Sherlock meme // One Episode → The Reichenbach Fall
Every fairy tale needs a good old fashioned villain.
sherlock meme ; six characters [3/6]
for goodness’ sake! i occupy a minor position in the british government!
Two years after the fall he turned up. He was a genius, after all. He needed to be appreciated. He needed to show off what he could do. He needed to show them that he defeated death. Well, sort of. The only thing that stopped John Watson from finding him and killing him, even if that costed him his life, was Mycroft Holmes. Give me time, he said. I’ll find out what happened. And although none of them said it out loud, they both hoped the same thing - that Sherlock was still alive. But nothing could make Jim Moriarty talk. Nothing except one thing Mycroft had. Only thing that mattered. His childhood hero. The Doctor.
oh my god you guys I am sorry for all of this but now there are ship blends I guess?
MoraMori: [Moran/Moriarty] Moriarty and Moran. Dangerous, insane, and delicious. With notes of rich chocolate and caramel underlying bold spice, and just a hint of earthy, shallow graves. (tiger eye, pu erh dante, masala chai)
The Government and the Inspector: [Mycroft/Lestrade] Cloyingly rich and sweet, but strong and bold enough to do the dirty work, these flavors accentuate and compliment each other for a surprisingly solid pairing. (chocolate chai, hazelnut, irish breakfast)
The Office Romance: [Moriarty/Molly] Deceptively sweet and mild, but with the suspicious trace of gunpowder and a lingering taste of spice. May have others questioning your judgement. (gunpowder, wild strawberry, spiced green)
YOU GUYS. THIS IS AMAZING. ALL OF THE BEST SHIPS.
(except for Johncroft, Shercroft, John/Sebastian and any 3somes) IN TEA FORM.
I want John/Lestrade… but Jim/Molly tea exists too?! And.. and my lovely MorMor OTP, but also everything else?! DON’T MAKE ME CHOOSE. D’: I don’t have the kind of money to support my tea addiction properly and it is an incredible tragedy.
By the way, the other tragedy is that it’d probably be impossible to represent every ship with tea. (Besides the three above that aren’t represented in tea form, I also have a soft spot for Mycroft/Jim and John/Jim… I can’t be the only person who literally ships everyone with everyone else, can I? The only reason I read so much Johnlock is because not enough people in fandom are writing rarepairs. But that’s a sad post for another day.)
Anyway, in conclusion: TEA.
- Excuse me, may I share your umbrella?
- Of course.
Always the bloody rain.
Made him miss the dry heat of Afghanistan. If only that.
Of course, he didn’t bring an umbrella today, of all days, when the sky had suddenly decided to pour out a month’s worth of water in the matter of a day.
John was freezing and soaked in the matter of minutes and, quite frankly, couldn’t afford to get sick. The surgery was packed with sniffles and coughs and with two doctors out, Sarah was relying on him to work overtime.
Hurrying down the street, he looked for any kind of place that would allow him to rest for a few moments until the worst was over. John sincerely hoped it would be a heavy, but brief downpour.
His shoulder was starting to hurt already. His scar didn’t do well in the wet.
Of course, there was nothing to seek refuge in or under. John had probably managed to find the only street in the whole of London that didn’t provide any kind of shelter unless you wanted to ring somebody’s door bell, and the only people in possession of umbrellas were hurrying past him, clearly not in the mood to help.
Finally, his eyes came to a rest on a well-dressed and enviably dry man, lighting a cigarette under his umbrella. An umbrella that could easily protect two men of their size from the shower.
John wasn’t usually one to bother strangers, but right now, he was wet and grumpy and just wanted a place to rest. The man didn’t seem to be going anywhere soon, content with his cigarette.
“Excuse me?” John said, quickly approaching the man. “I am sorry, but may I share your umbrella, just for a few minutes?”
The man looked up just as he slid his lighter into a coat pocket and gave John a brief, assessing look over his sharp nose.
For a second, John felt ridicously exposed, something telling him that this man was not somebody he had wanted to disturb.
The feeling vanished when the man presented him with a polite little smile, expression turning friendlier.
“Of course,” he said, shifting the umbrella to make more room for John.
“Thank you,” John replied, stepping as close to the other man as he still deemed appropriate.
There was an awkward silence of maybe a minute, though the man didn’t seem too bothered as he slowly inhaled what, from a doctor’s point of view, was the supidest and possibly most expensive way to poison yourself.
“So, Doctor,” the man eventually said. “What would you say - is another wave of influenza imminent or do I still have some time before I have to make work with a mere quarter of my employees?”
John simply stared.
“How… excuse me, how did you know?”
The man smiled.
“That you are a doctor? Easy. Your hands and trousers say it all, though I assume your shoes would have given you away as well hadn’t you walked through quite so much rain. And then, of course, the faint smell of disinfectant.”
John blinked, part of his brain wondering how the man would possibly be able to smell disinfectant through the stink of cigarette smoke.
A much bigger part was entranced by the smug smile on the man’s face as he blew out another cloud of smoke.
“You don’t strike me as a man that is easily intimitated, nor impressed, Doctor. Of course, as an ex-soldier, that can be expected. Either way, I’ll take you stunned expression as a compliment.”
His eyes moved when a black car pulled up at the kerb.
“Ah, I am afraid, duty calls.”
Still speechless, John watched as the man took John’s wrist and gently transfered the handle of the umbrella into John’s hand.
“Keep this, Doctor, I wouldn’t want you get sick.”
John swallowed as the smooth skin of the man’s fingers brushed over John’s own hand.
“I couldn’t,” he protested weakly, but the man had already walked a few steps through the rain until he came to stand next to a smartly-dressed woman, who was holding open the door of the car, an umbrella in her other hand.
“How can I give it back to you?” John called after him, unwilling to let this strange meeting pass without any further explanation. There was something about this man… John wanted to know more.
The man hesitated, sending him another long look, clearly considering.
“I will find you,” he said eventually and slipped into the car. The woman followed suit, then closed the door.
“But… you don’t even know my name,” John murmured, clutching the umbrella and starting at the tinted windows until the car pulled away.
I will find you.
Well then. At least he’d stay dry on his way home.