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 Heaven an't close in a place like this, tag; Sherlock, John & Jennifer
Jennifer A Moriarty
 Posted: Apr 11 2014, 11:33 PM
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Your mind is a weapon as much as a tool.
Shal has 25 posts
Detective/Ex-Intellegence



I believe in tangible evidence above all else
What you can see, taste, sense and touch.

It had only been just under a month since Jennifer had returned to England and she was already going mad. Though pleased to have finally been released from her bonds to the British Secret Service, the raven haired woman quickly had found herself once again bored out of her mind. It wasn’t that she wasn’t regularly driven up the wall by the overly bland and mundane thoughts of those around her however, but after serving seven years in the shit storm that was Russian, civilian life was beyond mind numbingly dull.

It was nice to not be shot at everyday however.

Despite Mycroft’s insistence that she remain in the city for “protectional” purposes after clearing her of all charges that had been laid against her, Jen had decidedly done the opposite. While Sherlock thrived on ‘the quivering heart’ of the city, Jennifer found it nothing more then a constant, loud, headache and thus, had relocated herself to her deceased “parents” horse training facility on the outskirts of the London moors.

The McClouds had been known for producing and training some of the finest warmbloods across the entire Common Wealth. With this being so, it really came to no surprise to most that Jennifer had continued her “parents” legacy despite their untimely deaths shortly after she had graduated the police academy.

It was all a front of course, for thought she did find riding an adequate distraction, it was hardly anything more then that to her. In her opinion there was no point in wasting her extraordinary brilliance on something as meaningless as compassion over a job that provided little to no function on benefiting humanity as a whole.

Not that she thought there was much hope for the human race as it stood anyway. Run by a bunch of idiots who bickered over menial resources and possessions like spoiled children, the earth in her opinion was destined to die, purely at the hands of the stupidity that was most of her species. Well most of them anyway, there were a select few individuals that she considered not complete and utter fools, but that hardly helped the overwhelming odds set against them.

It was that particular thought combined with the sensation of Khan stumbling slightly in the muddy terrain beneath them however that brought Jennifer’s attention back to reality. Shifting her weight forwards, a low cluck rumbled from the base of her throat as she urged the young stallion onward towards the frighteningly large walk wall several meters ahead of them.

Pressing the cool steel of her blunted spurs into the animal’s ribs, the black beast then picked up speed in response, hooves digging, the pair moved up the steep sloop of the hill overlooking her private residence a half mile from the main facility.

seven and a half meters, at approximately fifteen miles per hour,…no… twelve point five, plus the resistance of the suction of the mud, and additionally the muscle fatigue/distance traveled.. divided by the wind pressure, equates to eight point seven-five strides.. she calculated offhandedly as the pair tore towards their final obstacle. Body moving up into a half raised position, Jen’s gloved fingers found themselves lacing into Khan’s strong neck as the fluid movement of the animal leaving the ground caused her to bring her vision up in front of her once again.

It was only when the pair was half way over the precariously large wall however, that she noticed two mounted figures waiting at the base of the slop for her.

A little later then I expected, then again the moors are quite a confusing place to navigate with a car when you have no clue where you’re actually headed… she mused to herself inwardly, the contact of the ground beneath Khan’s hooves once more registering to her briefly as she continued their blinding pace down the slop towards her guests.

Pulling up sharply, Jennifer finally slowed upon reaching the still forms of one Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Glancing over them with an oh-so-familiar (to John at least) bored and calculated expression, her ice blue eyes locked upon Sherlock’s with an almost frightening (and rude to most “normal” peoples standards at least) intensity.

By the state he was in, Jennifer had deduced that not only was the consulting detective quite disgruntled after his half mile ride to her private residence, but had also managed to fall of once twice judging by the mud and dirt that was smeared across the shoulders and back of his jacket. John on the other hand seemed quite at home in the saddle, though to Jen this was not surprising in the very least as it was mandatory for those who had served in the British Army to learn how to ride.

Completely pointless in her opinion but then again, so were most human “traditions” these days.

Good evening Mr Holmes.

TAG: SHERLY & John || WORDS: 1168 || Lets play boys!


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Sherlock Holmes
 Posted: Apr 17 2014, 09:12 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 was more than happy to dismount the blasted beast, finding his inner thighs to be sore from the ride. As soon as his feet landed on the earth, he let out a sound between a sigh and a growl. His favorite pair of shoes sinking deep into the mud. Oh for God sakes! He would be sure to inform his brother of his displeasure. His brother knew that his curiosity would get the better of him, and too he was had a undying urge to go against anything Mycroft said, it had been unwise to keep any secrets from him, especially one that could help with solving the murder of Mrs. Watson. He had given a vow to protect Both Mary and John and had failed. Something that would never sit right within him.

The feeling of discomfort only increased as his eyes caught the sight of the wild woman riding her stead towards their direction. It was obvious she knew how to tame the wild beast, not that he was in any way jealous. The wheel had been invented for good reason. He never did like horseback riding. Preferring to be transported by something that did not have a mind of its own, a very small one at that, between his legs. He briefly glanced at the creature as it seemed to pick up on his thoughts as it huffed in his direction. Right down to business then. Judging from the distance of the rider and the speed at which the horse was galloping, it would take her no less than forty-seven minutes. More than enough time for him to several theories about Ms. McCloud, though he had already figure the name to be one of her many aliases. Having read her file that he had so generously liberated from Mycroft, Sherlock knew all the basics to who the woman was. Now it was only uncovering that which had not been written.

It was clear she suffered from a form of OCD judging by the why her home was kept, even from being outside, not many homes on the country particularly this far out would bother too much with keeping things in order. It was evitable that her pouch and front door would have gathering of dirt upon it, as the wind speed and abundance of earth instead of pavement would place a layers of peck over the structure, and yet he could see where it had just recently been clean. Plus there was an array of flowers both native and foreign that surrounded the house, all too well kept. It was likely despite the stereotypical view of someone in her pervious profession to be someone of a cold-heart, the fact that she took care of such fragile planets would underline a sense of empathy within her. Too there was her obsession with horses that added to his theory.

Sherlock wrinkled his nose at the stenches that filled the air. One more thing to chalk up to his ever growing list of things he disliked about the countryside. It was much harder for him to distinguish what was what with the smell of manure clouding his senses, though he did pick up the smell of lavender and gunpowder. Womanly yet dangerous. He inhaled, “Ah John can’t you just smell the mediocre and manure in the air. Just screams intellect and fun, fun, fun! Honestly I don’t know why Mycroft hadn’t sent us here sooner! Knowing my love for horseback and mud.” He remarked sarcastically, trying to wipe the mud from his coat. “Though giving your military background I am sure you had your fair share of it. I sure do hope you're enjoying yourself?” He knew john had been enjoying himself, watching as he fell off his ride twice. Of course Sherlock had made it a point to complain all the way there.

