FILL: We who were living are now dying (mini prologue/?) [WARNING: character deaths]
anonymous
July 2 2011, 10:13:10 UTC
Death comes fom everyone. That is an absolute truth.
There are no exceptions, no exclusions and no excuses to avoid following her.
Death has changed, morphed, evolved and devolved: there have been plagues that don't exist anymore now and there are viruses that didn't exist then. There has always been murders and suicides and nature taking its toll. And there have always been humans trying to run away from it all.
Since the beginning of times there have been countless souls leaving their earthly lives to move on and Death has always been there to open the door for them.
A/N: title comes from T.S. Eliot's The Waste Land. Once again, a warning: there will be a lot characters dying in this. I have no idea yet how many, probably almost all of them (I like the idea of exploring everyone's reaction to Death's visit and the idea of dying) so if it's not your cup of tea close this page. If you're still here, I'll prepare needles and threads to sew your hearts together in case I break them (you never know XD). OP, I hope you'll like this
( ... )
FILL: We who were living are now dying (1a/?) [WARNING: character deaths]
anonymous
July 2 2011, 11:16:34 UTC
It had been almost three years since the incident at Reichenbach.
Incident. That's what the press had called it. The 'incident' that had taken two men's lives, left an unimaginable void in countless others and set the base to the destruction of a criminal empire.
Mycroft was lying on his bed, back resting against the headboard, half a dozen mobiles scattered on the sheets. Sherlock had been gone for two and a half years now. Two years, eight months and four days to be precise. And Mycroft was always precise.
But if he was always so precise then how, how could it have happened? How could he have lost his brother's location? How did he disappear? How
( ... )
FILL: We who were living are now dying (1b/?) [WARNING: character deaths]
anonymous
July 2 2011, 11:20:58 UTC
Death didn't let him linger over his body for long. They left the bedroom behind them and moved upwards, a short journey that took them beyond the known universe and in front of a solid oak door. Mycroft recognised that door: it was that of his family's country house, the one where he had spent his childhood and where Sherlock had been born. The one that marked a time in which he could have talked with his little brother without things leading to a fight. The one his mother had given away after her husband's death.
"Too painful to live here without him," she had said. Mycroft understood at the time but it had still hurt to let go of all the memories that lingered through those walls.
Death let go of his hand and gestured at the door. "Whatever it is you're seeing, you must go through with it."
Mycroft nodded and turned the handle.
--In a place far away, on Earth, a mobile phone was ringing. The dead body of Mycroft Holmes was eerily illuminated by the flashing screen that kept blinking away, unanswered
( ... )
FILL: We who were living are now dying (2a/?) [WARNING: character deaths]
anonymous
July 2 2011, 13:21:41 UTC
Mrs. Hudson was dreaming.
It was a nice dream at first: she was hugging Sherlock and calling him a "stupid, stupid boy, oh how I missed you" and he was giving her a kiss on the cheek. Only it wasn't a dream, it had really happened no longer than a few days before.
Sherlock had come back from the dead and she had scolded him for making the good doctor suffer like that and she had called him a stupid boy and he had smiled. And now she was dreaming about it. It was a nice dream.
Until her husband slammed the door open and it turned into a nightmare. He was standing by the door and he was yelling and where had Sherlock gone?
She was apologizing to her husband, saying "I'm sorry" over and over again and he was coming closer.
"No," she realised. "No, this is my dream. And I don't want you in my dream, Harold!
Mr. Hudson looked surprised: his wife was fighting back.
"I want you out of my dream, Harold, and don't you dare come back!"She was alone again and she sighed in relief. Now, where did Sherlock go? He was here not a few minutes
( ... )
FILL: We who were living are now dying (2b/?) [WARNING: character deaths]
anonymous
July 2 2011, 13:26:30 UTC
The smile died a little on Mrs. Hudson's lips. "But-- But I was feeling just fine yesterday... And I don't even know you, dear. You look like a nice young man but I'm afraid I can't
( ... )
FILL: We who were living are now dying (3a/?) [WARNING: character deaths]
anonymous
July 2 2011, 14:22:56 UTC
Jim Moriarty was looking at his body. His crushed body, skull cracked open, legs spread in an unnatural angle, blood dripping from his mouth and water drenching his designer clothes.
