#buzz watson

[lavoixhumaine]

me every time i try to look at what’s going on in the 9-1-1 fandom

[women-4life]

MAJOR CRIMES

TikTok - _fan_of_people_

Insta - _fan_of_people

Twitter - Fan_Of_People_

[frau-rainyfox]

I'm rewatching Major Crimes. The first time I watched it, I hardly remembered it, but now I do. Buzz Watson is one of my favorite characters in the series.

[clarkkantagain]

samuel watson by bartek szmigulski

[dathen]

Me: I need to sleep

My brain: HAVE YOU HEARD there’s a scandal in bohemia, HAVE YOU HEARD what they’re saying in the streets? HEY—

[thekittyfox2999]

the fanfic has consumed me and now- now this exists

au where john is secretly a bee. and when he reveals this info, sherlock doesn't mind.

and when they retire john helps look after the hive <3

(oh god- i just realized this could be taken in a kink context okay-)

(eh whatever- i already worship words on a 130 year old book daily)

[fairylightsandthings]

Please tell me someone has plans to gif Lachlan Watson in The Unheard, because omg

[spencerreidswhore187]

False Confidence

Don't take yourself so seriously / Look at you all dressed up for someone you never see.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: Spencer and Y/N hate each other, they just don't realise they have been anonymously messaging for months.

Word Count: 2.8k

T/W: Mentions of murder and death

A/N: For @sackofpissandshit . I came up for the premise of this as a plate of prawns fell onto my head at work. Enjoy! ◡̈

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

SherlockHolmes1887: You were right. 

You couldn’t help the smile that stretched across your face; you replied immediately, the half-drunk coffee in your hand forgotten. 

NapoleonOfCrime: Feel free to say that again.

He did.  

Briefly, you looked up from your phone to cross the road. You were on the way to work having just received a message from Hotch. It sounded urgent. 

NapoleonOfCrime: So what made you realise that, as per usual, I was right? 

You had spent the better part of the night trying to convince him that Sherlock Holmes was in love with Jim Moriarty. You had met him online several months ago, on an Arthur Conan Doyle forum and have been messaging ever since. 

He, except for the one and only Penelope Garcia, was your best friend. You told him everything. Except for who you are. 

Early on in talking you both had agreed not to exchange names, tell each other where you lived or what you did for a career. You knew what SherlockHolmes1887 favourite film was (Star Trek), that he liked wearing mismatched socks and his mum used to call him ‘Crash’ because he would crash into things when he was younger. You knew that, like you, he had four qualifications, liked Sherlock Holmes and had an unhealthy obsession with coffee. You just didn’t know his name. 

Your phone vibrated. 

SherlockHolmes1887: “The greatest schemer of all time, the organiser of every devilry, the controlling brain of the underworld, a brain which might have made or marred the destiny of nations—that's the man! But so aloof is he from general suspicion, so immune from criticism, so admirable in his management and self-effacement, that for those very words that you have uttered he could hale you to a court and emerge with your year's pension as a solatium for his wounded character. [...] Foulmouthed doctor and slandered professor—such would be your respective roles! That's genius, Watson.”

Your phone buzzed again. You silenced it as you walked into the BAU elevator. 

SherlockHolmes1887: I reread ‘The Valley of Fear’ last night. 

You were about to reply when a voice cried out. 

“Hold the door!” 

Instinctively, you stretched your arm out between the closing elevator doors. 

The person entered beside you. 

If you had known who had asked, you would have let the doors shut. 

Dr Spencer Reid leant on his cane, drumming his fingers against its metal top as the elevator moved upwards. He had recently been shot in the leg on a case. You would never tell him but when that gun fired, you thought you were going to be sick. Your heart ached. It made you hate him even more.

“Reid,” you said, staring forward. You refused to look at him.

“L/N,” He replied. 

That was the most words you’d exchanged in days. 

When the doors finally opened again, you both headed towards the round table, where the rest of the team was waiting. 

You and Spencer were the last to arrive. 

It’s not like him to be late, you thought.  

You took a seat between Emily Prentiss and Derek Morgan - you were sat as far away from Spencer as possible.

“Now that you are all here,” Hotch began, pulling you from your thoughts, “let’s begin.” 

Penelope connected her computer to the screen; there was a picture of a body. The flesh was rotten, decayed from what was evidently years hidden away. Your eyes are wide as you saw it: a long cut, rough and jagged, stretched from neck to naval. You recognised this signature. 

“The Brooklyn Butcher,” you said, interrupting the silence. 

Hotch nodded. 

It was a case that had occurred six years ago and ended up going cold. 

Spencer recalled, “Eleven women, all under the age of twenty-five, all with red hair, went missing and then their bodies always turned up three days later with a long knife wound across their torso.” 

“The only body,” you continued, “that was never discovered was Sharon Lewis’. The first to go missing. The wife of Mitch Lewis, the prime suspect during the investigation.” 

“Why wasn’t he arrested?” Derek asked. 

Spencer answered before you could, tucking a strand of his brown hair behind his ear. Why did you want to run your hands through his hair? 

“There was no evidence. The police’s only theory was his wife was his first kill and he killed all the other victims who resembled her in an attempt to relive the thrill of the kill.”

“He had an alibi for Sharon Lewis’ disappearance,” you added. 

“Correct - they also never found her body. They couldn’t prove their theory without her body.” 

“Well,” Hotch said, “they have now.” 

“Sharon Lewis, aged twenty-four, was the first victim in the Brooklyn Butcher killings. Cause of death, blunt force trauma to the head.” 

JJ leant back in her chair and pressed her pen to her lips, “So the cut was postmortem?”

“According to the coroners.” 

“But that was not the case for the rest of the victims?”

“No,” Hotch replied. 

“Our UNSUB gained confidence in his kills.” 

Lewis was likely his first-ever kill. You wanted to message Sherlock and ask him what he thought. He was intelligent beyond belief, you were sure he would add valuable insight to this case but you couldn’t tell him. Then he would know you worked for the Behavioural Analysis Unit. You couldn’t let him know that. He couldn’t know who you were. What would he think then? When he knew you were more comfortable around dead bodies than real people.

“How was the body discovered?” Spencer asked. 

Hotch had that dark look in his eyes, the one he got when an UNSUB scared him. You hadn’t seen that look in his eyes since Haley died. 

“The body was left on an empty police vehicle parked outside a station in Brooklyn. There was a note attached to it.”

Penelope clicked a button on her laptop and the slide changed to a screwed-up piece of paper nailed to the shoulder of the body. 

Hotch read it aloud, “You have three days before I kill another. Happy hunting, the Butcher.”

He stood up from his seat, “Selene Harker was reported missing twelve hours ago. We leave for New York now - wheels up in twenty. Penelope, you’re coming with us.” 

She smiled nervously, you gave her a discreet thumbs up. 

Everyone stood up from the round table and headed towards the door, you had grabbed the handle when Hotch stopped you.

“L/N, you need to stay here.”

You froze, confused. 

He continued, “Reid has not been cleared to fly by his doctors yet and I need you to go through the old Mitch Lewis interrogation clips, find out whether he told any lies. Stay in touch.” 

With that he left the room, leaving you there with Spencer before you had a second to protest. 

You weren’t really sure how you did it, it’s an ability you’ve had since you were a kid. It’s how you were flagged by the FBI. You could tell when people lied. Everyone has a tell and, like the lie-detecter you are, you knew how to spot it. 

When you and Reid had first met, three years ago, he had told you all the statistics about lies: “Did you know,” he had said, “10% of all lies can be defined as exaggerations, though 60% of all lies are considered to be deceptive.” 

You remembered how you had nodded, anxious as it was your first day. 

“Of all liars, 70% of them claim to be willing to do it again. Every week, Americans tell 11 lies. In a study of 11,366 lies told by 632 people over 91 days, 75% of them lied between 0 or 2 times per day.”

“You know a lot,” You had laughed. 

Reid seemed kind. You liked kind people; you dealt with a lot of horrible people growing up. 

“I have an eidetic memory and an IQ of 187.” 

That was the first time you and Spencer had ever spoken and it was the last time you ever spoke like friends. 

You spun on your heels to face Spencer. 

“You leave me alone and I’ll leave you be. Understood?” 

“Understood,” Spencer said, rolling his eyes. 

“God, you are so infuriating.”

“I hate you,” he retorted. 

You noticed the way his jaw tensed. 

You grinned, “Lie.” 

Spencer groaned and left the room. Through the window, you saw him take a seat at his desk. 

Laughing, you walked into Penelope’s office and pulled up the police footage. 

You were three hours into the Mitch Lewis footage and he had told three lies. 

The first was that he did not know what happened to the other victims. Although, this could mean he had read about the case online. 

The second was more interesting. Lewis said he was at the pub when his wife disappeared. Even though there was security camera footage to confirm this, he was lying, 

The third made your head spin. He said he didn’t kill her. True. He said he didn’t know where she was. Lie. 

You paused the interrogation and contacted Hotch to tell him what you had found. He replied telling you to take a break as they searched for Mitch Lewis. 

In an attempt to distract yourself, you reached for your phone and messaged Sherlock. 

NapoleonOfCrime: Hi.

He replied almost immediately. 

SherlockHolmes1887: Hey.

NapoleonOfCrime: So you read ‘The Valley of Fear’ in one night just to try and prove me wrong? 

