(Source: karengillandaily, via whowaits)




"Oh, splendid.
 I do hate when   I     commit 
 gross acts of     crime in the
 name    of   science. I admit
 however,     that     any one
 man that  can     think   that 
 masturbation is        morally
correct while admonishing
 our own  relationship, is not
 only astonishing, but rather
 something that should   be 
 taken out     of   existence
 altogether. Wouldn’t you 
 agree, brother mine?

                                             He’s just upset that someone less
                                             intelligent had the audacity to 
                                             question his logic.

—“Perhaps you should save
    your more violent urges
    for someone who won’t
    fold the entirety of reality in on itself?

                                             Comstock would and will disapprove
                                             of us regardless- the religious ones
                                             always do. Even if not brothers, we
                                             would both still possess the same
                                             physical sex.

Though if you ask me,
our     relationship   is
more  natural than his
attempt  at  explaining
away       his       wife’s
    ‘m i r a c u l o u s’
shortened pregnancy.

                                     The fact of the matter is,
                                      without Comstock, you
                                       wouldn’t have had the
                         funding to complete the tear anyway.”

The Magpie Comes at Noon || westwoodcrown


Jim gave a cocky hint at a smirk when Sherlock affirmed his deductions, and the smirk only grew when the man across from him began toeing the edge of his patience. The little movements, the slow sip, the posture, and then the not-so-delicate hit on ‘home.’ They were all thought out.  Curiouser and curiouser. 

"You are not nearly as important to me as your connections are, sweetheart.” His voice was slightly harder now as he spoke, but he supposed this was to be considered Sebastian’s home for the time being. He filed it away in his mind to order his sniper to burn that shirt as soon as he got back from his job. He cocked his head to the side and scanned the man once more with his eyes. Apparently, Sherlock was an observant, clever little ant. Still an ant, though. So easily crushed. 

He rolled his eyes, sighed, and continued, light casual sarcasm back in his tone.
"And let’s not be trite, darling. You and I both know that you’ll tell Sebastian whatever you want to tell him. That’s one of the perks isn’t it? Having him as a flatmate?" Jim stood and walked around the room with a slow, easy stride, finding tacky little trinkets and books and running his fingers over them all in a gesture fully meant to be as incredibly invasive as it was.

"Gives you someone to talk to about your pretty little pictures and designs…like your own personal therapist, only your brother pays for it instead of you. Does it help you, Sherlock? To keep out of the drug scene?" 
He drew his initials in the dust on one of the shelves and turned back to face the man in the chair, then wiped the dust onto the tie, as if it were nothing more than a cheap dish rag.
"That is, after all, what he was hired to do.” 

This flat. This man. This whole charade. It was all a side job to Sebastian, and Mr. Holmes would do well to keep that in mind.
Jim’s tone remained delightfully casual and he kept his expression lightly oblivious, but when he finished his act, he turned his dark eyes to Sherlock, as if to say ‘Check. Your move, dear.'  

Sherlock could easily be upset by the things Jim was saying, the way he disrespected the tie, the fingers touching his things. But it was all so labouriously constructed to make him uncomfortable that the designer instead chose to step back. He had gotten much better at big picture thinking than he used to be- a few years ago he would have been brash and defensive, but now he understood how to play these games. Instead of uncomfortable or offended, the brunette let a feeling of pride fill him, a smug smirk sitting on his face at the amount of elaborate effort his guest was going through to try and unsettle him.

"Yes, well, just because I’m hired to design a suit for someone doesn’t mean I don’t thoroughly enjoy the process.” He looked down to sip his tea once more. “Whether temporary or permanent, Sebastian is enjoying his time with me just as much as I would drawing up a custom commission. You’re clearly a man of business- are you telling me you don’t at least enjoy what you do a little bit? Business and pleasure can sometimes be mixed successfully.”

Business and pleasure. There it was. The designer’s smirk widened. “I’m guessing you blur the line yourself with Sebastian. A purely personal connection wouldn’t have known he’d be away exactly at this moment. A purely business one wouldn’t have seemed so put off by my choice in attire.”

He leaned forward to set down the empty cup, lounging once more afterward.

Check. Try again.

(Source: knickers-and-nicotine)



"Is it still murder
                if I make sure

they were to never
       e x i s t?

—“Given that murder in the
     t e c h n i c a l       sense
     requires  a  body  in  the
     present if you murdered
     someone  in  a way that
     rendered that         impossible

                                                            thus leaving no evidence
                                                            in the time from which you
                                                            are referencing,

                           I would have to say { no }.”

(via queenofclassy)

The Magpie Comes at Noon || westwoodcrown


"Good thing this isn’t a consultation then, because I don’t talk to personal assistants. They tend to be petty and dull. No, I’d much rather get right to the source." Jim said with a quick smile in his natural Irish lilt. 

