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#The Missing Cases of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson

musingsofmyown · 2 years

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Missing Case #004

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January 06

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John, being one of the few people who knew Sherlock's birthday, decided to surprise him.

Greg also had a surprise, much to John's dismay,"Triple homicide, locked door, no windows, no signs of a fight and they didn't kill each other."

"It really is my birthday!" Sherlock's eyes lit up at the description of the murders,"We'll be there. John, get ready."

Reluctantly, the doctor followed his friend out of the flat, it was snowing a bit and the wind was blowing just enough to make a person uncomfortable, though it wouldn't stop Sherlock's determination.

"You seem put-off John, something wrong?"

Snapped out of his thoughts, he looked up at Sherlock,"Hm, well, nothing's wrong per se, I was just going 'surprise' you for your birthday and it'll probably have to wait till later."

Sherlock was now presented with two mysteries: the triple homicide, and now, John's surprise. A quick look-over told him that John didn't have a present on him, so it must be an activity, he hadn't made any calls recently so dinner reservations aren't likely but still a possibility. He went to the shops last week but the only thing he bought was foodstuffs. John wasn't a great liar so if Sherlock asked any questions, he'd be able to narrow the range of 'surprises' down,"Is it a gift?"

John smiled, hailing a cab,"Yes and no-"

"Is it an activity?"

The doctor gave his friend a 'seriously?' look,"Yes... and no."

No luck asking questions. Both statements were true.

"John you know how much I enjoy a good problem, but this is... tedious-"

"Then stop thinking about it, you have a case and you'll have your birthday surprise after you solve it, simple as that."

He huffed in disappointment, a small cough following.

The case, hardly being worth it by the time he got there, was solved rather quickly. Though Sherlock had an increasingly difficult time keeping track of his thoughts as he came to realise that the cough he had acquired was the beginning of a cold. John also came to the same realisation as the consulting detective had to cover up more than a few intense coughing fits.

"Hey, go home Sherlock, you're getting sick, I think we can handle it from here,"Greg put a hand on his shoulder,"and happy birthday too. John, take care of the poor thing."

"Definitely will,"He guided the increasingly sick man out of the building and into a cab,"How you feeling?"

"I abhor the day I was born."

A small chuckle escaped John's lips before pulling Sherlock against him, an arm wrapped around the chilly detective,"Well once we get back, a hot shower and tea is in order, then I'll get Angelo to deliver some dinner. I'll give you some medicine and I'll give you the little surprise I had planned. How's that sound?"

Unknown to most, Sherlock became very... docile when he was sick, so the lanky man maybe got every five words that John spoke, he was concentrated on the warmth that the doctor provided.

As if he were transported he found himself fresh out of the shower, sitting in his chair as the fire gently flickered in the hearth.

"Tea,"John gave him his cup and then sat across from him,"Is the medicine kicking in?"

The dazed detetcive hummed a non-committal noise before tucking his legs up,"Sorry, 'bout that."

"You're sick, I'm your doctor and friend, I don't mind,"after taking a sip of his own tea, he stuck his hand in his pocket,"if you don't remember this by tomorrow, then I'll do it again just to solidify it." Sherlock tilted his head, suddenly feeling nearly cured of his ailment, and watched as John pulled a silver band from the pocket his hand was in,"I'm not proposing, but I am promising something to you," he slipped the ring onto his friend's middle finger,"Sherlock Holmes, I promise to stay by your side and to provide safety and care to the best of my abilities."

Rendered speechless, and barely feeling sick anymore (more shocked than anything), he simply stared at the ring, turning his hand to see how the finely polished silver reflected the amber firelight,"John-"

"And if you would have me,"he continued,"I would like to be yours. As you would be mine."

A true, debonair smile found its way to Sherlock's lips,"You and me, just us, against the world."

"I'll take that as a yes..?"

"Yes, for you John, yes."

End Case-

^^Previous Case!!^^

Tag list:

(let me know/reblog if you wanna be added! Or if you wanna be taken off just leave me a comment/DM me!)

#Sherlock Holmes #John Watson #original writing #original fanfiction #johnlock #bbc sherlock #ficlet #johnlock ficlet #sick sherlock #sick fic #Sherlock Holmes is sick #John is a good doctor #greg lestrade #The missing cases of sherlock holmes and john watson

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gregorovitch-adler · 28 days

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The Veiled Lodger

Fandom: Sherlock & co.

Rating: M

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson/Mariana Ametxazurra

Chapters: 1/5

Word count: 10,339.

Hello! So, I'm working on a Sherlock & co fanfic (my first one ever). It features a poly between the three of them. I hope you like this one!

(I'll be a bit late in participating in the May Prompts Challenge this year because of that. :P)

Check it out! 😊

Tags: @helloliriels , @topsyturvy-turtely , @keirgreeneyes , @lisbeth-kk , @calaisreno , @jamielovesjam , @peanitbear , @gaylilsherlock

#sherlock & co #new fanfic #my new fic #sherlock x john x mariana #johnlock #sherlock holmes #john watson #mariana ametxazurra #case fic #it contains some warnings that you shouldn't miss though #angst #hurt/comfort #happy ending #based on the ACD canon story with the same name #The Veiled Lodger #current wip #wip #fic wip

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susiephone · 26 days

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john watson + sherlock holmes (bbc sherlock)

assume they have whatever resources and help they usually have in canon - bones and booth have their interns, father brown has whichever assistants you prefer, jane and lisbon have the rest of their team, etc.

also yes i am missing CSI and Criminal Minds and several other very famous crime shows but I never saw those, sooooo. there are also some i wanted to put on here, but i ran out of room. if this gets enough notes with requests i may do a part two.

#susie's sick polls

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thalialunacy · 16 days

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[for the @calaisreno May Prompts-all-the-Time; just a wee silly interlude today]

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) 14: eavesdropping (15) (16) (17)

Greg Lestrade has tried only three times, in the several aggravating years of their acquaintance, to surprise his friend Sherlock Holmes. It has yet to work, even when Sherlock was off his tit. The bastard.

But Greg has a new plan. Time has passed; he'd like to think he's learned a thing or two. And he has a new ally: Rosie Watson.

Sure, she's too small to be a super spy--yet--but she is a very excellent excuse to come round the flat.

She's undoubtedly getting spoiled, this one, as if everyone involved is trying to miraculously compensate for a lost mum, even though they know it's futile.

But also? Kids are fun when they're little. And Greg has no issue admitting he misses those days. Especially when he can hand the kid back when the nappy needs changing. It's brilliant.

And it's nearly John's birthday, so he figures he can kill two birds with one stone. Surprising Sherlock is just a bonus, a personal challenge he lays out for himself every once in a while. To keep his mind sharp. Like sudoku, but one where the sudoku insults you afterwards.

Today, he's prepared: He's bribed Mrs Hudson with some (completely legal, thanks) CBD sweeties. He's noted which stairs squeak. He's planned it for a time he reckons Rosie will be home and awake. He knows Sherlock isn't on any case for the Yard.

Yes, there's a chance John will be at his day job, or Sherlock will be on a private case, but those are chances he just has to take.

He holds the carefully wrapped package under his arm and starts up the stairs. He can hear music, immediately recognisable as Frozen II, but not much else.

One he gets to the landing, he considers the two doors in front of him. He listens again, harder, and thinks he can hear Sherlock and John conversing under the soundtrack, and thinks they're in the sitting room.

So he just goes for it. Opens the kitchen door slow as treacle, then peeks round.

He blinks, then pulls back. Has he just seen--

He peeks around again.

Yep. Yep, he has definitely seen Sherlock and John standing in front of the fireplace, in between their well-loved chairs, and kissing like the world is theirs to command: That feeling of a new relationship, which is a bit of luck considering how long those two blokes have known each other, but…

He rubs his eyes, then goes back for one more look.

Same picture, only this time-- Sherlock, eyes closed and expression intense as he holds John's face in one hand and explores his mouth without shame, uses the other hand to make two fingers in Greg's direction behind John's back.

Greg almost laughs out loud. Instead, he leaves the gift on the landing and heads back out. There's only so much a man wants to know about his mates.

He grins to himself. New new plan: Never try to surprise Sherlock Holmes again.

[ <3 ]

#May Prompts 2024 #MayPrompts2024 #BBC Sherlock #It's gonna be MAY 2024 #wee ficlet of silliness #never thought i'd be checking UK pot laws or the specific title of the second Frozen movie for fic but here we are

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calaisreno · 3 months

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Through a Glass, Darkly by Calais Reno

Chapter 1: The Alley

It begins in an alley. Two alleys, to be accurate. John and Sherlock, chasing a suspect. Holmes and Watson running for their lives. While John and Sherlock try to clear their names in ACD universe, Holmes and Watson are solving a missing persons case.

My unending thanks to @keirgreeneyes for beta-reading this tale of switched realities 💕💕💕

Thank you for reading and reblogging! Let me know if you'd like to be tagged/untagged.

@mydogwatson @lisbeth-kk @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @startrekker2011 @iamjustreading @original-welovethebeekeeper @meetinginsamarra @thegildedbee @safedistancefrombeingsmart @jolieblack @ninasnakie @13monkton @dissolvinggirl @confused-sherlockian @thesaltofcarthage @still-prefer-books @kestrelwing64 @luna06newman @whatnext2020

#johnlock #my fics #bbc sherlock #acd holmes/watson #mirror universe

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janeofcakes · 18 days

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One Night in Palermo: Chapter 1

Hi, Everyone! I haven't done this in ages and I hope you'll all jump on board again for another story. It's 18 months after Sherlock jumped from Bart's and he's busily taking down Moriarty's web. He's also pining and worried for John, who thinks he's dead. Sherlock's trying to make his way to the Moran, the web's center, when another assassin comes on the scene. Find out what happens!

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One year to the day Sherlock leapt off Bart’s, his best friend watching in horror, found him creeping into a dank warehouse in the middle of Belgrade, Serbia. The dead detective had been all over the country in the last year, as well as those sharing its borders. Hungary and Romania, Bulgaria, North Macedonia, Croatia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, and Montenegro; all extensively traveled in the name of destroying Moriarty’s web of terrorists and murderers. He had just come through Kosovo from an assignment in Albania and tomorrow would take him to yet another location.

James Morairty may have died on the roof of Bart’s one year ago, but his criminal organization remained intact and Sherlock could not rest until Greg Lestrade, John Watson, and the beloved Martha Hudson were safe. Then maybe he could return to his old life of London and 221B and cases and John. Sherlock missed John most of all and had not been dead long before realizing the true extent of his feelings for his flatmate. Every moment not chasing down Moriarty’s criminals was spent wondering about John and what he was doing, or how he was doing. Worse yet, he dreamt of his flatmate as well, and they were becoming increasingly explicit in nature.

Sherlock gave a slight shake of his head to clear it. This was certainly not the time to go down that route of thinking. Mycroft’s intelligence indicated ten men in this building, making Sherlock’s full attention to the matter at hand imperative. The year’s assignments marked the longest period of time the detective had ever worked with his brother and there was at least another year to go before it would end. Remarkably, it had not been utterly intolerable as Sherlock had expected. Mycroft understood how Sherlock’s mind worked and gave him only the relevant information for each assignment. They met over virtual calls on a secured platform after each assignment was finished to discuss the next. Sherlock had needed serious medical attention on only two occasions and was immediately taken to a secret facility possessing everything required to address his injuries. The same short, blonde doctor cared for him each time, no doubt hand-selected by Mycroft to ensure Sherlock’s cooperation. The elder Holmes even made an appearance in both situations to make sure his baby brother was all right. He did not make himself tiresome either, much to Sherlock’s surprise, despite spending quite a lot of time by the detective’s side the second time around.

