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Literature Text
The streetlight flickered as John walked by. The street was empty. Not a single soul had passed crossed his way for the past ten minutes or so. Muttering curses under his breath, John vented his anger on a stone, sending it flying ten meters ahead of him.
What did Sherlock think? Probably nothing, like he did so often. The oh so great consulting detective. Using his only tea pot for Christ's sake! Sure, John could still use it. Even if it had a human liver pickled in alcohol in it. He shivered in disgust. No. There was no way he would brew tea in it ever again. He didn't want to imagine what his beloved tea would taste like. He sighed in frustration. He shouldn't have reacted like that, but he had just snapped and couldn't stop himself.
Sherlock probably didn't even care. His sodding flat mate surely wasn't thinking too much of it and thought that John was overreacting.
To John this wasn't solely about the tea pot. He felt hurt and disappointed. It seemed as if Sherlock didn't care enough about him to stick to the few things John asked him to. What was he to Sherlock? Sure, Sherlock had told him that he was his friend. His only friend.
More than enough times John didn't feel as if Sherlock regarded him as such. John felt like some kind of pet. A dog maybe. Loyal. Following Sherlock everywhere without a second thought. Sometimes questioning him, but still following him and his orders. Letting it's owner ignore it after trying to get his attention and failing.
Yes. John nodded thoughtfully, feeling pathetical. That was exactly what he was to Sherlock. Far too often did Sherlock act without thinking about John's feelings.
Squeezing his eyes shut tightly for a moment, John stood still as he tried to shake this hurtful thought off. That wasn't true. Sherlock was a self declared high functioning sociopath, so it was kind of understandable that he had some difficulties with treating John as a friend. How should he know how friends treated each other if he never had one before? John sighed again. He should go back.
A car stopped beside him and he looked at it frowning. It was an expensive looking car that didn't fit at all in this part of town. John resumed his walking, lost in thoughts once again as the doors of the car opened and two men jumped out. They were dressed in black, masks covering their faces. One pulled out a gun and pointed it at him.
Before John had even a chance to react, the man pulled the trigger.
Brown eyes, widened in shock and filled with horror slowly travelled down to where he was hit. Another shot fell. John staggered. John's looked at his chest. His body slumped down, his feet unable to carry its weight.
There were two big needles stuck in his chest. Some kind of sedative dart, John noticed relieved. His mind began to drift off as his vision became blurry and darkened. The initial relieve he had felt was replaced with terror and dismay as he realized what that meant.
They didn't want him dead. At least not yet. Strong arms grabbed him roughly and dragged him over to the car. John wanted to fight his attackers, but he couldn't move a single finger, no matter how hard he tried. His consciousness slipped away.
They needed him for something.
Sherlock.
What did Sherlock think? Probably nothing, like he did so often. The oh so great consulting detective. Using his only tea pot for Christ's sake! Sure, John could still use it. Even if it had a human liver pickled in alcohol in it. He shivered in disgust. No. There was no way he would brew tea in it ever again. He didn't want to imagine what his beloved tea would taste like. He sighed in frustration. He shouldn't have reacted like that, but he had just snapped and couldn't stop himself.
Sherlock probably didn't even care. His sodding flat mate surely wasn't thinking too much of it and thought that John was overreacting.
To John this wasn't solely about the tea pot. He felt hurt and disappointed. It seemed as if Sherlock didn't care enough about him to stick to the few things John asked him to. What was he to Sherlock? Sure, Sherlock had told him that he was his friend. His only friend.
More than enough times John didn't feel as if Sherlock regarded him as such. John felt like some kind of pet. A dog maybe. Loyal. Following Sherlock everywhere without a second thought. Sometimes questioning him, but still following him and his orders. Letting it's owner ignore it after trying to get his attention and failing.
Yes. John nodded thoughtfully, feeling pathetical. That was exactly what he was to Sherlock. Far too often did Sherlock act without thinking about John's feelings.
Squeezing his eyes shut tightly for a moment, John stood still as he tried to shake this hurtful thought off. That wasn't true. Sherlock was a self declared high functioning sociopath, so it was kind of understandable that he had some difficulties with treating John as a friend. How should he know how friends treated each other if he never had one before? John sighed again. He should go back.
