#the perfect place

[meetinginsamarra]

mayprompts2024 #11, secret

Read parts 1-9 on AO3 here

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The Perfect Place - Part Ten

They were riding in the backseat of a taxi to 221b Baker Street when Sherlock was struck by an unexpected and most unwelcome bout of nervousness.

Would John like the flat? Or would he decline like the previous nine potential flatmates? Sherlock gnawed his lower lip. Will I lose John as quickly as I have found him?

Sherlock remembered when one week ago, he had whined about this to Mike Stamford (Sherlock prefered to call it “complained”). As in being unable to find a suitable flatemate.

He told Mike that so far, every time a candidate had come to take a look at 221b, they had more or less quickly fled, using all kinds of excuses. Dumb ones like “sorry, gotta dash, I forgot to switch off the stove”, plausible ones like “bugger, it’s late, I need to be at work now” or ridiculous ones like the faked phone call that claimed “emergency at home, the neighbour’s run over my hamster with the lawn mower”. And so on and on.

Some of the disturbed looking candidates had kept their composure and simply went down the stairs whereas others had resembled headless chicken, about to run into a wall on their hurried way out.

Whichever way they ran, run they did. Why this always had happened every time remained a secret to Sherlock, one he could not solve. For all his observational and deductive skils, Sherlock stayed clueless about what scared them off.

(To everybody else it would be quite obvious.

The aspiring flatmates were greeted by a real human skull on the mantel and discovered a whole armoury of deadly weapons in the flat, reaching from a razor-sharp looking dagger over an antique Turkish scimitar to a literally bloody whaler’s harpoon. One peeked into the frigde and found himself face to foot with a human foot that was beginning to decompose. Another one was deeply troubled by the scrapbook with gory crime scene photos on the desk. A third one found the kitchen table strewn with the remnants of guinea pig embryos.

Sherlock found all of these circumstances perfectly normal, of course. Whereas these were deeply disturbing to the flatmates-to-be and triggered their instict of self-preservation. They presumed they would cohabitate with a murderous madman and left as long as they could.)

Anyway, after Sherlock’s complaining (whining) to Mike about his predicament, Mike had come up with a name (John Watson) claiming this man could be the pot to Sherlock’s kettle. Sherlock wanted to know more about this mystery man but Mike had simply smiled and said “Go and deduce him yourself, Sherlock.”

Sherlock’s interest had been piqued but it died a sudden death when he found out that the address Mike had given him was “Bernie’s Bed Shop”.

How could Mike assume that Sherlock would be interested in sharing his flat with a stupid salesman of boring beds? Sherlock had grumbled for three days about Mike’s proposal but then the next two other candidates had run from the flat and Sherlock had caved and had gone to the Bed Shop for a stake-out.

As soon as Sherlock had seen John limping to the shop and opening the front door with a trembling hand, he had deduced all about this fascinating doctor-soldier-salesman. Sherlock immediately fell in love.

In the present, Sherlock decided to be extra cautious and give John a heads-up about the state the flat was in.

“Erm, John, a warning concerning the flat, though. It’s a bit cluttered at the moment (a blatant understatement) with all my moving boxes and the things that have not yet found their final place (and most of them also never would). So please, don’t let this scare you away.”

(Let’s attest it to Sherlock’s current nervousness and distracted state of mind (palace) that he even considered such a warning might discomfort John when all it did was the exact opposite.)

“It won’t, I promise.” John said and became more curious by the minute. What possible dangers might lurk there in secret parts of the flat?

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It's late and I`ve just finished this, so please don't mind possible any typos.

tagging some people @calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @lisbeth-kk @peanitbear @raina-at

[fiction-quotes]

The wind never dies on this island. At times, you might think it had died, but if you look carefully enough you can see that the very tips of the trees are still trembling. Then it begins again its constant wuthering, sweeping the clouds from the sky, scattering sand, lashing at the stunted pines, stinging faces, legs, and hands, moaning through the night.

