Fanfictions and Art
Do you have something you want to add to the story? Well now you can! Here you can read RP fanfics and browse art done by creative players just like you! To submit a roleplay fanfic or drawing, please use the contact button and we'll get back to you shortly. Eligible work will be published below.
By My Side
If we met in the future, I wonder what I would say. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be the person I am today. The most unlikely of friends, met in an extraordinary way, an idea that came to me on a late Summer's day. You came to me, hiding a past in a world that I'd cast. A place to escape, to dream big, a place to be free from the real world we live in. A future together I almost shattered, I was afraid and you barely mattered. But over time came a crack in the shell, who knew we'd come to know each other so well?
A simple message opened the doors to the face behind the mask. Trust takes time, but line by line you quickly earned mine. Those days have passed in such a fast haze, days I once found endless. Now I long for more time 'cause I never thought they'd be gone. We were there for each other no matter what, never a thought as to how fast we'd grow up. Behind the game that we played, subtly there in the world that we'd made, the real us.
Together we grew, becoming closer, more friendly too. Every bad day, you were there to ease the pain away. We shared our joys, our sorrows. But now we're here at tomorrow. The friendly, comforting days of before, back when I thought life was a bore, I can't take them for granted anymore.
I try holding onto the past, hoping life won't come at me so fast, groping in the dark for a way to a future that's a game I'm clueless knowing how to play. You're still by my side, one in whom I always confide. But a crossroad lies before us, we're not the young, carefree kids we used to be. When I look back, I long for those days, the slowness of life, each year a routine. But all that, even you, are beginning to fade. The hours we spent together are becoming a thing of the past, the strings of our futures going in two different directions.
I see it so clearly yet I hold on so dearly to something I know won't probably last. But I still try, hiding my fears of the future in the night when I cry. I can't keep change from happening, try as I may. Since we're lightyears apart, I can only pray that wherever life takes us, I'll still be a friend in your heart.
I look up to you and care so deeply, that the thought of us ending cuts me right to the core. I've admired you, you've inspired me, and I desire to keep up our friendship like we've done before. Sadly, I can't stop time. New doors and horizons lay intermingled with dark clouds of the unknown. We're not little anymore and can't just stay home.
Just please, please don't leave this behind. In all life's new adventures, don't forget the ones who've stuck by your side. I hope I've been the friend you are to me, believe me, I've tried. I've cried over your pain and have hid many a tear from our friendship that's grown over the years. Just please don't end it, the very thought makes me cry. Because I could never ever find the words to say goodbye. -Carrington
If we met in the future, I wonder what I would say. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be the person I am today. The most unlikely of friends, met in an extraordinary way, an idea that came to me on a late Summer's day. You came to me, hiding a past in a world that I'd cast. A place to escape, to dream big, a place to be free from the real world we live in. A future together I almost shattered, I was afraid and you barely mattered. But over time came a crack in the shell, who knew we'd come to know each other so well?
A simple message opened the doors to the face behind the mask. Trust takes time, but line by line you quickly earned mine. Those days have passed in such a fast haze, days I once found endless. Now I long for more time 'cause I never thought they'd be gone. We were there for each other no matter what, never a thought as to how fast we'd grow up. Behind the game that we played, subtly there in the world that we'd made, the real us.
Together we grew, becoming closer, more friendly too. Every bad day, you were there to ease the pain away. We shared our joys, our sorrows. But now we're here at tomorrow. The friendly, comforting days of before, back when I thought life was a bore, I can't take them for granted anymore.
I try holding onto the past, hoping life won't come at me so fast, groping in the dark for a way to a future that's a game I'm clueless knowing how to play. You're still by my side, one in whom I always confide. But a crossroad lies before us, we're not the young, carefree kids we used to be. When I look back, I long for those days, the slowness of life, each year a routine. But all that, even you, are beginning to fade. The hours we spent together are becoming a thing of the past, the strings of our futures going in two different directions.
I see it so clearly yet I hold on so dearly to something I know won't probably last. But I still try, hiding my fears of the future in the night when I cry. I can't keep change from happening, try as I may. Since we're lightyears apart, I can only pray that wherever life takes us, I'll still be a friend in your heart.
I look up to you and care so deeply, that the thought of us ending cuts me right to the core. I've admired you, you've inspired me, and I desire to keep up our friendship like we've done before. Sadly, I can't stop time. New doors and horizons lay intermingled with dark clouds of the unknown. We're not little anymore and can't just stay home.
