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‘There was an intruder?’ Sherlock asks from the doorway, frank in his questioning with a hint of care about his wording beneath the emotionless tone of his voice.James Moriarty is visibly stirred; his clothes show the signs of a struggle, hair out of place, a wild look in his eye. ‘Evidently,’ he answers, catching his breath.Sherlock surveys the flat. There has been a struggle; the victor is obvious from the body on the floor, from the blood, from the knife in James’s hand, his fingers loosening around it as he feels Sherlock’s eyes settle there. The knife falls to the floor. They both look at it, then Sherlock speaks to fill the silence:‘I thought you didn’t like getting your hands dirty.’and James looks at him, sharp, some sort of darkness in his gaze, chilling in its intensity. It doesn’t match his mouth, which is sombre, almost stricken with what he has done. ‘Keep up,’ he whispers hoarsely, kicking the body with his foot, ‘you’re not paying enough attention.’‘So it would seem. What did he want?’He kneels by the body and glances up at James as the question passes between them; James looks down at him, a tired, almost twisted smile ghosting over his features.‘Keep up,’ he repeats, pushing his hands into his pockets. ‘He came for you.’

‘There was an intruder?’ Sherlock asks from the doorway, frank in his questioning with a hint of care about his wording beneath the emotionless tone of his voice.

James Moriarty is visibly stirred; his clothes show the signs of a struggle, hair out of place, a wild look in his eye. ‘Evidently,’ he answers, catching his breath.

Sherlock surveys the flat. There has been a struggle; the victor is obvious from the body on the floor, from the blood, from the knife in James’s hand, his fingers loosening around it as he feels Sherlock’s eyes settle there.

The knife falls to the floor. They both look at it, then Sherlock speaks to fill the silence:

‘I thought you didn’t like getting your hands dirty.’

and James looks at him, sharp, some sort of darkness in his gaze, chilling in its intensity. It doesn’t match his mouth, which is sombre, almost stricken with what he has done. ‘Keep up,’ he whispers hoarsely, kicking the body with his foot, ‘you’re not paying enough attention.’

‘So it would seem. What did he want?’

He kneels by the body and glances up at James as the question passes between them; James looks down at him, a tired, almost twisted smile ghosting over his features.

‘Keep up,’ he repeats, pushing his hands into his pockets. ‘He came for you.’

iwriteaboutfeminism:

#Community

"Do not look for a sanctuary in anyone except your self."

- Buddha (via thecalminside)

wailtothethief:

Fuck I’m walking downtown and I pass a group of guys staring at me and I think “great catcall time” but then one guy goes “you look like you could kill a man a million different ways with just your bare hands”. This. This is an acceptable comment to give a girl on the street.

sexxxpensive:

the accuracy though

sexxxpensive:

the accuracy though

My madewithcode bracelet came in the mail today! Goes well with the ink. B)

My madewithcode bracelet came in the mail today! Goes well with the ink. B)

"Be the kind of woman that, when your feet hit the floor in the morning, the devil says, ‘oh crap, she’s up.’" -Unknown

forgetlings:

My ancestry is the sun
Maintenant je suis maudit
Now I am an outcast

Perfect your beauty
Perfect your sensitive life
Your soul arriving quiet and searching
Wandering, embracing –

Here I add a word –
Unforgotten

We are underfed
But there is heavy sweetness
In a warm dark bruise