#Adler is Cipher

[mouseshift]

oxenfree nd gravity falls crossover because i can do whatever i want

[strangesthirdeye]

CHAPTER 2: Americans at Rest

The Cipher Between Us

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"It was a gas leak" said Edith as he folded his hands in front of him on the table.

Now you and Mrs Morris are sitting in front of Edith - in his office in Blackwater 7 days after your flat burned down. Your stuff such as some books or some of your clothes have been burnt. Luckily, you still have your other belongings due to your stay at Valentine yesterday.

You narrowed your eyes. "which flat?" you asked urgently.

Edith looked at you. "It may sound deceptive but it came from the flat above you"

"but there's no one in the flat above. I'm pretty sure no one can get into that flat because I have the key to that flat" Mrs Morris interrupted. She looked as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing.

You sharpened your gaze on him making Edith gulping his saliva slowly under your gaze.

"based on the investigation, it indeed came from the flat above you. My guess is that the person who did it broke into the empty flat before causing the fire" Edith stated with determination.

Mrs Morris still didn't believe it she then looked at you. Having sensed her gaze next to you, you sighed.

"that's right, Mrs Morris. He didn't lie. I believe, that person knew how to climb 3 floors of the flat" you muttered slowly.

Mrs Morris put her hand to her mouth. Too shocked to hear the conclusions you two made.

"but who would do that to us?" Mrs Morris questioned - she was still shocked.

Edith stared at her seriously. "i believe this is a case of treason" Edith concluded.

"Treason? For whom? Surely I and Y/n did nothing to that person behaving like that for no reason" Mrs Morris exclaimed.

You remained silent. Edith sighed before he looked at you with a look of expectation.

"I believe it's not you they're after, Mrs Morris. I believe it's Holmes." Edith finished.

Mrs Morris looked at Edith with terror. "what do you mean that person after her? She's never made an enemy here. How?" Mrs Morris protested.

You shook your head. "Perhaps someone knows why I'm here" you muttered.

"You mean the person who killed your brother is after you? Really?" Mrs Morris looked at you in disbelief.

"Maybe.. But we have no evidence to say this, right, Williams?" You looked at Edith with a raised eyebrow.

Edith nodded in agreement. "You're right. So far, we haven't found any evidence after the fire. The majority of what was in your flat was consumed by fire. We found nothing but dust" Edith informed. "Besides, whoever did this didn't know that Holmes wasn't at the flat. The only thing she is safe is that she's at Valentine" he added.

"So that person really wanted to hurt Y/n? Oh, Y/n" Mrs Morris took your hand and stroked it like a mother comforting her child.

Edith held up his index finger. He then pointed his finger at Mrs Morris. "but you're also lucky you were outside when the fire broke out, Mrs Morris. Otherwise we don't know what Holmes would do if she knew you were still in the flat. It was lucky I was at the scene before she tried to get into the flat last night" Edith sighed.

"Oh, Y/n" she patted your arm gently.

You put your hand on hers as a way to soothe her nerves. For someone in her 60s, she sure has been through a lot in one night. Poor Mrs Morris.

Edith then leaned forward slightly. "still, whoever is after you, Holmes. They won't stop at what they did to you. You gotta be careful out there. Lots of things can happen here because you're on your own. If only Mrs Morris explained that your brother told you to go back to London, then I won't hesitate to arrange a ferry back to London for you."

You just stay quiet. Not wanting to make the situation worse. What Edith said is true. Your life here is in danger. Whoever did all this misses the first time, next time they won't miss. You gotta keep your guard up otherwise your life is hanging by a thread. Whoever did this, they know what they're doing. They know who you are. They know why you're here.

Edith let out a simple sigh as he slammed his hand down on the table with a gentle but firm blow that was enough to get your attention.

"i believe you two have temporary accommodation?" Edith looked at you two.

Mrs Morris nodded eagerly. "indeed. We stayed at my sister's house on Valentine. Though, we may need to find another place to stay as we don't want to disturb her and her husband's household. Although she insisted" Mrs Morris responded.

Edith nodded in understanding. "i see. But if you two need help.. Just let me know, alright. Consider it as me owing you a favor to Holmes for helping me solve a few cases"

"Oh, Mr Williams, that's not necessary" Mrs Morris humbly said.

Edith shook his head dismissively. "please. It's the least I can do at the moment." he said. "But Holmes" he looked at you sternly. "be careful out there. Sooner or later they'll do the same thing to you only it doesn't go astray."

You leaned back a little. "You know me, Williams. I'm always careful"

"like you almost drowned following the bounty trail" Edith snapped.

"apart from that!" you protested.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"Are you sure you don't want this stew anymore? I mean I can scoop it for you" Mrs Burbank offered to you. for the second time.

Now it's night at the Burbank Ranch. You and Mrs Morris who were in Blackwater this morning are now in Valentine where Mrs Morris's eldest sister and her husband live.

Mrs and Mr Burbank. She's sweet just like Mrs Morris maybe kindness is in their blood after all. Only her husband, Mr Phil Burbank is a little off. He is a rancher at Valentine with very critical anger issues. Always lashing out his anger at his workers but not at his wife. But still, you don't want to get close to him. His grumpy face makes you lose focus to think.

But with a sweet couple comes a boy around 14 years old. Their son Peter Burbank. Though the boy takes after his mother look, his temper sometimes seems like his father. But not as bad as his father. He is still a sweet boy who is always eager to learn something from you after he knows who you are. Blessed his quick mind and ability to read, now he is interested in learning the advantages you have. Plus the boy also took an interest in science which you happily taught him as science is your favorite subject. Oh, you miss doing experiments with Sherlock.

Now that you think about it. You did miss Sherlock, Mycroft and Eurus. Ever since Sherrinford died, your relationship with your siblings has been a little strained. Losing Sherrinford is like losing an important thread in your relationship with your siblings. You know, Sherlock and Mycroft feel that grief is something they view as weak. For them, there is no time for grief. But you and Eurus took it seriously. That's why you and Eurus have a special relationship. Though, Eurus took Sherrinford's death so badly that she needed mental help and therapy for her.

Mycroft, though seemingly unconcerned, still takes the role of eldest brother seriously. You know he cares for his siblings in his own way. The same goes for Sherlock.

You shook your head in polite refusal. "no, I think I'm full" you smiled genuinely.

Mrs Burbank nodded her head. "that's okay. You want some, Peter?"

"yes, mother" he handed his bowl to his mother.

Mrs Burbank then scooped the stew into Peter's bowl before handing it back to Peter to which Peter thanked her.

"What about the visit to the police station earlier, Martha? What did the officer say?" Mrs Burbank asked her sister.

Mrs Morris looked at her sister after she drank the water. "It was a gas leak."

"Gas leak?" Mr Burbank entered the conversation.

"Yes.. Someone broke into flat above Y/n's and caused a fire to break out. " Mrs Morris explained.

"really? and the police haven't found any evidence of who did it?" Mr Burbank wondered out loud.

You looked at her as if to not explain it too much. This however goes unnoticed by Mrs and Mr Burbank. Peter was busy with his stew. Mrs Morris took the hint you gave.

"no.. even if there's even one ounce of evidence, it might have been burned at the stake" she replied, half lied and half true.

Mrs Burbank nodded in understanding. "I understand. But luckily you're both okay."

Mrs Morris smiled genuinely. "It's really lucky that we weren't at the scene."

"it is.. But stay here as long as you want. After all, we don't care. Right, Phil." Mrs Burbank looked at her husband.

Mr Burbank who was sipping his water nodded without saying anything.

"oh, Lucia... It doesn't have to be that way. We're just staying for the time being. Just until we get another rental house we'll be out of your hair in no time" Mrs Morris stated.

You nodded soundlessly. She's right. It's just not right if you're staying at a house you don't know even if she's Mrs Morris's eldest sister. You don't want to bother her and her family.

"nonsense, please stay as long as you want. After all you are my family. Same goes for you too, Miss Holmes. Consider it my way of thanking you for teaching Peter" Mrs Burbank said gratefully to you.

You nodded humbly. "he is a smart boy" you muttered.

Mrs Burbank smiled at that before she started to get up and fetch her and her husband bowls and utensils.

" now i believe we are all full. Might as well wash this" she excused.

You immediately got up to help her. "here, let me help you.

"no need, Miss Holmes. I can do it by myself. You are our guest" she muttered as she brought the bowls and utensils to the kitchen to wash.

"please, call me Y/n.. I insist on helping you as away to thank you" you insisted.

"very well..come to the kitchen" she led you to the kitchen after you gathered the empty glasses and bowls on the table.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It was the same night you received a letter after Mrs. Burbank gave it to you where you were sitting in your guest room. To which you know who this letter is from as soon as you feel the material of the letter.

You aimlessly sat on the bed with your eyes focused on the letter in your hand. You slowly tore apart the envelope and began to read the content written inside the letter.

Mr. Sherlock Holmes

221B Baker Street

London,

United Kingdom

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

My Dearest sister,

221B Baker Street

London

May 15th 1899

I have only this morning, with no small measure of alarm, read the dreadful report published in The Times concerning the fire which has engulfed your lodgings. Though the article was scant in particulars, the mere mention of your name in connection with such a perilous event has disturbed me profoundly.

You are not beyond the reach of danger, as I warned you you would not be, and to pursue the thread of this case further would be not only unwise but, in light of recent events, positively ruinous. I know well your resolve (and, some might say, your obstinacy) in these matters, especially when the cause is close to the heart. But to chase justice where it will not be found is to court ruin, and no righteous end ever came from one's own undoing.

Let it go. Let him go.

What happened to our dear brother—should it be indeed what you believe—is now beyond the influence of vengeance or redress. The web into which you now wander is vast, tangled, and far more dangerous than you suppose. It is spun by men who move in shadow and strike with neither conscience nor warning. You are, I fear, entirely alone out there, and alone you shall remain if you continue on this course.

There is more at stake than your grief. I speak not only of your safety, but of the balance of forces that even now teeter precariously. Your continued inquiry threatens to undo more than you intend.

I beg you—return to Baker Street. Leave the matter to the grave where it now lies, and live. Live for both of us, if that be required.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Your devoted brother,

Sherlock

You clutched the letter until it crumpled. Of course Sherlock would say the same thing. back to London empty-handed. Though, you appreciated that he knew about your whereabouts but insisting that you go back to London and forget about this case didn't sit right with you. Even if you did go back to London, Sherrinford's death would not be brought to justice but would be labeled as an unfortunate accident. And that's not why.

Those outlaws who killed your brother should not be left walking free on this earth. It shouldn't have happened this way if only Sherrinford hadn't been transferred here.

You tossed the letter onto your bedside table - you turned and lay down on the bed. Eyes focused on the ceiling, both hands on your stomach.

"Oh, Sherlock. If you were me you would do the same thing" you muttered as you closed your eyes to sleep.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Next day, you are at the stable at Burbank Ranch - brushing one of the horses in the stable as a way to relieve your boredom.

Thankfully, Mr. Burbank seemed to know you needed time to relieve your boredom so he put you to attend to these horses that he had. To which he said that:

"the least you can do is look after these horses. I know you want to get out of this house"

Which at first you were a bit hesitant but then one look from Mr. Burbank gave you, you did. Now you are at the stable brushing the hair of a Thoroughbred horse named Luna. She's a very stunning horse with silver body and strong body for a female. Very docile and sweet that's why you have been attending to her more than other horses. No, she doesn't care about that, she loves it because you pampered her with food and caresses.

While you were busy pampering Luna with your services, you didn't notice Mr. Burbank enter the stable with both hands full of hay.

He hummed. "i see you took a liking to Luna" he put the hay in front of the other horses.

You shrugged. "she's sweet, that's why. Compare to other horses here." You glanced at Mr. Burbank. "not to be picky here anyway"

"nahh. You're right there. She's very sweet and likes people to spoil her anyway. Though, she doesn't always like to trust anyone else besides me.. But seeing this, I think she took a liking to you" Mr. Burbank pointed out at how Luna seemed to be enjoying munching on the carrots in your hand.

You huffed. "i guess.." you patted Luna gently.

"Tell you what.. Why don't you take her to town for a quick ride?"

You looked at Mr Burbank in surprise. "wha- Mr Burbank.. I don't think-"

"-ahh just take her" he waved his hand dismissed. " 'sides, she needs someone to take her out of here. It's been a long time since she last came out. She could do some walking around town" he shrugged as he attended to other horses need.

He then paused. "don't tell me you don't know how to ride a horse"

"uh, of course I know how to ride a horse. I got my own horse at my childhood home, mind you" You crossed your arms over your chest.

Mr Burbank breathed a laugh. "yeah, yeah. Come on, i'll show you where we keep the saddle." he ushered you to follow him.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"Hey, tough guy!" Arthur punched Tommy in the head though it didn't seem to have any effect instead Tommy grabbed Arthur's shoulders and threw him across the table.

Arthur rolled before falling to the floor. He shook his head a few times before he tried to stand up but next thing he knew he was being thrown out of the saloon window.

The rain in the town of Valentine became heavy making the already muddy road even more muddy. Arhur rolled on the muddy road - his clothes were dirty with mud. His hat is nowhere to be seen but later it is likely to appear anyway.

