door. I hissed.
He set me down in the hallway. “Stop what?”
I braced my palms against the wall. I needed painkillers. “You’re the other half of this relationship, Sherlock.” The sunlight was doused as he shut the door. The lock twisted. “You’re the only person who can tell me.”
Sherlock turned, stepping in front of me, looking down. He was close. Very, very close. “Why?” he said.
My heart was racing again. I felt slightly dizzy. “What?”
“Why do we have to put a name on it?” He arched an eyebrow, voice dropping. “That’s what ordinary people do. I’m not ordinary. And you have never been ordinary, either.”
I swallowed. My skin was tingling, and he was almost close enough to be touching me, but not quite. “I…”
“What is it that you’re wondering?” Sherlock continued, softer. “Do you think we ever kissed? We shared a bed. I told you that was entirely innocent. Do you think I lied?”
I broke the eye-contact, studying his scuffed black shoes and my grey ankle boot and the angle of my other foot, hovering above the floor. “I don’t know what I think anymore.” My voice was quiet. “Not since left became right, and up became down, and every point of the compass got shuffled around and even the continents started playing Musical Chairs and-”
He cut off my metaphor by placing his hand on my face. His thumb pushed back a piece of hair. I glanced up, adrenaline cutting off my pain more effectively than painkillers could.
His light blue eyes roamed my face, then dropped to my lips. My knee was shaking. If I hadn’t been using the wall for support, I would long since have collapsed. Then he looked back up, met my gaze. The corner of his mouth quirked. He leant in. Pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. Then, before I could say anything, he’d picked me up again and was carrying me into Mrs Hudson’s flat.
A/N: …well, a kiss on the forehead just felt more like how Sherlock would express fondness or tenderness…let me know if you like it!
Summary: stevie is an marine biologist that works for the valley sea research facility. His life changes when both he and rhonda finds an injured mermaid on the beach early in the morning. As the mermaid bonds with him and the other employees of the facility, stevie must protect him from a notorious hunter while questioning what he truly desires…
Chapter 1 tangled nets
TW/// BLOOD, FEAR, PANIC
The ocean was peaceful early in the morning, milton knows this best. He sometimes wake up and swims around the kelp sea he often hangs around.
He's an plesiosaurs mermaid, a species known to be docile, gentle, and highly intelligent, but unfortunately they're rarer nowadays due to both hunting and pollution. Milton often plays with the fishes, he playfully chases them around. He giggles at the way they try to swim away from him, although the fish probably thinks he's trying to hunt them rather than play with them.
“what a lovely morning, I hope to find more shells for my collection,” he spoke cheerfully. Something caught the mermaid's attention, a shiny lightish blue shell. Milton swam towards the shell, marveling at it's beauty, the way the light shines on the shell reminds him of how sun shines in the sea. He held onto it, planning on bringing it to his cave.
But when milton swam back to where he was, something was wrong. The fish were frantically swimming away, as if a predator was near. Milton then notices what looks like a net, his previous happy demeanor turns into fear. He tries to swim away, but unfortunately one of his fins got caught.
Milton screamed from the pain, he desperately tried to untangle his fin but unfortunately he ended up accidentally tangling it up more. Blood seeps from his wounded fin and hands, the mermaid started crying, thinking he's gonna die. He desperately started to try to swim to anyone, anybody, to help him. But when he started to see the shore, his vision started to fade as he passed out due to the blood loss.
At the shores, there were two people there checking the weather to see if they could do field research at sea. One of them was a tarantula marine biologist named stevie, the other was a Tasmanian devil supervisor who is the boss of stevie.
“Hey, you think we would see anything supernatural here?”
“No, stevie, supernatural beings don't exist. They're just some made up creatures designed to scare people away,” rhonda replied coldly but also in a slight joking way. She licked one of her fingers and put it near the air. She then puts it down and shakes her head.
