OOC: I’m LEAVING!!!!

No, not leaving.  Just needed your attention.  My muse for Sherlock has been elusive in the extreme.  It’s partly because of school, but mostly, I think it has just become so difficult to write for him because he isn’t the way I planned him.  From the beginning, I haven’t really been playing him the way I want to.  I never felt that I could because I wanted to fit in and be accepted, so I just played him rather…mary-sue like.  I rarely kept to my own headcanon because I felt like I needed to meld to everyone else’s headcanon to keep them rping with me.  It’s gotten to the point where I don’t feel like I can keep this up anymore.  So I’ve started a new blog.  Same character, but completely fresh start with MY headcanon and my vow not to give a shit what people think of him. ^_^  If you’re interested, please message me for his info.  I will tag some people that I WANT to message me because I want to rp with youse guys still because I love you.  Don’t ask on anon.  I won’t reply to it.  I’ll check this blog’s mail for a while, and it will always exist.  I just won’t be upkeeping it as much.  I hope no one is too angry with me.

Love,
Nick 

Plague || Open Rp

collectorwithavineyard:

holmesbeforebakerstreet:

He smiled widely at the squeak discharged from her vocal cords.  His head swam for a moment, he lost his breath from the fever, but then he was back to chuckling.  He pulled her against him, into his lap and tickled his fingers over her sides, hoping she was ticklish, and he might get some revenge.  ”Are we playing?  I’m not supposed to play, I’m sick.”

The moment he caught the small noise she made, she knew there could be trouble before. She happily laughed at his improved physical condition, and did her best to not giggle as his fingers gently prodded at her sides. Crossing her arms, attempting to cover her sides with her hands, she leaned in closer, her voice slightly strained from holding back her laughter. “That’s right. You aren’t suppose to be playing, love.”

Emboldened that he was getting a reaction out of her, Sherlock smirked and moved closer.  He wormed his hands under her arms as best he could and made as though he was going to embrace her before he drew his fingers up in gentle trails up the sides of her rib cage.  ”Too bad,” he said, “guess you’ll have to stop me.”  He remembered something abruptly from his childhood and a little light went on in the depths of his cool eyes, after a beat, he leaned in and licked her from neck to ear.

Plague || Open Rp

collectorwithavineyard:

holmesbeforebakerstreet:

He stiffened a bit, having expected her to try and tickle him again.  Smiling at her words, he closed his eyes for a bit—just long enough to stem a throbbing in his head.  Once it pass, he looked up at her again.  He poked her sharply in her exposed side, hoping for a little bit of ticklish vengeance.

She smiled down at him, glad he didn’t believe she was about to pounce on him as she moved. Although there was slight darkening under his eyes and his skin was paler than usual, she looked over his face for a moment. Thinking that was the end to their playing for now, his poke caught her off guard, forcing a small squeak from her throat as she slightly curled away from his hand. “Two can play this game..”

He smiled widely at the squeak discharged from her vocal cords.  His head swam for a moment, he lost his breath from the fever, but then he was back to chuckling.  He pulled her against him, into his lap and tickled his fingers over her sides, hoping she was ticklish, and he might get some revenge.  ”Are we playing?  I’m not supposed to play, I’m sick.”

Plague || Open Rp

collectorwithavineyard:

holmesbeforebakerstreet:

The corner of Sherlock’s mouth quirked slightly.  ”Ah, I didn’t know we were fighting,” he said.  ”You’d really take advantage of someone who might be deathly ill?”  He played the headache up a bit, pretending it still hurt him much more than it actually did.  He pressed the palm of his hand to his temple dramatically.

“Oh, my poor baby!” She cooed with pity as she crawled over to him, lightly pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I know you’re not deathly ill, so I figured nothing more than out usual playful banter—albeit more physical than usual—wouldn’t hurt in your recovery.” Lingering in close proximity, she waited to see if he would agree to play.

He stiffened a bit, having expected her to try and tickle him again.  Smiling at her words, he closed his eyes for a bit—just long enough to stem a throbbing in his head.  Once it pass, he looked up at her again.  He poked her sharply in her exposed side, hoping for a little bit of ticklish vengeance.

Plague || Open Rp

collectorwithavineyard:

holmesbeforebakerstreet:

His entire body jerked when she touched him right behind the knee.  He almost went spilling off the couch.  Instead, he accidentally dropped the cushion and pulled his leg entirely away from her, a squeal stuck in the back of his throat.  He couldn’t help smiling, but he pulled himself into the side oft he couch away from her.  ”That’s not fair,” he snapped.

Her frame shook with a small burst of laughter at the show of him dropping the cushion and retreating away from her. A small pout formed on her face as she gathered herself. “Aw. It isn’t completely unfair. You could always try to fight back.” Raising a challenging brow, she crossed her arms over her ribcage.

