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 Teaching the Heart to heal, open // Sherlock - before Jennifer
Dr. John Watson
 Posted: Apr 12 2014, 11:50 PM
Quote
How can you possibly expect me to just move on after what happened when I bloody know the person who murdered my wife is still out there! Tell me why, please.
Tribble has 27 posts
Medical


You are Always on my mind.
For life. Every time I close my eyes.

For the first time in a couple days after having another bout of depression, John came out of his room. In regards to clothing he was just in his Pajama trousers and a plain white T-shirt that failed to hide the fact he has lost a good deal of weight since his wife was murdered. He did claim to be eating food, even though it was not much, in fact he may just get a mouthful of food down before saying he was done. The man stumbled into the kitchen as he always did every morning in the past when he actually did have an appetite.

Looking around the kitchen, scratching at the back of his neck, he walked over to the fridge. Usually there was something along the lines of bizarre and disgusting in the fridge and the freezer. Gripping the handle that will open the fridge with a small yank, he took a slow swallow before yanking the door open. For once there was nothing disgusting in the machine, in fact.. there was actually food present in there.

The man stood there puzzled, staring at the site that there was actually proper food, and drinks in the fridge. He wondered just why there has been a sudden change. John closed the fridge door and pulled it back open, wondering if he was dreaming. But at the site of there being no change at all to what he was seeing, John came to the conclusion that what he was seeing was in fact real.

Despite the scene of real food and drinks being present in the fridge, John closed the fridge door quietly, hoping that no one heard him opening the fridge door.. or coming out of his room. The last thing he wanted was someone to come into the room and start nagging him about getting something to eat. Turning around, John's feet was barely heard as they patted across the cold tile floor as he walked into the living room.

Resting his hand on the side of the chair, John groaned a little as he took a seat in his favorite armchair. The man looked around, wondering why it was so quiet, because usually by this time he was hearing Sherlock babbling nonstop about something that constantly changed from one thing to another and then back to a previous topic. Which at times would drive John completely up the wall. But for whatever the reason was for the room being so silent, John decided to enjoy it instead of questioning it. So the man grabbed the newspaper off the table next to him and started to read it, even though it was from the day before.

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Sherlock Holmes
 Posted: Apr 21 2014, 11:01 PM
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Sherlock Holmes
has N/A posts


My Body Is A Cage

Just because your forgotten. Doesn't mean your forgiven.

He honestly could not remember the last time he had a decent sleep. Probably two weeks or so ago, maybe, though he cared little about such a thing. Sleeping, eating, all of it just got in the way. He needed to think constantly and everything else was a tedious necessity. Annoying needs of the human body he would rather live without. He was perfectly fine with not taking in his daily nutrient; and really could not understand all the fuss John and Mrs. Hudson had over his health. As long as he was still functional to think he saw no problem in being a bit faint when he stepped out.

The air was crisp and the sky dark grey. It was raining as usual in London the natural season of Spring calling for the wet weather, and as usual he carried no umbrella with him. Unlike his brother Mycroft who was overly fond of the protective tool, Sherlock could care little about keeping himself dry. In fact he was particularly fond of the rain, counting each drop of water as they fell from the heavens. They helped him remain focused, and at the current moment that was what he needed more than ever. The Raven That was the only name he had to go on, with the mass serial killer who liked to consume his victims. It would seem as easy enough case; however he had not counted on being intercepted by the Russian mob asking for his help.

He had left Lestrade and his band of idiotic officers only to be drugged and kidnapped to a rundown meat factory. Of course once coming to he had to point out the tire routine of drugging and kidnapping. They could have simply asked after all, yet, his comment seemed to only reward him with a punch to his right cheek. Mobsters could be such brutes with really, really tiny minds.

That did not however stop the side of his face from aching as he marched up the stairs to his shared flat, ignoring Mrs. Hudson’s comment about his swollen jaw. He had gone out earlier that morning to bring back groceries for John. Sherlock perhaps did not care for his own health, but when it came to his only friend he could not stand by and watch as John let himself waste away. Plus he was sure he had gotten a bag of peas he could stick on his face.

Sherlock entered their living space, but instead of seeing the man dressed and eating, he was greeted to a mopping doctor sitting down and not being proactive at all! How was John supposed to keep up with him out on cases when the man would probably not even pry himself from his chair? And he would have very much so liked to have had his friend at his side this morning, but had been trying to be understanding and give John space. Did he not see how difficult that had been for him!?

“Do you know why a raven is like a writing desk?” He said stepping through the doorway and heading straight for the kitchen. Sherlock opened the refrigerator, sadly messing the sight of sever limbs that once filled the cooler. He had been right, grabbing the bag of peas and placing it against his cheek. Sherlock closed the fridge-door and walked back into the living room. He sat down rather hard in his own chair opposite of John’s. “A childish riddle which has been solved with many guesses. Sam Loyd claimed, because the notes for which they are noted are not noted for being musical notes and for Poe wrote on both. Aldous Huxley said it was for there is a B in both and an N in neither. And of course people have seem to come the final conclusion out of all this that is was due to a misprint on Lewis Carroll’s behalf, putting raven instead of his original intent nevar. Though all of these answers are quite creative attempts of the simple mind trying to make sense out of nonsense, they are unfortunately all wrong.” He flinched slightly at the pain shooting through his face. Sherlock stood abruptly, beginning to pace back and forth. “If one is to find the true answer to the riddle, than one must look not to the words but the man that spoke them.” He jumped onto the couch standing on the cushions as he began tearing off papers from his wall, “So tell me John, what is the true answer behind this riddle?” He knew, that despite John’s constant refusal otherwise, the man loved a good case just as much as he did. [b]“Why would someone kill and eat a person and leave a riddle behind in their blood?”


TAG: Jen/John
WORDS: 900
NOTES: -put here-

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Dr. John Watson
 Posted: Apr 22 2014, 07:38 PM
Quote
How can you possibly expect me to just move on after what happened when I bloody know the person who murdered my wife is still out there! Tell me why, please.
Tribble has 27 posts
Medical


You are Always on my mind.
For life. Every time I close my eyes.