“Yeah no, the weather is gonna get bad soon,”
“So you don't believe in the supernatural but you believe in licking your finger and putting it in the air can predict the weather?”
“shut up stevie,” rhonda responded. As stevie was about to talk back in a snarky way, he accidentally bumped into something, or rather someone.
He gasped, it was the stranded body of a mermaid. “Poor thing had one of his fins tangled” he quietly said while checking his pulse.
“He still has one, thank god” stevie thought as rhonda was walking towards him.
“Stevie where did you go-” she said before quickly noticing the body in front of both her and stevie, shocked at what she's seeing.
“holy shit is that a mermaid?”
“Yes, and I think we need to save him,” stevie quietly told rhonda. She wasn't sure about saving him considering its often frown upon for land dwellers to even interact with mermaids, often stereotyping them as violent sea monsters who will willingly kill any land dwellers who is near them.
“Im not sure stevie, what if he tries to kill-”
“Rhonda please, he could be a gentle giant that's on the verge of death. We have to save him, didn't you say we need to protect sea creatures, that has to include mermaids too. So please let's save him,” stevie interrupted rhonda with those hopeful eyes that she's unable to say no to.
“Fine, but as soon as he fully recovers, we are putting him back where he came from and we are to not interact with again,” rhonda told stevie, the tarantula was excited. The Tasmanian devil then proceeded to call lou and granny gumbo to take the mermaid to the valley sea research facility so he can go into surgery and start recovering.
Marinette ran into the school as the first bell rang. She grimaced and hurried to her homeroom class before the second bell rang. She took her seat beside Alya and faceplanted on the desk. Alya chuckled and nudged Marinette.
“So, what was it this time?” Alya asked.
“I may have overslept again,” Marinette muttered.
“And what were you doing?”
“Working on Chloe’s design.”
“Really girl? She ain’t worth it.”
Marinette lifted her head and deadpanned. “Alya, this is a big opportunity. She has connections with Gabriel Agreste, the top fashion designer in all of Paris. Probably the world. If he sees the design-.”
“I get it, I get it. She’s just not worth it.”
“Marinette!” Chloe called.
Marinette straightened as Chloe stood over her and Alya’s desk. Beside Chloe was Sabrina, Chloe’s best friend.
“Since you two are talking about it, I want to see the design,” Chloe said.
“Right! Let me just,” Marinette started.
Marinette opened her bag and searched for her sketchbook. Her eyes widened as she tore through the contents, but didn’t find it.
“Oh no! I left it at home. I need to go get it. I need-,” Marinette cried.
“Relax, Marinette. I’ll stop by later. Halia wants some of your dad’s pastries anyway. I’ll walk with you, m’kay?” Chloe said.
“Oh, wow. The great Chloe Bourgeois walking with peasants? Hell must have frozen over,” Alya remarked.
Marinette jabbed Alya while Chloe frowned and glared at Alya. Alya returned the glare as Chloe tsked and turned away. Chloe took her seat at her desk as Marinette hissed at Alya.
“Stop that. You don’t have to be nice, but don’t do that,” Marinette remarked.
Alya rolled her eyes and turned away from Marinette. Marinette sighed and faced the front of the class as the second bell rang. The other students hurried to their seats as the teacher walked in.
The teacher took attendance when the building shook. The other students buzzed, but otherwise ignored it. Alya tensed and grabbed Marinette’s arm.
“Alya? Is something wrong?” Marinette asked.
“I don’t feel well,” Alya whispered.
“Like… something is wrong, or you ate something bad?”
“Something is wrong. Miss Bustier, may I-?” Alya started.
A loud roar pierced the silence. Everyone flinched and covered their ears until the roar died away.
“What was that?” Rose asked.
“Is there something scheduled today?” Max asked.
Marinette felt her heart pound as Alya tugged on Marinette’s arm. Marinette let Alya drag her out of the seat towards the wall. Miss Bustier opened her mouth as a large stone fist crashed through the floor where Marinette and Alya once sat. Everyone screamed as the fist disappeared into the ground. Marinette’s eyes widened as she clung to Alya.
