Datasets:

ghomasHudson

/

longdoc_paired_style_change

like 0

<|text|> unable to process more information than this shocking revelation. “Since when?” Besides, it’s not like I’m about to become classified myself. The arc reactor itself won’t make waves but my suit… “What were you doing in our warehouse? Were you looking for the drugs?” Each question is punctuated with punches and kicks, which if they were real interrogators, they would have realized is counterproductive to a talkative hostage. “Did the Polski’s send you?” I press my fingers into the skin of my cheeks, a strangled sob in my throat. God, this damn thing is driving me insane. I just wish I could either find an answer to this or die already but this waiting around to see what happens is killing me slowly. Steve coughs, stifling something that sounds suspiciously like a chuckle.  I narrow my eyes at him, but Pepper gets my attention before I can say anything. “Quit it. You’re grown men, stop acting like children,” she rolls her eyes as she takes a sip of her own scotch. “Though I would say, “last picked for dodgeball assassin.” Tony laughs uproariously as Clint casts hurt, puppy dog eyes in Natasha’s direction. Tony can’t help but launch into a description of all the cool tricks and toys he’s hidden away on her and Hawkeye’s floors and eventually just tells her he’ll give her the tour himself. Just as he’s about to drag her down to her quarters, his phone rings and he plucks his phone out of his pocket to frown. That’s not to say he’s not happy to see Thor when he shows up six weeks after their poker game with Bruce. They’re all gathered in the common room; it’s a lazy night, there honestly hasn’t been enough high-level threats to assemble the team in two whole months and, in that time, they’ve settled into a routine. Most nights, they eat dinner together before settling into the common room to watch a movie or play cards. There’s Movie Night and Poker Night every week and Tony’s honestly considering breaking out some of his old Dungeons and Dragons books because he can only clean Clint out so many times before he genuinely starts to feel bad. This night though, there’s no team-mandated game or threat. It occurs to Tony vaguely as he glances up from his tablet that it’s almost a domestic scene. Natasha curls into Clint’s side, reading a book with Russian scrawling over the cover as the archer plays a videogame on the TV. She glances up occasionally to give him a fond smile and snickers softly every time he dies horribly in the nuclear wasteland on the television. Bruce sits on the floor, hunched over the coffee table covered in papers and charts as he lets out an annoyed huff every once in a while before scratching something out. Tony smiles at the scene, his friends all gathered around him and he has a moment to enjoy the soft warmth that blossoms in his chest. Tony laughs at that and it’s clear and loud, honest. “I don’t know if anyone’s warned you yet, but it’s basically impossible to

<|output|> <|example|> unable to process more information than this shocking revelation. “Since when?” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “Quit it. You’re grown men, stop acting like children,” she rolls her eyes as she takes a sip of her own scotch. “Though I would say, “last picked for dodgeball assassin.” Tony laughs uproariously as Clint casts hurt, puppy dog eyes in Natasha’s direction. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 |

<|output|> <|example|> That’s not to say he’s not happy to see Thor when he shows up six weeks after their poker game with Bruce <|indexes|> 0 0 |

<|text|> get something through my thick skull.” Only a week later he stumbles into the living room still rubbing sleep out of his eyes and discovers Clint and Natasha snuggled up on the couch watching cartoons eating cereal in their pajamas. As always, constructive criticism, comments, and questions are enthusiastically encouraged! If you have any questions or just want to chat shoot me an email at omniscientphoenix@gmail.com or drop in on my Tumblr @doctorlissalou. “Many thanks, fair Bruce. I quite enjoy this tunic friend Anthony has bestowed upon me. A skilled artisan has woven the beloved likeness of dear Mjolnir into my garb!” Thor smiles proudly and Clint snickers as he watches Bruce turn a dark shade of red at the word fair. Oh yeah, Tony thinks, he and Nat are totally going to be playing matchmaker with these two. now-- Wait, no, Jesus Christ do not do that!” He stands up from the couch, running a hand through his hair he strides briskly towards the elevator. He’s waving his free hand around as he listens to the other person ramble and turns back towards the pair on the couch as he pulls his phone away from his ear. “Sorry, guys some intern’s about to start an apocalypse and I only employ morons apparently so I have to go handle it,” he rolls his eyes as if someone’s just broken the toaster, not a caused a potential catastrophe. Tony doesn’t respond, just gives him a winning smile and raises his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry birdbrain, you forced my hand. You keep buying My Little Pony episodes on my account and it’s really fucking up my recommendations list,” he clasps a hand to his heart and continues earnestly, “I am a man of science and you are going to make their sad little algorithms explode if you keep giving it whiplash by buying children’s shows and explosive ammunition in the same purchase,” he pauses for a second and puts a finger to his trademark goatee. “Actually, never mind Clint, I am almost certain that means you are, in fact, a serial killer and I should definitely never let you buy anything under my name ever again because I do not want that evidence being traced back to me.” as he bumps into his mug, coffee sloshing down his shirt. Steve doesn’t seem to notice though, just clings to him tight and the genius is starting to suspect SHIELD agents must be goddamn touch-starved because they sure seem to hug him a lot. That first day is blissful, Tony thinks, pressed too close to Steve on the couch as they marathon Star Wars. I'll be real, this story was supposed to be a short song!fic, but accidentally turned into some overly long saga of Tony!Whump. “I’m not sure I believe you soldier. But, thanks that- that means a lot.” Steve just shoots him a winning smile and squeezes the hand still twined over Tony’s heart before he pulls back and stands. Clint laughs back and Tony smiles at the sound--pure and clear, it doesn’t sound tainted by restrained tears anymore. “How about we get you