John barely glanced towards the other man as Sherlock came barging into the flat as he usually did. If this were a normal day, John would be trailing the man, but lately he was not in the mood to go anywhere. He did not want to show himself in public just yet. The block was still haunted by memories, yes the very flat he is in is full of memories as well, but they were not just of Mary. Which made living in 221B more bearable to an extent, but it seemed that Sherlock being his best friend did have it's perks. For one, the man always seemed to know when to start distracting John from his own mind, to throw him into another thought or series of thoughts. Which John was thankful for, very thankful for.

Because, forbid it would happen, if John did not have friends like Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson he would have probably done something rather drastic due to how depressed he had been. He saw no light at the end of the tunnel just yet either.

John blinked as the detective spoke of a rather common riddle, more like mentioned the riddle than talking about it, yet, "Do I know why a Raven is like a writing desk?" John looked around his chair to Sherlock, "Well.. there are multiple interpretations of Ravens as well as uses by ancient people.. some feared them, others thought they saw a certain god or goddess. Sometimes it was a false image of what they were seeing.. like bad luck." John said as he watched Sherlock take a seat in his own chair across from the good doctor. Naturally John just listened to Sherlock babble on about the riddle, trying his best to take in as much as he could.

The doctor then noticed as his friend stood up that almost the entire side of his face was swollen, "Sherlock, what happened to your face?" John then got to his feet, laying his hand on the back of the chair as he got a sudden dizzy feeling as he watched his friend pace back and forth as he normally would do when his mind was somewhere else as he babbled on about things.

Then once again, Sherlock asked John not one, but two questions. But of which John did not have an answer to immediately so as he thought of the answer he moved Sherlock's hand away from his face as he tried to examine the obvious bruise and swelling that was going on, "Well.. what was the message that was written in the blood?" That was what John wanted to know first before he gave his full answer, "Anyways.. perhaps to find the answer you are seeking, you do not ask the 'messenger' but try to go to the source who ever it is?" John was not entirely sure if this was the answer that Sherlock was looking for, but it was a rather good guess in John's books.



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Sherlock Holmes
 Posted: Apr 23 2014, 08:09 PM
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Sherlock Holmes
has N/A posts


My Body Is A Cage

Just because your forgotten. Doesn't mean your forgiven.

“Oh, coarser torture a hit. Red rum! A final message when firmly in place, most often found across my face. He that builds stronger than either the mason, the shipwright, or the carpenter.”

Sherlock recited the riddle out loud absentmindedly still pulling down papers and pictures from his wall, ignoring John’s query about his face. “Eight girls all in their twenties, sharing the same traits: Mixed race, long black hair, high arched eyebrows and slanted eyes. Obvious the killer is playing out some fantasy he wishes to conduct upon someone close to him. Someone they know possessing these same characteristics. Each of them laid out on top of a writing desk with a copy of Edgar Allen Poe’s most well-known poem, The Raven, with their eyes missing. Autopsy shows that each of them had their hearts removed and chest sown back up. All drained of their blood.” He was beginning to grow frustrated, more to the fact he was unsure what exactly it was he was looking for! Even though the killer had murdered the women, he had been quite attentive to their bodies, almost as if he had been apologizing. A psychopath with a heart, who ate the hearts of his victims. This was a hard case indeed. “The riddle was child’s play. First two lines are an anagram. Oh, coarser torture a hit. Red rum! Is oh treacherous traitor, murder! This person knows me, knows what I did to Magnussen and is seeking some sort of revenge. These women are just to get my attention.” He stopped letting out a loud groan, as he step roughly back to the floor. He began to pace again.

A final message when firmly in place, most often found across my face. A tombstone no doubt, having the last words of a person in graved into the stone. Could be Magnussen’s tomb but he was buried overseas in the United States. Yet it still seems as if they wish for me to visit a grave, giving the second riddle of the message. He that builds stronger than either the mason, the shipwright, or carpenter. A gravedigger, someone whose house will last forever. But whose grave am I supposed to dig up?” Sherlock halted abruptly, “or perhaps it’s not a physical grave site.” He turned quickly to face John, “On the first woman there was a set of numbers cut into the bottom of her foot.”

He reached over grabbing a piece of paper and pen quickly writing down the numbers he had seen.

4

14

1114

3114

132114

“The sequence was simply to solve. Each number describing the previous, example, line two describes line one, as in there is one 4. Line three describes line two. One 1 and one 4, and so on. So following the pattern the next set of numbers would be 1113122114. It’s a code, to something. Something that Magnessen was keeping well locked away. Something that the Russian mob wants, which explains why they kidnapped and threatened me. They need me to dig and find what exactly this code unlocks. The killer obviously is in search for this as well…and there’s only one person who knows of its location…someone who fits the description of the women they have been murdering. Someone I have been keeping tabs on.”

The Messenger…the messenger. What drove someone to go to such extremes to get a message out? He needed to place himself in the shoes of the messenger. The person no doubt mentally unstable, but intelligent, covering their tracks well despite the eight bodies that had been found, yet for every one of those bodies there laid a hidden message. Meaning whoever it was happened to be desperate, needing to find the person with the knowledge to the code immediately, but they obvious knew who this person was, they just did not know where they were located. Of course! Family. The one thing that made a person go to such lengths for one another, but whoever had the key to this code and run away, separating themselves from the their family, scared of being found…

Someone he knew, someone he knew...if only he could remember who that person was. It was as if it was right in front of him and yet out of his reach. He went over the shared features of the women again. There had to be something else. He tightened his scarf around his neck, he would need to see the bodies again.

“John stay here. I’m going digging.” Though he would usually like the doctor at his side, it was unsure how he would act with a case tying so close Magnessen’s family, especially after the loss of Mary. There was the chance his friend could lose it.


TAG: Jen/John
WORDS: 900
NOTES: -put here-

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Dr. John Watson
 Posted: Apr 24 2014, 05:12 PM
Quote
How can you possibly expect me to just move on after what happened when I bloody know the person who murdered my wife is still out there! Tell me why, please.
Tribble has 27 posts
Medical


You are Always on my mind.
For life. Every time I close my eyes.

