life lesson learned from fanfic/roleplay #263:
if you want to tick someone off, seduce his/her love interest
One of our many AUs:
Well, Sherlock didn’t die…
did and the morgue attendant turned out to be a practitioner of dark magic.
Except for the part where he
Well, no one could have known that.
Should’ve read my fine print, precious," Moriarty says, already giddy, sitting up. "You signed away everything—eeeeverything—to one Mr. James Moriarty." Then, mockingly: “‘But how can that be? I’m a human being! I’ve got certain rights.’ —NOPE!
's Moriarty. I had to share this because it's absolutely spot on and I may have jumped out of my seat.
Damn you Reichenbach!!
”To tell the truth,” John replies, “I sort of missed her cooking.” Clunk, clunk. John limps over to his old armchair and sinks down into it. He doesn’t know what to say. “So, you’re not… dead.”
After a brief moment of silence, Sherlock goes to the cabinets and pulls down everything he needs to make tea. Just the way John likes it. Never forgot that much. —No drugs, this time, promise. “Besides, she wouldn’t give you much of a choice,” he says, keeping his voice even. Finally, Sherlock chances a look at John and feels a nearly suffocating wave of sentiment. Guilt, regret… “Not anymore, no.”
John drums his fingers on the armrest. “How?”
”I had help,” Sherlock says carefully.
”How?” (Feel free to write “Sherlock tells him.”)
It just occurred to me that about a month and a half ago, Seth and I were roleplaying from this universe where Sherlock and Irene were sixteen years old (and everyone else wasn’t), and to give him her number, she wrote it out in elements from the periodic table on his hand.
He thought that was pretty neat.
Anonymous asked: Do you really think that John likes Sherlock… that much? That much as in love. I’ll be blunt because no one else is.
If that’s how we’re playing, Anonymous, I’ll also be blunt. Society’s obsession with labels fascinates and greatly amuses me. In recent years, certain factions have become determined to create a specific term for every possible variant of emotion, but the English language is still woefully insufficient when it comes to matters of the heart. I don’t believe romantic love captures the way I feel for, say, my favorite pair of shoes, and yet the word “love” is meant to serve as a blanket term for both. How delightfully crude.
But as for the gentlemen in question, I don’t think either of them would appreciate you cheapening their relationship with semantics. My personal philosophy involves not putting too much stock in labels, and I’m sure Sherlock Holmes would agree with me.
All discussion of love aside, I think John likes Sherlock very much. Maybe even more than I do.
I just needed this on my blog.
And now that that’s out in the open, let’s have dinner.
One from the Archives
Specifically, September 18th, 2011:
Chel: Oh anyway Irene wanted to let Sherlock know that she’s borrowed the Crown Jewels—rather, one of the rings from the collection—and that he has until dawn to find her and get it back. If he tracks her down, she’ll show him how she did it. If not, he’ll never know.
Seth: … considering the security measures in place, he really wants to know how.
Chel: He has to find her first…
Chel: And then he has to catch her~
Seth: Bitch, Sherlock Holmes is on the case, he’ll do both. maybe.
Seth: Either way, dragging John everyfuckingwhere.
Chel: Nope, Sherlock’s supposed to come alone.
Seth: This better not be a diversion so John gets kidnapped.
Chel: It’s not.
Chel: It’s flirting.
Paying Moran is just a formality at this point, no?
Well, Moriarty would like to think so, wouldn’t he?
(moriarty u r a baka)