<|output|> <|example|> get something through my thick skull.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> He’s waving his free hand around as he listens to the other person ramble and turns back towards the pair on the couch as he pulls his phone away from his ear <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “Many thanks, fair Bruce <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> Oh yeah, Tony thinks, he and Nat are totally going to be playing matchmaker with these two <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> “Actually, never mind Clint, I am almost certain that means you are, in fact, a serial killer and I should definitely never let you buy anything under my name ever again because I do not want that evidence being traced back to me <|indexes|> 3 3 <|example|> Oh yeah, Tony thinks, he and Nat are totally going to be playing matchmaker with these two <|indexes|> 4 4 <|example|> com or drop in on my Tumblr @doctorlissalou <|indexes|> 5 5 |

<|text|> to bed, Barton. And I’ll see if I can get some poor Postmate to bring you some PopTarts at ass o’clock on a Tuesday.” “Alright boys!” Tony claps his hands together and Natasha clears her throat. Tony rolls his eyes as he corrects himself. “Boys and lady. Stop flirting for just a second so we can pick out a movie.” Bruce turns an even deeper shade of red at that and Tony snickers a bit as Thor gives him a confused look. Clint tries to keep up the pretense of being mock offended, until he gives up and smirks. “Well, as long as you’re aware I am a gold-digger, by willingly living with me, you have now absolved me of any blame for strange charges on your credit card,” he sets his cereal bowl down to shrug and Tony looks up to yell at the ceiling. , free from all the negative connotations tangled up with New York from his childhood and literal wormholes. Thor smiles widely, the previous sadness draining out of his face. “I know nothing of these so-called ‘flicks of chicks,’ however I trust you greatly in matters of the heart, dear Anthony.” So he makes his way up the elevator to the common room kitchen groggily, scrubbing at his face to try and wake up. He does have coffee in his workshop, but DUM-E had decided to douse his Sumatra in motor oil yesterday morning so he decides he’d rather make the trip upstairs than possibly be the first person to die at the hands of an AI with the intelligence of toddler. Tony’s not expecting the hug that Steve leans across the table to snatch him up in and he lets out a soft Thor flushes pink at the question and he rubs a hand through his wet hair. “I was delivering Lady Jane back to her home on Midgard when she…” he pauses trying to find the right words for a moment, “I believe the term your people use is ‘broke up’ with me. I must confess, this development came as a bit of a shock. I have never been ‘dumped’ before, as your interwebs put it. However, Lady Darcy assured me the only remedy for the ending of a courtship is one’s shield brothers and something she calls ‘ice cream.’ So I thought I might inquire as to where I might encounter this magical tonic you call ice cream.” Tony just shakes his head at them and cracks a smile as the elevator slides open to reveal a soaking wet Thor, Mjolnir in hand. Sleep starts pulling him under and for the first time in a while he doesn’t even think about the nightmares that might haunt him tonight. Instead, he gives a small smile to the two men curled up on the loveseat and the spies spooning on the couch. “I’m so sorry, Thor.” The Asgardian nods solemnly at that, his eyes grateful for Tony’s comfort even though the genius can make out the dark haze of grief in his expression. Tony just rolls his eyes. “Well Barton showed up drunk at 3 a.m. and ate all

<|output|> <|example|> to bed, Barton. And I’ll see if I can get some poor Postmate to bring you some PopTarts at ass o’clock on a Tuesday.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> “Boys and lady <|indexes|> 0 0 0 <|example|> ” Tony just shakes his head at them and cracks a smile as the elevator slides open to reveal a soaking wet Thor, Mjolnir in hand <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 <|example|> “Well, as long as you’re aware I am a gold-digger, by willingly living with me, you have now absolved me of any blame for strange charges on your credit card,” he sets his cereal bowl down to shrug and Tony looks up to yell at the ceiling <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> to bed, Barton <|indexes|> 3 <|example|> “I know nothing of these so-called ‘flicks of chicks,’ however I trust you greatly in matters of the heart, dear Anthony <|indexes|> 4 <|example|> And I’ll see if I can get some poor Postmate to bring you some PopTarts at ass o’clock on a Tuesday <|indexes|> 5 5 <|example|> Stop flirting for just a second so we can pick out a movie <|indexes|> 6 |