The Carpenter, the shipwright or the mason. John wondered quietly what those meant as he continued to examine Sherlock's face. He knew that his friend had to have said something to receive such a reward.. but that just seemed to be normal Sherlock though, to say something. Unlike John who would bite back his remark and keep it to himself. He frowned lightly as the doctor thought up a possible answer to the riddle, "Sounds like to me the Carpenter, the Shipwright and the Mason are possible people who are involved to me Sherlock. Not directly saying who they are but maybe what their.. involvement is?"

John knew that Sherlock was not going to tell him what happened to his face, not that John could not think of what had happened. The man crossed his arms over his chest as he looked to the photographs. He listened to the detective, and at the same time was drawing his conclusions.. even though they may seem to be rather elementary to his friend, "Maybe the riddle and what was done to the women are answers Sherlock. They have to be tied somehow. Not just random. Maybe.. someone is trying to tell you something.. Like the Chinese Symbols the Chinese Gang were using to get word out to their members about that hair pin. But just a different way." John watched as once again as his friend started pace back and forth on one patch of the floor.

The doctor watched over Sherlock's shoulder as the detective wrote down a series of numbers, John had seen various forms of coding during his years as an officer in the British Army. He picked the paper up took take a better look at the numbers, "Sherlock they could also be directions to a location, or to someone." He pointed to the paper, "In the army it is not uncommon to do something like this to get a squad or two somewhere or to find someone that the government was looking for. It could even be an object that someone is looking for but they probably do not have the brain power to work out this coding. So.." John stepped off the couch, "They could have purposely got your attention so you work the code out for them."The paper still in his hand John looked to the coding again, "Not saying it is someone from the military or with military experience.. it just odd to see this coding outside a military base."

John listened to Sherlock, frowning as he was told to not go with his friend. John knew that who ever was committing these crimes, getting a message out to Sherlock in this fashion had to be someone who is almost or just as brilliant as his friend, but dangerous. Not just dangerous but deadly dangerous. John thought it over, and came to a rather quick conclusion, "No Sherlock. I am going to go with you this time. Whoever, "He pointed to the photos that were still pinned to the wall or sitting on the couch in front of it, "Whoever is doing that is obviously dangerous. Possibly even out there to get you to a location to kill you. I have already lost you once, and lost my wife. I am not going to allow someone to take a person who is important to me away again. So you stand here in your mind palace or what ever you do while I get changed." And with that John spun around on his heel and walked down to his bedroom.

Some mere minutes later, possibly no more than five, John was out in some clean clothing, with his usual jacket on. As he walked out to meet Sherlock in the living room he was working to hide his Sig Suer in the usual place he hid it. At the back of his trousers under the three layers of clothing he usually wore including the jacket, "Alright. Where are we off to Sherlock?" John asked as he dropped his hands to his sides at parade rest, a old habit of his thanks to being drilled during basic training.



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Sherlock Holmes
 Posted: May 4 2014, 10:58 PM
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Sherlock Holmes
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My Body Is A Cage

Just because you're forgotten. Doesn't mean you're forgiven.

Sherlock could see the disapproving look form on John’s face after he had told him to stay behind. He knew the look all too well. He had only been thinking about John’s mental safety and the danger it could pose to the case. The man was still dealing with the death of his wife, he did not know where this case would lead them, but it would heavily involve something with Magnussen. And his friend was right; whoever was pulling the strings behind this was dangerous, all the more reason for Sherlock to want him to stay behind. It would be a great sidetrack if he had to stop and save John at any moment. Whoever was leaving these riddles was intelligent and ruthless, a dangerous combination. He opened his mouth to protest, but quickly shut it at the next words to flow from John’s mouth. How many times would he have to apologize about that!? He may make sarcastic remarks about his death and leaving John alone, but there was no mistaking that his guilt over it was still there. Not to mention he had not been able to protect Mary as he had promised.

Actually he had not been able to keep any of his vows lately. So he said nothing and instead for once took the doctor’s advice. There was something he was missing, a dot he was unable to connect. Sherlock breathed in deeply to clear his head. He would have to start at the beginning.

There he stood, gun in hand pointed at the man who had threatened his best friend. The roar of the helicopter pounded in his hears as the blinding light shined at him. He was angry…

“And desperate,” Mycroft stern voice blaring through the speaker of the copter. “Always was a stupid child.”

“I’m not stupid!”He tried to yell over the propellers.

“Really?” Magnussen grinned at him, stepping forward so that the gun rest in his forehead. “It must have been so hard for you when they put little Redbread down.”

Mycroft was suddenly behind him, his angered gaze fixed on his brother back, “You should have seen him, crying his eyes out. Sentiment will get you killed.”

”Sentiment….” Sherlock focus his gaze on Magnussen, “Who would kill for someone like you?” His finger pulling slightly at the trigger, “Who would die from you?”

Magnussen smiled sinisterly, “The better question is, who would die because of me?” He gripped his slender hands around the gun. “Sorry, no chance for you to be a hero this time, Mr. Holmes.” The man recited his last words to him.

BANG!

The sound of gun shot rang around them.

“Oh, Sherlock. What have you done?”

The light flashed in his eyes, blinding him for a split second, but as regain his sight, Sherlock was greeted with a bucket of water being thrown in his face. He was in a bunker. There was a soldier was guarding the entrance to a room on the other side of the door. He has earphones in his ears playing loud music, nothing of quality taste. Sherlock cried out as he is struck again. Hearing the noise, the soldier takes one of his ear buds out just as he is truck once more, groaning in annoyance at the violence that was being done. Inside the room, the torturer shouts repeatedly at Sherlock, his hair was grown out and his body ached from head to toe. He was naked from the waist up, arms chained to opposite walls of the small room, forcing him to stay upright. His head is slumped forward as far as he can, exhausted by the repeated blows. In a dark corner of the room another soldier, well wrapped against the cold and with a furry hat on his head, sits with his feet up on a small table and watches as the torturer paces across the room.

