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Literature
Sherlock: The End of the Beginning 1
Five Months Later; January 2016
  People were bustling through Heathrow airport, checking their bags, showing and receiving their tickets, and making sure everything was in proper arrangement for their travels. The clock on Elizabeth Tower (which many people still call Big Ben) struck through the noise of the crowd, signalling a new hour had arrived. And on this hour came the arrival of a flight from Atlanta, tires screeching on the tarmac as they slowed down on the cold pavement below. On this flight, amidst all the other one hundred or so passengers, was a young woman of twenty-two years of age. She had dyed copper hair, gunmetal blue eyes (which many found interesting), was about five-foot-five or so in height, and about an average weight, somewhere around 130.
  The young woman waited at the baggage claim until she saw her olive green and crimson red suitcases pass by, picking each up with an arm and leading them to customs. Upon being scanned for non-existent weapons, sh
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Literature
Sherlock: The End of the Beginning - Prologue
All Sherlock Holmes could do was let out a sigh of relief. It was over...everything was finally over. His sister, Eurus, had agreed to help save John Watson before it was too late and was now being escorted back to Sherrinford prison. Mentally, Sherlock made a vow to visit Eurus a little more from now on, seeing as it was him that caused his younger sister to become what she did. If she wanted, he would play his violin for her, just to make her happy.
  “So, what are we going to do now?” John asked, still shivering underneath the blanket he was wrapped in.
  “Go home,” Sherlock answered, “but I need to do something first.”
  “What’s that?”
  “I have to pay someone a visit.”
  Molly Hooper heard knocking on her door, waking her from an emotionally-induced slumber. The previous day really hadn’t been a good one. First, she learned she had to do an autopsy on a child, then had to fill out insa
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Spirited Away drawing by NekalIbea Spirited Away drawing :iconnekalibea:NekalIbea 3 11 Mad Hatter by NekalIbea Mad Hatter :iconnekalibea:NekalIbea 1 0 Sora and Rommie by NekalIbea Sora and Rommie :iconnekalibea:NekalIbea 2 0
Literature
Saving Grace pt. 2
IV.
January, 1797; Leek, Staffordshire
 It was now a new year in England and Jonathan was still going over Mr. Puckett’s records, trying to distinguish some pattern that he had discovered only days before. The records showed that Mr. Puckett would suddenly gain an immense amount of money around times of near financial hardship. He quickly began to suspect that Mr. Puckett was scheming people and ripping them off of money in order to secure his future. All he had to do was find the right evidence and the conviction was in the bag.
 Jonathan was arriving at his firm when he saw Ms. Ellen talking to Scotland Yard, confusing him. He rushed over and said, “Is anything wrong, Officer?”
 “Your housekeeper told me that some evidence you had for a case had been stolen early this morning,” the officer informed, “They were financial records, I believe.”
 “They were records of Mr. Walter Puckett of Flash, Staffordshire,” Jon
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Literature
Saving Grace pt. 1
I.
Flash, Staffordshire; 1797
 People were beginning to bustle into Flash thanks to the morning dawn. Butchers began their work, bakers started putting out fresh goods, and the local shops started to prepare for the influx of customers they hoped to achieve. Men began to climb the lamp posts and put out the candles that served as guides to the streets at night. However, they were soon brought to a halt at the sound of bagpipes playing through the streets. The group of players were marching through the street and soon stopped in the middle of the square, the sounds of the hymn Amazing Grace echoing throughout the city. People came outside in their dressing gowns and nightclothes to see what was going on, all watching as a group of men lowered a wooden stretcher onto a small elevated stone in the entryway of one home, the occupants exiting the home to see what the fuss was about. One man, somewhere near forty in age, stood next to the stretcher, which had something underneath it cov
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Literature
BBC Sherlock: ASIP- Just the Beginning
