#aals

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

“So hear me out,” Greg Lestrade starts as he bites into a donut. “I got an anonymous tip to check John Watson’s home security footage––and I actually found something odd and fishy.”

“Reichenbach Repairs,” Greg continues. “That’s the company John hired to have his floors refinished––we found footage of one of their people rifling through John’s things.”

“We showed it to Reichenbach Repairs and they went apeshit––swore that the man in question wasn’t one of their own, even though he was wearing their uniform,” Greg recalls, finishing his donut and gulping down his lukewarm coffee.

“But this guy didn’t even take anything–––he was just rubbing strips of paper on John’s stuff. It actually looked like he was––”

“Making copies of John’s fingerprints?” DI Janine Hawkins, Greg Lestrade’s partner, offers.

“Weird, innit?” Greg asks, shooting his empty cup of coffee into a nearby trash bin.

“Well, listen to this,” Janine answers. “I heard through the grapevine this morning that John Watson called a meeting with his lawyers to tell them he was going to plead guilty. How’s that for weird?”

“Something feels off,” Greg muses. “Would’ve been great to have Sherlock look into this case but––well––you know.”

“I know––who would’ve thought that the great Sherlock Holmes actually dated?” Janine smiles.

“Even stroppy geniuses need love, I guess,” Greg smiles back. “But here’s another thing––Sherlock’s been off the radar since this case started. The git’s been ignoring all my texts and emails––what gives?” Greg wonders, fiddling with his pen. 

“Can’t be easy, finally meeting someone––only to find out they’re a suspect in a murder case,” Janine ponders. “Maybe he just needs some time to process it.”

“Trouble seems to follow the poor lad around,” Lestrade remarks, genuinely worried about the state of his friend.

Janine was about to answer with something clever when officer Sally Donovan bursts through Lestrade’s door.

“Sir, there’s been a break-in,” she announces.

“Not my division,” Lestrade quickly replies.

“You’ll want it,” Sally shoots a look at him and Janine. “It’s 221B Baker Street.”

Greg and Janine immediately walk out with Sally to join the rest of the team.

“What have we got so far?” Greg asks out loud.

“Perpetrator entered through a kitchen window, sir,” one of the officers replies. “There was no one in the flat when police arrived––but there were traces of blood on the living room carpet.”

Greg pales.

“Any sign of Sherlock Holmes?” Greg dares to ask.

“None, sir,” the officer replies softly, aware that Lestrade considered Sherlock a friend, no matter how intolerable the man could be. “A blood sample is on its way to the lab as we speak.”

“I can’t believe this,” Lestrade murmurs, rubbing his face in despair. 

“Right, come on,” Lestrade sighs after a moment, squaring his shoulders. Sally, Janine, and a few other officers follow his lead.

You better be alive, you bastard, Lestrade thinks. You better be alive.

Meanwhile, in a secret coffee lounge tucked away in a nondescript building called The Diogenes Club, Mycroft Holmes and a barely recognizable Sherlock are talking in hushed voices over cups of cappuccino. 

“Team Lazarus has been deployed and is now ready for battle––are you?” Mycroft checks, looking at his younger brother and his garishly ginger wig.

“I’m scared, Mycroft,” Sherlock admits in a rare show of vulnerability. His fingers tremble as he smokes his third cigarette of the day. Sherlock had quit smoking a long time ago––but today, they both agreed that he needed it.

“You can always back out of this, brother mine,” Mycroft soothes. “This is not your battle to fight, after all.”

“Don’t be absurd,” Sherlock scoffs. “I am not afraid of fighting monsters, Mycroft. I am a Holmes. I can look death in the face without batting an eye.”

“Enlighten me, then,” Mycroft raises an eyebrow.

“You must think I’m an idiot,” Sherlock smirks, “––risking everything for a person I’ve only met three times.”

“But trust me, Mycroft,” he smiles. “It only took me five minutes to understand that John Watson is a good man. The best and wisest man I have ever known.”

