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Don't Ever Leave AgainDon’t Ever Leave Again

I’ll never forget it. The one moment I will remember for the rest of my life.

I was standing at the window of 221B Baker Street, drinking tea, just where HE had stood so many times. I had seen him stand in this exact spot, drinking the same tea, from the same cup. I missed him more than I could possibly voice. After the funeral 3 years previous, after the worst day of my life, Mrs. Hudson had kindly lowered the rent of 221B, tears in her eyes as she said, “I couldn’t imagine that flat with someone new in it John, you must stay.”. I was paying her what I could, I helped around the buildi
While They Last"Dreams are true while they last, and do we not live in dreams?"
-Alfred Lord Tennyson
---
"So," Lestrade says, crossing his arms. "What're we looking at?"

He's giving Sherlock that look, the same focus, curiosity, trust, and confusion he did the first time John met him.

Sherlock raises his eyebrows, and his eyes flick away from the corpse for a second. "A body, Lestrade, I thought even you could discern that." He smirks at John's half-snort of laughter, then is completely focused on the scraps of something that was once human.

Lestrade doesn't respond, but watches each taut line of the consultant's form, bent over for closer examinat
The Night I Met YouFour Nights Greg Lestrade Met Four People.

---

"Who's this?" he asks, looking from Sherlock to the newcomer in confusion.

"He's with me." is the curt reply. This is all the information the detective expects him to need, breezing past Lestrade in an instant to snap on a pair of gloves. A million and one alarm bells go off in Greg's head. This is... different. Wrong. Because Sherlock isn't with people. He just isn't. Greg shrugs on the suit and sneaks a glance at the man standing to his right. Small, stocky, blonde, knitted jumper, walks with a cane, harmless looking. Conclusion? Nothing. Sherlock could have rattled off the man's job history
Merry Christmas, Sherlock, and Happy New YearsSherlock sat in the ally way a few blocks from 221B, a cigarette burning lazily in his right hand, a phone in his left. His eyes were glued on the phone, the pink silicone case feeling smooth in the palm of his hand. As he raised his right hand to his lips to take a long drag of the cigarette, his eyes fluttering closed, memories rushing back to him.

" You don't have a girlfriend then? "
"Girlfriend? No, not really my area.
Oh, right then. Do you have a boyfriend? Which is fine, by the way."
"No."
"Right, okay. You're unattached, just like me. Fine. Good."
"John, um… I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work an
If I Die Before I WakeSeptember 27, 2010

To whomever happens to find this:

So... Today one of ours- that is, the Yard's- was murdered. I didn't see it happen, but I was the first one to find the body. Bloody mess, I'll tell you now- no pun intended.

That's not the point of this letter, though. The point is that it made me realize that I really am risking my life doing this job. Not that I'm constantly in danger- pushing papers isn't really life threatening, after all- but once in awhile I'm actually in harm's way. It's a rather sobering thought, actually.

And thus I figured it'd be a good thing to write a will- not the official will. I got that done years ago,
LightsOne spring night five years before Sherlock Holmes meets John Watson he gets a blue scarf.

- - -

He finds Sherlock sleeping in a gutter - literally, a gutter, his cheek pressed against the metal grate. His face is utterly filthy, the porcelain skin marred by dirt, but even in this state he is beautiful. Sherlock's dark lashes brush his dirty cheeks, and his long unruly curls are spread out on the ground. His hair needs a wash. He is so young, made younger by sleep, and Lestrade's heart aches to see this. It is not just the fact that such a beautiful, brilliant child uses a filthy gutter for his bed, but what this choice of sleeping accommod
Do we not live in dreams?Dreams are true while they last, and do we not live in dreams?- Alfred Lord Tennyson

Gunshots echoed through the air, ringing in his ears long after the noise had stopped. Blood was everywhere. On his hands, on his face, in his hair, all over the body in front of him. He could smell it, taste it, even. He was filled with an overwhelming sense of dread as he reached for the corpse. As the shouts of his dying comrades filled his head, he grasped the man's shoulder, flipped him over, and felt his heart drop out of his chest. Because the man lying on the ground in front of him had curly dark hair that flopped over his forehead, partially obscuri
The Life And Death Of Bruce ThompsonHe had used a knife this time, and there was a lot of blood.

Messy.

He wipes his hands on the sodden front of his shirt, but only smears the blood. The shirt is damp with it and it clings to his skin, wet and cold and horrible. No matter how desperately he scrubs his hands against the shirt they stay crimson. He is covered in it: it is thick and red and everywhere. Blood on his face as well; he can feel it drying on his left cheek. The blood assails every of his senses at once, touch and taste and sight, but none so much as smell. The stench is overpowering. The room reeks of the blood – he reeks of blood -  a strangely heavy scent, like a
John- I'm alive. -SH My finger lingered over the send button- is this it?  After every time I've considered finally telling John, would this time be the time it actually happened?  No new leads popping up?  No assassinations proving the web was still intact? Nothing?
Nothing.
After a long three years, I hit it.  And the message I had been saving for so long finally went through.
John- I'm alive. -SH
The Leaving SongSherlock-

Well, no one can say I haven't been trying. But, unfortunately for me, you are a difficult one to shake off. Y'know, for someone who always put up a barrier to avoid people, you can sure get clingy. Even your ghost can't leave me alone. I am constantly brushing you away, knowing that you are hanging around, reading what I'm writing over my shoulder. You just can't keep away, can you? Like a lost puppy, your phantom has been following me around for nearly 3 years. But I can't take care of him, because I can hardly take care of myself.

