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★
cherry valley forever
Today's Document
roma★
oozey mess
TMBGareOK. The Official They Might Be Giants tumblr
Sweet Seals For You, Always
Cosimo Galluzzi
untitled
The Bright Sessions
Discoholic 🪩
official daine visual archive
EXPECTATIONS
KIROKAZE
@theartofmadeline
occasionally subtle
ellievsbear
Color Me Curious
Sade Olutola
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Germany
seen from Cyprus
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from South Korea
seen from Türkiye
seen from Bangladesh
seen from India
seen from Bangladesh
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@threepatchdetective-blog
+diglestrade
I don’t, actually.
I’m here to pick you up for John’s Stag party. Come on, get your coat.
Oh, for heaven's sake. Is he really insisting on a stag party?
Fine, fine. Though if he expects me to... [he shakes his head] Never mind. Fine.
+diglestrade
For the love of god, please tell me you've come with something interesting. I've not been able to leave the flat for weeks.
“It’s not bubblegum. You don’t chew it.”
"Look, you do things your way," he snaps, peevishly removing his knuckles from between his teeth, "and I'll do things mine."
What he refuses to mention is why they were there in the first place.
Send one to see how the muse responds
"Relax, would you!" “It’s not bubblegum. You don’t chew it.” “Sometimes I want to be alone, but right now I need you.” “Open the damn door!” “Yeah, I did it. What do you want? An apology?” “So that’s it. This is the end?” “Where were you when I needed you?” “You did that on purpose!” “How could you hurt me like this?” “Get off of the road!” “Take me to bed now or lose me forever.”
Reblog if you are willing to RP crossovers even if you are not familiar with the source material of the other muse.
Put one of these in my askbox to see how my Muse reacts.
"I think I’m forgetting something."
"This seems familiar."
"You lied to me!"
"Are you threatening me?"
"Is that my shirt?"
"Where did you find this?"
"Explain yourself."
"Where were you?"
threepatchdetective replied to your post:What makes christmas dinners so awful?
How else do you expect me to survive something so excruciatingly /dull/?
Perhaps you could try doing what I do and concentrate on inside your head? Don’t say it - just think.
And give up the chance to watch Great Aunt Edith squirm? Fat chance.
The Mun has decided to queue loads of ask memes. Oh, goody.
+deflorated
Florists. Why is it always florists?
Passion always leads to violence, he supposes. And flowers symbolise passion... unless, like Sherlock, you're allergic to most and find the rest either inane or depressing or both.
But regardless of his personal opinions on the matter, there was a rather sloppy, really killer who had been leaving irises with his victims. Recently purchased irises. Irises fed with non-commercial plant food.
And there were only three florists in a ten-mile radius that didn't use commercial packets, so here Sherlock was, walking into one.
Of All the Gin Joints in All the World
It’s not that Jim has a problem with law enforcement, it’s… that Jim has a problem staying away from law enforcement. And maybe that he has a problem keeping himself out of incarceration. Not for his true crimes, that was really a one off, but - watch lists are things he enjoys appearing on, under various different names and faces. So it’s just that he gets picked up about once every year, give or take four.
It’s been years, and frankly he’s bored. He’s bored and his people are complacent, and there’s nothing to do for it but go out and get himself picked up. Flipping through a notebook that bears entirely too much resemblance to a certain spiral for anyone’s comfort, he picks an agency at random, and sets out to do his damage, gleeful at the thought of the worry and irritation his staff will suffer.
As it turns out, it’s really not that hard to get SHIELD’s attention. A quick trip to America, a couple conversations with a couple sensitive people, and well…
He’s found himself in an interrogation room, sitting pretty.
This should be fun.
It's not that Sherlock minds being pulled out of London with less than five hours' notice, it's... actually, yes, it kind of is. While he'll always welcome a break in monotony, he likes having a little time to set his affairs in order (here meaning, of course, making sure the coagulation of whatever-it-is in his fridge will remain consistent).
Really, this deal with SHIELD is starting to annoy him. It started as an alternative to arrest, but now he's in too deep, there's no getting out of it. Many cases they call him in on are interesting, to be fair, but some of them are so mind-numbingly dull that he wonders why they don't start flying him over to open top-secret jars of pickles.
But not this one.
No.
He's found himself in an interrogation room, sitting across from a man who's grinning like the cat that got the cream.
A man who wants to be there.
"Hello, Jim."
voxmendacem has come to call
If you want honesty, my friend, then I present you with the quite shocking answer of “both.” You’re smarter than the average human man and I admit, I do seek a challenge to mine own vast intellect greater than what my brother can offer on many occasions.
["Greater than what my brother can offer" more like his life Sherlock identifies with that on so many levels. Oh, Loki, you actually earned a genuine smile. Not a smirk. A smile. Don't tell anyone.]
Your brother. Thor, I assume? From what I've read, I wouldn't think he could offer very much.
voxmendacem has come to call
Are you so surprised, my dear? Of course, your tea is the only thing I’d ever return to your flat for. There’s not much else of worth to be hanging around to see.
Sarcasm aside. I’m drawn to you, what can I say.
Drawn to me?
Or the kind of clientele that pays in old horns like the one that brought you here?
voxmendacem has come to call
Back so soon, Loki? My tea mustn't be as rubbish as people have told me.
Were Clarice the self-pitying type she might have thought ‘why me?’ as she was greeted by the infamous Sherlock Holmes. But Clarice was not the self-pitying type. Just as before, she accepted the task given to her by her superior. Agent Starling, it seemed, had a reputation for dealing with the reticent, and handling the eccentric.
Though even she had to admit that a socially inept reclusive genius was a far different creature to the caged predator that was Hannibal Lector.
No. Was Hannibal Lector. He was now free and at large.
Clarice dismissed the thoughts of the man with the rusted voice and focused on the one in front of her.
“Good afternoon, Mister Holmes.” That Southern accent rang through her voice. She would never be rid of it. “And, uh, yes, a woman let me in.” Muttering warnings continuously the whole time. Clarice had ignored them. It was hardly the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane.
Clarice stepped through the doorway with her armful of files. She was dressed like an agent this time, wearing a pantsuit, with her gun holstered under her arm. Not the woman wearing the cheap shoes with the nice bag. “The Bureau appreciates your acceptance of assistance.” Her words were formal. Rehearsed.
Send Clarice in to deal with the wackjobs wanting to help. She’s good at it.
Ah, yes. This one thinks he's mad. Wonderful.
"And I appreciate the Bureau's recognition of the advantage I give them, but that isn't why we're here," he sighs. "We're here because a highly intelligent cannibal has escaped federal surveillance." Bloody typical. "Now, it's clear you're apprehensive, as any normal person would be in the home of an unfortunately-notorious stranger. You've made an effort to present yourself as professionally as possible: the over-formalised dialect, the pantsuit - probably your second-best, the makeup you touched up in the restroom at the airport. But you've neglected to realise a gun holstered beneath your arm is far more visible in a blazer with darts, which means you haven't looked at yourself in a mirror long enough to notice. Again. Nervous."
Sherlock folds down into his armchair, steepling his fingers.
"You have two options, Agent. You can continue speaking to me as if you're writing a business email, or you can sit down, tell me your name, and tell me what I need to know. This isn't the Bureau."
In which Sherlock has forgotten every shred of modesty by 4 am
and is apparently an ambidextrous smoker.