He hardly paid any attention to the young woman that now made her way towards them. When he had heard of her, of course he had been intrigued more so that Mycroft had tried to keep her a secret. Someone his brother saw a bad influence on him, more than his own self. How could he pass off such a meeting? Yet at the current moment all he could give her was a bored expression. “Ms. McCloud.” He greeted back equally, noting that she had forgotten to say anything towards John. Hm? Had she been as curious as he had been to meeting? His eyes roamed over her briefly. She carried an air of narcissism that was for sure, her eyes were hard from having a rough life and yet she still bothered to keep some eye liner on them. Skin tanned, for both her time spent outdoors, not in London so much as the seasons called for a lack of sunlight, and Russia would not have given her a darker skin tone either, most likely for her time in hiding. Some place…sandy maybe. Of course she did have strong legs, long and toned from riding. Thighs where very fit; no doubt she was fond of a fighting style involving the use of kicks.

But there was something else he could not quite put his finger on. His stare returned to her irises. There was something quite familiar with them, but his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of John’s breath in his thinking space.

((OoC: I’ll format it later when I find a good html I like, but sorry meant to get this up yesterday. Really going to be a tough couple of weeks for me. Finals coming up and all. Booooo! Don’t hate me if the writing seems bad, just getting a feel for him first.))


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

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Dr. John Watson
 Posted: Apr 19 2014, 01:07 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.

It had been a good long while since John had been on a horse, but he was not afraid at all. In fact after a couple minutes of being in the saddle he was immediately comfortable. The Army Doctor could tell that the same was not true for Sherlock. The man was rather stiff as he was riding along, "You got to loosen up Sherlock. Or you will find yourself being quite sore tomorrow morning..." He bit back a laugh as Sherlock went tumbling off the saddle and into the mud below, replacing his hidden grin with a look of concern as he rode up next to Sherlock, "Are you alright Sherlock?" Of course the man had to be alright due to the dirt being loosened into mud thanks to the recent rain storm that rolled through as they made their way out into the country to meet this woman by the name of Jennifer McCloud.

Feeling a little bold and possibly renewed with the fact that for once he was able to do one thing that Sherlock Holmes could not do, John rode on ahead a ways, and a little bit to the left, but not at a walk. Oh no, the man felt that perhaps now was the chance he could show off his own skills. So he had his horse going at a full gallop, his calfs dug into the horses sides just enough to keep himself steady. A few seconds later the horse was jumping over a random fence. Feeling better now that he had gotten his moment to do some showing off John brought his horse to a stop to wait for Sherlock.

For once there was a wide grin on the man's face as the two men rode along, but he was quiet as he looked around. It had been a habit now knowing that they could be out here for a while. And it certainly was not harmful to learn what exactly is in the area, but as far as the eye could see it was mostly open fields with patches of trees. The man looked to the other man as he saw Sherlock once again falling off his horse again, laughing hard John smacked at his outer thigh with an open hand, "Are you serious? The great Sherlock Holmes cannot ride a horse?" John asked as his friend remounted his ride, "This is the most amusing thing that has happened all day. I have to admit that. I honestly thought you would have learned how to stay on a horse by now."

It was not long before they were at the meeting point, but he did not dismount as Sherlock dismounted his ride. Not immediately anyways. He was in fact enjoying being on the horse. Why he had not thought of doing this as a hobby the man did not know. Looking down to his friend John shrugged lightly, "Oh I did have my fair share of it. You should be able to tell that I am enjoying myself Sherlock. I've always enjoyed the riding lessons back in when I was in the Army." John thought that perhaps he should dismount his ride, since it appeared it will not be long before the woman they are here to meet will be among them quite soon.

Throwing his right foot over the back of the horse, he landed on the mud with a squishy thud sound that probably sent mud flying at Sherlock's coat. But John was turned away so he could not exactly see the other man's reaction. But spinning around on his heel John could see that Sherlock was distracted; observing the woman that was now approaching them. Rolling his eyes, John decided to pay attention to the horse since, by the woman's expression that she was clearly only interested in Sherlock, which John was obviously used to since he was no brilliant detective like his friend. Nope he was just a tag along really. Not that John minded it. He clearly enjoyed helping Sherlock solve his crimes, even though the majority of it was done by the detective than the doctor.



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Jennifer A Moriarty
 Posted: Apr 19 2014, 08:39 PM
Quote
Your mind is a weapon as much as a tool.
Shal has 25 posts
Detective/Ex-Intellegence



I believe in tangible evidence above all else
What you can see, taste, sense and touch.

To say Sherlock carried a bored expression upon his face, was a very pedestrian way to describe it. Though the muscles in his face gave the expression he had almost zero interest in her arrival, the calculating glimmer in the depths of his blue eyes told her otherwise. Well, that, and the fact it was clear he had already taken the liberty to nose around the outside of her domain briefly by the state of the fresh mud flung up around the hem of his trousers and shoes.

Tilting her head to stare back at Sherlock’s returning gaze, she then a moment later seemed to dismiss the gesture, eyes turning to watch as John gathered the reins of his friend’s horse, noting the care he held as he patted the neck of the beast. I hope the trails weren’t to…challenging after the recent rain for you both, she paused, her voice a mix of flat and forced formality, her weight shifting in the the saddle suddenly as her mount stirred beneath her, the black stallion’s ears pinning back at Sherlock’s movements towards them.

Феникс, достаточно. (Féinics, Enough.) her voice barked sharply, her cool tone turning to one that was almost acidly sharp, the edges of her spurs digging into the animals side in a reprimanding but not-unkindly manner. Drawing her reins up several inches to contain the clearly disgruntled beast, she once again gave both of unmounted men an almost fleeting glance before continuing her statement, clearly uncaring of the minor interruption that had occurred. Though, it does come as a marginal…surprise from how I expected you both to arrive, her eyebrow raising slightly as she spoke, a ghost of an smirk curling at the edges of her stoney expression for just the briefest of moments, as there is a back-road that was made for vehicle access just behind the barn and cottage and judging by your state of dress Mr Holmes, you much prefer the latter mode of transport.

It only took a second to catch the almost heated glance Sherlock passed to John, but it was all the woman needed to confirm her suspicions on the matter, her blue eyes dancing with a subtle amusement between the men, her face still stoney and expressionless as it was only moments before. Though it seems… she paused, her head tiling slightly at the sudden crack of thunder in the distance, the damp scent of ozone of the approaching storm seeding itself within the the depths of her mind, of all the stable-hands you could have met today, you found yourself acquainted with Philip. Nice lad, but a bit of a compulsive liar i’m afraid, works well with the animals however.

Glancing upward at the sound of the encroaching thunderstorm, Jennifer then seemed to gather herself back into the depth of her saddle, a low cluck rising from the depth of her throat as she shifted her mount around towards the barn about ten meters or so from her small abode. Василий, Тиберий, приходят.(Basil, Tiberius, come. ), her movements pausing a moment as she shifted in her seat slightly to give John a tempered wave, you can release the reins John, they are very well trained.

