YAY! I got my own.. er.. black ball of fluff! * see myshawolf's chap. 13 of
masquerade for details*
JR: not only do I have my very own tickle me nightmare, but I've decided to
take a bite out of Mysha's ficcys! Well, at least until I can figure out
something to do. No, I'm not dead. I'm very much alive. I was just busy.
Sorry it took so long, but at least I updated TWO fics at a time, right?
Right. On with the motley!
PS my Tickle me nightmare blob has taken on the shape of Arnold
scwarsenegger. gee, where did that come from.
Ahnold: I'll be bahk. Hey cahlifohnians- I'm yor new gubinator. Yor
clothes - gib dem to me.
JR: -_-;;
PS: A good website used in the descriptions of this chapter and a good one
for future SH writings is
. And of
course, there's Martin Fido's "World of Sherlock Holmes". I write
according to that book and the information in it, which places the birth of
Sherlock Holmes sometime around 1854. So that's that. And thank you for
your reviews. On with the motley!
~
"Mycroft!"
Sherlock had readied himself for the blow his Nanny was sure to give him,
but imagine his surprise and disgust at finding his brother behind him! He
flushed when Mycroft did that: showed that he was superior still. Someday
he'd be proud of him. Someday, Sherlock Holmes would do something so well,
Mycroft would be proud of him. But for now, Sherlock was still the little
boy, tottering behind in his brother's footsteps.
The young man smiled. "I came to see if you might need some help; even I
don't know what you're looking for. He glanced over the box and its
mysterious contents. His brow furrowed when he didn't find anything
significant.
"You're sure this is it?" He waved a huge hand. A grin crept across
Sherlock's face as he pushed the photograph into his brother's palm.
Relief and a rare smile were his rewards: nothing more. Standing high on
his toes, Sherlock was able to study the photograph over his brother's
shoulder. It had felt coarse and light in his fingers, and Mycroft held it
as if it would shatter at any second. The hand quivered.
Sitting in the photograph were two women and a man stood behind the one on
the right. He had a moustache of huge proportions, and none of them seemed
very cheerful at all. Or very handsome. They were simply frozen. But
could these be his parents? The father he never had, and the mother he
never remembered? His breath left his body for a moment and he gazed down
onto the photo. And what about the other woman? What part did she play
in his life?
But Mycroft Holmes' brows furrowed. "Something is not right," he muttered.
Sherlock's heart fell. So it wasn't over. Would he ever find them? The
boy's sentiments were interrupted; he felt his brother stiffen next to him.
Before he could determine why, Mycroft had pulled Sherlock after him into
the depths of shadow, eyes fixed intently outside the window Sherlock had
just broken into. The Persian slipper was left on the desk. Sherlock
resisted the urge to grab it and keep it safe; he felt the vulnerability
surrounding it. The darkness of the room added to his premonitions.
Young Holmes was about to speak up again when it happened. He heard
something outside. There it was again. It sounded like someone or
something had just shifted their weight every so slightly on a patch of dry
grass.
They were not alone.
~
Author's note again: Yes I know it's short. Don't worry it's not writer's
block (knock on wood); I just haven't had many cliffs lately. Yes, I am
quite evil. Not to mention insane. I'm also quite stuck on where to go with
it all after that so could you please give me your suggestions? Email
(ca_frany@yahoo.com) with suggestions only, cuz I want some reviews on
ff.net too. ;)
masquerade for details*
JR: not only do I have my very own tickle me nightmare, but I've decided to
take a bite out of Mysha's ficcys! Well, at least until I can figure out
something to do. No, I'm not dead. I'm very much alive. I was just busy.
Sorry it took so long, but at least I updated TWO fics at a time, right?
Right. On with the motley!
PS my Tickle me nightmare blob has taken on the shape of Arnold
scwarsenegger. gee, where did that come from.
Ahnold: I'll be bahk. Hey cahlifohnians- I'm yor new gubinator. Yor
clothes - gib dem to me.
JR: -_-;;
PS: A good website used in the descriptions of this chapter and a good one
for future SH writings is
. And of
course, there's Martin Fido's "World of Sherlock Holmes". I write
according to that book and the information in it, which places the birth of
Sherlock Holmes sometime around 1854. So that's that. And thank you for
your reviews. On with the motley!
~
"Mycroft!"
Sherlock had readied himself for the blow his Nanny was sure to give him,
but imagine his surprise and disgust at finding his brother behind him! He
flushed when Mycroft did that: showed that he was superior still. Someday
he'd be proud of him. Someday, Sherlock Holmes would do something so well,
Mycroft would be proud of him. But for now, Sherlock was still the little
boy, tottering behind in his brother's footsteps.
The young man smiled. "I came to see if you might need some help; even I
don't know what you're looking for. He glanced over the box and its
mysterious contents. His brow furrowed when he didn't find anything
significant.
"You're sure this is it?" He waved a huge hand. A grin crept across
Sherlock's face as he pushed the photograph into his brother's palm.
Relief and a rare smile were his rewards: nothing more. Standing high on
his toes, Sherlock was able to study the photograph over his brother's
shoulder. It had felt coarse and light in his fingers, and Mycroft held it
as if it would shatter at any second. The hand quivered.
Sitting in the photograph were two women and a man stood behind the one on
the right. He had a moustache of huge proportions, and none of them seemed
very cheerful at all. Or very handsome. They were simply frozen. But
could these be his parents? The father he never had, and the mother he
never remembered? His breath left his body for a moment and he gazed down
onto the photo. And what about the other woman? What part did she play
in his life?
But Mycroft Holmes' brows furrowed. "Something is not right," he muttered.
Sherlock's heart fell. So it wasn't over. Would he ever find them? The
boy's sentiments were interrupted; he felt his brother stiffen next to him.
Before he could determine why, Mycroft had pulled Sherlock after him into
the depths of shadow, eyes fixed intently outside the window Sherlock had
just broken into. The Persian slipper was left on the desk. Sherlock
resisted the urge to grab it and keep it safe; he felt the vulnerability
surrounding it. The darkness of the room added to his premonitions.
Young Holmes was about to speak up again when it happened. He heard
something outside. There it was again. It sounded like someone or
something had just shifted their weight every so slightly on a patch of dry
grass.
They were not alone.
~
Author's note again: Yes I know it's short. Don't worry it's not writer's
block (knock on wood); I just haven't had many cliffs lately. Yes, I am
quite evil. Not to mention insane. I'm also quite stuck on where to go with
it all after that so could you please give me your suggestions? Email
(ca_frany@yahoo.com) with suggestions only, cuz I want some reviews on
ff.net too. ;)