“And maybe it’s selfish,” Sherlock continues as he puts out his cigarette in an ashtray, “––but I like how he makes me want to be a better man myself.”

Mycroft could only listen in silence, stunned at the depth of his brother’s affections for a man he barely even knows.

“The truth is, brother mine––” Sherlock sighs as he puts on a coat and gets ready to leave. 

“I’m scared of losing John Watson.”

Update: Part 10 here

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**Author’s note: Credit to @dunderklumpen for that first GIF of Lestrade eating a donut and to @benedict-the-cumbercookie for that last GIF of Peter Guillam putting on his coat. 

Dear readers, I’m trying to be careful as much as I can but if you find I’ve used some of your GIFs without giving credit, please let me know! Thank you.**

Thank you for reading! Please tell me if you want to be tagged or untagged. If the tags are still not working for you, just tell me and I’ll send updates through chat. Thank you so much!

Tags under the cut

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 

“You told me you would keep him safe!” Sherlock snarls as he bursts through the door of Mycroft’s office.

“And I did, of course,” says the older Holmes impassively, not even looking up from the file he was reading.

“The man is locked up in prison as we speak––in danger of losing everything he has worked hard for his whole life––is that really the best you can do?” Sherlock scoffs.

Mycroft finally looks up, staring at Sherlock as though he had grown an extra pair of limbs.

“And what would you have me do, Sherlock, hm? Magically make the murder case disappear? Make his enemies suspicious? My, my––sentiment has made you rather slow, brother mine.”

Sherlock remains quiet, walking over to the large aquarium facing Mycroft’s desk. Sherlock always thought the thing looked gaudy––but he had to admit, watching the Discus fishes swim by was almost relaxing. Almost.

“Morko,” Sherlock utters, apropos of nothing.

“Morko Pharmaceuticals,” Mycroft adds. “Founded by Jim Moriarty and Evelyn Korkovich in 2010. Almost as big as John’s own biotech company––Gladstone Labs.”

“The two companies have stayed out of each other’s hair for years,” Mycroft continues. “But 18 months ago, John’s team of scientists discovered something groundbreaking. Very top secret. Something that Moriarty wants to get his hands on. We’re still trying to figure out what it is, unfortunately.”

“What have you got so far?” Sherlock asks.

“Just a code name,” Mycroft reveals. “Iditarod.”

Sherlock smiles. He removes his phone from his breast pocket, opens a photo, and places it on Mycroft’s desk.

“Yes, I already know Iditarod is a historic trail system in Alaska and that they have an annual sled dog race. Why am I looking at this?” Mycroft frowns. It’s a photo of Malamutes and Siberian Huskies.

“Think about physical stamina, Mycroft,” Sherlock begins. “Something that you greatly lack.”

“Get to the point, Sherlock. I don’t have all day,” Mycroft rolls his eyes.

“Human beings are absurdly frail, dear brother,” the younger Holmes explains. “When under a certain amount of stress, our muscle cells leak out bits of enzymes and proteins––a sign of cell damage. A Malamute’s cells can get damaged, of course, but––”

“Ah...obvious,” Mycroft interrupts, realization dawning.

“A Malamute’s muscle cells can get damaged but their bodies have the uncanny ability to reprogram,” Mycroft grins, pleased that he was able to catch on quickly. “Sled dogs can run an unforgiving race and injure their muscle cells but as they keep repeating the same exercise, their cells––in just a matter of days––learn how to not get injured.”

“Exactly,” Sherlock grins back. “Their cells learn to adapt, giving them the stamina to run for days without rest.”

“Are you seriously telling me that John Watson and his scientists have discovered a way to replicate this process in the human body––and that we now all have a shot at having superhuman endurance?”

“I’m surprised you didn’t know,” Sherlock smirks. “I thought you were omniscient.”

“Contrary to what you might believe, there are many things in this world I’m not privy to,” Mycroft admits, rising from his chair. 