SherlockHolmes1887: If that’s how you want to interpret it :) 

NapoleonOfCrime: And?

SherlockHolmes1887: And…they are very much in love. It’s almost blindingly obvious. 

NapoleonOfCrime: “It has been an intellectual treat for me to see the manner in which you have grappled with this case.” The definition of enemies to lovers.

SherlockHolmes1887: Enemies to lovers? 

You don’t think you ever smiled as much as when you did with him. 

NapoleonOfCrime: It’s better you don’t ask, or else I’ll be sending you links to Moriaty x Sherlock fan fiction.

SherlockHolmes1887: What are you doing right now?

Your fingers danced along the tiny keyboard on the phone screen.

NapoleonOfCrime: Work. You? 

SherlockHolmes1887: Work. 

NapoleonOfCrime: How is it? 

It made you nervous that he didn’t reply instantly. 

NapoleonOfCrime: Don’t worry, this isn’t me trying to figure out what you do or who you are. I like the mystery. 

SherlockHolmes1887: Horrible. But it’s not really work that’s the problem. There’s a girl. 

It hurt a little to know there was a girl, of course it did, but you didn’t mind. What you cared about was how he seemed distressed. 

NapoleonOfCrime: If you want to share, I’m a good listener. 

He typed for what seemed like an eternity. 

SherlockHolmes1887: We, her and I, have worked together for years. She’s smart and funny and beautiful. So beautiful. But she hates me. I messed up when we first met, I was so nervous around her that I just ignored her. Whenever she tried to speak to me, I would walk away or just act like she wasn’t there. And, now, I am finally more confident, she can’t even be near me without glaring in my direction at least once. 

You yearned for someone to talk about you that way. No one had ever told you that you were beautiful. You didn’t need someone to tell you because you didn’t believe it, it’s just that sometimes, on the inevitable bad days, you want to feel wanted. 

NapoleonOfCrime: I’m sure if you explain it to her, she will understand - you said she’s smart. I can see why you like her. 

SherlockHolmes1887: Yeah, I fell hard. 

I fell hard. 

You recalled what Hotch had said, “Cause of death, blunt force trauma to the head.” 

You recalled how the cut was messy and hesitant whilst the rest were neat. 

 You recalled how it was done postmortem whilst the rest were the cause of death. 

You ran out of Penelope’s office, straight to Dr Spencer Reid. 

“Spence,” you shouted.

You were both alone in the room. 

Spencer looked up from his phone. It was strange, to see him on a phone. You had always thought he was the type of person to hate technology. Instead, he seemed thoroughly invested in whatever was on his screen. 

“Who are you messaging?” You asked, acting causal.

“No one,” he said.

Lie.

“A girl?”

“No.” 

Lie.

Spencer’s face had gone bright red. It was cute; it made you smile. 

Why did it make you smile? 

You decided to change the topic before your face went red. 

“Do you have the coroner’s report?” You questioned. 

He dug through the many files covering his desk and held it up for you to see. 

Blunt force to the frontal lobe, that confirmed your suspicions. 

You stared into Spencer’s brown eyes.

“I know what happened to Sharon Lewis.” 

You explained how it must have happened. Sharon was reported missing by her friend at 19:37. She was supposed to be meeting her a 18:00. Mitch Lewis was at a bar from 17:30-20:01, this was confirmed by camera footage. This means that Lewis can’t have kidnapped his wife. Or, perhaps, she never went missing. She tripped getting ready to see her friend and fell down the staircase. She would have died upon impact.

Spencer nodded in agreement with your theory.

“When Lewis got home and saw his wife’s body sprawled out at the base of the stairs, he saw an opportunity…” 

“He dragged her downstairs to the basement, explaining the deep scratches on her back noted in the coroner’s report.” You said, “Lewis worked in construction, he had a table and tools down there, he said so in one of his interrogations. He placed her on that table and cut her. He butchered her. And then did the same to others to try and recreate the high of killing his wife.” 

“We need to call Hotch.” 

Four hours later and Mitch Lewis had confessed and was in police custody.

Derek and Emily had found Selene Harker chained to the very same table Lewis had carved his wife like a cold slab of meat. 

The team was on their way back from Quantico.

You found Spencer sitting on a bench outside the FBI building. Spinning the silver ring your grandmother gave you around your index finger, you sat down next to him. 

You both stared forward, at the road. 

You were glad that you weren’t the only one who was affected by cases like this. You were glad that you weren’t the only one overwhelmed by empathy. Your mother once told you that empathy without boundaries was self-destruction but you were just glad that after so much time in this field, you still felt something. 

Spencer eventually broke the silence. 

“It scares me, Y/N, how easy a life can end.” 

Spencer clutched his cane so tightly that his knuckles went white. 

Gently, you eased one of his hands off it and held it in yours. 

You could hear your blood rushing in your ears. It was deafening. 

“You know, when I was a kid, I was always tripping over things. I walked into doors, tables, you name it. My mum would call me ‘Crash.’”

He laughed dryly whilst your world began to crumble around you. 

You dropped Spencer’s hand. 

“Sh-she called you what?” 

Spencer turned to look at you, confusion and worry were etched across his face, “Y/N? Are you okay? What’s wrong?” 

It’s not that you were upset, in fact, you felt almost the opposite of that. 

Your voice was steadier than you expected when you spoke.

“He is the Napoleon of crime, Watson.”

“Y/N?”

“He is the organiser of half that is evil and of nearly all that is undetected in this great city.”

“It can’t be.” 

Spencer held his face in his hands. 

“Disappointed, Sherlock Holmes 1887?”

You said it mockingly but you were terrified of what Spencer would say. 

“No, Napoleon of Crime. Not even a little bit.”

True.

“You told me to explain how I felt to that girl so here goes. The first thing I noticed about you was your smile. I saw it from the other side of the room. And, Y/N, it was contagious. Just looking at you made me smile. You are so beautiful and so intelligent and I have wanted to tell you how desperately I liked you since the day we met.” 

He cradled your cheek with one hand. 

“And now I know that this whole time, as well as being the person I can see myself falling in love with, you are my best friend, my favourite, my person.” 

“I hate you, Spence,” you say just before you kiss him. 

Smiling against your lips, you hear him whisper, “Lie.” 

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom

I Can’t Stand It

Rosie’s tantrum in the park, reminds Sherlock of his own childhood. It’s strange that so much of what the little girl says and does resonates with him.

“She’s not yours,” several voices inside his head tells him.

Still, he can’t shake off the feeling of being something more to her than just…what is he exactly to her? She calls him Lock; he calls her Watson. He desperately wants her to call him something else, which he only allows himself to think about when he’s alone.

“I can’t stand it, daddy!” Rosie exclaims and stomps her feet.

“But, sweetheart,” John tries to reason with his four-year-old daughter. “You were perfectly fine eating this last week.”

Rosie rolls her eyes and throws her arms in the air. Sherlock can see that John’s mouth twitches slightly as he’s supressing a smile. Sherlock hears his mother’s voice filled with delight in his mind.

“She’s so much like you sometimes, darling.”

“There are big pieces in it,” Rosie explains to John. “I want smooth ice cream.”

John looks over at Sherlock for help, but Sherlock has long ago decided to never lie to John again. He shrugs apologetically and mutters something under his breath.

“What was that, Sherlock?” John inquires, his tone exasperated now.

“It’s quite normal for children her age to change tastes and react to new textures. I was the same.”

“Yeah, well, she’s not…”

“I know, John!” Sherlock snaps. “You and everyone we know keeps telling me that.”

He turns on his heel and walks briskly out of the park. Behind him the two Watsons call after him, begging him to come back but he can’t. Sherlock can live with everyone else claiming that he’s not Rosie’s father, but it hurts when John joins the choir. Of course, Sherlock knows he has no biological connection to her, but he’s raising her together with John, isn’t he? She comes just as willingly to him as to John. 

“Protect your heart, brother mine,” Mycroft told him after John and Rosie moved to Baker Street, and not for the first time. His brother knew that Sherlock’s heart belonged to John and had for a very long time.

***

Where are you? I’m sorry, Sherlock. We need to talk. Are you coming home soon?

Sherlock’s heart races in his chest when he reads John’s text. He barely registers the apology. All his brain is capable of is trying to deduce what John wants to talk about.

Are they moving out? Does John want him to spend less time with Rosie? Won’t he be allowed to do children safe experiments with her anymore?

He pulls his hair in frustration. Why is it so hard to figure out what John wants? Sherlock’s able to read anyone but John. Why?

“Hi, Sherlock. I didn’t know you were here,” Molly says when she walks into the lab at Barts.

“I’m leaving,” Sherlock tells her and walks rapidly out of the room.

***

Sherlock stands and watches the Thames float by. The London Eye is coloured in pink in the far distance. It’s getting dark and he’s got no recollection of the last hours. His phone buzzes in his pocket and he suddenly remembers that he’s forgotten to answer John’s text.

“A bit not good, Sherlock,” John’s voice scolds him.

Can I call you? Rosie wants to say goodnight.

Sherlock feels his face soften. The Watsons are probably still at Baker Street then. He doesn’t hesitate but calls John’s number.

John’s voice sounds relieved when he picks up, but it’s tinted with worry.

“Hi. You alright?” he asks.

“Fine,” Sherlock says, and it comes out more clipped than he intended.