Just please, please don't leave this behind. In all life's new adventures, don't forget the ones who've stuck by your side. I hope I've been the friend you are to me, believe me, I've tried. I've cried over your pain and have hid many a tear from our friendship that's grown over the years. Just please don't end it, the very thought makes me cry. Because I could never ever find the words to say goodbye. -Carrington
cs_taylor_swift.m4a | |
File Size: | 3153 kb |
File Type: | m4a |
Sherlock Fanfic (by KK)
Part 1:
“I will shoot you!” Molly Hooper tried to keep her voice from trembling. It was hard, considering the fact she was pressed into the corner holding a pistol in her shaking hands. Her expressive brown eyes, usually sparkling were now filled with the utmost of fear. She tried her best to swallow the overwhelming feeling of terror crowding any other emotion she had been previously experiencing.
“Oh will you now?” her assailant replied. His voice was thin, almost casual but with an underlying sense of sarcasm. “Oh Molly dear, we both know you don't have the guts to shoot me.” his tone was now an infuriatingly pitiful whine. “Why would you even have such thoughts?” he stepped closer to her, palms out by his sides in a nonthreatening gesture, though he didn't seem frightened at all at the barrel of the pistol staring him in the face. “Poor poor Molly,” he cooed. “What a sight you are.”
“I will! I mean it! I will pull the trigger!” Molly couldn't keep the tremble out of her voice this time. She was frightened and she knew that he knew. But then again, he knew everything. One does not get a reputation for nothing. Her pointer finger pressed the trigger of the weapon just enough to assure her again that it was there, ready, waiting. But waiting for what? Why couldn't she do it? One simple movement, a fraction of a second and it would be over.
“Molly? I can hear you thinking,” the man in front of her told her gently. “You doubt yourself. Doubt is the downfall of man. If you're so strong as you've always believed yourself to be, pull the trigger. I'm waiting Molly. Pull it. Shoot me dead. Go ahead!” his tone had grown slightly mocking.
Again, Molly hesitated. Looking into the eyes of the man she hated so deeply, even then she couldn't find the strength to do as she knew she should be doing. She was around dead people all the time. In fact, even her job centered around the dead. And yet, to take a person's life...
“Shoot me Molly, we haven't got all day.” The words slipped so easily, so casually from his lips. It was infuriating, yes. But still.
Molly swallowed hard and tightened her grip on the pistol until her knuckles were white. Squeezing her eyes shut, something she had been told never to do when firing a weapon, she shook her head, unable to comply. Suddenly a shot rang out, echoing around the little room a hundred times louder than it would have been ordinarily. A bullet whizzed out of a gun barrel, deadly in its intent. Molly hadn't fired. Or had she?
Two days earlier:
Sherlock Holmes pulled up the collar of his black trench coat bowing his head against the cold, onslaught of rain drenching the streets and shops around him. It was a dreary day, one that, if Sherlock had any emotions to feel-John insisted he did but Sherlock remained stubborn in believing that he was completely impartial to all feelings-would have echoed the thoughts in Sherlock's mind to the letter. He was bored. So bored in fact, that John had talked him into taking a walk. A rare victory to the small, but faithful companion who was walking at his side.
“Any better?” John's voice sounded muffled as he breathed into his coat. The chilly air was cutting even through that. He glanced over at his partner watching the clouds of steam leave his nose with each breath. He took in the piercing green eyes, always alert, always taking in every detail. His lips were slightly parted, almost as if he had been talking to himself, also not an unusual occurrence to the brilliant but socially awkward consulting detective at his side. “Sherlock?” the normal pause for a two person conversation had passed and John wasn't sure his friend had heard him.
Apparently he had. Sherlock's head snapped up, an unruly black lock of his shaggy curls falling into his face. He didn't bother to push it back, only encouraged it with a shake of his head as he glanced at John with a look that seemed to pierce deep into his very soul. “Oh yes, very nice,” Sherlock remarked, very distractedly. “What is it that we're doing again?”
John rolled his eyes. “A walk. Sherlock, can you not enjoy yourself on a bloody walk for fifteen minutes? Look around us. The people, the places. Being in the 'real' world isn't so bad you know.” his voice held a hint of a scold.
“And so very boring.” Sherlock halted mid-stride and it took John a whole extra one to note the change and backtrack. “Enough of this 'walk,' John. It's boring. Everything is boing. The world is boring!” Sherlock threw up his hands exasperatedly. “A case John. I need a case. Any case.”