<|text|> my PopTarts so this is considerably better. I’m not gonna make you leave just to make you haul your ass back through Manhattan traffic later.” “I mean, I know you only said you wanted to hang around for a few days, but you’re welcome to stay as long as you want. I mean Clint and Natasha basically moved in already so-” the billionaire shrugs, “It’d be nice to have someone around who doesn’t look at me like I’m speaking in tongues when I try to explain just how cool my new inertial dampeners are.” The AI doesn’t reply immediately. “I am… unsure, sir. It seems to be a localized meteorological event, but I’m finding no reports of it throughout the city.” Avengers tower. And you are an Avenger. For some reason, I honestly cannot fathom," the archer grumbles at that, but Tony shushes him with a comforting pat to his head.  "But you do have a whole floor that I’m never going to use because I pretty much exclusively inhabit the workshop and the kitchen soo-” he trails off as the other man stares. “Yeah, man. You can stay if you want to. It gets kinda-,” he sighs looking for the right way to phrase it, one that’s slightly less pathetic. He pauses a second and bites the bullet. “Lonely. It gets lonely what with Pepper gone for SI and Happy’s down in Malibu being her forehead of security and Rhodey’s always in some desert somewhere hunting terrorists or whatever so,” he pauses, clears his throat a bit. “Yeah, I’d like it if you stuck around a while.” There’s an awkward pause that’s broken when Clint throws his arms around his neck, sloppy and reeking of booze. The genius stiffens for a second, he doesn’t get touched like this very often but he gingerly raises his arms to wrap them around his teammate. Sure, New York is fine and Pepper loves dragging him to Broadway on Friday nights, but Malibu has been his home for a very long time. He’d chosen the sunny California city as the new headquarters of Stark Industries three weeks after his parents died and he couldn’t stand the suffocating emptiness of the Stark Mansion a second longer. Instead he founded a new headquarters in the sun and built his dream home into the side of cliff where he could hear waves breaking on the rocks below as he stared up at his ceiling night after sleepless night. Stark Tower was beautiful, sleek and modern, everything he’d wanted it to be, but nothing could compare to the comfort and safety of his workshop, his bots flitting around him as he revolutionized the future of technology. Or, more accurately, invented a sentient toaster because he’d maybe dranken a little too much of his emergency workshop scotch. Regardless, Malibu was of fungus exactly?” He furrows his brow as he listens to the person on the other end and his face twists in alarm. “What do you mean he’s Tony successfully stifles his laugh at the confession, but Clint’s an asshole because he starts guffawing and snorting behind him.

<|output|> <|example|> my PopTarts so this is considerably better. I’m not gonna make you leave just to make you haul your ass back through Manhattan traffic later.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> my PopTarts so this is considerably better <|indexes|> 0 0 |

<|text|> Thankfully, there’s a thump and a crash as the archer lets out an indignant squawk and Tony makes a mental note to buy Natasha something nice. Or maybe he’ll design her some of that hallucinogenic lipstick River Song’s always using on hapless guards in Doctor Who. His mind immediately starts suggesting an entire line of deadly lipsticks and he wonders if maybe that’s something SI should put on the market. Though, he guesses Pepper would probably shoot that down, because of liability or whatever. His mind’s still suggesting chemical formulas in ten shades of fabulous when he turns his attention back to Thor and gives his shoulder another comforting squeeze. importantly, why the fuck are you desecrating my PopTarts in my own goddamn house?” Honestly, he's primarily amused.  He hasn’t seen anyone in the last couple days so a little company isn’t exactly unwelcome.  On the other hand, he can’t quite fathom why Clint has decided to a) break into his house and b) rip open every box of PopTarts and then proceed to bury himself in them. The rest of the team starts filtering into Avengers Tower a month after SHIELD falls. Clint shows up first, which surprises Tony initially, but as he gets to know the archer better he’s simply surprised he hadn’t found the assassin snuggled up in the Tower vents with all Tony’s blankets one day. “Oh darling. Why didn’t you tell me how you felt. You give the warm fuzzies in all my favorite places.” “Thanks, Tony. That really means,” Hawkeye trails off and clutches tighter. “Just thanks. Thank you.” The other man pulls back a little so he look him in the face and confusion and that warm, gooey feeling from Tony’s gut earlier is echoed back in the blonde’s face. “They were wrong about you, you know.” He says this softly, almost to himself, leaning back on his heels unsteadily and Tony is way too sober to have a heart to heart with a drunk off his ass assassin, but he can’t help voicing the question. “Thank you, friend Anthony. I do believe Lady Darcy was correct when she told me my shield brothers would lift this weight from my chest.” “Hey Jarvis. Pull up the blueprints for floors 56 through 62. And find a good contractor. I know some people that are going to need a guest room for a while.” Steve turns a little pink at that, “Sorry, didn’t realize it was so early. Serum makes it hard to sleep sometimes.” He shrugs a little, embarrassed. “I can come back later if you want.” Tony simply raises an eyebrow at him, “Because she is useful. You are a grown man who eats Lucky Charms on my couch in the middle of the day.” “Jesus, Rogers you can’t go around lurking in my kitchen like that. I’ve got a heart condition you know.” Tony’s eyes slowly adjust to the dim light of the city filtering into the kitchen and as he squints into the darkness he can make out the familiar form of Steve Rogers at his kitchen table, sitting somewhat hunched over

<|output|> <|example|> Thankfully, there’s a thump and a crash as the archer lets out an indignant squawk and Tony makes a mental note to buy Natasha something nice. Or maybe he’ll design her some of that hallucinogenic lipstick River Song’s always using on hapless guards in Doctor Who. His mind immediately starts suggesting an entire line of deadly lipsticks and he wonders if maybe that’s something SI should put on the market. Though, he guesses Pepper would probably shoot that down, because of liability or whatever. His mind’s still suggesting chemical formulas in ten shades of fabulous when he turns his attention back to Thor and gives his shoulder another comforting squeeze. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> Or maybe he’ll design her some of that hallucinogenic lipstick River Song’s always using on hapless guards in Doctor Who <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> ” Tony simply raises an eyebrow at him, “Because she is useful <|indexes|> 1 1 |