"What an end," he bitterly thought, "Falling from a waterfall, that's rather dramatic."
His gaze moved up the steep wall of bushes and rocks and settled on the climbing figure of Sherlock Holmes. "That little bastard, why am I the only one to die here!" he screamed. "Sherlock! My darling, my killer! I am going to haunt you until the end of your days, you tall and lanky arsehole!"
Jim had shouted as loud as he could but for some reason Sherlock didn't seem to have heard him. "What, you can't hear a ghost? Well, it doesn't matter, I'm sure I can do something: move your books around and drop them on your bloody head or make you trip down the stairs and laugh when it'll be your skull who is cracked open
( ... )
FILL: We who were living are now dying (3b/8?) [WARNING: character deaths]
anonymous
July 2 2011, 14:29:30 UTC
Moriarty grabbed his hair in frustration and pulled. "Because he was a perfect little boy and he drove me mad! Mad with his sweet looks and his charming talking and his ridiculous swimming medals! He was maddening, he taunted me with his stupid perfection
( ... )
FILL: We who were living are now dying (4a/8?) [WARNING: character deaths]
anonymous
July 2 2011, 15:32:14 UTC
David Anderson gripped tightly the bouquet of flowers in his right hand, cane in the other. These days his gout was more painful than ever and the thin piece of metal never left his side.
He slowly walked through the rows of tombstones before stopping in front of one with a sculped lily on top of it. He bent down unsteadily to take the withered flowers and place them aside, replacing them with the fresh bunch he had just cut from his own garden.
He kneeled with a grunt, leaning heavily on his cane, and brushed away a few dead leaves from the tombstone. His wrinkled hands trembled as he slowly traced the letters etched in the cold stone.
IN LOVING MEMORY OF SALLY ANNE DONOVAN 24th May 1981 - 6th November 2053 TOO WELL LOVED TO EVER BE FORGOTTEN
His lips curled into a bleak smile as he remembered her during a rainy night on a particularly gruesome crime scene, a lifetime ago.
"I'm a copper and I have to deal with the Freak here. I bloody well deserve a cigarette, Anderson, so stop saying it's bad for my health.""But it was bad for
( ... )
FILL: We who were living are now dying (4b/8?) [WARNING: character deaths]
anonymous
July 2 2011, 15:34:33 UTC
He didn't know how, but not a few seconds later they were standing in a grey corridor full of doors. The pain his chest was gone and he was standing firmly on his old legs without the aid of his cane
( ... )
Re: FILL: We who were living are now dying (4b/8?) [WARNING: character deaths]wastingyourgumJuly 2 2011, 15:55:22 UTC
Oh God these are all so perfect! Brilliant writing auth!anon.
Moriarty's was very chilling. Mrs Hudson's was lovely and bittersweet and Anderson's was surprisingly sympathetic.
Mycroft had me sniffling and blinking very hard and I know Lestrade, John and Sherlock (if you do them) are just going to break my heart into teeny tiny pieces... but I'm looking forward to them none the less (and I'm curious who else you'll do - Molly? Mike Stamford? Anthea?)
Re: FILL: We who were living are now dying (4b/8?) [WARNING: character deaths]
anonymous
July 2 2011, 16:59:02 UTC
Oh dear, thank you! :D I'm really glad you like this, I wasn't sure I could write this much angst mixed with sappiness, thought it was a tad too much...
I admit I was blinking hard too while writing Mycroft's piece, and Mrs. Hudson's... I wasn't planning on writing Anderson but I read a prompt earlier about him deserving some love so I decided to give him his little piece too, with his Sally :) And I had a tremendous amount of fun writing Moriarty's bit, probably because it was a bit spooky XD
I'm writing the other parts as we speak, I have needles and threads if you'll need to sew your heart back together XD
FILL: We who were living are now dying (5a/8?) [WARNING: character deaths]
anonymous
July 2 2011, 18:54:06 UTC
Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade was dying and it was chaos around him.