“You have that one-” John began, only to be interrupted.
“Boring.”
“You said ANY case, Sherlock.” Now it was John's turn to be exasperated.
“Anyone but that one, John,” Sherlock sighed impatiently, rubbing his bare hands against the biting wind and rain. “I'm going back,” he added decidedly, turning around, not even waiting for his friend.
“Well wait up will you?” John hurried to catch up.
Sherlock's strides were long and it didn't take long to arrive back at 221B Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson met them in the hall with her usually motherly worry and questions. Sherlock answered the friendly woman in as few words as possible as she pulled off his dark blue scarf and trench coat, hung them up carefully and tromped up the stairs, John following close behind. “You could have at least thanked her for the tea,” John reprimanded.
“The tea? Oh yes. Well it's no matter now is it? She's gone.” Sherlock unlocked the door to their flat, and threw himself in his customary seat, almost like a child having a tantrum. He sat there while John helped himself to a cup of piping hot tea, twiddling his thumbs and drumming his fingers on the armrests. He was just about to say something when his phone buzzed, alerting him of a text that he had just received. Sherlock grabbed the device with the eagerness of a greedy robber and glanced at the message.
“Anything interesting?” John asked, half hoping it was a case to perk up his suffering friend.
“Only Lestrade again,” Sherlock huffed, tossing the phone down carelessly beside him.
“And what did he want?” John asked, sitting down in the chair across from Sherlock with his cup of tea on which he now sipped sparingly.
“Only to confirm what I already told him, of course. He never listens, the bloody-”
“Sherlock,” John half snapped, jerking his head toward the door where a woman had just appeared. “Watch your language,” he mouthed, standing up in respect to her presence.
“Why Molly, what brings you here?” Sherlock asked, standing as well. His voice no longer sounded deathly bored, but slightly curious.
Molly gave the both of them a rather nervous smile, her eyes resting the longest on Sherlock. “Yes, um, hello John, Sherlock,” she mumbled.
“Would you like a cup of tea? We were just-”
“Enough with the formalities John, she's obviously on business. Sit Molly,” Sherlock invited rather bluntly as he gestured to a third seat.
Molly took the invitation and sat down. Everything about her radiated nervousness which only delighted Sherlock at the prospect of an adventure. Her hands clasped and unclasped as she fidgeted, unsure where to begin.
Sherlock cocked an eyebrow. “Well,” he prompted impatiently.
“Oh yes, well I-” this was not the usual Molly Sherlock was used to. She hesitated and pulled out her phone. “I received a strange text.”
John, who had been watching Sherlock leaning forward eagerly in his seat, all eager to hear what she had to say, saw his whole demeanor deflate like a balloon. He slumped backwards and the bored expression returned to his face. He did remain silent though.
Molly held out the phone to him. “See?”
Slowly, Sherlock let out his breath as he took the phone and read the text. Though his expression remained unreadable, John's sharp eyes took in the slight tensing of his body. “What's it say Sherlock?” he asked quickly.
Instead of reading the text out loud, Sherlock continued to stare emotionless at the screen until John took it away from him. His eyes scanned the message. “A game you seek, a game you'll find. A way to leave boredom behind. Be careful. Once you begin there's no telling where we'll end. The clock is ticking. You've been waiting for this day. Are you in?”
John looked up, confused. “Sherlock what is this?”
Molly shifted uncomfortably on her seat. “I don't think this was meant for me.”
Sherlock had been sitting completely still, his hands steepled underneath his chin. “Yes it was,” he answered slowly. “You're being used. Come on John.” He stood up and headed for the door.
John looked beyond bewildered. “Sherlock? Where are we going? What about Molly?”
Sherlock spun around, his eyes lit up with the thrill of a new adventure. “Moriarty,” he answered simply, taking Molly's phone from John. “I'll need this.”
Molly's face went pure white. “M-Moriarty?”
“Yes. Now please, if you'll excuse me...”
“Wait, we're done?! All finished?!”
“Oh no dear Molly. The game is only just beginning! Oh by the way Molly, be careful, you're in danger,” he added nonchalantly. Sherlock was nearly giddy with excitement as he bolted down the stairs, grabbing his coat and scarf.
John was hot on his heels. “But how do you know where we're going? And why is she in danger?”