Sherlock had been caught during his last visit to Serbia. His captors quickly determined the usefulness of keeping him alive, but had no compunction with torturing him for the six weeks before his rescue. Mycroft even deigned to perform the extraction himself, he and his team infiltrating the base and killing every man in the bunker before carrying Sherlock out. It was at least a week before the detective could hold his eyes open for more than a few blurry moments at a time. When his senses and powers of deduction had returned, Sherlock was certain Mycroft had not left his side once. Oddly, the two brothers had grown closer as they worked together, but neither spoke of nor acknowledged it.

Having found no one in the warehouse thus far, Sherlock proceeded down a long hallway that led to a large meeting room. Intelligence supplied by Mycroft’s spies had shown it was where the ten men spent most of their time. A door at the left side of the room opened into an office used by a man named Markovič, the indisputable leader of this terrorist cell. He had worked closely with Moriarty on more than one occasion and murdered countless people around the world.

Two other doors entered the meeting room; one that opened to a hallway of small rooms wherein the men slept and the one Sherlock was steadily approaching. The ideal situation for Sherlock was finding all ten men in the meeting room. Slightly less ideal, was Markovič in his office and the other men in the meeting room. Some of them having a kip in their individual rooms was the least ideal, but this time of night typically saw them all together planning the events of the following day. Regardless, Sherlock was prepared for any eventuality, or so he thought.

Sherlock slowed his step as he approached the room’s half-open door, rendering his footfalls completely silent. While each of the ten men was a very skilled killer, all were also dim-witted. Even Markovič, though intelligent, was no more than slightly above average. Sherlock knew his appearance would be surprising, but once the first few shots were fired, he would have to act quickly to avoid retaliation. A scant few feet from the door, Sherlock angled his body for the best view of its occupants and what he saw boggled his mind.

Eight men lay sprawled on the floor, face down on the table, or slumped back in chairs. All of them were covered with blood still oozing from pin-point bullet holes in chests, throats, or heads. None of these men had a chance to do more than consider reaching for their own weapons before they dropped. Sherlock analyzed the scene and deduced the events as they had happened while he moved through the room to Markovič’s office.

The door was also ajar. Sherlock pushed it open slowly, already knowing what he would find. Markovič was sat at his desk, leaning back unnaturally in the chair. His eyes were wide open and unseeing as they stared blankly at the ceiling. A hole was perfectly placed in his forehead, creating an isosceles triangle with his eyes. Blood stained his face where it ran down his nose and cheeks, over his throat to soak his shirt. Significant spatter and gray matter decorated the wall behind him in a sickly red glow.

Without delay, Sherlock went to the third door in the meeting room to check bedrooms for the final missing man. Finding him was not difficult. The first door in the hall was the only one open, so Sherlock let himself in cautiously. He found the man on the floor in a pool of blood, bedsheets twisted around one leg, and a pistol held loosely in one hand. He had obviously been only halfway out of bed when the door was kicked open and fired one shot quickly, the evidence of which marred the door frame next to Sherlock’s left shoulder. The intruder had not done more than twitch his head slightly to the side before expertly placing a bullet in the man’s forehead and watching him drop.

*****

Hours later, Sherlock sat at a desk in a safe house across the border in Hungary. He had changed into jeans and a plain t-shirt in dark green. His eyes were fixed on the screen of a laptop as he waited for his brother to accept the call. When the connection was made, it was Anthea’s face that appeared instead of Mycroft’s.

“Sherlock,” she greeted him. She looked tired. Perhaps the last year had weighed heavily on her shoulders as well. “He wasn’t expecting you for another hour.”

“Nor was I,” Sherlock replied dryly. “The assignment did not go as anticipated.”

“But you’re alright? It’s done?” Anthea asked with a touch of concern in her voice. The two of them had become far better acquainted over the course of Sherlock’s assignments and now had a certain rapport.

“Unconditionally,” Sherlock answered and watched as the subtle creases at the corners of her eyes smoothed away, only for them to return when he asked, “how is John?”

Anthea opened her mouth to reply, but Mycroft entered the room before she said a word. He moved to the screen swiftly and sat, studying Sherlock’s face. He was wearing his usual three-piece suit minus the jacket, and his sleeves were rolled up. A haggard expression dominated his features, but a sense of overall relief washed over them at seeing Sherlock in one piece. Mycroft let the indifference that hid whatever modicum of emotion he had slide into place and sat ramrod straight, his typical persona fully recovered.

“You were able to complete the mission,” Mycroft said with only the hint of a question in his tone.

“In a matter of speaking, yes,” Sherlock replied vaguely.

Mycroft cocked an elegant brow and leaned in.

“What do you mean?” He asked with keen interest.

“I found the bodies of all ten men upon entering the warehouse,” Sherlock said simply.

“An opposing faction?” Mycroft speculated, sounding unconvinced.

“No,” Sherlock said flatly, “it was precise and clean. None of the torture and delay seen between these enemies. A single man walked in quietly, just as I did, and murdered them all with one shot each.

“He killed all eight men as he moved through the room, three before they could rise from the table. Markovič was in his office and posed no challenge to dispatch. The last was in a bedroom.”

Mycroft had narrowed his eyes while Sherlock spoke, considering each word carefully. When the detective finished, his brother raised his gaze to regard him in silent contemplation.

“The work of an assassin where there should only be one,” Mycroft muttered.

“Indeed,” Sherlock agreed, “and it had occurred within the hour.”

Mycroft caught Sherlock’s eye and considered him carefully.

“Sherlock,” his tone took on a condescending characteristic that always made the younger roll his eyes, “while the situation is unusual, it is not out of the realm of possibility.”

“Oh, please,” Sherlock began, but Mycroft cut him off quickly.

“You have a mission that cannot be delayed by a… mystery, no matter how intriguing,” Mycroft said snidely. “Need I remind you of its particular importance to you, brother mine?”

Sherlock closed his mouth with a snap and pressed his lips into a thin line. Closer though they may be, Sherlock hated his brother for consistently adopting this air of superiority at a perceived weakness.

“Fine,” Sherlock spat, “but you will find out who it was. If I’m known to this assassin, I want to know his every movement. I will not tolerate interference.”

“Of course, Sherlock,” Mycroft assured him smugly. “I will use every resource at my disposal.”

****

As confident as Mycroft had been, his channels found out nothing about the assassin in the coming weeks. No one was able to determine where the man came from or where he got his information. One thing became abundantly clear, however. He also seemed to be dismantling Moriarty’s criminal organization one piece at a time.

Sherlock completed two assignments over three weeks before encountering the assassin again. The circumstances were much the same as the first time. The target called Romania home and spent most of his time terrorizing every community within a fifty mile radius. He had assisted Moriarty several times over the last decade and had often welcomed the man into his home. If James Moriarty ever had anything even vaguely approaching a friend in his adult life, it would be this man.

Sherlock watched silently from the shadows as his target entered a small room and closed the door, leaving his guard outside in the dimly lit hall. They were inside a massage parlor not far from the man’s home. He spent four nights a week in this place, making rather dubious visits to a certain masseuse. Fortunately for Sherlock, the man’s guard made similar visits to the owner of the shop.

A quiet whistle echoed through the hall twenty minutes after Sherlock’s target entered the masseuse’s room. He watched as the guard looked right, then left, and then disappeared down the hall. Sherlock waited another five minutes to be sure the guard would not return before moving silently toward the door his target had entered. He stood next to it for a moment, his back to the wall, already knowing it was unlocked. He had spent the last seven days watching his target and tracking his movements. Sherlock knew every habit and routine in the man’s life, right down to leaving the door unlocked while he got a massage and a blow job so he could exit quickly if one of his enemies interrupted.

All Sherlock needed to do was open the door and pull the trigger. He had become quite a good markman over the last year and his gun was equipped with a silencer. He wouldn’t miss and no one would hear a thing. The only thing that made him hesitate was the masseuse. He had not yet decided what to do about her. He could kill her along with the target to prevent anyone being alerted by her screams, which were certain to follow her lover’s untimely demise. He could find some quick way to render her unconscious while she and the target were distracted. He could simply shoot his target and run, risking a successful escape. Sherlock was likely to be tortured if caught, a situation he could not afford. He scowled, the words ‘a bit not good’ echoing through his mind. The only option was knocking out the masseuse and hoping no one noticed him before he did it.

Sherlock looked up and down the hall, just as the guard had, and then moved to face the door. He twisted the knob silently with his left hand and pushed it open. The scene before him was nothing like he expected. Instead of finding the two of them fucking on the massage table, the woman was lying on the floor, unconscious and fully clothed. The target was clearly dead on the table, a bullet hole in his temple. Spatter decorated the wall next to the table and Sherlock could hear the quiet drip of blood as it fell from the headrest to the floor. Curious, he entered the room and squatted cautiously next to the woman. He might have risked touching her to find a pulse, but could see it clearly enough on her neck. The assassin had left her alive.

Sherlock’s gaze darted around the room until it came to rest on a small window near the top of the back wall, the only outside wall in the room. It opened on a hinge, a glass pane that lifted up and it was ajar. Several telltale scuffs left by opening and closing it marred the bottom of the pane. The assassin’s entrance and exit point.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and stood. The guard would not return for another ten minutes, but the detective could not afford to be seen by anyone. He walked swiftly out the door and closed it behind him, looking up and down the hall again. Seeing no one, but hearing faint footsteps, he crept into the shadows to wait. Sherlock heard a faraway door open and the footsteps fade away slowly. After a few minutes of silence, he left the building and made his way to the next safe house.

A few hours later and a good two hundred miles away from the massage parlor, Sherlock stood in front of a laptop set in the small bedroom of a cozy flat. He had just relayed an account of the evening’s events to his elder brother and moved on to deductions made about the assassin. Mycroft’s less-than-enthusiastic response was quickly grating on Sherlock’s nerves.

“He has a conscience,” Sherlock argued vehemently. “He could have simply killed the woman, but chose not to.”

His brother’s unimpressed face looked back at him from the laptop screen, thoroughly unconvinced. Sherlock wished, just for a moment, that they were in the same room so he could grab Mycroft’s lapels and shake him.

“Very informative, brother mine, but I fail to see how it will help to find this mysterious assassin,” Mycroft intoned dismissively, glancing at his perfectly manicured nails.

“Finding him, no, but it goes a long way in determining what kind of man he is,” Sherlock sneered. “He is not a heartless killer and that tells us quite a bit.”

“Oh, very well,” Mycroft conceded impatiently. “He may not immediately put a bullet in your head should you meet, but will introduce himself first.”

Sherlock sighed loudly and rolled his eyes.

“I will take care of him,” Mycroft continued sternly and it rankled Sherlock. The tone was the same used to scold him as a child. “You concentrate on your assignments and put an end to this dreadful business so you can return to your precious doctor.”

“How is John?” Sherlock found himself saying. It wasn’t what he meant to say, but Mycroft’s words squeezed his chest so completely that saying anything else would have stopped his heart entirely. He hadn’t even been thinking about John and was blindsided by the rush of sentiment, though he tried to keep that hidden. Mycroft, for his part, looked very disconcerted at the slip. His frustration had gotten the better of him, something that happened far more often than he would like to admit since he and Sherlock began “this dreadful business”.

“Sherlock,” he said with a long suffering sigh.

“Don’t patronize me, Mycroft,” Sherlock snapped. “Just tell me what I want to know.”

“He is…unaltered,” Mycroft replied carefully.

“Unaltered?” Sherlock repeated through clenched teeth.

“I said unwell the last time you asked,” Mycroft straightened his spine and looked down his nose at his brother. “You have not returned to Baker Street. Do you imagine he is any different?”

Sherlock glared at his brother, blood boiling, but said nothing. He didn’t trust himself to speak. He knew his brother wanted to infuriate him. It was a distraction. Mycroft did not want to answer questions about John. It was nothing unusual, but affected Sherlock differently this time. Sherlock suddenly felt exhausted and homesick. Every bit of energy left his body. He was sick for John and if his brother didn’t want to talk about John, Sherlock had no desire to pry. He was not prepared to hear that the doctor had teetered ever closer to a crumbling precipice that might give way at any time.

