Jen stood in the doorway watching the various protesters with their picket signs and their chants. They were against the idea of releasing Peter 'The Carver' Verown, and they wanted to make it known that for his crimes he shouldn't even have a chance at parole. Yet, they could do nothing; somehow despite everything Peter had done and despite being found guilty of killing nine out of the hundreds he murdered, the judge granted the opportunity of parole far earlier than many got. Jen wasn't sure if it was the lawyer they had, or some unknown bribe that had taken place; she was always suspicious on the matter but said nothing.
"Doctor Lorraine," a voice called. She turned to see the very pricey lawyer that was paid for by an unknown benefactor. He was a tall dark man in an even darker suit, who always had a smile on his face. He was amiable, and that's why he was so good at convincing the jury and judges of what he wanted.
"Presley," she smiled sticking out a hand. He shook it.
"So, I suppose I should ask," he started knowing her better than any lawyer should know their clients, "are you going to defend your brother, or are you going to throw him under the bus?"
"I don't know," she admitted having struggled with the decision for the last few days. She knew the right thing to do was to tell the board he wasn't ready for this, yet she had always struggled with doing the right thing especially when it involved Peter. "Would you stop me if I chose to throw him under the bus?"
"No," he shook his head. He didn't really understand the Verown family, but he chose not to question it after the years he knew them. He wasn't paid to question them; he was paid to protect them from the law in a way only a man in his profession could. "Your opinion matters to Peter, and he wants you as his character witness either way."
"Mr. Kyle, they're ready," a woman interrupted before turning and leaving as quickly as she had appeared.
"Are you ready? His victims families will be there, and it will be rather intense." That mattered little to Jen; she had been their at the trial. It didn't bother her then, and it wouldn't bother her now.
"I'm ready," she told him with a nod. He put a gentle hand on her back and led her to the white room where Peter sat staring at the board members with his hands and legs in cuffs. He smiled gingerly at her, and she nodded to him before sitting down. He was looking hopefully optimistic with a dash of fake modesty.
"My name is Janis Klienfield," the mousy woman said standing in front of the board. "Peter Verown killed my younger sister when she was just thirteen. She did nothing to him. Yet, he committed a horrible act against her. I lost her, because of him. She will never breath again because of him."
...
"I'm Phillip Veil, the son to Darell Veil. Peter Verown murdered him in cold blood. Because of him, my mother committed suicide; my brother is now in a mental institution, and he has ruined so many families. He is sick and twisted and no amount of time in a mental health facility could help him. If you release him, you will have more blood on your hands."
...
"Name?" the board asked the small woman when at first she said nothing. Jen watched her exhausted by this already. The woman in front of the board was still traumatized; it was painfully obvious.
"Nina Parkinson," she whispered so quietly the board could barely hear her.
"You're Sarah Parkinson's sister?"
"Yes," she whispered. "Things... were never same after... I started having nightmares about his face... it's always his face... his hands covered in blood. I couldn't even recognize my sister... I couldn't... understand why."
...
The victim's families all stood up and exclaimed what he had done, how he had torn them apart, how he had ruined them beyond repair, and then they call Jen to speak. She could feel the judging eyes of the families on her, but she tried to keep her eyes forward. How many of them suspected she had a hand in the murders? If she had to bet, she would say far more than half.
Jen stood in front of the parole board fidgeting with the edge of her skirt; she wanted to be there for her brother, but it just seemed… impossible. She had to give her honest opinion, didn't she? How could she allow him to leave Rampton after everything? He wasn't better; he wasn't remorseful. If he was released, the deaths would start again. He couldn't help himself anymore than a painter could help painting; he was ill, and that would never change.
"Doctor Lorraine," the parole commissioner said looking at Peter's files to examine her involvement; they would find nothing, "you have the floor." She took a step up to the parole officers and looked at each of them trying to get a feel for them. They were calm, too calm like they've already decided. No matter what she said, that would not change their decision, but even then, she could not decide whether to help Peter or damn him.
