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"It was sooooo easy. I can hardly wait to see where this all tracks! Sherlock thinks he's beaten me, when in fact he's merely stepped inside my inner web. And he closed his eyes as I pulled the gun, the trigger. I knew he would. He's just a tab bit more squeamish than the Dear Doctor. So the blood flows and Sherlock goes berserk; just as he should. And as he jumps to his eminent doom, I stand and move off the roof. All my naughty bits in tack, all my nefarious plans moving in uncompromisingly efficiency ways; I revel in my glory."
"Now on to my dark empire, to take the reins again, to push the fires ever higher; my underlings need coercion, my clients need be removed from their money and the world needs to burn, with me selling the matches and the gasoline!"
Moriarty is in his evil prime. A man with the deadliest of dark visions; he is the darkest of dark poison princes. A man no one knows and no one can touch. His only detractor, his insatiable desire for someone to play
What did Moriarty Say?unbreakable
"Once upon a time, Sherlock, I had this wonderful life with you." John stood at the grave site of Sherlock Holmes his associate, companion and prickly friend. John came once a month to his grave and gave a report on his life. It had been several years since his loss, yet John kept doing it; coming to visit a man long dead, speaking of his life as if the dead man cared.
"Once upon a time, Sherlock, we solved cases, you worked without pants and we gave Mycroft indigestion on a regular basis. Did you know, Sherlock, that he still checks in with me three or four times a year?" I guess you wouldn't know that." John smiles at his little joke.
"Why did you do it, Sherlock? Moriarty had committed suicide. The kidnapped kids said that the man who held them wore a mask that made him look like you. People have researched all your cases finding them all valid. You have been totally exonerated. Donovan even came by to apologize to me. You should have been there. It was rich."
DarknessDarkness, there before the light.
Darkness, what we fear to embrace;
to show our swagger, our strength.
Made of darkness are we, made of dark matter, as the universe is made.
Embrace the darkness, hold the night close.
Seek the shelter of a cloudless night sky;
the pin points of light are beguiling, tempting, promising,
but the cold darkness awaits us;
holds out its curled, clawed hands
ease your way into the enclosure of its enfolding black tortured wings.
You know the temptation that darkness holds.
Surrender to the darkness, seduced by the absence of light.
Darkness, what you thought was bitter, blackness;
where the stars were not allowed to shine.
You find the darkness an immeasurable strength that holds the stars apart.
Your friend, seductress of sight;
sensual, like the throbbing of blood within the darkened deadly heart.
Dream the dark, dark dream.
I'm Not Okay (How Sherlock faked it)Molly and Sherlock
Molly had never seen Sherlock like this. He looked fragile.
"If I wasn't everything that you think I am, everything that I think I am? Would you still what to help me?" Sherlock said his face no longer a mask, but a transparency filled with self doubt, hurt and fear.
"What do you need?" Molly had asked with certainty.
"You." Sherlock had answered. Never in his life had he ever needed to ask for help.
She had been the first to notice that Sherlock was sad when John wasn't looking. She knew what that meant. She knew that something was very wrong, something fatally wrong and when Sherlock had turned to her for help; she'd become what she had always been, someone Sherlock could count on and trust with his life.
Now as they wheeled Sherlock into the morgue, she helped her aides lift him onto her table. She checked his vitals and moved to a nearby tray. There a syringe waits filled with antidote for the drug that Sherlock had swallowed after the fall. Molly
How Vacant is My WorldHow vacant is my world
How shambly and shaken.
Knowing you are somewhere not taken.
With the drum beats of my blood
pounding oceans to my raging seas
I call you from the vastness
of every known eternity.
Beckoning, my hand extends,
through time and place and ice cold space,
the lattice of my love
bends and folds and further comprehends
the meaning of true mastery; the smile of my embrace.
Holding time and feeling temptation
I am awash in all consuming expectation.
You are vision, ghost and agent of design.
Will you let me linger
to feel your tumescence time?
The PackMacgyver fanfic
The wolf pack was tracking through its normal territory. MacGyver pulled his parka hood on more snugly and adjusted his backpack; the sun was going down and it was going to be a mite uncomfortable if you didn't have a fur coat on. His assignment was observation, gathering information for a research team member who had broken an arm. He busied himself putting up a temporary shelter quite a ways from the pack and out of the bitter cold. Mac was only needed this one evening. Once a replacement person was flown in, he'd be on his way.
MacGyver had been with this pack repeatedly throughout its inception. Had even bottle-fed the alpha male when he was just a little whisker; 01771 was what he'd been tagged. Whiskey was what Mac called him because of his amber brown coloring. Whiskey was wearing a transmitter collar.
This was going to be an easy one, Mac thought to himself. He had just removed his backpack when he was startled by a violent commotion coming from the wolves. Whis
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