“Ok, everyone, calm down. I want everyone to get up and-,” Miss Bustier started.
The stone fist punched through the floor, hitting Mylene and Alix’s desk across the aisle from Marinette and Alya’s desk. Alix cursed as she flew up, crashed into the floor, and rolled down the aisle steps. Mylene shrieked as she knocked back into the wall. Alya bolted across the room and pulled Mylene away from the stone hand.
“Let’s go!” Alya yelled.
The class bolted out the door while Miss Bustier tried to maintain order. Alya grabbed Marinette and headed out the door. They paused as the rest of the school was being evacuated by the principal, Mr. Damocles, and a muscular woman with long, messy hair. They headed for the stairs as another roar pierced the air. They staggered and recoiled from the ear-piercing noise.
“Run! Now!” the muscular woman ordered.
Alya grabbed Marinette and forced their way down the stairs as the stone fist punched through the wall. They caught a glimpse of the creature. A massive stone golem that looked like one of their classmates, Ivan Bruel. The golem roared again and punched at more walls. The second floor crumbled and collapsed. Screams of students tore through the air as they plummeted to the first floor.
Alya and Marinette touched the ground floor and ran. They headed for the exit while the golem rampaged and debris flew everywhere. Marinette glanced back as a piece headed for them.
“Duck, Alya!” Marinette screamed.
Alya turned as the chunk of debris smacked her on the head. Alya stumbled back and hit the floor. Marinette shrieked and hurried to Alya’s side. Marinette’s eyes widened as blood poured from Alya’s head.
Marinette sucked in a breath and threw Alya over her shoulders like a large bag of flour. She staggered as she struggled with the dead weight. She trotted towards the exit. She stumbled as the ground shook. She chanced a glance at the golem as it stomped forward towards the exit. It plowed through the walls. She stopped dead as the falling rubble and debris buried the fleeing students as the golem left the school.
Marinette stared in horror at the blood splatters and limbs poking out from under the rubble. Bile rose in her throat and she wretched. Tears poured from her eyes seeing what almost became of her and Alya.
“Hey! Are you ok?” the muscular woman asked.
Marinette gasped and looked up. The woman stood over her with an unconscious Sublime in her arms.
“Y-yeah. Just… yeah,” Marinette said.
“Do you need me to carry that girl?” the woman asked.
“I… I couldn’t ask that. You’re already carrying Sublime. I got this.”
“Prove it. Let’s go.”
Marinette watched the woman easily vault over the large rubble pile. Marinette took several breaths before she climbed the pile. She struggled over the top, but made it over. She took a deep breath and jumped down the hill of debris towards the street. Ambulances, firefighters, and police officers lined the streets. The police had set up barricades, firefighters were starting to run in and rescue people, while doctors patched up those who made it out already.
Marinette trotted up to an ambulance with Aglae and Aurore. Aglae was being treated while Aurore turned to Marinette.
“Mari! You’re ok!” Aurore cheered.
“I am, but Alya isn’t. Is there any doctors that can help her now? She was struck by flying debris in the head,” Marinette said.
Aglae gasped. “Please, don’t worry about me. Help our friend.”
“Someone will get to her, young lady,” the doctor said.
“But-!” Aglae started.
“Now hold up. You have a child here with a potentially life threatening injury. Which is more important? A broken arm or a cracked skull?” the muscular woman asked.
“Exactly. Please, help her first,” Aglae begged.
The doctor sighed and had Alya taken away on a stretcher. The doctor assigned a nurse to Aglae as he went off with Alya.
Marinette sighed. “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean-.”
“It’s ok, Mari. Well, not really. Look at everything. What even was that thing?” Aurore asked.
“I don’t know, but it looked like Ivan,” Marinette said.
“Do you think it was Ivan?” Aglae asked.
“How? Do you think Ivan just transformed into that thing?” Aurore asked.