  “Are you all right?” Sherlock asked John, the ex-soldier looking up at his flatmate.
  “Yes, of course,” John answered.
  “You did just kill a man and in front of Selene, no less.”
  John thought for a moment before smiling and saying, “That’s true isn’t it? But he wasn’t a very nice man.”
  “Not if he killed four people,” Selene agreed.
  “And he was a bloody awful cabbie.”
  John and Sherlock chuckled a little, Sherlock placing a hand on Selene’s shoulder and leading her away from the crime scene, John next to them, “He was a bad cabbie, wasn’t he? You should’ve seen the route he took to get us here.”
  A small laugh escaped John’s lips, “Stop it! We can’t giggle! It’s a crime scene.”
  “You’re the one who shot him.”
  Donovan, who was walking to the crime scene, turn
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Literature
BBC Sherlock: ASIP- Putting the Puzzle Together
  Sherlock paced around the living area of 221B, Lestrade, John, and Selene all present in the room while other officers searched the rest of the flat for drugs, despite Sherlock and Selene’s insistence that there weren’t any. Lestrade had just told Sherlock about Jennifer Wilson’s stillborn daughter, Rachel and Sherlock was fervently trying to piece the puzzle together.
  “You said that the murderer makes them take the poison,” John said, “talking to them. Maybe he used the death of her daughter somehow.”
  “That was years ago,” Sherlock replied, “Why would she still be upset?” Everyone looked at him, including Selene, who looked at Sherlock with a rather sympathetic look. Realizing what he said, Sherlock commented, “Not good?”
  “A bit, yeah,” John answered.
  “If you were dying, if you’d been murdered and in your last few seconds, what would you say?”
  “Please, God, let
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Literature
BBC Sherlock: ASIP- Discussions
  “Fine. We’ll start with the riding crop.”
  With each thwack of the riding crop against flesh, Molly flinched in apparent disdain. How Sherlock could be so cruel sometimes was beyond her, especially to those who’ve departed. But, beggars can’t be choosers, after all. Molly came back into the morgue, Sherlock wrapping up his…um, whipping the body into shape.
  “So, bad day, was it?” Molly joked, a slight giggle coming from her throat.
  “I need to know what bruises form in the next twenty minutes. Text me.”
  Nodding, Molly said, “How’s she doing?”
  “Fine. She misses you.”
  “Well…I do have a birthday present for her.”
  Sherlock nodded in response, writing down something in his notebook. Molly then continued, “Sherlock, I’m curious about something.”
  “What?” Sherlock asked, not looking up from his no
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Literature
BBC Sherlock: ASIP- Adopted
  John and Sherlock were still waiting in Angelo’s for the murderer of four people to arrive, his latest victim named Jennifer Wilson. Figuring that they had a moment, John inquired, “So, what happened to Selene’s mom?”
  “Hmm?” Sherlock asked before realizing the question, “Oh, she’s dead. She died when Selene was six months old.”
  “Poor girl.”
  “Blame a jealous ex-girlfriend of her father’s.”
  “So, you have had a girlfriend before.”
  “No, I haven’t, John. Selene’s father, yes.”
  “I don’t understand. Aren’t you her father?”
  “Adoptive father, yes.”
  John stopped eating, shocked, “You…adopted her? When?”
  “Four year ago December 17.”
  “Mmm. So she was…”
  “Only a year old. I took her in, gave her a home and a
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Literature
BBC Sherlock: ASIP- Silence is Golden
  At 221B, Selene sat on the couch, reading a book on birds. It was just a little after nine o’clock in the evening, which was normally her bedtime. Tonight, however, she was allowed to stay up until ten or until her father returned home. She was used to it, Sherlock getting home late from a case. Sometimes, he’d come home and not even tell her good-night. Not that it mattered; most of the time, she was already asleep by the time he returned. Regardless, Selene knew Sherlock had a job to do, and she didn’t want to get in the way of him doing of his job.
  The sound of the door shutting got her attention, her eyes looking up from her book. Sherlock came into the room a moment later, a pink suitcase in his hand. Closing the book, Selene watched as Sherlock set the case down and take off his scarf and coat.
  “Is that a pink suitcase?” Selene asked, Sherlock setting said suitcase down.
  “Of course,” Sherlock replied.
 