"Come on, pretty boy..." Tommy taunted him - stands ready to fight.

Arthur was offended by the comment. He was too standby to fight. "Pretty boy? You're kidding me? Pretty boy?"

Tommy then stepped forward and grabbed his shoulders and threw him aside making Arthur stumble but quickly to recover.

Arthur then throwing a punched towards Tommy to which Tommy dodged it and took the opportunity to punch Arthur's stomach making Arthur gasp.

Arthur was getting furious then quickly throwing his other hand to punch Tommy in the face making Tommy caught off guard and stumbled to the ground. Tommy then stood up and throwing his own punched into Arthur's jaw. Arthur yelled and shook his head several times. The rain and mud on his face made it difficult to see but he was quick to dodge Tommy's next attack.

He then quickly threw a series of punches at Tommy making Tommy stumble backwards. having enough of punching, Arthur then grabbed Tommy's shoulders and threw the massive man onto the muddy road.

But the massive man was quick to grab Arthur and both men now struggle against each other on the muddy road. Arthur yelled before he used the opportunity to punch Tommy's stomach, making Tommy gasp before Arthur kicked Tommy in the leg - hands reaching to grab Tommy's shoulders and rolled Tommy onto the muddy road with Arthur on top of him - throwing punches at Tommy's head.

Now Arthur finally gets the upper hand - punching Tommy in the head hard and several times. His friends support him from behind and some of the civilians there supporting the massive man on the ground. Tommy can't do anything. Arthur one, Tommy zero.

"Hey, come on. Stop that. Stop! Stop! Please! Please, I beg you. You won the fight already, surely that's enough?" the stranger who wears a light-colored, possibly off-white or beige, long-sleeved button-up shirt, dirty and tattered with dark pants begging Arthur to stop.

Arthur punched hanging in the air as he looked at the man before him with furious now his anger at the stranger who suddenly appeared. "What business is it of yours?" he snapped.

"No business. No business, sir. But, please..." the stranger shook his head nervously.

Arthur released his grip on Tommy and limped away. His body and face ached especially his jaw. He groaned in pain as he took his seat on the steps in front of the General Store.

The General Store door opened from the inside - there you were with a new satchel coming out of the General Store but then stopped you upon saw a figure that seemed familiar to you.

You stepped slowly behind the figure and then you smiled upon recognizing the man covered in mud in front of you.

"Mister Morgan" you greeted.

Arthur turned his body towards you upon he too recognized the voice. His eyes widened.

"Miss Holmes. What are you doing here?" Arthur now looked at you with surprise but then he was a little self conscious with his now look full of mud.

"well, I'm just shopping here but didn't expect to run into you a second time" you took a seat next to him - though kept on distancing yourself from him as you didn't want your clothes to get dirty with mud.

"never thought I'd see you again. though, we should have stopped meeting under such an undesirable situation" he winced whenever he opened his mouth.

You furrowed your eyes at him - noting how he winced whenever he opened his mouth, his cheeks bruised and how uncomfortable he was sitting next to you. "you just got into a bar fight, I assume"

Arthur chuckled. "there she is" he teased.

You avoided looking at him. "sorry.. slipped out" you muttered.

Arthur waved his hand. "nahh, don't worry. He had it coming. I was just defending myself" he rasped.

You nodded understandingly. But then your hand fished something out of your new satchel. "here.. wipe your face with this napkin" you offered the napkin to him.

Arthur hesitated to take your white napkin but then when you looked at him with those eyes, he took it. "thank you" he murmured as he wiped the napkin on his face. Arthur noticed the initials on the napkin.

S.H

"what happened back there?" you questioned with concern.

"ahh, just misunderstood. My friend's anger issues took the better of him. Don't think the Saloon owner wants to see me again" Arthur muttered.

You huffed. "that's.. nasty"

"yeah, it is." he paused. "what are you doing here? really? last time I heard you inform the Sheriff about the Protistute which I saw her hanged 4 days ago. Thoughts you're back in London?" he asked as he looked at you with curiosity.

You shook your head. "no. It's just my flat in Blackwater caught fire 7 days ago. The night we met, yeah." You looked down at your lap.

Arthur's heart sank at the mention of Blackwater though he quickly recovered as if he didn't want you to notice it.

"your flat in Blackwater caught fire?" Arthur questioned.

You nodded in confirmation. "gas leak. Luckily me and my landlady are fine. Well, my landlady Mrs Morris was a little shocked by what happened but well she's okay now" You nodded a few times.

"so you're staying here now?" Arthur concluded.

"for the time being. I'm staying with my landlady sister, Mrs Burbank and her husband. Though they don't care how long we stay but in the end we have to find a new place to live too" you shrugged. "especially me. I don't want to be dependent on Mrs Morris all the time. though I think she sees me as her daughter"

Arthur nodded in understanding - the napkin in his hand was still in his hand. "i'm sorry about your flat, Miss Holmes"

you shook your head. "well, it is what it is" you shrugged. "and it is what it is..is..shit" you muttered before chuckled.

Arthur chuckled lightly upon hearing you cursed. "never thought I'd hear a pretty girl like you cursed"

"Oh, Mr Morgan. You don't know me" You chuckled lightly.

"Well, I've heard worse than that" Arthur shrugged.

"spare me the explanation. Really, you're okay there? I just know your jaw and ribs hurt" you observed him.

Arthur chuckled. "nothing I can hide from you, right?" he adjusted his seat as if not wanting to put more pressure on his bruised ribs.

You shrugged. "it's too obvious with the way you winced whenever you moved the slightest bit. Same goes to your jaw whenever you spoke."

Arthur shook his head in disbelief. "I better get use to your talent there, Miss Holmes"

You straightened your posture - mocking to look professional. "why, sir. You're better" you joked but then relaxed again. "but still, do you need help getting to the clinic for further treatment? I can help you"

Arthur waved his hand in refusal. "nah, no need. I've been through worse than this. This is just a small thing"

You tilted your head slightly to the side. "I assume in the line of your work"

Arthur nodded his head. "yeah. Bullets wound, stabbed and broken bones I've been through all that"

You pursed your lips. "such a strong man to go through all that" you muttered.

Arthur blushed at the comment - eyes looking around but you. "nahh, I'm not"

You nodded firmly. "oh it is. Such a strong man to go through all that and yet still alive. Most strong men I know end up 6 feet under" you shrugged.

Arthur huffed a laugh. "well, i guess i'm lucky"

"Maybe. Mostly, bar fights in London end up involving the police. Some of them die from what i heard from my eldest brother" you shrugged.

Arthur narrowed his eyes at that. "now that's pretty bad. Didn't know your brother Sherly is the type to go to bars"

You chuckled at that. "wha- no.. Sherlock isn't the type to go to bars to drink. Instead he doesn't like to be at bars at all. My older brother Mycroft goes often though he always gets a VIP seat but still..things happened"

Arthur shifted in his seat. "Now this is interesting. What's all this weird name brothers you have? I'm starting to think you're starting to make your own language" Arthur joked.

You chuckled lightly. "Well, honestly, I don't know why my parents chose our names like that. I'm sure there's a reason why they chose our names. Such as my eldest brother Mycroft. Sounds weird but I think it symbolizes intelligence so is Sherlock, Sherrinford and Eurus and Y/n"

Arthur now became more curious. "now that's a rather.. unique name. Just how many siblings do you have for your parents to choose such a strange names?"

"5 but now it's 4" your mood became gloomy for a moment.

Arthur seemed to understand that - he cleared his throat awkwardly. "sorry, to hear that"

"it's okay.. Honestly, he's the reason why I'm here" you murmured.

Arthur, not wanting to pry anymore - he decided to change the subject. "well, uh i assume your house is lively with how many siblings you have"

"oh, not really. Though when it's Christmas, Mycroft will be the first to complain about it" you smiled at the memory of Mycroft complaining about Christmas at Musgrave's Hall. "what about you, Mister Morgan? any siblings?"

Arthur nodded his head. "yeah, I have twin sister. Her name is Dhani. Though I like to pester her that I'm the older twin by 6 minutes which she finds annoying. Kinda same as me but female version of me"

"must be strange to see the female version of you in front of your eyes" you nodded.

Arthur chuckled. "Yeah, sometimes we think the same thing."

"Making new friends again I see, Arthur." a posh voice with British Accent was heard from Arthur's side. "or should I say lady friend"

There you notice a man dressed smartly with his coat and top hat and white gloves. A very neat mustache so was his attire which should not be in this muddy town but well, when you think about it you should not be dressed formally in this town either.

Beside the man, there is a man with black attire. He has a mustache too - only a different style from the previous gentleman. He has a sharply defined, weathered face that reflects both charm and danger. His features are bold and expressive. This person also wears a hat with a black coat, a white collar shirt inside, dark pants and also a very smart black shoe.

'This might be Arthur's acquaintance.' you thought as you watched the two gentlemen infront of you.

"Look who we found sniffing about." the man with black attire said with his high and mighty tone of voice.

"Josiah Trelawny." Arthur said the posh man's name.

The posh gentleman bows slightly.

"The very same." the man in black attire added. And then his eyes darted to you. "and who you might be?"

"Y/n Holmes, Mister.." you looked at him expectantly.

"Dutch Van Der Linde, Miss Holmes. Pleasure in knowing that Arthur has a lady friend here" Dutch said, eyes darted towards Arthur who was avoiding looking at him.

'fuk..that's him' you thought. Your alarming feeling quickly hid. Now it's coming.

"Oh, we just met. Though it's been a pleasure knowing you too, Mr. Van Der Linde," you said - heart pounding. That's him. This is the person you want to question. Plus, your guess that Arthur is an outlaw is absolutely correct.

Arthur decided to butted in as a way to save you. "Well, well... I thought you'd gone to New York." he directed the question to Josiah.

"And miss all this glamour? You must be joking." Josiah replied proudly.

You find him amusing with the way he carries himself. Very posh and very British. Arthur winced when a wave of pain washed over him when he opened his mouth. Dutch bent down a little to inspect his injuries.

"how are you?" Arthur asked.

"Well. Quite well indeed. I went to Blackwater looking for you gentlemen. You're not very popular there it seems." Josiah exclaimed.

And then 3 men suddenly appeared making Josiah greet them warmly.

More Arthur's friends. The first man you observed is a Mexican man with a very stylish mustache - has a sharp, expressive face with striking features that reflect both charm and conviction. He carries himself with confidence and flair. The other man looks to be half Indian and half African American has a calm, stoic face marked by strength, resolve, and quiet dignity. His features are smooth but powerful, with a watchful, intelligent expression. The last man also has a thick, brutish face shaped by brawls, booze, and bad choices. There's little refinement in his appearance—just brute force, mistrust, and a smoldering temper. Looking at him you can tell that he is short tempered.

The three of them were limping and in pain. Obviously because of the bar fight earlier.

"You're right, we ain't too popular in Blackwater." Dutch continued.

"And young Sean it seems." Josiah countered.

Not to be nosy but that is something that seems interesting to hear. Not that the men (beside Arthur) noticed you nearby anyway.

"We left a lot of money there." Arthur added.

This however made the men there ears perked at the mention of the name. You assumed it was their friend.

And Josiah goes on explaining where this Sean was actually held by Bounty Hunters. Blackwater ferry. Of course it's about that. This is Dutch Van Der Linde. Pinkerton looking for him and only him. You had a chance to hand him over to Pinkerton but you and Pinkerton don't get along well. You said it yourself. Those Pinkertons are crude. You know they're doing their job, they're just using the wrong method. You knew it from the start, that's why you don't trust Pinkerton in doing their job. Now that you think about it, you can't keep questioning Dutch. He'll start to get suspicious and think you're with Pinkerton. Next thing you know, you might be 6 feet under.

You gotta make Dutch trust you before you start questioning him. He might know something about the train robbery at Blackwater.

"Arthur, go get yourself cleaned up. Join them when you're ready." Dutch instructed. He then looked at you as if just noticing you were still there. "ah Miss Holmes, pleasure in meeting you. I hope we can meet again but under better circumstances"

You nodded politely. "yes, of course. Nice knowing you Mister Van Der Linde. Same goes to your friends too."

"indeed. I got a feeling we might meet again. So, See you again, I guess" he lightly joked before he took off to leave. same goes to the others gentlemen.

You chuckled. "of course" you then looked at Arthur. "i guess we might meet again here"

Arthur grinned. "i guess" he paused. "here, your napkin. I guess it belongs to your brother, Sherlin"

You chuckled. "it's Sherlock.. And please, keep it. Consider it a gift for helping me that day"

"ain't your brother allowed you to give his napkin to a stranger?" Arthur tilted his head slightly to the side.

"well, you're not a stranger if I know your name, are you?" You beamed.

Arthur chuckled. "i guess.. thank you, Miss Holmes for this. Though I still feel guilty because I owe you a drink"

You shook your head. "oh, not a problem. Besides, I don't like alcohol. Perhaps next time? Seems like you're busy with your mission"

Arthur nodded his head. "i got a feeling you know who we are"

You fell silent. "indeed"

"are you going to turn us in?" Arthur narrowed his eyes at you.