“I… I don’t know,” Aglae admitted.
“The extraordinary has occurred. That much you lot should be concerned with,” the woman butted in.
Marinette turned to the woman. “Thank you for helping people, and me.”
“Don’t thank me yet. There’s still a lot left to do with that monster roaming around. Please, stay here and away from that monster,” the woman instructed.
Marinette frowned as the woman left them. She turned to Aurore and Aglae as Aurore fussed over Aglae. She glanced around the area at her other friends. Juleka laid on a stretcher with Luka and Rose standing near her, Kim was being patched up while Max sat beside him unscathed, Ondine was carried out a bloody mess and her legs crushed, Chloe sat with Sabrina, who was laid out with a sheet over her, and Diane and Alix were unscathed as they shared their accounts with the authorities. She watched as more of her friends were carried out either unconscious or dead.
Tears welled in Marinette’s eyes as the golem’s roars echoed through the city. She stared in bewilderment as she struggled to get a grasp on everything. It all went from a normal school day to something from a show. Was this even real or was it a nightmare? If she woke up, would it be over, or was she already awake? She pinched herself and flinched from the pain.
Marinette’s eyes widened at the realization she was awake. This was all real. The destruction, the blood, the death, all of it was real. There was no end to this nightmare. She let out a choked sob when she heard a soft melody. She glanced around and noticed a small red light. She checked to see if anyone else noticed before she approached it.
Marinette tilted her head as she saw it was a ladybug. Her face scrunched in confusion as she reached out to it.
“Little Lady? Is that you?” Marinette asked.
The ladybug twirled once and leapt to Marinette’s finger. It fluttered its wings before it flew off away from the barricade. Marinette glanced back before she followed the ladybug away to her home. It flew up towards the rooftop while she ran through the house to the rooftop. She stepped out onto the roof and looked around. She stopped as the ladybug hovered near the railing.
Marinette took a step forward when the ladybug glowed brightly. She shielded herself from the light until it died away. She glanced over and gasped. A woman stood where the ladybug once was.
The woman smiled at Marinette. “Hello, Marinette. Ready to become a hero?”
“Run. Run, Virgil, please…” Roman’s breath stuttered, tears pooling in his eyes as his voice hitched. “Run,” he begged, voice barely audible.
Virgil’s thumb gently wiped a tear from Roman’s cheek, the tear glistening against it in the lantern light. “I can’t, Princey. Not anymore,” he whispered.
“I don’t want to hurt you.” Roman released a broken sob, his hand quivered rising to cover his mouth, muffling the sound. The shackles around his wrists clanked against the ground, their metallic echoes soft against the stone walls.
“And I don’t want to lose you.” Virgil’s voice was steady, but his pinched brow betrayed his anguish as he carded a hand through Roman’s sweat-drenched hair. “Roman, I won’t leave without you. Not again. I’m tired of running… especially when it’s always away from you.”
Roman’s body trembled, the weight of his torment sinking into Virgil’s arms as the other pulled him close. His usual confident, boisterous bravado was utterly shattered, leaving only the broken man who clung desperately to Virgil’s shirt.
“I don’t- I don’t know how much longer I can…” He pushed lightly against Virgil’s chest, brown, dark circled eyes pleading Virgil for something Virgil couldn’t give them. “Please, go.”
Virgil cradled Roman’s face in his hands as if it was some of the finest china, delicate and precious. “I can’t.” He murmured. “Roman…” His eyes flickered between Roman’s. “I love you.” The three words could barely be heard over Roman’s ragged breaths, but the way his lips moved was clear.
Roman’s grip tightened on Virgil’s shirt. “I-” A sharp pain shot up through Roman’s body, a warning of an inevitable change. Releasing Virgil he moved to pull away but was stopped.
“Ro.” Virgil tucked Roman back into his chest, holding him like it was the only thing keeping him from plummeting into some dark abyss and maybe he was.