"My name is Doctor Ginevra Lorraine… I'm a former criminal profiler for Scotland yard and the British government, a psychiatrist at Saint Bart's, and a consulting detective. I also happen to be the woman who raised Peter since our mother left. He's done terrible things in the past," she said pausing. Could she really judge her brother for what he's done? "He had a serious condition; he doesn't understand sympathy and remorse. He believed he did what he did for the sake of the people he cares about including myself. But he's changed." She lied. There was a wave of whispers and scowls from the families. She pushed them back to continue. "He shows sympathy and sorrow and regret for what he did showing that he has had a breakthrough. Sociopaths and Psychopaths don't feel like that; they are different from us. I believe that given time and love he can be properly integrated into society." She looked to him and smiled gently, and he nodded back to her. "I love my brother, and I don't wish to see him get worse, only better. I will take care of him and watch him as I should have when we were children."
"Thank you, Doctor Lorraine," the officer said, and she down back in her chair wondering what consequences this would bring. She wasn't particularly pleased with what she had done, but how could she betray blood? He was the only family now that Irene had disappeared.
She wrung her hands together as the board deliberated, but it wasn't long before the head of the hearing calmed everyone down.
"Peter Verown, you had been charged with the crime of nine of the most heinous murders I have ever seen. That being said, it was the product of a tainted mind that has now been healed." The crowd in the room already started getting restless as they began shouting objections. "Parole granted," the man said before slamming his gavel on the table. Peter's face split into a grin as the victims families became angry and disturbed by the lack of injustice.
"Thank you, sir. Thank you," he exclaimed with a slight bow of his head. Peter Verown, the Carver would be released.
Peter was dressed in jeans and a shirt that Jen had brought him. The few personal affects he had before he went to Rampton including a watch Jen had gotten him, a beat up leather wallet, and a small pocket book were returned to him. When Jen lead Peter out of Rampton, the press was waiting for them snapping pictures at every opportunity.
"Doctor Lorraine," some shouted trying to get her attention. She ignored them not wishing to deal with the press as they always twisted people's words.
"Mr. Verown," other's shouted trying to talk to him, and he would be happy to give them a word if he knew he wouldn't loose his sister in the crowd. She looked less than pleased, which actually amused him. She was always so changeable.
"Carver!" she heard making her cringe. She even caught a few: "Mrs. Holmes!" in there making her cringe more. Jen wanted to duck out of their eyes, but Peter couldn't resist. No, of course he couldn't. He was a psychopath, and he needed an audience; that was one of his downfalls. He loved the attention he got as The Carver even when they didn't know it was him. He loved it even more when they did know it was him.
"Ladies and gentleman," he called out to them as they reached the car. She wanted to whack her head into the car in hopes she would be spared the lies she was about to hear. "I want to give you all," he paused looking at all the cameras with a hand on his heart, "a heartfelt apology. I was a victim of circumstance and madness, but I am better. I never meant," he took a moment to 'collect' himself. What an actor. "...I'm so sorry for all the pain and misery I have caused. No one deserves that, and I hope…," cue the fake tears, "I so hope I can make you all see I have changed. I am not the monster I was. Thank you for your time." He nodded before he slid into the passenger side. Jen started the car, and they drove away. Peter was grinning entertained by the gullibility of the press; he saw one reporter tearing up at his statement. Sympathizers, especially in women, were easy to get if you knew what to say, and he had a silver tongue.
"Was that necessary!?" she snapped at him. He looked at her still smiling not bothered with her anger. He had seen her far more intense than she was now; now, if she was giving him the cold shoulder, if she was as silent as the grave and as cold as ice, he may be bother, but this wasn't even in the same realm as that sort of anger.
"What?" he asked her playing innocent giving her a pretty smile and a pair of doe eyes. He was damn good at feigning innocence, but she wouldn't have any of it; she never would.
"You think I'm an idiot?" she hissed at him as her grip on the steering wheel increased stretching the skin across her knuckles giving them a white appearance. "I know you aren't better, Peter, and I know you didn't mean a word of what you said. I can tell when you're lying; I watched you do it for five years to innocent people."
"You didn't seem to care at the time, Gina," he said airily. "In fact, I think you rather liked the killing and lying." He let a slow lazy smile fall across his face as she began to animatedly objecting, but he cut her off with a question. "Then why did you vouch for me?" he asked her. She sighed.
"Because half those people weren't you," she told him. "How could I tell the board you're still a psychopath when half the people you claimed to kill were mine?" she asked him. She tried to search for a memory of those men and women she had killed with her own hands, but god help her, she couldn't. She had pushed them down so far, she couldn't call upon them if she wanted to. They only haunted her in her dreams when her subconscious was awake.
"It was less than half, and you could have told them. I wouldn't have judged you," he replied casually. There was no doubt he cared for his sister. Despite everything that went on his mind, that was certain. "What right do I have to judge you?"