“Fuck off, Mycroft,” Sherlock snarled. He shut the laptop forcefully just as his brother closed his eyes in disdain at the vulgar choice of words.

Sherlock paced furiously. He was restless and frustrated and frightened out of his mind. Dozens of storylines played out in his mind as he took each step. The most disturbing thought ended with John’s broken body on the pavement at Bart’s, the same place they had both been just over a year ago, and it made Sherlock’s heart stutter in his chest. He gasped at the pain and stumbled into the loo to be sick. He splashed water on his face once he could stand again without retching and tried to calm himself, but his chest only felt tighter. He buried his head in his hands and prayed to whatever deity would listen that John Watson be alright.

When Sherlock raised his head again, his movements were stilted and his face remote. He cleaned his teeth and changed into pajamas mechanically, getting into bed and turning out the lights. Staring into the darkness, he parted his lips and breathed slowly. If he didn’t let his thoughts out of his mind, didn’t give them life, his brain and heart would surely burst from his body.

“Wait for me, John,” he whispered into the darkness. “Please.”

****

The next time Sherlock ran into the assassin, the circumstances were quite different. It was three assignments from the last and in Montenegro. The target had not been difficult to finish, but her brother had spotted Sherlock as he made his escape and set off after him. They ran through the compound, ducking this way and that. Every corner the detective turned should have put more distance between the two, but the man behind only grew closer. Sherlock was getting tired and he knew it. On impulse, he ducked into a stairwell and barely tripped as he flew down the steps. He quickly pushed open the heavy wooden door he found there and hurried into an open courtyard full of towering shrubs and fountains. The moon shone brightly, dazzling stars surrounding it, lighting a path of escape. Unfortunately, the man following Sherlock was too close not to make a move for him.

The man dove for the detective and caught him around the waist with his arms. They went down hard, but Sherlock rolled swiftly and struck out at his attacker. They exchanged a few blows before strong hands wrapped around the detective’s throat. Without hesitation, he slid his own arms in-between his attacker’s and wrenched them outward. The other man’s elbows bent, giving Sherlock the leverage to pull his hands away and ram their foreheads together.

At first, only the other man was dazed, so Sherlock shoved him to the side and hopped to his feet. However, the after-effects caught up with him after one or two steps. Suddenly, his head swam and his sense of balance failed completely. Tumbling to his knees, Sherlock tried desperately not to fall any further. He gasped for breath and felt incredibly hot, but resisted the urge to tear the mask from his face. He preferred assignments that did not require a mask, ones where he could maintain a safe distance from targets and their associates. On this particular occasion, his passage through the compound could find him face to face with anyone and he could not be recognized.

Sherlock took a few deep breaths until his vision began to clear. Getting to his feet, he glanced around to check that his attacker had not similarly recovered. He saw nothing as rough hands grabbed his right arm and twisted it behind his back. A cold knife blade touched his throat before he could make any move to free himself. He was trapped. His mind raced, analyzing his options and discarding them; all the while, the blade pressed into his throat, breaking the skin ever so slightly. He nearly jolted at the sound of hoarse laughter in his ear.

“You thought you would get away?” The man holding Sherlock steady chuckled loudly. He pulled the blade more tightly and the detective winced. “You killed my sister, you son of a bitch.”

A gasp filled Sherlock’s lungs, but not for fear of his life as his attacker assumed. It was what he saw in the dark window in one of the tall buildings that lined the courtyard. A sight Sherlock never would have seen, if not for a glint of metal in the moonlight. As soon as he saw that flash of light, his eyes made out the figure of a man with a gun. Standing in the tall window was the assassin, covered in black from head to toe. His face and hair were covered with the usual balaclava. Any other details were lost to the darkness of his clothes and surroundings. His gun was aimed and ready, if the location of the reflection Sherlock had seen was anything to go by.

Sherlock stood very still, not even listening to the rants and threats from the man holding a knife to his throat. One way or another, Sherlock was going to die tonight. If the idiot behind him didn’t do it soon, he would be robbed of the pleasure by the assassin, who would certainly shoot them both. Sherlock could get away from only one of them, not both. He kept his eyes on the assassin as time ticked by and wondered why he hadn’t pulled the trigger twice already. The man couldn’t be weighing his options. It was simple: Aim and fire.

Just as Sherlock thought the word “fire”, a bright flash of light appeared from the assassin’s weapon and Sherlock felt a whoosh of air on his cheek. He expected pain or instant oblivion and got neither. The air around him was suddenly quiet and his mind registered his attacker’s hands going lax. The knife tumbled to the brick floor as the man leaned heavily against the detective’s back. Going down slowly, Sherlock maneuvered the man onto his back and looked at his face. There, between his unseeing eyes, was a perfectly placed bullet hole.

Sherlock’s head shot up to the window to see the assassin, but the man was gone. The pane held nothing but darkness. Without a second thought, the detective gathered himself and stood. It wouldn’t be long before his target’s body was discovered and the compound filled with people who would be happy to kill him. He crept through the courtyard and silently made his way out, encountering no one as he went.

Hours later, ensconced in one of Mycroft’s safe houses, Sherlock booted up the waiting laptop and entered his credentials. His mind was awash with deductions and questions and theories. If nothing else, the evening confirmed the standing deduction that the assassin had a strong moral compass. Quite a bit of additional data had been revealed as well, but Sherlock had not yet sorted through it. He needed to spend some time in his mind palace, arranging the pieces.

The laptop screen caught his eye when his brother’s face came into view. Sherlock had hoped to speak with Anthea first, but had no such luck. He leaned forward and placed his hands on either side of the keyboard, a posture he often adopted when speaking to his brother.

“The assassin was there,” Sherlock stated without preamble. “I beat him to the mark, but he was there.”

“And you know this because?” Mycroft asked with an arched brow.

“I had a knife to my throat and he shot the man holding it,” Sherlock replied without hesitation.

Mycroft’s eyes widened and he leaned in closer to his own laptop.

“He saw you?” He probed with an edge to his voice.

“Not as such. I was wearing a mask. My whole head was covered,” Sherlock answered evenly. “There was nothing to give me away. I was merely a man in distress.”

He could see his brother relax a fraction and then noticed that his eyes were locked on the small bandage Sherlock had fitted to his own neck. The detective furrowed his brow and shook his head dismissively.

“It’s fine,” he told Mycroft in a dull tone. “Superficial. I’ll be able to go without the bandage in the morning.”

“Good,” Mycroft approved, looking more at ease. “That is to say, I am glad you are safe. I must admit, however, I am somewhat troubled by the assassin’s actions. Surely killing you both would have been more to his advantage.”

“Precisely,” Sherlock replied with satisfaction. “It would’ve been easier as well; hitting my attacker with pinpoint accuracy to ensure his demise before he cut my throat requires much more skill than shooting us both. It proves my point.”

“That the assassin has a conscience,” Mycroft supplied in a long-suffering tone. He sighed. “Sherlock, you are a romantic.”

“I most certainly am not!” Sherlock objected, his good mood quashed in the blink of an eye. “I have merely analyzed the data and reached the logical conclusion, as I have in countless other situations.”

He glared at his brother, who returned the look with a smug smile on his face. Sherlock didn’t feel the need to continue the conversation because his pig-headed brother would not relent. He never had before and would not start now. Growing weary of him, Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Tell me about the next assignment,” he demanded, wanting nothing more than to move the call along so he could retreat to his mind palace.

“Yes, of course. Let’s get down to business, shall we?” Mycroft smirked and began debriefing Sherlock on the next target, The detective both listened and imagined how best to have revenge upon his return to London.

****

The following assignment was easily completed in as much as it was finished before Sherlock even arrived. Four days after Montenegro, the detective stealthily entered a caravan dealership that was closed for the day. His target and a small band of men in his employ had taken refuge there, believing no one would find them. After entering the dealership, Sherlock followed music lilting through the air until he reached an extra-long caravan, knowing what he would find before reaching it. While the music played loudly, the absence of all other noise led him to one inevitable conclusion: The assassin had been faster this time.

Five of the six men Sherlock expected lay dead in the caravan’s central room. It occupied more or less the entire vehicle, housing a kitchenette along one side, a narrow couch and table on the other. Two seats and the steering column filled the front of the room, windscreen before them. A small loo cut into the back of the room with closets opposite. In between the two was a narrow hallway that led to a bedroom. Judging by the positions of the men and the angles of the bullets that killed them, the assassin had come from the hallway. He must have climbed in a bedroom window and used the element of surprise.

Sherlock moved cautiously into the bedroom, expecting to find the body of the sixth man, but the room was empty. It was also a mess. A lengthy struggle had clearly taken place in the cramped room and Sherlock could read it all in the broken and overturned furniture. The upper hand had shifted a few times throughout the fight. A stray shot was fired once, twice, and then Sherlock’s eyes came to rest on a piece of bloody glass lying on the floor near a cabinet on the far side of the room. He went to it in three long strides. It was part of a broken mirror that had been affixed to the wall above a waist-height cabinet. One of the two men had grabbed hold of it and stabbed the other, but which was which? Sherlock’s eyes tracked their movements through drips and smears of blood. The injured man eventually broke free and tumbled out the room’s only open window. The other man must have followed because the caravan door would have been left open had he used it.

Gun still at the ready, Sherlock hurried out the door and around to the back of the caravan. He walked silently along the trail of blood and shoe prints. More and more of the sticky, red substance stained the concrete as he went. There wasn’t enough to indicate that the injured man was bleeding out, but was still a troubling amount. Sherlock quickened his pace, anxious to learn which man was injured. He found himself hoping it was not the assassin. It made little sense, but he felt some odd camaraderie with the man. They did seem to have the same goal and were inextricably linked by it.

Sherlock wove his way through the parking lot, around one caravan and another, until he turned a corner and stopped dead. Twenty feet ahead of him, next to a chain link fence, was the body of a man. He was on his back and was obviously dead. Sherlock’s throat went dry and he quickened his pace. He and the assassin had narrowly missed one another for almost three months. They didn’t know the other’s identity and hadn’t even been in the same room together, but had come to expect one another. At least, Sherlock had. He supposed the same might not be true of the assassin, but he liked to think it was, especially after Montenegro. The man had blatantly made the decision not only to save, but also spare Sherlock’s life and the resulting sentiment had softened his heart toward the man. The detective would have considered these feelings a weakness in the past. Now, he saw it in a completely different light. The assassin gave him something familiar to look for, to count on. He couldn’t have John or home, but could at least have something, though it paled in comparison.

Sherlock was jogging by the time he reached the dead man. He couldn’t see his head properly until he stood right next to him. Once he did, Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief. The man before him was not wearing a mask of any kind, nor was there one near the body. Instead, he matched the description of one of the six men Sherlock was sent to kill. The assassin had escaped.

Relief quickly turned to trepidation, however, as he got a better look at the dead man. He had no stab wounds on his body and looked to have been killed by blunt-force trauma. Sherlock’s eyes darted around the scene, picking out a heavy metal bar and more blood. He followed a trail of it with his eyes for a short distance. It led to, and passed through, an old opening in the chain link fence. Something had weakened the links and broken through long ago. The assassin must have used it to sneak inside or he would not have known to use it as an escape. Sherlock looked as far beyond the fence as he could see, but saw no body and no large pools of blood. It seemed the assassin had escaped, indeed. But how far had he gotten and how badly was he injured?

When he recounted the night’s events later for Mycroft, Sherlock left out the possible extent of the assassin’s injuries and hid his concern for the man. He knew precious little about the man. It made no sense for Sherlock to feel at all connected to him and yet, here he was. He couldn’t stop himself from viewing the connection as a separate but united force against what was left of Moriarty. As such, not knowing the assassin’s fate unsettled Sherlock in a way he couldn’t explain and he hoped their paths would cross again soon.

