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Little Troll MoffatLittle Troll Moffat
Always did profit
By trolling each Saturday
Sometimes a writer
Always the winder
Of plots with such mastery
Research - Ch 5"So what exactly are we looking for, then?" John asked as he thumbed through a copy of Grimm's Fairy Tales.
Sherlock had his nose buried in a Perrault book. "We need to compile a list of fairy tale characters, then cross-reference that with the London phone book. Any similarities will indicate possible targets for this murderer."
"But how do we even know it's a serial killer?"
"Really, John, why would someone go through all the trouble of creating such an elaborate murder if he wasn't going to strike again?" Sherlock said, still stuck behind the book. "It's like saying that you're going to stop writing a book after the first chapter."
"Could be a short story."
"Is that what you found out on your little blogging site? Learned about literature?"
John gave him a look, but his friend couldn't see it from behind the storybook. "Well, alright, you want a list."
Sherlock pushed over a pad of paper and a chewed up pen. "Have at
An Irregular Meeting - Ch 6John held his storybook. Sherlock ducked behind his own. John rolled his eyes. "I suppose I'm getting the door, then," he sighed.
"If you insist," Sherlock said.
John heaved himself to his feet, casually plopping his book by Sherlock. "And I suppose you want me to read that," Sherlock said.
"If you insist," John replied, heading towards the door. He could hear Sherlock muttering about how much he'd have to forget after this case, all these blasted little fictions that were of no use to him outside of this case.
John opened the door to a nervous Mrs. Hudson. "Hello, dear, there's someone here to see Sherlock, but I just wanted to make sure you were expecting him. You know how visitors leave me uneasy after that cab business and that wiring man."
John looked over her shoulder and down the staircase. A teenager stood in the downstairs vestibule, rocking back and forth, heel to toe. He was qu
The Problem with Jackie - Ch 4Sherlock paced around the flat energetically, clasping his hands in front of him, his eyes narrowed. John sat in an armchair, calmly drinking a cup of tea. "You okay?" he asked his nervous flatmate.
"Yes, yes, absolutely fine, now shut up and let me think," he snapped.
John raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, thanks for that," he muttered, taking a sip of tea.
Sherlock stopped and scratched his head, his black curls ruffling in the process. "Sorry," he said quietly. "I just don't know where exactly to start."
John smiled a little. "Well, you could always talk out loud. That helps, doesn't it?"
Sherlock nodded. "Quite," he said. "Okay."
He closed his eyes, his brow furrowed. Suddenly, his thoughts began tumbling out. "Girl, about twenty-five, well-off from the looks of her clothes, her shoes were generally well-kept, but recent scratches and mud indicate that wandering in the
Strong EnoughHe could still feel her in his arms.
Rory turned over in the bed that he shared with his wife, the tiny lights on the ceiling softly illuminating her face. She had finally fallen asleep, her cheeks streaked with dry tears. He softly stroked her cheek, careful to not wake her, then yawned and turned onto his back.
At least the Doctor had finally given them a bed built for two, horizontally-speaking. Bunk beds weren't exactly built for married couples.
Above him, the ceiling's tiny bulbs were arranged into constellations and galaxies, drifting slowly across the ceiling, propelled by alien technology that he would probably never understand.
There were many things that he would never understand.
Like how he had ever become a Roman centurion.
Like how he had ever let Amy down.
Like how he had let their daughter be taken away from them.
Rory lay on his back, his eyes dry. He had cried enough. There was no more time for that. H
4 Beans + a Crime Scene - Ch 3"Ah look, the pycho patrol," Anderson growled as Sherlock and John walked onto the crime scene.
Sherlock glared at him coldly. "If by that you mean that I catch psychos, then you're quite right, Anderson. Surprisingly so, really. Usually all that comes out of your mouth is blithering nonsense."
Lestrade looked up from his notebook. "Ah, Sherlock, was just about to call you," he said. "And stop harassing my team, you know how that tends to annoy."
"We came over as soon as I read the morning paper," John said, giving Sherlock warning look, as his friend seemed to be deciding how best to drive the forensic scientist from the crime scene. "Bit odd, really, it being in the news before you got to the crime scene."
Lestrade shifted uncomfortably. "Yes, well, it seems that the residents of this area tend to keep hush about these kinds of things. You know how it is."
"Yes," Sherlock said lazily. "
Grim Weather - Ch 2"Grim weather we're having," John remarked from the window.
Sherlock lazily dragged the bow across his violin, the resulting screech unpleasant. "Really? I hadn't noticed," he drawled.
John turned and looked at him. "Really? Sherlock Holmes? Not noticing something?" he said teasingly.
Sherlock looked at him with disdain. He pointed the bow at him. "I only take notice of what I need to notice, you know that. Anyway, I'm not in the mood," he said, sounding slightly hurt.
He scraped the bow across the violin strings again. John winced.
"Well, frankly, I'm a little bit relieved at the lack of murders lately. After that business with the talking head, I needed a bit of a break. And you know, some people are actually happy when unexplainable murders are happening all over the place," John said.
"Astounding, isn't it?" Sherlock muttered.
John slumped into a chair.
I'll Have Her Bones - Ch 1The alleyway was dark and cold, the tepid light from a nearby streetlamp collecting in the pools of stagnant water. The brick was rough, the reddish color barely masking the faint traces of blood.
She crouched down by some rubbish heaps, shivering. Her eyes were red, her knuckles white as she clutched her thin, scratched arms to herself. She breathed with difficulty, her teeth chattering.
Something moved in the dark recesses of the alley.
She gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. She forced her weakened body to remain perfectly still. She couldn't let him find her again.
Four steps on the wet pavement.
She shut her eyes, fighting back a whimper.
Four more steps. Closer and closer.
She tightened her hold on her mouth as a dark figure came into view.
"Fee-fi-fo-fum," the figure said in a low, smooth tone.
Her eyes widened.
"I smell the blood of an young woman " the man continued, sibilant and dark.
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