Rolling his eyes as he tucked in his scarf, Sherlock gave John a look a mother might give a misbehaving child who should obviously know better than to do what it just did. “John you don't see the most simple of facts. He spelled it right out in his text. Even you could have seen that. He doesn't want to waste time, keep me thinking long. He's as eager as I am. Come on!” Sherlock stepped outside, looking for a cab.
“But wait...what?” John stammered. “You never told me why her life is in danger?”
“Moriarty is playing with her, with all of us. He knew Molly would take the phone to me, show me the message.”
“And where are we going again?”
“Ben, John, Ben!”
“Ben who?” John asked, still not following Sherlock's train of thought.
“The clock. Big Ben,” Sherlock explained. “He mentioned a clock and said the word 'been'. Could only mean one thing.”
“Oh, right,” John nodded, grunting as he climbed into the back of a taxi Sherlock had just hailed.
The streets of downtown London were bustling even though it was evening. The sky still held a faint hint of blue and a few of the brighter stars were starting to twinkle above, though they were drowned out by the lights of the heavily populated city. Yellow street lights, the multi colored neon glow of shop signs, the blinding glare of cars headlights. Sherlock paid no attention to the scenes out the window as his mind was, as usual, focus solely on the task at hand. John however was staring out the window, watching the city life around them.
“Where is she?” Sherlock's annoyed sounding voice cut through John's scattered thoughts. He turned to his friend.
“Hmm?”
“Mrs. Hudson! Where is she? She wasn't downstairs and she didn't come up to greet Molly like she always does.” Sherlock's green eyes seemed to see right through John.
“Um, she went out of town for the weekend, to her cottage remember? She told us this morning.”
“Wasn't listening.”
John rolled his eyes. “I'm not surprised.”
The taxi pulled up at their destination a few minutes later, the brakes squeaking slightly. John handed him the money they owed and the cabby stuffed it into his wallet before driving off without a word. The air had become chillier now and Sherlock stuffed his hands into his trenchcoat pocket as they headed to the clock which stood looming high over them, quiet and ever watching.
For the hundredth time, Sherlock used his brother's influence to gain access to the clock tower and he and John climbed up the dark stairs to the inner workings of the timekeeper. It was loud there, gears grinding and metal cogs that towered above them inching along as they faithfully proclaimed the hour to the world outside.
John pulled out his gun, wary of the dark, ominous place. Sherlock sensed his nervousness and frowned though his fingers tightened on the handle of his own pistol hidden in his pocket. The coolness of the handle reassured him. The two stuck together as they searched the room, all the furnishings providing ample place for a person to hide. Any bullet fired here would nearly be sure to ricochet from all the metal around, not to mention make it nearly impossible to tell in what direction it was fired from. There was plenty of reason to be nervous.
Sherlock suddenly froze. “Did you hear something?”
“What?” John yelled above the grating noise. “How could I possibly bloody hear something with all this?!” he gestured to the grinding gears.
Frowning again, Sherlock carefully made his way to the other side of the room. He had heard a noise, he was sure of it. A quick glance at the time hurried his footsteps. There were two minutes till ten and goodness knows what was about to happen. Moriarty was smart enough to calculate the precise timings of things just like he was. Moriarty knew him a little too well in fact, but Sherlock was sure he was smarter. He always was, just loved a challenge and one like Jim Moriarty could provide was fun enough for his mind not to be bored. A game. It was all just one big game.
“What's wrong Sherlock?” John asked, his usual worry for his friend filling his voice.
“There's someone calling,” Sherlock replied, his sharp eyes trying to penetrate the room. John handed him a flashlight and Sherlock gave him a condescending look. “You could have given me that earlier,” he grumbled.
“Didn't know you needed it,” John replied evenly, in a slightly sarcastic way.
Flashlight in hand, Sherlock swept the cogs with light. In a far, dark corner, the yellow beam rested on what he had been looking for. A person. John saw it at the same time and cried out in alarm. “Mrs. Hudson!”
Dashing over, they both saw the ghastly predicament that the elderly landlady was in. Mrs. Hudson was laid across one of the grating metal pieces, bound tightly. Inching towards her, each notch bringing it closer was a giant cog wheel that would surely crush her in a minute or less. It towered over her body, threatening her life with each passing second.
Mrs. Hudson was terrified, eyes wide with unspeakable fear. She attempted to wriggle free but the rope bonds were just too tight. Though she was gagged, enough sound escaped for Sherlock and John to hear her muffled distress calls. John dashed over, whipping his knife out of his pocket while Sherlock held the light.