The torture picks up a large metal pipe and walks towards him again, “Само нам реците зашто и ви можете спавати. Запамти сан? (Just tell us why and you can sleep. Remember sleep?)” The man draws back the pipe over his shoulder and prepares to strike him with it, but stops when Sherlock whispers something quietly. “шта? (What?)”He reached down and pulling Sherlock’s head back by the hair, leaning closer to hear properly.

“Sentiment, it is why I was not shot that day on the patio. Despite you facade of not caring, you prevented that...brother.”

The dark figure that had been sitting back watching him being hurt finally stood, stepping out from the shadows, yet instead of seeing Mycroft. Irene Adler kneeled down to caress his face, “Oh, look at you.” Her voice sounding almost sincerely concerned for his well-being, “You should have begged for mercy.”

He looked up into her eyes, heaving loudly from the pain rocking his system. “I never beg.”

She pouted, kissing him deeply. “Do you know the big problem with a disguise, Mr. Holmes? However hard you try, it’s always a self-portrait. ” Irene pushed his hair from out his face, “Why is a raven like a writing desk?”

His eyes lit up as the answer hit him full force.

“JOHN-!” His cry was cut short by the doctor stepping back into the room. He walked eagerly up to the man gripping him by his shoulders. “It will be found, in fact, that the ingenious are always fanciful, and the truly imaginative never otherwise than analytic.” He rambled quickly, quoting a line from Edgar Allen Poe’s The Murders in the Rue Morgue. When his friend just stared at him, Sherlock rolled his eyes and stepped away, “Do you not see! The riddles are nothing more than a disguise! The dead women, the missing hearts, those are just distractions. They mean nothing!”It was cold-hearted for him to say that the death of eight women meant nothing, but the truth still hold. He moved away, walking over towards his books, grabbing one from off the self and tossing it towards John, on it the title of the very story he had been quoting. “There was one of those at every crime scene. The only reason no one notice was because not everyone was placed out for the eyes to see. But if one just looked at their belongings or bookshelves, that book would be found in every one of those girls’ possessions.” He began to pace once more, “But he was getting tired of no one noticing so this time he displayed it right in front for the world to see.” His heart leaped with excitement at the thought of going against someone so cunning yet impatient.

“We need to go to the morgue and look at the first body. There has to be something different about her. Something small that someone would overlook.” He hurried out the door and down the stairs. Bursting out of the front door to way down a cab, his mind completely elsewhere as he did not notice the female walking straight in his direction. He nearly collided with Sarah Doyle, but was able to halt her movements before they ran into each other. He frowned as he looked down at her, “And here I thought you were a bit slow, but now I see you are truly hazardous.”


TAG: John/Sarah
WORDS: 1,210
NOTES: Things will be heating up soon!

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Sarah Doyle
 Posted: May 5 2014, 05:22 PM
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N/A
Chicky has 30 posts
British Government/Camera Technician


Between working for the British Secret Service, taking photos of uptight brides on their wedding days, and operating the main camera for BBC News, going to Baker Street felt like going on a well-needed field-trip.

If only it wasn’t raining on said field-trip…

The young American woman didn’t mind it. Compared to the mild annoyance the weather brought in Central London, she grew up in much worse. Back in Texas, there were rainstorms that felt like being in the shower with the wand turned up full blast. Not even an umbrella could withstand the dreadful Southern storms. And the nasty part about the aftermath of such a rain was the humidity. It never did do well with Sarah’s hair or skin. So when she says that she doesn’t mind the London rain and the dry chill it brought, she really means that she doesn’t mind it as long as it never turned her into a pizza-faced Professor Trelawney afterwards.

Still, as a precaution, she put her blonde hair up in a loose braided ponytail. Plus, it would keep her hair out of her face when she was working with her brand new camera that she received last week.

It had everything! FX Image Sensoring, 11 frames-per-second shooting, took great video with high definition, had a wireless transmitter, and a GPS system…which she couldn’t understand why a camera would need that, but who cares? Mycroft was the one who paid for it!

She couldn’t wait to use it! She had planned that day to take some landscape shots and catch the London Eye and Big Ben somewhere in the background. But first thing was first: Making a stop by Baker Street to drop off some pictures she took for another Holmes she occasionally helped out.

As another side job, Sarah was an on-call forensics photographer for New Scotland Yard. She had just happened to have some pictures of a few crime scenes that involved a serial killer. Pretty nasty guy too—this weirdo cut out the victims eyes and ate their hearts. The news broadcast she filmed had been reporting on this as well. When the first crime happened and she was called in to take pictures, she had excused herself from the scene to empty out her lunch. That’s how gruesome this crime was. But she steeled her stomach as more of these murders happened, and by now she didn’t get queasy at the sight of the poor victims when she reviewed the footage.

So when Sherlock Holmes requested the pictures she had taken at those particular events, Sarah Doyle was more than happy to run out of the boring shift she was having at the British Secret Service building and head over to Baker Street.

Umbrella in her hand, her camera equipment in her large, black backpack, and her iPod’s ear-buds drowning out the outside word with Vanilla Ice lyrics, she was a sight to behold. While everyone else was trying to avoid the rain as much as possible, she was just walking along like it was a sunny day, eating a bag of sour cream and onion chips—did they call that here or was it “crisps”?--as a quick snack.

She turned the corner on Baker Street, right when she felt her phone vibrate in the back pocket of her jeans. After tucking the chip bag under the thumb of the hand holding her umbrella, licking the sour cream and onion residue off of her fingers, she looked at the text her mother had sent her. Wasn’t it, like, three in the morning back in Texas or something? What was her mother doing asking her if she’s been going to church and if she’s met anybody interesting yet?!

Oh for crying out lo—Umph!”

Luckily, she didn’t drop anything as she bumped into the world’s only Consulting Detective. He had stopped her blind wandering just in time before that. The annoyance that was put on her face thanks to her mother suddenly disappeared and a bright smirk replaced it.

Compared to Mycroft, Sherlock was fun. Sure, they were both stuffy and annoying in their own intellectual way, but at least Sherlock had the honor of being more fun than his older brother. At first, Sarah thought he was kind of weird, but began to respect his weirdness. He was brilliant and cool.