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Literature
BBC Sherlock: ASIP- Reasons
  It was almost ten o’clock when Selene heard the knock at the door. This alarmed her greatly, mainly because no one knocked at ten at night. Before she had a chance to get up and get to the door, she heard the door open and someone come up the stairs. Her expression became one of confusion when she saw Lestrade, Donovan, and Anderson.
  “What’s going on?” Selene asked.
  “Sorry, Selene, drugs bust,” Lestrade said, several other members of New Scotland Yard appearing in the flat.
  “Daddy’s clean. I checked earlier this month.”
  “How can you be so sure?” Donovan asked.
  “Trust me, I know. I’m his daughter.”
  “You’re what, five?” Anderson asked, skeptical, “How could you possibly know what drugs are?
  “I was there, Anderson. I watched Daddy go insane from drugs once and he’s never done it since.”
  “It’
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Literature
BBC Sherlock: ASIP- Meetings
  John Watson walked down Baker Street, his limp very obvious to anyone who saw him. It was about seven o’clock in the evening and he was just arriving at 221B to meet with Sherlock Holmes. Speaking of Sherlock, he got out of a cab and paid the driver, saying, “Dr. Watson.”
  “Mr. Holmes,” John responded, shaking Sherlock’s hand.
  “Sherlock, please.”
  “Looks expensive.”
  “Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, gave me a special deal. Two years ago or so, her husband got sentenced to death in Florida. I was able to help.”
  “You stopped him from being executed?”
  “No, I ensured it.”
  The door opened (John having knocked via the handle when Sherlock arrived), Mrs. Hudson giving the detective a loving hug, “Sherlock.”
  “Mrs. Hudson, Dr. John Watson,” Sherlock introduced.
  “Come in,” Mrs. Hudson said, the two men en
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Literature
BBC Sherlock: ASIP- The Move
  At a desk in a flat, a young girl of five sat, reading a book, waiting on her father to return home. Thankfully, all of her homework had been cleared and she was allowed to have her own time until ten o’clock; that meant bed time on Fridays and Saturdays, and today was a Friday. At around eight-thirty that evening, she heard a door shut, getting her attention. Looking up from her book, she watched as her father entered the room. It was none other than Sherlock Holmes.
  “Welcome home, Daddy,” she said, setting her book down. Sherlock walked over to his daughter and picked her up, giving her a small peck on her nose.
  “Thank you,” Sherlock responded, “Why aren’t you in bed?”
  “It’s not ten yet.”
  “Good.” Sherlock set his daughter down and said, “Start packing your things, Selene. We’re moving.”
  “Moving?” Selene asked, following her father into
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Literature
Peronista
Soy Peronista
That is the person I have found myself to be
Even though I don’t say it every day, I am me
Yo soy una Peronista Americana
Since finding out about Evita in 2009, I’ve called myself Peronist
However, I never really knew what Peronism was
Evita filled my mind and my heart, and still does
But my understanding of the topic was oh so small
Reading books on Eva gave me an idea of Peronism
I still identified myself as Peronist despite no real knowledge still
I have my disagreements on Perón’s regime, but everyone does
Regardless, I am accepting that Perón tried to do good in a world full of bad
Thank goodness for Economics papers is all I have to say
I chose my topic on the Peronist regime, confusing my teacher
He will never understand my fascination with Peronism
Frankly, I think very few people truly will
Researching the Peronist economy was quite a journey
During that time, I learned more about Perón’s Argentina than I ever thought possible
It was after
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Activity


