DO YOU GUYS HAVE THAT ONE FRIEND THAT DOESN’T THINK SHE’S ANYTHING SPECIAL BUT SHE’S BEAUTIFUL AND FUNNY AND WITTY AND EVERYTHIGN AMAZING THAT YOU COULD EVER WANT IN A PERSON BUT SHE DOESN’T SEE IT AND YOU JUST WANNA TAKE HER AND SHAKE HER AND SCREAM IN HER FACE ALL OF THE AMAZING THINGS ABOUT HER JUST SO SHE WILL APPRECIATE HOW ABSOLUTELY LOVELY SHE IS
(This video made me cry my brains out.)
(( WHAT VIDEO IS THIS IT LOOKS LIKE IT WILL GIVE ME FEELS I LIKE FEELS))
((OH GOODNESS THIS VIDEO STILL MAKES ME TEAR UP EVEN AFTER LIKE 2 YEARS.))
THAT SMILE AND CURL OF HIS LIPS!!!
I’m just gonna leave Anna’s tags on this.
The way he looks back at John after the little head nod is destroying me. Seriously, it’s like this hopeful, inviting gleam . His eyes are practically screaming to be noticed. “See John I can be a good
boyfriend. Look how helpful and nice I am.”
Hello old friend, and here we are. You and me, on the last page. By the time you read these words, Rory and I will be long gone. So know that we lived well, and we’re very happy. And above all else, know that we will love you, always. Sometimes I do worry about you, though. I think, once we’re gone, you won’t be coming back here for a while, and you might be alone, which you should never be. Don’t be alone, Doctor. And do one more thing for me. There’s a little girl waiting in a garden. She’s going to wait a long while, so she’s going to need a lot of hope. Go to her. Tell her a story. Tell her that if she’s patient, the days are coming that she’ll never forget. Tell her she’ll go to sea and fight pirates. She’ll fall in love with a man who’ll wait two thousand years to keep her safe. Tell her she’ll give hope to the greatest painter who ever lived, and save a whale in outer space. Tell her, this is the story of Amelia Pond. And this is how it ends.
A voice awoke the man, female, soft and patient. At least patient enough to have waited for Sherlock to awaken once more and adapt to his new surroundings. A hospital room. A hospital room?
“I know you’re tired, but I can’t let you fall asleep now.” The man blinked, when had Molly known all about medical care for the living? She worked in a morgue for God’s sake.-
Wait, to work in a morgue she would have needed a medical degree, hence a career in health and medicine. Stupid, Stupid Sherlock. You’re getting slower.
“How are you, dear brother?”
Sherlock looked up only to see his brother, nearly feeling light enough, at the relief? To jump up and embrace the other. (Completely out of character for him.)
Can’t think-. Can’t breath-.
Deep breaths, Sherlock.
Shut your eyes, deep breaths. You’re alive.
“I need some assistance right now!” Molly called out,
“John-?” Sherlock murmured, his head feeling as light as a helium filled balloon, linked to his every limb as he could’ve sworn he felt John Watson’s soft caress of his touch again his face, and his soft words filling his blurred mind.
And he was out like a light.
John gazed up at the man with a quizzical look in his blue eyes. ”Bait. What the hell are you going on about?” he hissed.
“You really don’t believe me when I say he’s alive… do you?”
“Isn’t that obvious.”
Out of his pocket the stranger fished out a phone. He flipped through the hundreds of pictures. ”There. Enough evidence for you?” John squinted his eyes as he got a good glimpse at the picture. It was Sherlock standing in an alleyway, hidden from the crowds.
“Well… tha… that could have been taken long ago. Long before he died.”
“Oh, Doctor Watson. You should know that security camera’s don’t lie.” Watson looked down at the date and realised this picture was taken no less than three days ago. His eyes widened and his back stiffened. This man was telling the truth!
“B… But how…”
“Why did he fake his own death?” shrugged the man. ”Sentiment is such an unusual thing don’t you? Just like ‘friendship’.” he spat out those words with hatred. “But don’t worry. You’ll see your boyfriend soon enough.
“He’s not my boyfriend.” growled John who was getting worried for Sherlock’s safety.
♞; Once more, the man awoke to find himself in a dully lit room. White bed sheets, and white walls. He laid on a pale white bed with an IV attached to his forearm, and it took a mere minute to get his head sorted and understand where he was.