<|text|> the surface. “You’ll find him, Steve. I know you will,” he says it to comfort him, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t believe it. “I can ask JARVIS to help out if you’d like. He can’t punch HYDRA dickheads quite like you can, but he does have access to a possibly illegal amount of satellites.” At that, the tightness goes out of Steve’s smile and morphs into something more relaxed and true. He has JARVIS direct Thor to his room (he’s preemptively stocked the closets with some Earth clothes for the god should he ever decide to ditch the alien get up) and orders his AI to compile a list of sappy romances and order a ludicrous amount of ice cream. “I never knew it until I met Stark here but in the last seven days I have discovered that apparently I’m a gold-digger and will flatter this man until he agrees to a) let me borrow one of his ludicrously expensive cars or b) makes me new things I can make explode on the bad guys.” “Yeah, it- it hurt like…” he sighs, tries to find the words and decides there aren’t any to describe those jagged glass memories of saws in his chest, “It hurt like someone was tearing me apart from the inside. I thought-” he gulps, “I thought they were tearing my heart out, at first, and I couldn’t even breathe enough to scream.  And- well, it never stopped hurting. The reactor it- I designed it over and over again, but it always hurt, hurt my lungs and my chest and my ribs and I thought the pain would go away when it was out, but-” he lets out a harsh breath and presses an unsteady hand to the mottled scar tissue painting his sternum, “I still feel it sometimes. And I know it’s not real, it’s just in my head, but I feel it, like I can’t breathe again, like, like- they’re tearing me open again. I let them take it out.  I never wanted to be in an operating room again- but, I let them take it out.  And I thought the pain would go away, but it didn’t. And now instead of a medical technological marvel in my chest, I’ve just got all this ugliness ruining Adonis-like chest.” The room’s awkwardly silent at that. They’d been fighting off the trickster god’s alien invasion just a few months ago after all. He knows for a fact that Clint’s certainly not a big fan. But, Tony can be the better man here; after Obadiah he knows what it’s like to mourn for someone who’s betrayed you. So Tony’s the one who breaks the silence, bringing a comforting hand to Thor’s shoulder. So he’s exhausted, but he lets Tony deal him in and coach him through the finer rules of Texas Hold’em. They eat entirely too much Chinese food and they’re all laughing as they drink and watch Clint make increasingly ludicrous bluffs as he gets drunker and drunker. , with all the shit we do and everything. But, I don’t know, man. I really,

<|output|> <|example|> the surface. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> They’d been fighting off the trickster god’s alien invasion just a few months ago after all <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> He has JARVIS direct Thor to his room (he’s preemptively stocked the closets with some Earth clothes for the god should he ever decide to ditch the alien get up) and orders his AI to compile a list of sappy romances and order a ludicrous amount of ice cream <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> The reactor it- I designed it over and over again, but it always hurt, hurt my lungs and my chest and my ribs and I thought the pain would go away when it was out, but-” he lets out a harsh breath and presses an unsteady hand to the mottled scar tissue painting his sternum, “I still feel it sometimes <|indexes|> 2 |

<|text|> really liked her and I thought maybe she could actually handle, well, me and all the shit I do, Clint’s howling with laughter and Tony can make out the sound of Natasha snorting in the background. Bruce laughs and looks around the space, the home Tony built with him in mind, and he smiles over at his friend. “Yeah, well they do. And, instead, of those ass crackers the Catholics use they just raid your pantry for seven fucking boxes of the same disgusting fucking flavor.” “I’m sorry, buddy. You’re having a rough week aren’t you?” He successfully contains his snicker, because, while it is admittedly pretty damn funny that a 1,500 year old god is standing in his living room sulking after his first breakup, he likes to think he knows when to lay off the teasing and just be a good friend. Though, Rhodey would probably disagree with that. In his defense though, the good Colonel thinks he’s found “the one” every six months and it’s kind of hard to muster up too much sympathy when he shows up on Tony’s doorstep puppy-dog eyed and whining about the latest succubus to break his heart. Whereas, about thirty seconds before he was disgruntled about finding a drunk archer on his floor, now his heart floods with some warm, sticky sensation he would almost dub affection if that weren’t so irrevocably out of his emotional repertoire. As it is, he feels himself soften to the archer and he walks over to take a spot on the floor next to the drunk man. He lets out a laugh, the sound disbelieving and wet at the edges. But Steve just shakes his head and presses his hand tighter, fingers twining with the engineer’s to rest gentle against the scarred flesh. “Your scars are beautiful, Tony. Just like the rest of you, but even more so,” he lifts his hand from the engineer’s knee, to press it against his cheek and Tony blames his sleep-muffled mind for the way he leans into the touch. “Because you survived. You survived all that, you lived through that pain and you just got stronger. You looked in the face of evil and you didn’t run. And, trust me, I’ve seen it my whole life; most men they face that evil, they stare it down and they run for the hills. But, you-” he pauses, eyes twinkling in the dark with earnestness, “you built yourself an armor and you fought. You fought like hell, so no one else would ever have to face it again. And that’s what those scars are. All your strength. All your bravery and your fight. Everything that makes you a hero, painted on your skin. I saw it when you flew through that portal and I see it now. And that’s beautiful. You’re beautiful, Tony.” The AI’s right, rain patters against the windows now and Tony can’t choke back the laughter that bursts from his chest. Clint and Natasha both shoot him confused glares, but Bruce seems to get it because he gives him a wry grin. person or store or whatever

<|output|> <|example|> really liked her and I thought maybe she could actually handle, well, me and all the shit I do, <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> ” “I’m sorry, buddy <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> Though, Rhodey would probably disagree with that <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> “Your scars are beautiful, Tony <|indexes|> 2 2 |