****

The next assignment was long and tedious. Sherlock spent nearly three weeks just garnering enough trust through various acts of theft and bullying as assigned by the target’s second in command to even be told the target’s location. He then spent another six days planning out how to neutralize successfully. His frustration grew day by day at having to waste an entire month on this one target, lengthening his time away from John. John, who he knew was struggling. His last few conversations with Anthea were vague at best, but informative enough to know that John’s grief had renewed.

The knowledge slowed Sherlock’s progress with the assignment and he knew it. He couldn’t bring himself to care. He would rather know at least something about John and be distracted than know nothing at all. He dreamt of his friend every night again; comforting him and assuring John he would be home again. He awoke each morning with renewed vigor at having spent the time with John, even if only in his mind. Part of him hoped dreams did the same for John, but they more likely only discouraged him. Sherlock had the advantage of knowing they would meet again, whereas he was dead in John’s world. Sherlock tried to ignore the regret and guilt that ate at him for it.

Motivated by the desire to end his exile and return home to John, Sherlock lost his patience and brought the assignment to an abrupt end. While in the target’s bunker for a debriefing, Sherlock broke into his office and waited. Nearly two hours later, the man and his second opened the door. Sherlock greeted them politely with one bullet each and left as fast as he could.

His work done, after the agonizingly long month, Sherlock wanted nothing more than to move on to the next assignment. He grimaced as he logged onto the secure server he and Mycroft used to communicate, knowing his brother would berate him for his slowness. Maybe Sherlock would get lucky and Anthea would debrief him. He hoped as he pushed enter and waited, then sighed when Mycroft’s smug face came into view.

“Mycroft,” Sherlock murmured in greeting, saying nothing else. Mycroft more than made up for it.

“Good evening, Sherlock. I am glad to see you have finally finished your assignment. I was beginning to think that your target had persuaded you to stay on,” Mycroft’s snide words pushed Sherlock over the edge. The last thread tethering his frustration over the assignment snapped and he nearly swept the laptop off the table.

“Fuck off, Mycroft!” Sherlock shouted. “You know this is not how I wanted it to go. Just tell me about the next assignment and go back to your cake. I wouldn’t want to keep you from your greatest pleasure.”

“Sherlock, has it really come to this?” Mycroft began with an epic eye roll.

“You started it!” Sherlock interrupted. “Just tell me what I want to know.”

“In due time, brother mine,” Mycroft dismissed Sherlock’s anger out of course, “I have come into some information about your mythical assassin.”

“Oh, yes, perfect. Just what I want to know,” Sherlock snarked back, crossing his arms. “Tell me, Mycroft, how many assignments has he completed while I’ve been stuck on just one?”

“On the contrary,” Mycroft said blandly. “It seems both of you have succeeded in doing nothing. I have no indication he has made any movements during the last forty-two days.”

It was then that Sherlock remembered the trail of blood he had followed so long ago and the strange sense of loneliness he had felt. He had mentioned neither to Mycroft after that assignment.

“He was injured,” Sherlock stated almost without thinking, “in that caravan dealership in Skopje. I followed a trail of blood. He must need time to recover.”

“You failed to mention that in the debriefing,” Mycroft answered, his tone rife with skepticism.

“It was not relevant,” Sherlock replied haughtily.

“Wasn’t it?” Mycroft speculated. “Hm. I wonder.”

“Is there a point to this, Mycroft?” Sherlock snapped, growing tired of the conversation. His brother had a certain knack for analyzing his motives at the most inconvenient times.

“Could it have been a more serious injury, brother mine?” Mycroft continued calmly, unfazed by his baby brother’s outburst. “We have no evidence of him at all in the time between today and that night. Could he have been neutralized?”

“Neutral- he’s not our enemy, Mycroft,” Sherlock countered. “He saved my life.”

“Because doing so suited his purpose,” Mycroft supplied, condescension slipping into his tone. “You are very obviously on a path similar to his own. Why would he want that assistance to end?”

Mycroft was right. It was only logical for the assassin to keep Sherlock alive so the man didn’t have to hit every target himself. The detective had allowed sentiment to color his views of the assassin and if Mycroft didn’t know before, he certainly did now. Damn him.

“No,” Sherlock gave a slight shake of his head after a moment of thought, “there wasn’t enough blood for the injury to have been life-threatening. He will appear again. Just give him time.”

Mycroft pressed his lips into a thin line and took a deep breath through his nose. He had more to say, but obviously debated on whether to do it now or save it. Sherlock knew Mycroft had chosen not to wait the moment his lips parted.

“You will have to deal with him one day,” Mycroft said carefully. “The time will come when you are no longer useful to him.”

Sherlock fought not to roll his eyes. As if he hadn’t considered that particular inevitability already.

“I will handle that when the time comes, not before,” Sherlock said flatly.

****

As if on cue, Sherlock found his next target in a private train compartment with a bullet in his head. They were on a train in Hungary. The man’s two most trusted associates were at his side, also shot dead. The assassin was back.

The corner of Sherlock’s mouth curled as he stood in the compartment’s doorway. He gave a subtle salute to the scene, closed the door, and casually walked back to his own compartment. As he went, he was filled with a sense of satisfaction and hope. With his own efforts coupled with those of the assassin, his timetable would change for the better and he could return home to John earlier than expected. Mycroft may have been right about an eventual confrontation between Sherlock and the assassin, but until then they would each enjoy the other’s usefulness without question.

****

Another handful of assignments came and went, Sherlock and the assassin working in tandem, but never encountering one another. Shortly after leaving another scene in which the assassin beat him to the mark, Sherlock calculated their joint progress once again and found that their current rate would see him back in London a full four months early. He was delighted.

A particularly successful month for both of them resulted in another revision of the time required. They had shaved off a few more weeks, much to Sherlock’s satisfaction. That was how, at eighteen months post-Fall, Sherlock found himself in Palermo, Sicily with only two targets remaining before he could return home to London and his life.

------

I know it was a long one, but I hope you enjoyed it. Thank you so much for reading and for all your support! I've missed you all so much! Tune in next week for chapter 2 and remember, keep your stick on the ice. We're all in this together.

Love, Jane

#johnlock #john watson #sherlockholmes #sherlock #johnlock fanfic #sherlock fanfic

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inevitably-johnlocked · 1 month

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Five Fics Friday: April 19/24

Happy Friday everyone! Check out today's selection of fics to get you through the weekend! And be sure to give the boosted fic some extra love, as it JUST finished being written! :D Enjoy!!

SIGNAL BOOSTING

The Curious Case of the Casablanca Killer by meet_me_in_samarra (G, 55,886 w., 16 Ch. || Post THoB, Case Fic, Bromance / Friendship, Clever John, John is a Conductor of Light, BAMF John / Sherlock, Sassy John, Cheeky Sherlock) – Deemed a three at best, the case of an invisible burglar in a historic cinema who stole nothing only caught Sherlock’s attention because he was bored. Also, he wanted to do John a favour. In the end, this proved to be a real stroke of luck. Otherwise, Sherlock would have missed an intriguing mystery that quickly ramped up in complexity.

RECENT MFLs

Licence to Kiss by fellshish (T, 13,740 w., 4 Ch. || Post-ASiB, Bond Jokes, Angst and Humour, First Kiss, Bed Sharing, Love Confessions, Mutual Pining) – John loves James Bond. For his Birthday, Sherlock decides to organise a spy adventure. Sherlock begs Mycroft for a real case with some extra gadgets. And perhaps some actors pretending to be criminals. What could possibly go wrong?

Guess Who's Coming for Christmas Dinner by Raina_at (E, 18,623+ w., 2/4 Ch. || WiP || University AU || Fake / Pretend Relationship, Accidental Fake Dating, , Oblivious John / Sherlock, Mistaken for Being in a Relationship, Christmas, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Alcohol, Past Drug Use, Not-Nice Holmes Family) – Sherlock hates spending Christmas with his snobby parents. John has nowhere to go over the holidays. The heat in 221B is broken and their fridge is empty. Plus, Sherlock's parents will hate John. So of course Sherlock takes John along. It's not his fault that his parents assume John's his boyfriend. Of course John is perfect and all, but Sherlock doesn't do romance. So what harm can there be in pretending, if it makes his parents this mad?

Only Yesterday by Berty (T, 43,378+ w., 17/18 Ch. || Alternate Timelines / 'Yesterday' AU || Post-TRF, POV John, Grief, Mental Instability, Angst, Unrequited Love, Suspense, Scotland, Hurt John, Developing Relationship, Doctor John, John is a Mess) – Sherlock has been gone for two years and John Watson is doing okay. He goes to work. He sleeps (sometimes). He eats. He has colleagues, some of whom are even friends. He has purpose. If it's not a life as others might view it, it's a fair approximation. It's fine. He's fine. One night the lights go out and when they come back on everything is the same except for one important thing. For John it's theÂ mostÂ important thing. And suddenly John is not fine at all.

RECENTLY BOOKMARKED LOKIUS FICS

Magic Like You by Anonymous (NR [M], 9,714 w., 5 Ch. || LOKI SERIES || Post-S2, Light Angst, Soft, Friends to Lovers, Jotunn Loki, Pining Loki, Heavy Pining, Bed Sharing, Jealous Loki, POV Loki, Living Together, First Kiss/Time) – Loki and Mobius are trying to carve out a new life for themselves after all the chaos and hurt and destruction that was caused by the TVA. This story explores Loki's new life and his relationship to Mobius through magic. (With lots of stupid fun and soft moments along the way, because with these two, it's inevitable.)

#johnlock fic recs #lokius fic recs #my fic recs #five fics friday

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musingsofmyown · 2 years

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Missing Case #007

[All trigger warnings are in the tags as well: drinking tw, past trauma tw, abuse tw, refrences to violence tw, homophobia tw, toxic christianity tw. If any of these are sensitive to you, then please do not read]

Harry and John never got along, that was pure and simple fact.

They were too much alike, always butting heads, yelling nonsense, shouting insults, anything went with them. Harry was a grand four years older than John, which wasn’t much but it was still enough to create a large gap between them. Though there were moments, few and far between, that brought them together.

John had always wanted to be a doctor, he played ‘pretend clinic’ ever since he was a kid, and soon, all that practice would pay off.

Harry was gay. That’s the long and the short of it. She had girlfriends, some stayed longer than others, and she was happy with them. But their father, Mr. Watson, hated it. He was ‘a Christian man’, there is nothing more un-Chrisian-like than striking your child for loving someone, and firmly believed that love, of any kind, should be between man and woman. He had beaten Harry for loving girls, and that terrified John. Because in secret, he had a few ‘experiences’ with boys, and if his father ever found out, John may not make it out alive.

One evening, after his usual rugby practice, he came home to an eerily quiet family. His mum and dad sat on the sofa watching some nonsense show, Harry was nowhere to be seen. John soon went upstairs to find his sister laying in the bathroom, beaten and silent.

“Harry, Harry are you okay?” He held her in his lap, hoping to god she wasn’t hurt too badly.

“Never better,” Sarcastic as ever.

“Here sit against the wall,” The bathroom was small, but it fit both of them well enough to shut the door,”God, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here-”

“Johnny boy, you can’t always protect me,”She smiled, lip busted,”I’m moving out next year, and I’ve talked to mum, she’s leaving dad and buying a house for you and her to live in.”

He was conflicted, but set his feelings aside for now,”Let me patch you up.”

There was a medkit under the sink, it was fully stocked. They kept it full-up because John was a rugby player, he got all sorts of bumps and cuts, but right now, right now it was going to help Harry,”I remember when you were little and you cured my headaches with bandaids on my forehead.”

“Now I know that paracetamol works a bit better,”He dryly chuckled,”Here let me see.”

John was gentle with Harry, knowing that she was probably all sorts of bruised and banged up from her confrontation with Mr. Watson. He slowly tended to the visible cuts and made sure she didn’t have any broken ribs, bruised more likely,”Take some more painkillers later, before bed.”