"Like i said, i find Pinkerton crude. And I don't work and won't work under the government" you reminded him. "your secret safe with me, Mister Morgan. Though i want to integrate with Mister Van Der Linde with something.. If he doesn't mind.." you raised your eyebrow.

Arthur paused for a moment. "I guess I can explain this to Dutch after I complete my mission, of course."

You nodded. "of course... Good luck with your..uh mission, Mister Morgan"

Arthur got up from his seat. He grunted. "Arthur is fine. No need to be formal to me"

"well then, Y/n is fine too" you replied with a grin as you too got up from your seat.

"Lovely name for a lovely lady" Arthur said.

"Mister Morgan, we've only met twice and this is the second time you've flirted with me. Are you sure you're not entranced by me?" you crossed your arms over your chest. A cheeky smiles decorated your face.

Arthur spluttered - face red with embarrassment."wha- no..no..I'm just stating the obvious..honest"

You chuckled. "I'm just teasing you, Arthur"

Arthur scratched the back of his neck with embarrassment. "of course..." he paused. "anyways I should go. I'll make sure Dutch knows about this"

"of course" you nodded.

Arthur tipped his head at you as a sign of goodbye before he walked away. You are watching him go with your heart beaming with excitement.

[animefreak1145]

Church Bells(Adler x Bell!Reader x Woods)

Previous Intel

Eighth Intel | Before

Description:

The world ended for Bell after Cuba.

The whole world followed soon after.

Zombies AU | Drabble Format

Warnings/Tags: Mature Rating, Graphic Violence, Dark Themes, Trauma, Body Horror, Gore, Major Character Death, Brainwashing, Post!Cuba, Pre!Solovetsky, No Solovetsky, Female Bell, Older Man/Younger Woman, Toxic Relationship, Obsession, Menticide

Words: 4k (What's a drabble again?)

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 ■ ▞ ■ ▚ ■  “Bell” ■ ▞ ■ ▚ ■ 

Day After Ukraine Mission

16:07 | February 28th, 1981

CIA SAFEHOUSE E9, “DIE LANDEBAHN” 

“You do that a lot.”

You start from what you were staring at, the codes that are so tricky and you feel so close. The intel from what you have in your hands adding a piece to the puzzle that you’re enamored with—the complexities satisfying a carnal part of you that you can’t name. Your head turns to find Lazar’s curious yet amused smile, close to the television they used sometimes for the news not at your usual spot at the too small desk with the too large computer; at the center table instead is where you chose to haunt. 

“What?” you reply dumbly, too out of your element to say a more snarky reply. The transition from focused on the task to this interruption from the man that is more of an Eema than an Abba due to how hearty he looks and feels and making sure everyone felt the same by also stuffing their face. 

“That.” You were met with Lazar’s finger in your face. You resisted the urge to stare cross eyed and instead gave him a more inquisitive look, eyes searching. Which only humored him more, releasing a chuckle. “You have quite an intimidating stare.”

You push the hand away, scoffing,

“What? At my work? Isn’t that like everyone else?”

Lazar hummed, his eyes glittering at a joke you can’t understand.

“No. You have that type of stare that will freeze lesser men. Or get slapped by someone who thinks you’re looking for a fight. Or get you put into an asylum. Only, when you decode, you have an insane smile on your face. It’d be creepy if we didn’t know you.”

“Uh huh.” You dismissed, eyes glancing at the medical office. “You should work better on your compliments if you want Park to have a drink with you.”

If Park wasn’t in the medical office room along with Adler, you’re sure Lazar would throw his old cup noodle at you. Alas, he only gave you a dry “Ha. Ha.” with a neutral expression but still didn’t leave. He wants an answer. 

You turn to him fully, elbows leaning back against the desk, petulant.

“I doubt I smile like how you describe…” Lazar snorted while you frowned at him, before shifting your gaze back to your papers. “I don’t know. I just…love puzzles. They’re fun to solve.”

“Is that what makes you stare so intently?” Lazar leaned against the television, the stand slightly creaking at the movement, his intrigue seeming sincere. Another question hidden, two subjects being asked for one answer. A wall. “The thrill?”

Is that what love is to you?

You tapped at the papers, biting your lip in thought. 

“Maybe a part…I just have this need to figure things out. To open it up—to find the numbers, the letters, the riddles. In an order that is random but it’s not. It’s just a trick. A shadow on the wall. A reason for each piece. Each hint. Every piece of the puzzle has its purpose. It’s reason for being.” You didn’t notice when you started smiling, the topic consuming you like books and pictures do. But you just kept going as you grabbed your pen and fiddled with it, miming writing numbers or letters. “Like Sims with mechanics, I think. Or you with bomb wiring. You find the hardy wires or broken pieces—and I untangle it all. I even love how difficult it could be if I find a cipher intellectual. It’s fun.”

“Sounds maddening,” Lazar replied simply, brow raising. “And painful. Maybe even obsessive.”

You shrug, staring deeply at your own pen, tone far away. As if you were speaking about another topic than this. Something other. Like a secret.

“That’s love, isn’t it? Pain and obsession?”

“Your books tell you that? Or you come to that conclusion yourself?” You pressed your lips, silent. Only glancing at Lazar(are you easy to read?) who only smiled gently before switching gears and letting out a booming laugh. “With that description of love—you very much implied Adler is in love with our friendly neighborhood Perseus.”

Your jaw dropped, a gasp being released as you sat up rigid in your chair. A defense for Adler and a denial ready only for a startling guffaw to join in.

“What the shit are you talking about, Lazar?” Woods comes from his previous spot practicing with the boxing bag, Mason side by side with his own amused gaze as they come close to the center table. Woods snorted as he leaned back against the table near you instead of taking a proper seat. “Can you imagine our own Robert Redford switching spit with a commie? Ha!”

“Is that what you’re doing?” Mason quips to his friend with a nudge while Woods expression quickly changed to offended with no heat as he pushes Mason back with a disbelieving snort. “What? Sorry I’m airing out your fantasies.”

It was strange watching them. The easy back and forth quips and teases. Lazar felt like a warm hearth and home cooked meals compared to Mason’s steady kindness of a worn animal despite its past and Woods…

You briefly think of the night prior, how charged he felt out in the field. Not eager for it yet…willing to take everything and anything out his way. But his friendly taunts and words to you too. The arcade. The room where you got the intel and the knowledge he had of you, knowing you would’ve loved to play around more with the tech and computers there if the both of you had time and not world ending doom.

You weren’t impressed by his skills. Skills are to be expected in this line of work. People can call you cocky all they want.

But how personable he is? That was different.

It was unexpected.

(Why did it feel like he’s more close to you than Sims right now? Why has everyone been so disconnected from you? Even—blue fire for eyes hidden by the shaded wall, wheat dancing in the wind, artful cracks across a canvas—)

A hand waved in front of your face, your eyes broken from its lost look as you blinked back to the present.

“Hello? Earth to Bell?” Woods was still next to you and you couldn’t help but notice that Mason moved away with Lazar to where Lazar’s station is. Still talking with friendly smiles and easy atmosphere. You blinked again before turning towards Woods, who looked at you with a mix of amusement and concern. “What happened there? Did you even listen to a word I said?”

You didn’t. You’ve been doing this a lot. Getting lost in your head. Your brain foggy and mind distant. Not as quick as you usually are. You thankfully haven’t had this happen in the field. You hope it stays that way.

Instead of giving a straight answer, your lips only rose in a dry smile.

“Sorry, was thinking just how you got the guts to punch Hudson of all people.”

Woods huffed, crossing his arms and leaning back, brushing your shoulders as he did. 

“Doesn’t take guts to punch a prick.”

“No,” your smile turns up a tad, more mischief. “Takes some balls instead. Can’t have balls without a prick nearby or there’ll be trouble.”

Woods made a choked sound, as he stared at you dumbly before slapping the table and releasing a loud boom of a laugh. You wonder how he does that. So loud. So free. 

“You got more spunk than I thought, Bell. Guess you need it to even get the idea to escape in a Ruskie tank.”

You huff out your nose, but your chest still lightened at the praise. Your smile coming easy now and tension completely fallen away. You hid it though as you turned back to your work, picking up a stray picture of the Ukraine base you took.

“Did it for you. I figured you would want to run some commie’s over.”

“Oh, I’ve dreamed of it. I would say top five of my favorite wet dreams.”

You couldn’t help it. You snorted, it bursted through your chest and it didn’t stop, only turned to a laugh. You put a hand over your mouth to try to contain it but Woods satisfied expression only made you laugh more.

“Why—why did you say that?!” You try to collect yourself but you couldn’t. Not when Woods waggled his brows as if in answer. “Pfft—should I even ask what’s top one?”

Woods shrugged. 

“No can do. Gotta protect your innocence somewhere. My mind is a crazy place. Don’t wanna scare you off.” You snort again, shaking your head at him and tried to get back to work. Woods didn’t move as you stared around at the different pictures you took with Intel. “Say, where’s the random pics you took of me?”

“Don’t worry, Woods. I didn’t take out a camera with you over the mannequin—“ You stopped when he shook your shoulder, a warning gaze that only made you bite back another smile and only glare at him with no heat as you pushed his hand off. “Calm down,” you say quietly. “I haven’t said anything. Scout’s Honor.” You raise a hand as if to show.

Woods rose a brow dubiously.

“Were you even a Girl Scout?”

“Doubtful. Looks like you just gotta hope I don’t open my mouth about it.”

Woods grunted. Yet still didn’t leave. 

“Do you normally take pics of everything and everyone? Even on missions like that?”

“I like it. I like taking pictures. Did I make you uncomfortable?” You did take a few of him before you took a picture of the base. It was nice lightning and he looked good. “I can give you the pictures I took to you, if you want. They were good shots.”

“I suppose I can add it to my scrapbook.” Woods joked before shaking his head, his eyes turning more curious as the conversation went on. Gaze more assessing as he stared down at you. “Nah, it’s fine.  Don’t mind you keeping them. After I take a look of course. I guess I’m just asking…what’s the obsession with the camera? Film is precious right?” At your shoulder tensing, you starting to get defensive, he quickly changed tactics as he rose a hand in calming manner. “I ain’t judging. Just curious. Couldn’t help but overhear Park talk to you that Adler doesn’t like wasting resources. Or some shit like that. I don’t get the big deal. But it must be if you keep doing it despite them having a stick up their asses about some film of all things.”

Your brows pinched together, gazing intently at Woods eyes. You don’t see a reprimand. Or exasperation. Or even amused exasperation, like you were just being cute while doing something disobedient—like a pet jumping at their owners even as they tell them no with an amused smile. (“Always the one who never listens. Huh, Bell? Didn’t I tell you before about the pictures?”) He’s being sincere in his interest. It was his expression that did it.

You looked away, eyes taking in the safehouse around them. 

“Ever feel like a ghost in your own body?”

“Can’t say that I have,” Woods answered roughly. You nodded next to you, him taking that as permission that he can finally properly sit next to you. You didn’t mind thighs or shoulders brushing. Comrades now. Both of you throwing your lives on the line. Getting shot  by a common enemy brings people together no other way can. 

“Well, the coma did a number on me. I don’t remember much. I can’t put a story to scars on my body. My life, my memories—it’s only Vietnam.”

“Fucked up thing to remember. That whole war was a shit show,” Woods provided. “You must’ve been young.”

You only hummed, distant. Eyes straying in the direction of the red room. Your skin prickled in goosebumps, ears falsely hearing shots and napalm strikes. You shuddered but hid it by clenching your fists on the table, eyes on your jumbled words of your work. 

“Yeah…Hue City was just the start of everything going downhill…But I guess my point is…” You don’t know how to properly say it, you can’t find the English word for this. Esurient for memories erased. The feeling of not quite fitting in everyone’s circle, even with Sims. Monachopsis. (Are you even here at all? It’s like they stare past you.) “Life is memories. I don’t have any. What’s a person if not memories? So…I don’t feel…like it. A person.” You shrug casually, mutely. Hand wandering to a picture, thumbing it. “Ghosts don’t seem to remember stuff besides a deep motive. That’s what others believe. But…with pictures…pictures are for memories. If I take pictures, I’m actually taking memories. And if take enough memories…” You struggled once more how to explain but Woods was sharp despite his looks.

“You’ll be a person again.” Your eyes darted towards him, giving him a minute nod as he seemed to consider your words with a tilt of his head. The silence between the two of you wasn’t stifling, just…there.

You felt like something was released from you. 

Unlocked. 

The key was just for someone to ask. 

“Hey, listen—“ you turned at the soft touch to your shoulder, and you noticed Woods looked uncomfortable about the atmosphere you created. Not used to sharing open emotions like this no doubt but still had what appeared like care in his eyes. “You should really talk to Mason, he—“

Your ears honed in on the medical office opening, your eyes quick to follow as your head swiveled. Everything turned silent as your eyes settled upon the body you can recognize even in the thickest of jungles or deepest of wet rice paddies. And as your eyes settled, your thoughts of ruminating toska and the sense of lacuna dissipated.

You were so busy trying to catch what Adler was saying to Park beside him, you temporarily forgotten Woods next to you. You could hear him talking. Some form of advise. 