The ropes were strong and thick, and John only had a pocket knife to cut them with. The progress was painfully slow. Mrs. Hudson continued to struggle, only making it harder for John who was trying to sooth her all while keeping an eye on the cog which was just about a foot away. His knife flew back and forth, sawing at the fraying ropes.
“Faster John, faster!” Sherlock yelled.
“I'm bloody trying!” sweat poured down John's face. Mrs. Hudson let out a shrill scream as the cog reached her. At the exact same moment, the bonds broke, and John roughly yanked her out of harm's way. Mrs. Hudson trembled in his arms, swaying like a leaf.
Sherlock quickly removed the gag, now looking indifferent to the situation. “Who did this to you?” he asked, though sure he knew the answer.
“For goodness sakes give the woman a minute!” John snapped, before returning to his soothing tone as he rubbed Mrs. Hudson's back. She was gasping with fright. “Easy now. You're alright. It's alright,” he murmured, holding her close.
The elderly landlady finally calmed down somewhat and let go of John. “I-it was M-M-Moriarty,” she stammered.
Sherlock nodded. “Where is he now?” he asked earnestly, his eyes piercing into Mrs. Hudson's frightened ones.
“I-I don't know...”
“But you must know!” Sherlock half yelled, throwing up his hands in exasperation. “Moriarty is smarter than this. He doesn't want to leave me at a dead end. He looked her up and down. “Did he do anything to you?” the clothes looked right, perfume the same as always.
“Did he do anything-Sherlock!” Mrs. Hudson half snapped, her old spunk back. “He tied me up and was going to let me die!”
“I don't care about that. Where is the clue?” Sherlock shrugged off her remark. “Take off your shoes.”
“Excuse me?”
John looked at the two, knowing Sherlock had a point but feeling sorry for poor Mrs. Hudson. He decided to take the safe route and go along with Sherlock. “Mrs. Hudson please. The faster you comply the faster he'll leave you alone.”
Muttering under her breath, Mrs. Hudson slowly removed her shiny black shoes. Sherlock's green eyes lit up as he snatched them. “Yes! It's Christmas!” he grinned as he hurried towards the stairs. “Come on John!”
“I-uh...excuse me Mrs. Hudson,” John mumbled apologetically as he turned and hurried after Sherlock, leaving the bewildered landlady standing alone in the clock room.
Part 1:
“I will shoot you!” Molly Hooper tried to keep her voice from trembling. It was hard, considering the fact she was pressed into the corner holding a pistol in her shaking hands. Her expressive brown eyes, usually sparkling were now filled with the utmost of fear. She tried her best to swallow the overwhelming feeling of terror crowding any other emotion she had been previously experiencing.
“Oh will you now?” her assailant replied. His voice was thin, almost casual but with an underlying sense of sarcasm. “Oh Molly dear, we both know you don't have the guts to shoot me.” his tone was now an infuriatingly pitiful whine. “Why would you even have such thoughts?” he stepped closer to her, palms out by his sides in a nonthreatening gesture, though he didn't seem frightened at all at the barrel of the pistol staring him in the face. “Poor poor Molly,” he cooed. “What a sight you are.”
“I will! I mean it! I will pull the trigger!” Molly couldn't keep the tremble out of her voice this time. She was frightened and she knew that he knew. But then again, he knew everything. One does not get a reputation for nothing. Her pointer finger pressed the trigger of the weapon just enough to assure her again that it was there, ready, waiting. But waiting for what? Why couldn't she do it? One simple movement, a fraction of a second and it would be over.
“Molly? I can hear you thinking,” the man in front of her told her gently. “You doubt yourself. Doubt is the downfall of man. If you're so strong as you've always believed yourself to be, pull the trigger. I'm waiting Molly. Pull it. Shoot me dead. Go ahead!” his tone had grown slightly mocking.
Again, Molly hesitated. Looking into the eyes of the man she hated so deeply, even then she couldn't find the strength to do as she knew she should be doing. She was around dead people all the time. In fact, even her job centered around the dead. And yet, to take a person's life...
“Shoot me Molly, we haven't got all day.” The words slipped so easily, so casually from his lips. It was infuriating, yes. But still.