“Aye, will do Dr. Watson.”

“Here, water,”He took the water bottle from his rugby bag and handed it to her, still cold from earlier,”Keep yourself hydrated.”

“You’ll get into medical school, and you’ll be the best and bravest doctor out there, Johnny boy.”

He internally keened at the praise,”I hope so Harry.”

A few decades later, he found himself in 221b Baker Street with his madman of a flatmate, Sherlock Holmes. In their line of work, scratches and injuries were an occupational hazard. So as he stitched a cut on Sherlock’s arm, he smiled at the tender moment shared between him and his sister.

“Having fun playing doctor?” Sherlock inquired, more sarcastic than a genuine question.

“Just remembering patching up Harry.”

A moment passed,”I’m sorry… for what your father did to both of you.”

“It’s in the past now, Sherlock,” he brushed the detective’s hair back with his wrist, his hand holding forceps,”and I am honoured to call you my husband,” he kissed Sherlock’s forehead, earning a satisfied hum in response.

End Case-

(and back to our regularly scheduled cases tomorrow)

^^Previous Case!!^^

@atomiccollectorcreation-blog @train-mossman @tjlcarchives @neverquiteeden @rhasima @bisexual-confusion @whatnext2020 @helloliriels @totallysilvergirl @jobooksncoffee @safedistancefrombeingsmart @iwannahavefrecklessodamnbad @7-percent @timberva @everyonebeatmetothegoodnames @erinswriting @myfirstisthefourth @salmonsown

(let me know if you want to be added or taken off!!!)

#drinking tw #past trauma tw #abuse tw #refrences to violence tw #homophobia tw #toxic christianity tw #Sherlock Holmes #John Watson #The Missing Cases of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson #original writing #original fanfiction #johnlock #bbc sherlock #ficlet #johnlock ficlet #It's a happy ending I swear

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meetinginsamarra · 25 days

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Fanfics I Really Liked in March 2024

So. Since I keep a list of what I´ve read anyway (there´s always a list), I will rec all the fics I´ve wholly enjoyed on a monthly basis. Old and new, canon or AU, big or small authors, long or short but nearly always Johnlock (-ish).

+++++

Adrift by BakerTumblings

John Watson has certainly been dealt a rough hand. And there are some choices he's made that aren't helping his state of mind. Neither is the alcohol. Sherlock Holmes has been dealt a rough hand, as well. His choices, also not always the best. Neither are the substances. Certainly, once a person has hit rock bottom, the only place left to go is up, right? With a lot of support from friends, family, and - eventually - each other, they'll do more than manage. They'll thrive.

A very painful beginning after the events of TLD but it slowly gets better until a happy (and dramatic) end.

Through a Glass, Darkly by Calais_Reno @calaisreno

Another timey-whimey fic and I absolutely loved the juxtaposition of the BBC and ACD incarnations and what they do to solve the case.

Because Blah Blah Blah Happy by cwb

John is entirely done with the milk situation and gives Sherlock a list of shit he's pissed about. Sherlock sets out to make John happy. John is happy. Sherlock makes his own list. They are both very, very happy.

This is so much fun!

Landscape With The Fall Of Icarus by CaitlinFairchild

Closing his eyes, Sherlock allows himself a brief swell of feeling--let’s not put a name on it, just call it a feeling--for his big brother. He knows that when Mycroft opens that steel door again, every man now inside will be a fresh corpse.

Serbia and its aftermath and a BAMF Mycroft.

many of horror by hailholylight

Sherlock traces the pattern of the bruises under the dim light of a lamp to the right of him. It's the only light he can stand being on. They're the last traces of Victor he has left on his body.

Sherlock is in a bad place after the abusive relationship with Victor but a caring Lestrade and meeting an ex-soldier help him with coping.

#my fanfic recs #fanfics I really liked in March 2024 #I am so late with this

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jolieblack · 13 days

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Jolie’s thoughts on

The Reigate Squire (Sherlock & Co. podcast)

Weirdly, I had real trouble following the plot of this one, even knowing the original story. I feel there was one art gallery and one art galerist too many to keep track of. I know that Sherlock Holmes stories are really not about the cases for most people, but I belong in that small minority that wants cases and wants the cases to be brilliant. I needed a relisten to really get this one.

Loved the nods to ACD in the names of the paintings and painters, though.

Nice foreshadowing with the handwriting in the opening scene, too!

Do people in a coma really clench their hands? (Never mind me, now I‘m just nitpicking. 😝)

I must say that I love (as in LOVE) the H/C in the original story, with Watson literally crossing the sea to fetch a sick Holmes home, and with the touching contrast between Holmes‘s public image (wading through congratulatory telegrams) and his private misery, which only Watson was allowed to witness. Somehow the quick info dump that Sherlock was overworked and a bit burned out in this episode didn’t quite make the most of the original's potential…

I also desperately wanted to know more about what brought Sherlock’s breakdown on. Physical exertion? Intellectual strain? Emotional strain? Mental health issues? Or am I missing the obvious and they’re being obscure on purpose because the true cause of his weak state is too delicate/too illegal to talk about on a public podcast? Is he recovering from a drugs bender? Did he even overdose?

I can see why this episode has got a lot of our Jonklockers quite excited, though!

John comparing Sherlock to the back of his hand and then poceeding to LICK said body part was really something else, and it was only the start.

Captain Hayter being a hunk, a dish, a stud and a certified beefcake will certainly go down our fandom‘s history as one of the most quoted Sherlock quotes ever, justly so. Let me just say, dear Sherlock, until I hear you using any similarly enthusiastic vocabulary about the physical appearance of any woman you encounter, I'll be Making Assumptions.

(Check out this lovely fanart by @jonk-md, and this one by @dead-chela !)

"Captain Handsome" (😂) - "Can you stop saying that because I‘ll laugh and then he‘ll ask why I‘m laughing and then that‘ll be awkward." - Awkward FOR WHOM, John, and WHY EXACTLY, we would like to know.

"You heard it here first, folks." - Yeah, sure, that was just a totally innocent play on words there, Sherlock. Your subconscious is doing funny things, mate.

Lovely to see our boys caring about each other as much as ever though.

"Watson is one of the most capable medical practitioners London can offer. I‘m in safe hands."- "All right, you’re delirious, I‘m calling an ambulance."

There is SO MUCH to unpack in that short little exchange alone.

"Never mind him collapsing, how I‘m still standing is the real question!"

Love how this John Watson still has the patience and loyalty of a saint but he also gets to be grumpy about it.

"You eat cereal at night!" - "That’s different!" - "How is it different?" 😂

Cereal-at-night-eaters of the world unite! Hands up who hasn’t done this at some point in their lives.

And Sherlock on a swing is a mental image to behold indeed. (A swing on a playground. Get your minds out of the gutter, people.)

"This is very much me being me." Awww.

Love how they literally run away giggling from the idea of commercialising their success. All three of them together, no verbal coordination needed, let alone any discussion. And straight into the next mad adventure. I can’t wait.

#sherlock & co #sherlock & co podcast #sherlock and co #podlock #episode notes #the reigate squire

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carebooks · 2 years

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i watched Enola Holmes 2 and i want more but for now enjoy this:

but for now enjoy this:

Eudoria randomly disguised as a chap exploding that mailbox, she's living chaotically and we love to see it

Tewkesbury still going strong for change and progress, we love it

not Sherlock getting thrown out of a bar drunk and Enola runs into him

him getting back up was hilarious

221 Baker Street!! gods, i miss BBC's Sherlock, with John and Mrs. Hudson, and when Greg Lestrade was a good cop compared to this one (though i know nothing of the books Lestrade so who knows all i know is i love Greg to pieces, "Not my division!")

Sherlock drunkenly shushing Enola and falling back on his couch magnificently and just being chaos

all the Holmes' are chaotic, i wonder what Mycroft thinks of his family

"Why have you moved everything?" one paper on top of another paper that wasn't supposed to be on top it

"have you considered a flatmate?" YES JOHN WATSON YES

Enola's been watching Tewkes this entire time oh honey

"Is he looking back?" girl you are NOT being subtle

MORIARTY IS TEASING SHERLOCK WITH THIS DANCE SHIT I LOVE IT AND IM SCARED

IM REWATCHING AND AS SHERLOCK IS PUTTING TOGETHER THAT IT'S A DANCE IN COMES IN MIRA TROY TALKING ABOUT THE DANCING BEING AN ACT OH MY GOD THE PARALLELS

NOT TEWKESBURY BEING MORE INTERESTED IN THE PLANT AND ITS LEAVES INSTEAD OF DANCING OR MINGLING I LOVE IT

HE SNIFFS THE LEAVES

"You're a man when I tell you you're a man" im so glad they brought that back, i loved that line

not gonna lie, i really thought that after Enola gets arrested that Tewkes was gonna bring those hidden letters she gave him to Sherlock or smth but considering they never met before and he never heard Enola speak about him in a trusting way it makes sense the only person he'd trust the papers to would be Enola so he kept them, sounds about right

also, though im happy Sherlock asks for help from Edith and im happy to see Edith again, im quite sad we didn't get a scene between him and Eudoria.

perhaps the third film will center more amongst the entire Holmes family, that'd be an interesting dynamic to see as we've seen Enola sort of against her brothers with Mycroft being the head in charge but with Eudoria in Enola's corner and Sherlock now too the dynamic will be much more enjoyable

glad that Eudoria was aware of how independent Enola has gotten, which isn't a bad thing but when one stays alone too often and doesn't ask for help, it could be their downfall and just lonely in the end. bc its exactly her mother's teaching that's caused her to avoid any sort of companionship (or more) with Tewkesbury

"You escaped jail?!" oh Tewkes you gotta get used to this chaos with Enola, come on boy

Tewkes desperately trying to declare his feelings for Enola whilst she's uncovering the entire mystery

his little groan realizing she's being Enola again with a case

HE LOVES HER

SHE LOVES HIM

THIS MOVIE IS FEEDING US SO WELL

when Enola and Sherlock start fighting only to find it's each other and the just an annoyed, "You." bahahaha, i love it, true siblings right there

i've been wanting a scene with Tewkes and Sherlock for a while now, this movie is delivering well

"The Gods is the top row of the theater. Doesn't everyone know that?" pff i love Tewkes so much, never change little lord, never change

Enola's got the highest-class significant other of her siblings and it's showing

yo, you know what would be simply divine? Tewkes and John just commenting on how the Holmes just blank out and monologue as they figure out the case

i love that for Tewkesbury, in his perspective it was that memory of Enola telling him he's not rid of her yet and that gave him the strength to punch back, we love it

Enola and Tewkes hugging each other and checking each other's injuries and, "You were made to fight," only this time it's Enola telling Tewkes and i love it and i love them

man, their kids are gonna have the weirdest names

MIRA TROY IS MORIARTY I KNEW HER NAME SOUNDED WEIRD I KNEW IT

AND I LOVE HER, SHE'S SO FUN

"Pay what you can," i love that Enola takes on cases for people that need it whilst Sherlock will just occupy himself with the hoity-toity people

i'd love to see the lower class community just come to love Enola, and Sherlock would need her help in getting them to talk bc they know Enola but they don't know Sherlock

TEWKES BROUGHT FLOWERS FOR HER AND THEY'RE GOING OUT TO WALK

Spreading Bellflowers being the flowers metaphor for Enola

"You're a nincompoop,"

"And you're a coward."

they're in love, you're honour

NOT ENOLA SETTING UP HER BROTHER WITH A HANDSOME DOCTOR FOR A FLATMATE DR. JOHN WATSON PLAYED BY HAMISH PATEL BOY I LOVED YOU IN YESTERDAY HOW DARE YOU COME BACK AND INSTALL THESE EMOTIONS IN ME I LOVE IT I LOVE ALL OF IT

#enola holmes #enola 2 #enola x tewkesbury #holmesbury #sherlock holmes #dr. john watson #john watson #moriarty #mira troy #tewkesbury #eudoria holmes

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panic-in-the-multiverse · 1 year

Text

Being Sherlock Holmes protege/child

Pairings: Sherlock Holmes x teen!reader (slight John Watson x teen!reader, slight Greg Lestrade x teen!reader)

Imagine: Sherlock taking a liking to you and decides that he wants you as his protege

Warnings: mention of struggling with school idk what else

A/N so as always my works are gn!reader so that anyone can read them and idk this idea just came to me might write and actual fic about it (sorry if it might be messy, haven’t reread it after I wrote it)

I love Sherlock <3 that’s it that’s my actual comment

So you somehow caught Sherlock’s attention weather it be that you are smart as him or not doesn’t really matter, you caught his attention

It was at a crime scene in which you helped Lestrade a lot in the case until he contacted Sherlock, when Sherlock got there he noticed how you helped him get to the answer, or more like you knew the answer which turned out to be correct. Having known much about this crime and the people involved helped you a lot to solve it.

