consulting-detective-sh:

Anonymous: 
Word prompt: University (because I am a smart cookie and what to know more about your headcanon for this)

[Smart cookie indeed.]

Read More

consulting-detective-sh:

Anonymous: 
Word prompt: Flowers

[I don’t even know what flowers have to do with anything but…]

Read More

“Mr. Holmes,” the man drawled. Sherlock couldn’t remember for the life of him what his name was but it was no matter, he never cared anyway. They were all just hired snobs to clean after him in this damned house and any politeness directed at him was only done so because he could get any of them sacked on the spot should he want rid of them. He very much abused this power, if his parents would not pay attention to him (except to scold him) then the servants would have to. For now, he would just play his part in this ever so dysfunctional family, what else could he do?

Read More

A story, hmm…

Once upon a time in a land far, far away..

No, that beginning is ridiculous and much too cliche… Very

Let’s try this;

In a downtown London, there was a rather suspicious man who was always hiding in alley ways and whenever someone asked him something he would only stare for a moment and then reply with, ‘it’s an experiment.’

So what did the people do? People called the police and what did the police do? The police hunted the man down. After some stalking and running, the man finally turned to them and yelled at them.

The police were surprised and decided to see if they could trick the man into telling them if he was involved in any odd businesses. ‘Done anything suspicious lately?’ Oh the police were stupid. So he replied:

One of the police who thankfully was not stupid just looked at the other police officer who asked the dumbass question. The man just observed them quietly…

To be honest, I don’t really know where this story is going…

So…

The end?

Okay, well I tried. There’s your bedtime story using Sherlock gifs, anon!

Sleep well~ (I know it wasn’t supposed to be a bedtime story but fuck it!)

Everyday he said his prayers.

‘Dear God,’ the boy would mumble, ‘can I request this one simple thing?’ While he was not particularly religious, it was all his mind could come up with. There was no one he could talk to. He was isolated and alone. A simple request was not something he could muster from any human being he knew, so he turned to this figure. It was no longer about screaming for God to hear you, it was about anyone. Just anyone.
Someone to hear his cries for help as he scratched at the walls of his mind. The walls would constantly continue to close in on him and every inch was covered in his blood, he wanted to escape.

‘What was his request?’ one might ask. His only wish was to die as he did not seem to feel much living anyway.

Daily the boy would tear at his hair, hoping to somehow tear his soul at the process. Waking up in the morning was a task but he would also fear sleeping. Going to bed also became a task as he did not know what nightmares would come to haunt him that night. Still, sleep felt like a momentary escape from reality, no matter how much worse the nightmares were.

He would come to school and smile. Smile at his friends— or rather, ‘friends’ and his teachers. Those in his classes and perhaps a complete stranger to him. Everyone earned a smile from him. However, no one knew the things he did to himself. The scars that hide themselves under his long-sleeved cardigan, nor the burns that lined his thighs. Nor when the innocent gesture of his stretching hurt the bruises on his back and when what seemed as an innocent itch was him attempting to tear open his skin. The worst part that they did not know of was the permanent pain his mind was enslaved to. Every smile he gave broke him little bit by little bit.

While he appeared to be happy, there were still those who attempted to deprive him from his ‘happiness’. They would insult him and make play on words, ‘my aren’t you just gay?’ They would say to him. He would mentally snap back that them, I am not homosexual nor am I happy. Instead, he would let them push him around. None of them realizing they were already hurting the hurt. Breaking the broken. Killing the dead.

The boy would return home, smile at his mother and father and head up to his room. Nothing was wrong he would lie to himself and to others. He would play off his pain as if it were nothing and the thousand tears also being nothing. The thousand drops of blood. The thousand cries of help. All nothing.

It seemed the only way to keep on living was to feel nothing. One day he returned to school, no longer smiling. No longer making retorts in his mind. No longer… No longer being anything.

He no longer felt human.

He was no longer capable of smiling. He was no longer capable of crying. He was no longer capable—

He felt empty and when the same group of people came to push him around, he did nothing again. However, this time it was different. As they pushed at him, his body stayed limp and as they sneered at him, he would only stare back at them with an empty gaze.

Eventually, he forgot how love or feel at all. And grew a great fondness for the black after life.

Nothing left of the lad except a desolate shell of what once was. His desperation and love of death being all he carried with him. There was nothing left for him but death.

That was his only solution.