Molly swallowed hard and tightened her grip on the pistol until her knuckles were white. Squeezing her eyes shut, something she had been told never to do when firing a weapon, she shook her head, unable to comply. Suddenly a shot rang out, echoing around the little room a hundred times louder than it would have been ordinarily. A bullet whizzed out of a gun barrel, deadly in its intent. Molly hadn't fired. Or had she?
Two days earlier:
Sherlock Holmes pulled up the collar of his black trench coat bowing his head against the cold, onslaught of rain drenching the streets and shops around him. It was a dreary day, one that, if Sherlock had any emotions to feel-John insisted he did but Sherlock remained stubborn in believing that he was completely impartial to all feelings-would have echoed the thoughts in Sherlock's mind to the letter. He was bored. So bored in fact, that John had talked him into taking a walk. A rare victory to the small, but faithful companion who was walking at his side.
“Any better?” John's voice sounded muffled as he breathed into his coat. The chilly air was cutting even through that. He glanced over at his partner watching the clouds of steam leave his nose with each breath. He took in the piercing green eyes, always alert, always taking in every detail. His lips were slightly parted, almost as if he had been talking to himself, also not an unusual occurrence to the brilliant but socially awkward consulting detective at his side. “Sherlock?” the normal pause for a two person conversation had passed and John wasn't sure his friend had heard him.
Apparently he had. Sherlock's head snapped up, an unruly black lock of his shaggy curls falling into his face. He didn't bother to push it back, only encouraged it with a shake of his head as he glanced at John with a look that seemed to pierce deep into his very soul. “Oh yes, very nice,” Sherlock remarked, very distractedly. “What is it that we're doing again?”
John rolled his eyes. “A walk. Sherlock, can you not enjoy yourself on a bloody walk for fifteen minutes? Look around us. The people, the places. Being in the 'real' world isn't so bad you know.” his voice held a hint of a scold.
“And so very boring.” Sherlock halted mid-stride and it took John a whole extra one to note the change and backtrack. “Enough of this 'walk,' John. It's boring. Everything is boing. The world is boring!” Sherlock threw up his hands exasperatedly. “A case John. I need a case. Any case.”
“You have that one-” John began, only to be interrupted.
“Boring.”
“You said ANY case, Sherlock.” Now it was John's turn to be exasperated.
“Anyone but that one, John,” Sherlock sighed impatiently, rubbing his bare hands against the biting wind and rain. “I'm going back,” he added decidedly, turning around, not even waiting for his friend.
“Well wait up will you?” John hurried to catch up.
Sherlock's strides were long and it didn't take long to arrive back at 221B Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson met them in the hall with her usually motherly worry and questions. Sherlock answered the friendly woman in as few words as possible as she pulled off his dark blue scarf and trench coat, hung them up carefully and tromped up the stairs, John following close behind. “You could have at least thanked her for the tea,” John reprimanded.
“The tea? Oh yes. Well it's no matter now is it? She's gone.” Sherlock unlocked the door to their flat, and threw himself in his customary seat, almost like a child having a tantrum. He sat there while John helped himself to a cup of piping hot tea, twiddling his thumbs and drumming his fingers on the armrests. He was just about to say something when his phone buzzed, alerting him of a text that he had just received. Sherlock grabbed the device with the eagerness of a greedy robber and glanced at the message.
“Anything interesting?” John asked, half hoping it was a case to perk up his suffering friend.
“Only Lestrade again,” Sherlock huffed, tossing the phone down carelessly beside him.
“And what did he want?” John asked, sitting down in the chair across from Sherlock with his cup of tea on which he now sipped sparingly.
“Only to confirm what I already told him, of course. He never listens, the bloody-”
“Sherlock,” John half snapped, jerking his head toward the door where a woman had just appeared. “Watch your language,” he mouthed, standing up in respect to her presence.
“Why Molly, what brings you here?” Sherlock asked, standing as well. His voice no longer sounded deathly bored, but slightly curious.
Molly gave the both of them a rather nervous smile, her eyes resting the longest on Sherlock. “Yes, um, hello John, Sherlock,” she mumbled.
“Would you like a cup of tea? We were just-”
“Enough with the formalities John, she's obviously on business. Sit Molly,” Sherlock invited rather bluntly as he gestured to a third seat.
Molly took the invitation and sat down. Everything about her radiated nervousness which only delighted Sherlock at the prospect of an adventure. Her hands clasped and unclasped as she fidgeted, unsure where to begin.
