Snoozydog



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  1. Sherlock (TV) (1)

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  1. Public Bookmark *

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    “Come here,” Sherlock said and when he did, he put his arm across John’s shoulder, and pulled him close. John let him, and after a moment, rested his head against Sherlock’s chest. Sherlock felt the familiar ache, a longing for what might have been. If only he’d been braver, more sure of John’s feelings. He dropped his arms and stepped back. It was too late. Things were as they were meant to be.

    But it was autumn in Sussex, and everything was changing.
     
    If you were given a chance to go back to the beginning and make things right, would you take it?

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    22 Sep 2018

  2. Public Bookmark 7

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    Mycroft’s inner monologue while attempting to put on too-tight trousers. Written for and requested by mycroftsfeeder. It’s not quite an internal monologue, but I hope you like it. Warnings/Triggers: This IS a weight gain fic. If that's not your thing, do not read.

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    27 Aug 2018

  3. Public Bookmark 1

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    Jim makes a bet with Sebastian that he can still get on the trousers he was wearing the day he met Sebastian.

     

    Jim Moriarty doesn’t back down from bets.

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    600
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    26 Aug 2018

  4. Public Bookmark 4

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    Moriarty knows who's winning

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    24 Aug 2018

    Bookmarker's Notes

    He doesn't imagine what lengths I will go to in order to win. I made a mistake. I Made A Mistake. That burns far more than the bullet did. I am Jim Moriarty and I don't make mistakes. I win. Every time.
    God, it was good though. The feel of the leather hitting his bare skin. The line of red. I did that. The outrage in his eyes and in his silence. I did that too. He had nothing. But he finessed. Finessed me, the bastard. The adorable, gorgeous bastard forced me to back down and after that I have to have him, or he will have to die.

    I thought you might take that attitude." He doesn't seem perturbed, though he must know I'll do it. I'm missing something.
    What am I missing? What? I glare at him, furious, thinking. What has he done that I haven't factored in?
    The text of course. Not a message to break John out, because Sherlock knew he wasn't there. Just a feint? Sherlock wouldn't waste that sort of opportunity, not with an outside line.
    "Who was it sent to?"
    "So many questions." He is crowing now. "You claim to be a genius. Work it out."
    Can't I just rip it out of him? I could. I don't need to. Easy enough to find the answer. I watch him as I think.
    Code. Unlikely that he shares a code with anyone complex and subtle enough to allow for much meaning in a message that specific. An address, for instance. So no-one should turn up here.
    A comfortable enough conclusion, but my gut tells me to think again, because I have John Watson in my power and Sherlock still crows.

  5. Public Bookmark 7

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    Sherlock spent five days with Jim Moriarty. John never found out what happened.

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    24 Aug 2018

    Bookmarker's Notes

    Sherlock sat down on the chair, waiting.
    "Of course you didn't help. Gliding around looking mouthwateringly delicious. Did you like Gabrielle?"
    "She's a politician. It's her job to be likeable."
    "Yes." Moriarty grinned at him. "She's also useful and I have no intention of sacrificing her just yet."
    Which didn't bode at all well for Sherlock's chances of getting out of here. Had that been the point of the evening?
    "Ask me a question." Jim was smiling. "I can see that you're dying to ask something but your silly rules get in the way. So let me help you out. Ask."
    Sherlock wasn't been subverted that way. He hesitated for a second then, "Any word on how John's getting on?"
    Jim froze. Then rolled off the bed and came to stand in front of Sherlock; close enough that Sherlock could smell the brandy on his breath.
    "It's been a long and difficult evening," he said quietly, reaching out to cup a hand under Sherlock's chin, tip his head gently upwards. "I'm tired and emotional and very close indeed to doing something that we will both regret in the morning." Fingers smoothed across Sherlock's cheek and he knew that his spike of desire hadn't gone unnoticed.
    "So I'm going to go to bed instead. Tomorrow we will start this again." He dropped his hand, turned to pick up his jacket. A final word at the door. "I am bored with this game of yours, Sherlock. Tomorrow we will have something different. One way or another."
    The light went off. Sherlock listened to the key turn in the lock, the footsteps moving away. He was bored with this game as well. He wanted someone to talk to. Tomorrow, he decided, he'd take Moriarty at his word.