"What do you mean Bucky's gone? Where is he?"

Greg offers a softly relieved smile when Sherlock agrees to accompany him for some fresh air; the consultant sure looks like he needed it, and Greg felt like he did too. His next expression is one of faint surprise, as he'd been planning on worming in an excuse to get some food, to make sure Sherlock had actually eaten today, and the last thing he'd expected was for Sherlock himself to suggest getting food- especially while he was working.

"You read my mind." Comes his pleased response. He pulls his coat on, opens the door for them and falls into step with his consultant as they head out.

Marcus hadn't quite been himself since the blood of his tutor had been washed off his hands. Regardless of all of the praise from his father and the soft assurances from his mother; everything seemed far more fragile now. Maybe that was why he had been dragged along to some stupid training facility that his father had long since been invested in. Proving the point that, while people were fragile, it was a benefit rather than a detriment as it allowed them to remove their enemies.

And control their allies.

The boy had wandered off in the middle of a discussion about some outsider he'd never heard of. His feet carried him through the hallway until he was standing by a window; it showed a room full of girls. Several were older than him, a few younger, regardless they were all children. They were also all... Girls? He couldn't remember being around many other children before; only the odd handful at parties where people brought their brats to show off.

His hand reached for the handle to the room before he could think better of it, only to feel a set of eyes on him. Green eyes flitted to his watcher. Another girl. Older than him, definitely, and dressed in the same clothes as the others.

She knew going in that it was going to be hard. Back when he had prowled the streets, gun owned by the Russians, “Artemis Kelly” kept her ass at least a football field away from Baba Yaga territory. But then, no one talked about him anymore—at least, not in the present tense. There wasn’t the same fear hanging in the air when someone spoke the name “John Wick”. So after she’d gotten at least fifteen years or so of experience under her belt, she went for the big one.

She couldn’t get him using a sight. His house was on flat land, with a long driveway. So she’d have to grit her teeth and take one for the team (not that she had a team to speak of).

Fuck, he was good. She’d gone at him the moment he let her in (since she needed to use the bathroom so badly), and seven minutes later she was taking cover behind his kitchen island, holding one of her last knives. Jas’s tactical gear was supposed to be hidden under a sweatshirt and loose yoga pants, but the rips in her clothes said otherwise.

And then there was the sound of tires, a quarter of a mile away. When did he have time to call in reinforcements?

Coughing and wheezing in pain, he knew he didn't have much longer left and he would somehow have to find the energy to go out with a bang, there was no way he was just going to lay there and die. No Moriarty would not let himself meet that end. He had told no one where he had been for the last few days, wanting to be alone and also for no one to interfere. He didn't want to be saved, he couldn't stand the boredom of it all anymore, although he did want to see his precious Gem again, at least once. He had tried to get assistance but the security services were too hot on his trail he had to lie in an abandoned building in a cold hotel room. Deep down he hadn't wanted this but he felt he had no choice, it was either this or giving himself up which would have been a defeat for him. It seemed as if Sherlock had succeeded in taking out his network and faking your own death had consequences. Gritting his teeth as the angry infected wound on his stomach pulled he tried his best to stand up. Placing one foot on the cold flooring he tried to add the other and then stand but instead fell to the ground, hitting his head as he coughed even more, laughing in between at his own pain. In too much pain to even notice how silent everything around him suddenly became.

Jemma wasn't sure why she'd been called in from the lab. Her superior officer said they needed a consultation on a recently captured prisoner. She wasn't sure why they needed her specifically given there were plenty of medics and trained professionals...she, at least, wasn't sure until she saw the captured prisoner.

"Father?" she asked as she stared through the two way mirror where a man who appeared to be her father was being interrogated. "Yes Agent Simmons. We'd been on his tail for a while and were finally able to bring him in. We thought you might be able to help us get him to tell us where his next crime is going to happen," a man who had introduced himself responded but she could barely think at the moment.

@deathtransformed : “ in your arms. “ 

they  don’t  do  this.      there’s  certain  lines  that  they’ve  always  toed,  of  course,  but  this?  this  is  something  entirely  new,  breaking  all  the  unspoken  rules  that’d  ever  been  put  in  place.  his  and  sherlock’s  relationship  had  never  exactly  been  …  labelable,  if  that  was  even  a  proper  word.  personal  space  had  long  been  thrown  out  the  window,  when  it  came  to  sherlock,  and  john  had  gotten  used  to  the  way  that  the  detective  would  constantly  crowd  into  his.  sherlock  had  been  gone  since  the  night  previous,  and  the  flat  had  still  been  devoid  of  his  presence  when  john  had  woken  this  morning.  john  had  thought  nothing  of  it  ⸻  while  sherlock’s  nocturnal  habits  were  sometimes  unusual  in  themselves,  they  too  had  been  grouped  in  with  the  usual  pile  of  things  that  john  had  come  to  accept  as  normal.

Marcus had gotten used to seeing Natalia every now and then, either out in the field or in the Red Room, but it was only when she came over for formal events that she really dressed up. He was 15 now, and would be 16 come the spring, and Natalia was grown well enough that most of the men in the room would look at her. Something about the fact she would come and speak to him above all the others made him want to smirk... However, he did his best to suppress that urge since he knew his friend would rather he didn't act like a small jerk.