The corner of Sherlock’s mouth quirked slightly.  ”Ah, I didn’t know we were fighting,” he said.  ”You’d really take advantage of someone who might be deathly ill?”  He played the headache up a bit, pretending it still hurt him much more than it actually did.  He pressed the palm of his hand to his temple dramatically.

Plague || Open Rp

collectorwithavineyard:

holmesbeforebakerstreet:

Instead of pulling away, he pressed the sole of his foot against her thigh so that she couldn’t get at it.  ”I am not ticklish,” he said, indignantly.  He hid his face completely, smashing the smile he bore into the cushion.  ”Stop it.”  He was incredibly ticklish, it had been his downfall as a child, but he wouldn’t let her know that.

“I don’t know. There is just something about you that makes me believe you are..” She raised an eyebrow as he hid his face from her, and leaned in his direction. “From the playfulness of your voice it doesn’t sound like you want me to stop.” She tickled under his knee, a spot in which she was very ticklish as a child. Watching him be light hearted made her happy, and she wanted to keep him that way for a while.

His entire body jerked when she touched him right behind the knee.  He almost went spilling off the couch.  Instead, he accidentally dropped the cushion and pulled his leg entirely away from her, a squeal stuck in the back of his throat.  He couldn’t help smiling, but he pulled himself into the side oft he couch away from her.  ”That’s not fair,” he snapped.

Plague || Open Rp

collectorwithavineyard:

holmesbeforebakerstreet:

Sherlock glared at her as his foot writhed in her hand.  He pulled against her in a token struggle and clutched his cushion tighter.  ”No, don’t do that,” he said sharply, trying to use the power of his voice to be in control.  However, she was in mothering mode still, and she was being particularly playful as well.  He couldn’t get his ankle from her.  ”Stop it.”

It was nearly impossible to stifle a giggle while he used a serious tone and continued to hide behind the cushion in his arms. “Oh, but why? You aren’t all that ticklish, are you?” She softly wiggled her fingertips over his foot, though her grip on his ankle loosened, wanting to make it a fair fight.

Instead of pulling away, he pressed the sole of his foot against her thigh so that she couldn’t get at it.  ”I am not ticklish,” he said, indignantly.  He hid his face completely, smashing the smile he bore into the cushion.  ”Stop it.”  He was incredibly ticklish, it had been his downfall as a child, but he wouldn’t let her know that.

Plague || Open Rp

collectorwithavineyard:

holmesbeforebakerstreet:

He smiled as he chewed and swallowed his chips.  His stomach was much settled now, it was just his head giving him problems—but that was easy enough to ignore.  When she grabbed his foot, his eyes went a bit wide.  ”Don’t you dare,” he snapped, still slightly playful.

It was exciting that she managed to catch him off guard, and she planned to use that to her advantage. “Out of all people you know, you think I wouldn’t dare?” She gave him a wide grin and lightly trailed her finger over the sole of his foot, gripping his ankle a little tighter.

Sherlock glared at her as his foot writhed in her hand.  He pulled against her in a token struggle and clutched his cushion tighter.  ”No, don’t do that,” he said sharply, trying to use the power of his voice to be in control.  However, she was in mothering mode still, and she was being particularly playful as well.  He couldn’t get his ankle from her.  ”Stop it.”

Plague || Open Rp

collectorwithavineyard:

holmesbeforebakerstreet:

His leg jerked just a tiny bit when she tickled his ankle, but he kept it where it was and continued to poke her.  He liked the physical contact, small though it may be.  ”You’re hardly a choice,” he said,  ”I couldn’t stay away from you if I tried.”  Diving out from behind the safety of his pillow just long enough to snatch a few more chips to munch on, he continued to look at her over the top of the cushion as though he expected retaliation for the poking.

Watching him continuing to poke her and momentarily sneak from behind the cushion almost made her giggle. There was something so completely endearing about him at that moment. His words also did nothing to change that, for the almost wanted to hug him at that moment. “Oh, look at us! Mutual ego stroking tonight.” She chuckled and suddenly captured his ankle with one hand, her fingertip threatening to make contact with the bottom of his foot.

He smiled as he chewed and swallowed his chips.  His stomach was much settled now, it was just his head giving him problems—but that was easy enough to ignore.  When she grabbed his foot, his eyes went a bit wide.  ”Don’t you dare,” he snapped, still slightly playful.

Plague || Open Rp

collectorwithavineyard:

holmesbeforebakerstreet:

He was smiling with every part of his face and body now, stilling hidden behind his cushion.  ”Though also considerable,” he began coyly, “the particular part of my body you’re talking about is not my ego.”  He poked her thigh with his toe playfully and chuckled.  ”You’re incorrigible.”

A cheeky smile shaped her mouth as she looked at him. “Words do have double meaning, so whose to say I wasn’t referencing your ego as well as particular body parts of yours..” She softly chuckled and lightly ran her fingertips over his ankle as he poked her. “You do choose to put up with me, you know.”