"And what right do I have to call you crazy?" she asked wondering how far her sanity had gone then, and how close to the edge of madness she was becoming. She seemed to be slipping lately, tumbling on what should have been the even stones of sanity. "I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt, Peter. Please, don't let me down. Show me you've changed." She was silent as was he. Peter's hand was curled in a ball as he thought on her words. They made him anxious. He knew he would disappoint his sister in the end as he had plans, beautifully terrible plans. How to change that...? How can he get the girl he knew during his days of The Carver, the girl who would question his chose of victim and not his actions?
"Where are we staying?" he asked her trying to switch gears. He would put these concerns aside for a different time.
"I have a flat with Sherlock Holmes in London," she told him. He hadn't been informed of the odd situation she was in with Sherlock; all he knew was he was alive, and things between the two were a bit rough.
"You live with Sherlock Holmes?" Peter asked her making a face.
"Yes, well, it was the best option," she told him with a sigh not at all happy with it either. "It's a bit… complicated, okay?" she snapped. This wasn't going well. Could they have one conversation that didn't end with her irritated with him?
"Faking his own death and tearing your heart out? Yeah, I would say that makes things a bit complicated," Peter replied bitterly. He didn't like people who hurt his sister; hell, he didn't like people who even looked at his sister.
"You will be nice to him Peter or so help me," she grumbled as she dialed Sherlock's number on her mobile to inform him of the situation. He wouldn't be pleased, but perhaps a serial killer living with them would keep him from getting bored.
"You're brother's parole was granted," Sherlock deduced as soon as he answered the phone without so much as a hello, "and he'll be staying with us. Wonderful. Where is he sleeping?"
"My room," she said thinking of no better option. She wouldn't allow Peter to sleep on the couch after years of likely one of the most uncomfortable mattress that you could find.
"And you?" he questioned wondering how this was possibly going to work.
"Don't worry about it; I'll take care of it," she told him with a sigh. Things had remained tense between the two the last few days. They were unable to get over the rift in trust that had occurred. Perhaps it was unfair of her, but she didn't care if it was unfair. She was angry with him, and she was... she was just so confused and lost in her own emotions it was becoming uncomfortable.
"He better stay out of my way," he warned.
"Will do chief," she mocked hanging up the phone on him without so much as a 'bye.'
They entered the empty flat causing Jen to assume Sherlock was out on a case of some sort. She couldn't care less. Peter looked around and observed a few of the paintings that Jen had done over the years. He observed each piece of furniture carefully as if he was inspecting for termites.
"All of the furniture is his except for the piano. Where are your things?" he asked circling the flat again trying to find something he missed. It was cozy but not familiar making him just slightly uncomfortable. He hated new places; it took him long enough to get used to Rampton, and now, there was Holmes's flat. He twitched at the reminder that this was his flat and not Jen's; the proof was in the furniture.
"Downstairs in Damon and Myra's flat," she told him simply as she removed her gloves and then her jacket before placing it on the hook. She noted that Sherlock's jacket was in fact gone confirming the possibility that he was on a case. "You'll be sleeping upstairs in my room while you're here."
"And you?" he repeated Sherlock's concern.
"Don't worry about it," she smiled at him. "I don't sleep much. I'll just take the couch."
"You don't have to," Peter told her, but he knew she wouldn't take no for an answer. He might as well put the show of effort in if he was going to have to convince her that he was still the brother who loved her even if he wasn't the boy he was when he was arrested. He had changed as much as she had changed. She was an angel now, and he, he was making deals with the devil when before he only played with demons.
"Its fine," she replied as he slid the skull off of the mantel. He stared down at it with a lack of interest despite knowing that it was a real skull and not some prop.
"Hands off the skull," a voice said making him and Jen both look up. Sherlock walked into the room pausing at the doorway to stare at Peter. She had hoped John would be with him, but he likely went back home to the lovely Mary. She didn't blame him; she would rather be with the lovely Mary and not playing referee with the two psychopaths if necessary. Lord have mercy.
"Why?" Peter asked being a brat making a big show of rubbing his hands all over the skull making Sherlock twitch ever so slightly in annoyance. Jen tisked him before taking it from his hands and placing it back on the mantle in its place. "Someone you kill, Mr. Holmes?" Peter asked as Sherlock began to remove his coat. He paused and gave Peter a distasteful look.