You turned back to your work and absently nodded with a quick smile to match at him. Your lips moved to say thanks. You think you did.

You didn’t see Woods throw another look of concern towards you, of suspicion. Turning something over his head.

You forced your ears to stretch, as if with force you can have super hearing. With brute force you can have the arcane man with valleys upon his visage, with liquid nectar that bounces with voluminous silk, voice of gravel that leads to the path of victory and makes your mind hazy. 

You still had a pen in your hand, tight as you looked down with a frown at the papers. Your leg beginning to bounce under the table. Impatient. Restless. Athirst.

“I’m going out for a smoke,” Adler called out(Beckoned, Signaled, Enticed—trinket waved like a treat. Your nepenthe.) clearly, more loudly than how he was talking to Park. You didn’t turn your head as he walked out the door near the garage door, too obvious. But you did sneak a look when he exited, stealing gaze right when you saw his back before the door closed.

Except it didn’t. A small rock held it ajar.

A secret.

“What the hell?” Woods was bewildered, staring after Adler while you tried to hide the fact. Waiting a beat. Or two. Your leg bounced under the table, growing more insistent. “Doesn’t he get his fix in here anyways?”

You heard Lazar answer for Woods, something about Adler needing a change of scenery sometimes. You can see in your peripheral his glance. You ignored it as you stood up to head back to your computer desk.

“I’m taking a break too,” you say, quickly picking a book from your pile in the corner after a brief deliberation.

“Uh…” Woods face would’ve made you laugh from how scrunched up it was as he stared as you quickly fixed your work papers back in the center table, book under your arm. “Isn’t that what you were doing? Like fuckin’ a second ago?”

“No,” you answer, organizing the pictures and quickly scanning them before you do so. “Lazar interrupted me from my work. And then you did. It was an interruption. Not a break.”

“You sure turned prickly,” Woods said in answer.

You pause, seeing Woods was somehow offended. He just doesn’t get it.

“Says the cactus,” you quip with a quick smile, twitching up more at Woods huff out his nose. “I…like taking my break the same time as Adler,” You decide to answer the question in his eyes. He did listen. “It’s what we’ve always done. I read. He smokes. And right back to work we go. It works better this way.”

You didn’t wait for his reply. 

You didn’t even bother to see if he was about to.

You have the book in your hand, and you have your tether(Your eyes looks for the sun tanned gold even though it should blind you, but you never cared for your wellbeing. Protect the quiet monster like a demon enraged. Demon for monster. Monster for demon. The coin. You keep it in your pocket, whelve it—the whispered confession—the gravity of your ustulation and agastopia can burn through your pockets and skin all it wish. You keep it in. Like the pain killers Adler gave you earlier for your migraine after their meeting with Hudson about Ukraine.) outside. 

You open the door and without looking, you went to the left side of the door that’s by some unused pallets. Sitting on them and opening your book to your last point, as if you were ignoring him. (How could you?) He was smoking as he leaned against the wall beside the door. You always left of it, him always right. (▞ He’s always right. ▞ He ▙ never ▞ lies. Not to ▖ ▞ ▗ you.)

It was silent. Only the turning of your pages as you focused on reading, and the occasional exhale you hear now and then if you strain your ears. A puff of grey smoke above the two as your audience.

You don’t mind the quiet moments. You take what you can get. The two of you have too long a history for you to be uncomfortable at silence. Or needing something more. 

You don’t.

(The secret coin in your pocket burns, and you try not to flinch nor whine. You must stay sated, ▚ демон ▚ ▛ ▖ ▖.) 

A shot went through the front of your skull, your hand darting up as it seemed to go to the back of your head, a hiss to your lips. You almost dropping the book with your other hand.

“Another migraine?” He was close. You opened your eyes you didn’t realize were closed as you were hunched over your knees, spotting his shoes. 

You only offered a small nod before closing your eyes again, jaw tight. 

“I don’t…” you stop, speaking more quietly to help with the pounding. The sunlight was too much already, you don’t want to add your own voice to your own misery. “Dont know why it’s getting worse. Is this…normal?”

“It can be.” He replied simply, to the point. “Here. Take this.”

You blinked your eyes open and lifted your head to spot he took out some more medicine from his leather jacket, holding it out to the pills in the palm of his hand. At the sight, your stomach curdled.

You felt yourself pale and you don’t know why.

Adler must’ve noticed your hesitation. Tilting his head and lips twitching to a frown around his cigarette. He lifted a hand, taking one deep inhale, embers subtly lighting his face before he threw it off. He exhaled out his nose, smoke flowing smoothly. 

Your throat tightened as you stared. But not in want. It felt more heavy. More heady. Your mouth open more in a wince than for anything else.

“You know this will help. We gotta make sure you’re in shape for this, Bell.” You bowed your head in shame, book now beside you on the pallet as you clenched your hands on your knees. You heard him sigh. And now you see him, closer—he’s kneeling in front of you. One knee down, the other having his elbow leaning against it. “I don’t have to explain to you the stakes currently. You know how serious this is since you and Woods found out Hudson’s dirty little secret about Perseus and the nuke he has. You know it. We can’t fuck around anymore.”

You hunched your shoulders, as if that can hide you from your guilt. Because you spotted his glance towards your book. You can guess what else he’s hinting.

Stay a ghost or try to be a person? A part of your mind asked. You tried to not let your heart crack of no more pictures.

“I know…” you say, eyes down and to the side. Yet… “It’s just…it wasn’t that long ago you gave me them…I don’t—I mean—“ Your tongue is tied again. Like always near him. You didn’t mean to sound accusing or hinting. Adler is trained for medical issues on the field. You tried to take a breath. “I just don’t want to be a burden with all this. Slow you guys down. I don’t want to disappoint you.” You did a tight squeeze of your knees, practically white knuckled grip, a mix of uncaring at your honesty and hating yourself for it.

You felt your chin be lifted up, Adler’s forefinger doing so you can be face to face. He assessed you seriously.

“You won’t, kid.” He’s so close. Breath to your face. So calm too. Your anchor. He believes in you. If you or him leaned just an inch or two forward—he took his hand away from your face before bringing his palm with the medicine again. “Taking these will help. I’ll watch over you. Just like the good ‘ol days.” He tilted his head, a quirk of the mouth up. And you think he couldn’t be more charming. 

You ignored your past nerves, quickly taking the medicine in a dry swallow, gloved hands brushing his bare ones(Damn it all.). 

He nodded at you, the barest thing of it before he stood up. Glancing at your book again with pressed lips before facing you once more with a raised brow.

“Oscar Wilde? Here I thought you only read Dostoevsky and Nietzsche.”

“It’s a collection of some of his poem’s. And a break from existentialism and nihilism is good for the mind. But you’ve always been more of a stoic,” you shoot him a teasing look, an attempt to get your bravado back. “Our very own Prince Andrei Bolkonsky.”

Adler did a small huff out his nose.

“Just don’t start bowing.” Adler did a quick motion of his to the door. “Come on. Back to work, Tolstoy.”

You nod, marking where you were in the book before following Adler back in, your hold on the book tight. Who knows when you’ll get to read again.

Stay a ghost or try to be a person? 

(It doesn’t matter. Adler made the choice for you.)

You tell yourself it’s fine. You instead let yourself be a book for Adler—willing to be read. You imagine how he would do it, a book of you in his hands. Read through your pages, open up your spine and let his fingers run through your creases—how easily can he finish you? How many times could he, until you’re worn and wrinkled from use? Will his touch trace the abuse of a loved book?

The place where he put his finger on your chin burns.

…

The page you marked on the page reads: “Never regret thy fall, O Icarus of the fearless flight, For the greatest tragedy of them all, Is never to feel the burning light."

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A/N: Bell is a SIMP. Poor girl. The best way to tell if Bell is in love, is if she suddenly starts thinking in poetry. Bell stares intensely you say? Bell loves intensely too.

I’m also confusing myself with Dark!Adler and Soft!Adler. But again he’s both so 🤷‍♀️ Man so toxic and a red flag, he’s even confusing the author.

Also, I’m planning to write really quickly to finish up For Whom the Bell Tolls. Didn’t want to but I really want to go ahead and write for BO6. Then again, that fic was NEVER supposed to be that long or longer. Sorry if I speed through some stuff, I just want to finish it and move on then torture you all further.

Tag List: @tr1ppylady @parkeepingparker @weirdoartist21 @gojocat247 @mayaibnlaahad @dallmaistir @salvija @kylezkie4adler @asaltryefl @stupid-stinky @aurora-windu @zachfoxx121 @pyxis-stellae @makeyourpeacenow @obsessedgremlin

You have to tell me if you want me to tag you for each update or else I won't know. Or if you wish to be removed.

[pupsmailbox]

MYSTERY ID PACK

NAMES︰ adler. aeris. agatha. aiden. aisha. akakios. alec. alistair. amadio. amos. anastasia. andie. annika. ansel. arden. ariel. aspen. atlas. auda. audr. august. augustine. augustus. aventurine. avery. barett. beau. belladonna. benedict. bentey. bentley. bian. blanc. blythe. bonaventura. bradley. briony. buenaventura. calix. caper. casey. castle. cebba. chance. chanceline. chancey. charis. chase. cipher. claude. cleo. cliff. clu. clue. clyde. colette. columbus. conan. constance. cora. corbin. cypher. daley. dalton. damon. daphne. darcie. darcy. darnell. darwin. dean. deanna. declan. dee. delia. devin. dex. dice. dot. dottie. doyle. duncan. edith. edmund. edric. edward. eivor. elmer. elysium. enigma. fog. fortuna. fortune. foxglove. gizem. godid. hannah. harley. harlow. harper. haze. holmes. indigo. iris. juke. jules. kasper. keme. king. leto. lilith. liraz. locke. maya. mist. morana. myst. mystery. nancy. neil. noir. noire. obscure. odilia. onni. ophelia. ortun. otto. pandora. poe. poirot. quinn. river. rivers. runa. rune. runfrid. sam. scarlet. selma. sher. sherlock. silver. sitheach. spy. sylvi. sylvia. tec. tyche. tychon. veil. veila. velma. vera. verity. vesper. vesta. watson. widow. wisteria. zero.

PRONOUNS︰ analyze/analyze. book/book. caper/caper. case/case. chance/chance. cipher/cipher. claw/claw. clu/clue. clue/clue. code/code. crime/crime. crime/scene. cypher/cypher. deal/deal. detect/detect. detect/detective. detective/detective. en/en. end/end. enigma/enigma. evidence/evidence. eye/eye. fate/fate. file/file. find/find. flaw/flaw. game/game. glass/glasse. grit/git. hidden/hidden. hide/hide. hint/hint. hunt/hunt. hypo/hypothesi. inv/investigate. invest/investigate. investigate/investigate. it/it. justice/justice. lore/lore. luck/luck. magni/magnifying. magnifying/glas. murder/murder. mys/mystery. myst/myst. myst/mystery. mystery/mysterie. mystery/mystery. noir/noir. note/note. obscure/obscure. per/perplex. poi/poison. private/private. psych/psych. puz/puzzle. puzz/puzzle. puzzle/puzzle. que/question. read/read. rid/riddle. rob/rob. rob/robbery. rpg/rpg. scene/scene. search/search. search/searche. sec/secret. secret/secret. see/see. seek/seek. sight/sight. sleu/sleuth sleuth/sleuth. sol/solution. sol/solve. solution/solution. solve/solve. spot/spot. spy/spy. stake/out. stake/stake. step/step. stole/stolen. story/storie. tape/tape. thon/thon. threat/threat. track/track. watch/watche. ⚰️. ❓. 🎭. 🎮. 🐦‍⬛. 💉. 💊. 💡. 📁. 📖. 📚. 📹. 🔎. 🔐. 🔑. 🕹️. 🗃️. 🗝️. 🗞️. 🚬. 🧩. 🧬. 🩺.

[pampanope]

HELLO! I love your work and your art style is just pure gold! anyway i was just wondering what do you think bell would do after surviving do you think he would go back to perseus and become the next Perseus, bide his time in the shadows waiting for the perfect time to have revenge on Adler or something else? as always have an amazing day or night!

Ashdhdhds THANK YOU!❤️🥰

Omgomgomg ok soo

I’m of the mind that at that final confrontation, Adler did mean to shoot to kill Bell.

Subconsciously? He couldn’t. Thus affecting his shot, missing just enough to keep it from being fatal. Bell falls, and, with a heavy heart, Russell assumes, that was the end.

But Bell lives.

He takes time to fully recover and examine his options. He could always become the next Perseus…but for what? Whatever dreams his former pre-Adler self had no longer burned with the same fire they once did.

He thinks about what he’ll say, what he’ll do once he’s finally got him within arms reach. He thinks about the deep fracture within his mind, split between the vitriol he has for Adler from his days as man of Perseus, and the admiration he still feels for the man from their time together. Both parts of himself fight for supremacy and it’s maddening.

Bell wants to hear Adler praise him again, for a job well done. He wants more late nights together examining intel.

Bell also wants to wrap his hands around the man’s throat. He wonders how the other would look with blood staining scarred lips.

Maddening.

Bell makes his mind up, decides to seek out the man who had placed him on his current path. He uses whatever resources and assets he has to track down Adler to a modest home nestled in-between Langley, Virginia and Washington, DC.

