`heroes don't exist

"-- And if they did, I wouldn't be one of them." Sherlock Holmes, the world's only Consulting Detective. When the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me. Baker Street; John Watson Jim Moriarty Irene Adler Greg Lestrade Molly Hooper Other; Guide To Roleplaying Personal Blog Current Magic Anon: None.

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And now for Reichenbach art coming your way. 

[cumberbatchs]

[cumberbatchs]

[cumberbatchs]

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Sherlock~

Loki.

[agentpcoulson]

Screencaping for the perfection of this set and the amount of notes. B|

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[[ ]]

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[[ Semi-Hiatus announcement. ]]

[[ As much as I've tried, my muse for this account has pretty much dwindled down to a bare minimum, and I'd hate to force myself to reply here and only give half-assed characterization. What this means: - I will be here, on and off. I will be slow, and I don't promise I'll be on for more than an hour or two a day. - By no means am I abandoning the account completely, I'm hoping to dig out some of the books, maybe think up a plot, rewatch the series etc. - If there's a post you really want brought to my attention, you can use one of the contacts to talk to me. - I love everyone who has stuck around for this ridiculous brain-dead time of mine, and I hope I'll be back to normal soon enough. Contacts: MSN - [email protected] Skype - thestarkcissist Personal Tumblr - betterclenchup-legolas Include your URL when contacting me, and take care. ]]

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The outburst caught him off guard. John had maintained composure in the most stressful of situations, and yet somehow this had set him off more than each of those. However, it did nothing to drive the point any further home than he’d been doing previously, and Sherlock took a step toward, keeping his eyes fixed on the doctor and lowering his voice. “You do not get to decide which of us deserves to live more, is that understood?” There was a firm tone to his voice which didn’t give way to the sharp stab of distress the idea caused him. Of walking away, of finding out that the other man might have harmed himself if he hadn’t been there to distract him. That he truly would have preferred to die, than harm someone else. “The world will always have detectives, but it will always need doctors,” Sherlock said calmly, lifting his hands and setting one on either of John’s shoulders, “Don’t argue about this with me, we both know once I’ve made a decision, there is little someone can do to dissuade me,” He said firmly. “I have no interest in finding you dead some day due to my negligence.”

[articulateinvalid]

John felt the hot thrum of anxiety and shame of his illness. Something he had thought he was long past, but that was the tricky thing about a disease like that. One did not easily recover, there was always the chance of the psyche being dragged back into the pits of an uncertain hell. When Sherlock was there, there was always an outlet, a distraction but for those three years he had been gone, John felt his own shortcomings at his throat. And then the man tried to convince him that he wasn’t simply replaceable.

“You’re wrong you know…..Saying that the world will always have detectives….maybe, but not like you. You’re the only one in the world.” He finally pulled hos eyes up to meet Sherlock’s “You have no interest in finding me dead, just the same as I have no interest in find your corpse….I’ve done it once….imagine how I’d feel If I were responsible for it Sherlock.” He knew the other man wouldn’t….couldn’t understand. But he understood Sherlock’s stubbornness, the meaning behind it. Sherlock wanted to fix the problem.

“You can’t help me if you’re dead.”

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"And I can't help you if you won't allow me to be present." Exhaling impatiently, Sherlock took a step forward, gripping one of John's wrists and tugging the man, urging him to meet his eyes. "You know what I do for a living, I have put myself in countless positions of danger, all for strangers, and the mindless-If you presume to think I wouldn't do the same for my friend then you have made a very poor deduction of my character," He said calmly. Amidst the conviction, and that sheer stubborn will, there was concern. The sick turn of his stomach which told him that he might one day find John hurt because he chose to turn his back. "I don't care for your approval in the matter-When you need help, you will come to me. It isn't a request, John."

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Yes-Really, how are you having difficulty grasping that?

[Exhaling, he rolled his eyes, sinking back into the couch further.] Hm? Oh, no reason. He’s annoying me. He keeps texting me about some kidnapped diplomats daughter, as if I should care. It’s hardly my fault they don’t invest in decent security, or that the ‘not-so-secret’ service is so dull as to have missed all the obvious clues. [He kicked up his heels, propping them on the arm of the chair as he crossed his arms, dropping his phone carelessly on the couch beside him.] I don’t see why you’re being so difficult over this-It wouldn’t take you more than a few seconds, must you be so childish, John?

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I’m being childish? First of all, you want me to send a text you easily could’ve done yourself and saved all the trouble. Secondly; bloody hell, Sherlock! I know you’re not this heartless! You honestly can’t expect me to know you haven’t solved it in your head already.