"With the number you've racked up, it's likely someone you killed," he sneered making Peter smile at him pleasantly ready to play any little game he wanted only to end up dancing circles around him. He loved dancing circles around the clever ones; they always gave the most pleasant reaction.
"Shame I couldn't finish you off," Peter sighed sounding truly regretful.
"Peter, Sherlock-" Jen stopped fully comprehending what Peter said. Him and Sherlock... had history? That wasn't possible; it couldn't be. She would have known. "You what?" she asked him.
"Oh, he didn't tell you?" Peter asked her still smiling as if amused by the lack of transparency between them. "Perhaps he feared you would be angry with him; I would be angry with him.."
"She simply didn't ask," Sherlock informed him. "And nor did you tell her." Peter shrugged.
"I was waiting for the opportune moment," he replied.
"Didn't ask what?" she snapped looking between the two tired of being left out of this conversation and lacking the knowledge to fill in the holes. "What did neither of you tell me?"
"Mr. Holmes was the one that eventually figured me out, Jenma, so I had to put him in his place," Peter told her regretting nothing but simply recalling what happened that night. It was a fluke really; he had gotten arrogant. "He was nothing more than bait though. I was arrested during my work with him. Do you still have scars?"
"Why didn't you ever tell me? You knew the Carver was my brother," Jen said looking to Sherlock who rested himself into his chair. She shook her head. "Why didn't you go to the trial or the hearing?"
"I didn't think it was important," he informed her, "nor interesting." Peter looked at him with disgust at someone finding him and his work uninteresting. He should basking in praises from Holmes, yet he deemed him unimportant and boring. How The Carver regretted not being to finish him.
"Important," Peter sneered wanting to mock his lack of interest. "How stupid can you be?"
"Peter, that is enough," she warned him. "Mind your manners or so help me."
"Sorry, Jenma," he mumbled. "Dinner?" he questioned. He was offering to make her dinner as he often did when they were young. He knew how to cook; she didn't. If someone in the house didn't learn how to cook, they would have wasted away.
"Yes," she said with a nod. He gave her a smile before going to the kitchen. Her eyes widen recalling what she had found in the fridge this morning. "Peter, don't open the-" He had already opened it and was now looking at the severed shin with rubber bands around both ends with utter fascination. Not exactly a good image for a former serial killer.
"Studying the lax of muscle after death?" he questioned.
"Yes," Sherlock replied, "put it back." Peter did as he asked before shuffling through the contents of the fridge as if it was the most normal thing in the world to find a severed leg in one's fridge.
"You have nothing to eat," he informed her. Jen hopped up next to him and smiled.
"I don't cook," she reminded him. He grabbed Jen with a wicked smile, and she screamed out as he spun her around in a circle. Sherlock jumped up ready to kill Peter if he had to but was met with the sight of Jen grinning, and Peter crashing to the floor still holding onto her. Sherlock moodily threw himself back in his chair. Oh sure, he tries to do something nice, and she sticks her nose up but throw a serial killer at her and she's smiling like a child.
"You ass," she teased hitting him in the chest. He laughed as she stood up. "I'll buy groceries tomorrow. Want some toast?"
"Toast. Exactly what an ex-criminal wants as soon as he comes out of prison," he told her dryly making her give him a face. He laughed in the way that only she could get him to. He had missed his freedom, but more importantly, he had missed his sister. She was the only thing he cared about even now. Yet, he yearned for the past in the way that she wished to forget it. "Takeout then?"
"Chinese?" he asked having hadn't had crap food in years and rather missed the whole feeling of shame it managed to leave you feeling. There was something satisfying in the feeling.
"Yeah," she nodded holding a hand out to him. He pulled himself up with little help from her, and they slowly began walking toward the sitting room.
"Sure," he said with a shrug.
"Great," she smiled before looking at Sherlock and then Peter. She seemed worried about the prospect of leaving two mentally damaged individuals alone in a room together especially when she had no doubt that they wanted to strangle each other. "Can I leave you two alone in the room together?"
"I think we'll manage," Peter told her with a pleasant smile. She was hesitant, but she grabbed her coat leaving the sociopath and the psychopath alone. Peter sat himself across from Sherlock and gave him a pleasant smile.
"Don't think you can fool everybody with that little stunt on the television," Sherlock told him having watched the coverage with great care. He found himself unhappy with the pained look Jen had on her face as the press heckled her.