<|text|> in the entirety of New York who has PopTarts for you to desecrate and then He moves in officially a couple days later and he doesn’t miss the smile Tony gives him as he helps pile boxes into the elevator. It’s an hour later that Tony gives up on cooking breakfast ever again, because everyone’s giggling and dripping breakfast condiments all over his floor and Steve’s scolding him about wasting food with a twinkle in his eye.  So he smiles and orders waffles and when they all trudge into the common room, freshly showered and dressed in clean pajamas for breakfast, it’s declared a lazy day for the sake of Steve bonding time. The next morning a hungover Tony gives the radiation expert a tour of his own personal floor, half of which is taken up by Bruce’s private lab and features a heavily reinforced Hulk-out room. When the engineer’s done showing him all the personalized touches to his living space, he turns and gives Bruce an uncharacteristically shy smile. “Bullshit, Stark!” Hawkeye’s yelling as he slaps his cards on the table and Tony’s laughing as he pulls the pool of chips in the center of the table towards himself. PopTart flavor for just a second and try and get an explanation as to what you’re doing here drunk at three a.m. on a Tuesday, Katniss?” “And you couldn’t have, I don’t know, waited until the rest of the world was awake to announce you’re my new roommate?” They all watch the rom-com in companionable silence, Bruce occasionally pointing out medical inaccuracies and Tony snarking at particularly bad lines of cheesy early 2000’s dialogue. An hour in Bruce nods off, head lolling on Thor’s shoulder as the demigod gives him a soft, secret smile. Barton lets out a soft snore from Natasha’s lap and Tony rolls his eyes. His teammates are all sleeping on the couch like a bunch of kids at a sleepover. Instead of waking them up to go to their own beds, he pulls his blanket tight as he stretches languid and cat like on the sofa. His eyes flutter closed as he thinks he should go back to his own bed at least. He’s too old for sleepovers, though now that he thinks about it, he’s not sure he’s ever actually had a sleepover except in the most adult sense of the word. Instead of moving, he gives one last glance to the loveseat where Thor spreads out across the small couch and then shifts Bruce to hold him against his chest and the god’s eyes shut tight as the scientist lets out a soft sigh against the Mjolnir shirt. The archer cracks his eyes open wider than that. “Even though I desecrated your PopTarts?” he sounds sad as he slurs out the question, as if he’d thought Tony was only approaching to throw him out the door. The doctor laughs at that and shakes his head. “Um, it’s been awhile. I really doubt I’ll be taking anyone’s money if you deal me in. I should just get to bed, really,” he shuffles awkwardly and Tony scoffs and grabs

<|output|> <|example|> in the entirety of New York who has PopTarts for you to desecrate and then <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> “Um, it’s been awhile <|indexes|> 0 0 0 <|example|> So he smiles and orders waffles and when they all trudge into the common room, freshly showered and dressed in clean pajamas for breakfast, it’s declared a lazy day for the sake of Steve bonding time <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> m <|indexes|> 2 |

<|text|> his wrist to drag him over to the coffee table. When he looks back at the man, he looks a bit shocked. “So I can, like, stay here?” he sounds bewildered as if he fully expected Tony to send his ass packing. The sun’s starting to come up, painting the sky soft pinks and tangerines with the first stained glass light of morning. It lights up Steve’s face, settling a halo of golden light through the floss of his hair and Tony feels his breathe freeze in his chest for a moment before he catches himself. Natasha smirks, “I think he’s onto you, Barton.” She then turns a more sincere smile towards Stark. “So boss, what’s this Barton tells me about a private gym on my floor.” They argue for five minutes straight over the best rom-com for a broken heart and eventually come to an agreement when Natasha strangely suggests The engineer smiles around his coffee cup in the warm light streaming through the windows. “Deal, Widow. Beat up Robin Hood for me if he tries to buy My Little Pony on my account again and I will show you to your floor.” It certainly doesn’t help when Pepper turns down his offer to move to New York with him with a sad smile. He understands, when she’s crying and telling him it’s too much and she can’t handle the nightmares and knowing the next time he puts that suit on he might never come back. He’s expecting it when she sadly tells him she can’t make him choose between being a superhero and being Tony just shrugs. “Hey, man, I mean it. Loki was a bag of cats when I met him, but I bet if I met him on a day when he wasn’t trying to invade my planet we probably would’ve gotten along. We would’ve pranked the shit out of Clint, you know.” time I walk into that med lab of yours? That’s fucking right Jerry! Repeat after me--Stark Industries will not, and “Whoa there, big guy!” he laughs, grimacing a bit at the soaking wet clothes wetting his front. Thor gently sets him back on his feet, before pulling back to give the engineer a wide, toothy smile. “What are you doing here, buddy? I thought you were guarding Loki back in Asgard.” Tony responds with a mock offended face, “Oh, god Barton I never knew you were just using me for my money and sick SHIELD prototypes. Except, yeah, you showed up one night because you were too broke for a three-dollar box of PopTarts and ended up never leaving because you decided you wanted to make JARVIS sneak all your snacks onto my grocery list. So, yes, Merida I realize that you are a terrible, terrible platonic gold-digger, who wants to eat me out of penthouse and home. Who then invited over another couch-surfer secret spy friend over for a super secret spy sleepover, so they could eat all my food again.” do, and I guess she really couldn’t. Or maybe she could handle the Avengers and she just couldn’t handle Steve just smirks at him and shrugs,

<|output|> <|example|> his wrist to drag him over to the coffee table. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> “So I can, like, stay here?” he sounds bewildered as if he fully expected Tony to send his ass packing <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> We would’ve pranked the shit out of Clint, you know <|indexes|> 1 1 |