Moving her steed into a steady walk, she lead the small group towards the front porch of her small, clearly hand crafted cabin before halting once more several minutes later, turning in place to face the two men standing now almost parallel to the side of the black stallion beneath her. Glancing skyward once more briefly at the now closer sound of thunder, Jennifer then reached within a pocket of her jacket, retrieving a brass toned door-key on a lanyard, before tossing it nonchalantly in Sherlock’s direction. Do let yourselves in and make yourselves at home,I will be there shortly once I attend to our mounts. She murmured in an almost bored manner, eyes locking upon Sherlock’s with an expression she knew he would clearly understand Oh, and do go ahead and dig around through my home as I can just tell you are dying to do so…there really is nothing you will find in there I do not already know however Mr Holmes…

Without another word Jennifer then turned from the two men, leading both her own mount and theirs back towards the barn without a second thought or glimpse of the men she had just willing given the key into her home. It only took Jen about fifteen minutes or so to remove the tack and rub down the three horses in her charge before she found herself making her way back up the path towards her small home upon which had been her refuge for the last month or so.

She had made the place by hand many years ago, during one of the summer breaks between her tediously boring police academy training, a distraction for her ever rampant mind from the absolute mind-blowing dullness of those she was forced to interact with on a daily basis. A one level structure, the home consisted of five rooms in a free flowing design which allowed the eye to wander without many barriers to block its view. Despite this clearly artistic and systematic design however, there were little to no personal attributes adorning her abode short of her cello in the far corner of the living room, and the main wall being absolutely coated in news-clippings and highly detailed drawings of various things that she had put up over the last month of living there.

Jennifer McCloud was a ghost, a carefully placed visage that even the finest of the British Secret Service had not been aware of.

Pushing the door open to the main room with a thump, Jennifer took no time in toeing off her leather boots before striding into the room, eyes glancing up only momentarily at the still frames of Sherlock and John whom had clearly already taken a good look around. Moving past them in a manner that a friend would to a relative, she flashed them an almost friendly attempt at a half-smile before picking her way towards the bathroom. Feel free to put the kettle on if you do feel so boys.

Grabbing a clean set of clothing from her bedroom drawer she then made her way into bathroom, shutting the door with an audible thud. Stripping herself of her mud encrusted garments, the raven haired woman soon found herself under the heated spray of the shower, muscles immediately relaxing as steam quickly enveloped the room. Ten minutes and a new change of clothes (jeans, a black thick shouldered tank top and socks) later, Jennifer once again reappeared from the bathroom, hand still rubbing her wet hair with a towel as she re-entered the living room. So, Mycroft finally got around to sending you both to come play, he really is loosing his touch these days, it took him almost three days to realize I had crossed back into Britain.

(ooc: sorry if it makes no sense in some areas, still not feeling well and trying to get a feel for how Jen's personality is X3 )

TAG: SHERLY & John || WORDS: 1168 || Lets play boys!


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Sherlock Holmes
 Posted: May 2 2014, 12:49 AM
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Sherlock Holmes
has N/A posts


My Body Is A Cage

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

They had been lucky in avoiding the rain on the ride over, but the drop in that atmospheric pressure told him that soon raindrops would be pouring from the heavens, and telling from the depths of the mud. It would be sure to be a lot. He loved the rain, but being drenched was not what he wished at the moment. Despite the knowledge of this Sherlock’s passion for a good mystery distracted him from the weather. And Jennifer McCloud was a mystery indeed. It was unsure to him whether he found this exciting or extremely annoying. Even before the woman was in front of him, he had been trying to deduce who exactly she was but even the British intelligence, and Mycroft for that matter, had little to work with. He had long ago told his brother that ‘intelligence’ was to loosely used. He did not extend is hand for her to shake or offer the normal greeting formalities. That was John’s job, though he did noted that she tried to give her own force nicety. An action he found unnecessary given as they were all aware to why they were meeting. At least she had not tried to offer her hand to shake. He would have kept his own tucked away in his pockets anyways; no doubt the rude action would have cause John to comment on his behavior.

He smirked, as the black creature was quick to catch on to his slight hostile demeanor. One of the few traits he found useful in animals, so in tuned with their surroundings. The fight or flight instinct that never cease to led them astray. He could be a very intimidating creature of his own; luckily that was not his intentions. For now he simply found himself curious.

Her fluency in Russian did not come as a surprise, but he did take time to admire her accuracy and pronunciation. Her proficiency in pronouncing the soft-indicating vowels were superb. And her control over her horse was all that he had expected. She was well relaxed on top of the beast. He took a small step back however for safety purposes. He had seen a man get kicked by a horse before and would rather not experience the same fate. He had already had the pleasure of being thrown off the back of the animal twice now.

He listened as she recounted what he had been thinking before about formalities and the lack of surprise in their arrival. However it was her comment about the usage of another, easier route than the one they had taken stopped his thoughts. His irritation and anger showing clearly on his face as he eyes shifted to John’s. The doctor had been the one to speak to Philip and gain the information needed for directions. Had John done this on purpose? At this point and time of their friendship he would not put such an aspect pass him. He knew he should have done it himself, therefore avoiding any discomfort and frustration. Course he had been quite busy trying to stare down his horse. Now however he found himself to be only farther irritated.

The sound of thunder overhead was enough to distract him for the moment, his weather forecasting being spot on as usual. Sherlock felt the shifting of the horse behind him as the creature became frighten by the loud noise. Extremely unhappy realizing he was between two of the creatures. Yet Jennifer again showed her pied-piper skills at taking care of her horses, quite intrigued how the animals beckoned to her call. Perhaps he should give the beasts more credit.

He did not wait for her to finish giving permission to enter her home. The beginning of small droplets already making him head for the entrance regardless. She knew he would dig through her home and was willingly letting him. She other was very irrgnorant and trusting, leaving her door open on a regular bases or she could care less about people prying as she was a well skilled killer. He was inclined to think the latter. Though his irritation over the fact grew more and more as he opened the door to the homes and stepped inside. It was hard to turn off, even if he wished it sometimes, his mind already taking in every speck of dust that had ever been or was in the room. Course it was a bit harder to see it as just like the front of the home, the woman kept the interior unnervingly spotless. Not only with cleaning but it was as if the room was…emotionless. He theorized that the other rooms of the structure would likely be the same, but to be sure…

Sherlock was never one for much discretion and personal space when it came to other people things. He headed straight for her bathroom. Most would believe that the bedroom was the space that gave away a person’s true identity, they could not be more wrong. The bathroom was the place where one was truly bare, both literally and metaphorically. The notion that one was safe and secure in the comfort of their home was an illusion, but people still believed in the lie. One that held most value in the bathroom as others felt the ability to undress carefree in the small space. It was in that small space of extreme vulnerability that things spilled through the crack of their well-formed masks.

