𝔾𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕥. 𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝕕𝕠𝕟’𝕥 𝕖𝕩𝕚𝕤𝕥.
His training in Hydra leads him to this. It leads him to this point where the gun hitting his shoulder hardly even is known. The pain is jarring yes, but it’s not enough for him to be gunned down. The movement of a gun hitting him, it barely even phases him honestly. It barely even phases him. But the soldier is quick to grab the case he intended to use to bomb the city. His hand pulls his own small pistol from his frame.
Without even blinking, he shoots twice at the man, not in lethal areas, but enough to keep him down. And seek medical attention, because if left alone they could cause problems. The asset, he then moves, he moves without a second thought.
"If you ever see me again, I will put a bullet though your skull."
On the ground, clenching at his wounded leg and grazed side, Sherlock had no choice but to watch as the soldier took up his case and threatened to murder him. For once, he was left wondering instead of knowing. Wondering why the assassin hadn’t simply killed him right then and there, and why he had taken the bomb with him instead of letting it detonate like originally planned.
Surely he was used to killing. He had been willing to wipe out an entire city for nothing more than orders. Why leave him alive? Why leave the mission unfinished?
Sherlock didn’t exactly like having limited knowledge and access to answers, but there were more pressing matters. No, the gunshots weren’t fatal, but if he simply laid there, he would eventually bleed out. Leaving him with no other option, Sherlock withdrew his phone and made two phone calls. One to Lestrade, and one to John.
Let’s play a game. Let’s play murder. - SH
Imagine someone’s going to get murdered at a wedding - SH
Who exactly would you pick? - SH
I think you’re a popular choice at the moment, dear. - MH
If someone could move Mrs Hudson’s glass just slightly out of reach, that would be lovely. - SH
Sherlock is Actually a Girl’s Name
She hummed softly as she worked off his undershirt and got the first corset ready, a purple one with black highlights covering the bones and bust of the piece “Okay this is going to be really uncomfortable….So literally suck it up” She said with a smirk as she slid the piece into position and started lacing him him up. The corset quickly getting tighter and tighter around his chest “Just until you get some nice hips on you” She hummed
"What do you mean ‘suck it—" Sherlock didn’t have enough time to finish his question, as she had already slipped the corset into place and began lacing it up. The discomfort statement had truly been an under developed one, lacking in announcing the pain that would go along with the process. Perhaps Irene had simply just forgotten about the actual pain after all the years she spent squeezing herself into such garments? Or perhaps she didn’t want to scare Sherlock off of the idea all together. Regardless, he literally had no choice but to suck in his breath and his stomach in, giving the corset more room to tighten. He tried to express his discomfort, but he couldn’t even find the breath to speak.
The Thief And The Prince || Closed Adlock RP
Irene stirred a little and opened her eyes, feeling like she was being watched, slowly she sat up and looked up at Sherlock, grinning wide when she saw him. “Hello love, long time no see hm? Thought I should pay a visit, take a few more things. Run out of money you see. Thought I pop in and say hello until everyone was asleep then take a few things and be on my way. business you see” She said with a shrug “Miss me?”
Sherlock’s lips remained closed as she spoke, didn’t even bother to answer her questions, really. There was something… off about the way Sherlock felt having this woman show up again. She’d nearly killed him, yet he didn’t hold any fear or distain. There was only a jolt of… what was that? Something he felt so rarely… Ah! Yes, excitement. His pupils dilated slightly with adrenaline.
"And what, exactly, will you do if I refuse to let you take my possessions this time around?" Sherlock questioned, curious and in need to make that spark of thrill grow. He so rarely felt anything that gave him life. Now was an opportunity he wasn’t willing to pass up, not like the last time the thief had visited.
𝔾𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕥. 𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝕕𝕠𝕟’𝕥 𝕖𝕩𝕚𝕤𝕥.
"The confidence you have is alarming, doesn’t arrogance lead to failure? It’s petty really. But then again, will you actaully shoot? Because I can assure you. That gun would hit the floor in seconds, or within a blink of an eye." In a fluid movement, the asset moved, not even phased by the fact at gun was aimed at his head, and aimed to pull at the man’s fingers. Eyes trained on him. After all, he had a job to do.
Sherlock hadn’t had time to research enough about the Winter Soldier. He’d formulated guestimations off of his deductions, but without solid evidence that he even existed, it was difficult to do. The soldier’s speed took him by surprise and he found himself in a dire situation. Shoot or watch the gun fall to the ground unfired. If he lost his weapon, he would die, and along with him, thousands of innocent bystanders that made up the population of London.