Sherlock who as usual tried to deduce everyone tried to deduce you and noticed that he couldn’t, or he got it all wrong, it made him more curious about you

So Sherlock decided out of nowhere that he liked you, he saw potential in you and wanted to take you in, so that’s what he did

If you were an orphan he got accepted to foster you, but if you aren’t then he needed your parents approval, which he got (with a bit of help from Lestrade and Mycroft)

The first week living with Sherlock was filled with him trying to figure out things about you. In doing that he did actually notice all your bad habits.

He noticed how you were stressed about school a lot, how you struggled with school, which he thought weird as outside of school you were damn smart but as soon as it came to school all went to shit

So he started (without himself knowing) slowly to help you with your school work, he’d say random facts that you would actually need to your assignments in which you wrote down. He helped you a lot that way and when he noticed he still continued, because he noticed you never asked for help. You were a lot less stressed over school because of his help.

After a few weeks he started to notice how you would make sure that he took care of himself but you wouldn’t take care of yourself, so he started to tell you to eat something, to drink, to sleep, like you always told him

The first case he took you to was the first time you ever saw Sherlock get “scolded” though neither you or Sherlock took any mind to Lestrade telling him of for bringing a teenager to a crime scene, you wanted to be there to help so what was the problem?

Let’s not forget that both you and Sherlock are greatly annoyed by Anderson and Donovan because if anyone where to ask the two of you then they are both bloody idiots who doesn’t know a shit, and they do call you both names in which are not to your liking

Changing topic a bit Sherlock always wants to hear what you have to say about a crime scene

Everyone getting worried by your antics of throwing yourself in danger most of the time to help Sherlock who is in trouble

Mycroft actually liking you, hence why he protected you as much as he tries to protect Sherlock

This was all before John, but when John came into the picture everyone started to notice how much Sherlock had influenced you and they didn’t quite know if it was good or bad

John noticed how he now had to take care of two children in which one was a teenager and one an actual adult, but both acted as children and neither could take care of themselves

Stealing Sherlock coat whenever you miss him

“John I can’t find it” Sherlock yelled out lowly as not to wake you as he knew you were asleep

John walked into the living room with a mug of tea in his hand as he yawned tiredly, it was way to early for this “What are you looking for”

“My coat!” John heard the panic start to seep through Sherlock at the mention of his coat being gone.

“Why are you whispering”

“Y/N is asleep, I don’t want to wake them”

John who knew that you did in fact steal Sherlock’s coats from time to time sighed at those words. John took a sip of his tea before he walked over to your door opening it to show Sherlock your sleeping form.

That’s when Sherlock saw his coat draped around your body, the very same coat he had been looking for. You were cuddled up inside it the warmth keeping you warm as well as the familiar smell of Sherlock in which had comforted you into sleep helping with your previous worried state.

John had left the door leaving only Sherlock who stared at you. He sighed, closed the door and went and got another coat from his room. He’d let you have his favorite coat for now. Unknowingly to him a soft small smile had etched itself onto his lips as he thought about the fact that you felt safe around him, after all that’s why you took his coat.

He gave you a coat that looked like his after that

Neither you or Sherlock would ever admit it but you did see him as a sort of father figure and he saw you as his child in some sort of way

#x reader #x teen #x teen!reader #x you #Sherlock Holmes #sherlock holmes x you #Sherlock Holmes x reader #Sherlock x reader #Sherlock Holmes x teen!reader #Sherlock Holmes x teen #sherlock holmes x child!reader #john watson x reader #John Watson x teen!reader #Mycroft x teen!reader #Moriarty x teen!reader #Lestrade x teen!reader #Sherlock fanfic #platonic fanfiction

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sandcobangevent · 1 month

Text

Art by @tsukihasnolife Story by @scoobydoo-ghoulschool Read it on AO3!

INT. WATSON’S ROOM

JOHN Hello, Hello, Hello! It’s Doc Watson here to uh- or just John, John is fine too. Um, but I am here to share another spine chilling case with you lovely listeners. This was a dark one folks, so be cautious. Warnings for death, a couple of those, uh parental abuse, some light usage of the S word, and one inflammatory F bomb by yours truly. If none of that is enough to scare you off, well then, good luck and enjoy the adventure of the Speckled Band.

AUDIO CUT

INT. WATSON’S ROOM

Door opens with a bang.

SHERLOCK Your presence is required in the living room.

John gasps awake. Sherlock removes John’s bed covers.

JOHN Huh? What?

SHERLOCK We have a client. In the living room. Ms. Hudson informed me at 6:45, I let you sleep an extra half hour but you really must be up now.

John yawns.

JOHN It’s 7:15? And you’re awake?

SHERLOCK (darkly) Like I said, Ms. Hudson woke me.

JOHN Alright, alright, uh- let me just get some trousers on.

Sherlock moves to leave.

JOHN (CONT.) Hold on, is that my microphone?

SHERLOCK I assumed you’d want it.

JOHN (pleasantly surprised) Well, uh, yes, thank you.

SHERLOCK You’re welcome. Now come along, Ms. Hudson is bringing up tea.

Intro music plays

INT. 221B BAKER STREET - LIVING ROOM

John enters the living room, trousers successfully retrieved.

JOHN Hello there. John Watson, nice to meet you.

HELEN (quietly) Helen Stoner.

John takes a seat.

JOHN So you're a fan of the podcast?

HELEN Sorry, what?

JOHN Oh I just- the Sherlock & Co podcast. It’s my, well, part of our business. I assumed that’s how you found us.

HELEN No, uh I found you on Reddit actually. r/Holmes. I read about a case with these missing opals, from the account FarintoshRed. I thought Mr. Holmes might be able to help me too.

SHERLOCK I vaguely remember the name Farintosh, the opal tiara even more. Now Ms. Stoner what is it that brings you all the way from Surrey this early in the morning?

HELEN I- Did someone tell you I was coming?

SHERLOCK The return ticket is sticking out of your purse.

HELEN (nervously) Oh, right.

Mariana enters the room.

MARIANA I have several cups of very caffeinated tea and a couple of day-old scones. They're only half rock hard.

JOHN Ah, Mariana, you're an angel.

SHERLOCK Yes, thank you. Although I’d prefer something a little stronger than caffeine…

JOHN Not this early in the morning, please. I’d at least like to keep the substance abuse to an afternoon activity.

MARIANA (to Helen) You can just ignore them.

HELEN Um, thanks.

SHERLOCK So early train, and by the mud on your coat, a taxi before with an unexpected rain shower. A little dangerous to be out by yourself before the sun's up. I assume you took this trip without permission?

MARIANA (whispered to Sherlock) Sherlock, that's a little patronizing.

SHERLOCK It would be if our client wasn’t a teenager.

JOHN (also whispered to Sherlock) Mate she’s got grey hair.

HELEN No he’s right, I’m 17.

JOHN Oh! I’m- God, sorry I just didn’t. Blimey.

HELEN I get that sort of reaction a lot. The hair’s genetic or something. My sister had it too. But that’s sort of why I’ve come. Not because of my hair but um… My 18th birthday’s in a couple weeks and… I think maybe I might be dead before then.

MARIANA (tentatively) And… why do you think that?

HELEN Because it happened to my sister, 2 years ago.

Pause.

HELEN (CONT.) I live with my step father, Greg Roylott, uh in this old family estate of his, Stoke Moran. My mum married him when my sister and I were both two. And you know, everything was fine, we were a totally normal family, but when my mum died, when we were about eight, uh, well Greg got really depressed. We were all torn up about it, but he… he could get really, really angry. The last couple of years my sister and I had to get him out of a lot of bad situations. Julia- my sister, she had a really hard time with it. Kids at school could get pretty nasty about it all, and I mean everyone in our village talks. It was a lot, still is a lot. But she decided, two years ago, that she'd had enough. She snuck off one night to stay with one of my mum's old friends, Honoria Westphail, for a couple of weeks.

SHERLOCK And you stayed?

HELEN Greg is- he's the only father I've ever known. I thought you know- everyone deals with grief differently, if I just gave him enough time... He never touched me or Julia.

SHERLOCK But Julia ran away.

HELEN Yeah, and not just. Ms. Westphail was helping her file for emancipation. We were both 15, and she didn't even have a bank account yet, but she wanted to get as far away from Greg as possible. She needed the money from our mother's inheritance.

SHERLOCK Which neither of you receive until your 18th birthday.

JOHN Or you're legally declared independent.

HELEN Right. But then Greg, he, well he reached out to Julia, said he wanted to make amends, that he'd been talking with people, trying to get better. I thought he was telling the truth, I mean at that point it had been weeks since he'd gotten into a fight in town, or come home drunk from the pub.

Helen pauses.

HELEN (CONT.) (voice choked) I convinced Julia to come back when he asked her over for dinner.

MARIANA If you want to take a moment-

Helen sniffs.

HELEN No it's- I can keep going. Dinner went fine, I mean Julia and Greg were never the closest, but you could tell he was trying. He didn't even bring up the whole emancipation dealings. We all went to bed around the same time, but Julia had come into my room complaining of a headache pretty soon after that. Greg likes smoking these Indian cigars before bed, and Julia and his rooms have connected ventilation, and she, uh, was always sensitive to smells like that. I didn’t mind the company, there was this awful storm going on outside, and in a house as old as ours, it gets kind of spooky.

JOHN Old manor house on a dark and stormy night? I bet.

HELEN Exactly. And um, Julie only stayed for a bit but- she asked me if I'd heard any whistling at night while she’d been gone. Like a tea kettle going off, I remember her describing it. It was such a weird question, and I know I hadn't heard anything like it before, but like I said the house is really old, and we don't have the money for many repairs. I just told her it had to be some drafty part of the house. I don’t think she actually ever believed me… and then uh, that's when she went back to her room. I watched her lock her door.

SHERLOCK Did you both routinely lock your doors at night?

HELEN Yeah, force of habit I guess. When we were younger we were always scared the Cheetah or Baboon would escape in the middle of the night.

Weighted Pause.

JOHN Er- Cheetah and Baboon?

HELEN Sorry, yeah, Greg's dad, back in the 80's was mad obsessed with India I guess? He lived there for a while, and he decided to like- make an attraction of the old Manor. There used to be a pretty massive menagerie of Indian wildlife attached to the house. Honestly it's why Greg had no money coming into the marriage with my mum. His dad spent it all. These days all that's left are the Cheetah and Baboon. Just one more reason for people to talk, you know?

MARIANA I can imagine...

SHERLOCK So the door was locked.

Helen takes a deep breath.

HELEN I woke up to her screaming. It was- I've never heard anything like that scream. Then there it was, a whistle, like a tea kettle, and uh then this large metal clang, and it shocked me enough I was able to get myself out of bed.

SHERLOCK The locked door-?