There’s a poor girl out there, Sherlock, going through God knows what, and you have the audacity to sit here when you have the answers floating in front of your nose? If you’re so adamant on having me text Mycroft, just simply tell me where you’ve deduced that she’s at and I’ll tell him for you.

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Of course I know where she is, don't be dull. And she's in no immediate danger. It's an attempt to rally sympathy for the diplomat in an upcoming election. She's staying with her Aunt overseas-Now, would you text Mycroft already. The confidence you have in me is truly staggering if you would assume I'd let a case go unsolved simply because I take issue with my brother.

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“Well-I think about the important things,” Sherlock remarked, settling into his own chair and settling his hands in his lap, fingers bridging with one another, and an amused tilt to his lips. “I will endeavour to keep you informed of my movements, John, though do try not to worry. I have absolutely no plans on dying once more-It seems rather repetitive,” He said, moving his hand in a dismissive gesture, “And were Mycroft not so insistent otherwise, I would have had you accompany me-It was utterly dreadful, and more than boring,” He droned with an impatient tone to his voice. Really. He preferred having John about. He’d grown used to the company, even to appreciate it. “I don’t suppose anything of interest happened while I was gone?”

[articulateinvalid]

John had to physically stop himself from snapping at Sherlock for not being among the  ’important things’ Jesus he needed to sleep, he hadn’t in the past two weeks, worried out of his mind, terrorizing Lestrade to find Sherlock, not that the Inspector knew anything. It wasn’t until Mycroft informed John that Sherlock was on his return flight home that he had been on a case in America.

“Yea… your brother is a right twat sometimes it seems.” He murmured.  Normally John  wouldn’t encourage the insulting of the elder Holmes, it only caused more fights but he couldn’t be arsed.

“Have you not read the papers? I would have thought you would. S’abit like Christmas come early for you I would think.”

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"Sometimes? I hardly think so-That seems rather an underestimate, John," Sherlock corrected, looking sour. He'd never quite liked conceding to what his brother asked, or really, told him to do. This was no exception. "No, no. I've avoided it-To keep from the disappointment of the boring and otherwise dull amount of criminal offenses. I caught sight of a robbery on the first page-If they think that is news worthy, then there's likely little which would challenge my mind." He settled into his seat, fidgeting all the while. Back barely a day and already that boredom was settling into it's usual place in his mind.

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Sherlock AU: Loki is behind everything

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thewhiphandx started following you

jamiehoopershortforjames started following you

Sherlock Holmes.

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I didn’t think it would trouble you. [He almost looks as if he’s attempting to determine how it could’ve bothered the doctor at all.] I apologize. [It sounded like he was testing the phrase, though by assumption, it’s what he should be saying, and if it would spare him a lecture from the irate man, he’s willing to sacrifice a little of stubbornness.]

[articulateinvalid]

“Of course you didn’t ….you’re the bloody genius who doesn’t think.”

John sighs and reclines back into his chair, running a hand over his face. He doesn’t have the energy to fight with Sherlock, or to try and translate this into Holmes-speak as to why it was wrong. He knows he is being flippant and childish, but he still remembered the sting of hurt.

“It’s fine…fine now….Thank you.” He knew that Sherlock was attempting to use the proper response through evidence of the past. John would have commended him for it, if he wasn’t so bloody annoyed in the first place, still, Sherlock was trying…even if he monumentally botched things in the first place. “Just….a note in the future if you’re planning on leaving London? So I don’t have a heart-attack thinking you’ve gone off and died again.”

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"Well-I think about the important things," Sherlock remarked, settling into his own chair and settling his hands in his lap, fingers bridging with one another, and an amused tilt to his lips. "I will endeavour to keep you informed of my movements, John, though do try not to worry. I have absolutely no plans on dying once more-It seems rather repetitive," He said, moving his hand in a dismissive gesture, "And were Mycroft not so insistent otherwise, I would have had you accompany me-It was utterly dreadful, and more than boring," He droned with an impatient tone to his voice. Really. He preferred having John about. He'd grown used to the company, even to appreciate it. "I don't suppose anything of interest happened while I was gone?"

[articulateinvalid]

…bloody bastard.

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I suspect you’re cross with me, then?

[articulateinvalid]

Three years I think you’re dead. And then you’re not. 

Then you go and disappear for two weeks. Two.bloody.weeks.

No…of course I’m not cross.

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I didn't think it would trouble you. [He almost looks as if he's attempting to determine how it could've bothered the doctor at all.] I apologize. [It sounded like he was testing the phrase, though by assumption, it's what he should be saying, and if it would spare him a lecture from the irate man, he's willing to sacrifice a little of stubbornness.]