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- firstly
- hallucinating /Matt Jamison
- working /wee!Bryce
- canon /Jim
- cheer /Matt
- stranger /not!Atton
- again /Shelf Fungus Sherlock
- coat /Brýningr
- stops /Tom Riddle
- handprints /Jim
- fungus /Diarylock
- up /Eldi
- presumably /Rich
- books /Matt
- valentine /Bryce
- appears /Jim
- Gotham /Bryce
- important /Bryce
- garment /Thor
- ordinary /Jim
- hell /Bryce
- throne /Jim
- father /Loki
- preoccupied /Sally Donovan
- suspicious /Claire Barton
- especial /Sally
- damn /Loki
- devouring /Tamara /squidlets
- burrito /Bryce /Dinah Lance
- attention /Jim
- seiðr /Loki
- twirling /Claire
- concern /Bryce
- released /Loki
- American /Coulson
- what /Other Loki
- oh /Dinah
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Sticky: things that have happened
Jan. 20th, 2012 06:42 am(no subject)
Jun. 13th, 2012 07:18 pmSherlock has a booth by the Window and a glass of something sweet and cold and frothy. He wasn't very specific when he ordered it. It tastes a little like caramel and a little like oranges, but it's almost completely colourless except for a faint iridescence clinging to the tiny fragments of ice.
There are dark smudges under his eyes; he never retrieved his coat, and his shirt and pants are scuffed and torn and dirty from his repeated tumbles; he is slumped on his bench to a degree that almost makes him look average height, until you glance beneath the table at the location of his knees. The most telling thing about his condition, though, is the fact that he is staring into his drink with an expression that indicates he is too tired to actually see it. And he doesn't look up at small intriguing noises.
In short, he is not paying attention.
There are dark smudges under his eyes; he never retrieved his coat, and his shirt and pants are scuffed and torn and dirty from his repeated tumbles; he is slumped on his bench to a degree that almost makes him look average height, until you glance beneath the table at the location of his knees. The most telling thing about his condition, though, is the fact that he is staring into his drink with an expression that indicates he is too tired to actually see it. And he doesn't look up at small intriguing noises.
In short, he is not paying attention.
(no subject)
May. 27th, 2012 09:01 pmSherlock has been spending more and more time dodging his brother in the last few weeks. Partly so he can practice magic—some things are noticeably easier in his own world, and he wants to find out which ones and why—and partly because he is not completely sure Mycroft wouldn't somehow notice his new knowledge.
Did Mycroft know? He can't have. It would make no sense. How would he have found out? Clearly Mother didn't want them to know, and a Holmes can keep secrets from a Holmes.
(He hasn't dared visit Mother, for that matter. He wouldn't have the first clue what to say.)
It is, of course, dangerous to wander the back streets of London so lost in thought that he hardly sees the street in front of him. He knows this. But he doesn't quite realize how preoccupied he really is until he spins around at a tiny noise from behind him to find a grinning vampire closing in for the kill.
"Damn," he says, blinking and stepping back. Can he actually outrun a vampire? He doesn't know. If he can, he probably shouldn't, because he'd have to lead it past a CCTV camera no matter which way he went and Mycroft would be ever so interested. That also rules out the use of any really spectacular magic. And he is not all that keen on letting the vampire bite him and seeing what the temperature of his blood—currently plummeting under stress—does to it. Which leaves... what?
Fighting back, he supposes. All right.
Did Mycroft know? He can't have. It would make no sense. How would he have found out? Clearly Mother didn't want them to know, and a Holmes can keep secrets from a Holmes.
(He hasn't dared visit Mother, for that matter. He wouldn't have the first clue what to say.)
It is, of course, dangerous to wander the back streets of London so lost in thought that he hardly sees the street in front of him. He knows this. But he doesn't quite realize how preoccupied he really is until he spins around at a tiny noise from behind him to find a grinning vampire closing in for the kill.
"Damn," he says, blinking and stepping back. Can he actually outrun a vampire? He doesn't know. If he can, he probably shouldn't, because he'd have to lead it past a CCTV camera no matter which way he went and Mycroft would be ever so interested. That also rules out the use of any really spectacular magic. And he is not all that keen on letting the vampire bite him and seeing what the temperature of his blood—currently plummeting under stress—does to it. Which leaves... what?
Fighting back, he supposes. All right.
(no subject)
May. 25th, 2012 09:03 pmIt's been long enough since he threw down with Jim that most of the bruises have faded and he is no longer even slightly scorched.
He means to go and visit his father in the cells—he cannot imagine them ever letting Loki out—but he would prefer to do so after he has dealt with his feelings on the matter, at least to the extent that thinking about it no longer threatens to send him into fits of violent rage. How dare his father be so... so ordinary. How was he ever worth Mother's time? Eleanor Holmes has never displayed violent tendencies that Sherlock has noticed, but when he tries to envision their courtship it invariably ends in her setting Loki on fire. He wonders if she knew. No, of course she fucking knew; she's a Holmes. That still means something.
Maybe the reason Sherlock has never been able to keep up with Mycroft is because, of the two, he is more like their father.
Needless to say, he is not in the best of moods as he wanders the network of paths near the lake, hands stuffed in the pockets of his gargantuan grey wool overcoat, kicking at loose gravel and scowling to himself.
He means to go and visit his father in the cells—he cannot imagine them ever letting Loki out—but he would prefer to do so after he has dealt with his feelings on the matter, at least to the extent that thinking about it no longer threatens to send him into fits of violent rage. How dare his father be so... so ordinary. How was he ever worth Mother's time? Eleanor Holmes has never displayed violent tendencies that Sherlock has noticed, but when he tries to envision their courtship it invariably ends in her setting Loki on fire. He wonders if she knew. No, of course she fucking knew; she's a Holmes. That still means something.
Maybe the reason Sherlock has never been able to keep up with Mycroft is because, of the two, he is more like their father.
Needless to say, he is not in the best of moods as he wanders the network of paths near the lake, hands stuffed in the pockets of his gargantuan grey wool overcoat, kicking at loose gravel and scowling to himself.
(no subject)
May. 24th, 2012 08:43 pmSherlock is outside by the lake, playing with magic.
Specifically, he's making balls of ice from levitated lakewater, juggling them, and turning them invisible while they're in the air—or trying to. The ground is littered with variously translucent shards.
He is also, incidentally, sitting on a throne of ice. It was more convenient than bringing out a chair and more comfortable than using one of the preexisting rocks.
Specifically, he's making balls of ice from levitated lakewater, juggling them, and turning them invisible while they're in the air—or trying to. The ground is littered with variously translucent shards.
He is also, incidentally, sitting on a throne of ice. It was more convenient than bringing out a chair and more comfortable than using one of the preexisting rocks.