<|text|> “That’s alright. I’ll have plenty of time to convince you while we’re looking for Bucky.” So the truth falls out of him. Too much, too honest and raw, but he can’t stop it through the exhausted early morning haze of his brain when his lips fall open. He doesn’t turn on the lights when he makes his way into the kitchen, just sets about making a pot of coffee, eyes drooping closed as he shuffles around in the dark. He doesn’t notice the man sitting at the kitchen table in the dark until he clears his throat softly. When Steve finally shows up it’s only five days after their impromptu sleepover (though Thor has been in much better spirits the last couple days, if Tony does say so himself). your PopTarts, Stark. These are unholy abominations under God. Cherry, man, seriously? You have seven boxes of PopTarts and they’re all the same terrible flavor. Desecrating,” he scoffs. “I could use these as the Eucharist for a Satanic first communion and they’d still be just as abominable as when I started.” Tony can’t help the loud bark of laughter that escapes his throat as the archer has the decency to look a bit ashamed of the words that just left his mouth. And no one would blame him for the way he smiles as he falls asleep that night, replaying the earnest blue of Steve’s eyes as he called him beautiful. Bruce smiles over at the archer as Tony rolls his eyes, before calling back over his shoulder, “It’s not my fault you suck at poker, Barton,” he turns back to Bruce with a twinkle in this eye though. “You really should play, green machine. You’re too nice, which means you’ll be able to bluff Nat out of all her money before she knows what hit her.” “Shit!” Tony jumps and swivels around, grabbing the first thing he finds on the counter to use as a weapon and brandishing it defensively in front of him. “Friends! Shield brothers!” he booms as he strides across the floor to Tony, dropping his hammer to the floor so he can scoop the engineer up in a vice-tight hug. “You look nice, Thor,” Bruce says quietly from the couch and Tony lifts an eyebrow as Thor turns a soft shade of pink. Huh, he thinks. Well that’s not what he expected. Bruce has a crush the god apparently seems to reciprocate. Maybe he’ll rope Nat into playing matchmaker with him. Not that the archer has any right to judge, because Tony sees how fast he snatches up the Black Widow Cherry, even though the red-head chooses Stark Raving Hazelnuts over the Bullseye Brownie. Which is how Tony ends up with Captain Americone, making some gleefully immature mind part of his mind point out he’s basically eating Steve Rogers. And while Captain Righteous makes him want to punch him in perfect teeth sometimes, he can also admit that when Roger’s can take a step off his high horse he has his charms. In addition to being quite literally a perfect human specimen, he might add. So, yeah, you could say if

<|output|> <|example|> “That’s alright. I’ll have plenty of time to convince you while we’re looking for Bucky.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> Too much, too honest and raw, but he can’t stop it through the exhausted early morning haze of his brain when his lips fall open <|indexes|> 0 0 |

<|text|> Tony was given the chance he would , which I get, I’m” he gestures at himself and makes a face eyes squeezed shut. He sighs and cuts off. Tony can’t help but laugh at that but he’s not alone, the rest of their friends join in as Thor’s face furrows in confusion. “Could you please block charges for any Amazon orders Clint made on my account in say oh, the last three days?” He turns and sticks his tongue out at the archer who simply looks horrified, and Natasha shakes with silent laughter. “I’m a master assassin too,” the archer whines as he shoves at Tony, who dodges him easily and snickers. “Everything. You’re supposed to be, I don’t know-,” he rubs at his neck, “like, a total fucking asshole or whatever.” Instead, he feels warm and safe and much too full of ice cream.  He smiles to himself as he falls asleep; nothing for a broken heart like friends and ice cream. Tony looks up at that and his face breaks into a brilliant smile. “Brucie-bear! My science bro, how are you?” He pulls himself up and crosses the floor to pull the nuclear scientist into a bone-crushing hug. Bruce wraps his arms around the man and smiles as Tony pulls back. Tony pulls his hand back and clears his throat (because he’s suddenly feeling hot and he’s starting to think he probably looks as pink as Bruce when Thor calls him ‘fair’). “It’s not a problem. JARVIS is already programmed to search the globe for any signs of enhanced individuals. It shouldn’t be a problem to tweak the algorithm to search for a cybernetically enhanced supersoldier. They tend to get noticed eventually.” They’re not exactly friends yet, even though Steve has apologized for the fight on the Helicarrier a couple times since. But Tony can’t stop himself from bringing up a comforting hand to the supersoldier’s shoulder reassuringly. Steve glances up a little surprised, before he gives Tony a tight smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. In the moment however, it’s rather disconcerting finding Hawkeye drunk on his pantry floor at three a.m. on a Tuesday. He hears noise in the kitchen, and goes to investigate, snatching up a rolling pin on the way. While, he's more than confident JARVIS would alert him to an intruder, he’s been kidnapped just an Which is how the team finds them, an hour later, Tony gleefully lobbing eggs at  Steve as the captain returns fire with tomatoes. The soldier chuckles and scolds him about proper diet for a growing team--Tony can’t suppress his eye roll, as if those giants need to grow even more--but, acquiesces to a healthier option. “Oh great. Is this like some new torture method Fury’s working on? Every week a new SHIELD agent shows up to get Fruit Loops in my couch.” can stay as long as she wants,” Tony chuckles making his way to the kitchen to brew his first pot of coffee. “I’m not too sure about you, birdbrain.” He’s pleasantly surprised to find a fresh, steaming pot already brewed with his favorite mug waiting next to it. He pours a cup black,