He of course ignored whatever it was John was saying about his rudeness. To him Jennifer McCloud was just another case he needed to solve in order to get to the main prize. Except this one was not wrapped up in a nice bow. Though he was sure Moriarty would still very much see himself as a gift to him. He opened the bathroom door stepping in as if he owned the place. Nothing…he walked over to the mirror cabinet and opened it. Nothing…Sherlock turned to the shower yanking the curtains back. Nothing…He spun in almost a full circle. Nothing!? Of course there were little ticks and tacks here and there, a rather dull rug, floral scented soap that he was sure she only had because it was the only set available at the local store. Normal things that a bathroom would possess, things that did not matter. It was what was underneath the norm that helped him understand a person, but so far he could not uncover the details. She was trying to erase her past and doing an exceedingly good job at it. Despite himself he was impressed, something that was extremely hard to squeeze out of him. “Ms. McCloud…” He pondered out loud, “who exactly are you?”

However he did not have any more time to stand in the bathroom inquiring on questions he had no answers too. He steeped pass John and headed straight to the main room again. Luckily before John could ask him anymore question, the mysterous woman stepped through the door, stopping whatever the doctor was going to say in his tracks. Sherlock clasp his hands behind him, standing confidently and arrogantly as ever, she had after all known he would have tried deducing her. He felt no remorse than for rambling through her things, not that he would have felt it otherwise either.

He looked to John at the mention of tea. It was obvious he was not about to bother to make any. Too with Jennifer retreating to rid herself of mud he had time to think. He sat down in a well furbished armchair, clasping his hand together in front of his face as he closed his eyes. “Two drops of honey, John.” Before the doctor could comment on not knowing where the woman kept her honey or anything for that matter, “Top cabinet to the left, just above the refrigerator, sugar should be right next to it….oh and the cups are in the one over the sink.” He fell back silent allowing his mind to analyze all that he could about Ms. McCloud, which to his distaste was not enough.

  • Real name: Unknown.
  • Age: 29
  • Personality: …..Annoying….
  • Appearance: Rather short and slim. Long black hair, her upper lip was thinner than her bottom that held more plump to it, blue eyes…blue eyes with a profound dark rim around them. Wide yet slender towards the end, and slightly droopy as if they have been bored for a long period of time and remained that way...but...blue...
His train of thought was interrupted however by the re-entrance of the woman in question. He was quick not to let on that her intrusion on his thoughts bothered him in anyway. “Mycroft has always had the tendency of trying to keep his toys to himself.” He clearly reference as seeing Jennifer as nothing really more than one of his brother’s many special possessions. “Though you are correct, age it seems is catching up to him. Yet giving your ability to disappear without a trace when need be, it’s a wonder he found you at all.” It was a slight compliment and yet had still came out hostile in nature. He still lacked John’s skill for making polite casual talk. “What a charming place this is. So neat and clean. He tried again, glade when John came back into the room with the tea. “Given your OCD, I am sure you need to do something to keep your hands busy. Seeing as picking up manure daily isn’t enough.” It slipped out and he was sure John would scowl him for it.

((OoC: I’m back!!!!! T.T Thank you Shal for the lovely dohmtl!!! I luvs you<3))


TAG: Jen/John
WORDS: 1,566
NOTES: i've got his mse working!!!

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Dr. John Watson
 Posted: May 10 2014, 02:02 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.

Letting go of the horse reins, John watched with astonishment as the two creatures started galloping off in the direction the two men had recently came from. He was still rather 'numb' in feeling and did not quite notice the rain drops that were splashing on him until he noticed a droplet land gently on his nose. Clearing his throat the good doctor followed Sherlock and Jennifer into the house. He made sure to close the door behind him as John noticed that already Sherlock was snooping about the room at almost like a maniac sort of a pace as usual when he was looking for clues, "Sherlock! Would you perhaps move at a more relaxed pace than that? You will make her feel uncomfortable."

John pressed his hands to the small of his back after wiping some rain droplets off his shoulders, slowly moving about the rather boring looking living room. He was not Sherlock, but he could clearly tell that the woman was a bit of a neat freak. There were bits of dust though, but the man was not going to comment on that. It is rude to comment on another person's way of living, and John certainly was the kind who would not comment. He knew of course that Sherlock would more than likely state some sort of comment, "So.. What do you think Sherlock?" John said as he moved towards one of the rain splattered windows.

Watching a droplet slowly trickle downwards before being joined by others, he swallowed silently as he watched the droplets. Shaking his head quickly to erase certain memories and emotions that were starting to flood his mind. No he cannot let them invade right now. He pushed to be allowed to come, he could not let himself become unfocused. Spinning on his heel, John walked away from the window, "I'm going to get a cup of tea." John's voice was already starting to sound hoarse as he spoke before moving to the kitchen to start making that cup of tea. Opening a cabinet he found where the glasses would be. But not the coffee cups nor the tea cups. Opening another he at least found where the instant tea was, and put that onto the counter before putting some water into the kettle and putting it on. His hands then went back to searching for the coffee cups.

John had already found the sugar when Sherlock spoke up, as well as the cups, but he did not say anything as it seemed that Jennifer was now in the room. And that meant Sherlock will only be speaking to the woman that was in the room, as well as that John will be ignored until he is needed. Which was fine by the doctor, it meant he could take more time to take the information in and get to his own conclusions before having to talk. He listened quietly as he put the two drops of honey and the tea into one of the cups. John did not like any sugars or honey in his tea so he put those two back in their right places, as well as the instant tea after putting some into his cup.

Staring at the cabinet that was immediately in front of him as he listened to the two of them, John glanced down to his hands that laid on the counter, staring at his wedding band that was still wrapped around his finger. The man took in a shaky breath as he picked the kettle up and poured the hot water into the two cups. Putting the kettle back and stirring the drinks for a moment, John walked into the room. Handing Sherlock his cup, John took a seat next to his friend, but not immediately looking to the woman as he normally would do when the two of them were questioning someone.

Before taking a careful sip of his tea, John looked to Sherlock with a rather dark expression accompanied with a raised eyebrow in response to the man's rude deduction. Shaking his head, John looked to Jennifer, "I'm sorry about my friend's deduction. He has not quite learned what not to say to other people. Yet." He then took a sip of his tea, his eyes slightly focused on the table in front of him.



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Jennifer A Moriarty
 Posted: May 13 2014, 08:53 PM
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Your mind is a weapon as much as a tool.
Shal has 25 posts
Detective/Ex-Intellegence



I believe in tangible evidence above all else
What you can see, taste, sense and touch.

Sherlock may have tried to make it appear that he was not bothered by Jennifer’s re-entrance into the room, but by the way he had been hunched over and the slight twitch of irritence that had visibly slipped into the corner of his mouth, it was clear that she had succeeded in doing just that. Though he was doing his utmost to treat her as a mere object in regards to his brother’s vested interest in her well being, his snarky commentary seemed to just break over her like ocean waves against a sturdy rock face, her expression and feelings in the matter standing unwavering against the pressure.