Then again, Sarah thought that about most people. She didn’t judge people much. As long as they didn’t call her “bitch” for no particular reason…

Hey Sherlock,” she greeted brightly, putting her phone back in her pocket and taking out her ear buds.

And here I thought you were a bit slow, but now I see you are truly hazardous.”

Awww,” Sarah didn’t skip a beat, pulling out her sassy and sweet nature. “Sounds like someone’s read Mycroft’s performance evaluation on me. That’s so sweet.“ Her voice switched quickly back to normal. “I’m pretty sure he says the same thing about you. I don’t know. I work for him. I don’t listen to him. Anyway, I got the pictures you wanted.”

She dug into her pocket to take out the SD Memory card she had buried deep and safe in there and handed it to him.

Hope they’ll be helpful,” she said placing her free hand on her hip. “Now, do you require more of my services, or you are gonna be a party-pooper and send me back to Queen Mycroft?

She really hoped he needed her more today. Sure, the job Mycroft gave her paid well—really well, in fact—but the salary was sometimes not worth it. And sure, she respected Mycroft, and she liked getting on his case and pulling the occasional prank. The thing is she had to get out of there! It was boring over there at the moment. Practically nothing was going on. She liked hanging out with Sherlock—well, if you could call it “hanging out”. She just takes pictures for him occasionally. But really, it was always exciting and adventurous when he was around.
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Dr. John Watson
 Posted: May 10 2014, 04:33 PM
Quote
How can you possibly expect me to just move on after what happened when I bloody know the person who murdered my wife is still out there! Tell me why, please.
Tribble has 27 posts
Medical


You are Always on my mind.
For life. Every time I close my eyes.

Even though John was wanting to go with Sherlock to the crime scene, he was not one hundred percent sure on the idea just yet.. he was still feeling insecure, which then brought on a whole other set of emotions. Even Sherlock gripping him by the shoulders did nothing to draw him away from those feelings. This was one of those moments where he wished that he was like Sherlock, being able to lock emotions away when he needed to. But even with as brilliant as Sherlock is at deducing, he clearly was not able to take the blank stare of his as a sign that he was not confused but that he was starting to become rather unstable mentally, even as his breathing became rather heavy as the man fought to put his emotions back under control.

John blinked, his expression remained somewhat blank as his friend rambled on, of course John knew that Sherlock would figure out the message.. maybe after all John would not be needed since Sherlock was now going to pay a visit to the first victim's body. He quietly watched as Sherlock rushed out of the room and down the stairs. The good doctor knew that it will take some time to wave over a cabbie, so he walked into the bathroom. Leaving the door open, he grabbed one of the facet handles and turned the cold water on.

As he placed his hands in the cold water and brought them to his face John could feel a familiar cold metal band on his finger, shakily pulling his hands away and focused on the wedding band that was still present on his finger just yet. He had been told to take it off, to let the past go. But he was not ready to move on just yet. No.. he could not let go of her just yet. She still filled his mind, when he was awake or asleep. The man held his breath as he placed his index finger and thumb around the band of gold, as soon as he touched it he could feel his heart beat quicken. Not because he was excited, but because he was becoming anxious. so anxious it felt like by the time he let got of the wedding band that his heart was going to explode.

Putting a hand over his eyes as he breathed heavily, the water some what drowned out his silent sobs as he moved his free hand to his face as he was now unable to hold back the tears that were threatening to force their way into existence since that night when John went to bed. He fought all night not to cry and now that battle was lost. Gasping in between sobs, John wiped the tears away, looking into the mirror. There was absolutely no way that John could hide this break down from Sherlock. Just what his friend would think or say John could only imagine, but really there is no telling how his friend would react if he saw that John had another break down.. again.

John heard a set of approaching footsteps and put a hand up in a gesture for Sherlock to keep his distance, "J-just leave me alone for a moment please.." John said as he placed his hands back on his face in some attempt to hide the tears that were threatening to shed again. Wanting to distance himself, John took steps back until he thumped against the wall behind him hard, but he ignored the dull pain that shot through the back of his head as it hit the wall behind him. He finally brought his hands away from his face, sniffling quietly as he finally seemed to be able to somewhat calm himself down. He glanced over to see that Sherlock was still standing there, why was the stubborn bloke standing there? Did he really want to see what it was like when a broken man had a break down? John took a shuddering breath looking to the man again, "I will be down in a moment." He had no idea that there was a change in plans.



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Sherlock Holmes
 Posted: May 12 2014, 05:30 AM
Quote
Sherlock Holmes
has N/A posts


My Body Is A Cage

Just because you're forgotten. Doesn't mean you're forgiven.

“Hope they’ll be helpful," Sarah Doyle said placing her free hand on her hip. “Now, do you require more of my services, or you are gonna be a party-pooper and send me back to Queen Mycroft?”

Sherlock turned the SD card over in his hand as he thought. He glanced at the front door to 221, fully expecting to see John standing there, looking forlorn and weak. When the doorway was empty, he squinted at it, as if it were personally offending him by its lack of John. It hit him, though. His attempts at helping John were only selfish attempts at getting his friend back. He wasn't a soldier who needed to get over himself in an attempt to get well, he was a man mourning his wife. This was not like the first time, nor, he guiltily thought, like when he returned from the 'dead'. This was his friend...Mary was his friend. He couldn't just bury John in cases even if they did seem personally aimed at him. He was doing both of his friends a disservice.

He squeezed the SD card, feeling the sharp corner dig into his palm. The pain grounded him.

He turned to look at Sarah. "Let us go and see what John makes of the scenes," he said, his voice thicker than he had expected it to sound. Clearing his throat, he added, "Can't let Mycroft have all your fun."He gave Sarah a sharp, quick, smile and headed back up the stairs.

Sherlock didn't see John. He wasn't on the stairs heading down, he wasn't in the living room nor in the kitchen. He looked down the hall and saw the door to the bathroom open. He heard a sob but before he could take a step closer, John shouted, "J-just leave me alone for a moment please.."