"Oh, I know it'll take more than that to reassure people," he answered not bothering to lie to Sherlock. He knew there would be no point in that. "My sister will be the one who needs the most convincing. She doesn't trust me."
"She always was a sharp woman," Sherlock commented staring at Peter and found he shared the same irritating quality Jen had. He couldn't deduce him; it was this that made the Carver's case so thrillingly difficult. He would never have a case quite like that one.
"I want to ruin you, Mr. Holmes," Peter told casually as if he was speaking about the weather, and to him, it was such a casual topic as the weather. "You hurt my sister, and I'm going to watch the life drain out of you."
"You wouldn't be the first to tell me that," Sherlock assured him, "and I doubt you'll be the first to succeed."
"No," he muttered, "I bet Gina told you she would ruin you." He was trying to unhinge Sherlock Holmes. He was having fun with this, and Sherlock enjoyed playing his game even if he shouldn't. Peter was no doubt intelligent, but even more, he was an expert manipulator. He could bend anyone's emotions to his will.
"She proved to have changed her mind," Sherlock replied recalling years ago her reaction to him. It was exceedingly unpleasant at first, but things had changed even with the recent damage to their relationship.
"Changed her mind," Peter uttered as he considered this and all he knew about his sister. He wondered how much Sherlock Holmes really knew. "It was like a flick of the switch, wasn't it? Just for a few minutes, there was something uncharacteristically… sadistic about her, wasn't there? And you lost hold of her personality. It was almost like she was someone else. She was like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde."
"What you suggesting?" Sherlock asked him unsure what Peter was getting at and why. Why had he switched the conversation to Jen so suddenly?
"Didn't think it was odd?" Peter asked confused on how a man so brilliant could be so blind. He was missing the obvious. It was like his sister blindfolded him before she proceeded to spin him in circles and deafen him completely disorienting him. Oh, she was good at that. If his talent was manipulating people's emotions to what he desired, hers was blinding people to see only what she desired.
"Think what was odd?" he questioned getting more suspicious of him as the time went on. Peter's MO was easy enough to follow; manipulate a person to the emotional state he wanted them in.
"That Moriarty targeted everyone you were close to," Peter replied and paused, "except Jen. He knew about you and her, and yet, he didn't threaten her. Don't you think that's odd? He knew you loved her, but he didn't even make an attempt at her. Why?"
"He had other plans for her," Sherlock told him ignoring his little comment on his own feelings toward Jen.
"Yeah, he did," Peter laughed, "but it's not what you think."
"What are you talking about?" Sherlock demanded. Did Peter know what Moriarty wanted with her? How could he? There was no connection between the two; he was sure.
"Ask her," Peter told him. "Ask her about the year after she left school, the year she was sixteen. Just ask. You'll be surprised."
"Ask her what?"
"Ask her what happened when she left the school after she killed Connor Waite," he told him with a smile that Sherlock suspected meant there was something dark in his motives. There was always something dark in his actions.
"Why? Do you seek me to see your sister in an unfavorable light?" he questioned curiously believing he understood what he wanted. He wanted him away from his sister; he was possessive over her. "Well, I love to disappoint. I've seen your sister at her worse and believe me when I say I will not turn from her, not again."
"You haven't seen her at her worst," Peter laughed leaning back against the chair. He seemed amused by Sherlock's lack of intelligence on the matter, and it made Holmes tense. He was being belittled by a psychopath; it wasn't a first, but at least Moriarty was elegant about it. He did it for reasons that Sherlock understood; he did it for the game. Peter did it for the vicious motivator of love, love for a sibling. Peter despised Sherlock for hurting his sister; Sherlock despised himself for hurting her. Perhaps he did understand Peter more than he thought. "You've just seen a sliver of what she can be. Tell me, if you knew she was dangerous, if you knew she was a monster, would you run? Cause you should."
"Run? Run to her, never away," he assured him having accepted this inevitable trait about his relationship with Jen.
"You're more loyal than I imagined," Peter mused. He chuckled at the thought that this brilliant man was being blinded by something as idiotic as love. It was cute really in the way a child had a crush on someone they could never have. Holmes could never have her, and Peter would do everything in his power to make sure of that. "Has the machine learned to love?"
"Enough of this," Sherlock snapped tiring of his attempts at manipulation. "You seek to start killing people again; I assure you I will catch."