Five Months Later; January 2016

  People were bustling through Heathrow airport, checking their bags, showing and receiving their tickets, and making sure everything was in proper arrangement for their travels. The clock on Elizabeth Tower (which many people still call Big Ben) struck through the noise of the crowd, signalling a new hour had arrived. And on this hour came the arrival of a flight from Atlanta, tires screeching on the tarmac as they slowed down on the cold pavement below. On this flight, amidst all the other one hundred or so passengers, was a young woman of twenty-two years of age. She had dyed copper hair, gunmetal blue eyes (which many found interesting), was about five-foot-five or so in height, and about an average weight, somewhere around 130.
  The young woman waited at the baggage claim until she saw her olive green and crimson red suitcases pass by, picking each up with an arm and leading them to customs. Upon being scanned for non-existent weapons, she handed the receptionist her passport, who eyed her suspiciously.
  “I wouldn’t worry,” the young woman reassured, her Received Pronounciation top notch, “My mind is sane.”
  Nodding, the receptionist handed the passport back and said, “Welcome back to London.”
  “Thank you. It’s good to be home.”


  Mycroft Holmes woke up to the screeching of his phone ringing, which annoyed him to great lengths. Glancing at the clock, he groaned and answered the phone, his tone tired and irked.
  “Do you realize it’s four o’clock in the bloody morning?” Mycroft scolded the person on the other line, “Why on earth are you…?”
  Upon hearing what the other person had to say, Mycroft was instantly alert and sitting up, sleep no longer an issue. He stood up from his bed and stretched, then responded, “Yes, of course. I’ll be there as soon as possible. Thank you for this development.”
  Ending the call, Mycroft sighed, then headed towards his bathroom (which also had a suit of armor in it) to take an early morning shower. This was going to be one hell of a morning.


  “So, how are things going?” Eurus Holmes asked her brother, both sitting on either side of the glass, playing a game of tic-tac-toe with some glass paint. She had recovered well in the five months since her game ended and was now on better terms with Sherlock, even managing to start talking to him two months earlier.
  “Well,” Sherlock replied, placing an “x” in a corner, “John and Rosie are doing fine, Mrs. Hudson still vacuums to Iron Maiden, and Greg is getting better at being a Detective Inspector.”
  “Nothing on Molly Hooper?” Eurus placed an “o” in the center of the board.
  “Molly’s well. We made up five months ago and we’re doing fine.” He placed an “x” on the top row, then motioned for Eurus to go.
  “And, there’s nothing else to report on?” Eurus continued to inquire as she placed one final “o” in a square then crossed a line through it. She smirked as Sherlock shrugged in defeat, then began to clean her side of the glass.
  “Nothing, Eurus.”
  “That’s a lie, Sherlock. Remember what I said then? Emotional context. You care for her. Always have and always will. But how do you love her?”
  Standing up, Sherlock said, “I’m done talking about it, Eurus. My time’s almost up.”
  Eurus also stood and said, “You can’t hide from it forever, brother. I heard you when you said you loved her. That tone was that of realization. The man you used to be is gone. Don’t become what you once were.”
  “My life is mine, Eurus. Don’t tell me how to live it.”
  “I’m not trying to, Sherlock. All I’m saying is that it would be best for you to two to talk it out and see where you stand.”
  “Are you trying to manipulate me into admitting how I’m feeling for Molly?”
  “Hard habit to break.” Eurus shrugged, “Just think about it, Sherlock. You told me that you two had made up, but it sounds like words have still gone unsaid. Believe me, there are things I want to say to people from the past, but that may never happen. They’ll never know how sorry I am. No more hiding, brother. It’s time for your heart to take center stage. Let it be your guide.”
  Sherlock scoffed, but in a slightly humored way, “Are you my conscience now?”
  “I don’t exactly have a tux and umbrella, so no.”
  Continuing to smile as he put on his Belstaff, Sherlock said, “I’ll be back in a couple of weeks. I’ll bring some cards next time.”
  “You need to teach me that waltz you played once. It was pretty.”
  Sherlock stopped in his tracks, his shoulders tense. He shuddered a breath before replying, “It was for John’s late wife, Mary. She died protecting me from a traitor.”
  “Horrible. See you in two weeks, Sherlock.”
  “See you in two weeks. Behave.”
  “Wouldn’t dream of it.”