Sherlock paused. How could he be so foolish? How could he not see the pain in his friend? He really was the heartless monster everyone, including himself, said he was. He could hear Sarah enter the room behind him. He knew John wanted privacy but he didn't know if that was safe. John was so mired in his depression that Sherlock was afraid for him.

That was not new. How many times had he feared for his best friend? The time the Black Lotus thought he was Sherlock? The time Moriarty had him wired full of explosives? The bon fire? Magnussen? There were many times he feared for John's life but this was different. He feared he would never have him back. Never have the man that kept him sane, kept him from running off half cocked, much like he was about to do. If he hadn't bumped into Sarah, he may just as well have been halfway to the morgue before noticing John wasn't even with him.

He took another step towards the bathroom.

"I will be down in a moment."

Sherlock stopped, his head lowered in thought. "All right, John. Change of plans," he said, hoping he sounded normal. He cleared his throat and lifted his head, putting on his, 'I think I'm clever' voice and said, "Sarah brought the pictures from the crime scenes. We'll pull them up on your laptop. Perhaps her camera caught something I missed. But I doubt that." He felt his lip curl at his snarky joke. He had a sense of humor. It was just dark and mostly hidden and usually reserved for John.


TAG: John/Sarah
WORDS: 1,210
NOTES: Things will be heating up soon!

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Sarah Doyle
 Posted: May 13 2014, 01:05 PM
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N/A
Chicky has 30 posts
British Government/Camera Technician


There was hardly any doubt in her mind that young Miss Doyle would be spending more time at Baker Street that rainy afternoon. She waited for Sherlock’s answer patiently as she continued munching on her sour cream and onion chips, licking her fingers in between bites. With all the jobs she had acquired since she moved to London, being constantly on the move with heavy equipment on her petite frame always made her hungry. The camera and film aficionado made it a point to carry an obscene abundance of snacks and drinks with her just so she could be able to eat at least one meal a day.

Whenever she would ask Sherlock a question, the answer would be given at least 30 seconds later. Other occasions had him answer her 15 minutes later. There was so much going on in that funny man’s mind. Sarah could relate on some level. Hence her need for her ADD medication…although sometimes those stupid pills made the scrambling in her brain worse. Which was why she had opted not to take her dose that day…Plus, she was craving a Coke. You see, it was never a good idea to take caffeinated substances with her medication. The doctor did explain why, but Sarah didn’t really pay attention to it. All she knew was that she was forbidden from partaking of “the nectar of the gods” all because of what was basically prescribed meth.

Today was not going to be the case; not if she had anything to do with it.

Although it did come with a price. She could only pay attention for so long, which was why her backpack was loaded with at least six bottles of Coca-Cola.

If Sherlock needed her more, she was going to need all of those so she could focus.

Anyway, Sherlock’s answer came quicker than she thought it would, and it was one that she wanted. Her face brightened up as she finished the last of her chips, wiping the crumbs on her umbrella…

Oh, right, she forgot. It wasn’t her umbrella. She “borrowed” it from Mycroft…

Before she left his office, she realized that his hair hadn't been grayed all week due to her lack of annoying the hell out of him. She had to do it; she had a reputation to maintain.

Besides, it was raining, and she needed it because she forgot hers in her apartment. Mycroft had to see her side of things and understand.

She grinned at the image of the older Holmes scrambling to find his favorite accessory for a second before she focused her attention back to the younger.

"Let us go and see what John makes of the scenes," he said, his voice thicker than he had expected it to sound. Clearing his throat, he added, "Can't let Mycroft have all your fun." He gave Sarah a sharp, quick, smile and headed back up the stairs.

Sarah raised quirked her eyebrows and her smile widened in response.

Damn right he can’t,” she quipped, following the consulting detective inside.

The American woman eagerly headed up the stairs to 221B, setting her backpack down carefully next to the couch in the living room, taking into account the delicate nature of her brand new camera and was as gentle as she could. She wouldn’t take it out just yet, not unless Sherlock asked her to take some pictures. After taking off her jacket, and unceremoniously tossing the stolen umbrella by the door, she stretched a bit, getting the kinks in her shoulders out thanks to her backpack.

Her energy levels were crashing. She needed to refuel, so she took out a half-full Vanilla Coke bottle from her backpack, took a much needed sip from the liquid goodness, and sighed as she waited for Sherlock to return.

She glanced over to where he stood by the bathroom door, and faintly heard the voice of Dr. John Watson, Sherlock’s flat mate, coming from the other side.

Dr. Watson was a friendly man, in Sarah’s opinion. Always polite when there were visitors to Baker Street, depending on who you were, of course. However, ever since his wife and unborn child were killed, Sarah made sure to keep an emotional distance from him. She made sure she didn’t make any jokes to him or try to make him laugh. Despite being employed by the British Government and her funny optimism, there were certain lines that Sarah would never cross. She did have morals after all. She knew when to shut up and not make a situation worse.

In any case, Dr. Watson was lucky to have a friend like Sherlock.

While she waited, a little bored, she picked up the umbrella again, balancing it by the handle with two fingers as she drank her favorite drink. She was a funny sight to behold acting like this, but, then again, it was Sarah. That was how she acted. Not that she cared.

"All right, John. Change of plans," he said, hoping he sounded normal. He cleared his throat and lifted his head, putting on his, 'I think I'm clever' voice and said, "Sarah brought the pictures from the crime scenes. We'll pull them up on your laptop. Perhaps her camera caught something I missed. But I doubt that."

Hearing this, Sarah smirked. She refrained from saying that if Sherlock doubted missing anything from her pictures, then he wouldn't have asked for them in the first place. Refrained, here, meaning “she had a mouthful of too much Cola at the moment”.

She saved the “smart-assery” for later, drinking the last bit of the soda, a last minute bit of fun coming into her head. With a smirk on her lips, she stopped balancing the umbrella, grasping it in her hand, tossed the empty bottle in the air and, using the umbrella as a baseball bat, hit it smartly towards the trash can that sat on the far side of the kitchen.

It hit the wall before landing straight into the bin with a thunk.