John sighs and apparently gives the phone to Rosie.

“Lock!” the little girl exclaims.

“Hello, Watson. Ready for bed?” Sherlock inquires softly.

“Yes. Tired,” she tells him and yawns.

Sherlock feels his throat thicken, and he must swallow hard and close his eyes to keep his tears at bay. Without thinking he uses the endearment only Rosie has heard.

“Goodnight, my heart.”

“Night, Lock. See you tomorrow,” Rosie slurs, clearly almost asleep.

Sherlock ends the call before John gets a chance to ask him humiliating questions. The sharp intake of breath from John when Sherlock bid Rosie goodnight didn’t go unnoticed.

“You’ve ruined it now, Holmes,” he tells himself.

***

Aldi is still open, and Sherlock buys two boxes of ice cream for Rosie without any pieces of fruit, berries, crunch, chocolate or other abominations.

He takes a deep breath before locking himself into Baker Street, and he ascends the stairs silently. John sits in his chair, reading one of his medical journals. Sherlock just nods and walks to the kitchen with his purchases. He places the boxes in the freezer before walking to the bathroom.

“Sherlock?” John calls after him.

“Shower,” Sherlock answers.

The shower does wonders, and Sherlock feels quite refreshed and relaxed when he puts on a t-shirt, pyjamas bottoms and his maroon dressing gown. John stands just outside Sherlock’s bedroom and Sherlock startles a bit.

“Everything alright?” he asks. “Watson?”

“She’s fine, Sherlock. Soundly asleep. I just want to apologise properly to you. I was way out of line earlier. No, Sherlock, listen. I need to say this. Please.”

John’s expression is pained, and Sherlock doesn’t know what’s to come next. Nothing could have prepared him for this.

“I know it’s no excuse that I was exhausted and sleep deprived, but that’s the defence I have, and it’s appalling to say the least. Rosie…she is…just as much yours as she is mine. You care for her just like any parent. She loves you, we both do, and…”

“John?” 

Sherlock’s voice is trembling, and he feels his balance is about to fail him. Warm and steady hands are placed on his upper arms and when John speaks again, his voice is warm with affection.

“Forgive me. Please?”

Sherlock just nods and lets himself melt in John’s embrace.

@flashfictionfridayofficial @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @calaisreno @a-victorian-girl @phoenix27884 @helloliriels @safedistancefrombeingsmart @gregorovitch-adler @raina-at @peanitbear @topsyturvy-turtely @7-percent @ninasnakie

[calaisreno]

The Case of the Missing Bridegroom

The sequel to Reluctant Bridegroom. 1700 words / Prompt: Cold

Summary: Mrs Hudson does not make tea, Mycroft speaks in italics, and Sherlock goes for a walk.

Mrs Hudson is frowning at him; he gradually becomes aware that she’s been talking. 

Blinking, he looks up. “Hm?”

“I said, do you like her?”

“Who?”

“Mary.”

“Oh, yes. She’s great. Are you making tea?”

Ignoring his implied request, she continues. “She seems clever.”

“Clever? Yes, she is. Quite.” 

…only child linguist Clever part time nurse Shortsighted Guardian Bakes Own Bread Disillusioned Cat Lover Romantic Appendix Scar Lib Dem Secret Tattoo Size 12 Liar…

Liar. 

That might be where to begin his investigation.

“Sherlock.” She clicks her tongue. “You must have known.”

“Known? What are you jabbering about, Mrs Hudson?”

“You must have known he’d move on while you were gone.”

He doesn’t have an answer for this. 

“He’s just that kind of person,” she adds.

“The moving on kind?”

“No, he’s the staying kind, but you left. What was he supposed to do? He thought you were dead.”

Sherlock puts his head down and mumbles incoherently. Maybe she will take the hint and make tea. And bring up some biscuits as well. 

“Sherlock.” She sits in John’s chair. “He’s not like you, love. Not a loner. He needs someone. He had you, and when you died—”

“He didn’t have me, Mrs Hudson. We weren’t like that.”

She gives him the look that means he’s an idiot. “Maybe not, but there was something there. And John needed that. He was lost without you. I’m sure he wouldn’t have found Mary if you’d come home a bit sooner.”

“Well, I’m sure they’ll be very happy.”

She makes a scoffing noise. “You know that’s not true.”

He scoffs back at her. “As I understand it, people who are engaged to be married often go through a period of regret. Cold feet, it’s called. Fear of change. A reluctance to follow through. He’ll get over it.”

“Will he?” 

Before Mrs Hudson can explain to him why he’s wrong, his phone buzzes with a text.

John’s missing. M

It takes him just a second to realise it’s Mary.  

He never came home last night. Won’t answer my texts. M

 I’ll find him. SH

Liar. He opens his phone and begins to type a message. Before he can hit send, his phone rings.

“He’s not an idiot, Sherlock.”

“Where is he, Mycroft? I know you have surveillance on him. What I want to know is why?”

“Let’s just say, he’s attracted the attention of someone we’ve been watching. You need not worry.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Mycroft, I’m not in the mood for—”

“Miss Morstan. What do you know about her?”

“Why don’t you just tell me what you know? As I recall, you said you’d keep Moriarty’s London people away from him.”

“She’s not one of Moriarty’s. Just a freelancer, recently retired.”

“When were you going to tell me? More importantly, when were you going to tell John?”

“Doctor Watson is not an idiot, as I’ve said. His decision to propose to her was rash, I thought, but I’m fairly sure he’s having cold feet since you have returned.”

Mycroft speaks in italics only when he’s amused, Sherlock notes. “Just tell me where he is.”

“I think you can deduce,” Mycroft replies. 

I must be getting slow, he thinks. He’s just been to all the places John used to go when he ‘needed some air’ and slammed the door of the flat behind him. He’s been to five pubs, popped into three coffee shops, and walked the perimeter of the park twice.

Home again, he sits on the stairs, conceding defeat. 

His phone rings. 

“Mycroft.”

“It’s very simple, Sherlock. He’s gone home.”

He nods. It would have been nice if Mary had texted to say—

“Home, Sherlock.”

His head jerks up. Ending the call, he runs up the two flights to John’s room. He knocks and cracks the door open. “John?”

The shape in the bed stirs, rolls over and blinks at him. “Sherlock?”

“John, what are you doing here?”

“Needed to think.” He sits up. “Went around the park a few times last night after I left. More than a few. Decided to sleep here.”

Sherlock steps into the room. When John lived here, Sherlock rarely respected his privacy, barging into the room at any hour. Now, it feels like an invasion. 

“May I?”

John nods, and Sherlock sits on the bed. “What’s wrong?”

“You always told me I see but do not observe. I’m a bit slow, but I did actually learn a few things living with you.” He smiles. “After you died, I could barely cope. I sleepwalked through every day. And then, you came back, and it was like I woke up.”

“I’m sorry. I had no idea you’d be so affected.”

“I believe you. As angry as I’ve been, I have forgiven you. Since you came back, I’ve been awake. And I’ve noticed things… that disturb me.”

“What things?”

“In the cab going home that night, Mary kept talking, and I just had this feeling… she wasn’t who she said she was. So I did what you would do. I investigated. I called her job references. I looked up her employment history. I went through her things when she was out. And I made a deduction.”

“Yes?”

“I think you already know, Sherlock. Mary didn’t exist until a couple years ago. I don’t know who the woman I’m engaged to is, but Mary Morstan was an infant who died in 1972. Stillborn. She’s borrowed a name, made a new life. And for some reason, she took a job at my surgery.” He looks at Sherlock. “Maybe she has a good reason, but my spidey-senses are tingling.”

“Spidey-senses?”

“Spider Man. He can always sense danger.”

“Well, you always did. You knew whenever I was getting myself into trouble. So, what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to tell her the truth.”

“You should know, Mycroft’s people have been watching her. She’s freelance, recently retired. It might not be good to confront her with what you know. She may feel cornered, and that could be dangerous.”

“Not that truth, Sherlock. I don’t need to know who she is, but I’m not going to marry her.”

“But… what reason will you give?”

“I’ll tell her…” John looks down at his hands, licks his lips, and whispers, “I’m in love with my best friend.”

“You’re in love with Mike Stamford? Inconvenient, as he’s married and has four—no, five children.”

“Mike is not my best friend.”

“Gavin?”

“Who?”

“Gavin Lestrade.”

“Sherlock, Greg is a friend, but not my best friend. I’m in love with you.”

“Oh. You’re— I see. You will pretend you’re in love with me, which will soften the blow and allow her to bow out without compromising her assumed identity—”

“Sherlock, I’m not pretending I’m in love with you. I really am in love with you. I know you don’t do that—love is a dangerous distraction, sentiment on the losing side, blah, blah… That’s okay. If you’ll let me, I’d like to move back here. I not asking for—”

He doesn’t remember grabbing John and kissing him, but when his brain comes back on line, they’re lying on John’s bed, and John’s looking at him like he’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. 

John loves him.

“I won’t pretend,” he tells John. “No fake relationships. If you’re going to make love confessions like that, just casually dropping I love yous on me, you’d better be prepared for the real thing. I love you. And just so you understand me properly, only one bedroom will be needed.”

John laughs. “Well, that went better than I expected. Now I only have to break up with Mary.”

Sitting up, Sherlock grabs his phone and texts Mycroft. “The British Government can handle that, I think. Now, kiss me.”