Sherlock cocked an eyebrow. “Well,” he prompted impatiently.
“Oh yes, well I-” this was not the usual Molly Sherlock was used to. She hesitated and pulled out her phone. “I received a strange text.”
John, who had been watching Sherlock leaning forward eagerly in his seat, all eager to hear what she had to say, saw his whole demeanor deflate like a balloon. He slumped backwards and the bored expression returned to his face. He did remain silent though.
Molly held out the phone to him. “See?”
Slowly, Sherlock let out his breath as he took the phone and read the text. Though his expression remained unreadable, John's sharp eyes took in the slight tensing of his body. “What's it say Sherlock?” he asked quickly.
Instead of reading the text out loud, Sherlock continued to stare emotionless at the screen until John took it away from him. His eyes scanned the message. “A game you seek, a game you'll find. A way to leave boredom behind. Be careful. Once you begin there's no telling where we'll end. The clock is ticking. You've been waiting for this day. Are you in?”
John looked up, confused. “Sherlock what is this?”
Molly shifted uncomfortably on her seat. “I don't think this was meant for me.”
Sherlock had been sitting completely still, his hands steepled underneath his chin. “Yes it was,” he answered slowly. “You're being used. Come on John.” He stood up and headed for the door.
John looked beyond bewildered. “Sherlock? Where are we going? What about Molly?”
Sherlock spun around, his eyes lit up with the thrill of a new adventure. “Moriarty,” he answered simply, taking Molly's phone from John. “I'll need this.”
Molly's face went pure white. “M-Moriarty?”
“Yes. Now please, if you'll excuse me...”
“Wait, we're done?! All finished?!”
“Oh no dear Molly. The game is only just beginning! Oh by the way Molly, be careful, you're in danger,” he added nonchalantly. Sherlock was nearly giddy with excitement as he bolted down the stairs, grabbing his coat and scarf.
John was hot on his heels. “But how do you know where we're going? And why is she in danger?”
Rolling his eyes as he tucked in his scarf, Sherlock gave John a look a mother might give a misbehaving child who should obviously know better than to do what it just did. “John you don't see the most simple of facts. He spelled it right out in his text. Even you could have seen that. He doesn't want to waste time, keep me thinking long. He's as eager as I am. Come on!” Sherlock stepped outside, looking for a cab.
“But wait...what?” John stammered. “You never told me why her life is in danger?”
“Moriarty is playing with her, with all of us. He knew Molly would take the phone to me, show me the message.”
“And where are we going again?”
“Ben, John, Ben!”
“Ben who?” John asked, still not following Sherlock's train of thought.
“The clock. Big Ben,” Sherlock explained. “He mentioned a clock and said the word 'been'. Could only mean one thing.”
“Oh, right,” John nodded, grunting as he climbed into the back of a taxi Sherlock had just hailed.
The streets of downtown London were bustling even though it was evening. The sky still held a faint hint of blue and a few of the brighter stars were starting to twinkle above, though they were drowned out by the lights of the heavily populated city. Yellow street lights, the multi colored neon glow of shop signs, the blinding glare of cars headlights. Sherlock paid no attention to the scenes out the window as his mind was, as usual, focus solely on the task at hand. John however was staring out the window, watching the city life around them.
“Where is she?” Sherlock's annoyed sounding voice cut through John's scattered thoughts. He turned to his friend.
“Hmm?”
“Mrs. Hudson! Where is she? She wasn't downstairs and she didn't come up to greet Molly like she always does.” Sherlock's green eyes seemed to see right through John.
“Um, she went out of town for the weekend, to her cottage remember? She told us this morning.”
“Wasn't listening.”
John rolled his eyes. “I'm not surprised.”
The taxi pulled up at their destination a few minutes later, the brakes squeaking slightly. John handed him the money they owed and the cabby stuffed it into his wallet before driving off without a word. The air had become chillier now and Sherlock stuffed his hands into his trenchcoat pocket as they headed to the clock which stood looming high over them, quiet and ever watching.
For the hundredth time, Sherlock used his brother's influence to gain access to the clock tower and he and John climbed up the dark stairs to the inner workings of the timekeeper. It was loud there, gears grinding and metal cogs that towered above them inching along as they faithfully proclaimed the hour to the world outside.