HELEN She was able to open it herself. That’s how I found her, the door opened before I got to it. She was- her eyes were bulging, and I could- I could see the veins in her forehead. The storm had knocked out the power by then but she was holding her phone flashlight. I- I caught her there, in the hallway. She fell into my arms and I could tell she couldn’t breath, she couldn’t- but she managed to tell me “Helen! It was the band! The speckled band!” That’s how Greg found us, I don’t remember much after. I think he tried to do CPR, and I called 999… She was dead before they got there.

MARIANA (very sincerely) I am so sorry.

Helen continues as if she hasn’t heard.

HELEN I was… shell shocked. Everyone was pointing fingers at our step-dad, and even then I couldn’t, I couldn’t really believe. The windows of her room are barred, the fireplace was bricked up, the door was locked. There’s nothing he could have done to her.

JOHN The coroner couldn’t find anything? No foul play, no poison in her system?

HELEN I know they did a thorough search, like I said everyone was sure Greg had something to do with it. There wasn’t anything. Eventually they marked it down as a “cerebral embolism”.

Helen gives a very sharp laugh

HELEN (CONT.) She was 15!

Heavy pause. Helen collects herself.

SHERLOCK This all happened two years ago, you’ve had time to doubt him, to look for help elsewhere- but something changed recently. Ms. Stoner, what happened?

HELEN Last week, Greg said that- there was some work around my room that needed to be done. Structural stuff that needed to be fixed. He moved me into Julia’s bedroom and- (Helen takes a shuddering breath) I heard the whistle. Last night, Mr. Holmes, I heard the whistle again.

AUDIO CUT

Interlude music plays briefly.

INT. 221A BAKER STREET - MARIANA’S OFFICE

MARIANA I’ll make sure she gets to the train station alright. I have a bad feeling about leaving her alone.

JOHN Thank you, Mariana… God I can’t- doesn’t this feel a little wrong? That we’re her last line of defense I mean?

MARIANA I suppose, it is frustrating that it’s taken all this for something to be done. But there’s no one I trust more than Sherlock to help her. She only has us, but at least it’s us.

JOHN Right. No you’re right.

Pause.

MARIANA I’ll see you in a bit.

JOHN Be safe.

The front door to 221 Baker Street opens. The sounds of the street filter in. The door closes and it is quiet once more.

JOHN (to the listeners) So, we’ve taken the case. Obviously. There’s still a part of me that can’t quite believe it, but well- it was hard to say anything but yes.

John enters the flat.

INT. 221B BAKER STREET - LIVING ROOM

JOHN I’ve got us train tickets leaving in an hour. You better start packing.

SHERLOCK I’ve already finished. I’ve got noise canceling headphones, my pistol and my toothbrush.

JOHN (john laughs) Ah, planning on shooting your mouth off then?

SHERLOCK (baffled) What? No, of course not.

JOHN No its- it’s a joke from M*A*S*H. Ya know- Frank took his gun and his toothbrush, there he goes shooting his mouth off again… I’m realizing, suddenly, this was one of my more obscure references so I am… going to stop.

SHERLOCK Good.

Pause. John takes a deep breath in.

JOHN You don't think we're being pranked do you? I mean, that was all- a little mad. I mean the Cheetah and Baboon detail? It sounds like something that would go viral on TikTok.

SHERLOCK You’re only saying that because she’s 17. It was the truth, every detail of it, there's no doubt in my mind. Besides, the Indian menagerie in Surrey is about the easiest detail to corroborate, here look.

Sherlock hands over his phone.

JOHN “They Bought a Zoo Before it was Cool: the sordid tale of Surrey’s oldest family and their lost fortune” Jeeze, okay. So not a TikTok prank then.

John sighs.

JOHN (CONT.) Maybe I just don't want to imagine someone willing to kill a 15 year old girl. I mean… why?

SHERLOCK Why else Watson? Money. In both instances, Julia’s emancipation, and Helen’s 18th birthday, he loses the money from their mother’s inheritance.

Pause.

JOHN You don't think Helen was lying about Roylott not... not hitting them do you?

SHERLOCK (carefully) No, she was telling the truth there too, I assume that would leave too much evidence for the courts. There are other ways to keep someone under control...

JOHN Well Roylott better hope we don't meet up with him anytime soon, I swear I see his face and it's one, two lights out.

SHERLOCK You may be getting that wish sooner than later.

JOHN What do you mean?

SHERLOCK Greg Roylott is on our front stoop-

The downstairs door slams open. Muffled yelling. Heavy footsteps.

JOHN Oh God, I forgot to lock it when Mariana left.

SHERLOCK (harshly) Get back from the door. The heavy footsteps approach faster.

JOHN Well this one is locked- The door to 221B is thrown open with a crash.

JOHN Shit!

DR. ROYLOTT Where is she? Where the Hell is my daughter?!

JOHN Sir you can't just barge in here-!

DR. ROYLOTT Which one of you is Holmes?

SHERLOCK That would be me, but I'm afraid you have the advantage, I don't know you.

DR. ROYLOTT Dr. Gregory Roylott, as if you don't know you slippery bastard.

SHERLOCK Of course Doctor, please have a seat. We were just finishing our morning tea.

DR. ROYLOTT I'm not here for tea, my step-daughter's been here. I tracked her phone so don't try and lie Holmes. She was here not 4 minutes ago.

JOHN Now hold on-

SHERLOCK You know, it is a little cold for this time of the year.

JOHN (under his breath) What?

DR. ROYLOTT What's she said to you?!

SHERLOCK But I have heard we'll be getting an early spring, the crocuses are close to blooming. I have a feeling it's going to be quite lovely.

DR. ROYLOTT Oh come off it, I know what you’re doing! I looked you up online, you're a couple of con artists looking to make a buck off my girl, huh? Put her on your bloody podcast right? She's 17, what are two men of your age doing letting her into your flat? I could have the police-

Sherlock laughs. It goes on longer than it should.

SHERLOCK Your conversational skills are entertaining, when you leave, mind closing the door. Like I said, it is cold for this time of the year.

Pause. Dr. Roylott chuckles darkly.

DR. ROYLOTT Alright, have it your way. But hear this, stay away from my girl, I'm a man of means, I wouldn't take my threats lightly gentleman.

Dr. Roylott turns to leave.

JOHN (very sarcastically) Great meeting you Mr. Roylott.

DR. ROYLOTT It’s Dr. Roylott to you.

JOHN Yeah well, it’s Dr. Watson to you, you pratt.

Dr. Roylott leaves. The door is slammed with tremendous force.

John lets out a very relieved sigh.

Sherlock laughs again.

SHERLOCK Fine fellow, we’ll have to have him round again.

JOHN (not paying attention) I think he broke the door hinges!

SHERLOCK I suppose it’s best it didn’t come to anything physical, but I’m fairly certain I could have taken him. He lagged slightly to the right.

JOHN (still not paying attention) He definitely broke the door.

SHERLOCK Grab your stuff Watson, I think it’s time we were on our way as well.

JOHN You know I’ll have to call Mariana about this.

AUDIO CUT

INT. LONDON WATERLOO TRAIN STATION

The noises of a busy train station. The intermingling of engines, voices, and footsteps.

JOHN Yeah, I know- clear off the hinges. Forced the lock through the door frame- (pause) Alright. Thanks Mariana. Yep. Yeah. Talk soon, bye. (to Sherlock) The whole door’s gonna have to be replaced, can you believe that?

SHERLOCK Yes, I think you’ve mentioned it once or twice now.

JOHN Sorry, I’m just coming to the realization I live in a world where a man can literally break down my door in one go.

John sighs. A distant intercom plays.

JOHN (NARRATING) I suppose now is as good a time as any for some shout outs. I’m still new to Tumblr but the community on there has been nothing but supportive, so I’ve some awesome people I’d like to mention from there. So special hello to @tsukihasnolife who I’ve already commissioned to do some incredible art for this episode. We’ve also got @eardefenders, @starfruitsomething and @littleoceanbabe who I hear are all working hard on a flash bang for other fans of Sherlock & Co. Not sure what a flash bang is, but I appreciate the publicity and support! And lets see maybe some people from Twitter or er X now-

SHERLOCK Watson the train.

JOHN Oh God, yeah. Uh, bye! Thanks again.

AUDIO CUT

INT. UBER

The car drives alone on the road, engine humming softly.

JOHN We are back in Surrey listeners, you may remember the last time we were here was for the case of the Solitary Cyclist. (to Sherlock) You know maybe we should check in with Violet-

SHERLOCK I sincerely doubt Ms. Carruthers would enjoy seeing us Waston. We were at least slightly culpable in her brother's outburst.

JOHN (muttered) I wasn't the one with the gun. (John coughs) But Uh- yeah, yeah that's probably for the best.

DRIVER So where are you guys headed exactly?

SHERLOCK (in his just-one-of-the-mates voice) Stoke Moran, I've heard it's a real piece of work.

DRIVER Yeah, the place should be demolished if you ask me, it’s a death trap.

SHERLOCK Well that's why we're here, come to make a couple of estimates for the bloke who lives up there.

DRIVER Fair warning mate, lots of contractors have been through there. The Doctor, Roylott, he doesn't have the money to pay.

SHERLOCK Really? Big family estate like that with no money?

JOHN Sherlock, look-

SHERLOCK Sorry, would you mind stopping here?

DRIVER We're still a mile out-

JOHN We like the fresh air, thanks for the ride. Uh- five stars!

John and Sherlock exit the car. The car drives off.

EXT. THE GROUNDS OF STOKE MORAN

JOHN That is Helen over there isn't it?

SHERLOCK (in his normal voice) Yes. Probably best we catch her here, I don't want to get too close to the house until we're sure the good Doctor is nowhere near. (voice raised) Ms. Stoner!

Sherlock and John walk to catch up with Helen. Helen approaches, slightly out of breath.

HELEN Hi. I was hoping I’d catch your car on the way in.

SHERLOCK We had a visit with your step-father this morning, just after you left.

HELEN (taken off guard) What but I- he’s barely ever up by 11, and no one would have told him-

SHERLOCK You’re phone Ms. Stoner, I’m afraid he’s been tracking your phone. I would suggest checking your settings for the parental controls he installed without your knowledge.

HELEN If he knows that I- that I came to you-

SHERLOCK If he makes any motion to harm you Ms. Stoner we will personally escort you to Ms. Westphail’s house tonight. But I doubt with the way things are turning out he will try anything that obvious.

JOHN Like busting down a door.

HELEN What?!

Sherlock clears his throat pointedly.

SHERLOCK We’re getting ourselves a room at the village Inn, we have no intention of leaving you alone. Now Ms. Stoner is it possible we could enter the house undetected? I would very much like to see your sister and Dr. Roylott’s rooms.

HELEN Yeah, yeah I can manage that. He had work in London today, I thought- anyway he won’t be back till this evening.

SHERLOCK Lead the way Ms. Stoner

AUDIO CUT

EXT. STOKE MORAN

JOHN (out of breath) We are just now approaching the manor. It's uh- it really is something to see. Which since you can't see listeners, you'll have to take my word for it. Stoke Moran is uh grey, and big. Uh- I can do better than that, hold on. It's... lichen-blotched stone, with a high central portion and two curving wings, like the... claws of a crab. Sort of. Like if a crab had its pincers raised, you know? The left crab claw has broken windows blocked with wooden boards, and the roof is partly caved in, a uh picture of ruin. The middle bit- the body I guess? It’s in okay shape, it’s got some large observation windows near the ground floor. The right-claw looks to be the only section of the house that's still livable. Pretty modern, at least it's got blinds in the windows, and appears to be standing on its own.

HELEN What’s he doing?

SHERLOCK Narrating. He does it when he’s nervous.

JOHN I do it because a podcast is an auditory experience. Can’t exactly wave a camera around to show them- hold on, what’s this over here?

