#I wonder if there’s a part of Cabby that is so quick to forgive because she’s scared of being seen as scary and a bitch again

[bikatsukiyuuri]

lmao ur john cheated or at least was tempted enough to add that chick's phone number into his phone on his wife...... ur john also hurt sherlock, and hasn't really done any good for sherlock at all for a while it seems now. i think that he's in the wrong.

hi anon! so first of all i never said john wasn’t in the wrong - he is, in fact, acting like an asshole, no doubt about that. what i was trying to say on that post is that he is in a really dark place emotionally right now, and that the way he reacts can be explained by looking at his current situation (ie: the stress of fatherhood, sherlock has been ignoring him a little recently, his wife ran away from him leaving only a note and, most importantly, mary died thinking john was the perfect husband while he was (presumably) having an affair with another woman). needless to say, guilt, grief and self-loathing are probably eating him alive right now.

regarding your first point: you are definitely right. john did cheat (again, presumably) on mary, and that was a dick move. but to me it was not as ooc as it was to a lot of other people. for more details on why i think this i’d recommend you read this wonderful post by @ivyblossom because it explains my thoughts exactly and i wouldn’t be able to express them any better myself. but to summarize the point it makes: mary betrayed john’s trust so much in his last vow that he is unable to forgive her, no matter how hard he tries, which is what leads him to cheat in an attempt to escape their trustless relationship. but again, this is not me saying john’s actions were good, just that they make sense to me in terms of his character and what he has gone through.

but i do think it’s a bit unfair of you to say that john hasn’t done any good for sherlock lately. i mean, he did put up with his compulsive tweeting and case-solving at the beginning of the ep (even during his own daughter’s christening), and it was also him who helped him beat moriarty (the darkest parts of sherlock’s mind) at the end of the abominable bride. john has been there for sherlock since the very beginning when he saved him from that cabbie and, while he has hurt him now, i don’t think it will be long before he apologizes and makes it up to sherlock.

so, to recap: yes, john is in the wrong and acting like a dick, but he is also in a very fucked up place right now, so i think we shouldn’t be too quick to judge his actions - let’s see how he behaves in the next episode. please give my john some time to heal.

[liambitious]

