Bradamantethebrave

Sherlock paid for the cab and gathered the cabbie’s features in a glance. He seemed familiar, but Sherlock just couldn’t place his face. It was incredibly frustrating and he sighed in annoyance. John was waiting at the door when the cab drove off, petrified and standing in his familiar military-style stance that he adopted when danger was adrift in the air. “What is it?” Sherlock asked recognizing the signs of alertness in his flat mate immediately. John pointed to the shiny gold lock that rose out of the ebony black of the door like a precious island in a sea of tar. “Scratch marks. Someone’s picked ou

“Thistles?” “What?” Sherlock turned to John. “Thistles; they’re thistle flowers.” John said pointing to the three stems drooping lazily in Sherlock’s hand. “I know; they used to grow outside my house.” Sherlock gingerly plucked one flower away from the trio and examined the stalk, careful not to touch the spiky extensions protruding dangerously from around the flower itself. Lestrade eased a flower away from Sherlock as well, and examined it mulling over his extensive memory to see if he could recall any times a flower was found at a crime scene, or if he could recall the word &ls

1. His first name is Mark. Why does everyone insist on calling him Anderson? Even friends call him Anderson. Even his wife calls him Anderson. His first name is Mark, and it’s a good name, and he wishes that people would give it a try. 2. He isn’t all that crazy about dinosaurs. Don’t get him wrong, they –are- pretty cool; but he’s not obsessed. The thing is: he brought his nephew to his office one day as a favor to his brother-in-law, and his nephew left some of his toys on his desk, a plastic brontosaur and T-rex.  To his horror, he left to drive his nephew home and when he came back Sherlock Holmes was in his

In the cab, Sherlock sat, again, in silence, as he was wont to do from time to time, and especially during a case where all of his single-minded focus was directed at the evidence and the victim in question. If he had his way nothing would ever enter his purview at these times, leaving him in utter exhilarating contemplation until he inevitably had wrung all of the answers, and therefore interest, from a problem. He would have loved to beat the issue around the creases of his mind with all of his gusto and strength until it held no more mysteries; until he had covered it so completely he knew it intimately, and he could dismiss the useless ca

Guys! I read a newspaper article that said the world was ending! Did you know? What should we do? Okay. Ignore that. Sher-cat clarified. But what I don't understand is if they could just pay the Russians to save the planet, why don't we? It seems like an awful dumb reason to die. I know that humanity must have the resources somewhere! Why is it taking so long for someone to do something? Sher-cat, why are you laughing? Okay, I'm gullible. And mad. Sher-cat lied to me about the world ending and I fell for it. But he did it so gosh-darned convincingly!  I wish I could resist, or somehow see the truth!  Does anyone know how

"Sherlock, hold up for a second." "What John?" Sherlock asked slowing his strides only the slightest bit to accommodate his shorter roommate. "We need to talk." John said. "We need to breathe air. I need to immerse myself in cases. Everything else seems superfluous." He said detachedly. John stared at the back of Sherlock's head, stunned and momentarily unable to imagine the stony face that spewed those words. "Okay." He said picking up his pace and attempting to walk at his flat mate's side. "This is exactly what we need to talk about. You're acting…" John scanned his brain for the right term "…funny." "I thought you told me

"Sherlock?" John called to his flat mate across the kitchen. Sherlock groaned in reply. "Sherlock?" John called a bit more forcefully. "What?" Sherlock snapped. "That can't be good for the sofa." Sherlock stared at his flat mate from where he was lounging upside down across the couch, his feet were dangling in the empty air and his head hovering inches above the floor, coal-black curls sweeping across the dusty surface lazily. "Well, John, what the sofa doesn't know won't hurt him!" he barked. John rolled his eyes and set his cup of tea on one of the few clear spaces on the kitchen table. The rest of the table had become a veritable sw

The first clue John had that he was approaching his ultimate destination was the horrible screeching of sea gulls that had attached themselves to the boat. The jarring wail set his teeth on edge and drove him from where he was slouched comfortably at the starboard side of the boat towards the front where the noise of the gulls was somehow neutralized. The stern of the boat thrust itself out of the water majestically and for a moment John felt as though he were flying, but once the moment had past he suffered the familiar sensation of falling. He momentarily lost his balance and had to swallow a cry as he wrapped his arms around the railing

 Speaking of work, what time was it? Jim glanced at the clock on his phone. Nine-thirty. Nice. Jim watched London streak past the car window until it blended together into a marble and concrete blur. He closed his tired, irritated eyes and waited for the car to pull to a stop outside his apartment. "Ah-Ah-Ah-Ah- stay…Ah-Ah-Ah…Ah-Ah…" Jim's phone was ringing with a series of oncoming texts piling up in his inbox one after the other. The Begees barely had enough time to finish one line before the next one rolled over top of it. "Oh God no…" Jim moaned as he flipped through the four messages from blocked numbers. "Jim