@keirgreeneyes @totallysilvergirl @redmondcollege @lisbeth-kk @ninasnakie

[goosetheluce]

WAIT OKAY gwen stacy/fem!r smth smth seeing her band and like developing the BIGGEST crush on her from just watching her and bumping into her after the show and her asking u out 🤭🤭

Do I Know You? (Gwen Stacy x Fem!Reader)

requested by @meredarling

warnings: mentions of underage drinking and drug use, crowded show, use of y/n, pet names, non-sexual flirting, fem reader

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Wherever the crowd went, you went. The mass of punks and curious outsiders swayed and undulated, creating one hive-minded motion that flowed into you. Your ears were under a constant assault of missed guitar notes and strangled screaming that was probably wrecking the vocalist's throat. You didn't care, though; the point of coming to these shitty basement shows filled with late teens and early 20s was to ignore everything outside.

So you stayed there, taking in the combo of sweat, sour fermentation of beer, and the sharp scent of weed.

Not my favorite.

Truthfully, you didn't care about any of these bands except for the final act.

"The Mary Janes," you read off the poster to your friend, Amy. It had been laying on the concrete sidewalk leading up to the academy. Your brain put together the familiar name. "Wait, like, Mary Jane Watson? From school?"

Amy shrugged. "Guess so. I had no idea she had a band." She sipped her coffee, the chilled air nipping at both of your fingertips. You raised your eyebrows and folded the poster, slipping it into your backpack.

"We gotta see this! Especially you, Ames," you teased, elbowing her gently in the arm. She pulled into herself a bit more.

"I can't tonight, but I think if I saw MJ Watson live, I'd faint and die happily on the ground," she whispered dramatically, a smile creeping across her face. "I wish she'd dump that douchebag guy, I'm literally sending out radio-clear signal that I'm into her."

"Lending her a pen and staring at her when she's not looking isn't radio-clear, but whatever you say," you sighed. Amy was hopeless.

"What? I think it's a great tactic. Anyway, we should get to class. We're gonna be late."

You nodded and zipped up your bag. You were buzzing with excitement when you hopped off the bus later that afternoon. You had a show to catch.

And here you were, taking a swig of your bottled cherry Pepsi, sweat beading on your hairline. Outside, the sky had bled into a deep indigo ink. The music stopped, and the vocalist's thrashed voice cracked into the mic, reiterating the band's name and stumbled off.

The lights dimmed a bit more. The house had been modified to have more resemblance to an actual venue. Impressive, you remarked to yourself.

It was silent for a few moments, the crowd whispering excitedly. You caught MJ's name here and there. You wondered to yourself how you never knew she had a band, because she was clearly popular in the scene. You recognized another name.

"MJ's vocals are great, but I'm telling you, the drummer is fucking amazing. Gwen Stacy or something. She goes to our school, too. I think she's a senior."

"Huh," you muttered out loud.

A line of girls suddenly streamed out from the other room where the bands got ready. MJ's flaming locks of hair bounced over her shoulders and she ran up onto the stage, grabbing the mic and breathing heavily into it. The other girls ran out behind her and settled into their positions. The lights fully dimmed this time.

"Give it up for Glory Grant!" MJ yelled into the microphone, pointing to a dark-skinned girl with locs on keys. She dragged her fingers across the board to produce a bright shriek of notes. The crowd hollered.

"Give it up for Betty Brant!" This time it was a pale brunette on bass. She plucked the thick strings with her pointer and middle fingers with a jazzy melody. You nodded to the beat. The crowd celebrated.

"Give it up for my best friend, Gwen Stacy, on drums!" This time MJ trotted to the back where the drumset was, putting her arm around the blonde.

"Play something, Gwen!" someone in the crowd suggested.

Gwen laughed into her microphone. "Sure, random stranger." You noted her smooth, relaxed voice.

As quick as lightning, she began pounding on the drums, the cymbals crashing deafeningly. The sequence was immaculate, filling the house with energizing ruckus. Her arms moved impossibly fast, and your heart began to beat faster. Was it the tempo, or was it the way Gwen smiled with adoration for her instrument?

The crowd began to jump around, and MJ sprinted back to the mic. "I would give it up for myself, but the band is literally called The Mary Janes."

"So, face it, Tiger, you're not leaving this fuckin' show till we burn the fuckin' place down!" She played a riff on her guitar to match the drums and the show started with a bang.

Amy would have loved the show, and so did you, but your eyes were trained on Gwen the whole time. The way you could tell she was panting and screaming along with the lyrics despite not technically being a backup vocalist; it was powerful. Her bleach-blonde hair danced along with her vigorous movement as her body sang with passion. Your eyes were wide with awe. You pushed your way to the front to watch.

Her eyebrow was pierced and the side of her head was shaved, adding more to her bold presentation. Her nails were cut all the way short, but still painted maroon. Her leather jacket framed her thinner hourglass figure wonderfully, and her somewhat worn turquoise converse stomped on the bass drum. She was a beautiful force of nature.

Disappointment coursed through you when you realized that the long pause at the end of the song actually just the end of the show.

"The place didn't burn down, but I don't have the money to pay for rebuilding anyway. Have a good fuckin' night, Queens, New York!"

The crowd whooped and started talking loudly at each other when the lights came back on. The girls left the stage, yet you felt unfulfilled. You wished desperately that you'd recognize Gwen in school the next Monday as you bought another cherry Pepsi.

As the rest of the concertgoers filtered out of the house, you looked around to find an excuse to stay. Without looking in front of yourself, you took a few steps forward and crashed into someone.

"Oh, shit, I'm sorry-" you quickly apologized only to be cut short.

Holy shit. Gwen motherfucking Stacy is right in front of me.

The drummer smirked. "Careful there. What if I was some drunk asshole? Could've started a fight for yourself, there, babe."

Your cheeks lit on fire. "Yeah, no kidding," you laughed nervously. She's just a person, calm down. "That show was amazing, by the way. I'm (Y/N)."

Gwen tilted her head to the side, crossing her arms and smiling at you.

"Wait, do I know you? You're from school, right? I've seen you in the halls."

"Yup. I'm a senior," you confirmed. "That's actually why I came. Didn't know that Mary Jane had a band, never would have guessed." You took a second to think before making a move. "But I think I found someone even better."

She leaned forward and pressed her lips to your earlobe while whispering.

"You know, if it weren't for 97% of the population being straight or whatever, I think I'd ask you out right now," Gwen rasped into your ear. You felt her lips pull into a grin over your skin. "...(Y/N)," she finished, clearly trying to fluster you. It worked.

You let out a breath of air, pulling back to look at her. She was taller than you by a good half foot, and her fingers would probably be longer than yours by an inch. You found your words.

"Lucky for you, you don't have to worry about that. And definitely not after that performance," you assured charmingly. "So, are you gonna ask me?"

"I have to go help the band get their shit in the van, but..."

Gwen grabbed your palm and flipped it over to the top side. She pulled out a sharpie.

"Will this work, sweetheart?"

You nodded, pulse racing.

She went to work and wrote her number down on your hand. She left a message at the bottom.

call me xx -Gwen

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

thanks for reading!

[padawanlost]

What actually happened between Tru, Ferus and Anakin in that final book? I read it a long time ago but as far as I know, Anakin had not been asked to fix Tru's lightsaber, he accidentally heard them talking about it, figured out what they missed and simply didn't say anything at the moment. He planned to tell after and genuinely forgot

"All right, I fixed it." Ferus put the handle back together and handed the lightsaber back to Tru. "You shouldn't have any more problems. Your power cell is boosted." Anakin started to step forward. If Ferus had worked on the power cell, that meant that Tru needed to check the flux aperture again. Anakin had tweaked it before, but it might need an adjustment to compensate for the power boost. Anyway, it would be wise to double-check. Anakin had better tell him. But he stopped when he heard his name. "Why didn't you ask Anakin to fix it?" Ferus asked. "He's better at this than I am." "He was busy with Obi-Wan," Tru murmured. Anakin realized that Tru had evaded the question. He could have asked him to help. He frowned as he watched the two Padawans, their heads close together. Tru was drifting away from him. He could feel it. [Jude Watson. The Final Showdown]

On Korriban, while Ferus fixed Tru’s lightsaber, Anaki overheard their conversation. He didn’t know for sure the lightsaber was faulty but he believe he could do a better job because he had fixed it before and knew it better than Ferus how to adjust it. However, because of his rivalry with Ferus and his fear of losing Tru’s friendship he didn’t say anything to either of them.

Not long after they ended up in a fight and that’s when Anakin realized something was actually wrong with Tru’s lightsaber:

The creatures carved from stone that sat on the ledges took flight in shimmering images of fire and destruction. Tru ducked as one of them flew directly in his face, but the creature became nothing but particles of dust. Anakin saw Tru grip his lightsaber more tightly. Tru's lightsaber! He had forgotten to tell him to check the readout for the flux aperture! He had walked away, angry and hurt. Why hadn't he remembered? Had he wanted to forget? He couldn't do it now. If he did, the Masters would know that Tru's lightsaber had broken and he hadn't told Ry-Gaul. He would get himself and Tru in trouble. And Ferus probably had fixed it perfectly, the way he did everything else. [Jude Watson. The Final Showdown]

Not reporting a problem this big to your master was a big no-no and that’s why neither Tru non Ferus told their masters of the issue. And Anakin, in anger, rationalized that he couldn’t tell either and since Ferus was so perfect he probably could solve the problem.