Without giving himself time to analyze—something he hated to do—he only allowed himself time to react. And his reaction was to pull the trigger before the soldier could pry his fingers off of the gun. Squeezing the trigger, the deafening sound of gunfire rang through his ears. The bullet grazed the other’s right shoulder. Damn, not even a critical hit.
So sorry I haven’t been on.
I planned to do all of the things I needed to a few days ago and I never got the chance.
Things have gotten really stressful this past week, but I will get things updated soon, I promise. Tomorrow or Saturday at the latest.
"Sherlock & Dr. Watson" magazine feature
(version 2 / version 1)
sherlock text posts
The Thief And The Prince || Closed Adlock RP
Irene waited and waited, soon growing bored so she started going through the Prince’s things curious about him and wanting to learn more. She read through his journals and writings and humming softly before going back to lay in the bed again. She would hear servants pass, but none ever entered, the thief supposed they were too scared to. She was so sure that no one would enter she soon fell asleep.
Walking back to his chambers, thankful to be rid of his family, Sherlock had been devising a plot to finish up his most recent experiment, bathe, and then retire for the evening. What he found inside of his quarters, however, threw his entire schedule off. His experiment would have to wait, as well as his bath, for the thief who had nearly taken his life weeks upon weeks previously was now asleep in his bed. Blinking, Sherlock crossed over to her, surprised and yet… not at all surprised. He’d expected her to come back, he just hadn’t been sure when to expect her.
New Recruits | Sherlock & Nikolai
"At least you’re honest," Nikolai said, taking Holmes’ advice and taking a seat across from the man. He was at a loss with how to begin, however, with regard to the case. Sure there had been a number of strange happenings and discrepancies in the last few months, but they had been things that were taken care of, and far below Sherlock’s level of expertise.
But this.. this was something new. Sometimes entirely different.
"We’ve.. come across an interesting strand of infections, contained mostly within the east coast. Symptoms are often flu-like, ranging from minor coughs to full blown sicknesses. Normally we wouldn’t be so concerned with it, but everyone infected is exhibiting the same kinds of… bubbling of the skin around the mouths and throat. It’s subtle, too, only noticeable in its beginning stages if you’re up close and personal. But when it’s really bad, it’s flaky and red, like it’s dried and irritated.
"Normally we’d consult people to physicians and dermatologists, but no one seems to know what’s causing it, where it came from, how to stop it, whether or not it’s lethal.. there are a couple of theories that it’s a new bug, or it’s the beginning of a fabled zombie infection—I’m sure you can imagine all sorts of controversial ideas..
"This wouldn’t be a S.H.I.E.L.D. issue.. but those who are infected are also experiencing.. inhuman capabilities. Yes, they’re sick, they’re mentally and physically weakened and exhausted like normal sick people, but… if spurred, whether by anger or passion or whatever, these people… possess impossible strength and speed. One woman was so furious by the fact she was being denied service in a restaurant that she overturned the table at her booth. It had been bolted to the floor…”
Nikolai sighed softly, rubbing his temples slowly. “We wouldn’t have considered consulting you, but you are a man of science.. if nothing else.. we need help figuring out the nature of this.. virus.”
Sherlock sat in his seat—the very same chair that he had been sitting in since Nikolai had walked into the flat, he hadn’t bothered to move—and listened intently to Nikolai’s description of the reason S.H.I.E.L.D. had decided to enlist him. The detective didn’t utter a single word as the spy spoke. He merely digested all of the information as he always did, expecting to be able to come up with an answer straight away.
At first, the idea of inspecting a flu-like disease sounded… boring. So it was a new strand of the flu. That should have been a simple enough answer. The reason treating the flu, even with vaccines, was so tricky was because the illness was constantly changing its structure. New variations of the flu popped up every year, that was perfectly normal. So it was a bit more obvious than usual. So what?
But then, as Nikolai continued on, Sherlock found himself more interested. Even if the flu virus had mutated, it shouldn’t have granted those who became infected any amount of superior strength. As a matter of fact, it should have weakened them to the point they weren’t able to preform their ordinary tasks.
"Those who have fallen ill are blooming inhuman capabilities and no physicians you’ve consulted are at a loss for what it might be. Interesting…" He’d peaked Sherlock’s interest, true, but Sherlock was generally hired to investigate crime, not ailments. Being a man of science or otherwise, he was a detective, not a pharmaceutical technician.
"Why would an organization like S.H.I.E.L.D. be interested in an illness that’s spreading?" Sherlock asked after a moment of thought. "From what I understand of your organization, this isn’t the type of thing you would be interested in."