(If you have another scene feel free to let me know : ) I’m fine with Sheriarty or Johnlock. And no, I don’t expect you to write something as long as this is lol.)
It seemed like an eternity ago that Sherlock had jumped from the rooftop of Bart's hospital. Thanks to an intricate scheme involving squibs, a rubber ball, his homeless network, and help from both Molly and Mycroft, Sherlock had seemingly dropped off the face of the earth, leaving all others to believe he had died in disgrace. Genius detective proved to be--admitted to being--a fraud. The worst part of it all was seeing John. The day John and Mrs. Hudson had visited his grave, and Sherlock had been standing behind a tree, watching his former flatmate…that had felt like it happened yesterday. It was ingrained into his mind. He had so badly wanted to go to John, to tell him that he was all right, to explain it to him, explain everything to him, but he couldn’t. There was work to be done.
It took him three years to get everything sorted out. Moriarty had branches in every corner of the globe. Europe, Asia, Russia, America, Mexico. Sherlock had visited each continent, one after the other, until he was confident that Moriarty’s empire was no longer a threat, that it had been toppled. There was only one person left—Sebastian Moran, Moriarty’s right-hand man. As luck would have it, he was back in London. Sherlock did not have to worry about him relocating, since he still believed the detective to be dead. It had seemed like the perfect opportunity to reconnect with John.
Sherlock had missed him. He had missed their bickering, the way John tried to teach him social niceties, how eager John was to please and assist him. He had missed John making him laugh. No one else had that talent. No one else was successful in making Sherlock question his actions, to think about the ramifications of what would happen. No one else. Just John.
He couldn’t wait to see him.
When he arrived in London, he spent a sleepless night in a hotel planning how to take out Moran and, also, how to present himself to John. He needed a disguise. If he was seen, the media would be all over him and all secrecy would be lost. He settled for a cap, which he used to hide his curly hair, a pair of shades, and black leather jacket. His coat, as much as he loved it, was now known throughout London as a ‘Sherlock Holmes Coat’. First the hat, now the coat—ridiculous, really.
As he left his hotel room the next morning to begin another day of search for Moran, the unexpected happened. He was attacked. A man followed him for about five minutes, and when Sherlock had turned around to confront him, the man had lunged at him, knocked him down on the sidewalk, and pinned Sherlock’s arms underneath his legs. He punched his face once, twice, three times. Sherlock had tried to struggle but the man was too strong, too heavy. He put a gloved hand over Sherlock’s mouth to prevent him from crying out, and his other hand tore the detective’s shirt and jacket open. Sherlock felt a searing hot pain in his chest. As he looked down, he saw a switchblade in the man’s hand. His chest was being carved into. “Jim Moriarty sends his regards,” the man told him. “And he wanted me to give you a message.”
The only saving grace was that the pain had stopped shortly after it had begun. The stranger stood and kicked Sherlock in the ribs before running off.
Sherlock had lifted himself onto his elbows, looking down at his chest to survey the damage. His chest felt like it was on fire. The cuts were deep, but not deep enough to hit his organs. It was, as he had said, merely a message—not an assassination attempt—but a message that read I O U.
He finally made it to the main road, clutching his shirt and jacket around his body, trying to stop the blood that was flowing. He managed to hail a cab. As he sat in the back seat, he continued putting pressure on the wound after grunting out his destination to the cabbie:
“221B Baker Street.”
Needing a John! This roleplay will contain drug abuse, violence, and a Moriarty who is alive and well
Also I am not a fan of established Johnlock or fast-moving Johnlock. I think it needs a lot of build up, a lot of hesitancy on the part of both men.
It seemed like an eternity ago that Sherlock had jumped from the rooftop of Bart's hospital. Thanks to an intricate scheme involving squibs, a rubber ball, his homeless network, and help from both Molly and Mycroft, Sherlock had seemingly dropped off the face of the earth, leaving all others to believe he had died in disgrace. Genius detective proved to be--admitted to being--a fraud. The worst part of it all was seeing John. The day John and Mrs. Hudson had visited his grave, and Sherlock had been standing behind a tree, watching his former flatmate…that had felt like it happened yesterday. It was ingrained into his mind. He had so badly wanted to go to John, to tell him that he was all right, to explain it to him, explain everything to him, but he couldn’t. There was work to be done.
It took him three years to get everything sorted out. Moriarty had branches in every corner of the globe. Europe, Asia, Russia, America, Mexico. Sherlock had visited each continent, one after the other, until he was confident that Moriarty’s empire was no longer a threat, that it had been toppled. There was only one person left—Sebastian Moran, Moriarty’s right-hand man. As luck would have it, he was back in London. Sherlock did not have to worry about him relocating, since he still believed the detective to be dead. It had seemed like the perfect opportunity to reconnect with John.
Sherlock had missed him. He had missed their bickering, the way John tried to teach him social niceties, how eager John was to please and assist him. He had missed John making him laugh. No one else had that talent. No one else was successful in making Sherlock question his actions, to think about the ramifications of what would happen. No one else. Just John.
He couldn’t wait to see him.
When he arrived in London, he spent a sleepless night in a hotel planning how to take out Moran and, also, how to present himself to John. He needed a disguise. If he was seen, the media would be all over him and all secrecy would be lost. He settled for a cap, which he used to hide his curly hair, a pair of shades, and black leather jacket. His coat, as much as he loved it, was now known throughout London as a ‘Sherlock Holmes Coat’. First the hat, now the coat—ridiculous, really.
As he left his hotel room the next morning to begin another day of search for Moran, the unexpected happened. He was attacked. A man followed him for about five minutes, and when Sherlock had turned around to confront him, the man had lunged at him, knocked him down on the sidewalk, and pinned Sherlock’s arms underneath his legs. He punched his face once, twice, three times. Sherlock had tried to struggle but the man was too strong, too heavy. He put a gloved hand over Sherlock’s mouth to prevent him from crying out, and his other hand tore the detective’s shirt and jacket open. Sherlock felt a searing hot pain in his chest. As he looked down, he saw a switchblade in the man’s hand. His chest was being carved into. “Jim Moriarty sends his regards,” the man told him. “And he wanted me to give you a message.”
The only saving grace was that the pain had stopped shortly after it had begun. The stranger stood and kicked Sherlock in the ribs before running off.
Sherlock had lifted himself onto his elbows, looking down at his chest to survey the damage. His chest felt like it was on fire. The cuts were deep, but not deep enough to hit his organs. It was, as he had said, merely a message—not an assassination attempt—but a message that read I O U.
He finally made it to the main road, clutching his shirt and jacket around his body, trying to stop the blood that was flowing. He managed to hail a cab. As he sat in the back seat, he continued putting pressure on the wound after grunting out his destination to the cabbie:
“221B Baker Street.”
Needing a John! This roleplay will contain drug abuse, violence, and a Moriarty who is alive and well
Also I am not a fan of established Johnlock or fast-moving Johnlock. I think it needs a lot of build up, a lot of hesitancy on the part of both men.