Hidden across the street in a parked car, Bell catches his first glimpse of Adler as the man is leaving his home, looking the same as ever.

He makes to get out of the car with every intention of cornering Adler, make him pay for what he has done to him, bask in his presence once more…

Until a smaller form rushes out the door in excitement. A young boy tugs at Adler’s jacket with impatience. The man looks down at the child with a soft smile.

And suddenly everything he thought he knew about the calculating scarred man (who would shatter his mind for the sake of millions) is in disarray.

“…What?”

~~~~

(This is gonna be where the comics with Bell will jump off of✨ Bells look at this part of Adler they way he looks at ciphers lol

Love? Nah.

Hate? Nah.

Obsession? YES.)

[charcoalgrayswriting]

Just Hold Me Part 1

Let Us Just Pretend

Bell/Adler if you squint

Words: 2603

Summary: After the events of Solovetsky, Bell has been overworking themselves, much to Adler's displeasure.

Jolting from their sleep-deprived daze, they blink blearily down at the papers in front of them. They knew the second they ceased to be useful, they would get a bullet to the head. It was this fact that pushed them to work tirelessly, hands cramping as they wrote, attempting to decipher Russian codes. They had to be good enough. Their life depended on it. 

A steaming cup of tea was placed in front of them, and they glanced up at Adler, emotionless behind his signature shades. He was probably just waiting for an excuse to kill them, to tie up his last loose end in his hunt for Perseus. 

They grunted in thanks, pulled out of their focus, only just now realizing how thirsty they were. The cups' warmth seeped into their hands, cold and slow to react because the safehouse had sub-par heating that was rarely enough to warm the building to a livable temperature. Truly, the CIA spared no expense. 

Letting the steam warm their face they savored the soft herbal smell and the feeling of the warmth against their cheeks before downing the drink in a few gulps, eyes watering as it burned their mouth and down their throat. They could track the path it took through their body, feeling the heat spreading slowly through them. It was nice. Like a hug. 

When was the last time they had been hugged? 

Turning back to their work, again they buried themselves in the codes and ciphers, mind frantically searching for clues and connections. Adler hovered behind them, and they pretended not to feel his gaze on their back like a brand, silently and irrevocably marking them as his. 

A few minutes after they had consumed the tea, they really began to feel tired, slumping forward before jolting back up, the letters and numbers on the page doubling and blurring as their eyes unfocused. Pinching the skin of their wrist between their fingers, they attempted to focus on their work again. 

“Bell,” Adler’s voice rumbled from behind them, and they flinched. 

Bloodshot unfocused eyes turned to look at him, swaying as they craned their neck to face him, blinking in the harsh fluorescent light of the safehouse. 

He was much closer than they thought he was, only a few inches away from them, a hand on the back of their chair. 

Blinking up at him, they huffed, “Yeah?” eyes threatening to close, despite not wanting them to. They still had work to do. 

“You should get some rest, you haven’t slept more than three hours since we got back from Solovetsky.” he was right, they had returned from the islands over a week ago, but they needed to be useful. 

“I’m fine.” they dismissed him, turning back towards their work. This had to be a test, somehow, some way.

“Like fuck you are,” Adler’s hand landed on their shoulder, solid and warm as he spun them around on the metal chair. They swayed, black dots swimming in their vision as they gripped the back of their seat for support. 

“Fuck off,” they grumbled, swatting at his hand and missing completely. It stayed, squeezing their shoulder tighter in a once comforting grip. 

“I’m giving you a lift back to the hotel, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way, but either way, you will be sleeping in a real bed tonight.” for someone supposedly attempting to take care of them, he sure made it sound like a threat. 

They scoffed, “Wow it almost sounds like you care.” 

“God damnit Bell,” he almost yelled, and they shrink back into themselves. Not noticing, or just not caring, Adler reached under their armpits and yanked them up, sending their chair clattering to the ground as they stood. 

The quick ascension made their head spin and their knees buckled almost as soon as they put their weight down. Grappling for Adler, they wrapped their arms around his neck, the only thing keeping them from crashing to the floor was him. 

“You call this fine, Bell? You can’t even stand by yourself.” he scoffed, wrapping an arm around their waist, and an arm around their shoulders, pulling them flush up against his warm solid chest. 

Their chin landed hard on his shoulder and they inhaled the comforting scent of cigarettes and whatever cologne he used, his hair tickling their temple. As soon as the scent hit them, they relaxed in his arms. A Pavlovian response artificially implanted in their brain. 

“I just need to–” they weakly pushed at his firm chest, but Adler cut them off, holding them still. 

“What you need is to sleep.” His tone changed from one of annoyance to one of concern, “C’mon Bell, you’re running on fumes.” He shifted them in his arms, sweeping their feet off the ground, one arm braced against their back, the other under their knees. 

“Put me down you fucking bastard!” they shouted, words slurring ever so slightly, as they struggled against his iron grip. Unfortunately, they were running on fumes, and their disjointed flailing did less than nothing. 

Staying stoically quiet, Adler simply tightened his grip on them, marching towards the safehouses exit. Their pathetic attempts at deterring him did nothing to stop him as he carried them outside into the frigid air. 

Opening the car door, he tossed them none too gently into the passenger side. Slamming the door on them, he hurried around to the driver side. 

Attempting to orient themselves, their head spun as they sat up on the seat. By the time they had recovered enough to get their bearings, Adler had already locked the car doors and was pulling out of the back alley the car was hidden in. 

“You fucker,” they grumbled, flopping down against the seat, head sliding towards the window, feeling the chill radiating from it. Might as well settle in, they were already in the car, and no matter how hard they fought, sleeping in a real bed did sound nice. Not that they would tell him that. 

“You need rest if you’re going to be effective Bell.” Adler admonished them, and they laughed brokenly, choking on a sob, leaning against the window of the car, eyes listing closed. 

“Oh so that’s your play,” Adler gave a confused grunt, so they continued, voice cracking and words slurring, “Gonna keep me in working shape ‘till I’m all used up, then put a bullet in me.” they sighed, keeping their eyes closed, sinking into the comfortable leather of the seat they dozed on. 

“C’mon now Bell, it’s not like that.” one of his hands snuck over and grabbed theirs, warming their cold fingers in his firm grip. It was nice, almost felt like he cared. 

“Don’t bother Adler. I’m a loose end.” they sighed, clumsily attempting to pull their hand away from his, and failing, before muttering. “The second Perseus is dead, I will be too. We both know I wasn’t supposed to survive Solovetsky.” 

He was silent for a moment, only the sounds of the city filling the silence between them, “That’s what you think? S’ why you’ve been burning the candle at both ends?” 

Listlessly, they replied, “My life is determined by my usefulness.” The rest of the ride was silent, at some point, Adler turned on the radio, and soft German singing filled their silence. Weaving in and out of consciousness, they thought that the ride was taking longer than it should, but was too comfortable to care, or to open their eyes. 

When the car came to a slow stop and Adler killed the engine, they knew it was time to open their eyes. But they couldn’t bring themselves to do it, even when they heard his sigh and felt his warm hand leave theirs. 

Adler must have been feeling kind, because he caught them before they fell out of the car when he opened the door they were leaning on. Grumbling, he picked them up from the seat he had tossed them onto, slamming the door shut with his hip. 

God, that should not be attractive, They thought to themselves, allowing their head to rest under his chin, looping one of their shaking arms around his broad shoulders. They watched the scenery go by through heavily lidded eyes. 

“Gonna go in the back entrance, don’t want people seeing you and asking questions.” Adler explained, entering through an employee door. Instantly, their body was surrounded by warmth, even warmer than the car. Maybe they had died, and this was Heaven. They probably wouldn't be going to Heaven. 

“Just tell ‘em I’m drunk.” they snorted, nestling further into his comforting hold, closing their eyes against the bright lights. 

Just for tonight. They promised themselves, unconsciously relaxing into him. 

“Close enough to the truth,” Adler murmured, pressing his lips to the top of their head. 

“Th’ fucks that mean?” they asked, cheeks flushing. Obviously because of the sudden warmth, and not his actions. 

“Mmm,” they felt his chest rumble as he declined to answer, pushing open a door that led to a dimly lit staircase. “Most people use the elevators nowadays, so we can mostly use these things unseen,” he informed them, beginning a slow, steady ascent up the stairs. 

“Doesn’t answer my fucking question,” they grumbled, not really expecting an answer from the cryptic bastard anyway. 

The asshole just huffed a laugh in response. They weren’t sure how many flights of stairs  he climbed, but they did notice when he stopped climbing them, his steps evening out. 

Listening to him fumble for the key to the door, they kept their eyes closed. When the pair entered the room, they were quickly deposited on the large plush bed. 

Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea, They acquiesced, curling into a ball where they laid, not bothering to undress or get under the covers. 

“Bell,” Adler groaned, and they pried an eye open, staring at his exasperated expression. 

“Mmph?” they grunted, not bothering with words. 

“You gotta get some pajamas on before you sleep.” 

“Oh f’c ‘ff,” they groaned, closing their eyes again, listening to Adler’s long-suffering groan. The sound of a door clicking open and closing was almost interesting enough to force them to open their eyes, but they stayed shut, already halfway to sleep, thinking Adler had just left them. 

A few seconds passed before the door opened and closed again. Surprised, they listened to the sound of his feet shuffling across the carpeted floor, the mattress dipping as he sat down at the bottom, pulling one of their legs onto his lap. 

Grunting in confusion, they craned their neck, eyes squinted as they watched through blurry vision as Adler began carefully unlacing their boots. 

“Wh’t r’e you doin’?” they grumbled, head flopping back down, limbs refusing to respond to them. He still didn’t respond, seemingly entirely focused on removing their boot. Once the first one was deposited on the floor, he grabbed their other leg and repeated the careful process. 

Finished, he let them go, and they curled back up and were about to get comfortable before a bundle of clothes hit them in the face. 

They startled with a yelp, eyes flying open as they jolted, ready for an attack. Blinking blearily, they stared at the clothes in front of them, a white mens undershirt and a pair of red and black plaid flannel pants. 

Locking eyes with Adler, the pair engaged in a staredown, neither willing to break first. When their eyes began to water, they blinked, looking away with a defeated sigh. Clumsily, they sat up and began to shuck off their turtleneck. 

Jolting, Adler made a distressed noise, and they couldn’t do anything other than roll their eyes as they looked up at him, top half on, half off. 

“You’ve seen me in less,” they grumbled, finally pulling the tight fabric over their head, messing up their hair. Receiving no response from the man, they huffed, beginning to shimmy out of their jeans. 

Once they had removed their top layer, they were left in just their underwear and amusedly, Adler still refused to look at them. Stripping the rest of their clothes, they sat naked on the bed, swaying. They reached for the clothes he had brought them, shimmying into the soft, well worn pants. 

After wearing jeans for so long, the soft loose fabric felt heavenly against their skin, and they rushed to pull on their top, hands trembling slightly. As they pulled it over their head, they inhaled and stopped short, letting the top fall down their torso, arms still up in the air. 

It smelled like him.

“This yours?” they accused, glaring at Adler, who glanced back over at them, face giving away nothing. Sometime, when they had been changing, he had too. 

Shrugging nonchalantly, like this wasn’t a major gesture, Adler grunted, “Couldn’t find yours.” 

“Coulda jus’ asked.” they squinted suspiciously at him before laying back down, snuggling on top of the warm comforter.

Adler gave a put upon sigh as they closed their eyes again, “Bell,” he groaned, and they heard him begin to walk towards them. 

Grumbling, Adler flipped back the covers, “Gonna make me do everything for you?” he scooped them back up in his arms before gently placing them on the uncovered section of bed. 

They allowed him to situate them on their back, leaning into his gentle touch. When he pulled away, they pried open their eyes, staring up at him. 

He looked so different like this, glasses off, hair disheveled, wearing an old olive t-shirt and worn gray sweatpants. They could almost call this, soft. Domestic. 

As if he could read their mind, his face softened, and Adler brushed a lock of hair away from their face before he tucked the covers around them. Unable to help themselves, one of their arms snuck out from the heavy comforter, clumsily grabbing ahold of his shirt, just before he pulled away. 

Looking down at their half-lidded eyes, Adler hummed, taking their hand in his. It was rough, calloused from years of hard work in the field. 

They tugged at his hand, cheeks warming. “Stay,” they whispered, looking away from his intense gaze. 

“You are in no condition–”

“No! Not… not like that.” they stuttered, “Just hold me close until I go to sleep.” they blinked up at Adler, and could see his hesitation. 

Disappointed, but not surprised, they slowly began to withdraw their hand from his. Scrambling, Adler gripped them tighter, and they looked back up at him. 