Sarah shot her arms in the air in silent victory, the umbrella held over her head, then decided it was time to focus again on the task at hand.

Throwing the umbrella on the couch, she got out the portable memory card reader she was pretty sure they were going to need and her own laptop, just in case.

If you’re looking for anything specific, Sherlock,” she noted, turning on her laptop. “You’re probably going to need my laptop since I have programs that I’m pretty sure the good doctor does not have.”

When it came to editing videos and photographs, Sarah, if she could toot her own horn hear for a moment, was a genius. Like a boy scout, she was prepared for all the media possibilities that could have been presented to her.

She sent a smile to the consulting detective as she waited for her laptop to fully turn on.

There’s a reason why your brother hired me,” she continued tooting her own horn, making sure that he knew her talents went further than just picture delivery. “And it’s not because of my charming good looks and that I’m sugar, spice, and everything nice.” She held out her hand for her SD card as she hooked up the memory reader to the USB port. “Come on. Gimmie it.”
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Dr. John Watson
 Posted: May 28 2014, 09:50 PM
Quote
How can you possibly expect me to just move on after what happened when I bloody know the person who murdered my wife is still out there! Tell me why, please.
Tribble has 27 posts
Medical


You are Always on my mind.
For life. Every time I close my eyes.

"All right, John. Change of plans," John looked towards the doorway, able to make out his friend's shadow, he was just about to speak up, to say that he just needed a couple minutes to put himself together when Sherlock spoke up again, "Sarah brought the pictures from the crime scenes. We'll pull them up on your laptop. Perhaps her camera caught something I missed. But I doubt that." John tried to chuckle but then instead he started coughing a little as he made his way over to the doorway to look at Sherlock, "You do seem to miss something time to time Sherlock.. not often but most of the time.." John turned reached over to the sink and switched the water off, "It does not hurt to double check." He stepped out of the bathroom, closing the door.

He sighed and looked up to the taller man, "I will.. get myself some coffee. Do you and Sarah want one?" John walked past Sherlock, nodding to Sarah as he turned into the kitchen. Grabbing the kettle he filled it with water, setting it back and switching it on he walked out and went into his bedroom, "Just let me grab my laptop." A moment later he was back out in the living room with his laptop in his hands, setting it on the dining table he opened it up, "There you go.." John said as he typed in his password before walking over to the kettle.

Seeing that the water was boiled, John got down three mugs, as well as the instant coffee. John looked over to Sarah, "And I think my laptop has the same programs that yours has.. Think of it as a habit to make sure I have those programs due to solving crimes with Sherlock." He said as he placed a mug in front of Sarah before placing one in front of Sherlock. Grabbing his own, John walked around and sat down in a seat. It had been a long while since he had been on his laptop.. and had forgotten he had a wedding photo set as the wallpaper. Swallowing John quickly opened up a program he thought would be needed, clearing his throat as he pushed aside his emotions, "There you go.. Have at it."

Picking his mug up, John took a careful sip of his coffee, glancing from Sherlock to the computer screen, wondering if perhaps he was really needed for this. Yes it was to be a distraction.. but now after the break down, John just wanted to hide away for the rest of the day. But given that he had a rather bad break down again, it was very doubtful that Sherlock was going to leave John on his own. Sherlock even took his Sig Suer away to make sure he was not going to do anything stupid. Really, John was glad that Sherlock took his gun away because even a man as responsible as John, there was still the chance during a break down that he would do something. Not that he would. There was just that chance.

Straightening himself, John looked to the computer screen, seeing if perhaps he could spot something that Sherlock and Sarah may have missed. His arms crossed over his chest he looked to Sarah, "Sorry.. what crime scene was this for? A current investigation or a new one?" He wanted to ask this because he had not been out much with Sherlock to work on the recent case.. so if anything he may need to be somewhat filled in on some of the information. John did feel bad that he was not being as much to his friend as he could have been, but it was not like John was in a stable enough state of mind to be of much help since most of the investigating involved his wife.

John honestly felt like all this running around looking for clues was not getting them anywhere. Really John just wanted to go out and find the person. He knew how to read body languages.. he could spot when someone who maybe guilty recognizes him as Mary Watson's husband. If anything he would, if he could, hunt down the person who murdered his wife and unborn child and make them wish they never did the crime.. but he was not that cold hearted or would never do such a thing even though he wanted to get revenge for his wife's murder.



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Sherlock Holmes
 Posted: Jul 26 2014, 07:03 PM
Quote
When I've eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how mad it might seem, must be the truth.
Theta has 12 posts
Consulting Detective | HFS


I AM NOT A ROBOT

Perhaps this would be for the best as earlier John had asked for a moment. He could read John like a novel. It was all elementary really. John was his testing point when his skills failed as the man, was too predicable. Not that this was a bad thing, it was nice having a constant. In every practice of science there has to be a constant. Likewise, in the practice of deduction; Sherlock had John. Before John it wasn't as perfected. Sure there was Gavin, or whatever the man's name was, and several other dull and boring people who lived fairly ordinary lives. However, Sherlock kept returning to the Watson base for his skills. It was calming, he didn't know why. Perhaps it was the notion of comprehending his only friend.

The consulting detective turned elegantly on his toes. He could have been a dancer if he wished. He used to dream of having a case where his ballet skills would be put to use. It was a guilty pleasure of his, dancing. He had a high regard for the arts even if he was scene as some sort of freak. The term wasn't idea but it is the best way of describing the situation. Sherlock brushed past John and entered the flat again. His eyes scanned the parlor before he deduced on the sofa rather than his square leather chair.

The taller man plopped upon the sofa, the air seemed to squish under his minimal weight. Ah a moment of peace before business. A lovely notion. He mused over smoking a cigarette or perhaps a patch as he would look over the new evidence. New evidence was like Christmas for the detective. He loved it. The thrill of having something new to look at that no one else had and if they had done, they didn't do it properly. There was a method to analyzing a crime scene properly. If there wasn't Sherlock wouldn't be a world renowned consulting detective -- the only one as he had invented the job.