  “Are you certain of this, Mycroft?” Lady Smallwood asked as she and Mycroft stood in his office, looking over security footage on his laptop, “Why would they call you if there’s no real threat posed.”
  “We cannot take any chances, Alicia,” Mycroft answered, shutting his computer, “We know what happened last time.”
  “Of course, but wait before you do something drastic. Wait until a move is made then do what you do best.”
  “Just what is it that I do best, Lady Smallwood?”
  “Be Mycroft Holmes.”


  “You know, Rosie’s turning one tomorrow,” John mentioned to Sherlock that evening once he’d returned to Baker Street, “Mrs. H and I were planning a small party for her. Just a little get together.”
  “Hmm,” Sherlock responded, obviously not interested, despite the subject being about his goddaughter, “I still don’t understand why people have to celebrate their child turning another year older. Pointless, if you ask me.”
  “Some people do that to spoil their kids. I am not one of those parents. This is just a small get together with some cake, ice cream, biscuits, and champagne. Nothing more than that.”
  “I’m alright with that. This is Rosie, after all.”
  “Very well.” John got up from his chair and stretched his back, “I’ll let Mrs. Hudson know. Might as well get some champagne tomorrow morning. That and Rosie’s out of apple juice.”
  A smirk appeared on Sherlock’s face as he looked through his contacts and found Molly’s number. For a brief moment, he debated on whether or not to text her, but decided against it. He had almost lost her due to sentiment once, he wasn’t about to put her in that position again.
  “Molly’s going to be bringing the cake,” John passed along, putting his coat on, “It’s a homemade strawberry cake with cream cheese frosting.”
  “You should stop, John,” Sherlock advised, “I can see you drooling.”
  “Don’t pretend that doesn’t sound appetizing to you. You’ve talked about Molly’s cooking before and how good it is. For a pathologist, she’s a bloody good cook.”
  “That is a fact I will not deny.”
  “Speaking of Molly, she’s been a little upset lately. Know why that is?”
  “Most likely because I’m keeping a distance.”
  John sighed and ran his hand through his hair, exasperated, “Sherlock Holmes, you told Molly Hooper you love her and smashed the coffin meant for her in an emotional rage. That night, you sobbed yourself to sleep on her couch apologizing to her for that damn phone call. After all that, how can you just distance yourself from her. You love her, dammit.”
  “And loving her will get her killed. I’m not putting her in that kind of danger again.”
  Chortling, John responded, “So, in order to protect her, you’re staying away from her?”
  “That’s right.”
  “Five months. Five long months you’ve been doing that to her. Doesn’t she deserve better treatment from you?” Realization hit John, “Or, maybe, you’re doing this on purpose to see if she’ll stay? That’s got to be it. You clot! Why are you putting her through this again?!”
  “To try and tell her she deserves better than me!” Sherlock swiftly stood and towered over John, “Somehow, she’s not getting the damn message! Eurus is already getting onto me about her, so don’t you start too!”
  John stiffened, twitching his face a little, “And that, Sherlock Holmes, lets me know you love her. You love Molly so much that you want her to only see your faults and not that you have the heart and capacity to love. It terrifies you.”
  “She deserves better than a high-functioning sociopath.”
  “No. Molly deserves you, the best you that you can be. She could care less if you’re an ass from time to time or if you get carried away in a case. That’s who you are in her eyes. Don’t be an ass, Sherlock Holmes, especially to Molly Hooper. Whether you like it or not, she is the love of your life. Mary taught me to treasure the ones you love. Take that to heart, for once.”
  Having said what he needed to say, John turned and headed down 221B’s seventeen steps and out into the cold, winter night. Sherlock sighed and went to sit back down in his chair, slouching in frustration. This was why he hadn’t tried to pursue a relationship with Molly. He knew everyone would pester him about them just because he told her he loved her.
  It was true, nonetheless. Sherlock did love her and he would admit that any day, but what he didn’t want to admit was that, when it came to relationships, he was weak and helpless. Picking up his phone, he opened his messenger to type out a quick, simple text to Molly, not regretting sending it to her: “Have a good night. I love you. SH”
  Moments later, he got Molly’s response, which made him smile, “You know me. I’ll be up till the dead of night. Good night. Love you. Molly”


