30 Aug 2017
"The detective’s chest began to heave as his rib cage began to expand; bones crunching and knitting themselves back together. His skin began to rip and shred gorily, dark fur pushing out from within his body. His sleek and elegant trousers began to tear off under the strain of the dense muscle that began to build around his legs and torso. His hands morphed into massive paws, his nails growing into deadly sharp weapons and his feet growing as they too became a mixture of fur and claw. Sherlock let out a groan of agony as his facial structure and jaw started to change and snap into the shape of a muzzle. The detective’s screams soon mingled in with the deafening roars of a tortured wolf before finally, after several minutes of stomach-churning screaming, the room fell silent."
14 Jun 2017
"The more Sherlock thought back on the events that had taken place, the more his guilt grew as the forewarnings of disaster became more obvious with each time the scene flashed behind closed eyes. He shouldn’t have pushed the old hag, he shouldn’t have tested her, not when the signs of her pulling the trigger were so distinctly painted before his very eyes. Because of him, because of his own selfish, childish desire to be validated, to be victorious... Mary Watson had died."