Story cover for I Am Offering This Scarf by _DidYouMissMe_
I Am Offering This Scarf
  • WpView
    LECTURAS 1,096
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    Votos 66
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    Partes 17
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    Hora 2h 30m
  • WpView
    LECTURAS 1,096
  • WpVote
    Votos 66
  • WpPart
    Partes 17
  • WpHistory
    Hora 2h 30m
Continúa, Has publicado ene 22, 2015
Hello kiddies! (That sounded creepy, sorry) Don't be turned off by my profile! Just for show! So anyway, this will be a JohnLock! YAAAS. Who doesn't ship the two famous detectives. I'm trying to cater to several fanfiction wants that I've seen over the internet! Maybe I'll add some sexy Moriarty in there? (That sounded a lot better in my head.) I'm so excited! I might not do the weekly posts due to the fact that I'm in high school and there're exams and homework. Ugh. I'll post as much as I can! Btw- The reason this is called "I am Offering This Scarf" is because future posts and it is based off a poem called "I am Offering This Poem." I would not read it before you read the fanfiction! It'll spoil things! And everybody hates a spoiler...

WARNING: DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVE NOT FINISHED WATCHING ALL EPISODES OF ALL THREE SEASONS.

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock! BBC and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle do! (Even through I wish I did)

This is just a fanfiction kids! 



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221B Baker Street was not supposed to be my final destination. It was a pit stop. A temporary, financially questionable decision in one of the most expensive cities in the world. A place to exist quietly. To keep my head down, drink overpriced coffee, and avoid unpacking my emotional baggage. Then I met Sherlock Holmes. And quiet ceased to exist. One minute, I was just a tenant in a slightly dysfunctional flat. The next, I was the unwilling documentarian of absolute madness- ✔ Sherlock, the world's only consulting detective, who refuses to function like a normal human being. ✔ John Watson, who has reached new heights of exhaustion thanks to said detective. ✔ Mrs. Hudson, who is not a housekeeper but absolutely runs this place like a benevolent overlord. ✔ Molly Hooper, the forensic pathologist who is finally terrifying Sherlock (to my endless delight). ✔ Mycroft Holmes, who controls the British government but, more importantly, cannot figure out why I exist. ✔ Lestrade, who shows up mostly to suffer. ✔ And Rosie Watson, who is officially my tiny, all-knowing best friend. I am not a detective. I am not a hero. I am just the one thing Sherlock Holmes cannot deduce. My name is Safa. I babysit Rosie for extra cash, I document Baker Street's chaos out of sheer pettiness, and I gloat about my food just to drive Sherlock insane. I tell myself I don't belong here. That I am still just passing through. But the thing about living at Baker Street? You don't realize you're home until it's time to leave. And for once, Sherlock Holmes never saw it coming.
30 Days. (Part 1 of the 30 Days fanfic series)  de sokkakindawrites97
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Empty. Baker Street, and the entirety of the City of London, is empty. The streets are no longer busy with cars or pedestrians; it's deserted. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are the only people around. But they're not alone. The Diseased---people who have caught a strange, rabid-like disease go into a state of madness in which they have the lust to kill anyone they come across---litter the streets. And John is one of them. When Sherlock comes from being in his Mind Palace for longer than he thought for a case he was solving, he finds out that a sudden apocalypse has taken over London, and a mysterious disease has plagued half the population, and they litter the streets. To his horror, John is somehow caught with the disease. The consulting detective finds himself on the most dangerous, and overwhelming case he has ever been on, one that will test his love for John. And that case is to find a cure for his best friend before he loses him to the strange, apocalyptic disease forever. And Sherlock is prepared to walk right through hell, if it means finding a cure for the one man he loves most in the world. ⚠️ ***TRIGGER WARNING*** ⚠️ This fanfic is rated M for a reason! Will contain..... -Swearing -Violence -Gore -Drug references -Sexual content -Suggestions of abuse If you are triggered by any of this, then I advise you to NOT read it! I don't want anyone reporting my story because they failed to notice it's rated M and didn't care to read the warning here. "Why all of that, though?" you may be wondering. Well, it's the apocalypse, and in an apocalypse.....all kinds of shit can happen. Am I right? And I tend to be a little dark sometimes.
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A Study in Chaos

31 partes Concluida

221B Baker Street was not supposed to be my final destination. It was a pit stop. A temporary, financially questionable decision in one of the most expensive cities in the world. A place to exist quietly. To keep my head down, drink overpriced coffee, and avoid unpacking my emotional baggage. Then I met Sherlock Holmes. And quiet ceased to exist. One minute, I was just a tenant in a slightly dysfunctional flat. The next, I was the unwilling documentarian of absolute madness- ✔ Sherlock, the world's only consulting detective, who refuses to function like a normal human being. ✔ John Watson, who has reached new heights of exhaustion thanks to said detective. ✔ Mrs. Hudson, who is not a housekeeper but absolutely runs this place like a benevolent overlord. ✔ Molly Hooper, the forensic pathologist who is finally terrifying Sherlock (to my endless delight). ✔ Mycroft Holmes, who controls the British government but, more importantly, cannot figure out why I exist. ✔ Lestrade, who shows up mostly to suffer. ✔ And Rosie Watson, who is officially my tiny, all-knowing best friend. I am not a detective. I am not a hero. I am just the one thing Sherlock Holmes cannot deduce. My name is Safa. I babysit Rosie for extra cash, I document Baker Street's chaos out of sheer pettiness, and I gloat about my food just to drive Sherlock insane. I tell myself I don't belong here. That I am still just passing through. But the thing about living at Baker Street? You don't realize you're home until it's time to leave. And for once, Sherlock Holmes never saw it coming.