“That’s disappointing,” Sherlock teases. “I was rather hoping you could tell me why Moriarty is going to great lengths just to ruin John Watson’s life.”

“There have been rumors––” Mycroft muses, pacing around his office like he usually does when deep in thought, “––that Morko Pharmaceuticals is just a front––that Moriarty’s real business is acting as a biotech consultant––to terrorist groups, assassin organizations, rogue governments, you name it.”

“If that’s true,” Sherlock murmurs, “if that’s true then of course––of course he would want Iditarod. Imagine if he could sell superhuman endurance. He’d have the world’s most dangerous people wrapped around his finger.”

“Perhaps this is all an elaborate ploy to corner John into giving Moriarty full access to Iditarod,” Mycroft shares. “John’s freedom and reputation in exchange for intellectual property rights.”

Sherlock sags as he sinks into one of Mycroft’s office chairs.

“I need to help him, Mycroft,” Sherlock exhales, trying to imagine a life without John Watson and failing. “I need to know what to do.”

Mycroft looks at his brother, trying to read his face. What he finds there makes him break into a sad smile. He shrugs his shoulders and returns to sitting at his desk.

“We’re the Holmes brothers, Sherlock,” Mycroft assures, flipping through the file he was reading earlier.

“We’ll save John Watson.”

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**Author’s note: Credit to @whenisayrunrun for that beautifuI close-up GIF of Sherlock (8th GIF). 

Readers, I’m trying to be careful as much as I can but if you find I’ve used some of your GIFs without giving credit, please let me know! Thank you.**

Thank you for reading!! I’d like to credit this really cool Live Science article for helping me write this chapter lolol.

Update: Part 8 is up!

tags under the cut -- i’m sorry if the tags still don’t work for you. i can send an update alert through chat if you like (thanks @soul-or-not-this-is-bunny-221b for the idea), just lmk!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10

Trigger warning: This installment contains depiction of suicide

“How’s your dog, Molly?” John asks over the static. He was hunched inside a phone booth just a few yards away from his jail cell.

Molly Hooper has, in fact, never owned a pet dog. John Watson was fully aware of this.

On the other end of the line, Molly freezes, hoping against hope that she had heard John wrong. It was the question she wished she would never hear from John. A question which, to other people listening in, seemed perfectly innocuous––but to the scientists of Project Iditarod, that question was a secret code––a code that only meant one thing: We’re fucked. Our data is compromised. Delete everything.

Molly shuts her eyes, opens them again, and looks at her phone––as if to make sure it wasn’t broken.

“M-Molly?” John tries again. “Sorry––these prison phones can be rubbish. Did you hear me?”

“Yup, heard you the first time!” Molly replies, blinking back tears and trying to sound peppy. “I’m taking him to the groomers this morning––he needs a very thorough cleaning,” she laughs. 

“Good, good,” John smiles. “Listen, its been a great 15 minutes, Mols––but a bunch of other inmates are waiting to use the phone. I’ve got to go.”

“Sure, no problem––but one more thing, John––I’m actually planning on knitting you a sweater. You’re favorite color is green, right? Or was it red?”

It was another one of their unassuming, little, secret codes. Green would mean John was not in any danger. Red would mean his life was on the line.

Please say green, please say green, please say green, Molly begs silently.

“That’s sweet of you––it’s, uh, green, actually,” John lies. There was no need to worry the poor girl. 

“Goodbye, Molly.”

John hangs up, walks back to his cell, sits stiffly on his bed, and unrolls the newspaper he’s been clutching all morning. At the bottom of the front page was a grainy picture of Sherlock Holmes‘ beautiful, scowling face. His lifeless body was found floating on the Thames, tortured beyond recognition. John wasn’t certain if Sherlock’s death was Moriarty’s doing but it didn’t matter anymore. Nothing mattered anymore.

I’m sorry, Sherlock, John thinks, his body trembling with pent-up emotion. I’m so sorry.