Chapter 7

“Don’t touch him.” The voice was dangerously low, intimidating in intensity alone. Harry felt a small flutter in his chest; it felt like hope. What did that mean? Was he finally beginning to care? Did he realize that Harry meant something to him, that just because Harry was how he was – he couldn’t even bring himself to think the word anymore – didn’t mean he wasn’t worth any affection? “I’m the only one allowed to hurt him, damn it.” Harry’s stomach fell, kept on falling, crashed through the floor and into the ground below him. It dug deeper and deeper, burying that small sliver of hope as far down as it could until – He shot up, knocking his pillow to the ground. The sheets were tangled around his ankles and his shirt was damp with sweat. The air in the flat was too hot, stifling in its stillness, and Harry wanted out. He stood up, feeling the cold hardwood floor beneath his feet. It was comforting, having something solid to stand on, and for a moment he stood completely still to take it in. It had only been a dream. He was alone, he was safe, and he was free. There was no one who could hurt him anymore; he was too smart, too quick to be a victim. That had been the whole point, hadn’t it? To prove that he could hold his own? A small breath, not quite his own, reminded Harry that he wasn’t alone. Louis was sitting not five feet away, watching the wall opposite them and waiting. What was he waiting for? Not even Harry knew that just yet; he’d been holding Louis here for two days now, and he had yet to figure out exactly what he was going to do about it. He’d never kept someone alive for this long. It got too easy to grow careless. Things started to get messy. Police could trace and search until they found what they wanted, whether it was dead or alive. If “it” was alive, well. There went everything Harry had been hiding for so long. No matter what he did, though, he couldn’t bring himself to actually kill Louis. The boy had been entirely too stubborn, keeping his mouth shut for almost the entirety of his stay in Harry’s flat. He’d kept silent as Harry ran a knife across his throat, drawing a thin red line on the pale skin. He’d kept silent as Harry slid food between his lips and poured water to chase it all away. He’d kept quiet as Harry tightened his restraints, only letting out the occasional hiss of pain. It frustrated Harry to no end. He wanted to hear Louis, wanted him begging and pleading just like everyone else. He’d thought that Louis was just afraid, at first, too truly terrified to make a sound, so he’d tried to be gentle. He’d tried to convince Louis that he did feel pity, that he could be swayed to let a prisoner go. On Saturday, Louis’ first full day in the flat, Harry had wiped up the blood from his busted lip, iced his bruises and bandaged up his cuts, hoping to calm him in the only way that he knew how. After a while, though, Harry came to realize that it wasn’t fear keeping the older boy’s lips closed. That wasn’t the case at all. Louis was mocking him, laughing at him defiantly behind quiet lips and stony eyes. He wasn’t afraid; he just hadn’t been broken down enough to beg. That set off something within Harry. It had him pacing the floor late into the night, sleeping restlessly in his suddenly uncomfortable bed. The fact that Louis found him humorous, thought that he knew everything about Harry and could control him, had Harry’s blood boiling in his veins. He was done being controlled. He was done being beaten down, bullied like he wasn’t anything, was no one and nothing and not important, not worth the time of anyone. He was finished with all of that, and he had been for years. He wasn’t about to let it happen again. Harry was going to break Louis if it was the last thing he ever did. He was going to make Louis cry, have him sobbing for forgiveness and praying for release. He would do it. He had to. He just didn’t know how. Harry watched Louis hungrily, wishing more than anything else that he could hear that raspy voice begging him to stop, please, stop. He waited to hear that quiet, steady breathing again, even though he knew it would drive him mad. Louis should be crying. He should be sobbing to the empty air, asking to be let go and promising to keep quiet. He should be broken. Everyone else had been. No one else had been smart enough to keep quiet, to ignore everything and pretend that they weren’t afraid. It was only Louis. Harry wondered why, questioned it with the kind of curiosity that killed cats nine times over. “Louis…” he sang, stepping slowly over to the chair that Louis sat in. The boy’s shoulders stiffened. “Oh, good, you’re awake.” He quickly closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around Louis’ neck and leaning in close to his ear. “I’m going out. Don’t get too lonely, alright?” Louis kept his lips shut, pressed into a thin, white line. Harry arched an eyebrow, stepping back and making his way over to the dresser. “What, no questions? Don’t you want to know where I’m going?” There was no response; Harry knew better than to expect one. He slid the top drawer open, revealing several different variations of the exact same thing. Black pants, pressed neatly into piles, sat beside worn out black t-shirts and jumpers. Masks and gloves were tucked carefully underneath, Harry knew, hidden from prying eyes. Although, he realized with a smile, there weren’t many eyes to pry in the first place. Harry’s lovely parents had long ago decided that their son was better off living on the outskirts of town, living in the dregs of civilization with access to a well-known boarding school when he needed it and a well-stocked bank account if he wanted it. There was no need for visiting home when you had everything you’d ever wanted sitting in the form of a little plastic card on your lovely kitchen table. He slipped into the pants and shirt sitting on top, sliding the sleeves of the jumper smoothly over the top. The gloves fit his hands perfectly, grips on the palm and knuckles essential for wielding a knife. The mask was unnecessary tonight, hardly beneficial to his plans. He decided he would take it along, though, folding it up neatly and tucking it into his pants pocket before grabbing the backpack at the foot of his bed. It was filled with jeans and his favorite pea coat for when the deed was done. One had to be presentable in public, after all. A pocketknife was tucked neatly into the side pocket, just in case he couldn’t get his hands on one of Eleanor’s. As he made to walk out the door, Louis finally cracked, revealed a small chink in his armor. “W-where are you going?” he whispered, voice raw from lack of use. Harry smiled wolfishly, although he knew Louis couldn’t see. He took a step out, into the cool night air and onto the empty streets. The clock in his kitchen had read midnight. He’d barely slept more than a few hours; he had plenty of time to go running around town. As