He could still hear gunshots, although whether they were from his team or the suspect they'd been chasing, he didn't know.
The suspect, some guy who had decided to have a closer relationship with the bottom of countless bottles rather than try and patch things up with his husband, had gone completely crazy when his partner had announced he was taking the kids and taking them to his parents' house in the country.
He hadn't even read the divorce papers, Donovan had found them stuffed in the poor husband's mouth as a gag. Lestrade had seen desperate people but that man, sobbing and tearing at his hair and begging him to get his children back from their drunk of a father was really something you don't see every day
( ... )
FILL: We who were living are now dying (5b/8?) [WARNING: character deaths]
anonymous
July 2 2011, 19:05:24 UTC
His knees touched the hard ground in what should have been a hurtful move but the pain barely registered: his nerves were too busy sending much more painful sensations to his brain from the wound in his stomach. He felt a pair of hands help him lie down and a piece of cloth ("Someone's jacket, hope it's not Dimmock's, perfectionist, he'd hate me") being pressed to his wound. He looked up through his barely open eyes and saw DI Eugene Dimmock moving his lips. He was talking, surely he was talking, but why couldn't he hear anything?
Lestrade squeezed his eyes, forcing his body to concentrate on something beyond the pain, and with much difficulty he could make out some words. "The suspect's being restrained-- Your distraction-- The other team came up behind him-- He was just waiting for a chance to snap-- Kids are fine-- I'm sorry-- Ambulance on the way-- Greg, stay with us!Lestrade's eyelids felt as heavy as marble and he fought to keep them open. He turned his head and blinked through his haze to focus on the far corner of the road,
( ... )
Won't you spare me over another year
Well what is this that I can't see
With ice cold hands takin' hold of me
When God is gone and the Devil takes hold
who will have mercy on your soul
No wealth, no ruin, no silver, no gold
Nothing satisfies me but your soul
O Death
Well I am Death, none can excel
I'll open the door to heaven or hell
O Death
My name is Death and the end is here.
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There are no exceptions, no exclusions and no excuses to avoid following her.
Death has changed, morphed, evolved and devolved: there have been plagues that don't exist anymore now and there are viruses that didn't exist then. There has always been murders and suicides and nature taking its toll. And there have always been humans trying to run away from it all.
Since the beginning of times there have been countless souls leaving their earthly lives to move on and Death has always been there to open the door for them.
A/N: title comes from T.S. Eliot's The Waste Land. Once again, a warning: there will be a lot characters dying in this. I have no idea yet how many, probably almost all of them (I like the idea of exploring everyone's reaction to Death's visit and the idea of dying) so if it's not your cup of tea close this page. If you're still here, I'll prepare needles and threads to sew your hearts together in case I break them (you never know XD). OP, I hope you'll like this ( ... )
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Spellcheck fail *grumbles*
Reply
Incident. That's what the press had called it. The 'incident' that had taken two men's lives, left an unimaginable void in countless others and set the base to the destruction of a criminal empire.
Mycroft was lying on his bed, back resting against the headboard, half a dozen mobiles scattered on the sheets. Sherlock had been gone for two and a half years now. Two years, eight months and four days to be precise. And Mycroft was always precise.
But if he was always so precise then how, how could it have happened? How could he have lost his brother's location? How did he disappear? How ( ... )
Reply
"Too painful to live here without him," she had said. Mycroft understood at the time but it had still hurt to let go of all the memories that lingered through those walls.
Death let go of his hand and gestured at the door. "Whatever it is you're seeing, you must go through with it."
Mycroft nodded and turned the handle.
--In a place far away, on Earth, a mobile phone was ringing. The dead body of Mycroft Holmes was eerily illuminated by the flashing screen that kept blinking away, unanswered ( ... )
Reply
It was a nice dream at first: she was hugging Sherlock and calling him a "stupid, stupid boy, oh how I missed you" and he was giving her a kiss on the cheek. Only it wasn't a dream, it had really happened no longer than a few days before.
Sherlock had come back from the dead and she had scolded him for making the good doctor suffer like that and she had called him a stupid boy and he had smiled. And now she was dreaming about it. It was a nice dream.