John wants to scream, wants to run, wants to break something and hear it snap beneath his bare hands. Instead, he looks out into the hallway and checks the clock on the wall. 

He had less than 30 hours before Moriarty came to collect what he wanted.

Well, tough, John thinks. 

By now, Molly had hopefully already run the code, eliminating every piece of information on Iditarod. 

Before John‘s arrest, the serum had been in its final testing phase. They were close. So close––and there was no way John would let Moriarty threaten him into giving away all of the rights to Iditarod. John knew the rumors about Jim––and by now, he was one hundred percent certain that they were all true. 

John looks down at his left hand. Molly already knows what to do if anything should happen to him. She would extract the chip from his body and wait three years to resurrect the project.

John didn’t think it would all come to this. He didn’t like what he was about to do. Not one bit. But Moriarty was a brilliant man. It wouldn’t take him long to figure out John’s secret––that John himself was the final key. 

He would still kill me, anyway, John muses. 

There’s a proper time to die, isn’t there? He thinks, remembering his days as a soldier. And one should embrace it when it comes.

Later that night, when the halls are quiet and empty, he lies in bed and takes out the makeshift blade he had hidden underneath his mattress. 

He raises his hand and takes a good look at his wrist, recalling his medical training. He sees in his mind how he would slit his radial artery with perfect precision. 

Jim Moriarty will not be getting what he wants, John decides.

Surprise, motherfucker, he thinks with a smile. 

Across London, Sherlock Holmes was busy putting the final touches on his plan.

“Could we do this much faster, please?” He asks, nervously pacing in front of large shelves containing folders upon folders of files. 

“Hang on,” Molly Hooper grunts through gritted teeth, frantically putting on gloves. “Ten minutes ago, I didn’t even know who you were and now I’m giving you the biggest secret of my life––give me a moment, will you?”

“You know everything about Project Iditarod, alright,” she continues, filling a small vial with the secret serum. “But how do I even know if I can trust you?”

“I’m afraid you don’t have much choice, Ms. Hooper,” Sherlock replies. 

“We need to trust each other––or John Watson dies.”

Part 12

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Thank you for reading!

**Author’s note: Credit goes to @barlowmiranda (formerly @misshooper) and to @whoeveryoulovethemost for the second and third GIFS of Molly on the phone, respectively.

Dear readers, I’m trying to be careful as much as I can but if you find I’ve used some of your GIFs without giving credit, please let me know! Thank you.**

As usual, please tell me if you wish to be tagged or untagged (or sent a chat alert if the tags don’t work).

Tags under the cut

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

Hello, friends! I’m sorry that this latest update took quite a while. This new installment isn’t the climax (yet). It’s a brief glimpse into Project Iditarod. A bit boring but I promise it contains some pretty cool secrets that should not be missed (so that you can better understand the next chapters). 

Bonus: You’ll get to see how brilliant John really is (and why Sherlock believes John is the “wisest” man he’s ever known).

We’ll get into the thick of the action soon. I hope you don’t mind this filler while I look for the right GIFs for the rest of the story. Hope you’ll enjoy reading!

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John Watson is smarter than he looks. 

In fact, he’s pretty damn smart. 

But people tend to underestimate John. They give him one glance and immediately brush him off as just another average bloke. 

No one in John’s past, for example, had ever imagined that he would one day create a multi-billion-dollar company––yet here we are. 

When one of his scientists, Molly Hooper, came to him with a groundbreaking discovery two years ago, John immediately realized its implications. 

Molly’s findings could change human life as we know it––but it could also be used to hurt and destroy. John knew they had to be careful with this newfound knowledge. They couldn’t afford to let it slip into the wrong hands.

Gladstone Labs had a good number of brilliant scientists on the payroll––but John decided to build a new team for Molly’s research. A top secret team that the rest of the company would never know about.

Molly was on board with the plan.

An elite group made up of some of the best scientists from around the world was formed.