They have different names for the wind here: they call it the sirocco, the warm wind that comes from the deserts of Africa, or the mistral, the colder wind that blows from the north, and other names I do not recall. They say it lasts one, three, or nine days, but they do not tell you it never quite dies, it goes on blowing incessantly.

  —  The Perfect Place (Sheila Kohler)

[noperopesaredope]

I wish we had more female characters like Eleanor Shellstrop. One of the most unlikable people you've ever met. Read a Buzzfeed article on most rude things you can do on a daily basis and decided to use that as a list of goals. Makes everyone's day worse just by being there. Dropped a margarita mix on the ground and tried to pick it up, only to get hit by a row of shopping carts which pushed her into the road where she was hit by a boner pill delivery truck, killing her instantly. Cannot keep a romantic partner despite being bisexual. Had a terrible childhood but will die before she gets therapy. Best employee at a scam company. Just the worst but also can't help but root for her to improve.

Absolute loser. Girl-failure. Bad at almost everything. Literally perfect female character.

[stuckinapril]

lived my whole life in guilt bc i thought i was responsible for people's feelings. newly realizing that other people are responsible for their feelings and reactions, even if they make it seem like i'm the problem. a lot of the time it really has to do w them and their own emotional regulation. i can't keep thinking i'm not allowed to have space bc of other people's insecurities. like i literally refuse to dim myself. other people are responsible for their feelings just as i'm responsible for mine.

[mwagneto]

the companion will go oh god doctor who is that?? and the doctor will get all serious and somber and say listen. he's the most evil creature in the universe. he's the worst enemy i've ever faced. he's horrible and unpredictable and you can never ever let your guard down. and then the villain will walk into the room like this

[sophie-baybey]

Tumblr is going to become far worse over the next couple years leaning further into targeted ads, gathering user information, and generally no longer doing the Only Things This Site Does Right, and I would like to firmly predict that all of the blame will be put on the influx of twitter refugees, instead of the plain truth that tumblr has been shifting its goals for a long time now (banner ads, leaning into and owning the "hellsite" reputation, selling merch of old tumblr memes, experimenting with ads that cover a quarter of your screen while you scroll (although those are thankfully gone now)).

The tumblr staff have shown they finally understand their community, and as the website's reputation heals, shareholders and suits are going to push for more and more money to be squeezed out of this place. This path was set in motion long ago, and I'm going to be real grumpy when the blame all gets pushed aside to just point fingers at the twitter people.

[thevioletcaptain]

i genuinely don't care how good a piece of ai generated art or writing looks on the surface. i don't care if it emulates brush strokes and metaphor in a way indistinguishable from those created by a person.

it is not the product of thoughtful creation. it offers no insights into the creator's life or viewpoint. it has no connection to a moment in time or a place or an attitude. it has no perspective. it has no value.

it's empty, it's hollow, and it exists only to generate clicks (and by extension, ad revenue.)

it's just another revolting symptom of the disease that is late stage capitalism, and it fucking sucks.

[lumityfication]

if you didn’t like fnaf movie fuck you. you don’t see the vision. did you even catch the midnight motorist tshirt. that’s what i thought you freak

[centrente]

a comic about love and friendship and the power of communication, inspired by that time i heard ask by the smiths on my run and was somehow moved to tears

(i misheard 'the bomb' as 'the bond' but i stand by it. i don't value morrissey enough to respect his authorial intent)

(sensitive wolf fans smash that mf like button!!!!)

[first--lines]

The man I met in Gerzett – I believe I met him in Gerzett; I cannot be certain – said something about a fly. It was what he said about the fly that made me remember.

  —  The Perfect Place (Sheila Kohler)

[enbyandyy]

I think I have a new genre of favourite screenshot

CONFUSED GRIAN

[meetinginsamarra]

mayprompts2024 #16, experiment

Read parts 1-11 on AO3 here

Part 12 only on tumblr so far

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The Perfect Place - Part Thirteen

John put the skull back on its place on the mantelpiece and pointed at the dagger Sherlock had stuck into the wood to keep several letters in place. He frowned and gave Sherlock a disapproving look.

“You shouldn’t keep such a sharp dagger in the wood.” John chided.