Tru had leaped up on a tomb to fight two zombies. With his flexible arms and legs, he moved like a rolling wave. He took down three thermal detonators that were flying through the air. He swung his lightsaber in an arc. It flickered. Anakin watched in horror as it buzzed, the shaft flickering again and again. It was losing power! Tru was in the middle of them. Obi-Wan hadn't seen it. He had charged forward, the way to Omega now clear. Everything in Anakin screamed to follow Obi-Wan, to be in on the capture of Omega. Except one thing. Friendship. But he had hesitated too long. As he watched, Ferus and Tru exchanged a glance. Simultaneously, Ferus and Tru flipped their lightsabers through the air. Tru caught Ferus's, and Ferus caught Tru's. [Jude Watson. The Final Showdown]

Eventually Ferus and Tru exchanged lightsabers as the mission went one. When Darra, their fellow padawan, noticed Ferus was in trouble she tried to help but ended up in front of them.

Anakin wrenched his attention back to Tru. Because Ferus was watching Tru's back, he was the only one in Omega's path. The Jedi Masters had all been at the fore of the fight. Ferus's lightsaber flickered in the dark. Seeing that he was in trouble, Darra Force-leaped toward Ferus, her lightsaber held high, determined to save him. Anakin saw the smile on Omega's face when he fired. The bolts hit Darra straight in the chest. She fell, still keeping her body between Omega and Ferus. Soara cried out. Anakin felt the moment spin out into impossible time, time that froze everything, even his heart.   [Jude Watson. The Final Showdown]

As a result of all this, Ferus Olin resigned from the Jedi Order and Tru ended his friendship with Anakin:

[Anakin] felt a rustle behind him, and saw Tru backing out of the chamber. "Tru!" Anakin called. Reluctantly, Tru edged in a few steps. "Do you know anything?" Tru shook his head. He didn't quite meet Anakin's eyes. "I haven't seen much of you since we've been back," Anakin said. "I know." […]"You were thinking of the mission," Anakin said. "We were all wrong," Tru continued, as if he hadn't even registered what Anakin had said. "We did our best," Anakin said. "And Omega is dead." "So is Darra." Tru turned and walked out. Anakin started after him. Something was wrong. Something had changed between him and his friend, and he didn't know why.

"But I did. I knew that Tru's lightsaber had malfunctioned. I offered to fix it secretly. I did not tell his Master or urge him to do so. His lightsaber failed in battle, and Darra was killed trying to protect me." "But you thought you'd fixed it!" Ferus stopped. He gazed at Anakin for a long moment. "You knew?" he asked. "You knew Tru's lightsaber had broken? You must have seen me fixing it." "I didn't say that." "No. You didn't. But there are only the two of us here, Anakin. You don't have to lie." Anakin said nothing. As usual, Ferus was trying to trap him, trying to show Anakin how much nobler he was. "When we got back, I took it to the Jedi Master Tolan Hing," Ferus said, naming the Jedi who was known for his expertise in the workings of a lightsaber. "He told me that that the fusing between the flux aperture and the power cell needed a slight adjustment. Nothing major — Tru might never have noticed it. Except that in battle, the power drained faster than normal." "I don't know why you're telling me this…." Tru's voice came from behind him. "Because you fixed the flux aperture. And you would have known that it needed to be rechecked after the power cell boost." Anakin turned. "You didn't come to me!" Tru shook his head. "That's funny. Shouldn't you have said, But I didn't know it was broken?" "You're trying to trap me," Anakin said. "Both of you," he added, with an angry look at Ferus. "Tru, I would never do anything deliberately to put you in a position.." Tru's face hardened. His silver eyes held a sheen Anakin had never seen before. They were icy, as though Anakin could slip off his gaze. "I wondered," Tru said. "When we got back here, I wondered if you knew. I saw how you froze in the tomb. 'But not my friend,' I said to myself. 'My friend would not do that.' But then I thought about how you feel about Ferus, how angry you had been. You would want him to get in trouble, even if it meant exposing me." "That's not fair!" "And suddenly I realized — yes, Anakin could have done that." "You're looking at this all wrong," Anakin said. But how could he explain? He couldn't admit that he knew that Tru's lightsaber was broken because he couldn't explain why he'd forgotten to tell him to readjust it. He still didn't know how he'd forgotten something so crucial. Tru would think he'd deliberately forgotten it. There was nothing he could say to convince him otherwise, because he himself didn't know. "I don't think so," Tru said. "I think I'm truly seeing you for the first time." Anakin swallowed. He didn't know what to say. This was an unfamiliar Tru, not the friend of his childhood. "I'll see you outside," Tru said to Ferus, and walked out.

Darra’s death was traumatic to all of them but the way they treated Anakin was very biased. At least, for characters who was supposed represent what a “good jedi” was supposed to be. Neither of them truly listened to Anakin’s explanation. And the author fails to give Anakin’s much depth beyond: he’s jealous/angry. I mean, it feels like everyone already knows he will become Darth Vader. And that’ so unfair to young Anakin.

[happygirl2oo2]

Every reference I could find to Sherlock's love of bees in Elementary, organized by episode number

season 1 episode 1:

Watson, walking onto the Brownstone's rooftop to find Sherlock and surprised to see beehives there next to him: "Um, did you know that honey was dripping through the ceiling?" Sherlock, sitting and looking at his beehives: "Yes. Happens sometimes." Watson: "I take it beekeeping is a hobby." Sherlock: "I'm writing a book. Practical Handbook of Bee Culture with Some Observations Upon the Segregation of the Queen. Up here. I've just started Chapter 19."

season 1 episode 5:

Sherlock, explaining how he knows someone: "We frequent the same beekeeping chat room. He has an impressive collection of Caucasians. Species of bee."

season 1 episode 7:

Watson: "There was a client back here a little while ago who was also interested in beekeeping." Edson: "Sure. You mean Sherlock."

season 1 episode 9:

*Sherlock is wearing a shirt with the writing “Bee 92” on it*

season 1 episode 12:

Sherlock: "Our six weeks together are very nearly up, Watson. In a matter of days, your room will be vacant. I'm very seriously considering turning it into one large apiary."

and

M, about Sherlock torturing him: "You figured out where you're gonna start yet?" Sherlock, looking over his table of torture devices that he brought that is shown to include a few beehives: "I have not. I had hoped to use the bees in some fashion, but then it occurred to me you might be allergic."

and

Sherlock: "Watson, what is it?" Watson: "I called your father last night. Given everything that's happened, I recommended staying on longer." Sherlock: "And?" Watson: "He agreed." Sherlock: "I suppose the apiary will have to wait."

season 1 episode 17:

Crabtree: "Delivery for you, Mr. Holmes." Sherlock: " Thank you, Crabtree, but I'm afraid I c… Oh, my God. Is that…?" Watson: "A bee in a box? Yes, it is. Fairly unimpressive as far as bribes go." Sherlock: "Not if you're an apiculturist. That's an Osmia avosetta. Solitary bee famed for building exquisite nests from flower petals. It's on the verge of extinction. Crabtree, this is exquisite. I cannot accept it. Please, tell Mr. Lydon not to contact me again."

and

[BEE BUZZING] Watson: "Hey, why do you have the box with the bee in it?" Sherlock: "We took Gerald Lydon's case." Watson: "We did?" Sherlock: "Well, frankly I couldn't say no to him. It would have felt like denying a dying man his last wish. We are taking this home, and then we are going to the genetics lab which confirmed his diagnosis."

and

Sherlock: "Close that door immediately!" Watson: "What's up? Sherlock: "I was examining the Osmia avosetta that Gerald Lydon gave me and it got loose." Watson: "Oh, so there's an almost-extinct bee flying around in here?" Sherlock: "Yes, and I would rather it didn't get out."

season 1 episode 19:

Miss Hudson, to Sherlock: "Oh, and I stacked your monographs that you wrote on your desk. I liked the one about queen bees."

season 1 episode 20:

Sherlock: "Another reason to dislike Milverton. He keeps cats." Watson, sarcastically: "Well, he should get himself a real pet, like a beehive." *Sherlock gives her a look*

and

[CELL PHONE RINGING] Sherlock, answering his phone: "Brownstone is on fire, my bees have escaped, and there is a giant comet headed for Manhattan." Watson: "Excuse me?" Sherlock: "The way the evening is going, I thought you could only be calling with more good news."

season 1 episode 21:

