Frequencies-Sherlock Fanfic

I observe Molly when she comes into the room. Her hair hangs in tendrils around her face, making her appear like an anime character gone wrong—her eyes too kind and round. She looks fearful and sad.

“Molly, you don’t have to do this. We can get another Doctor.”

“It’s alright, Sherlock, I was already here.”

I frown. “I’m glad you’re here. Who brought you in?”

“I don’t know. A tactical unit came and got me.”

I smile. Could it be that Mycroft cares about the welfare of the people that matter most to me? I take her hand and bring it to my lips.

“Sherlock don’t, not today, not now. I’m not up to being teased.”

“Molly, I’m sorry I can’t give you more.”

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Get Me Some-Sherlock Fanfic

I sit in a cold sterile room, the walls are grey cement, the tables chrome, it is an emergency hide out shelter, disused until today. Sniffing the air, I feel as if I can smell wet cement, cold, hard unyielding. Mycroft comes in with my tea, and the scent of boiling water and tea bag assails my nostrils. I grimace. “It’s not Twinings Earl Grey, it’s Twinings Lady Grey Tea.”

“And your point is, Brother mine?”

“If I’m going to die, I want Earl Grey.”

“Just drink the damn tea.”

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The Promise-Sherlock Fanfic

A knock at the door startles us into action. You grab your stripped robe, Anderson looks around, he has no robe, so he dives under the covers. I slip my gown on, posing like Botticelli’s Venus, then say, “Come in.”

You look murderous and Anderson blushes when Mrs. Hudson opens the door. “Boys, I thought you might like some…tea.” Her voice trails off and she wrinkles her nose. “Oh Sherlock, what have you done now?”

I raise up. “In case you haven’t noticed there are two other people in the room. How come everyone always blames me when something untoward occurs?”

You scratch the side of your face. “That’s because it’s usually you that causes all the trouble.” Then you take a step towards Mrs. Hudson. “Look I’m sorry you had to find out this way, but we aren’t just fooling around. We are all in a relationship with each other.”

She sets down the tea tray and smiles. “That’s nice, I’m happy for the three of you but please open a window and clean up in here. It smells a bit musky.” Then she smiles again and leaves.

When the door shuts, I start to laugh. “Good old Mrs. Hudson, nothing shocks her, does it?”

You raise your eyebrows, rubbing the back of your neck. “Apparently not.”

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Boredon+Despair=the Syringe Sherlock fanfic

Anderson is back home again. He’s had the temporary bag removed and his infection is under control, but he is so thin. He lays back on the bed watching me while I hold Alice. You watch over him, taking his vitals and such. I stare while you bend over and imagine you going down on him. God that would be such a delight to see. I clear my throat. “John, come and get Alice. I have to go to the bathroom.”

You look at me and smile, not knowing the reason I must get out of the room.

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Boredom+Despair=the syringe Sherlock Fanfic

I wake up, feeling as if someone has stuffed a wad of cotton in my mouth. Yawning, I make my way downstairs where I hear you and Mrs. Hudson talking.

“I have to take Alice for an appointment. I’m giving you Anderson’s pain pills. Whatever you do don’t let them out of your sight. He took one last night. I’m afraid this whole situation has taken a toll on him.”

“Oh, John what are we going to do?”

John patted her shoulder. “Take care of them the best way we know how.”

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Boredom+Despair=the syringe

New chapter is up.

I haven’t spoken to Anderson since the accident. You dearest John, have visited him quite often. He is to be released from hospital today. I stand just outside his room, listening to the myriad of home care instructions the doctor is giving to you. God, what fools we all are. Protecting what doesn’t need to be protected, giving up what is most scared life, hope, happiness.

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Boredom+Despair=The Syringe-Sherlock

I huddle in a cold waiting room, along with Lestrade. I look down at the ground, pulling my coat around my blood-soaked shirt. His blood, my shirt. The stiffness of the material scratches against my skin, like rats working to claw their way free from a trap. Trap. I’m trapped. I have allowed myself to feel and I am now reaping the whirlwind. Lestrade pats my shoulder. I am grateful that he doesn’t offer ineffective platitudes.

I surprise myself when I speak first. “He sacrificed himself for me. Everyone does that at some point, don’t they? Be the hero. Save Sherlock. I abused him in every sense of the word and now he is going to die.”

Lestrade takes a sip of his coffee. “Let’s just wait for the Doctor, shall we?”

I nod, dreading to be left alone with my thoughts. I am hateful and spiteful. I deserve to be left alone. Anderson, oh god, Anderson, what hurt most the machete as it pierced your abdomen or me as I pierced your heart?

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Boredom+Despair=The Syringe

I open my eyes. Though I am feeling better, the burden of the conversation I must have with you weighs heavily upon me. What I wouldn’t do for a fix. Just something, anything to take the edge off.

“Sherlock?” Your voice calls to me. “Sherlock, I see you’re feeling better. I’ve brought up some tea and biscuits.”

I nod, not meeting your eyes. My hand shakes when I reach for the fragile looking tea cup. I look up at you and tears form in my eyes. “John, I….”

You sit down next to me on the bed. “Sherlock, let’s not talk about this now.” I shake my head, then take a bite of biscuit, letting the taste of it fill my mouth. “Jesus, you make tea and biscuits so sexy.”

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“I Don’t Understand.” Sherlock Fanfic

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I lay in your arms, shivering until you pull the blankets over us. I am safe in my John cocoon. I smile. Ummm, tomorrow we can make up. I will let you take me anyway you want Dearest John. Visions of carnal pursuits dance in my head. The indecency of them relaxes me and I close my eyes, hoping they will keep the darkness at bay.

Painful Chords-Sherlock Fanfic

Without a word Anderson walks over and sits on the bench. His eyes take on a faraway look. He then looks down and begins to play, the Adagio from Beethoven’s Emperor Concerto. Each note breaks through my emotional barriers. His playing is wondrous. My eyes fill with tears. I hear Beethoven, but I see John, I see Mary, I see Redbeard, I see the Woman, I see everything I have loved and or lost. I want to tell him to stop, but I am transfixed by the beauty and pain of the music. I am mute, rendered powerless, unable to disarm him with sarcasm or cruelty. I want to shout that he is the cruel one for making me feel, but I cannot. I have allowed him to get under my skin, the fly in the genius of my ointment.

 

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