  At the Brown’s Hotel, the young woman sat in one of the restaurants, mainly The Albemarle, waiting on her guest to arrive. She was sipping a small glass of white wine while she waited, hoping her acquaintance would show up soon. There were pressing matters to attend to. Moments later, a woman with blonde hair and striking gray eyes sat down across from her, a smirk as wide as the English Channel on her face.
  “I see you’ve changed quite a bit,” she commented, then nodded to the younger woman’s left hand, “That says so.”
  “That’s now why I called you here, Irene,” the young woman retorted, “I’m here on very urgent business that needs closure as soon as possible.”
  “Oh? And what would that be?”
  “Eurus.”
  Irene’s face went pale instantaneously, “You can’t be serious? That bitch?”
  “There’s a rumor on the wind, Irene, that she’s changing. Sherlock Holmes is having a hand in her rehabilitation. I need you to pull every string you have to try and find Eurus. Past issues have come back and they need to be settled quickly.”
  “Does this mean I get to play with Sherlock Holmes again?”
  “He’s taken, Irene. I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”
  “No, he’s still single. I have a few close friends, mainly Kate, keep a secret eye on him. But a woman does come and go from Baker Street often.”
  “That would be Sherlock Holmes’ girlfriend. It’s a secret relationship.”
  “Like I said, no. Sherlock Holmes is single and I plan to use that to my advantage. Once I get to Baker Street, I can…”
  “I’ll deal with Sherlock Holmes. Besides, I have a case for him that needs to be told.”
  “A case? What case could you possibly have?”
  “This case is quite personal to me, Irene. If I told you, you’d never believe it.”
  “Bring it on.”
  Her expression serious, the young woman leaned in so that she could whisper to Irene, “It’s Jim.”
  “Jim Moriarty?” Irene asked, surprised.
  Shushing Irene down to a whisper, the young woman nodded in confirmation, “Yes. He’s still got one last trick up his sleeve, I know it. Sherlock Holmes is a fool to think Jim’s dead for good.”
  “What are you going to do?”
  “Tell him about my case and the concerns I have.”
  “He may not be interested.”
  “Irene, when it comes to Jim Moriarty, Sherlock can’t resist. That’s his weakness. He loves the thrill of the chase.”
  “As do I.”
  “That aside, he won’t be able to turn down my case. I’ll speak to him tomorrow. Just do everything you can to get information. I’m counting on you, Irene.”
  Standing up, Irene said, “I suppose I should call Kate and tell her to get my things ready. The Woman is back in London and, this time, I’m not going down without a battle.”
Sherlock: The End of the Beginning 1
Chapter One starts off where I think the montage is currently in the BBC's timeline, which is when Rosie is about a year old or so. At least, that's how she appeared to me at the end of "The Final Problem". Not sure if season 4 takes place entirely in 2015, but I'm going to assume it does. If not...oopsie. ^_^ Hope you enjoy! 

Sherlock (c) Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, BBC
I own nothing except for original characters featured in the story
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All Sherlock Holmes could do was let out a sigh of relief. It was over...everything was finally over. His sister, Eurus, had agreed to help save John Watson before it was too late and was now being escorted back to Sherrinford prison. Mentally, Sherlock made a vow to visit Eurus a little more from now on, seeing as it was him that caused his younger sister to become what she did. If she wanted, he would play his violin for her, just to make her happy.
  “So, what are we going to do now?” John asked, still shivering underneath the blanket he was wrapped in.
  “Go home,” Sherlock answered, “but I need to do something first.”
  “What’s that?”
  “I have to pay someone a visit.”