Oh dear, here come the admonishments, Sherlock thought.

He braced himself against what John was likely about to say. “It’s dangerous to keep a sharp object here. People could get hurt.” Or “You’re destroying the wood, it’s difficult to repair damage like this.”

John continued. “It’s really bad for the blade, it’ll get dull, you know? Also, the tip might break and get stuck in the mantelpiece. It would be a shame to ruin such a fine dagger.”

“Erm, okay?” Sherlock stuttered, surprised, “Yes, will do.” Not what I expected.

When John peeked under the sofa, he pulled out the Turkish scimitar that Sherlock had already missed.

“Oh, great, you found it! I’ll be needing it tomorrow.” Sherlock called out happily.

“What for?” John brandished the scimitar and made some thrusts into Sherlock’s direction. “You going to waylay guileless travellers?”

“No, of course not.” Sherlock decided to test John’s sense of humour. “I’ll need it to chop the remains from the latest flatmate-candidate. He insulted Billy and therefore he had to die.”

John looked Sherlock straight into the face, utterly deadpan. “Good then that I didn’t. Also, you’d better use this letter-holding dagger for precision cuts through the corpse’s joints.”

They stared at each other for three long seconds before they exploded into raucous laughter.

For the next ten minutes, Sherlock watched John hopping excitedly around the sitting-room, ogling things, pawing bits and fondling bobs.

It was an amazing sight of utter joy.

Sherlock was reminded of a toddler experiencing their first Easter egg hunt in a magical wonderland. He suppressed the urge of handing a basket to John so that he could put the found treasures inside for later perusal.

(Others might have been reminded of a squirrel suffering from dementia, getting excited over and over again about finding the same nuts it had hidden juts several minutes ago, thinking they were new.)

(And yet others would have thought of a cuddly hedgehog searching for windfall like apples and pears to gain weight for the next winter.)

John commented on every mysterious, unusual, weird or quirky object that he picked up, showing it to Sherlock and silently asking for more information, data that Sherlock was more than happy to provide.

“Are you needing a cup of tea as bad as I?” John asked after a lot of talking, “I’m parched.”

(Also, his throat was terribly dry from all the dust he had inhaled while scrutinizing Sherlock’s things.)

“Let’s make some,” Sherlock offered, “and you could have a look at the kitchen.”

Sherlock put the kettle on while John first commented on the lovely choice of green tiles on the kitchen wall and then asked about the array of chemistry equipment on the kitchen table.

“I’m doing a lot of experiments here,” Sherlock explained, “to gather data and evaluate clues in order to solve the crimes that I consult on.”

(This was true, of course. Also, it sounded much better than the whole truth. Namely, that Sherlock followed mostly some whims he had when he was bored and just experimented with whatever was available to him. He had produced mountains of laboratory journals with millions of spreadsheets of data that nobody would ever use. Like one of his latest obsessions when he had tested the durability of mummified Guinea pig embryos after being exposed to various kinds of acids and then thrown against a bed of nails.)

“What is it you’re currently experimenting on?”

“I’m measuring the coagulation of saliva after death.” Sherlock replied and poured the hot water over a teabag.

“Interesting.” John said. “I’ll get us some milk.” He reached for the handle of the fridge.

Sherlock suddenly remembered where the saliva had come from and an electric shock of terror struck him.

“No, don’t open…” he began to shout.

But it was already too late.

“… the fridge.” Sherlock whispered.

John’s shriek reverberated in the deadly silence that followed.

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tagging some people @calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @lisbeth-kk @peanitbear  @raina-at

[fiction-quotes]

The truth is that there is almost nothing as tiresome as unwanted love.

  —  The Perfect Place (Sheila Kohler)

[hyakunana]

I hate the sewers . jpg

[wrender]

Here's all the artwork released so far for Project Voltage, the collaboration between Hatsune Miku and Pokemon! Let me know your favourite in the tags hehe

Check out Part 2

Here's the source for all the artwork so far

Check under the cut for all of the character sheets (I didn't want to make the post too long)

[elbdot]

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