——-

The blood stained walls now a reality. His eyes wide open and rimmed with tears as he lay on the floor. Mouth gaping in a silent scream, his last cry for help escaping his throat moments before his demise.

‘Good bye’

“Do you know how to smile?”

A little girl once asked me this question, she and I had never met before in our lives and I was surprised when she confronted me. I gave her the best smile I could, it was a weak smile and she looked upset by it so I just looked at her. I was confused. Finally the little girl spoke up, “I can teach you how to smile, miss.” The only thing running through my head at that moment was, why the bloody hell would you teach me to smile? Why do I need to know how anyway? It doesn’t matter. And as if she could hear my thoughts, she laughed a little and took my hand in her little ones. “If you don’t know how to smile, how’re you going to know how to be happy or laugh? It’d be really said if nice things like that disappeared!” At this point I envied her. For being so happy. For having such a clean and hardly used mind.

This got me even more upset and I just looked away, a little ashamed that this six year old was going to try to teach me some life lessons. “I don’t want to see tears or pain anymore. And you look so hurt, I want to help pretty people like you smile, miss.” Her voice quivered and her smile diminished ever so slightly before returning. I was just astounded at what I was hearing. This little girl was so mature and honestly, I couldn’t believe it. I never thought of myself as pretty and no one ever seemed to care if I was in pain. Finally, I said something to her, “what makes you say that? How can you tell that I’m hurt? I’m not pretty either, what are you talking about, little girl?” She giggled a little and gripped my hand tighter, “I can see how sad you are in your eyes, you’ve got lovely brown eyes but the sadness makes it all foggy and cloudy and stuff. You’re very pretty, unlike others I seen, you’ve got a kind heart, lady. You’re really pretty, I’m kind of jealous. How about, for me teaching you how to smile, you teach me how to be caring!”

I honestly never thought of myself of the caring type, whenever someone came to me with a problem, I would give them blunt feedback. I could never beat around the bush or make things flowery. I was often considered rude and a bitch.

At this point I just wanted to ask her to leave me be but I couldn’t do that. I wanted to see her sweet smile a little longer, I wanted to learn from her. But I couldn’t stand what she was saying to me. Maybe because I thought they were all lies. Maybe because they were the painful truth. I didn’t know. I still don’t. “My ma always taught me that, no matter what you gotta smile. Cause when you smile, the whole world will smile back. No matter what’s happening, smiling tells yourself and tells everyone that things will be okay. I bet you’ve got a pretty smile. I bet no one’s seen it though.”

Before I could reply a women came behind her and tapped her shoulder. Obviously, her guardian. The women apologized to me and took her away and I just stared at the little girl as she waved at me. Once she was out of sight, tears started to form in my eyes and I didn’t know why. I sort of hated that little girl for being so happy. She had it easy, I thought. The little girl had a good life and had no right to tell me such things, I thought.

I was so bloody wrong. I regret every thought that went through my head to this very day.

What I didn’t know was that she went out of her way to make me smile because no one ever did the same for her. That little girl was an immigrant from China, who came to Canada all by herself. She was an orphan with cancer. Her parents beat and sexually abused her and were killed under an attack from the Chinese military. She was sent to foster care and then moved to another foster home in my area. But despite all that she smiled every day. She smiled because she didn’t want to see the same sadness in herself in others.

One little girl. One little girl changed my entire life.

To think people could treat her like that made me angry.

—-

A few days after I got a call. While I wasn’t very close to the girl, I had gotten a call from the police telling me that a foster mother wanted to tell me something and to meet at the local police station. So I went, I feared that something had happened to the little girl that I was painfully rude to. They had contacted me because the little girl wanted to talk to me again because while she was lying on her bed she told her foster mother that she wanted to see me again before she was gone. What do you mean? She’s gone? Where did she go? What happened?

She didn’t stay in her bed and rested like she was told to, she said she wouldn’t sleep until she got to see me.

Little Hui-Ying, aged six years old had died. She died from her cancer. She died wanting to see me. A stranger who did nothing except want her to fuck off. The abuse to her body made it weak against the disease and she passed away only three days after our meeting.

Everyday now, I smile for the little girl that died trying to change my life. And to me, she hasn’t died yet, physically maybe but not mentally. Hui-Ying lives in me. Now, I spend most of my time trying to help others. Because I don’t want to see the sadness in me, the sadness in Hui-Ying in others.