|
Post by ρυмρкιηqυєєη13 on Aug 10, 2016 23:01:26 GMT -5
( xD ) "Er, Sherlock?" The sound of said person's voice sent a shiver down John's spine. It was almost forever, it felt like, since he had heard it. The baritone voice, mixed with sharp sarcasm and intelligence, made his heart beat faster. He could feel his adrenaline course through his veins again. He wanted to run with Sherlock, but that wouldn't happen again. He had to be a dad now. He couldn't do dangerous things anymore. But what would today hurt? "Hey, um, how's it going? Have any cases on?"
|
|
|
Post by Vɪᴛɪᴀᴛᴜs on Aug 11, 2016 0:27:23 GMT -5
{{ oops, i need to respond on the other thread. rip me }}
Sherlock could practically feel the excitement radiating from John, radiating from the mobile. Well, not really. But with his trained ears, he could hear the undertone of nervousness and giddiness. It brought a smirk to his face. The domestic life wasn't treating him well, was it? It made sense. Nothing could beat the rush of a fresh case. "A case? Of course I've got a case." He scoffed, as if the idea of him not doing anything was impossible. A lie, of course. Sherlock got bored far too often.
|
|
|
Post by ρυмρкιηqυєєη13 on Aug 11, 2016 20:32:11 GMT -5
"Oh, really?" John replied, skeptically. He knew that sound, the type of tone Sherlock's voice made when he was lying. Clearly. Or hiding something. "And what is this case about, hm?" He hoped he didn't come off too eager. But, the last few days hadn't been too pleasant. And he had this itching to run and run and never return that continued to clot his chest and arteries full of adrenaline and blood and everything else that made his nerves want to burst. He was entirely restless. And he knew Sherlock could help him with that. But, first, to see if he actually had a case to go on.
|
|
|
Post by Vɪᴛɪᴀᴛᴜs on Aug 12, 2016 1:26:17 GMT -5
Sherlock didn't speak for a moment, knowing that the case he had on hand wasn't all that exciting. Not like the ones he and John had been on in the past. But it sounded like a good excuse to run around London with John once more. He rarely saw his partner anymore, the other was far too busy with Mary and the child. No more time for Sherlock. How sentimental of him. "A young woman, late twenties, was found in her apartment. No forced entry, throat slit, a chess piece was found in her palm. A rook." If he thought about it enough, the case would be simple enough. But maybe he could test John, see if his skills had faded away as his domestic life became more prominent. "Interested?"
|
|
|
Post by ρυмρкιηqυєєη13 on Aug 12, 2016 16:09:32 GMT -5
To be honest, that case sounded rather exciting. A chess piece? Mysterious. Not like usual murders or crimes. And no forced entry. Like a suicide, but why the chess piece? Maybe there was someone who was there with her, and somehow escaped...? John decided to wait until he went to Sherlock's until he began thinking about the case, that way he could discuss it with the consulting detective himself. "Hm...I don't know. I need to see what's going on today..." He pretended to check a schedule, "Ah...I don't have anything on today. I'll come over soon. The case does sound rather interesting."
|
|
|
Post by Vɪᴛɪᴀᴛᴜs on Aug 12, 2016 21:03:51 GMT -5
Sherlock could tell by the tone of John's voice that he was lying about being busy, lying that he had looked through his schedule and miraculously found the free time visit. It wasn't difficult to figure out, really. John's voice would raise a pitch higher when he tried to tell a lie. To the hoodlums of the world, it was believable. Never to Sherlock, though. "You don't need to lie, John. You can't be busy if you're calling me, or anyone, for that matter besides Mary." He said, a sense of amusement underlying in the tones of his voice. It would've taken a trained ear to hear it. Removing the phone from his ear and ending the call, he wasn't one for goodbyes, he got up from his spot on the couch into the kitchen. It was time to see how long it took to explode an eyeball with radioactive heat. In this case, the microwave.
|
|
|
Post by ρυмρкιηqυєєη13 on Aug 15, 2016 0:33:03 GMT -5
(hey, sorry, been working all weekend. I'll reply tomorrow morning)
|
|
|
Post by ρυмρкιηqυєєη13 on Aug 15, 2016 19:13:25 GMT -5
"W-wha--" Beep. Sherlock'd hung up the mobile. John sighed, a mixture between frustration and amusement. He fixed his hood, the rain getting harder now, and started to walk down the street. His phone dinged, and when he looked down, he noticed it was a text from Mary. Something about "love you"s and "miss you"s and "sorry"s, because she wasn't at their home yet.