Upon the agreement of Mycroft’s sharpness slipping however, Jennifer then pulled the towel that had once been entwined within her fingers from her head, folding it with precision before placing it on her desk a few paces away. Flashing Sherlock a very slight quick-silver grin that would unsettle most people who had the pleasure displeasure of meeting her, she seemed to fidget with the damp object for a few moments, adjusting it several times before finally seeming able to leave the it be, while the whole time remaining silent as she took in his words.

It was only upon John’s entrance however, that Jennifer finally seemed to remove herself from the desk, working her way across the room to pick up her boots, a small rubber mat, and a stiff brush before returning and seating herself upon the top of it while Sherlock continued to talk. Pulling one of the leather objects into her lap, she then proceeded to systematically brush the now drying mud from the supple leather, sending the clumps into the mat just below her feet and continued to ignore Sherlock’s attempt at rubbing her the wrong way, barely acknowledging John's blathering of an apology in her direction.

“There is no need for an apology Mr Watson, as Mr Holmes is absolutely correct, idle minds make busy hands. Besides, picking through shit is a task he is also well versed in from what I have read about your exploits together. Though her voice had remained almost dead-pan in tone, the slight smirk at the edges of her lips becoming clearly visible as she brought her vision away to pick up the second boot up to continue her cleaning process put any halt to the notion of anything but amusement. Jennifer then seemed to fall quiet for a few minutes, the room becoming almost thick with silence as she finally completed her task before slipping the boots back up her lower calves, snapping them shut and standing once more.

Picking her way around the side of her desk, her left hand then curled underneath the table, fingers grasping around the handle of a Ruger MK II (.22) that had been concealed there without apparently been spotted. Sherlock: 0 - Jennifer 1 Pulling it out along with a leg-strap she then made quick work to attach it to her left thigh, turning finally to face the men for a brief moment before making her way towards where her cello was leaning up against the fireplace on a steel stand.

“The problem with physical deductions,” Jennifer stated, mostly directing her commentary towards John though left it vague enough to have been towards either of them, “is without actual indicators that assess the individual’s behavioral habits, you are shit out of luck unless you have the the person in question there to analyze. Even then….” she paused, giving Sherlock a look that could only be distinguished as one of smugness before continuing “…vigilance and a keen-eye is not often enough when there is very little to no accurate data on the subject. Though in this case I’m afraid you merely missed your…” her words seemed to paused for a moment as her left hand drifted down to the neck of the cello, pointer finger plucking one of the strings almost idly as she finished her thought, “mark.”

Crouching down until she was balanced on the balls of her feet, Jennifer’s face then seemed to shift to one of seriousness, eyes hardening slightly as she began what could have been considered to any other individuals other then Sherlock Holmes, a fascinating example of her own abilities. “Judging by the scarring of the wood underneath the peg at the bottom of the instrument, it is easy to see that it has been carved fairly deep into the floor structure from a process of several years of using it in this exact spot.” she stated pointedly, before motioning towards the evident markings that of use just under the structure of the instrument itself. “Because of this fact, it is clearly obvious that the individual who lived here has spent copious amounts of hours playing and learning said in instrument, leading to a conclusion that they are an either extremely slow learner in that regard, or rather more likely, they derive enjoyment out of playing and are quite good at it.”

Stopping for a moment she then pulled herself upright once again, picking the cello up by the scroll, tipping it upright as she spun the neck to face towards them. “But how would you know this person was actually talented? That can easily be assessed by the fact that this a cello of sub-part standards, one, that you would only give to someone who was just starting out and learning the ropes. But if that was the case, there would be visible wear marks on the neck or siding of the instrument, that would come with the wear and tear of rigorous use.”

So where does that leave us?” Her left eyebrow raised in their direction, as she placed the instrument back down on its stand before seating herself in the chair across from the two men, crossing her ankle over her thigh causally as she sat down. “By the fact that this house is old, and that the woman who now lives in it has clearly only recently returned, being here for only a month at the very longest, would it not be logical that an instrument that had been left out for years would have gathered dust? and yet….” she stopped for a moment, glancing from John and then back to Sherlock, her confidence in the matter almost radiating off of her in the process, “there is no trace or sign of dust on the object, indicating that it is a recent purchase and the original instrument was stored away upon leaving.”

TAG: SHERLY & John || WORDS: 1168 || Lets play boys!


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Sherlock Holmes
 Posted: May 27 2014, 10:14 AM
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Sherlock Holmes
has N/A posts


My Body Is A Cage

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

Sherlock sat and watched as Jennifer went about deducing the cello. Of course, the cello, the beloved one, was stored elsewhere. That was neither here nor there. It wasn't important. It wasn't vital. They were here because Mycroft believed this woman to be of importance. There was information hidden behind her sharp gaze and quick mind. Sherlock needed access to that information but one-upping her was most definitely not the way to do it.

She was already quick to deduce his dislike of horses. Honestly, horses were dangerous at both ends and crafty in the middle. He did not need that kind of stress in his life. He'd sooner get a cat. And the chances of that happening were slim to none.

While, normally, Sherlock didn't give a damn about being embarrassed -he did have a habit of sniffing corpses while investigating- he was not too keen on being called out for his inability to upright on a horse. He was far from being a 'country boy' and would sooner watch all of nature burn than to have to spend an inordinate amount of time swathed within it. Screw the bloody environmentalists. It is not like Mother Nature had done anything for him lately.

He idly sipped his hot tea. This was far from being a courtesy call. He wasn't here for tea and polite conversation. He wanted answers and he wasn't going to get them by analyzing a ghost and discussing the habits of a cellist.

Delicately placing the hot cup on the nearest table, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. He took in the relaxed body language that Jennifer was giving him. Her outward appearance said she was indifferent to his presence but he knew that she knew he wanted something. Why else would Mycroft's baby brother and his trusted side-kick even be here?

He rested his chin on the steeple of his fingers and gave her a soft, not-quite-a-smile-not-quite-a-smirk and said, "We both know this game is redundant. I can deduce all day but none of it matters if I can't crack open that lovely skull of yours and scoop out the information my brother promises me resides within. So, let us not play this game. You're smart. John is smart. I'm brilliant. We all have our talents."

Sherlock leaned back again and picked up his cup. He took a long sip off the hot liquid and smiled over the rim. "I'm not here to make enemies. I'm not even here to cause trouble for you. I just need answers and Mycroft seems to believe you have what I'm looking for."

He shrugged and lifted one shoulder. "I'm not here to make friends either, so there is that."

(OOC: Sorry so short.)