"How will you catch me when the barrier you'll have to get through is the only creature capable of loving you? Gina will protect me like she always has; she will stand in front of me ready to take any bullet. She'll even shot them at you if it means saving me." Peter had assessed the situation, and he knew he was at an advantage especially with the obvious tension between Sherlock and Jen.
"And you'll let her do that?" Sherlock asked him feeling a bit more anger than he knew he should. He was willing to manipulate one of the few people he claimed to care about and who in turned cared about him to the point where it would destroy her. "You'll just let her tear herself apart trying to find her loyalties while you play games. She's given everything to you, and you throw it back in her face."
"Guess you and I aren't so different," Peter told him coldly making Sherlock go rigid. Perhaps it was true. Jen gave everything a damaged person like her could offer to Sherlock, and he promised not to leave her. Instead of fulfilling that promise, he shattered it into pieces successfully breaking the strong woman he had grown to care for. It was never intentional, but that mattered little. What was done is done; he could not change that. "Gina is the only person I care for. When people hurt her, I get even for her. I'm going to listen to you scream, Mr. Holmes."
"And you think that's what she wants?"
"It's not about what she wants; she doesn't know any better. It's what I want for her," and he was sincere; he truly believed he knew better than her. It was sick really that he felt murder was the only option to help Jen. "You'll just break her over and over and over again, and maybe I can put her back together with glue and tape, but every time I do, another piece goes missing, and she becomes someone else. Jen, the Jen you knew before you faked your death, is nonexistent because there's this little fraction in her that's gone now, and you can never get it back, and it's your fault," Peter told him emphasizing each word. Sherlock and Peter stared at each other trying to size the other up when the door swung open, and Jen arrived with food successfully breaking the tension momentarily.
"Getting along?" she asked though she already knew the answer. The look they were giving each other was enough to tell a thousand words. Perhaps it was a bad idea to leave them alone together; in fact, she was an idiot for leaving them alone. Though, on the bright side, she didn't come back to a blood bath, so there was that.
"Wonderfully," Peter said as he stood to get some forks from the kitchen. Jen frowned at him as he handed her a fork before she looked to Sherlock, who looked to have delved into his mind palace. She wouldn't be having that. She approached him and nudged him with her foot. He didn't respond, so she kicked him harder.
"Ow! What!?" he snapped looking up and realizing he just snapped at Jen.
"Here," she said holding out a quart with Chinese food in it. "You need to eat something." He looked at the quart with a rather distasteful look making Jen scowl. "Take it, and eat it, or being held down and force fed, your choice."
"Are you going to eat?" he asked watching her answer carefully for any hint of a lie.
"Yes," she replied before holding out the quart again. He took it and the fork from her before she turned and sat on the couch next to Peter. She propped her feet up in his lap as they turned on the telly to watch something mindless.
"So how did you do it?" Peter asked casually poking at his food not speaking to Jen but Sherlock, who sat in silence away from them. "How did you fake your own death successfully breaking my sister?"
"I imagine his own ego broke his fall," Jen muttered making Sherlock scoff and not answering Peter's question. That particular answer would be saved for someone at least worthy of it. "Though I do wonder, how did you manage the part where I identified the body?"
"I was drugged," he told her.
"Makes sense. I was suspicious at first," she admitted, "but after…" She shook her head and fell silent not wanting to remember what happened after. It was something she wanted to push to the back of her mind.
The telly was kept on until in the early hours of the morning, Peter went to bed turning off the television leaving Jen to lay on the couch staring at the ceiling. Her eyes glanced to Sherlock, who in turn glanced to her. She looked back to the ceiling trying to ignore him. This was going to be a long night.
A/N: Your writer has been having killer migraines and currently wants to check her brain out. If you've never had a migraine, be fucking grateful. I suffer frequent migraines, and I'm about ready to curl in a ball ready to never leave my house ever again. Fuck everything. And sorry about the last chapters and all the mistakes, I did a bit of editing on that today. No guarantees of perfection as you know I'm pretty sure thinking is nearly impossible, and I'll be left as an invalid the rest of my days.
On the other hand, holy jesus, that season finale. This changes everything for me. Everything. That is all.
Well enough about my mood, hope you enjoyed the addition to 221B. Writing psychopaths are hard. Thanks to reviewers: smilin steph, knetterzak, .okumura, Sonic-cast, and hannahhobnob. Going to go sacrifice whores to a volcano to get my brain back. Review please. I'll see you all Saturday nightish.