His leg jerked just a tiny bit when she tickled his ankle, but he kept it where it was and continued to poke her.  He liked the physical contact, small though it may be.  ”You’re hardly a choice,” he said,  ”I couldn’t stay away from you if I tried.”  Diving out from behind the safety of his pillow just long enough to snatch a few more chips to munch on, he continued to look at her over the top of the cushion as though he expected retaliation for the poking.

Plague || Open Rp

collectorwithavineyard:

holmesbeforebakerstreet:

Having set his mug down, Sherlock wrapped both of his arms around the cushion and listened to her.  He wasn’t sure if he really believed what she said—he had a solid fifteen years of being called a worthless freak to overcome, after all.  He buried his face into the softness of the cushion and just sat for a while, uncertain how he felt or even how he should feel.  With a quiet laugh, he peeked over at her from behind the cushion.  ”You cannot make my ego more inflated than it already is,” he said, “I do a fine job of that myself.”

Although she wasn’t sure he believed her, she really hoped he had seen the honesty. Outside of his intelligence, she knew he consistently referred to himself as less than what he was, and it always bothered her. His soft laugher pulled her from her thoughts and she looked up at him hiding behind the pillow and widely smiled. “Oh, I think I could, but I will now make a point as to not do that.” She flashed him a wink.

He was smiling with every part of his face and body now, stilling hidden behind his cushion.  ”Though also considerable,” he began coyly, “the particular part of my body you’re talking about is not my ego.”  He poked her thigh with his toe playfully and chuckled.  ”You’re incorrigible.”

Plague || Open Rp

collectorwithavineyard:

holmesbeforebakerstreet:

Sherlock nodded, that obviously hadn’t been the answer he was looking for.  He knew all that already, about her.  Perhaps he’d asked the wrong question.  ”Yes, yes,” he interrupted with a flippant wave of his hand.  ”But why me?”

An eyebrow slightly twitched at the specificity of his question, and she began to form a list in her mind of reasons that were true and would also please him. “I’ve always admired your brilliance, you’re never a dull conversationalist, and you’re someone who deserves more than what they have gotten in the past. I also find you interesting, good company, and your small affections are always appreciated.” She nodded, pleased with the truths she produced. “Not don’t let your ego get too swollen, now.”

Having set his mug down, Sherlock wrapped both of his arms around the cushion and listened to her.  He wasn’t sure if he really believed what she said—he had a solid fifteen years of being called a worthless freak to overcome, after all.  He buried his face into the softness of the cushion and just sat for a while, uncertain how he felt or even how he should feel.  With a quiet laugh, he peeked over at her from behind the cushion.  ”You cannot make my ego more inflated than it already is,” he said, “I do a fine job of that myself.”

Plague || Open Rp

collectorwithavineyard:

holmesbeforebakerstreet:

Having her look after him and wait on him like this because of his illness, it made him feel particularly young.  He didn’t often feel his age so acutely as he did now, having her acting like a mother to a child.  ”Why?” he asked.  He’d asked the question before, surely, but this time felt different because he so desperately wanted an answer that would make the odd fluttering in his gut go away.

“Well I do my best to take care of those I care about, and you are one of them. It’s simple. Coming from a large, very hands-on family doesn’t necessarily work out well for those that wouldn’t want my care.” She chuckled and lightly tapped her fingers over his foot. “Although I am slightly playing mother here, I do guarantee that I do not see you as a child.”

Sherlock nodded, that obviously hadn’t been the answer he was looking for.  He knew all that already, about her.  Perhaps he’d asked the wrong question.  ”Yes, yes,” he interrupted with a flippant wave of his hand.  ”But why me?”

Plague || Open Rp

collectorwithavineyard:

holmesbeforebakerstreet:

“I’m fine,” he replied swiftly, before rethinking that answer. His head was still a bit wonky.  ”I am thinking clearly at least,” he amended, flexing his toes against her slightly.  He continued to sip the tea—nothing was quite so healing as a cup of tea.  ”I’m just not…I’m still not used to people being so kind to me as you are.”  He spoke into his mug, muffled by the steam as he drank.

“Thinking clearly is a good sign, although I think you should take another pill before you go to sleep tonight, just to keep pains to a minimum.” She spoke while nibbling another chip. Her brow furrowed with the slightest bit of concern, but the smile she gave him was genuine. “Well, you should get use to it. Having me like you and being my flatmate has you all set up to an abundance of kindness.”

Having her look after him and wait on him like this because of his illness, it made him feel particularly young.  He didn’t often feel his age so acutely as he did now, having her acting like a mother to a child.  ”Why?” he asked.  He’d asked the question before, surely, but this time felt different because he so desperately wanted an answer that would make the odd fluttering in his gut go away.