You said yourself: you'd be lost without your blogger. Well, I'm lost without my detective. So may
Awaken the Addict, Pt 1It was so unassuming.

It just sat there, on the soft, rumpled surface of the comforter that lay over his bed.

The white plastic plunger. The clear, millimetre-marked canister, filled with an equally diamond-hued liquid. The long steel needle, glittering dangerously, daring those who looked at it to fall into it's hellish trap.

If it was good enough for him...

Dusty blue orbs regarding this instrument of injection in front of him. He didn't even remember how he came across it, but he knew that it sat with him now, whispering to him, like some shadow of a long-ago demon, desperate for attention once more.

His eyes hurt...too much crying. E
Awaken the Addict, FinaleHe stood in the doorway, some dim memory of days long past. He stared pointedly, metallic eyes cutting through flesh and bone alike, shooting straight for both head and heart.

John's slate eyes flickered to try and ward off the seemingly unceasing flow of sorrow and confusion; tears still filled his sockets and ran down his cheeks. He felt them falling onto his outstretched arm, but the will to move had been pushed out of his mind.

"...what are you doing here?" he asked, only vaguely hearing himself, like his voice had detached from his body and was wandering far off into the London night. He wagered it was trying to find a body that was st
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The Science Of Deduction!

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December 26, 2012
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Here be part 2: [link]

And it was said, on December 26th of each year, Cecelia delivers angst through literature to ruin the holiday spirit...

So. This be angst. I'm sorry, because you will probably cry. And it's in two parts because it's a freaking monster in size (Word topped it in at 8074 words). So it's about Sherlock. Addicted to cocaine. Yep. This first part is about Sherlock using drugs; the next is about him recovering from using drugs. And it's not fun for anyone. (Does this need a mature content warning? It's a little intense. I don't want younger fans stumbling on this and being like, "WHAT THE HECK I'VE JUST BEEN SCARRED FOR LIFE.")
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:iconaeidhryn:
~Aeidhryn Jan 9, 2013
Just out of curiosity--why is it that Sherlock fandom is so freaking masochistic?
Really. I mean seriously.
Hey, at least cocaine is canonical... *looks awkward*
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:iconskitskitpotter:
~skitskitpotter Jan 9, 2013  Student Writer
It's an inquiry psychologists have been trying to solve since 1895...

Yeah, I've wondered that myself. But thank you for reading. :)
Reply
:iconsaskatchewanstardust:
~SaskatchewanStardust Jan 5, 2013
Oh my god this is incredible. Wow. Your descriptions are stunning; you have such lovely visual writing. So, so powerful. Wow. I think my heart is bleeding. I love your style of writing
Reply
:iconskitskitpotter:
~skitskitpotter Jan 6, 2013  Student Writer
Thank you so much for this lovely comment! I'm sorry for any collateral damage, but I do really appreciate what you've said.
Reply
:icondragonrider745:
*dragonrider745 Dec 31, 2012  Student Writer
You broke me. You broke me, Pa
Reply
:iconskitskitpotter:
~skitskitpotter Jan 5, 2013  Student Writer
SEBASTIAN! NO!

Oh wait. I'm not supposed to care.

Um.
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:icondragonrider745:
*dragonrider745 Jan 5, 2013  Student Writer
*twitches dramatically on the ground*
Reply
:icondragonrider745:
*dragonrider745 Dec 31, 2012  Student Writer
Your angsty literature...gives me typing and walking problems.
No, seriously, I just tried to walk down the hall to get a glass of water and my legs were all like, "No, bitch, you go back and read that again!" so I don't have a glass of water...

This is...ridiculously fantastic. Like mindfreaky good. No holiday spirit here, just waiting out the last 10.5 hours or 2012. No more words can describe.

Can't even..don't even.

Help.
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:iconskitskitpotter:
~skitskitpotter Jan 5, 2013  Student Writer
Dude you just made me crack up.

Holy... moly. Not only did you make me crack up, you just made my day. No, like, my whole WEEK. Jyergle shmergle, thank you so much.

Oh and as for holiday spirit... apparently, I enjoy murdering it. With angsty literature posted the day after Christmas.

I need help too.
Reply
:icondragonrider745:
*dragonrider745 Jan 5, 2013  Student Writer
I wasn't kidding about my walking problems :XD:

Anytime! Glad to be a day/week-maker!

Psh, it was after Christmas, murder it all you want.

We can go to a psychologist together...but that could get really awkward really fast...
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