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

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Dr. John Watson
 Posted: Jul 19 2014, 10:24 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 merely glanced at Sherlock as Jennifer started to speak up again, his lips were sealed tightly, the cup nor the saucer were in his hands. His hands were tightly held together as the good Doctor looked at the woman, almost as though he himself was trying to deduce this woman even though his ability to deduce was poor when compared to his friend's ability to deduce people. John gave a quiet nod as the woman across from them spoke up, leaning back somewhat on the couch, but remaining some what straight. He was pretty sure that at some point all the attention was going to be focused on Sherlock, everyone focused on Sherlock. Minus a few, one has been dead so she did not really count. But not having attention did not bother John what so ever.

The Doctor's gaze focused on the gun that was placed on the table in front of them, his heart almost skipping a beat as he wondered if this was.. no Mycroft would not do that to John or Sherlock. But Seeing the gun did make John feel a little bit uneasy. He had seen what a woman with a gun, with proper training, can do. His eyes then snapped to Jennifer again as she walked across the room, his gaze then focused on Sherlock, silently saying Why did you not deduce that? But his focus did not remain on the detective as Jennifer started to speak up once again, his gaze going from her to his hands. He wondered just what she was trying to say to him, if it was him that she was speaking to. But John really was not in the mood to play the game. No he did not want to. He was not in the right mind to play one of those games. It was bad enough that from time to time Sherlock had John play Chess or Cluedo with him to keep an eye on the Doctor.

John looked to Sherlock as the detective spoke up and then back to Jennifer, "Sherlock she just bloody had a gun hiding in plain sight and you could not deduce it. I'm afraid we are the smart ones and she is the brilliant one under this roof at the moment." John picked his cup back up and took a sip of his hot beverage, ignoring the possible looks that he was getting. He was just trying to state a point, to remind Sherlock that they were not at Baker Street, they were under Jennifer's roof.

The man looked between the two of them as he put his cup down, he sat there silently for a moment before getting up. Picking the tea cup and saucer up, John stepped into the kitchen and cleaned the two items he had used before walking across the living room saying, "I need to pop out for a moment." As he opened the front door and stepped outside, closing the door behind him. He rested his hands on the railing of the porch, looking down at his hands, breathing heavily as he forced himself to calm down. Hearing a whinnie from the field he looked across to the fenced area, the horses that were used to ride out were still there, just their tack were off and resting in the nearby stables. Walking down the two steps of stairs, John walked across to the horses, carefully reaching his hand out to one of them that stuck her head over the fencing as she stretched towards him. Placing his hand on her snout one of the few smiles to be seen recently on his face appeared bright and wide, "There is a good girl." He said gently to not startle the horse as he ran his hand up the front of the horses head, focusing his scratching motion on the forehead.



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Jennifer A Moriarty
 Posted: Jul 21 2014, 05:24 PM
Quote
Your mind is a weapon as much as a tool.
Shal has 25 posts
Detective/Ex-Intellegence



I believe in tangible evidence above all else
What you can see, taste, sense and touch.

Sherlock said nothing. This behavior however, whatever its intent did not seem to phase Jennifer in the slightest. Oh no, there were plenty of ways to deduce people’s thoughts beyond the complexity of the human spoken word, and the way the man was now seated, head resting atop steepled fingers was a very foretelling sign. It was a signal that the man was deep in thought, his mind racing over the possibilities of who and what exactly Jennifer was and thus clearly disconnected from the words she had been speaking moments before. That or he simply found it irrelevant at the time, which in Jennifer’s opinion was far more likely.

Setting the man with a steely gaze, she crossed her left ankle over her right knee in an almost impatient manner, eyes shifting to the uneasiness in John’s eyes for a moment as his gaze dropped to the gun on her hip as she waited for the enviable tirade of words that would come from Sherlock’s lips. Watching as he righted himself and picked up his cup of tea, she drew her eyes to catch his own, a slight fleck of curiosity crossing her expression before she became stoic once more as he spoke.

At the mention of her knowledge and the thought of even contemplating that this was actually a social call, she had to restrain herself from letting out a loud and uninterested snort. Though she knew it had been merely his best attempt and placating her and retrieving the much desired information he sought, she still found the entire idea unnecessary and a bit repulsive. Luckily for him however, John seemed to finally stop his inconsistent restless movement on the couch long enough to address them both, stating that Sherlock was in layman’s terms, being an colossal idiot.

Allowing a slight smirk to spread across her lips at the comment, she merely glanced at John for a moment as he rose and excused himself, eyes darting to his left ring-finger momentarily as he exited the main door of the house and started to stomp around back towards where the horses had been stabled. Tilting her head to the side for a moment, Jennifer’s gaze returned back to Sherlocks for a brief stint before she finally spoke. “He’s quite bright, your friend Dr. Watson, though he does make an excellent point of being wary of the ground you step upon. Now abo-“

And another one bites the dust
And another one bites the dust
And another one gone and another one gone
Another one bites the dust, eh
Hey, I'm gonna get you too

Jennifer’s behaviour had gone from passive and sarcastic to assertive and upon her feet within seconds. It was an oh so familiar ring tone, and not one of comfort but rather distress, easily noted from the slight paling of the woman’s skin if Sherlock was worth his salt. Tilting her head, it only took Jennifer to locate the phone, her feet moving hastily across the flooring as she reached underneath a cushion of the chair at her desk, withdrawing the object with the slightest expression of confusion.

Hello?

Jenny, darling, you really should decorate more, your place is really oh so drab.

J-

Ah-ah-ah, cant go ruining the surprise now can we, oh no, we mustn’t ruin the fun too early, that would make me very upset Jenny, and you don’t want me upset now do you?

What do you want?

Answer me Jennifer, or should I give you your reward without the challenge?

No, I do not want you angry.

Good, now be a doll and put us on speaker wouldn’t you? Time is ticking away and becoming short

Fine.

Pressing the button on the cell she then held the device in the flat of her hand, giving Sherlock a hard glance as she watched him approach, eyes shifting through the window in front of her for a moment, well aware of what was going to happen next.

So what do you think of my sister Sherlock? Oh, no, no, don’t tell me, I already know. She really was the perfect little distraction to get all three of you under one roof. Now, Jennifier, have you figured it out yet? No? Shame you were always the one who was always on time, pity really, I guess this is goodbye.

The clock, she barked sharply, literally shoving the phone into Sherlock’s open hand before dashing past him to the mantle by the fire place. Pulling back the frame of the clock that had been resting there, her eyes connected with the timer and packet of C4 before she was spinning on her heels placing it back where it had been moments before. Vaulting forward she grasp the back of Sherlock’s jacket as she went by, fingers lacing into the thick fabric as she dragged him forward straight through the glass window as the heat of the expected explosion tore at their flanks.

Hitting the ground with a resounding thud, Jennifer found herself hissing loudly at the sensation of the ground rushing up to meet her, the muddy surface quickly soaking the clean clothing that she had donned not ten minutes before. Pulling herself to her knees, her spare hand came to her cheek, grazing the jagged sensation of a few pieces of glass embedded in the side of her face before she rose fully to her feet, dragging Sherlock upwards with her.