<|output|> <|example|> Tony was given the chance he would <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> But Tony can’t stop himself from bringing up a comforting hand to the supersoldier’s shoulder reassuringly <|indexes|> 0 0 0 <|example|> ” Instead, he feels warm and safe and much too full of ice cream <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> “Oh great <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> “I’m not too sure about you, birdbrain <|indexes|> 3 |

<|text|> spoons in what is probably an unhealthy amount of sugar and makes his way back over to the couch to join the two super spies. “Thanks for the coffee whoever.” “Yes, I will ever so kindly ensure you don’t die on my pantry floor even if you desecrate every last goddamn pastry in this entire tower,” Tony chuckles. “But you might want to go to your bedroom on your floor so you can sleep all this,” he gestures vaguely to Clint, “off.” So after the Mandarin and the surgery and digging his bots out of the rubble of his home, he arrives in New York, alone. It’s only then that he finally manages to get caught up with the news and he stands in still horror when he watches the footage of the Helicarrier plunging into the Potomac. He gives Steve a call, only to informed by a kind nurse that he’s in the hospital, that he’s stable and she’ll have the super soldier give him a call when he’s conscious. Natasha, Clint, Steve--all SHIELD agents--and he feels cool dread pool in his stomach as he hopes that they all made it safely off that flying deathtrap before it plunged into the river. Instead of giving into the fluttering panic rushing through his veins, he goes to the workshop. And Tony likes that. The promise of more time with Steve in the warm sanctuary of his lab. So he shakes his head and smiles. “That would be great! I mean-,” he tampers his enthusiasm somewhat, seemingly remembering his forties’ manners, “If it’s not too much trouble. That would be real swell of you, Tony.” His smile’s still soft and sweet, like the one from before when he’d seemed surprised Tony would make him coffee. The soft pink bow of his lips and the flash of perfect white teeth in the dark makes something in the engineer’s stomach do a flip. He swears he sees Steve make a guilty expression in the dark, but the coffee maker lets out a soft beep letting him know it’s ready and he turns to make himself a cup. “Nah, you’re more like the passable assassin. Junior-Varsity assassin? I don’t know Nat, what kind of man-killer is birdbrain over here?” He’s smirking as he lifts a glass of scotch to his lips and Clint shoves him successfully this time, sloshing alcohol down the billionaire’s grease-stained tee as the dark haired man lets out an indignant squak. . They settle in, covered in fuzzy blankets (sue him; he likes to be warm), Ben & Jerry’s in hand.  Tony can't help but make note of how Thor chooses the amount at this point. And as much as Tony Stark enjoys some light bondage and spanking, he is considerably less into it when it's terrorists and criminals wielding the zip-ties. Not that he would ever use zip-ties on someone--he’s not a sadist--no, he owns a lovely collection of fuzzy handcuffs and silk ties for that purpose, thank you very much. Tony rolls his eyes as he takes a sip of his coffee and Nat laughs. “Jesus, Clint, was Laura so

<|output|> <|example|> spoons in what is probably an unhealthy amount of sugar and makes his way back over to the couch to join the two super spies. “Thanks for the coffee whoever.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> ” “Yes, I will ever so kindly ensure you don’t die on my pantry floor even if you desecrate every last goddamn pastry in this entire tower,” Tony chuckles <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> ” “Yes, I will ever so kindly ensure you don’t die on my pantry floor even if you desecrate every last goddamn pastry in this entire tower,” Tony chuckles <|indexes|> 1 1 |

<|text|> bad you’re trying to get into Stark’s pants now?” “--you’ll get your geriatric behind tossed in the can for statutory,” Steve retorted, and then sighed. “Area clear of civilians. Hawkeye, maybe try a sonic arrow. Widow, let’s get SHIELD’s containment unit closer. Iron Man, you know dealing with fans with a pain in the ass.” When he came back to himself, Steve had moved about twelve inches to the left, and settled face down into the mattress, totally wiped. Tony sympathized. He turned to look at him, only to find Steve was watching him already. His eyes were heavy, and there was a strange look on his face, an absent, curious expression. It was the silence that broke him — Tony openeed his mouth before his brain could stop him, said, “I wouldn’t have— I wasn’t planning to—” He sucked in an unsteady breath. Go for broke, said the very very stupid voice in his head, and Tony said, “It’s you. It’s only you, Steve. There’s nobody else, not for me, you might as well—” know the truth, he tried to say, but between one breath and the next, Steve strode up to him, caught the base of his skull with a grip tighter than death, slotted their open mouths together, and his touch obliterated the rest of the world. is an open bar too, sweetheart,” Tony teased, but Steve flushed a little more, saying, “We’re gonna— we’re gonna ignore that,” signalling the bartender over. “What are you drinking?” The contact photo was flashing on his screen — Marissa Gold, Drubaker and Gold — and, shit, shit, Marissa was who had been planning to take with him to the charity auction tonight, on account of how they both had been invited anyway, and she was sarcastic and fun and conveniently gay, not that too many people were aware of that last fact. “A peacekeeping force, or so the ambassador tells me,” Tony managed to reply, and then George was looking up with some alarm, and a hand was slapping Tony in the shoulder, and a too-familiar voice was saying, “Tony! There you are!” “Hey,” Tony said, and suddenly this was— this was excruciating. It wasn't like Steve liked him, not even a little; you could fuck someone and still loathe them, Tony knew that better than anyone, had learned that lesson the hard way more than once. Tony could feel the way his heart rate flew, the incandescent rage pouring off his skin. His smirk died. “Do you see me fucking laughing, Rogers?” Tony looked up from his StarkPad, and found Steve looking down at him, smiling and golden, and a little bit mussed, a square-cut crystal tumbler of what looked like whiskey in his hand. Tony bucked against him, clutched those impossible shoulders, whispered, “Fuck, oh fuck, Steve, baby, you have to— you need to stop—” Steve's expression shuttered then, sudden and hard, the crack of it almost audible. “I’m sure you will,” he had said softly, and that was that, that was the end of it, Steve had walked out of the door with nothing else left to say, and Tony