John pulled out his gun, wary of the dark, ominous place. Sherlock sensed his nervousness and frowned though his fingers tightened on the handle of his own pistol hidden in his pocket. The coolness of the handle reassured him. The two stuck together as they searched the room, all the furnishings providing ample place for a person to hide. Any bullet fired here would nearly be sure to ricochet from all the metal around, not to mention make it nearly impossible to tell in what direction it was fired from. There was plenty of reason to be nervous.
Sherlock suddenly froze. “Did you hear something?”
“What?” John yelled above the grating noise. “How could I possibly bloody hear something with all this?!” he gestured to the grinding gears.
Frowning again, Sherlock carefully made his way to the other side of the room. He had heard a noise, he was sure of it. A quick glance at the time hurried his footsteps. There were two minutes till ten and goodness knows what was about to happen. Moriarty was smart enough to calculate the precise timings of things just like he was. Moriarty knew him a little too well in fact, but Sherlock was sure he was smarter. He always was, just loved a challenge and one like Jim Moriarty could provide was fun enough for his mind not to be bored. A game. It was all just one big game.
“What's wrong Sherlock?” John asked, his usual worry for his friend filling his voice.
“There's someone calling,” Sherlock replied, his sharp eyes trying to penetrate the room. John handed him a flashlight and Sherlock gave him a condescending look. “You could have given me that earlier,” he grumbled.
“Didn't know you needed it,” John replied evenly, in a slightly sarcastic way.
Flashlight in hand, Sherlock swept the cogs with light. In a far, dark corner, the yellow beam rested on what he had been looking for. A person. John saw it at the same time and cried out in alarm. “Mrs. Hudson!”
Dashing over, they both saw the ghastly predicament that the elderly landlady was in. Mrs. Hudson was laid across one of the grating metal pieces, bound tightly. Inching towards her, each notch bringing it closer was a giant cog wheel that would surely crush her in a minute or less. It towered over her body, threatening her life with each passing second.
Mrs. Hudson was terrified, eyes wide with unspeakable fear. She attempted to wriggle free but the rope bonds were just too tight. Though she was gagged, enough sound escaped for Sherlock and John to hear her muffled distress calls. John dashed over, whipping his knife out of his pocket while Sherlock held the light.
The ropes were strong and thick, and John only had a pocket knife to cut them with. The progress was painfully slow. Mrs. Hudson continued to struggle, only making it harder for John who was trying to sooth her all while keeping an eye on the cog which was just about a foot away. His knife flew back and forth, sawing at the fraying ropes.
“Faster John, faster!” Sherlock yelled.
“I'm bloody trying!” sweat poured down John's face. Mrs. Hudson let out a shrill scream as the cog reached her. At the exact same moment, the bonds broke, and John roughly yanked her out of harm's way. Mrs. Hudson trembled in his arms, swaying like a leaf.
Sherlock quickly removed the gag, now looking indifferent to the situation. “Who did this to you?” he asked, though sure he knew the answer.
“For goodness sakes give the woman a minute!” John snapped, before returning to his soothing tone as he rubbed Mrs. Hudson's back. She was gasping with fright. “Easy now. You're alright. It's alright,” he murmured, holding her close.
The elderly landlady finally calmed down somewhat and let go of John. “I-it was M-M-Moriarty,” she stammered.
Sherlock nodded. “Where is he now?” he asked earnestly, his eyes piercing into Mrs. Hudson's frightened ones.
“I-I don't know...”
“But you must know!” Sherlock half yelled, throwing up his hands in exasperation. “Moriarty is smarter than this. He doesn't want to leave me at a dead end. He looked her up and down. “Did he do anything to you?” the clothes looked right, perfume the same as always.
“Did he do anything-Sherlock!” Mrs. Hudson half snapped, her old spunk back. “He tied me up and was going to let me die!”
“I don't care about that. Where is the clue?” Sherlock shrugged off her remark. “Take off your shoes.”
“Excuse me?”
John looked at the two, knowing Sherlock had a point but feeling sorry for poor Mrs. Hudson. He decided to take the safe route and go along with Sherlock. “Mrs. Hudson please. The faster you comply the faster he'll leave you alone.”
Muttering under her breath, Mrs. Hudson slowly removed her shiny black shoes. Sherlock's green eyes lit up as he snatched them. “Yes! It's Christmas!” he grinned as he hurried towards the stairs. “Come on John!”
“I-uh...excuse me Mrs. Hudson,” John mumbled apologetically as he turned and hurried after Sherlock, leaving the bewildered landlady standing alone in the clock room.