Stumbling forward several more feet, It was only when she had reached the paddocks that she finally stopped. Turning around to face the blazing remains of what had once been her house, Jennifer seemingly failed to react as the figure of John rushed up them, the dull roar pounding in the back of her skull being enough to mute out anything the doctor was saying. Finally releasing her grip on Sherlock’s jacket, she then sat down with a sudden motion, back sliding up against one of the fence posts as she started almost vacantly straight ahead her mind focusing on only one thing.

Jim.

TAG: SHERLY & John || WORDS: 1012 || Lets play boys!


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Sherlock Holmes
 Posted: Jul 28 2014, 03:16 AM
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'm yelling timber

Sherlock took a sip of the tea that John brought him. Normally, Sherlock adored John's tea. No, it was the stuff that Jennifer had in her house or the honey. He sipped it again, the honey wasn't fresh. He spit it out. Back home, Sherlock had a beehive or used to when he was a child. It got moved away to another location upon his going to Cambridge. Sherlock went their for a time studying the glorious world of chemistry before he dropped out when he almost had finished his degree because he had grown bored. At least this was the reason he kept telling himself. The truth, naturally was much more complicated. Sherlock loved honey bees, he often thought about making John's old room into a beehive -- well that was before the marriage and everything. Now, the thought was well out of the question. John needed him as much as Sherlock required John's services. Without the good doctor, Sherlock would have resorted to bad habits a he could give a fuck about what Mycroft said. In Sherlock's opinion Mycroft could go to the moon and never return. Seriously, the man was a menace.

Sherlock sat the tea into the cup pushing it away, "wrong." He noted without meaning to be rude. Of course a statement like that was rude. It insulted John's tea making skills -- and John knew how to sieve tea better than Mycroft -- that was a compliment as Mycroft had played mummy one time too many in Sherlock's youth. Nor was Sherlock insulting John's tea skills as the problem was the honey and not the tea at all which was a lower class brand than what the consulting detective normally used. Not that John would know any of these things, they were simply facts.

Sherlock looked up at John. Now he was getting that infamous glare that said it all. John didn't want him deducing in public. Well, Sherlock couldn't help that. He couldn't change who he was over night. People didn't change. Sherlock learned that a long time ago. He had been bullied (both physically and mentally) and labeled a freak in his youth, the New Scotland Yard continued this tradition. Somebody, please shoot Sally Donovan in the foot, the woman tore under his skin, one time too many. Sherlock huffed trying to break free of these thoughts, they kept coming like the cello. Where did she get the cello? He looked at it again wanting to touch the wood wanting to drag the bow against the mellow stings letting out those long notes. Cellos sounded, almost as sexy as violins in Sherlock's mind. The key word here is almost as between stringed instruments he loved the sound of a viola because those were like a cello-violin hybrid of sorts. It made them superior to cellos that and they were under loved much like Sherlock was.

Who bloody cared if the woman had a gun or not. He didn't, she could shoot him he didn't mind. It wouldn't be bad if he had morphine. Mary shot him. Not that anyone seemed to care -- it didn't matter now because Mary was dead. Sherlock didn't reply to John, he just gave him a death glare look. Anyone that knew Sherlock as well as John did would know do not bring up that subject or press it further. It was like when a rattle snake began to rattle, caution... caution...

With that John left, Sherlock said nothing. Sherlock didn't even notice John left. At home, this was a common occurrence. John would leave and hours later Sherlock would be asking for something and John would be no where to be seen, and not respond because he was out.

Then Jennifer began speaking. He wasn't paying attention he was in his mind palace again when the phone began to play out Queen. Sherlock snapped back into the room eying Jennifer and the mobile. He noted the change in her behavior from passive to sarcastic. This reminded Sherlock of himself but would he admit that to her or John? Good god, no. That was almost as good as winning.

Apparently the person on the other line wanted to talk to him. Sherlock wondered why because he wasn't dating Jennifer, he didn't give a rat's arse; it could be Mycroft this was his idiotic idea in the first place but it wasn't. Sherlock paled hearing the voice. He knew who it was automatically. The bigger question was how. He let that thought slip back into his mind as he listened to the man. Sherlock remained quiet taking the conversation to memory. Jennifer said the clock his next thought was John. That's all that mattered now. "Vatican cameos!"

Before Sherlock moved to do anything he was gripped onto to and shoved out of the house though the window. He landed on the group feeling his whole body ache from the force. Not to mention being dragged around like a rag doll in the mud. How barbaric. Glass cut his skin but that was minor. "John?" He looked around rather confused before he looked up at the woman who saved his life. "Why would you, the sister of James Moriarty want to save me?"

tagged: john, jenny | this is rubbish
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Dr. John Watson
 Posted: Aug 2 2014, 12:06 AM
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.

As he ran his hand along the horse's head, another walked up and nudged at his other arm as it begged for attention from John. Laughing John placed his other hand on the second horse's head and ran it along it's head smiling as he did so. No wonder his niece enjoyed being around horses so much, and no wonder he enjoyed riding them during his time in the army. They really did enjoy being around people, most of them anyways.

Another laugh came from his throat as the two horses started asking for more by lowering their heads almost sleepily. He focused his fingers on the star mark on the first horse's head out of no where he started talking to the horse, "My horse while I was in the army had this exact same mark... I doubt you are him though. Henry was retired from the army and sent to a Stud Farm." He tilted his head slightly to the left as he continued to look at that mark on the horse's forehead, "He was very energetic.. you are more laid back than him. But you remind me of Henry.. I used to ride horses almost all the time in the Army.. call it a carried on tradition in the army." He watched as one of the horses leave and started grazing nearby.

He looked back to the horse that remained in front of him, he felt silly to be talking to the horse but for some reason he felt better as he spoke to the animal, maybe it was because the horse was listening even though it probably could not understand a word that the man was saying to it. His hand dropped back down to his side as it started to feel rather heavy after holding it up for so long at an odd angle, his gaze remained on the horse until he heard a ear breaking sound coming from the house, along with a wave of heat. Naturally he ducked down to the ground, his arm that he did not land on instinctively covering his head as he brought his legs up some to protect his torso. He could not hear it but the horses were now panicking in their paddock, kicking and running.

But his concern was not focused on the horses, the animals were fine. John groaned as he lifted his head, his eyes squinting in response to the smoke that was burning his eyes as he scanned as best as he could for Jennifer and Sherlock. Where were they? The man breathed hard as he forced himself to remain calm.

His military training kicking in, he forced himself to his feet as he spotted Sherlock and Jennifer not that far from him, "Sherlock!" John found himself unconciously running to the man and woman as worry was starting to set itself in, but there was another thing that was settling in that was trying to get John to run for his own life. But because of his training, and with it the bravery of a soldier that never leaves a soldier, ever, "Are you two alright?" John yelled loudly since he was temporarily deaf from the explosion.