A car stopped beside him and he looked at it frowning. It was an expensive looking car that didn't fit at all in this part of town. John resumed his walking, lost in thoughts once again as the doors of the car opened and two men jumped out. They were dressed in black, masks covering their faces. One pulled out a gun and pointed it at him.
Before John had even a chance to react, the man pulled the trigger.
Brown eyes, widened in shock and filled with horror slowly travelled down to where he was hit. Another shot fell. John staggered. John's looked at his chest. His body slumped down, his feet unable to carry its weight.
There were two big needles stuck in his chest. Some kind of sedative dart, John noticed relieved. His mind began to drift off as his vision became blurry and darkened. The initial relieve he had felt was replaced with terror and dismay as he realized what that meant.
They didn't want him dead. At least not yet. Strong arms grabbed him roughly and dragged him over to the car. John wanted to fight his attackers, but he couldn't move a single finger, no matter how hard he tried. His consciousness slipped away.
They needed him for something.
Sherlock.
Literature
Johnlock - ''Questioning'' Ch.3
No matter how hard Sherlock tried, he couldn't find any evidence to support John's innocence. In fact, he had found more evidence against John. The detective let out an almost inhuman noise of frustration and fell to the lounge, startled when his phone bleeped at him. He check his text with mild interest, until he realised it was from Lestrade.
Let's do something reckless. -GL
Sherlock vaguely wondered what the 'G' stood for, but immediately cast that thought aside as unimportant. It took him less than a second to type in his reply.
For once, you have obtained my full attention. -SH
Sherlock's phone bleeped again.
It's about John. Illega
Literature
Through All The Days Out Wandering
It had taken a good 30 minutes, but John had finally gotten Sherlock from his fetal position on the floor onto the couch. Sherlock's head was in his lap and he was stroking Sherlock's dark hair as the detective tried to process his shock. Every few moments he could feel a tremor pass through Sherlock's lean frame and it made his heart ache to see his invincible friend brought into such a position.
"Just breath, Sherlock." he repeated for the fifth or sixth time that afternoon. Finally Sherlock seemed to respond as he turned his body over to look at John, the red from his eyes finally gone and replaced with a cold, calculating
Literature
The Missing Piece (Destiel)
Things were bad. And they didn't seem like they would be getting any better anytime soon. The Apocalypse. Lucifer. Demons. The Four Horsemen. Angels. It was tearing him apart. He didn't want Sam to say yes, and he sure as hell wasn't about to say yes. No angel was going to use him or his brother as a weapon. Never again was he going to let that happen. But, honestly, it seemed to be the only option. He lost sleep over it; maybe only slept one or two hours a night, or didn't sleep at all. Everything seemed so far out of wack that there was absolutely no reasonable outcome to the situation.
Just end it, you sons of bitches! End it all.
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You solved my little riddle! Yay!!! (Fanfiction.net was faster than you ehehehehe~ ) Told you it was easy. I weren't able to make a more difficult one. Made dead tired it in the middle of the night. Had to correct a few mistakes the next day XD
Should I make another riddle for you guys in the next chapter? Think I'm going to. It was quite fun to make the last one.
Let's see how badly I'llhurt Jawn. Maybe I'll discover my sadistic streak XD
Enjoy!
Chapter 1 [link]
Chapter 2 [link]
Chapter 4 [link]
Chapter 5 [link]
Chapter 6 [link]
Chapter 7 [link]
Chapter 8 [link]
Chapter 9 [link]
Chapter 10 [link]
Chapter 11 [link]
Chapter 12 [link]
Chapter 13 [link]
Chapter 14 [link]
Chapter 15 [link]
Chapter 16 +The End+ [link]
Should I make another riddle for you guys in the next chapter? Think I'm going to. It was quite fun to make the last one.
Let's see how badly I'llhurt Jawn. Maybe I'll discover my sadistic streak XD
Enjoy!
Chapter 1 [link]
Chapter 2 [link]
Chapter 4 [link]
Chapter 5 [link]
Chapter 6 [link]
Chapter 7 [link]
Chapter 8 [link]
Chapter 9 [link]
Chapter 10 [link]
Chapter 11 [link]
Chapter 12 [link]
Chapter 13 [link]
Chapter 14 [link]
Chapter 15 [link]
Chapter 16 +The End+ [link]
© 2012 - 2024 Rhapsody93
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I thought you would tell us what the numbers meant.