Devil John 13 - Friend

A very beautiful image of these smiley blackfoot. It seemed everything was alright…

Photograph by Mary T. S. Schaffer in 1907.

Crowley, the Bentley, and Soho at night

Just loved to do this!

Bon week-end tout le monde

Bisous, Mireille

Devil John - Chapter 12 Live

Fandom: Sherlock

Rating: Explicit (yes it is)

Excerpt:

Sherlock spoke haltingly, words spilling out in bursts. “I was being prepped for an x-ray, concussion, when I found out. Mycroft walked into the room. I knew the moment that I saw his face. I remember running. There was... yelling. The next thing I remember, I was in the morgue. Molly was there. I saw your body on the table and I...” Sherlock' closes his eyes, burrowing his face deeper into John's chest as he holds on tightly to his shoulders. “I threw myself on your body. I think I wailed. I don't remember exactly what I said, but I broke down completely. Molly must have kept the others out, because they didn't force me back to my room. I wouldn't have gone anyway. I couldn't have gone. I couldn't leave you.” John felt tears on his chest. Then nails bit into his shoulders.

“if he hadn't already been dead, I swear I would have killed him myself. That man who shot you. I would have torn him limb from limb and cast the bits into the sea. I told them that I would, and I threatened anyone who tried to take your body from me. I know I stayed there overnight, and possibly the next day. Mycroft must have pulled strings…I woke up on Molly's bunk. They had put your body in refrigerated storage, but they still didn't force me to leave. So I put on a lab coat and observed you. That's when I took the cast of your wounds. I was analytical, detached. I thought that I was better, but apparently, no one one else did. They treated at me as one gone insane. In truth, I suppose that I was. A large part of my life ended the day that you died.

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Bees?

DEVIL JOHN

Fandom: Sherlock

Rating: Explicit

Summary: John is dead, but that's not the end for him. Not when he has a soul left to corrupt.

Excerpt:

Why was it so dark here?

His wound was gone now, but there had been an awful lot of blood before.

“Are you done now?” A voice called out, a lilting voice that rose and fell like music. “Have you realized yet, or are you still in denial?”

“Hello? Where am I? I can't see you.”

“It's hard for you, I know, but I would have expected that as a doctor you would realize the truth sooner rather than later.”

The voice sounded familiar, male, a bit high pitched, sing-song. No, it couldn't be. “Who are you?”

“You know who I am. You just don't...want...to believe it. You don't want to see it either. I haven't seen this much smoke since the first time I burned down my orphanage.”

“Moriarty? But you're dead!”

“Yes, I am...Ah! You almost see it, but your mind is fighting it. You have such a titanic skill at denial, don't you John?”

“Denying what!”John barked. The light became darker. “What are you doing with the lights?”

“Nothing Johnny boy. It's you who is doing it.”

“I'm not dead!”

“You are, that's why you won't see me. When you realize the truth, it will all become clear.”

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Holmes not giving a single damn about where he’ll have to go or how far he’ll have to run, because as long as Watson is there with him it’ll be home to him.

And Watson agreeing to leave everything behind and follow Holmes wherever, for however long, to the ends of the earth if must be, without even a second’s hesitation.

I’ll never not be crying over this scene.

Devil John

Chapter 2 - Hell

Fandom: Sherlock

Rating: Explicit

Summary: John is dead, but that’s not the end for him. Not when he has a soul left to corrupt.

Excerpt:

The room is dark, illuminated by a bare yellow incandescent light hanging down from a pale cord that has been tied in a hangman's noose. Light pools around his feet in a circle fading away into blackness. The world outside of this little circle of light is darker than a starless night, blacker than a coal mine.

Along the wall, he sees small black spiders scurrying around. They sit just outside the circle of light. Their red eyes glowing, their bodies hidden in obscurity.

“Back with us now are you, Johnny?” sings a voice with an Irish accent. “It's about time.”

John watches as Moriarty walks slowly toward him, defiling the circle of light with his very presence. He's wearing the Westwood now, under a black knee-length coat with a blood red lining. His eyes bore into John's naked flesh and he sneers.

John looks down. There are scars on his hairy chest. His bullet wound from Afghanistan is back now. He pushes to his feet, not wanting to show such vulnerability to an enemy. His back scrapes against the coarse wall and starts to bleed.

“Moriarty! This is the kind of thing that I'd expect of someone like you. I knew it had to be a trick. Where are we, and why are you holding me here?”

Moriarty rolls his head back with a sigh. Then he stomps around in a tiny circle bobbing his head from side to side in frustration as he cries, “Hell and Devils! Are we back to that again, Johnny Boy? I SO hate repeating myself.” Moriarty whips his head around to glare at John as he yells. “WHERE ARE WE?”

His voice hits John like a slap, and he falls to his knees.

“Now Johnny boy, Tell me WHERE! WE! ARE!”

“In Hell,” John says quietly.

Continued on AO3