|Eleven years ago, you left London to live in the United States, leaving behind the great consulting detective: Sherlock Holmes, and his undeniably loyal friend and colleague: John Watson. Now, you had returned to London under dramatic circumstances you had foreseen in the past, but had long forgotten.|
Hey everybody! Here's the third chapter to the first Sherlock x Reader fic that I've written (and actually submitted) to deviantART! The next chapter will be out soon, as it has already been written. Have a wonderful day!
Ten Million Eternities Ch. 3 (Sherlock x Reader)Ten Million Eternities Ch. 3 (Sherlock x Reader) by redlipstick444
You arrived at Saint Bartholomew's Hospital at around 1:00 pm. Receiving Sherlock's room number (after providing identification, and falsely claiming to be his cousin-in-law after a short altercation with the receptionist), you were on your way.
Making your way to the fourth floor, the one Sherlock was residing in, you took a deep breath.
You'd see him soon. In critical condition, but soon.
Turning on the second corner to your left, seeing Sherlock's room number straightaway from a distance of about 100 meters, you saw a figure heading your way.
A figure who's face you hadn't seen in eleven years, nor had heard it's voice.
He spotted you about three seconds after you spotted him, his face breaking out in surprise and a huge, genuine smile, despite the current circumstances. "(Y/N)," he said, slowly walking towards you, arms outstretched. "Oh my God."
You let yourself grip onto John and fall into his comforting and welcoming embrace. "Oh my God." he repeated, his voice soft
Genuine SmileYeah, I'm different.Genuine Smile by redlipstick444
But what does that mean?
Is it unacceptable that I don't have flowing blonde hair and blue/green eyes that gleam?
Yeah, I know it matters.
To you, at least.
But could you at least consider people's feelings instead of attacking them as if you're at a feast?
Yeah, I know, I'm not conventionally pretty.
Nor conventionally beautiful, joyful, or witty.
But should that matter to me, am I subconsciously searching for pity?
I know you don't like me.
You're facial expressions when you look at me tell it all.
But could you at least take in consideration that I have feelings, and don't want to feel mauled?
I know you despise me.
Sometimes I don't understand why.
Then I look in the mirror and realize it,
But refuse to cry.
Because, hey, who are you to tell me that you won't accept me because I'm ugly?
I don't want OR need your acceptance or approval; I no longer feel uncomfortable when you look at me smugly.
Because, you know what? I'm better than that.
I'm not going to have
Ten Million Eternities Ch. 2 (Sherlock x Reader)Ten Million Eternities Ch. 2 (Sherlock x Reader) by redlipstick444
Arriving in London was like a breath of fresh air. Well, in a way. It was mixed with relief, reminiscence, sadness, and worry, all of which pertained to Sherlock and his horrid situation.
The town of your past residence was and also felt slightly different but very much the same since when you had resided there.
You rented out a motel room, unpacked the few bags that you'd brought along with you, and took a nice, hot shower. By the time you had exited the shower, it was 8:31 a.m., and since you'd already slept on the plane (though, not an easy task, with the constant noises of a crying and all-but unsoothable child in seat 15B, the constant germs circulating coming from the man and his female partner in seats 22A and 22B--well, you hoped they were partners, the way they'd been kissing and all--and the loud music coming from a man in seat 45C, who had been blasting rock music, oblivious to the fact that his headphones hadn't been plugged all the way in) so you weren't too
Ten Million Eternities Ch. 1 (Sherlock x Reader)Ten Million Eternities Ch. 1 (Sherlock x Reader) by redlipstick444
Sunlight dazzled through the leaves and branches of a nearby beauteous honeysuckle. Beaming down, the sun provided just the perfect amount of lighting for a human being lying on a purple and mint-green colored striped lawn chair, reading a newly-released novel. Splashing from an over-sized chlorine swimming pool occupied by young, excited teenagers celebrating the ending of their current school year and the beginning of their summer vacation drifted over to you, as you simply ignored them, allowing the sounds to integrate themselves with the words of your book, so that in your mind, they became one.