Roman slipped something into Virgil’s hand, closing his fingers around it tightly. His body shuddered violently, muscles contracting as he cried out in agony. He reached up, his other hand pressing gently to Virgil’s cheek. “Please, don’t hate me.”
“Don’t…” Virgil’s eyes went down to his closed hand, his eyebrows drew together as a familiar tingling sensation crawled up his arm that began to disappear. His heart twisted with a sudden, sharp pang, a bitter taste of betrayal settling in his chest.
Roman leaned in, pressing a kiss to Virgil’s cheek, his lips trembling. “I love you, Virgil. Don’t ever forget that,” he whispered.
Those were the last words Virgil heard, but the last thing he saw was the terror and uncertainty that filled Roman’s brown eyes—the terror that would haunt him forever. And then, he was home, staring blankly at the bed Roman and him used to share—the bed they might never share again.
Ok. Ok. Ok- this is…this is fine. There’s more- heheh. There’s more Mikeys- Or, Mikey-like creatures- Just two more! This.. this is FINE.
A few beats pass in tormented silence as I stand and try to process the addition of more creatures that have scurried into my life. The whole of this stressful day has really taken a lot out of me mentally- and now it’s really starting to show.
Oh shoot. I should say something.
I try to shake the rumbling mists of worry and panic out of my head, settling for just the tingling sensation of sheer and utter confusion.
“H-hello?”, I say to these new brightly-clad creatures now staring daggers into my soul, “I- I’m sorry this is just a lot to..to process- I..”
I take a breath.
“Okay. Mikey will be fine,” I hold out my hands in a steadying motion, “I gave him some medicine and his infection should be gone in a fe-”
“WHAT?” The blue one, Leo, shrieked, pulling Mikey’s weak body closer to his own protectively, “An infection?!” He gently cups Mikey’s sluggish face into his hands, “Mikey! Come on! Wake up!!!”
Mikey slurs some incomprehensible words before allowing his head to sag deeper into Leo’s arms. This just makes the tension in the room rise, as well as fan the flame of hatred flickering in the eyes of the creature adorned with a bright purple mask and pixel-like markings.
“He-He’ll be okay.” I say as I try to take a step forward, but am abruptly halted by the sharp hiss from the purple creature, “I gave him medicine, and the doc said he’ll be okay in a few days.”
I watch as Leo’s eyes search me, trying to decipher if I or my words can be trusted. Neither of the creatures release me from their soul-piercing gazes, but eventually Leo’s expression softens, while the purple one’s dulls.
“Wh-what did you give him?” Leo hesitantly asks, as the purple one joins him on the bed alongside Mikey, “I don't think our kind can handle human medicine.”
The purple creature gives a minimal nod of agreement without letting his eyes off me.
I slowly.. very slowly.. crouch to the floor so that I’m now at eye-level with all the creatures. My heart continues to pound in my ears, and my chest feels warm with re-kindled adrenaline. It’s also kinda.. getting hard.. to breathe.
“I didn’t give him any human meds- it was-” I pause, asking myself if I will offend the heck out of the other creatures if I say “animal medicine”. But it was the truth, and therefore quickly escapes my mouth. “It was for animals. The doc said it would be safer for him.”
Leo finally turns his piercing blue and brown eyes away from my jade. The purple one’s silvery-blue irises also release me from their grip to look down at Mikey. Leo’s head twists and tilts, looking over Mikey like he’s a doctor inspecting a patient. The purple one sits close by, doing the same. After a little bit, the two brightly-clad creatures turn to look at each other. Leo shrugs, while the purple one gives another subtle nod. They turn their eyes back to me.
“He’ll be okay?” Leo asks me, as his eyes once again search my soul for any deceit hiding in the shadows.
“Yes. The doc said he’ll be..” I gulp down the sudden taste of acid in my throat, ”..f-f-fine..”
