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Tag: good
The Wolf In The Tale ~ 221B
“Everything you have ever been told is a lie. We are born, not bitten and for every clever creature of us, we would rather be wise. We bow to no moon but time and when we take a mate, it is for life.”
John has never forgotten those words nor the choice he made on the moor that night.
Every time he oils the Sig, lays the bullets aside, he knows how close he came to taking the wrong life.
Mycroft asks him how he knew which wolf not to shoot and John says without hesitation, “The one with Sherlock’s eyes.”
The wolf across from him sips his tea. It’s suddenly all too civilized and John wonders what the brothers must have been like as boys, gangly, loping puppies ranging through the countryside.
Sherlock hastens proceedings, hurries Mycroft’s goodbyes; he wants John to himself tonight.
When he rounds upon his mate, there’s a feral gleam in his eye. Clothes have become a crime and there’s a new hunger to satisfy.
John bares his throat, lets Sherlock lick and bite. The victorious are insatiable and in the twenty-four hours since Baskerville, Sherlock has already bedded John twice.
Their third is just as fierce but neither would have it otherwise. Even the moon, bold through the window tonight, cannot tell man from beast.
Read on AO3
Tumult-In-The-Clouds’ lovely manip The Wolf Within got me thinking that there might have been more to the case in Dartmoor and Baskerville than we ever realised.
I understand that they cut it for pacing and I agree with the choice but I love that in this scene Tony’s first reaction was to pick up a gun and fight and not just run.
I love this deleted scene so much. Not only is it wonderfully proactive, which I adore on principle, it underscores something people tend to gloss over: Tony was a weapons designer and manufacturer. He designed and built weapons for a living. He knows how to use a gun, okay? He can likely take it apart, clean it, improve it, put it back together again, and hit what he aims at. He does not need Natasha or Clint to take him to the shooting range and teach him which end of a gun goes bang. Why doesn’t the gun work here? It jammed. That’s it. It happens.
In short: Tony Stark does not need the suit to be a badass.
Death In a Fuzzy Wooly Jumper
At first, they weren’t quite sure exactly what was the quiet, sweet-faced, jumper-wearing little man doing by the new M’s side. Unlike his predecessors, the new M was rather good at commanding and demanding attention. It wasn’t a surprise, considering that he had been the World’s Only Consulting Detective once upon a time.
Of course, the official story was that the World’s Only Consulting Detective had already retired to keep bees in Sussex and his husband, partner and blogger of over three decades was now to be kept busy writing their memoirs. Becoming the new head of MI6 was not to be spoken of. At least not yet, anyway, so it wasn’t as if Dr. Watson would be chronicling anything about this current chapter in the life of Sherlock Holmes.
M’s bodyguard was normally chosen among the best of MI6 but it seemed M was perfectly to be escorted around by his husband and partner, who was, of course, given the necessary security clearance and their driver.
Naturally, this gave certain Enemies of Crown and Country ideas.
They made their move during an Oversight Committee hearing. The Minister in charge of the hearing was in fine form during his filibustering, declaring MI6 a relic of the Cold War that needed to be put away, at the most and revamped from the ground up, at the very least.
At least until M shut the poor sod up by a well-timed deduction on the state of his finances and the massive bribes he accepted to have this farce of a Committee hearing set up in the first place. Gasps from the press recording the session had been quickly replaced with screams when a cadre of assassins disguised as more media men suddenly brandished guns, instead of cameras.
Three of them fell with bullet holes in various portions of their anatomy, delivered by the steady hand of one Dr. John H. Watson.
Two of them were accounted for by M’s bodyguard.
Another two from yet another MI6 agent, presumed to be one of the famous double O’s, though cameras failed to somehow capture a clear shot of his face.
And then, the good Dr. Watson, somehow more formidable in his comfortable, oatmeal-colored jumper than the rest of the uniformed and suited men and women coming in to diffuse the situation, managed to get at least two more assassins who had made the mistake of getting too close to his husband.
The bribe-taking Minister, unfortunately, committed suicide a few days after this debacle was over. The full story of the debts he accumulated and his unsavory habits, which accounted for said debts, was laid out to a gleeful and scandal-mongering media.
And thus, the new “M” started out his MI6 career with his customary flair for drama.
The complaints from Greater London’s Police Commissioner (read: swearing up a ruddy storm) was said to be heard clear up to Edinburgh.
In the meantime, the entirety of MI6 would now refer to the good Dr. John Hamish Watson as “Death in a Fuzzy Wooly Jumper” in tones of appropriate reverence and respect.
***
Note: The Plot Bunnies won’t leave me alone, especially with Adorable Pictures to Squee Over. Stick a Fork in me, I’m just so done.
PHOTO SOURCE:
James never wore his. That was the thing about being the world’s only consulting criminal, although no one ever saw his face, he still could show no weaknesses. Instead, he kept the ring in his jacket pocket. He pointed out Holmes’ ‘Browning AR-15’, knowing that Holmes’ handgun was in his pocket, just as James’ was (although still referencing some perverse sexual comment, as a Browning AR-15 is a large assault rifle). The two men were really just alike.
Sebastian never took his off. That was the thing about living in the shadows, sneaking about through London back alleyways. No one ever saw him, so when he was alone in some empty construction site or abandoned flat complex, he would hum ‘The Itsy Bitsy Spider’ while spinning the band on his finger.
Sebastian wore his to show James Moriarty owned him.
James Moriarty never wore his to show that protecting Sebastian was his priority.
i will never get over this. this one little walking through the kitchen doorway moment. he isn’t even in focus. he isn’t even the focal point of the shot. the shirt. the collar. the cardigan. the lack of tie. the undone buttons. the way he tosses the jacket aside. the little double back turn of confusion. the little shuffling of weight between legs. the momentum of his arms. his hair. not too long. not too short. everything.
Unadulterated John love. Yes.
CAN I HAZ THIS
O_O
“His name is Sebastian Moran, top international assassin”
“Oh, he’s perfect for the job”
Harry Potter Treats
Yer a wizard Amanda. The four words that were never once said to me *sadness*. However, we can make up for that! Imagine my immense joy at having found recipes straight from Hogwarts, Hogsmeade and Honeydukes. I might have squealed a bit. From Acid Pops to Chocolate Frogs to Licorice Wands to Cockroach Clusters to Butterbeer and BUTTERBEER CUPCAKES. Wut. And as an added bonus some Caldron Cakes if you ever feel like taking a Potions class. It’s okay to cry; I know how you feel. I’m dying to make these too. You can thank me later.
Recipe for sweets here. And for Butterbeer, Butterbeer Cupcakes, and Cauldron Cakes.
Before scrolling all the way down and seeing the text I thought…. This makes me homesick for Hogsmeade…
that first sentence just about killed me
sherlock suit porn. man, look at these dapper motherfuckers.
- mycroft get out your vest is ugly. also it is super obvious that you are checking out lestrade don’t even front.
- “sherlock do not start shit i swear to go—” ”DULL.”
- sebby baby this isn’t rocket science okay get your shit together you are making jim look bad JEEZ. yes that’s nice that you give zero fucks but seriously he is going to carve your face off with a fucking grapefruit spoon if you don’t tuck in your shirt.
Lady Karasu 