  Molly Hooper heard knocking on her door, waking her from an emotionally-induced slumber. The previous day really hadn’t been a good one. First, she learned she had to do an autopsy on a child, then had to fill out insane amounts of paperwork, but the icing on Sherlock’s birthday cake was that she got two unwanted calls that day, one of which turned her world and heart upside down. Frankly, since they came one right after the other, Molly remained very upset after Sherlock’s call, but still drank her tea and managed to calm down slightly, all while crying her eyes out at Sherlock’s words.
  Walking over to the door, Molly contemplated what she would tell Sherlock the next time they met, if they did. She had been able to deduce that Sherlock hadn’t been lying when he told her he loved her, but in what context didn’t matter. All that did was that he acknowledged she mattered to him and he loved her in his own way. Those thoughts would have to wait, unfortunately, as she had a guest at her door. Why, though? It was almost four o’clock in the morning.
  Unlocking the door, Molly opened it and her eyes widened upon seeing a rather drained Sherlock. He glanced at her and smiled very slightly, hoping that she would be willing to talk so early. Right now, they both needed closure and badly.
  “Is there a reason you’re here so early, Sherlock?” Molly asked, trying not to sound so nervous, “Something wrong?”
  To Molly’s shock, Sherlock didn’t answer her, but, instead, pulled her to him and held her tight to his chest. She could hear his heavy breathing, almost like he was ready to crack, and feel his hands grip her arms, not wanting to let go. A moment later, she felt something wet touch the crook of her neck, but was quick to realize the source of the watery feeling was Sherlock. Gently pushing herself away a bit, Molly looked at Sherlock and was a little surprised to find he was, in fact, shedding tears. Reaching up with her hand, she wiped away his tears and made him look her in the eyes.
  “Sherlock, tell me what’s wrong,” Molly calmly demanded, knowing she deserved some answers as to his behavior.
  “Molly,” Sherlock choked out, “I...I am so sorry. I never wanted for you to…”
  “You’re a little hysterical. Come on, let’s go sit down.” Molly pulled Sherlock into her flat, shut the door and locked it, then led Sherlock into her sitting room, both sitting down on her sofa, “Now, what’s this all about?”
  “I promise, it wasn’t my idea to call you,” Sherlock explained, having calmed a little on the journey to the sofa, “My sister, Eurus…”
  “A sister? You have a sister?”
  “Was a shock to me, too. She shot John with a tranquilizer when she revealed herself to him.”
  “Not exactly the best choice of therapist.”
  “Or person to text cheat on Mary with.”
  “What?”
  “Never mind that last one. My point is, she was forcing me to hurt you by having you tell me you love me. She...had a coffin made for you. If I didn’t comply, you would die...or so I was told. That entire phone call was just to get me to hurt you by using your feeling for me against me.” A stray tear fell from Sherlock’s eyes, “I hurt you and I’m sorry. Can you forgive me?”
  Molly touched Sherlock’s face, staring into his blue-gray eyes with her own chestnut eyes. She could see the pain and sorrow in Sherlock’s face, but it was when she touched his hands and felt the torn skin and dried blood on his knuckles that Molly completely understood what had transpired.
  “Listen to me, Sherlock Holmes,” she commanded, “I know that your sister caused you so much pain in hurting me, but I can tell there’s more than that. You caused yourself pain over me and that’s not something I want you to do.”
  “Maybe I did because I don’t deserve you!” Sherlock screamed, surprising Molly once again.
  “Don’t you think I should have a say in that? You know what? You’re probably right. I do deserve better, but you’re the man my heart chose.”
  “Molly, don’t let your heart rule your head. Eurus got into mine that way. For a moment, I thought that...that…”
  “That I would die.” Molly sighed, “Well, I’m still here, aren’t I? Even though your sister forced you to rip my heart out and stomp on it, I’m still here. What does that say about me?”
  “That you’re an idiot?” Sherlock joked.
  “No. It means that, despite that phone call, I’m not going anywhere, especially in your state. This could possibly be a danger night.”
  “The past twenty-four bloody hours have been a danger night. Eurus murdered five innocent people just to play a game. It was a game to get my attention, the attention of her older brother whose love she needed.”
  “Poor her. What did she do that made her think like that?”
  “Doesn’t matter. What does matter is that you’re safe. Not only that, we have a chance to mend what’s left of our friendship.”
  “Is there anything to mend, Sherlock?”
  “Of course there is! Molly, I thought I was going to lose you today and we had our hearts torn out and thrown in our faces! Had I known, I would have never…”
  Sherlock never got the chance to finish the sentence because, for the second time in twelve hours, his heart took over and tears dropped from his eyes. Molly carefully placed her hands around Sherlock and pulled him towards her, letting his face be buried into her shoulder.
  “Everything’s going to be okay, Sherlock,” she said, hoping that would calm him.
  “It’s not okay,” Sherlock sobbed.
  “No.” Molly placed a gentle kiss on Sherlock’s temple, “But it is what it is.”
Sherlock: The End of the Beginning - Prologue
Been a while since I posted anything here. Sherlock season 4 just wrapped up and I wanted to do my version of what happens during the time-frame of the montage. Hope you like it. 