Now that was just vicious. Sherlock missing things. Sure he deleted astronomy but no one needed the bloody subject. There was a mention of coffee, Sherlock's ears perked up like an excited puppy. Well, if they could have they would have. "Two sugars, thank you!"

"The laptop please if you would," He held out a hand as he laid on the sofa too lazy to much of anything himself. It was the usual sort of thing for Sherlock. Perhaps some normalities would help regulate John's sea of emotions. It was an idea, an experiment. Sherlock adored those. Always fun, a nice good proper experiment; done using the proper means of science naturally with a hypothesis. Then one would follow the scientific methodology that has been around for centuries. Science was a truly beautiful thing, Sherlock loved it more than anything else in the world.

There was a pause, John said something about them having it. Sherlock doubted it as he hacked the bloger's emails that morning using it. Of course he left no trace. Sherlock remained clam, "Software? I could easily download a torrent but that would take ages so let's use yours if you don't mind. The laptop please. Don't bother telling me the passcode, it should be be a delight to deduce yours." Music to the detective's ears rather. He loved a good causal game. It kept his mind sharp. Sherlock frowned at her comment, "That isn't why Mycroft hired you. Mind he does love his intake of sucrose," Sherlock smirked as his own rude remark about his older brother. It was hysterical the diets never lasted. He bit his lip going back to his cool emotionless neutral. "Additionally, I'd recommend you got to a chemist and get some addorl or a chemical equivalent."

Sherlock had no intention on moving to the table to use John's. He remained on the sofa watching John tend to the kettle. "If you're referring to the screen saver that was a crime scene file I hacked earlier." He was still on the sofa watching the pair. Such an odd couple.

tagged: watson, dolyle | sorry this sucks
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Sarah Doyle
 Posted: Jul 30 2014, 12:36 PM
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N/A
Chicky has 30 posts
British Government/Camera Technician


Normally, coffee wasn’t a good idea, especially if one had already partaken of two Vanilla Coca-Cola’s within the last 12 hours…But it was offered by Dr. Watson. And what harm could happen with a little extra caffeine? The young British Government employee needed it. So, settling down on Sherlock’s leather chair with her laptop with her legs curled under her, Sarah smiled at the retired Army Doctor and asked for “black with cream” with a “thank you”, and practically snatched the memory card from Sherlock so she could plug it into the USB port that was connected to her laptop.

She had to jump from her seat a little to get it because of his freakish height, with her being only 5’4”, but she got the SD card on the first try, and gave the consulting detective a grin before saying “and thank you.”

The consulting detective asked for the laptop as he occupied the couch immediately. Without even looking at him, Sarah held up a finger, prompting him to wait as the laptop warmed itself up. “Be patient, Sherlock,” she said, her voice a bit low as she got her laptop ready. “[b]If you’re not, I won’t let you help me with my next prank…[/b]” she looked at him with another grin. “And trust me: You’re gonna wanna get in on it.”

Oh, how Sarah loved to pull the occasional prank, especially on Mycroft. The dude had so many buttons just asking to be pushed. The young American may not have been particularly smart in science classes, and she may have left college without graduating, but she had other skills that were--dare she said it—the skills of an evil genius.

She smiled at Dr. Watson when he gave her her coffee, thanking him politely before taking a sip, while listening to Sherlock prattle on and on about the software before he asked her once again for the laptop. Swallowing her sip, she got up from her seat, handing it to him as he continued talking.

All right, all right, all right,” she handed him her silver Mac laptop. “It’s up and running anyway. Here you go. Have fun deducing the passcode. I think you’ll like it.“

It was nocake4Mycroft, but she kept that to herself.

She couldn’t wait to see Sherlock’s face when he got it right. But as she smiled while the consulting detective worked on her laptop, the young American took the elder Holmes brothers’ most prized possession in her hand, swinging it back and forth in her fingers as she paced in the living room in front of the couch, sipping her coffee as she went.She quirked her eyebrows in agreement at the sugar remark, almost giggling. Then Sherlock took a jab at her ADD and his “recommendation”.

Mmm-mmm,” she finished a sip, shaking her head. “No way, Sherlock. Not happening any time soon. The only way you’d get me to take Adderall again is if you took those damn pills, held me down and forced them down my throat.” She then narrowed her eyes at the consulting detective and pointed Mycroft’s umbrella at him almost in a threatening way. “And, as much as I love your astounding brilliance dude, if you ever try to do that, then my days of swiping crime scene photos for you are suspended.

You see, Sarah did a little experiment of her own recently. Apparantly there was no happy medium in getting a dosage of an extended release for Adderall. It was either not enough or too much. The dosage she was on this month, for instance, was too much. She began to notice that she was running out of breath very quickly while doing simple tasks, such as carrying equipment, or even walking. After checking her heart rate, which was well over 100 beats per minute, the 22-year-old decided not to take her medicine for a while.

You recommend I get a chemical equivalent?” She held up the coffee mug in her other hand. “I have it right here.” Then she dropped the glare as well as the umbrella, and smiled at Sherlock, making her way back to the chair to take a seat. “Besides, why would I need to go to a chemist? I have you. The others pale in comparison...

Ah…Sarah giving a compliment. To a Holmes even. That could only mean one or two out of three things.

She was genuinely giving them a compliment.

She did something completely stupid and needed to get out of it.

Or she wanted something.

Now what that something was, she didn’t know yet. But once she knew what it was that she wanted, she would count on Sherlock to help her out, and in return, she’d scratch his back for whatever it was he wanted as well, “borrowing” crime scene photos aside.

Oh,” she answered Dr. Watson’s question after she took another sip of coffee. “I brought over the ones with those victims who had their eyes cut out and had The Raven laid out next to them. Which is a shame, really. That was my favorite poem as a kid. Heaven knows I’m not gonna read it the same again. And Sherlock, there’s some pictures from other cases as well if you wanna take a look. They’re unedited, but—“ Sarah shrugged nonchalantly. “—I figured you wouldn’t mind.”

((OOC: Theta, you're doing a wonderful job! Don't doubt yourself, dear biggrin.gif))
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