HELEN Oh I wouldn’t-

An animal screeches, a mammal howl, and it slams itself into its glass walled enclosure.

John screams.

The microphone falls. Helen and Sherlock break out into surprised laughter.

HELEN (through laughter) That's the menagerie. Sorry.

The Baboon calls out softly through the glass. There's rustling as John quickly retrieves the microphone.

Sherlock and Helen continue to laugh.

JOHN Seriously, how is this even legal?

AUDIO CUT

INT. STOKE MORAN MANOR - JULIA'S ROOM

A door creaks open slowly. Helen, Sherlock and John enter the room, footsteps echoing loudly.

HELEN So this is- this is Julia’s room. Mine’s just next door to the right, and then to the left is Greg’s room.

SHERLOCK And this is where you’re currently staying because of the restoration work?

HELEN Yes.

Sherlock walks around the room.

SHERLOCK These bed drapes- were they Julia’s?

HELEN Uh- no. No they weren’t really her taste. I think Greg had them put up when she was living with Ms. Westphail.

JOHN (darkly) He seems to have a habit of making living decisions for you.

Sherlock steps up onto the bed, bed springs squeal.

JOHN (CONT.) (pained) Sherlock, your shoes on the bed-

SHERLOCK (ignoring John) This ventilator, right above the bed, does it work?

HELEN Oh that, no, at least not since I’ve moved in. It’s completely freezing here at night.

SHERLOCK Interesting for such a recent refurbishment. Do you remember when this was installed?

HELEN Uh- it- it actually may have been around the same time as Greg hung the bed drapes. When Julia was gone.

Sherlock jumps down from the bed.

SHERLOCK I think I’ve seen enough here. Would you mind leading us to your step-father’s room?

HELEN Sure, like I said, It’s right next door.

Helen, Sherlock and John leave the room.

INT. STOKE MORAN MANOR - DR. ROYLOTT’S ROOM

The door to Roylott’s room opens. John gives a low whistle.

JOHN Well. This is- something.

HELEN Yeah, it’s a lot. Mostly stuff he inherited from his dad.

JOHN For our listeners, the Doctor has, well lots of… collectables lets say, I am presuming from India. Almost every wall and shelf is covered in Hindu icon paintings and sculptures.

SHERLOCK Murtis, not icons. They’re meant to be used in homes and temples for worship. Not... as collectables.

JOHN Yeah, so- it’s extremely distasteful. Not like I needed another reason to dislike this guy. Besides all of the uh- memorabilia in the Doctor’s room, there’s this massive safe- and uh, a bowl of milk is set on top. Helen, do you happen to have a cat around here?

HELEN (pause) No. I’m allergic.

JOHN Could be for the Cheetah, maybe?

SHERLOCK Perhaps… Helen, is it your step father that deals with the animals?

HELEN Er, not really. He feeds em, but he stays out of their enclosures. Honestly he doesn’t pay much attention to them these days. He’s got a vet who comes to see them every couple months or so- but she comes by with her own equipment.

Sherlock moves further into the room.

SHERLOCK Have you ever seen him use this?

HELEN No. What is that?

SHERLOCK It’s a catch pole. Normally these are used by professionals in animal control.

HELEN Right- well maybe the vet left it behind last time she was here?

Pause.

SHERLOCK Possibly… Well Ms. Stoner, I have seen what I’ve needed.

HELEN Well, do you know how it happened? How he did it?

SHERLOCK I can’t answer that quite yet. But we will be back tonight. Your old room, you can still comfortably sleep there at the moment?

HELEN (guardedly) I could…

SHERLOCK Good. Tonight, when your step-father falls asleep, shine a light through your bedroom window, and then leave to sleep there. Watson and I will be spending the night in your place. We will see for ourselves what plans he had for you.

AUDIO CUT

Musical interlude.

INT. SURREY INN - JOHN AND SHERLOCK’S ROOM

The room is quiet. John taps absentmindedly at the microphone. It is super annoying.

SHERLOCK You have a question?

JOHN No. Nope, just… thinking.

SHERLOCK (begrudgingly) I’m not certain what it is.

JOHN But you have a pretty good idea.

SHERLOCK I’ve been wrong before.

JOHN (skeptical) Rarely. If ever.

SHERLOCK You have theories I’m sure.

JOHN Not- not really. The new heating vent that doesn't work… that’s unusual, and purposeful. I thought maybe a nerve gas agent-

Sherlock makes a quiet noise of dissent.

JOHN But- I know that makes no sense, so I’ve got nothing. And then there's the whole issue of the speckled band... a clothing item, a poison...

SHERLOCK You’re picking up on the important details.

JOHN So are you going to share with the class what's actually going on?

SHERLOCK We’ll see tonight. Or we won’t.

JOHN (joking) I see how it is, plausible deniability. Can’t be wrong if you don’t say it out loud.

SHERLOCK John.

JOHN Yes?

SHERLOCK I think you should get some sleep before tonight.

JOHN Right, yeah. (pause) You’re not wrong though, whatever you're thinking, I know you’re not wrong.

Pause.

JOHN (CONT.) Goodnight.

Pause. John settles into bed.

SHERLOCK Thank you.

AUDIO CUT

Musical interlude

SHERLOCK Watson. Wake up, Ms. Stoner has given us the signal.

John shifts in bed. He yawns.

JOHN I really hope this isn’t a habit you're developing. Waking me up in the early hours of the morning I mean.

SHERLOCK Come along, Watson, no time to dawdle.

JOHN Dawdle. Funny word, dawdle. Dawdle. dawdle... and now it just sounds fake. (pause) Hang on… where did you get a cane?

AUDIO CUT

EXT. STOKE MORAN

JOHN (out of breath) We are back on the grounds of Stoke Moran, making our way up to the house. And- I am really wishing we could pick cases that didn’t require so much walking in the dark.

SHERLOCK We’re close to the door Helen said she’d leave open for us. Keep quiet, and keep your flashlight down.

JOHN Yep. Yep got it. Uh- aren’t we also close by to the-

Something thumps against the glass wall. Sherlock yelps.

The Baboon gives a howling laugh, tearing away from the window.

Sherlock takes in several gasping breaths. John snickers.

JOHN See? Not so funny when it’s you, the Baboon jumps.

SHERLOCK No. Comment.

John laughs quietly. He moves forward.

JOHN The doors over here by the way.

AUDIO CUT

INT. STOKE MORAN MANOR - JULIA’S ROOM

JOHN So we took a back entrance that Helen showed us early today. We have safely made it into Julia’s old room. So… now we just wait and listen for a whistle I guess.

SHERLOCK I’ll take the bed, under the vent. For your safety, the rocking chair in the corner is best.

JOHN You just don’t want me to accidentally fall asleep on a stake out again.

SHERLOCK (whispered) It is imperative we stay as quiet as possible now.

JOHN (whispered back) Of course.

SHERLOCK Which means we’ll be sitting in silence for a good portion of the night.

JOHN Yeah mate, I know how quiet works.

SHERLOCK I thought a warning might be nice.

JOHN Well, thanks, I appreciate that. (to himself and the microphone) Of all the things he chooses to warn me about and- oh Christ, the listeners, right-

AUDIO CUT

JOHN (whispered) It is… currently four in the morning. We haven’t heard a peep. I don’t know if we scared Roylott off today, or threw him off his game, but I don’t know if it’s happening tonight.

SHERLOCK Watson.

JOHN What? Did you hear something?

SHERLOCK No.

JOHN Alright. Yeah, quiet. I can do quiet.

SHERLOCK Watson...

JOHN Sorry yeah-

SHERLOCK No, listen!

A high pitched whistle blows softly from above.

SHERLOCK Stay back.

JOHN Hold on, let me get my camera light on, I can’t see.

SHERLOCK No, John the vent is opening!

A large CLANG as Sherlock’s cane hits the vent. A hiss, something slithers back through the vent away from them.

Dr. Roylott SCREAMS from the other room.

JOHN (panicked) What on Earth was that?

SHERLOCK We’ll need the light Watson, hurry.

INT. STOKE MORAN - DR. ROYLOTT’S ROOM

Rushed footsteps. A door bursts open.

Roylott moans.

JOHN Fuck! Is that-?

DR. ROYLOTT (strained and slightly slurred) Get it off me!

JOHN A snake, the speckled band was a snake?!

SHERLOCK Hand me the catch pole. By his leg, there!

JOHN Right-

John moves, he grabs the catch pole. Sherlock takes the pole. The snake hisses, Roylott blubbers in panic and pain.

SHERLOCK The safe, open the door to the safe!

JOHN The- oh! There’s a whole terrarium in there.

The snake hisses again. Louder.

SHERLOCK Watson!

JOHN Got it!

The safe is forced open more. Sherlock places the angered snake inside. John closes the safe with a loud METALLIC CLANG.

John gives a sigh of relief. Roylott moans again, and then tumbles to the floor.

DR. ROYLOTT (gasping) It’s- Swamp Adder- the venom- it bit me.

JOHN Oh God, right, okay, just, hold on- Dr. Roylott, I need you to stay calm. (to Sherlock) Call emergency services! He’s going into anaphylactic shock, I can’t-

SHERLOCK (seriously) They won’t have the anti-venom.

JOHN Just call! I don’t- Maybe I can do another tracheotomy, there’s got to be a pen around here, maybe a letter opener.

John stands. He looks frantically for tools to help.

SHERLOCK John-

JOHN I’m thinking!

SHERLOCK John!

JOHN What?!

SHERLOCK He’s dead.

JOHN But he- (pause) His pulse stopped.

SHERLOCK I’ll call now.

JOHN Um- yeah. Okay. (pause) I’ll- I’ll go get Helen. I’ll see if we can get a hold of Ms. Westphail.

Tense pause.

SHERLOCK He did it to himself, John. He did this to Julia, and he was going to do it to Helen.

JOHN (strained) You’re right, yeah. (John sniffs) I’ll go get Helen.

John leaves, the door closes softly behind him.

AUDIO CUT

Musical interlude.

INT. JOHN’S ROOM

JOHN Well folks, that is the end of the case. Say au revoir to the speckled band, which is now, along with the Cheetah and Baboon being safely handled by some animal conservationist group. Apparently cheetahs are a very endangered species so, Roylott was definitely keeping that illegally. Um, as for Helen, she is now happily settled with her aunt. Obviously, this was a bit of a shock for her but… she’s, she’s in a better place now thank God. And Roylott, well you all know how he ended up. I don’t uh- I don't have much else to say other than that. The Swamp Adder venom really-

The door to the bedroom opens. Sherlock walks in.

SHERLOCK Oh, you’re not done yet.

JOHN Nope, just doing the wrap up.

SHERLOCK Do you mind?

JOHN No, come on in. I was just talking about the Swamp Adder.

Pause.

SHERLOCK You know... there’s no such thing.

JOHN What?

SHERLOCK He misidentified the snake, there’s no such thing as a Swamp Adder.

JOHN But we saw it-

SHERLOCK We saw an Indian Saw-Scaled viper, Echis Carinatus if you want to be technical, and while extremely venomous, it is by no means the most venomous snake in India. That would be the Common Krait.

JOHN You know all that, but you couldn’t name one Madonna song last week at the pub?

SHERLOCK Well the next time Madonna gains the ability to inject 12 milligrams of venom into her victims in one bite, then I’ll try my best to remember her discography.

JOHN Right okay, well you heard it here folks, world class detective, violinist, podcast co-host, Sherlock Holmes, can also add snake expert to his list of accomplishments.

SHERLOCK Herpetologist.

JOHN What?

SHERLOCK An expert in reptiles and amphibians, a Herpetologist.

JOHN Okay that- that can’t be real.

AUDIO CUTS. OUTRO MUSIC PLAYS.

END OF PART ONE OF ONE

#submission #sherlock and co #sherlock & co #flashbang event #sherlock homes #john watson #mariana ametxazurra

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