Sherlock: "What kind of an allergy requires a medical alert bracelet?" Watson: "Uh, anything that could bring on anaphylactic shock, certain foods, medicine, insect bites." Sherlock: " Exactly. A moment ago, I could have sworn I saw an Africanized honeybee." Watson: "How do you "Africanize" something?" Sherlock: "It's a term to describe a particularly aggressive species. It's odd to… Odd to see them here. They're not native to New York. It's almost as if someone has placed it here on a route known to be frequented by Hillary Taggart." Watson: "So you think he's planning a murder by bee?" Sherlock: "The hive will be facing southeast in dappled sunlight with minimal wind. And here they are, newly formed and flourishing. Oh, yes. And here is the food source. Someone's feeding them sugar water so they multiply even faster." Watson: "Well, it's pretty baroque way to kill someone, isn't it? I mean, cultivate bees, feed them, and then poke the hive with a stick every time Hillary Taggart runs by?" Sherlock: "Well, he might be planning to swipe her with lemongrass oil beforehand, make sure they're attracted to her. It's actually quite a tidy plan. You know, she flees, bees sting-- tragic accident." Watson: "If she's that allergic to bee stings, then she's gonna have an EpiPen." Sherlock: "Well, an EpiPen would work against one or two stings, but how effective is it gonna be against an army of bee assassins?" Watson: "If the man we are looking for is feeding these bees, he's gonna have to come here eventually." Sherlock: "Yeah. Quite soon, I'd imagine, 'cause the sugar water's getting low." Watson: "Ugh, great. So we get to stake out a hive of killer bees."

season 1 episode 24:

[Watson walks onto the brownstone's rooftop to find Sherlock sitting and looking at his beehives with a magnifying glass] Sherlock: "Do you remember the rare bee I was given for proving that Gerald Lydon had been poisoned?" Watson: "The bee in the box, sure." Sherlock: "Osmia avoseta is its own species, which means it should not be able to reproduce with other kinds of bees. And yet, nature is infinitely wily." Watson: "So box bee got another bee pregnant?" Sherlock: "Quite so. Which means, they should be reclassified as an entirely new species. First newborn of which… is about to crawl its way into sunlight." Watson: "Oh, my God." Sherlock: "As the discoverer of the species, the privilege of naming the creatures falls to me. Allow me to introduce you to Euglassa Watsonia." Watson, surprised and then touched: You named a bee after me? You named a bee after me." Sherlock: "Should be dozens more within the hour. If you'd like, I could come and get you once they're all here. Watson: "That's all right. I think I'll just watch."

season 2 episode 12:

[sherlock is shown taking a box out of his beehive]

and

Watson: "You didn't show me these letters. You hid them in a beehive."

and

[sherlock is shown taking the box back into his beehive]

season 3 episode 10:

Barbara: "Barbara Conway. I'm senior vice president of…" Sherlock: "Senior vice president of AgriNext's GMO research division. Quite the corporate monstrosity, AgriNext, hmm? In addition to your dominance in agricultural industries, there is powerful evidence to suggest that your neonicotinoid insecticides are the culprits in the ongoing bee genocide known as colony collapse disorder. Would you care to comment on that?" Barbara: "When you told my assistant you had some questions, was that just a lie to get in and harass me?" Sherlock: "Ms. Conway, are you familiar with the name Clay Dubrovensky?" Barbara: "No." Sherlock: "What about the Wutai Pingtung orchid?" Barbara: "I'm sorry. What?" Sherlock: "You are very good at feigning innocence. Perhaps it's all that lying about the bees."

season 3 episode 11:

Watson: "Can you imagine how she feels when she looks at it?" Sherlock: "I have done. Repeatedly. My name is Sherlock, and I have allowed empathetic thoughts to clutter my mind and reduce the clarity of my perception." Watson: "So you called in the bees to crowd out caring." Sherlock: "To no avail."

season 3 episode 14:

Mr. Joseph: "Mr. Holmes, thank you for agreeing to see me. We've actually met before-- sort of." Sherlock: "You're BeeBeeKing17." Mr. Joseph: "I am. (chuckles) You're a detective. I know from your posts. I have a bit of a problem…" Sherlock: "I'm gonna stop you right there, Mr. Joseph. I can't help you." Mr. Joseph: "You don't know what I'm asking." Sherlock: "I don't need to. In the four years I've frequented your Web site, I've sent you no fewer than 13 letters detailing my proposed solutions to the phenomenon known as colony collapse disorder. You have sent me exactly zero replies." Mr. Joseph: "You know how much correspondence I get?" Sherlock: "I've got no idea. I do know, however, that mine is backed by quality thinking. If you'd bothered to find that out, you wouldn't find yourself without a detective in your hour of need." Mr. Joseph: "Is there some way that I can make this up to you?" Sherlock: "I suppose, if you were to publish my theories on gamma rays as a potential solution to CCD, then I might be able to hear you out." Mr. Joseph: "Gamma rays? They… they've worked in a couple instances, but they… they don't scale as an answer. They're too dangerous. You give John Q. Beekeeper access to gamma rays, he'll melt his face off." Sherlock: "A fact I addressed in my most recent letter." Mr. Joseph: "Fine. Yeah, I'll put it on the site." Sherlock: "I also require that you change your online user name. The cheap punnery of "BeeBeeKing17" is offensive to musicians and apiarists alike. You'll make the change?" Mr. Joseph: "I guess." Sherlock: "Good. So what seems to be the problem?"

season 3 episode 20:

Sherlock (on the other line of the phone): "Watson, you still over there?" Watson: "Yes, I'm still here, because I can't go home, because of you. Why did you bring the bees in the house anyway?" Sherlock, shown to be standing in their kitchen while wearing his beekeeper suit and surrounded by bees: "Varroa mites are a pernicious threat to the colony. I intended a thorough inspection, as well as an application of baker's sugar as a preventative measure. My thoughts were concerned with colony collapse. I failed to see the more urgent threat of table collapse." Watson: "Wait a second. You're not talking about my table, are you? The one that I bought for my apartment?" Sherlock: "Two hours should be sufficient to return the hive to stasis. I'll be in touch."

season 3 episode 23 (the entire episode but especially):

Unnamed cop: "If you guys work for the USDA, why didn't you just say so?" Watson: "We don't. My partner's on a beekeeping message board with a few of their researchers. They asked us to come and have a look, since it's one of their colleagues that died."

and

Sherlock: "You might want to tell your colleague that the apiarist is not a strong suspect. Unnamed cop: "The hell she isn't. She was the only other person out here when this thing happened." Sherlock: " And as far as Watson and I have been able to discern, utterly devoid of any motive-- unlike the soulless corporate golem that is AgriNext." Unnamed cop: "You think a company did this?" Sherlock: "It wouldn't be the first time they'd harbored a killer." Watson: "He's right-- we found one there a few months ago. So what makes you think they did this?" Sherlock: "Elevated levels of Colony Collapse Disorder along the Northeast." Watson: "You putting that on AgriNext, too?" Sherlock: "Everett Keck did. His notes strongly suggest that the company's neonicotinoid pesticides are the cause." Unnamed cop: "So this guy was killed over some dead bees?" Sherlock: "A hundred million dead bees. The regional numbers are so anomalous that an international apiary summit has been convened at Garrison University to discuss the problem this week. Everett Keck's notes suggest he was willing to cut short that debate and lay the blame squarely at the feet of AgriNext."

and

Watson: "Oh… Looks like you opened up a satellite office for the Department of Agriculture in here." Sherlock: "25,000 species of bee-- always much to learn." Watson: "Well, if you're planning on picking up where Keck left off, it might be nice to solve his murder first."

and

Watson: "So you think that Keck tried to kill his boss to cover up poisoning a few bee hives?" Sherlock: "More than a few. I've come to believe that Everett Keck was not just studying Colony Collapse Disorder. Everett Keck was Colony Collapse Disorder incarnate. You might recall my recent concern over varroas in my own hives. These fears were born out of rumblings on BeeCircuit.com. Most of the talk on the spike of this season's colony death rate centered around the spread of deadly mites." Watson: "Okay, but I thought Keck was gonna prove it was pesticides. Sherlock: "That's what his note suggested. That's what he intended to report, but the data suggests that the parasites were appearing in greater than expected numbers everywhere he went." Watson: "You did all this overnight? Sherlock: "You know I outsource arithmetic to Harlan. Okay, so, that's Keck. And there are three other ASI researchers. He found more mites than the others. Many more. According to Harlan, the variance between Keck and his colleagues cannot be explained away by known confounds. The odds that Mr. Keck was not actively spreading varroa mites everywhere he went approaches one in 29,000." Watson: "So, there isn't a spike in Colony Collapse Disorder after all." Sherlock: "Every dead hive is a tragedy. But outside of one nefarious USDA field researcher, no, the CCD baseline would not be inflated at all." Watson: "Why would he do something like this?" Sherlock: "I don't know. I'm fairly certain, however, he had help. The heart attack that almost killed Calvin Barnes occurred whilst Mr. Keck was doing his rounds in Connecticut." Watson: "He had a partner." Sherlock: "We've solved one murder. Now we just have the remaining 100 million."

and

Tara Parker: "No. No way. You can't just write off a global issue because one guy went on a bee-killing spree." Sherlock: "I share your concerns about Colony Collapse Disorder writ large, I do. I have hives of my own. But your degree is in entomology, and, uh, the mathematicians have spoken."

and

Sherlock, excitingly surprised: "His Highness Sheik Nasser Al-Fayed is making an appearance?" Tara Parker: "Supposedly." Sherlock, explaining to Watson: "Nasser is an emir. He's a member of the royal family of Al Qasr in the United Arab Emirates. He's a black sheep. He's not trusted with state business, like his brothers." Griffin Parker, to which Sherlock is shown nodding in approvement: "He's also got the most expensive apiary on the planet. State-of-the-art hives." Sherlock: "He's a recluse. Rumors on BeeCircuit.com are that he never leaves his family's estate." Griffin Parker: "Well, I wouldn't, either. He has almost 1,000 species."