Still hanging out with Amy. Be home soon. Love you!
That was the last line she posted. John text her back, hiding underneath the covered top of a building's entrance, so to not get his mobile wet when he messaged her. He told her about his plans with Sherlock. And, without checking to see if she replied back, John continued on to 221b, the even idea of going on an "adventure" that night making his heart speed up.
|
|
|
Post by Vɪᴛɪᴀᴛᴜs on Aug 18, 2016 20:54:18 GMT -5
{{ i've been so busy!! sorry!! responding soon! }}
|
|
|
Post by Vɪᴛɪᴀᴛᴜs on Aug 18, 2016 22:15:29 GMT -5
Sherlock placed the phone beside him, not even bothering to look at what he was doing. The device clattered to the floor, bringing him out of his thoughts and he wrinkled his nose in distaste. He left it there, couldn't be bothered. There were eyeballs to be tested! He moved over towards the fridge, removing a glass jar of eyeballs Molly had given him the night before. Fresh, the way he liked them. Slamming the fridge shut with a foot, Sherlock maneuvered his way back towards the microwave, hunching over the radioactive device.
|
|
|
Post by ρυмρкιηqυєєη13 on Aug 21, 2016 10:09:15 GMT -5
John walked through the damp and rainy weather to 221b. He watched as multiple cars passed him, and as people of all different sizes, sexes, of every kind of anything moved passed him. He wondered, did they recognize him? Probably not. It had been a...little while, since he and Sherlock had been on the news, or were even remotely recognized publicly. Some may still read his blogs, but...his viewing rates had decreased immensely. Well, he did start a domestic life, away from cases and the like. There wasn't much now that he could detail on his blog.
He eventually reached 221b and walked inside. He knew Ms. Hudson didn't mind. She wasn't there today, he believed, as she was out with her sister today. He began walking up the steps to Sherlock's flat. What was that consulting detective doing today?
|
|
|
Post by Vɪᴛɪᴀᴛᴜs on Aug 21, 2016 11:34:07 GMT -5
Gingerly picking one up with a pair of gloves on, he inspected the body part with such fascination. The owner had probably been in their late sixties or seventies. That much was obvious with the cataracts that took over the cobalt irises. Hm. Setting it on a plastic bowl that was disinfected, he popped the container into the microwave, setting the time at one minute, thirty seconds. He had never made it to four minutes before, and today was the day it was going to happen. He leaned himself against the cluttered kitchen table, maneuvering his hands to somehow rest on the wood amongst the mess. John always cleaned up after Sherlock, and when he left, the mess just kept on growing and growing until even Mrs. Hudson would grow upset with him and give up. His head perked up as he heard John's footsteps up the stairs, but he kept his gaze focused on the whirring microwave.
|
|
|
Post by ρυмρкιηqυєєη13 on Sept 4, 2016 9:38:07 GMT -5
John knew Sherlock heard him walking up. It was Sherlock who always knew when someone was walking up, before even the sound of the doorbell rung, or before the obvious pounding up the stairs could be heard. It was how Sherlock worked. He was deductive, and intelligent, and always trying his best to show off to everyone. He smiled at that, amusement coursing through him, as he stepped on the last landing. He made it to the door and, funny enough, knocked. "Sherlock? It's me." Of course he knows who it is, you blubbering idiot. Why would you say that? John sighed at his little mistake, but kept it to himself, "Can I come in?"
(again, so sorry Dx)
|
|