“Scoot over,” he demanded, and they smiled up at him, just a small thing. Complying, they shuffled over, watching as he sat on the edge of the bed. 

He stared down at them for a few seconds, “You sure?” 

They groaned, rolling their eyes again, “Let us just pretend, if only for tonight?” they blinked up at him, eyes wide. 

He is silent as he slides in next to them, rolling onto his side to face them. They copied his movement, hesitantly snuggling into his open arms. Placing their head under his chin, they allowed Adler to roll onto his back with them now half laying on top of him, their only protest a small squeak. 

Slowly, they melted into his embrace, muscles relaxing as they rode his chest up and down. A contented sigh left them as Adler began to play with their hair, his hand warm and firm against the back of their neck. 

His chest rumbled underneath them as he whispered, “I’m not pretending,” just as they tipped off the cliff of wakefulness and into the deep ocean of sleep.

Part 2 will be Adlers POV of this interaction

Banner from @cafekitsune

[duckprintspress]

A Sherlock Holmes Day Roundtable Chat

May 22 2024 marks Arthur Conan Doyle’s 165th birthday and is celebrated as Sherlock Holmes Day! We’ve got a lot of Holmes lovers in the Press (including yours truly), so we thought – let’s talk detective! The people who joined in on the round table chat are: Zel Howland, Nina Waters, E. C., Maggie Page, May Barros, Rascal Hartley, Shadaras, boneturtle and an anonymous contributor

1. What is your personal opinion on Sherlock Holmes?

Zel Howland: I /love/ Sherlock Holmes! My dad is a big Sherlock Holmes fan and bought the complete works for me and my older brother, and I have very clear memories of burying myself in the nice hardcover edition of A Study in Scarlet while the rest of the house watched TV. Reading, watching, or listening to any Holmes story or adaptation to this day brings to mind that specific sense memory of the book, the wood of my desk and chair, the smell of some soap I had spilled… very evocative, and that’s before I even start on how fascinating I find the characters and plots!

Anonymous: I read an anthology of Sherlock Holmes stories back in the day and it rewired my brain. I’m not fond of mystery stories at all – I don’t really enjoy competing with the protagonist to figure things out – but I do like driven, complicated characters with complicated and sometimes toxic relationships. And Sherlock Holmes is a delightfully complicated character, and his bond with John Watson has been giving people something to chew over for [over a century]. Beyond that, it’s fun how many angles Doyle approached the mystery formula from. Even though I’m not a mystery fan at all, I still got carried along in Watson’s excitement and empathized with Holmes in the rare occasion he was stumped or fooled. And that central relationship anchored things in a very human way that a lot of mystery novels, even those inspired by Holmes, just don’t.

Then I watched BBC’s Sherlock. And the movies that came out about the same time. And the old Granada series. I got really fascinated with all the ways that different people had retold the same stories and the same characters, updating them or failing to do so, and watching the evolution of Sherlock Holmes in media has been a hobby of mine ever since. Video games, anime, comic books, and of course literature – he’s everywhere. It’s fantastic.

Nina Waters: I’ve loved Holmes since I was a kid; I grew up on Basil of Baker Street, then I read the original Holmes stories, then started watching adaptations, especially the Granada Holmes.

E. C.: Same, re: loving Holmes for basically as long as I can remember.

Maggie Page: I’m in the midst of a years-long obsession with all things Sherlock Holmes. I adore him. After reading a chunk of the canon, I became fascinated with the divide between the cultural concept of Holmes and what I saw on the page. He’s a richer character than the tropes inspired by him.

May Barros: I like his stories, it was one of his stories that I read when I was trying to get proficient with the English language (it’s not my native language). An aunt gifted me a book of his stories in English and I read it all.

2. Has Sherlock Holmes influenced you or your writing in some way? How?

Zel Howland: Starting on Sherlock Holmes so early in my life /definitely/ had a huge impact of my taste in fiction and my writing down the line. Even as we’re talking about this I’m working on the outline for a new mystery novel that began as a riff on Agatha Christie, but has quickly devolved into something much closer to Hound of the Baskervilles.

Rascal Hartley: I got the Barnes and Noble compendium of all the stories back in junior high and blazed through them. I secretly fancied myself in love with Irene Adler but the specific story that had the most impact on me was The Adventure of the Dancing Men, specifically the cipher and reading how Holmes solved it. It gave me a love of codes and ciphers and languages that has rather stuck with me to this day (and also, his explanation of the most common letters in order has helped me win many games of hangman, lol)

Nina Waters: I dressed as Irene Adler for Halloween circa 2005…

E. C.: Half-formed thought:  Sherlock Holmes and the many iterations of how his stories are told and re-told and expanded by other writers probably paved the way for how I think about fan fiction.  Laurie King’s Holmes books are an example of straddling the line between pastiche and fanfic.

May Barros: I mean, his stories taught me English in a sense. If I’m writing in this language today, it is in part because of him.

Maggie Page: Examining these differences [between the concept of Holmes and what I saw on the page], comparing portrayals, and diving into meta-analyses has developed into a hobby that’s inspired me to read and annotate the complete works as well as giving me aspirations of writing my own version of Holmes someday. To that end, I’ve learned more about queer culture in the Victorian era than I ever imagined I’d know, but that’s been fun too.

3. What impact do you think Sherlock Holmes had on culture?

Zel Howland: It is honestly hard to overstate how culturally significant Sherlock Holmes has been. From being a milestone in fannish history where popular acclaim brought the character back from the dead to the countless adaptations that have graced the pages, the radio, and the screen, down to the very formulas that we use for the mystery genre itself. Dame Agatha Christie might be the mother of the murder mystery, but Sir Arthur Conan Doyle wrote the DNA.

Shadaras: I feel like Holmes is one of those characters who just permeates culture? I didn’t grow up reading Holmes, but I knew about Holmes and could understand a lot of references because there are so many stories based on it -whether they’re direct adaptations (like BBC Sherlock, the Guy Ritchie films, or Elementary) or more indirect inspired-by stories (like House). The whole concept of a consulting detective comes from Holmes, as I understand it, and I think that concept helps shape/structure a lot of procedural mystery stories in the modern day even if they don’t otherwise draw from Holmes.

Nina Waters: Some of the earliest “fanfictions” I can remember reading were anthologies of Holmes stories written in modern times. Societally, I feel like even giving a concise description of influence would be futile, that’s a dissertation topic right there, because it’s such a cultural pillar.

Maggie Page: Sherlock Holmes has had an immense impact on culture, so it’s difficult to touch on succinctly.  You can find traces of Holmes everywhere; he’s even the origin of the usage of “canon” to refer to any official body of work.

May Barros: I do not think, I know. Sherlock Holmes was such a success when Doyle was writing that several people tried to adapt his stories into other mediums even when Doyle was alive, Doyle even suggested people published their “fanfics” as original stories with the character names changed (source: FIC by Anne Jamison)

4. What is your favorite adaptation of Sherlock Holmes and what do you love about it?

boneturtle: My favorite Sherlock Holmes adaptation is the Goalhanger podcast Sherlock & Co.!  It is a delightfully character-driven adaptation of the Sherlock stories, with the premise that John Watson is a modern-day podcaster instead of a writer. From the opening monologue: “My name is Dr. John Watson, once of the British Army Northumberland Fusilier Regiment, now a true crime podcaster based in Central London.” Oh my gosh, just thinking about it makes me smile. Not only are the stories genuinely gripping, it’s also such a fun spoof on the current true-crime podcast obsession.

Zel Howland: Is it cheap to say House M.D.? If we’re talking about more literal adaptations, I definitely have to say CBS’s Elementary. While it certainly isn’t perfect, Johnny Lee Miller and Lucy Liu bring so much to the table as Holmes and Watson, and I really can never say no to a procedural show.

Anonymous: Bit of a tangent, but I think my overall favourite mystery series is Umineko: When They Cry. However, Umineko isn’t so much a mystery story as a story about mysteries and the people they affect. And the reasons I like it so much boil down to it being a very human story about intense, toxic relationships and the struggle to understand driven, complicated characters. In other words, I like Umineko because I like Sherlock Holmes. Like I said, it rewired my brain.

Shadaras: Relatedly, I’d love to rec Katherine Addison’s The Angel of the Crows, which has an end note that talks about how it started out as BBC Sherlock wingfic (but in the original Holmes era) and then became a whole novel of its own with plots riffing off the original Holmes stories. It’s a fantastic novel, highly recommend if you enjoy urban fantasy and/or Holmes-inspired stories!

Maggie Page: 4 – If a loose adaptation will suffice, The Mentalist is my favorite show. The dynamic between the Holmes/Watson analogues, Patrick Jane and Teresa Lisbon, is the best part, naturally. Jane’s characterization (as someone playful, gentle, protective, fierce, sometimes harsh, and much more) feels truer to canon than many direct adaptations. The wonderful ensemble cast is a huge bonus. And the hook of the overarching plot reeled me in completely. Spinning theories about Red John was one of my first immersive fandom experiences, and I loved every minute.

May Barros: I love Elementary. I love Lucy Liu as Watson and the show’s interpretation of Sherlock just hits right for me as a caring neurodivergent rich man who’s doing his best but is not always understood

Nina Waters: The Granada Holmes (…) is my favorite version along with Elementary and The Great Mouse Detective.

E. C.: Jeremy Brett is definitely my favorite Holmes, because he managed to convey the analytical brilliance and focus and dismissiveness, but with a base of kindness that I think gets lost in some portrayals.  That’s why I also like Jonny Miller’s version in Elementary (I also think this is one of the best portrayals of addiction and recovery, and also of a truly healthy platonic love and mutual respect between male/female leads, I’ve ever seen on a network show).

boneturtle: Another great “Sherlock” adaptation that has almost nothing to do with the original story other than the name is the c-drama “Maiden Holmes,” starring a female detective hiding her gender to be able to work with the police in ancient China and ultimately uncover the truth about the reason her family was killed when she was young. It’s ridiculously wholesome and has really strong plotting and character development, but might not be worth including in the post just because it’s such a loose adaptation.

Anonymous: I don’t think Case Closed/Detective Conan by Gosho Aoyama is actually a Sherlock Holmes adaptation, but the shadow of Holmes and the “great detective” genre hang really thick over the series. The characters are iconic, the mysteries are clever and emotionally affecting, and the pacing is so abysmal that it’s often joked that the series is composed of episodic side stories with occasional moments of plot. And it’s still one of the greatest manga of all time.

I do want to recommend The Great Ace Attorney. It’s a visual novel, that should count as a book, right? And its take on Sherlock Holmes – I mean, Herlock Sholmes – as a goofy airhead who’s none the less both genuinely brilliant and deeply affected by Victorian-era politics separating him from his Watson is interesting. Ace Attorney as a franchise is good at swinging between dramatic storytelling and goofy nonsense, and playing Sherlock as a comedic character first and foremost without downplaying his intelligence and observation skills is a neat concept. Herlock Sholmes is arguably too observant – he sees everything and has difficulty figuring out what’s important to the case at hand, which is why he needs a partner to help him focus.

[ask-hound]

hello.

my name is classified information, but i will answer to hound. i was told to create this blog by an… associate, so i suppose i’m here now. i was informed basic information should be included in this post; I cannot provide much, but here is what i can say.

i am 19 years old.

my pronouns are they or it.

i am a mixed russian and middle-eastern jew, in terms of ethnicity; i speak english, hebrew and russian.

please don’t ask me about what i remember. i really don’t. i swear.

// ooc and a (very long) detailed bio for hound below cut //

the roleplayer:

howdy! my name is also Hound, actually, but my pronouns are he/they/it. hound (the character) is an oc of mine specifically for roleplaying, though their appearance and personality are derived somewhat from my oc Kelev. their background information and more details about their/hound’s backstory can be found on my main blog, @yell-hound, under the #oc: kelev tag! (as a note: I’m only fluent in English, so if I ever include Hebrew or Russian in my posts, it’s google translated and will probably not be accurate lol)

on this blog, i’ll mostly be roleplaying hound as a call of duty: black ops cold war or call of duty: black ops 6 insert character, but i might expand to other fandoms I’m in later on. there might also be posts here of me roleplaying some of my other ocs (Kelev, or characters from her story, including J, Cipher, Laika, or Samael), but mostly it’ll be good, clean (read: whumpy and incredibly sad) hound “fun.”

the character:

[excerpt from classified file “details of asset codenamed ‘hound’”]

“hound [name redacted] is an approximately nineteen-year-old individual of Jewish and Russian descent. its hair is black and curly, but already graying in the front; it used to wear it long, before the management team decided it was more easily maintained in a shorter cut. hound has considerable scarring on its body. much of the right side of its face and body is covered in burn scars originating from an explosion, which have healed a darker color than its medium-toned skin. other scars include a vertical scar passing through its blind right eye, a horizontal scar over the bridge of its nose, and a scar on the left of its upper lip.