This was wonderful.
Meadowlarks, though a bit strange for making an appearance considering your area of residence, sang virtuous melodies, their sounds worth the price of a heaven-belonging angel's belt. Wind settled itself among the bark of the trees and gently along and over the perfectly-enclosing and shade-providing fence, providing just the exact amount of peacefulness and tranquility
HopeThere are so many daysHope by Lissomer
when humanity frightens
the most compassionate
it takes only a knife
or a word or a gun, and
we scare so easy.
I'm tired of living
I'm tired of not believing
There may not be a god above
but believer or not,
there are so many
reasons to love
I'm not giving up
I'm not letting go;
I'm going to dream
and one day
perhaps I will fly
and I will believe
the best of people
until it kills me,
because the moment
that you give up
is the moment
you become the problem.
seastormI,seastorm by Lissomer
at the sea(m)s
of tidal vacancy;
I am the ocean, and
the moon has
cling to reason,
I stumbled on
abrupt. bedridden yet
ever chas(m)ing, I
fell to salt-soaked
ground from a
words were all it took
but all you do is take.
I am waking
and I am shaken
tsunami waves that break
in empty frantic fury;
the briefest repose
or instant of stillness,
I yearn; instead
I am abandoned by language,
I am bound to languish beneath
tempests that swell,
even the most desperate of breaks
for the shore.
Trust FallingTrust FallingTrust Falling by chromeantennae
trust your stomach
rather than your mind.
understand that judgement fails you;
senses never do.
trust it even when your gut is
falling. Like something of an
angel with clipped wings
losing its ability to fly.
lofty exceptions of what could be
is never quite what you intended
never quite what we expected as we plummet.
gaining force as we arrow towards it.
in only romance-laden dreams,
nestling their way into our cracked psyches.
love is late night talks--
only a quarter of the night do we truly
venture near an iota of sleep.
eventually we cradle it from head to chest.
I'm In Debt (Broken Wealth)I'm In Debt (Broken Wealth)I'm In Debt (Broken Wealth) by chromeantennae
the best things in life are expensive.
they cost so much.
but money is a crutch.
for broken spirits
and disintegrating hearts
falling into palms
of skin-lined pockets
holding the loose change
of broken watches.
you're not empty
unless your pockets are filled.
but you're empty,
if they are not.
because money is reliable,
it buys memories
stamped onto cliche hallmark cards,
and makes smiles cheap.
but oddly expensive.
money show ivory pearls
as well as buy them.
revenue is the residue
of things that cannot be returned
but was manufactured in a shoe shop.
in the factories of china,
and slaved away in the dust of india,
money is safe.
money is easy.
euros and sterling,
and Benjamin Franklin,
make it so.
money is a crutch
that helps us walk,
helps us talk,
helps the feds,
helps us wed,
helps the dead.
because a dead clock,
is right twice a day.
and you have to make sure,
the last time you see
time respects the corpse.
Mockingjay - Alt. Ending
I trail close behind a pair of old men who take no notice of me. No on will expect me to be with old men. When we reach the end of the next intersection, they stop and I almost bump into them. It's the City Circle. Across the wide expanse ringed by grand buildings sits the president's mansion.
The circle's full of people milling around, waiting, or just sitting and letting the snow pile up around them. I fit right in. I begin to weave my way across to the mansion, tripping over abandoned treasures and snow-frosted limbs.
Peacekeepers stand every twenty feet, forming a circle around the mansion. I walk around, looking for a way past them, but they have the building completely enclosed. A line of people are being checked by guards at the front entrance. Each person holds up some piece of identification, and is let past the Peacekeeper gate. I begin looking around for someone about my age and height, to grab their I.D., when someone puts their hand on my arm. Someone must have rec
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|I know that I've gotten off the habit of posting up artwork on the regular basis, and most of them are basic level, but the good thing is I am able to do a sort of 'more advanced' art that i sometimes display on other art websites. My REAL talent is writing. I've even had some of my poems published in books. |
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