My chest aches as I feel my airway slowly closing up with every breath I take. My ears fill with a sharp hum as my vision starts to make the forms of the three creatures before me double..and triple..
Not now. COME ON, NOT NOW.
My episodes have never come with an invitation, and this time around was no different. It’s embarrassing enough when it happens in front of other people, but of course it had to happen in front of three turtle-cat-creature things.. I love my life.
As my vision continues to pixelate and distort, I instinctually sit down as fast as I can. The sudden thud makes the purple creature let out a low growl, but I’m too busy trying to breathe to notice him. Before my nausea begins, I shut my eyes tight and go limp on the floor. My vision goes dark, but my other senses remain awake, hearing the faint sounds of scuttling paws cautiously creeping closer.
A hand the size of a bottle cap touches my face.
The sensation of the touch was similar to brushing your skin up against leather. Compared to Mikey’s more sharp and jagged scales, this creature’s body was smooth and covered in tiny scales delicately placed in neat rows.
“Are you cognitive, human?”
My brain can’t connect the voice to any I’ve heard before, so I assume this is the purple creature’s paw on my face. Suddenly I’m very grateful that I can’t feel any claws piercing into my skin.
I feel the small hand pull away with a gasp as my legs and shoulders start shaking.
“What the?!”
I can only hum in response to his concern, but it comes out as a hushed wince.
I probably just made him more worried..
In a few minutes, I can finally open my eyes again, letting my dark world alight with the solid teals and greys from my room’s walls. The pixels of a small, concerned, and purple face crystalize before me.
“H-hhhhi.” I choke out as my breathing slowly steadies. “S-sorry..”
“Why are you apologizing, human?” The purple creature retorts, waving it’s widdle hands in the air, “It is highly unlikely you did that on purpose.”
If I didn’t just have an episode, I would be AWWW-ing like crazy right now.
“Is she okay?” Leo calls out to Purple, still holding Mikey close.
“Hmmm.” Purple leans over my shoulder to look directly into my face, poking my skin, and using his widdle hands to widen my eye. He pulls away and plants his hand contemplatively on his chin, “It..seems she’s fine.. Course, I’m no human expert. None of the books in the Toshokan have ever documented the illusive human…I mean- I would know, seeing how I have read every single page-”
“- Less nerding more helping, Brainiac.” Leo mocks as he looks down from the height of the bed.
With movement as fast as a rewinding snail, I shakily push myself off the floor into a sitting-up position. My legs and shoulders ache from my shivers, but my brain and body are finally returning back to normal.
“I’m.. I’m alright. Totally normal- nothing to worry about-” I say, as I sigh and stroke my neck, “..Happens when I’m stressed out.”
Leo tilts his head, “Why would you be st-”
“-Really, Leo?” Purple sighs, motioning to himself and the blue-clad creature dramatically, “You think it would make sense that she would be as cool as a cucumber with..this whole situation???”
“Uh-yeah!” Leo rolls his eyes and drops his shoulders, “She should be honored to be in the presence of greatness~ Maybe she’s stressed cause she woke up to your gigantic forehead, Donnie.”
“Scoff! Highly inaccurate, Nardo. My forehead is the perfect size to contain my magnificent brain.”
I blink, restarting my brain to go into *processing mode* once again.
Okay.. Stay calm..
There’s three.. Turtle creatures.. in your bedroom. Mikey, Leo, and..um- oh, Donnie. There’s three now. That’s fine. I’m fine. This is fine.
“WHAT’S GOIN’ ON?? WHERE’S MIKEY? WHAT WAS THAT THUD??” Another more scratchy and low voice rang out from behind me, making me jolt something awful.
…Four…..There’s..
..four.
What happens next, @phoebepheebsphibs? :) Also- MAN ALIVE IT FELT AMAZING to get back to writing after all this time!!!! It's good to be back. :)
~ Melissa
( I actually had to make my own personal post in order to add it to my library of links, sooo here's the official post for chapter 7 of me and Phoebe's collab story! :) )