the door slid shut behind him, he decided that he might as well give Louis one more thing to contemplate, one more thing to fret over in his time alone. “I’m visiting our lovely friend Eleanor. I think she’ll be… cooperative, don’t you?” The door slammed shut with a simple tug of his wrist. He hoped that Louis would feel terribly guilty. He really, really did. Harry wasn’t misled. He didn’t feel as though he was serving any kind of “higher purpose”. He had heard that there were those who did. He’d heard about people like him, going mad with thoughts of a god that wanted sacrifice. He’d heard of those that listened to voices in their heads and did just as they were told. They thought that they were doing good in the world. They thought that they were right. Harry had no such beliefs; what he was doing was purely for his personal gain, and he knew it. The people he killed weren’t vagabonds. They weren’t thieves or criminals, weren’t anything but ordinary. He didn’t kill them to get rid of any evil. He killed them because they thought they were smart. He killed them because they thought they were safe. He killed them not because he was right, but because they were wrong. For whatever reason, though, the thought gave him no guilt. He didn’t wish that he were normal. He didn’t wish to be like everyone else. At one point, perhaps, he had. Once upon a time, he’d wished to be normal. He’d wanted to be loved. He didn’t anymore, though, and that was the bit that he chose to focus on. There was something wrong with him, but he wasn’t going to fix it. He wasn’t going to change himself and let anyone think that they might outsmart him. He wasn’t going to let anyone think that they might escape him. They wouldn’t. They couldn’t. Those thoughts swirled around his head as he walked. He slinked along the empty streets, staying close to the walls and their shadows. He didn’t lift his eyes from the ground in front of him, and he didn’t need to; no one was in front of him and no one would be running into him. He was on his own for now, and he would be for quite some time. That was just how things were set up at this late. The streets were empty until he got into the crowded part of the city, the one with lights still flashing and the bass still pounding through club speakers. He might even have the opportunity to hail a cab there, something he would greatly appreciate. The school was far away. Luck must have been with him tonight; a cab was there, waiting patiently at the curb as its passengers tumbled out to visit the next bar. Harry slipped in and took their place, giving the address of the school and watching as the cabbie raised his eyebrows. “You’re out a bit past curfew, aren’t you?” he teased, shifting the vehicle into drive and pulling away from the curve smoothly. There was a picture pinned to the rearview mirror. The man kneeled on the ground, his arms wrapped around two small girls. Harry gave him the nicest smile he could manage, flicking the hair out of his eyes. “I was with my sister in the hospital and I lost track of time. She’s… she’s doing much better than she was.” The man took the bait. He returned the smile, flicking off the meter. “I should have guessed as much. You look like you’ve seen some trouble recently. It’s good that things are looking up.” “Thank you,” Harry muttered into his sleeve, pretending to be genuinely thankful and maybe even a little bit embarrassed. They rode the rest of the way in silence, disturbed only by the music playing softly over the radio. It was the sort of late-night radio meant to calm someone down, all classical music and peaceful instrumentals. Harry barely even heard it over his own thoughts. All he could hear was a loud voice, begging him to stop. All he saw was red, staining his hands and the previously pristine floor. It had been too long. It had been much too long. He needed to kill, needed to hear those delicious screams again soon. He barely even registered his own movements after that. The cab pulled up in front of his school and he slid out of the backseat, faintly hearing the laughter of the cabbie as he stumbled along. There was a warning to be careful, a wish for his sister to get better. Harry waved back in response, not once wavering from his path. By the time he approached the now familiar scene of Louis’ dorm building, nestled at the back of campus, he could barely even see straight, barely make out the numbers nailed to the door. He slid the knife out of its pocket, pressed the thin blade against his thumb. It bled easily, skin parting with barely any resistance. Harry pressed the newly-made wound to his forehead, drew a line of blood from his temple to his chin, and took a deep breath. If he was going to get Eleanor to listen, to willingly leave the safety of her dorm, she was going to have to think he was hurt. His hand pounded against the door; he hoped that someone would be home to hear it. He knew he wouldn’t be able to go much longer without doing something, without proving himself to everyone once again. People would forget him far too easily if he gave up now. Eleanor’s pretty face greeted him, drowsy and barely comprehending the situation around her. “Hullo?” she questioned, rubbing a hand over her squinting eyes. “H-help…” Harry groaned, holding onto his head. “M-my friend, Lou, h-he’s still out there…” Eleanor’s eyes shot open, suddenly very much awake. “Lou? As in, Louis Tomlinson? He’s out there?” she demanded, pressing a hand to Harry’s shoulder. “What happened?” Harry heaved out a large breath, gasping for air he didn’t need. “We w-were messing around. Wanted to g-give Liam a good sc-scare. But someone else… please, help me find him!” She grabbed a coat from behind the door, stepping out onto the porch with him. He was going to have to use the pocketknife, then. “Show me. I’ll help however I can.” Harry pulled the small weapon from his pocket, pressing it up to her stomach and covering her mouth with his bloody hand. She backed up until she hit the door, eyes wide with surprise and fear. Her hands scrambled for the doorknob, but Harry poked the point of the knife into her soft skin, watching as red began to seep through her nightshirt. “Say a word and you’ll regret it,” he hissed, digging the point in deeper. She nodded frantically, eyes filling with frightened tears. He pulled his hand away and wrapped it around her wrist, yanking her away from the door. Their walk was uneven and slow, but he led her steadily away from her home. He watched her panic in amusement, observed her trying to think up some kind of escape. It wouldn’t happen. He wouldn’t let it. When he collapsed onto the bed in his own dorm room later that night, dressed in his spare jeans and smelling of smoke and alcohol, he would have no trouble falling asleep. Her shrieks had been the sweetest he’d heard in quite some time, and they played through his dreams like magnificent symphonies.