hound was one of [organization redacted]’s earlier successes. it has no memory of its past outside of unconscious instincts and occasional reports of minor hallucinations or odd dreams, and is for the most part complacent and receptive of orders. as expected, hound has displayed a profound inability to function in what most would refer to as “everyday life,” remaining largely dependent on handlers outside of combat or mission scenarios. on the rare occasions it has become violent or refused orders, it was in a state of confusion and could be coaxed or forced back into a more docile state (see addendum file: incidents involving asset “hound”). despite hound’s overall dysfunctionality, it has proven to be an effective and useful asset overall.

[end file summary]

hound’s bocw canon below:

as of recently, hound has been placed with the team currently operating out of the primary Berlin safehouse. while team member A. Mason expressed concerns about its wellbeing and R. Adler and H. Park had complaints about how dependent hound is in comparison to their other asset (see folder “asset codenamed bell”), hound has proven to be a functional team member and entered a mutually beneficial friendship with “bell.”

we hope to see this assignment improve the efficacy of the team and this asset.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Five Fics Friday: Oct. 27/23 (Spoopy Edition)

Happy Friday everyone!! It's almost Spoopy Day, so I've gone through my MFL offline list, picked four random fics that came up in my "Halloween" term search, and I'm promoting them here for you today!

AND the boosted fic this week is a mystery, so it works!!

Happy Haunting!!

SIGNAL BOOSTING

Reichenbach Falls by VeeTheRee (M, 551,435+ w., 105/303 Ch. || WiP || Gravity Falls /  Multifandom AU || Alternate First Meeting, Gay Sherlock, Mutual Pining, Unilock, Summer Romance/Love, Fluff, Insecure Sherlock, Villain Mary, First Kiss, Slow Burn, Doctor Who, Supernatural, Canadian John, French Canadian Lestrade, Insecure Sherlock, Mystery, Domestic Fluff, Developing Relationship Summer Love, Light Angst, BAMF! John, Case Fic) – Two Canadians, two Brits studying in Canada, and an upkeeper walk into a Mystery Shack…. and live there. Summer holidays are here, and the step-siblings, Irene Adler and Sherlock Holmes, find themselves in a boring town called Reichenbach Falls, Oregon, USA. It isn’t as boring as it seems, however, once Sherlock stumbles upon a mystery journal, and the author is unknown. The journal contains ciphers, a strange colour wheel, and information about magical creatures that are said to be looming in the Northwestern forests. With mysteries to solve in hand, he and Irene set out to get to the roots of the town, and the abrupt disappearance of the author of the journal. But they’re not alone - John Watson, quite the handsome nephew of the Mystery Shack owner Greg Lestrade, is on their side to help out, plus mess with Sherlock’s feelings, in a good way. Shenanigans, romance, fun, danger, and deductions ensue. Oh, and there’s also occasional SuperWhoLock and two dorky Winchester brothers to spark up the action later on. Part 1 of the Reichenbach Falls series

MARKED FOR LATER HALLOWEEN FICS

One Good Scare by blueink3 (M, 17,386 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Holmes Family, Parentlock, Misunderstandings, Family, Fluff and Angst, Jealousy, Halloween, Happy Ending) – Mummy invites Sherlock, John, and Rosie to the country for her birthday, which just so happens to coincide with the annual Harvest Festival, an event Sherlock loathes. With John seemingly making the wrong move at every turn and with ghosts hiding in each of their closets, what will it take for their (Halloween) masks to finally come off?

the napoleon by darcylindbergh (E, 24,823 w., 4 Ch. || 1980′s AU || Halloween, Action & Romance, Costumes, Costume Parties/Masquerades, Mutual Pining, First Kiss / Time) – Halloween, 1989: John and Sherlock both have big plans for the night, but serial killers have the worst possible timing.

From a Well, Dark and Deep by Vulpesmellifera (M, 32,691 w., 18 Ch. || Post S4, Supernatural Elements, Horror / Milld Body Horror, Bed Sharing, Possession, Hand Holding, Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Coming Out, Alternating POV, Nightmares, Caring John, Happy Ending) – Sherlock Holmes is desperately trying to reconcile his newfound memories and feelings within his transport—a transport that won’t quit with the nightmares and the strange, fiddly anxieties that crop up at the most inopportune moments. On the advice of his psychiatrist—not that he’s thrilled to be taking the man’s advice, but needs must—he's going to mark the anniversary of Eurus’ torments. That explains why he visits the well. What he finds at the well, though, is entirely unexpected. Meanwhile, John Watson has finally come to terms with something he’s ignored his entire life. He’s ready to share that something with Sherlock, except Sherlock isn’t acting himself. It's not the time for confessions, and John determines he must get to the bottom of his best friend's affliction before he can reveal anything. Part 3 of Vulpes' Halloween Johnlock

This Is Family by SaraStarchild (T, 39,840 w., 16 Ch. || Hereditary AU || Psychological Horror, Body Horror, Demonic Possession, POV Third Person Limited, Protective Mycroft, Cults, Mycroft Whump, Sherlock Whump, Major Character Death, Graphic Violence, Retelling) – When the Holmes family's secretive mother and matriarch, Ellen Holmes, passes away, the family she leaves behind – father Martin, sons Mycroft and Sherlock, and daughter Eurus – begins to unravel cryptic and increasingly terrifying secrets about their ancestry. The more they discover, the more they find themselves trying to outrun the sinister fate they seem to have inherited. This is, pretty much, a word-for-word retelling of the 2018 Ari Aster film, Hereditary. Part 1 of Sherlock Halloween Stories

[hikarry]

Oh, now we’re talking. The homosexuality undertones on this bitch were devilish (it was 2010. I know we complain a lot but, realistically, it's nice we even had undertones of gay in a big project like this back then with big house name actors like Benedict and Freeman).

Watson's dry humour on this one scratched such a good itch on my brain (*High stakes situation*: 'How would you describe me?'/'Late?'). God, he's delightful.

First, let’s address this little moment: Someone is shooting at you in a museum -> Your reaction: 'Careful! Some of those skulls are over 200,000 years old. Have a bit of respect. Thank you'. I know we in Sherlock territory here, but that scene is so fucking Aziraphale coded. In the Sherlock AU I'm writing, I have Aziraphale as Watson and Crowley as Sherlock, but that line made me stop on my tracks to reconsider my choices.

Anyway *clears throat* focus on the plot, shall we?

The episode opens with some threatening graffiti, and a string of murders. Promising start. Yet, sometimes it feel like Sherlock forgot to press fast-forward on his own brain on this one (but I choose to overlook that because of that little smile he pulls in this episode. You know the one. I said I was going to review everything, but I never said I would be fair or unbiased.)

I have very bad memory, so, even though this is one of my favorite shows and I've watched this more times than I care to count, I don't remember any of the resolutions of any case, so I just sit here trying to deduce things before Sherlock and usually I fall short (because I'm dumb, mostly. I have the brain power of an old steam train) but the cipher was child’s play—took me five minutes to cracked it with a cocktail in hand.

Sherlock and John are still the best part of the show tho (watch my tune change drastically when we get to season 2 and I lay my eyes once again in the masterpiece that is Irene Adler). Their bickering and banter carried this episode on its back. I particularly always enjoy Sherlock being utterly useless at basic human interaction. Watching him try to connect with other humans is like watching me trying to dance— can be endearing, but it's mostly awkward, and mildly painful.

That said, I did love the vibes. The shadowy atmosphere, the eerie museum, and Sherlock's limited combat skills? All excellent. I thrive on aesthetic chaos and incompetence, and this episode has enough to keep me entertained.

Final verdict? Gave it 5 out of 5 even though I should have given 4 again cause I always offer bonus points for sword fighting.

[ao3feed-gelphie]

THE FEAST | The Joker strolled across the tiled floors of Buckingham Palace his little plastic feet click-clacking softly as he meandered around the halls...

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/hk0JqBY by ronancess There is A Feast ! Words: 2961, Chapters: 2/2, Language: English Fandoms: Doctor Who (2005), Taylor Swift (Musician), Wicked - All Media Types, LEGO Ninjago (Cartoon 2011-2022), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Agatha All Along (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, British Royalty RPF, Political RPF - Australian 20th-21st c., Video Blogging RPF, The Very Hungry Caterpillar - Eric Carle, The LEGO Batman Movie (2017), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV), Adventure Time (Cartoon 2010), Cunk on Earth (TV), Pitch Perfect (Movies), Glee (TV 2009), Christian Bible, Avatar: The Last Airbender (Cartoon 2005), Sonic the Hedgehog - All Media Types, Steven Universe (Cartoon) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: Multi Characters: Rose Tyler, The Doctor, Taylor Swift, Elphaba Thropp, Galinda Upland, Sensei Wu (Ninjago), Kai (Ninjago), Musashi | Jessie, Rocket-dan Nyarth | Team Rocket Meowth, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Agatha Harkness, Irene Adler (Sherlock Holmes), Gordon Ramsay, Yoda (Star Wars), Laverna (Barbie Fairytopia), Bill Cipher, Sans (Undertale), The Very Hungry Caterpillar, Patrick Star, Elizabeth II of the United Kingdom, Diana Princess of Wales, Ringo Starr, Joker (DCU), Hermione Granger, John Hurt, Ice King | Simon Petrikov, Mufasa (The Lion King), Philomena Cunk, Amy March, Chloe Beale, Sue Sylvester, Patrick Bateman, Edward Cullen, Graham Norton, Beyoncé Knowles, Nigella Lawson, Jesus (The Bible TV), Appa (Avatar), Jimmy Donaldson | MrBeast, United States Department of Agriculture (Anthropomorphic), Valerie Frizzle, Jackie Tyler Relationships: Lego Joker/Batman (2022), Elphaba Thropp/Galinda Upland, Irene Addler/Jackie Tyler, Gordon Ramsay/Nigella Lawson, The Very Hungry Caterpillar/Graham Norton, Treetrunks/Diana Spencer, Flubber & Ben Shapiro, Peter Dutton (Australian Political RPF)/Captain Barnacles (Octonauts), Cynthia Erivo/Ariana Grande read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/hk0JqBY

[meowmausie]

Bell’s first Christmas

Also on Ao3!!

Is this a lazy, self indulgent drabble?? Yes, yes it is.

(I don’t care.)

Backlog from my main <3

⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎‧*❆₊⋆

Whoever said that people couldn’t be festive while trapped in a safehouse in the middle of Berlin was lying through their teeth. Sure, the place was a concrete fortress, with walls that looked like they'd seen better days, but at least it was their fortress.

Silver tinsel–the cheapest they could find in the grocery store–lined every flat surface, stretching languidly up columns like vines. Shoved into a corner, a shrubby, scraggly tree sat, sparsely adorned with loose shell casings as a crude replacement for ornaments. There weren’t any presents at the base of it, but that was okay. Present’s weren’t exactly the point here.

“Well, it certainly looks different,” Park snorted into her mug of coffee, eyes narrowed as she surveyed the makeshift decor.

“Fuck you,” Woods snapped, “It’s festive as fuck in here. Mason and I did great.”

Mason nodded, adding, “Makes it feel less dingy. Where’s your holiday spirit?”

Park only rolled her eyes, lifting her coffee mug in silent surrender. She turned toward the door just as it creaked open, and Bell—looking bleary-eyed, as if they’d just woken up from a restless sleep—stepped into the room. Their gaze snapped immediately to the oddball display of decorations. They froze, blinking in confusion.

“This is… new,” they said in lieu of a greeting. “What’s the occasion?”

“Christmas. Can’t you tell?” Woods grinned, throwing his arms wide, as if the room were the North Pole itself.

Bell hummed, striding over to Park with a file in hand. “I managed to decrypt this file, finally. The cipher they were using was weird.”

“Oh, come on,” Woods groaned, “we have two stooges here? Where’s the spirit? The holiday cheer?”

Park shot him a dry look from behind the rim of her mug. “We’re not children anymore.” She looked him up and down. “Well, most of us.”

Woods bowed up like a disgruntled cat, ready to hurl a new volley of insults, but then Bell’s voice cut through the noise. Quiet, almost too soft to hear, Bell admitted, “I’ve never celebrated Christmas before.”

The room went still. For a brief moment, the absurdity of the situation seemed to dissolve, leaving nothing but the weight of the admission hanging in the air. Even Park looked stunned. They shifted uncomfortably.

The Brit was the first to shake off her surprise. “Well then,” she murmured, glancing at the sparse decorations. “Sorry your first is so lackluster.”

They shrugged. “I think it’s nice.”

Woods grabbed their shoulders, shaking them. “Never? You’ve never celebrated Christmas?”

Bell shook their head.

“I guess we’ve gotta make this one good, then,” Mason noted with a grin. He moved to the corner of the room where a small, battered cabinet stood. As he opened it, the familiar sound of clinking glassware echoed across the room.

“You’re gonna steal Adler’s whiskey?” Park raised a disapproving eyebrow, but her voice held a teasing edge.

Mason didn’t answer right away. Instead, he dug through the shelves, finally emerging with a half-empty bottle of whiskey, its label faded and peeling, the amber liquid inside catching the dim light. He waved it in the air like a trophy before plopping it down on the table in front of Bell.

“Nothing says Christmas like whiskey,” he winked, uncapping the bottle with a satisfying pop.

Woods leaned forward, his hands clasped together in mock reverence. “Ah, the elixir of life. Bell, I hope you’re ready to understand the true meaning of the holiday.” He shot them a grin that could only be described as mischievous. “It’s not about presents or decorations, it’s about this.” He gestured at the alcohol with faux-reverence.

Bell looked at the bottle for a moment, their expression unreadable. They picked it up and gave it a slow, uncertain shake. “This… is Christmas?”