John ignored that wish to run away as he quickly dropped to his knees and looked each of them over, he declared that they were alright enough for him to move them as far away from the building as he could since neither of them showed any signs of mortal injuries or broken bones. Just some light bruising and cuts to their skin. But other than that from what he could tell right now. Nothing too serious. Without asking them if it was alright for him to move them, John immediately hooked one of Sherlock's arms around his neck, and did the same with Jennifer. Getting to his feet and helping the two to theirs he moved them over to a tree that was somewhat nearby that will at least shelter them from the rain enough.

Once they were seated, John instintively started looking over them, starting with Jennifer as he got his flashlight out from his coat pocket and shined them in Jennifer's eyes, "You've got a concussion.." He then put the flashlight down and gently placed his hands on the crook of her jaw and neck, "You might also have a bit of whiplash.." His gaze then focused on the cuts, so far, at least the ones on her hands, arms and face did not require any stitches.. well at least not all of them, two of them on her forearm will though, "Stay still." John told her as he reached into his pocket and got out some bandages and tightly wrapped it around her arm, "Those two cuts will need stitches though." The army doctor looked over to Sherlock, luckily his coat protected him from the glass, minus his face and hands.

His attention then focused on Sherlock since he was now done looking over Jennifer. He could hear siren's in the background but he was too focused on looking at the cuts and bruises on Sherlock's face to bother looking to see where they were coming from, "The cut on your cheek may need stitches Sherlock.." John looked to his other cuts but they were fine, "Your coat protected you from the glass.. you will be fine." John then sighed and stood up, resting his hands on his hips as he had done all that he can since he did not carry a medical kit with him. He looked to Jennifer, then to the bandage that covered the worse of the cuts. They could not get wet so he slipped his coat off and placed it on her shoulders, "Put my coat on. Please." The Doctor said as he helped get her arms into the sleeves, adjusting the one sleeve a little so it would not tug on the bandage.



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Jennifer A Moriarty
 Posted: Aug 2 2014, 02:44 PM
Quote
Your mind is a weapon as much as a tool.
Shal has 25 posts
Detective/Ex-Intellegence



I believe in tangible evidence above all else
What you can see, taste, sense and touch.

The smoke tasted almost acidic in the back of her throat as Jennifer coughed to clear her lungs, head still ringing loudly from the initial blast. Jim. She shook her head, eyes squinting slightly as the form of John came barreling into view before her attention became detached from his frame and seemed to linger on the smouldering remains of her house instead for several seconds. Frowning at Sherlock’s words, she deftly allowed John to drag the pair of them over towards reserving her thoughts for the time being as she sat herself down once more, this time at the base of the tree.

Allowing John to take his time examining her, she held back the temptation to roll her eyes at his commentary about her concussion and the fact she may need stitches, instead choosing her words as a more suitable outlet, “I have been through far worse I assure you, I will be fine.” As if John Watson couldn’t hear her, he continued his ministrations, bandaging her arm before finally switching to inspect any damage that may have befallen Sherlock. Letting out a stiff groan, she placed the fingers of her left hand against her temple for a few moments, rubbing gingerly before passing them over a fairly large cut on her cheek.

I saved you because there was no benefit or point in letting you die now was there? If I had wanted you dead, if I was the villain you might consider me, would it not be prudent to just put a bullet through both of your heads? Pausing she took a minute before resting the back of her skull against the tree grunt, eyes shut to the sound of sirens drawing closer. Great, this was just what was needed, police, inquiries and just more hassle in her life that was already chalk full of it. Sighing audibly she continued, Besides, if you hadn’t noticed, James tried to blow me up as well, we don’t have a very…. caring relationship, to put it blankly.

Grunting at John’s then persistence that she put on his jacket, she oddly enough seemed to cave to his wishes before getting to her feet and reaching an arm down in a gesture to give Sherlock an arm up. It was socially the right thing to do right? Oh since when did she even care about… Grumbling to herself, Jennifer only stood for a few more minutes before picking her way towards the small stable which had luckily survived the blast. Uncaring in the fact that her vision was a bit blurred, or that she could hear foot-fall behind her, she worked her way inside, leather boots slapping down against the asile as she made her way into what was seemingly the tack-room.

Walking to the back left hand corner, Jennifer then crouched down, fingers sliding up against the ridges of the floorboards before pulling them back and placing the loose pieces of wood to the side of herself. Reaching into the hole, she then pulled out a large black duffle bag before standing up and slinging it across her shoulder and walking right back out of the stable, completely ignoring any company that she had following in her wake.

Once outside, Jennifer quickly made her way once again around to the back of the barn to where a motorcycle was conveniently parked. Strapping her bags onto the back of the machine, it was only then when she turned to finally face John and Sherlock, noting the police officer coming towards them. I’ll deal with this, then we’d best head out and find somewhere…safe to talk, she muttered under her breathe towards the men before stumbling slightly over to the officer, brushing a strand of hair from her face as she talked to him.

Ten minutes later, Jennifer finally was able to release herself from the police officers attention, her statement good enough for them in the intern, or so, that’s what she had lead them to believe at any rate. Walking back over to Sherlock and John, she took very little time to throw on her helmet before straddling the center of the bike and gunning the ignition. Before you go on about my concussion Dr Watson, I will manage, I have faired through much worse, but if you insist, I have a spare helmet in the side-saddle on the back of the bike.

TAG: SHERLY & John || WORDS: 735 || Lets play boys!


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Sherlock Holmes
 Posted: Aug 14 2014, 10:29 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'm yelling timber

Sherlock felt his entire world blur. His head ached, his body ached, everything hurt. He was dirty -- the dirt was minimal in comparison to what was to come. Obviously, James was back in business. He wasn't dead, he tried to kill everyone in the room -- unless he knew his sister would betray him. She wouldn't possibly be trusted until that line of data collecting was completed. However, in Sherlock's current state he wasn't up for data collecting. His mind palace was a moshed condensed space - a proper hot mess.

John was talking. It wasn't being processed. Perhaps he needed some sort of medical assistance, it was minor segment in the bigger picture. He closed his eyes, the sirens ringing loudly in his head. "Loud make it stop..." He mumbled. Then Jennifer spoke, he tried to pay attention -- it could be important. Remember, save it for later ... document, file...

Either she was telling the truth or -- it was the truth as far as she knew it -- she could be framed as well. Sherlock stored his theories in his mind palace. He managed a nod -- make it appear as if he was paying attention. He wasn't, it was all a lie.

Safe? No where was safe to talk. What was she doing -- she had a motorbike? Convenient, very -- Sherlock wanted to give it a go. He had a love for speed. It was a sexy beast, the bike not Jennifer -- Sherlock didn't think about girls like that. He was married to his work.

"No John don't trust her... it's spinning --- why is it spinning? You're head looks bigger ..." he mumbled trying to get up but found himself falling back to the ground. So much for grace. It was all gone now. Sherlock obviously had a bit more than stitches that needed doing -- again it could wait.

tagged: john, jenny | apologies for taking ages with this -- I have a lot of stuff going on in rl
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