Including Molly, there were seven team members in total. 

Project Iditarod––named after the Alaskan trail system where a legendary sled dog race takes place every year––was born.

With Molly leading the team, their goal was to develop an injectable serum that helps human cells learn how to reprogram––the same way an Alaskan Malamute’s cells can. 

The result would be extraordinary stamina and endurance––human beings that require little to no rest, even in extreme conditions.

John kept Project Iditarod so secretive that even the scientists working on the study itself did not––and will never––know about each other’s true identities. 

There were no physical meetings, no physical headquarters. 

Instead, each scientist worked remotely from their home base. All of the equipment and resources they needed were generously provided for by Gladstone Labs.

The team worked together by logging in to a highly encrypted online portal. This portal had an advanced biometric login system. It was the only place where they were able to interact with each other––but interactions were limited to text and voice chats as well as emails. 

No faces, no real names. 

Each scientist was only identifiable by an assigned alias and ID number.

Their signed NDAs prohibited them from creating soft or hard copies of any of the research data. The highly secure online portal was also designed to keep information on lockdown. No page was copyable or printable, no file was downloadable. Everything was only shareable within the portal itself.

John personally vetted each scientist, going over the details of their lives with a fine-toothed comb, making sure that each person was competent, conscientious, and capable of guarding a life-altering scientific secret.

Secrets, however, were always meant to be exposed in some form or another.

A spy that Jim Moriarty had planted in John’s company was somehow able to dig up Molly’s old notes on Malamutes––and their uncanny ability to reprogram their bodies. 

It didn’t take long for Jim Moriarty to realize that Gladstone Labs had stumbled upon something revolutionary.

John Watson though, was prepared for any eventuality. 

In the event of a data breach, each member of team Iditarod, including John, was ready with a single line of computer code. 

Each person had a unique code––and it was tattooed on the heel of their right foot. 

Once executed, it would immediately erase all data pertaining to Iditarod, ultimately causing the portal to self destruct. 

Two years’ worth of research and hard work would be irretrievably lost in mere seconds.

Once all digital evidence is obliterated, the only remaining record of Iditarod would be in a small microchip implanted in John’s left hand––in that space between his thumb and forefinger. He had asked Molly to inject him with the chip over six months ago.

Perhaps it was psychological but since the implant, John swears he has had an intermittent tremor in his left hand.

That night at the warehouse, Jim Moriarty had the secrets to Iditarod right under his nose––and he didn’t even know it. 

Unfortunately for Jim, he made one capital mistake. 

He severely underestimated one John Hamish Watson.

Update: Part 11 is up!

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**Author’s note: Credit to @dorkkybatch (formerly @ohgodbenny) for that GIF of Molly and to @bimercury (formerly @221bgaykerstreet) for that close-up GIF of John.

Dear readers, I’m trying to be careful as much as I can but if you find I’ve used some of your GIFs without giving credit, please let me know! Thank you.**

Thank you for reading! 

Part 11 is coming within the week. As usual, please let me know if you wish to be tagged or untagged (or sent a chat alert if the tags don’t work).

Tags under the cut

UK Exclusive: Hear ‘Après Shit’ – The new single from Hamburg’s Fluppe

Words: Andy Hughes (Photo Credit: Melancholie Maritim Photography)

Bit of a German lesson for you today – fluppe is a northern German slang word for cigarette. fluppe, the German indie band that share the same name, are said to be in direct contrast to the term, rather they’ve been described as a breath of fresh air in Hamburg’s indie and punk scenes. Sure enough, their latest single ‘Après Shit‘…

I am touched and inspired by the people who keep asking about this fic. Thank you. Also, I’m sorry that the next installment is taking so long. Life is getting in the way and I’m admittedly going through a period of writer’s block (and some difficulty finding the right GIFs lolol). 

Rest assured though that I will not abandon this story and I expect to pick things up again within the next few weeks. I love this little AU that we’re experiencing together and I would never dream of letting you down.