Hey all! Nat told me about the group meeting taking place tomorrow at 7PM Central Time (8 PM EST…?) I’ll do my utmost to be there; I miss you guys! Just in case this is my “HI I’M ALIVE I’M HERE UHH I PROMISE I CAN REPLY TO THE FALL TOMORROW” post!
EDIT: Remember, you can always reach me on my personal or drop me a Skype message too! While usually invisible I do drop by every so often to check. If you need my personal, just send a message there or here. Thanks again. -Kay
Switching schools through me for a loop. My life has been a bit unpredictable lately and I’m sorry for disappearing. I cannot say how active I’ll be for now, but I’ll be here if you’ll have me. I’m certainly not leaving while the Fall hasn’t finished, and I miss you all! While you’re here, please send me fanmail with links to any threads to which I may owe.
Richard sauntered into the flat, fumbling with the keys in his hand.
“Darling, they didn’t have any ground coffee so I just got normal…” He trailed off upon looking up and seeing Sherlock before him, and words failed him. The shopping bag slipped from his grasp and hit the floor with a muffled thud, and he stumbled back in fear.
“You said they wouldn’t find me here,” Richard’s voice shook as he raised his hands in a peaceful gesture, “You said that I’d be safe here.”
Sherlock’s eyes flew open at the sight of him, instantly placing John in his peripheral and making a mental note never to let his husband out of his sight. The detective’s demeanor completely changed, a defensive aura morphing dangerously into blind, terrified rage.
“Darling, the - “
John turned and the image of steel pipes and flaking concrete flew into his mind.
” - You said they wouldn’t - “
His nose crinkled at the smell of rotten, pungent odor of mold and asbestos.
” - be safe here.”
John’s nostrils flared and his hands tightened into fists. “You,”he snapped, “You’re Moriarty. You’re the source.”
“Okay,” Rani replied pretending to be a store employee as a cover since alien activity had been detected in the grocery store by Mr. Smith. “Well let me know if you change your mind. I’m Rani.”
“Okay,” John nodded to her in thanks. He made an inner note at how many “Rani’s” he had met over the past year, and turned back to the grocery isle. “Thanks for your help.”
Earlier that night, Lucy had received the message that certain cogs in the plan were beginning to turn, and she had to be in place for her role. She wasn’t exactly sure how things would go from now on, but one thing was certain: Rose couldn’t know, and the Master probably shouldn’t either, so she sent the both of them hasty messages and left for her old flat. Her old landlord had refused to let her out of her contract, so she was stuck paying rent for the place for the few months it would take for the contract to expire while living at Rose’s. While it had seemed annoying, it was now terribly convenient to have somewhere else to go.
After a short, brisk walk, small pit of nervousness tightening with each step, Lucy arrived at her destination, turned on the light… and found that someone else had already beaten her here. She jumped slightly, startled to see Sherlock and John already sitting on her couch, but quickly composed herself. “Well. I should’ve expected you. How terribly rude of me to be late.”
“No worries. Would’ve waited all night if we had to.” Sherlock glanced up at Lucy with judgmental eyes, taking in all the details that he could and taking note of the ones he couldn’t as he held up his and John’s laced hands to show her the handcuffs. “Do you mind?”
An awkward forty or fifty minutes of sitting around and the poised Lucy Saxon finally walked through the door. John looked up with pursed lips as she initiated the conversation, rather calmly if John hadn’t known she and Sherlock were already acquainted, and he ceased his rhythmic tapping on his knee.
“Shhh,” Sherlock motioned to John, heart racing as he slowly began to pick the lock on familiar door. “Can’t risk being seen until we’re inside the flat.” Careful to ensure that no one had spotted them, Sherlock slowly slipped through the door, pulling John quickly in as well before closing it once again. He didn’t say anything, though his eyes were wide with thought and panic as he sat on the couch, incidentally pulling John down with him as he laced their fingers together absentmindedly. Truth be told, he was desperate for something to ground him and John was always the answer.
Even in the darkness the elegant house spoke boldly of the former Saxons. John had made grunts and attempts at questions until Sherlock sat them down; he did not look when Sherlock took his hand.
“Sherlock,” John asked, his other hand absent mindedly tapping at the sofa cushion in perturbance, “What are we doing?” He crossed his legs and, as his vision adjusted, glanced around the place with interest.
“Hello, is there anything I can help you with?”
“Uh,” Blinked John from behind the cereal isle, “No, thanks, I’m all set.”
“Visit someone,” he managed, leading John into a small alcove hidden from view. He placed both of his hands on either side of his husband’s face, assessing him, making sure he was unharmed. “Lucy Saxon. She knows something, I know she does. I’ve broken into her flat before, it won’t be difficult to do it again.”
“Saxon?” John repeated, “Lucy Saxon, from Harold Saxon, the Master’s wife?” He grabbed Sherlock’s wrist as his hand hung from the cuff-links, a large grimace on his face. “What in God’s name does she have to do with this?”