Sherlock Holmes has just started to repair his life after his sister, Eurus, nearly destroys it with her games. With the appearance of an old acquaintance of Eurus' and one last game Jim Moriarty has set up, things begin to get complicated rather quickly. From a possible chance at a future with Molly Hooper to surviving Moriarty's final game, can Sherlock Holmes and John Watson bring the game to an end once and for all or will they go up in flames? 

Sherlock (c) BBC, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle  
I own none of the characters featured in this story except for original characters 
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NekalIbea
Laken Aebi
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States
I'm a college student who loves to draw and write. My main focus is now my own original works, but some fan fics will be thrown into the mix. I'm a fan of the CW series "Supernatural" and a recent fan of BBC One's "Sherlock".

Favourite genre of music: Braodway, Soundtrack, Symphonic Metal
Favourite style of art: anime
MP3 player of choice: Ipod Nano
Favourite cartoon character: That's a good one. Don't really know anymore.
Personal Quote: "I've heard of a gillyflower, but I don't know what it is."
Interests
   Hey, peeps. As the title suggests, I am heavily considering leaving, mainly because only my "Spirited Away" deviations get some form of recognition. To me, this is severely irritating, as I have many other stories out there; but I think the main reason might be that my interests have changed over the 3-4 years I've been on DA. I'm no longer an anime person and have moved on to writing my own original work as of late instead of fan fiction. 
   However, this doesn't mean that I am shutting my page down. I am thinking of removing my stories and posting them on FanFiction.net in 2015. My pictures and artwork will remain, mainly because of the prize art/stories I've done over the years. I will finish up any remaining prize art/stories I need to complete before leaving, just so I can get that out of the way. 
   So, if I do decide to leave, then I'll send out a farewell journal post and post the prizes I owe as my final deviations before going on the indefinite hiatus. Thanks for all the faves, comments, all the laughs, and the good memories. It's really because of you guys that my writing and artistic skills have improved. So, from the bottom of my heart, thank you so much. 

This is :iconnekalibea: signing off at 7:23 p.m. EST 
   

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:iconlight-he-arth:
Light-He-arth Featured By Owner May 8, 2016
Happy Birthday.
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:iconnekalibea:
NekalIbea Featured By Owner May 8, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you so much! ^_^ 
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Light-He-arth Featured By Owner May 8, 2016
You're welcome.
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:iconlight-he-arth:
Light-He-arth Featured By Owner May 8, 2015
Happy Birthday.
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:iconnekalibea:
NekalIbea Featured By Owner May 9, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you! 
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Light-He-arth Featured By Owner May 9, 2015
You're welcome.
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Jimplayer Featured By Owner May 8, 2015  Student Artist
HAPPY BIRTHDAYAPH Prussia tackle hug 
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:iconnekalibea:
NekalIbea Featured By Owner May 8, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you! Love the gif. 
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RiverSpirit22 Featured By Owner Nov 20, 2012  Student Writer
you've beeeeeeen tagggggedd :D :D :D
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:iconnekalibea:
NekalIbea Featured By Owner Nov 20, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Dammit. I just might skip this one because college is wrapping up. For once, I'm saying screw the rules. Sorry, I'm just really tired.
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