Mason chuckled, grabbing a couple of chipped glasses from the counter. “It’s part of it. In fact, this is the most vital part when you’re spending time with in-laws. So, if you’re game…” He raised an eyebrow and nudged a glass towards them.

Park, who had been eyeing the bottle with a mix of suspicion and amusement, shrugged. “Hell, I’m in. It’s not like we’ve got much else to do tonight.”

Woods whooped while Mason poured the whiskey generously into the glasses, the liquid splashing into each one with a satisfying rhythm. As he passed them around, the atmosphere that had once been thick with the stresses of the mission now seemed to hum with something lighter, something easier.

Bell hesitated, then took the glass, their fingers wrapping around it with an almost tentative grip. The others raised their glasses with quiet clinks, their gazes flicking from one person to the next, a silent understanding passing between them. Even Park nodded her approval, clinking glasses with Bell.

“To the,” he checked his watch, “four hours that’s left of Christmas,” Mason said, offering a crooked smile.

“To surviving,” Woods added, lifting his glass high, his voice stronger now, a lightness creeping into his tone.

“To new beginnings,” Park murmured, her lips twitching upward.

Bell looked around at the mismatched group of people who, for all their differences, had found something in common—at least for tonight. They lifted their glass, meeting their eyes. “To making the most of it,” they said softly.

The whiskey burned on the way down, and Bell coughed. They must’ve made a face, because Woods snickered and smacked their back to help clear their pipes.

For the first time in what felt like a long while, there was no pressure to be anyone but who they were. No facades, no expectations, just people.

Woods grinned as the others drank, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Well, this is already better than I expected.”

Mason laughed, leaning back against the counter, his glass held loosely in one hand. “Let’s see how many glasses you can get in before tapping out, lightweight.”

Woods smacked him upside the head, but it lacked any real anger.

The quiet camaraderie that had been building slowly blossomed in the lowlight of the safehouse, a strange, comforting force that pushed back against the cold concrete walls and the chill of their isolation. They weren’t just surviving anymore—they were living, if only for a few moments. It tasted like victory and warm, spiced whiskey.

“Ohoho, Bell,” Woods rubbed his hands together, “You’re in for a real crash course in all things Merry.”

And somehow, even despite the shadows that hovered at the edges of their lives, the safehouse didn’t feel so cold anymore.

[daatyichudnik]

In Baghdad there are about 40,000 Jews and they dwell in security, prosperity, and honour under the great Caliph, and amongst them are great sages, the heads of Academies engaged in the study of the law. In this city there are ten Academies. At the head of the great Academy is the chief rabbi, R. Samuel, the son of Eli. He is the head of the Academy Gaon Jacob. He is a Levite, and traces his pedigree back to Moses our teacher. The head of the second Academy is R. Hanania his brother, warden of the Levites; R. Daniel is the head of the third Academy; R. Eleazar the scholar is the head of the fourth Academy; and R. Eleazar, the son of Zemach, is the head of the Order, and his pedigree reaches to Samuel the prophet, the Korahite. He and his brethren know how to to change the melodies as did the singers at the time when the Temple was standing. He is head of the fifth Academy. [...it continues like this for several more rabbis and yeshivas...] R. Zakkai , the son of Bostanai haNasi, is the head of the Sium (i.e. the last or tenth Academy). These are the ten Batlanim, and they do not engage in any other work than communal administration; and all the days of the week they judge the Jews their countrymen, except on the second day of the week, when they all appear before the Chief Rabbi Samuel, the head of the Yeshiba Gaon Jacob, who in conjunction with the other "Batlanim" judges all those that appear before him. And at the head of them all is Daniel the son of Hisdai, who is styled "Our Lord the Head of the Captivity of all Israel". He possesses a book of pedigrees going back as far as David, King of Israel. The Jews call him "Our Lord, Head of the Captivity", and the Mohammedans call him "Saidna ben Daud" and he has been invested with authority over all the congregations of Israel at the hands of the Emir al Muminin, the lord of Islam. For thus Mohammed commanded concerning him and his descendants; and he granted him a seal of office over all the congregations that dwell under his rule, and ordered that every one, whether Mohammedan or Jew, or belonging to any other nation in his dominion, should rise up before him (the Exilarch) and salute him, and that an one who should refuse to rise up should receive one hundred stripes. And every fifth day, when he goes to pay a visit to the great Caliph, horsemen, Gentiles as well as Jews, escort him, and heralds proclaim in advance, "Make way before our Lord, the son of David, as is due unto him," the Arabic words being, "Amilu tarik li Saidna ben Daud". He is mounted on a horse, and is attired in robes of silk and embroidery with a large turban on his head, and from the turban is suspended a long white cloth adorned with a chain upon which the cipher of Mohammed is engraved. Then he appears before the Caliph and kisses his hand and the Caliph rises and places him on a throne which Mohammed had ordered to be made for him, and all the Mohammedan princes who attend the court of the Caliph rise before him. And the Head of the Captivity is seated on his throne opposite to the Caliph, in compliance with the command of Mohammed to give effect to what is written in the law, "The sceptre shall not depart from Judah nor a law-giver from between his feet until he comes to Shiloh: and to him shall the gathering of the people be."

Excerpt from the travellogue of Rabbi Benjamin ben Jonah of Tudela, as translated by Marcus Nathan Adler, published in abridged form in "Jewish Travellers in the Middle Ages" edited by Elkan Nathan Adler.

R. Benjamin of Tudela is one of history's most famous Jewish travellers, and his travellogue, a chronicle and catalogue of (allegedly) every Jew in the Known World circa 4933 (1173 A.D.). His visit to Baghdad would have taken place a few years prior, as that date marks his return to Nevarre.

I did not include here the full extent of the pages dedicated to Baghdad (the first bit of which talks at length about the great Caliph, and the latter part goes on for quite a bit more fawning about Daniel ben Hasdai, the last (that anyone could agree) Exilarch. For sake of comparison: the entire entry for the next destination on his itinerary, though entirely fascinating, is only a few sentences, and several entries are only mentioned by number of Jews present, without any further detail.

To me, it bears emphasizing just how significant Baghdad's Jewish history really is, just how deep and long run the roots of a tree that has, within my relatively young lifetime, been felled, and had its stump ground away to sawdust and memories, both scattered on the winds of time. I don't think most of us, Yids and otherwise, have a real concept of how rich, vast, and vibrant the Jewish world was, and for how long. Reading contemporary accounts of Jews moving through that world stirs in me an emotion I do not believe I can describe in any words yet available to me.

It matters, though, I am certain, to remember: Baghdad loved us, once. This place, too, was home. These people were our neighbours, even our friends, back when the stories we told about each other were younger, and less discordant. Those stories deserve a better ending than the one they've been given.

Jewish man holding a Torah scroll outside a synagogue in Baghdad, Iraq, 1989

[animefreak1145]

Late WIP Wednesday(Oops)

Sorry I’m taking so long with well…everything. But this is to show you guys for the Church Bells(Frank Woods x Bell!Reader x Russell Adler fic). I AM working on it. I’m just a little slow 🥲 Here ya go! It’s another flashback sequence before Bell found out the truth.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

“What? At my work? Isn’t that like everyone else?”

Lazar hummed, his eyes glittering at a joke you can’t understand.

“No. You have that type of stare that will freeze lesser men. Or get slapped by someone who thinks you’re looking for a fight. Or get you put into an asylum. Only, when you decode, you have an insane smile on your face. It’d be creepy if we didn’t know you.”

“Uh huh.” You dismissed, eyes glancing at the medical office. “You should work better on your compliments if you want Park to have a drink with you.”

If Park wasn’t in the medical office room along with Adler, you’re sure Lazar would throw his old cup noodle at you. Alas, he only gave you a dry “Ha. Ha.” with a neutral expression but still didn’t leave. He wants an answer.

You turn to him fully, elbows leaning back against the desk, petulant.

“I doubt I smile like how you describe…” Lazar snorted while you frowned at him, before shifting your gaze back to your papers. “I don’t know. I just…love puzzles. They’re fun to solve.”

“Is that what makes you stare so intently?” Lazar leaned against the television, the stand slightly creaking at the movement, his intrigue seeming sincere. Another question hidden, two subjects being asked for one answer. A wall. “The thrill?”

Is that what love is to you?

You tapped at the papers, biting your lip in thought.

“Maybe a part…I just have this need to figure things out. To open it up—to find the numbers, the letters, the riddles. In an order that is random but it’s not. It’s just a trick. A shadow on the wall. A reason for each piece. Each hint. Every piece of the puzzle has its purpose. It’s reason for being.” You didn’t notice when you started smiling, the topic consuming you like books and pictures do. But you just kept going as you grabbed your pen and fiddled with it, miming writing numbers or letters. “Like Sims with mechanics, I think. Or you with bomb wiring. You find the hardy wires or broken pieces—and I untangle it all. I even love how difficult it could be if I find a cipher intellectual. It’s fun.”

“Sounds maddening,” Lazar replied simply, brow raising. “And painful. Maybe even obsessive.”

You shrug, staring deeply at your own pen, tone far away. As if you were speaking about another topic than this. Something other. Like a secret.

“That’s love, isn’t it? Pain and obsession?”

.

.

.

Just a taste. Any more and I would give you guys the whole thing 😂

Tag List: @tr1ppylady @parkeepingparker @weirdoartist21 @gojocat247 @mayaibnlaahad @dallmaistir @salvija @kylezkie4adler @asaltryefl @stupid-stinky @aurora-windu @zachfoxx121 @pyxis-stellae @makeyourpeacenow

[pampanope]

HIIIIII i absolutely love your work and your artstyle is AMAZING! i just a have a question how dose bell view Phillip? and does Adler know about graves betrayal?

EeeeeEEEHEE❤️❤️ THANK U SO MUCH!

Bell would view Phillip as…a curiosity.

The whole time he spent with Adler, he thought he had seen every side of the man.

Phillip is proof that, no, he has not. He’s proof that there’s another dimension Adler’s kept hidden from him. With good reason.

The kid is a massive weak spot.

He doesn’t have any particularly strong feelings towards Phillip. But he is key to solving the puzzle that is Russell Adler.

And Bell loves a good cipher.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hi Steph! i messaged you a while back because someone recommended my fic, and it was very touching. well after hiatus, I finished the entirety of season 1 of Reichenbach Falls! one third is done, which comes up to 550K words! I am so excited to have actually pulled it off, oh my god it was like birth, and i was hesitatnt to post because, well, it was a long time since my last update. but of course I'm not done with it LOL, it's gonna haunt me more as I publish s2 which is the next 110 chapters out of 303(https://archiveofourown.org/works/26233390/chapters/128797882#workskin). Season 1 can now be read as a standalone, since it is all finished and came full circle. I just had to share because I am so proud of myself for once??

oh and i wanted to share my friend Bee's illustration of Jim Moriarty, who is the bad guy, of course, a mixture of himself and Bill Cipher. He's gorgeously MURDEROUS!

he is the GOAT. as is my lovely friend who drew him over a year ago when we brainstormed season 2. He's just the perfect little meow meow.

I guess that's it C: I am just excited, and proud, and ready to write the sequel hehe *hides away from exam season*

I started this fic when I was 20, now I'm 23 and it's like having a toddler, IT WONT LET ME SLEEP AT NIGHT!

That's it I guess haha, sorry for the chaos (it's thematic with Jim, tho), but I'm a little ball of emotions and I actually managed to log into this tumblr lmao

I hope you have a lovely day, as everyone else too :) you guys are the best here! thank you for being so kind :)

MWAH

Reichenbach Falls by VeeTheRee(M, 551,435+ w., 105/303 Ch. || WiP || Gravity Falls /  Multifandom AU || Alternate First Meeting, Gay Sherlock, Mutual Pining, Unilock, Summer Romance/Love, Fluff, Insecure Sherlock, Villain Mary, First Kiss, Slow Burn, Doctor Who, Supernatural, Canadian John, French Canadian Lestrade, Insecure Sherlock, Mystery, Domestic Fluff, Developing Relationship Summer Love, Light Angst, BAMF! John, Case Fic) – Two Canadians, two Brits studying in Canada, and an upkeeper walk into a Mystery Shack…. and live there. Summer holidays are here, and the step-siblings, Irene Adler and Sherlock Holmes, find themselves in a boring town called Reichenbach Falls, Oregon, USA. It isn’t as boring as it seems, however, once Sherlock stumbles upon a mystery journal, and the author is unknown. The journal contains ciphers, a strange colour wheel, and information about magical creatures that are said to be looming in the Northwestern forests. With mysteries to solve in hand, he and Irene set out to get to the roots of the town, and the abrupt disappearance of the author of the journal. But they’re not alone - John Watson, quite the handsome nephew of the Mystery Shack owner Greg Lestrade, is on their side to help out, plus mess with Sherlock’s feelings, in a good way. Shenanigans, romance, fun, danger, and deductions ensue. Oh, and there’s also occasional SuperWhoLock and two dorky Winchester brothers to spark up the action later on. Part 1 of the Reichenbach Falls series

======

HEY LOVELY!!! <3 <3 <3

SO happy to hear about the progress of the fic! I know you have a small fandom here who are eager to read the next season, and we're happy to hear that it's on its way!!!

And NEVER apologize for being chaotic!! I and everyone here loves it!!

Everyone go give this fic some love, and, if you haven't checked it out yet, give it a read! <3