#impossibleximmortal

It wasn't like him to daydream but that's exactly what he did at the latest immolation crime scene he had been. Lestrade had to snap him out of his daze multiple times before he sent the consulting detective home for 'rest'. He didn't NEED rest. He knew this because last night he got a rare 8 hours of sleep and he had only been up for 4 hours.

Tugging his Belstaff coat tighter around him, he was just about to hail a cab when it dawned on him what had been different. There was this...humming. The most beautiful humming and melody he had ever heard. More beautiful than any piece of Bach he could play on his violin. Determined to find the player of this bane on his attention, Sherlock sets off towards the sound...

"Can I- Can I help you with something?"

"Nice blue box. Is it yours?" 

Send “Flesh” for my muses reaction to your muse pushing them up against a wall and biting their neck.

Hands are pushing, small and insistent yet no malice seems to cling to her person, so he let's her press him along the concrete, holds his breath because adrenaline buzzes, unwanted yet thrumming beneath his skin. She leans in and his lips begin to pulse... and then teeth sink into his skin. His eyes squeeze shut and his hands form fists in her hold, but make no move to break free. A gasp leaves his lips as she tests the waters, teeth sinking that much further.

It's the pain that helps him find his voice.

The Doctor softly kissed Clara,

long after the other couples had finished.

"I love you dear," he told her.

impossibleximmortal

Ｔｈｅ Ｄｏｃｔｏｒ ｇｒｉｎｎｅｄ ａｔ ｈｉｓ ｗｉｆｅ．

＂Ｍｅｒｒｙ Ｃｈｒｉｓｔｍａｓ， ｄｅａｒ，＂

ｈｅ ｓａｉｄ．