A mental hospital.
Not enough Data. Dangerous to jump to conclusions.
Where’s Mycroft? Molly?
“Sherlock.” A loud voice boomed, one that he recognized, but causing him to flinch at the sound.
What the hell was he doing here?
What the hell was Sherlock doing here?
Why couldn’t he remember what happened?
“Electric Shock Therapy, apparently.” The other man cooed,
“Oh no no, Sherlock. Wrong.” A pause, “You shouldn’t be asking me anything. You’re Sherlock fucking Holmes for Christ’s sake!”
Sherlock groaned as he tried to block out the other’s too-loud voice,
“… Colonel-… Moran, was it?”
“Sebastian. Please.” Sebastian grinned.
“Shush, Sherlock. You’ll feel fine when you wake up. I promise.”
And with a searing pain in his shoulder, he fell back into his daze.
John was left awhile in his dark cell. Head still throbbing and wrists sore from the tight rope. ”Damn… these ropes.” he tut to himself as he tried to wriggle his hands out. But with all the squirming his chair fell over and he hit his sore head again on the floor. ”Gah! Bloody hell…”
Suddenly the door opened and in came the stranger once more. ”Hello, once more Doctor Watson.” he noticed his prisoner on the floor, all toppled over. ”I rather like you this way.” he teased.
John simply growled as he continued tried to wriggle.
“No use John. These ropes are too tight. Plus I learnt from the best. And at the best place..”
“And where would that be?”
The man turned around and faced the door with his hands behind his back. ”You should know it. You were there to.” John was still baffled. ”Afghanistan.” he whispered.
The name brought back memories in John’s head. ”I thought you’d remember me.” continued the man.
“I would have said your name if I did remember.”
“True.” he chuckled. ”Sebastian Moran at your service. But that’s Colonel to you Captain.”
“Hang on… Moran… wait a minute… y… you were killed in action!” Hamish then remembered. He remembered going through a desert and finding a body. He knew instantly it was the colonel. ”Everybody thought you were dead. Then the…”
“Ambush happened… I know.” interrupted Seb.
“How could I not? I was the one who alerted the ambushers anyways.” The colonel chuckled grimly. Instantly rage surged through John once more.
“Good people died… you caused all their deaths!”
“They deserved it.” said Seb as he walked to the door, calmly once more.
“Where the hell are you going now?!”
“To check on a friend of yours… be back soon.” With that the door shut and nothing but darkness once more.
♞; Not again.
His eyes cracked open, cheeks streaked with dried trails of tears he did not recall crying. A scorching pain along his waist, arms, head- and well, everywhere.
The light was far too dim for him to try and see further than a few meters in front of himself. Yet, as his eyes adjusted to the dark, he noted to himself (rather cheerfully) that he was not tied down to anything, and no one was in the filthy looking chamber with him.
Silently, he sat up, struggling to do so and understanding why no one had bothered to secure him with restraints. (Far too weak after the ‘EST’, was it?) (Obvious.)
Didn’t stop Sherlock Holmes from experimenting; trying, and failing.
He stood up on one leg, feeling nothing but a big heap of bones and jelly for legs, he collapsed onto the grime smeared floor below with a low hiss and the loud crashing of the metallic bed, he had been lying on, crashing onto the floor.
Voices calling, Sherlock sighs.
People crash into room, Sebastian grins his signature Cheshire cat grin.
Sherlock glares, and simply sits there as people tie him up.
“You’re doing everything wrong, Sebastian! Rope, really?” He scoffed, “Thought you’d be more original rather than dragging me into this warehouse. Judging by your obvious look of satisfaction, which should be slapped away because, dear God, do you not notice my brother’s men everywhere around you?” Sherlock lied smoothly, “And what’s this all for? Just to prove a point? Please! Dull.”
If it were possible, Sebastian’s grin grew wider,
“Oh, Sherlock. Desperate already?” The man snapped his fingers, and almost instantly, a think cloth was forced into his mouth,
“I think we all know how this works out, Sherlock. Remember?” The detective forced down a shudder of disgust, “No use in trying to use your mind tricks against me. But yes, you’re here to prove my point.” A pause,
“My point that you’re dog; John Watson is not as loyal as you think.” He spat out.