The Fluffernutters Meme

[indianbeautyani]

fluffernutters meme

what to do:
☆ post a comment
★ others use the magic RNG 1-10 to pick their fluffiness
☆ then fluff it out

fluffy choices:
① Tiny kisses For some reason or another, the person in front of you? Needs all of the kisses. All of them.
② Love confession You feel the butterflies in your stomach, but there's no way you're going to back out

Comments

Rolled a 9, darlin'! Post-Fall, you think?

[onbakerst]

[ooc: She also could have thrown herself and Moriarty over the fall instead of jumping off a building to try to blend the canons together. :)]

Good god, Watson's gonna freak ♥

[fuckirene]

[ooc: That works! And I do mix a bit of Doyle with my Ritchie!Watson (just that he got shot in the shoulder too and contracted typhoid before he got sent home), but how long after would it be? Because the books say Sherlock shows back up after Mary's died, as terrible as that is, but Ritchie nor BBC's gotten that far just yet. For John knowing Holmes is alive, that is XD]

[onbakerst]

[ooc: Nooo, don't let Mary die, I don't want dearest John to suffer that badly today! What do you say to a year or two while he's still married (maybe Mary's fallen ill or will fall ill)? Let me know and I will get right on the first official post!]

[fuckirene]

[ooc: He does just get all the pain, doesn't he?;; Two years in with a fallen ill Mary works just fine!]

[onbakerst]

[Dear Watson, don't mind your formerly dead young companion (disguised in a man's clothing, no less, but with her long, curly hair pulled in a loose updo) sitting at your desk and reading your manuscript. She's just let herself in. But she suspects that the good doctor has had his suspicions since she had shipped Mycroft's personal supply of oxygen to the Watson household.

Holmes hadn't meant to resurface so soon, but she had heard what had become of the Mrs, of her sudden illness, and she immediately knew that the poor wife did not have long. Though she and Mary never expressed a fondness for each other, she had come to respect and appreciate the woman in the only way Holmes could.

And, what if Mary suddenly died tomorrow? She'd already caused her friend much suffering and it wasn't right to leave him alone at this time.]

[fuckirene]

[Having Mary getting sick was a terrible thing to be going through. It was sudden, unexpected, and Mary trusted no one but John to care for her. But it was terribly hard on him to do so. He loved her, he always had, and that made caring for her so difficult. It was why he was starting to hate caring for her. Not because he didn't love her, but because he hated who he had to be to do it. He had to be a doctor and not just any doctor, no. He had to be the most professional, damn near uncaring doctor he never wanted to be if only because that was the one thing keeping him together now

[onbakerst]

Use your words, Dr. Watson.

[Nope she's not smiling. Well, she is smiling a tiny bit, sitting up at the presence of her friend. Mary's file. John's limp. Gladstone tottering behind him. He looks so much older than when she last saw him, more creases in his brow, around his eyes. Her eyes flick from Mary's file back to Watson, then to the manuscript in her hands.]

"My own complete happiness, and the home-centred interests which rise up around the man who first finds himself master of her own establishment, were sufficient to absorb all my attention, while Holmes, who loathed every form of society with her whole Bohemian soul, remained in our lodgings in Baker Street, buried among her old books, and alternating from week to week between nicotine and ambition, the drowsiness of the drug, and the fierce energy of her own keen nature." [She finally adjusts the papers, setting them right before placing them in the box.] I might wonder what London will think of me after you've gotten this published. Not entirely accurate. I'm somewhat

[fuckirene]

[Frustrated eyes were immediately cast skyward, sighing heavily. He was trying to use his words. Watson would have liked to see how well she could articulate herself if he were the one who "died" and suddenly reappeared two years later. Then again, he wouldn't have had the heart to do that

[onbakerst]

My dear friend... [She starts, mustering up all the sympathy she can, watching him from where she's seated. Her back is straight as a board, chin lifted high. Her elegantly long nose wrinkles from the smallest tickle. It almost feels as if she can feel a tear behind her eyes, but closes the ducts before it escapes.

She had business to tend to. But that wasn't the half of it. She lets him yell at her, not even wincing, face as calm as can be, save for the slight wrinkle in her smooth brow.] My older brother was the only one who know. He tended to my things and kept a distant eye on you for me.

[Of course he went looking for her. She couldn't have stopped it, not Watson, not with his determination and endless loyalty. She hardly flinches when he slams his hands on the table, but keeps her gaze fixed on him. Oh, the manuscripts. She'd already read them once through.] Because one of Moriarty's men knew I survived the fall, Watson. I climbed down the rocks and he tried - in vain, mind you - to finish the job

[fuckirene]

[John watches her a closely as he cane between a furrowed brow and blurry blinks which, depending how long he waiting to do so, didn't help much. At this point he wasn't sure if the tears that wouldn't fall were from all his pent up anger, all his grief, or from the joy that was swelling in his chest and looking to engulf his entire heart all at once just from her presence. Because for once this wasn't a dream. It wasn't a hallucination bought on by insomnia or by scotch or absinthe. She was here, in his office, sitting at his desk.

But his lips pursed together at the bit about Mycroft, about the men that were after her. There was always someone after her, he didn't matter, they were always after her. If anything, he could have helped, like he always had, instead of being in this agony.] And-and, what, with your skill and sheer madness that took you less then a month? Assuming you didn't sustain any injuries from that hellish fall nor the mercenaries, the traveling or even the weather.

[Watson was always in danger when she was

[onbakerst]

[But, that is the thing, John Watson. You are very important. Certainly more than just a sidekick to a mad young woman whose brain works faster than a speeding train. These sentiments go unexpressed, but she thought it best to work alone. Sentiment brought people down, people like Irene Adler, who slip and fall because of their hearts.

As for her own memorial, vanity brought her to the crowd and she, dressed as an elderly woman, listened among the crowd. She hadn't the nerve to approach him then, merely leaving as soon as the ceremony as over. Only Mycroft saw her leave.

No plan is perfect, not even a plan Holmes could contrive. Sacrifices had to be made. But she knows that he needs her now, now that Mary is on the brink of death. He cannot be alone, not while she continues to live and breathe.]

Well, Watson, one must do what one can under limited circumstances. [She smirks and lets him apply the cream, elongating her slender neck.] Other than this burn, I'm fine. Honestly. It is the right moment.