and

Sherlock: "I'm friendly with the moderator of BeeCircuit.com. You deleted your private messages, but he was able to dredge these off the server."

and

Sherlock: "You got away with kidnapping the sheik. You won't get away with what you did to Calvin Barnes. Or millions of bees."

season 4 episode 13:

Trent Garby: "I moved out because of you two. I couldn't take it anymore. The weird noises, the strange smells, the explosions, and the damn bees on the roof."

and

Watson: "Robert Frost said that fences make good neighbors. But maybe that's because there wasn't sound-dampening insulation back then. Since you are rebuilding anyway, we can have it installed for you as a belated housewarming gift. So a quieter home for you, and a neighbor who knows what he's getting into for us." Trent Garby: "You don't even know me." Watson: "We'd like to." Trent Garby: "All right. When I get the insurance settlement, I'll let you know." Watson, giving him a jar of honey: "This is from Sherlock. He wants you to know that bees can be good neighbors, too."

season 4 episode 23:

Bell: "We think he crossed with Krasnov, who was there to steal a barrel of pesticide. There's one missing." Watson: "Clothianidin is used to treat corn crops. I've heard Sherlock rail against the stuff. It's bad for bees. But it is good for explosives."

season 4 episode 24:

Morland, looking at Sherlock's hives: "They stay here even during winter, do they not?" Sherlock: "Excuse me?" Morland: " The bees. This is their home… rain or shine." Sherlock: "Yes, let's talk about bees, instead of the execution you just carried out in Yonkers."

season 5 episode 21:

Sherlock: "You might not know what Mr. Leroux looks like, but I assure you, those photographs of you showing my friend around will have the FBI and Interpol swarming your property like bees."

season 6 episode 8:

Kelsey: "I'm sorry if that sounds judgmental, but… judging you is kind of the whole point of this trip." Watson: "It's okay. I mean, you have to go through your process, right?" Kelsey: "Am I crazy, or did I see a bunch of beehives on your roof?"

season 6 episode 17:

Watson: "He named an inchworm after her?" Sherlock: "It’s not uncommon for scientists to name species after people they care for or admire. I named a honeybee after you. But I, of course, was honoring my work partner."

season 6 episode 18:

Sherlock: "We need to talk about what happens after I die." [cut to them now in the kitchen, with Watson holding a pile of pages] Watson, reading the title: "“The Last Will and Testament of Sherlock Holmes”?" Sherlock: "According to Mr. Horowitz, in three days' time, I am to be riddled with bullets by an unknown assailant in an unnamed part of the city. While I doubt that will happen, reading it did remind me that you should have a copy of the appropriate paperwork to ensure a smooth probate." Watson: "You didn't write all this up today." Sherlock: "No, I wrote it several years ago when we formalized our partnership. I just didn't give you a copy." Watson: "Am I reading this right? You left me everything?" Sherlock: "You're surprised?" Watson: "Uh… I guess I'm touched. Sherlock: " There are some directives in the back that you should review. Watson: "Instructions on what to do with your cerebellum? Sherlock: "Mmm. Also my bees. They will need a proper home."

season 6 episode 21:

Sherlock, walking into the room to find Watson filming a close video of his bees while playing a loud song: "Something I should know?" Watson: "Everyone got back to us while you were out. They said they would look into Agent Mallick if I gave them an up-close view of one of your beehives and put this song on repeat. I mean, I had to get movers to get it down here, but at least we did not have to humiliate ourselves this time." Sherlock: "Oh, you've been humiliated. You just don't realize it. One of the founding fathers of Everyone, StingSquat, is an admitted melissophiliac. He's aroused by bees. You just arranged a sex show with a cast of thousands."

season 7 episode 13:

Sherlock, sounding touched, after seeing that his hives are still in the brownstone after his years away: "You kept the bees." Watson: "I thought Arthur might find them interesting. Plus, the free honey.

[yudgefudge]

what I think my footy ships would dress up as for halloween!

kylian and trent: a turtle and dinosaur, with rusty as a little lizard

ibou and robbo: jekyll and hyde or one of those atrocious plug and socket costumes

jude and erling: miles and gwen

julian and enzo: spider-man and mary jane watson

martin and aaron: a prince and his knight in shining armor

luis and stevie: cowboy and sheriff

griezmann and de paul: rapunzel and flynn

kai and julian: harry potter and draco malfoy, they've actually done it before

mo and dejan: barbie and ken

kostas and thiago: shaggy and velma

pedri and gavi: mario and luigi (iffy incestual implications and all!)

josko and dominik: angel and devil

ben and christian: linguini and remy

modric and ramos: officer and convict

jordan and jack: this absolutely atrocious colonel sanders and chicken costume I found (jack is the chicken)

saka and martinelli: spongebob and patrick

virgil and alisson: woody and buzz lightyear

brahim and theo: finn and jake

rodri and bernardo: doctor and nurse

[raffe156]

ahh the headcanon of Tank cutting Prices Hair!! I can see it she’s threatening to give him a skin head if he looks up again 🤣🤣

A Kyle stops talking to Price because him a soap are next to get their hair trimmed a they don’t want skin heads!!

I imagine she cuts Ghosts hair in another room so no one’s but her sees his face - it’s his little time with her an no one else especially Price! he gets so many domestic feelings even thinks about her having his babies an how life would be with her as his 😩 loves how gentle she is with him…Can you tell I’m a Ghost and Tank supporter? 🤣💀

-💛

Ohhh Yeh 100%!!

I liked this one as well and decided to give it a quickie!

Bit sad 🥲💀

—————

“Kyle stop talking to him he keeps looking up!”

“He doesn’t have to look up he can just answer me yes or no?”

“Price just answer yes or no please…”

Price turned his head to glare at Kyle, but before their eyes connected you pushed his head down.

“If you look up one more time I’m going to shave the whole thing off…including the beard…”

“You wouldn’t dare kid….”

You buzzed the clipper right next to his cheek, making him jump.

“Wanna fuck around and find out?”

He didn’t, he remained facing forward for the duration Kyle and Soap both sat in silence they were next Kyle didn’t want his fade messing up and Soap didn’t want a skinhead.

Kyle was done and as you finished trimming Soaps Mohawk, you caught Ghost lingering in the door way.

‘Want me to trim your hair big guy? Im done with Johnny now…ill kick em all out, just me and you” You gave him your best smile, it caused his heart to double in size. ‘Just you and him’ He nodded for soap to piss off, he didn’t need telling twice. Ghost closed the door behind Soap and Kyle warning them it wouldn’t be worth their lives if they came in. They believed him. Ghost sat in the chair, his thumbs hooked under his mask, why did he always get nervous taking it off…it was you, and this wasnt the first time you had seen his face and it was the second time you had cut his hair…but he was still hesitant…

“It’s ok…i can cut it another time don’t worry” You started to pack the clippers away. No he wanted you to do it, he whipped it off his head, causing his hair to all stand up on end. You let out a little laugh as you smoothed it down, it gave him goosebumps.

“It just needs a tidy up, ill use the scissors ok?”

“Ok..thank you” he turned his face slightly. You caught the glint of a little smile in his eyes.

Ghost loved the feeling of your hands on his head and how gentle you could be, he had once watched you choke a man half to death with the very same hands. You were now stood between his thighs trimming the front. Even sat down he was eye level with you. He watch you as you focused on every snip, you looked at him a little smile on your lips. Ghost couldn’t help thinking about how life would be with you as his girl…he closed his eyes his mind flashing images of you cutting his hair but you were both back in Manchester in a big apartment in the centre you heavily pregnant with your second baby boy, your other son clung to his leg he had your eyes and his hair but curly. Ghost picked him up sitting him on his lap he was a needy little thing, but he loved it loved the fact someone needed an wanted him, he loved the little unit he had built with you…but it all came crashing down as back in reality the door flung open…it was the last person Ghost wanted to see…the one person who stood in the way of his happy ever after with you…the one person who was the reason it could only ever be a fantasy….Price. “John!” You shouted standing in-front of Ghost shielding his face. “Sorry love…I thought you were done…forgot my hat…sorry Si ” You threw his hat at him and gave him the ‘I’ll deal with you later look’ he glanced quickly at Ghost, said his sorries and walked out. You sighed returning to stand back in between Ghost’s thighs. “Sorry about that…good news is im done, your free to go haha” But Ghost didnt want to be free he want to be trapped in his fantasy with you….

[jhilsara]

I Can See You

Pt. 1/ Pt. 2/ Pt. 3/ Pt. 4/ Pt. 5/pt. 6/Pt. 7/Pt. 8/Pt. 9/ Pt. 10/

Pt. 11/ Pt.12/Pt.13/Pt. 14/Pt.15/Pt.16/Pt.17/END

Mariana Jimenez-Watson or MJ works in a normal pub living life paycheck to paycheck. Nothing exciting happens to her except the occasional drunk getting thrown out. She's 24 working away and finds a wrench thrown into her very boring life. His name is Hobie and she thinks maybe, a little excitement isn't awful. In fact she might start to crave some change for once.

Small moments of Hobie meeting his world's MJ. AKA I made an MJ variant and I think she's neat.

Chapter 8

It’s not late in the night, it’s maybe just midnight. Hobie’s helping her hold onto him as she hobbles through the crowd. She’s leaning her weight into him as they walk out of the venue. The noise fading into a buzz behind them as they walk away into the quiet streets.