He took in the appearance of the man in front of him. He’d done his research, of course. If anyone (particularly his primary sniper and occasional bed partner) on his payroll got a side job, James Moriarty was going to make damn sure that everything lined up, and that he wasn’t being double crossed. Part of the meticulous crossing of t’s and dotting of i’s that he had become so accustomed to in his line of work. He’d been given a name and an address by Sebastian, and once he’d done a bit of research, he decided a personal visit to this “Sherlock Holmes” was the best course of action.
He’d taken the key to the Baker street flat out of Sebastian’s pocket a week ago and had it pressed so that a copy could be made. The little dear didn’t even know he’d done it, or that he’d been planning this little meeting from the moment Sebastian decided to take the job. Didn’t even blink an eye when Jim sent him off to Spain for five days. The job required a day at maximum, and the target? No one of importance, just said one wrong thing to one wrong person years ago. Pity he had to pay the price now, but Jim needed Sebastian out of the way to get an accurate reading on this man. 

As soon as he’d gotten the name, a bit of research showed the basic facts. Graduated designer of menswear from Central St. Martins, working on a womenswear concentration at Royal College of Art, model (in some interesting shows, Jim noted) perpetually on a bit of a gender fluid-androgynous kick not only in his design but in his personal fashion, gotten into a spot of trouble here and there, and a grieving fan of Alexander McQueen. Jim straightened his tie (he chose his favorite McQueen for this occasion) and observed to fill in the blanks. 

At first glance, his posture showed a knowledge of dance and a slight effeminate grace, confidence, but also weakness. Weakness for what though? Not just drugs. It was more than that. His hands were slightly calloused in all the right places…violin player then. Perhaps viola…no violin. His hands were too large for the callouses to be where they were. Definitely violin. Given his idols and his fashion choices, the evidence pointed to homosexual. The confidence…that wasn’t built that was thrust upon him. Distant parents, perhaps? There was someone who cared though…someone in power, or else he would have his weakness all over the news. Anyone in that much power, probability pointed to male; brother, then. The accent was mostly neutral but a slight drawl of ‘consultation’ and sharpness of ‘PA’ hinted at Sussex. Wealthy Sussex, to narrow it down more. Wealthy, distant parents, brother the main role model, brazen confidence that made risk taking something acceptable, desired, even…ah…that’s why the drugs. That’s why the extreme fashions and troublesome bouts. It was all an escape method…his weakness. Escape. Perhaps? Something to take note of. But throughout all of these observations, there was one thing that bothered Jim the most. 

That was Sebastian’s shirt. 

Someone as fashion conscious as Sherlock Holmes would own plenty of shirts. Why use Sebastian’s? Laundry not done? No. That would be easy enough to remedy. His type would buy a new shirt before being caught dead in someone else’s. Especially someone so differently sized and with clothing so terribly worn as Sebastian’s. But the only other rational explanation would be…sentiment? Impossible. Curious, though. 

He cleared his throat, uncrossed his legs, and leaned forward.
"I think the proper thing to do, at this point, would be to offer me a cup of tea. The Earl Grey will be adequate for the time being. We have only just met, Mr. Holmes.”  
Jim smiled sweetly and raised his eyebrows, waiting to see what the man would do. 

Before the other man spoke, Sherlock noticed his hands straightening the tie- McQueen. Design and signature skull motif unmistakeable to an avid fan. Oh, but this man was confident. Smug even. It was obvious he knew quite a bit about Sherlock from the way his eyes traveled.

He had worn the tie on purpose, touched it to make sure that it was seen. Intrigue settled in immediately, and the designer raised an eyebrow before letting his gaze flicker back up to the other’s face.


A note of irritation as he saw the shirt. Someone connected to Sebastian then, hence why he wasn’t there for a consultation. This was personal, and it was clearly important to him. Sherlock adjusted his position to relax further, making it clear that he had no intention of making the man tea. If this was important to his guest, he would counter by making it seem as unimportant to himself as possible.

"Fine breeding aside, manners were always my brother’s forte,” he merely sighed as explanation for not retrieving the tea. No sense in hiding personal details when the other seemed to know them already. He lifted the delicate cup to his lips, sipping and taking his time to enjoy what the other man didn’t have. “I only made enough for myself given your unexpected arrival- and besides, I’m not in the habit of extending my exceptionally limited hospitality to those whose names I am not privy to. Mysterious is only fun so long as it serves some practical purpose, and I doubt you have one for keeping me in the dark; I’m important enough to research, important enough to see your face, I’m important enough to know your name.”

"Or are you worried I’ll tell Sebastian when he comes home?” The emphasis on home was subtle but intentional. He’d come home and spend the day in bed with Sherlock, just as he always did. Casual or not, the designer took pride in the level of desire his flatmate held for him- it was most certainly returned.

All the while his tone was calm, composed and coiled without any intention of striking just yet.

(Source: knickers-and-nicotine)

(via cutesyvintage)

(Source: aroundthisbend, via coiriuil)

(Source: bowties-and-cheekbones, via coiriuil)