Until her husband slammed the door open and it turned into a nightmare. He was standing by the door and he was yelling and where had Sherlock gone?
She was apologizing to her husband, saying "I'm sorry" over and over again and he was coming closer.
"No," she realised. "No, this is my dream. And I don't want you in my dream, Harold!
Mr. Hudson looked surprised: his wife was fighting back.
"I want you out of my dream, Harold, and don't you dare come back!"She was alone again and she sighed in relief. Now, where did Sherlock go? He was here not a few minutes ( ... )
Reply
Reply
"What an end," he bitterly thought, "Falling from a waterfall, that's rather dramatic."
His gaze moved up the steep wall of bushes and rocks and settled on the climbing figure of Sherlock Holmes. "That little bastard, why am I the only one to die here!" he screamed. "Sherlock! My darling, my killer! I am going to haunt you until the end of your days, you tall and lanky arsehole!"
Jim had shouted as loud as he could but for some reason Sherlock didn't seem to have heard him. "What, you can't hear a ghost? Well, it doesn't matter, I'm sure I can do something: move your books around and drop them on your bloody head or make you trip down the stairs and laugh when it'll be your skull who is cracked open ( ... )
Reply
Reply
He slowly walked through the rows of tombstones before stopping in front of one with a sculped lily on top of it. He bent down unsteadily to take the withered flowers and place them aside, replacing them with the fresh bunch he had just cut from his own garden.
He kneeled with a grunt, leaning heavily on his cane, and brushed away a few dead leaves from the tombstone. His wrinkled hands trembled as he slowly traced the letters etched in the cold stone.
IN LOVING MEMORY OF
SALLY ANNE DONOVAN
24th May 1981 - 6th November 2053
TOO WELL LOVED TO EVER BE FORGOTTEN
His lips curled into a bleak smile as he remembered her during a rainy night on a particularly gruesome crime scene, a lifetime ago.
"I'm a copper and I have to deal with the Freak here. I bloody well deserve a cigarette, Anderson, so stop saying it's bad for my health.""But it was bad for ( ... )
Reply
Reply
Moriarty's was very chilling. Mrs Hudson's was lovely and bittersweet and Anderson's was surprisingly sympathetic.
Mycroft had me sniffling and blinking very hard and I know Lestrade, John and Sherlock (if you do them) are just going to break my heart into teeny tiny pieces... but I'm looking forward to them none the less (and I'm curious who else you'll do - Molly? Mike Stamford? Anthea?)
Reply
I'm really glad you like this, I wasn't sure I could write this much angst mixed with sappiness, thought it was a tad too much...
I admit I was blinking hard too while writing Mycroft's piece, and Mrs. Hudson's... I wasn't planning on writing Anderson but I read a prompt earlier about him deserving some love so I decided to give him his little piece too, with his Sally :) And I had a tremendous amount of fun writing Moriarty's bit, probably because it was a bit spooky XD
I'm writing the other parts as we speak, I have needles and threads if you'll need to sew your heart back together XD
Reply
He could still hear gunshots, although whether they were from his team or the suspect they'd been chasing, he didn't know.
The suspect, some guy who had decided to have a closer relationship with the bottom of countless bottles rather than try and patch things up with his husband, had gone completely crazy when his partner had announced he was taking the kids and taking them to his parents' house in the country.
He hadn't even read the divorce papers, Donovan had found them stuffed in the poor husband's mouth as a gag. Lestrade had seen desperate people but that man, sobbing and tearing at his hair and begging him to get his children back from their drunk of a father was really something you don't see every day ( ... )
Reply
Lestrade squeezed his eyes, forcing his body to concentrate on something beyond the pain, and with much difficulty he could make out some words. "The suspect's being restrained-- Your distraction-- The other team came up behind him-- He was just waiting for a chance to snap-- Kids are fine-- I'm sorry-- Ambulance on the way-- Greg, stay with us!Lestrade's eyelids felt as heavy as marble and he fought to keep them open. He turned his head and blinked through his haze to focus on the far corner of the road, ( ... )
Reply
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