Hobie's trying to muffle his laughter as his hand is placed on her back supporting her.

She looks at him and rolls her eyes, “Go on, let me have it.” She mutters bitterly.

He’s chuckling and shakes his head in disbelief, “I just can’t believe, after all the danger you’ve gotten into, a mosh pit and a twisted ankle is what takes you out.”

She groans in annoyance, struggling to walk alongside him, even with the added support. “I knew I shouldn’t have worn these heels…” She bites out.

She deflates a bit and whines, “I just wanted to look nice.” She pouts and looks at the shoe dangling in her free hand.

“C’mon my place is closer. I can wrap it and take you home.” He tells her smirking.

She makes a look of surprise, “Must be serious if you’re showing me your home.” She teases.

He raises one brow and give a roll of his eyes, “Nah the place is just a wreck.” He says with a scoff.

She’s giggling, “Is that why you’re always at my flat then?” she asks jokingly.

“Your place is just nicer, homier.” He replies with a grin.

She gives him a deadpan look, “You just like that I have my medical supplies organized. Don’t you?” she accuses.

He snickers, “Maaaaaaaaaybe,” he drawls out, “It is easier to just let you do it.” He says.

“Mmmhmm.” She gives him a look of judgement.

“How much farther? My one legs about to give out here.” She mutters.

“What me to carry ya? It’d be faster.” He offers.

Her face darkens a shade in a flustered blush. “No, no! You don’t have to!” She rushes out flustered.

“Embarrassing enough I twisted my ankle…” She mutters.  

He shakes his head and moves his arm from around her, “It’s just us calm down.”

He moves to squat down in front of her. He puts his arms back and turns to look at her behind him.

“C’mon, piggy back. Won’t swing ya I promise.”

She sighs but gives him a soft smile. She wraps her arms around his neck and hooks her legs through his arms. He adjusts her so his grip is tight and stands easily. She wiggles a bit to get comfortable and once she is he starts walking.

She rests her head on his shoulder her heart thundering in her chest. “Thanks.” She murmurs quietly.

“Not a big deal I carry ya all the time.” He says.

She doesn’t respond to him just enjoys being held. She closes her eyes and almost dozes off.

She doesn’t know how long he walked but she feels him jostle her a little, “We’re here.” He whispers.

She looks up and she’s stunned for a moment, then she replies cheekily, “Of course you live on a house boat.”

“What’s that suppose to mean?” He replies laughing in fake offense.

“Nothing, nothing’s wrong with a house boat!” She’s giggling, “It just makes total sense you don’t live in a flat is all.” She says.

“Whatever,” he says jokingly.

He hops onto the boat and easily slides in the door.

He was not wrong; the place is a mess. Just not in the way she guessed. He has all of his spider tech scattered. Sketches of ideas and plans randomly thrown on the floor. She takes it all in and just kind of laughs.

“Told ya it’s a mess.” He mutters kicking something out of his way.

“No, no, no, it just, it looks like you.” She says.

The space does just resonate ‘Hobie’. It’s chaotic but filled with stuff that is absolutely his. There’s his spider stuff sure, but there’s also a bunch of stuff that’s clearly a craft corner for his clothes.

Patches are thrown around and there’s the world’s saddest sewing machine that she is more than sure he scavenged for. He’s drawn all over it too. It’s fun and uniquely his.

There’s not a lot of trash it’s just a lot of working projects. There’s a vest under the sewing machine, clearly being working on. There are a few mock up web shooters too. It’s just a giant working space. It's not really a mess, just clearly a work space. It's almost like it's just one big studio for his spider stuff. 

“So, I’m a mess?” He says flatly in an unamused tone.

“No more like, organized chaos.” She says smiling.

“Uh-huh, so why do I feel a little insulted?” He teases.

He sets her down on his bed and walks off to what she assumes is the bathroom. “I’ll get the wraps just get comfortable.” He tells her.

She takes this time to look around more and sees a small kitchen area and something else past that where she can't see.

She hears him throwing things around in the bathroom and she scoffs. He totally doesn’t know where his medical supplies are.

“Do you need help?” She asks.

“No promise I got it, just stay!” He shouts back.  

She drops back to lay on his bed with a huff. She lets her head look back and she sees a wall of small polaroid pictures hanging from strings. She sits back up and twists around to get a better look.

There’s a lot, some pictures of other people who look to also be in spider suits. One is of a young couple smiling and laughing together. A few of Hobie just hanging out with his band. Some silly and ridiculous pictures of Hobie that make her chuckle.

She smiles warmly looking over all the photos but she freezes when she makes it to one row.

A row of pictures are just of her, well, photos of them. She gently traces the edges of one of them trying to place when they were taken.

Her brows raise when she realizes that all the photos were from the pub. It’s all the test photos Andy would take with her camera. On nights they offered the complimentary photos she always used her as a test photo. When Hobie came along they were the test subjects. She had no idea Hobie kept them.

She hears him emerge from the bathroom holding a roll of new wraps, “Finally found the bloody things.” He says a little irritated.

“I didn’t know you kept these.” She says turning to look at him.

He looks to where she’s facing and his own face looks surprised and a little flustered. He shrugs, “Course I did, Andy was just gonna toss them.” He mutters.

“Now face me so I can wrap up ya ankle please.” He tells her.

She readjusts herself doing as she’s told. He holds her foot up gently and starts to wrap her ankle with precise care.

“Why though?” she finds herself asking.

He’s focused on wrapping her and doesn’t look up, “Why what?” he murmurs, not fully listening to her, all his attention is on making sure he’s tending to her correctly.

“Why did you keep them? It’s just the test photos Andy does every weekend.” She presses, curiosity eating at her.

His eyes flicker up to look at her, “I like to keep memories.” He says shrugging casually.

She doesn’t have anything to say to that. So, she accepts that answer.

“Stand for me and let me know how it feels.” He tells her patting her leg.

He helps her stand up and she puts some weight on her foot. “Still hurts but I can walk on it now. Thanks.” She says smiling.

She bends over trying to put her heel back on but he stops her, “No way, no more heels tonight. Don’t need you twisting the other one.” he tells her seriously.

She rolls her eye, “What? You want me to walk home barefoot? On these streets.” She accuses with a laugh.

He crosses his arms and looks at her like she’s lost it. “I’m carrying you home. What else?”

She raises a brow, “Are we swinging or walking?” she asks.

He rolls his head back and chuckles, “What? You don’t like being flung high up in the city?”

“Not particularly. Unless you want me clinging onto you like my life depends on it.” She teases.

“M’fine with that.” He says smugly smirking at her.

“Oh whatever,” She plops back down on his bed and waves him off, “Go put on your suit.” She groans.

“Don’t act like you don’t love it.” He grins.

She shakes her head but finds herself smiling to herself. He’s such a tease, but she does enjoy it.  

The next day she's working and it's not her best night. Her mind is overloading with thoughts of Hobie.

She’s replaying the conversation in the back of the ambulance again and again, like a film on loop in her brain. If she's not replaying that, she's thinking about the photos he's kept. 

She’s been scattered brained at work since she arrived. Any down time has her mulling over what her relationship is with him. Just thinking about it makes her heart skip a beat. It makes her acknowledge that she does in fact, against her better judgement, like him. She could fall in love with him, but that thought is too scary. Of course, she loves him, she loves her small circle of friends ferociously.

Falling in love?

That’s dangerous. She doesn’t want to pick at that and everything it entails. Or rather, she doesn’t want to be disappointed.

She’s aggressively scrubbing a cup when Andy slides up next to her, nudging her. “Ya good there?” she asks.

“Oh yea, I’m chuffed can’t ya tell?” she replies irritated.

Andy throws her hands up in defense, “Not me you’re made at.”

MJ sighs and releases her death grip in the glass and looks at her friend, “Sorry, I’m just… having some confusing feelings.” She mumbles.

“About your little boyfriend?” Andy asks nonchalantly.

MJ whips her head up to look at her in confusion.

“What? Nothing pisses me off more than when my boyfriends being daft.” Andy shrugs.

“No, I just-” MJ fidgets with her hands, “He’s not my boyfriend.” She says her face blushing.

Andy turns to her slowly and raises her brow almost comically, “Well you better tell him that. The way he looks at you says otherwise.” She mumbles walking off.

MJ just looks down at the bar, her face as dark as her maroon hair, “What the fuck does that mean?”

She spends the rest of her shift barely there, almost knocking into people constantly, and even made a few drinks wrong. She just couldn’t think, her brain too caught up in her own spiraling thoughts.

When the nights finally over and it’s time to go home she couldn’t be more thankful. She closes the pub with Andy, locking up, and she feels Andy’s bony elbow hit her stomach. She turns to glare at the girl but she follows her eyesight, and Hobie’s coming around the corner, giving her a small wave. Andy gives MJ a pointed look, almost saying ‘I told ya so’.

“See ya later MJ.” She tells her with a smirk on her face.

“Ya ready?” he asks her with a lazy smile.

Her face is flushed as she looks up at him and he tilts his head, “Ya good? You’re really red.” He reaches out to press his hand against her forehead.

She freezes as he gets closer looking her over. “Ya warm too. C’mon you’re probably tired.” He says motioning his head toward the street and starts walking.

She just nods and shuffles forward, her heart beating erratically in her chest.