<|output|> <|example|> bad you’re trying to get into Stark’s pants now?” <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> “--you’ll get your geriatric behind tossed in the can for statutory,” Steve retorted, and then sighed. “Area clear of civilians. Hawkeye, maybe try a sonic arrow. Widow, let’s get SHIELD’s containment unit closer. Iron Man, you know dealing with fans with a pain in the ass.” <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 |

<|output|> <|example|> His smirk died <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> It was the silence that broke him — Tony openeed his mouth before his brain could stop him, said, “I wouldn’t have— I wasn’t planning to—” He sucked in an unsteady breath <|indexes|> 1 1 |

<|text|> had fought to remain standing. “Hey, yourself,” he said carefully. It wasn’t like Steve to come looking for him. He wondered what this was about. Steve was too tall for the usual thing, the grabbing-by-the-neck, and the softly murmured dirty talk, the lazy kissing in the backseat of a limo, maybe some champagne and some moonlight to help things along. And besides, Tony didn't think the usual thing would work on Steve anyway. It wasn't that they knew each other that well, because they didn't, but there was something about fighting side-by-side surrounded by giant radioactive penguin bots in Central Park, that fine-tuned your ability to see past the bullshit. “I had some ideas,” Steve murmured, and their voices were so quiet, even though JARVIS had probably activated the locks, and they had the whole floor to themselves anyway. Stupid, stupid, you fucking— He wants to leave. Let the man leave in peace, you pathetic, needy idiot. There were couches out on the deck, near the fire pit, and Tony nudged Steve down next to him, which the good Captain took as invitation to, once more, shove his face into Tony’s neck. Not that Tony minded. The problem was how much Tony “Figures,” Tony murmured, going back to his phone. Steve meanwhile was leaning farther and farther backward, to take in the last thirty or so floors above them, and the forty foot antenna above that, bending like a goddamn limbo player over the edge of the balcony, and then his foot skidded forward, and— Come here and find out, Tony wanted to say, but the words had dried up in his throat. He drained the rest of his scotch. And then TOny felt Steve’s mouth rub against his skin. “Steve?” he asked quietly, trying not to tense up. “So they’re deploying from Incirlik?” George asked Tony, who nodded, setting his phone down on the bartop, and pulling up a holodisplay of the globe, zooming in on Kazakhstan, the vast barren stretch north of Lake Balkash where the cold, barren taiga bled into cold, barren desert. Tony had secreted himself away on the upper walkway that wrapped around the split-level living room slash common area where somebody had had the godforsaken bright idea to blast Party Rock on full — which, considering the quality of Tony’s sound system, was… a lot. He was pretty sure Clint and Darcy were teaching Thor how to grind, like the resident Bad Influences they were. Tony smirked. It didn't quite reach his eyes. “Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?” A beat. “Sorry, that too much for you? Man, I really need to put you in a room with Rumsfeld and Cheney, don't I. Who would've thought.” There had been a couple of Cap fans in the line of fire, when the giant, malfunctioning penguin robots came climbing out the storm drains in Central Park, was how it started. Three idiot kids, too overwhelmed seeing their idol to actually get with the program and run away screaming like everyone else, and Hawkeye had alerted Cap about them loitering near the carousel. Predictably, Steve had charged in, herded them out of

<|output|> <|example|> had fought to remain standing. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> “Steve?” he asked quietly, trying not to tense up <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> And then TOny felt Steve’s mouth rub against his skin <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> He wondered what this was about <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> It didn't quite reach his eyes <|indexes|> 3 3 <|example|> He drained the rest of his scotch <|indexes|> 4 4 |

<|text|> the way, except that was when one of the kids swooped in and— Oh, he thought blankly, with a little throb of heat unspooling all through his chest, and then that voice in his head was talking again, that hellraiser Tony thought he had buried at seventeen, the one that had carried him through his parents’ death and Afghanistan, through the Bruce's disappearance and Obie’s betrayal, through a hole in the sky above New York, to the other end of the universe. “Holy fuck,” Tony mumbled, while a chorus of angels and the London Philharmonic started a symphonic orchestra in his head, because holy fuck, Steve was big. Tony watched him, the sloe-eyed gaze, the half-unbuttoned shirt, the faint sheen of sweat and bad decisions. “So,” he said quietly, because this wasn’t the kind of question you yelled at an Oscars’ afterparty, “why did you “Maybe we should be putting you in bed, huh?” Tony tried carefully. His heart was starting to pound a little. Steve made this sound, this choked groan that felt like it had been wrenched out of him, and stilled, hips thrusting erratically, before spurting come all over Tony’s fist, over his t-shirt, drenching him in come, and Tony could smell it, could practically taste it, could feel the sweat dripping off of Steve’s forehead and onto his neck, and that was it, that was all it took. Tony dig his fingers into those rippling, beautiful quads, fucked that straining muscle, felt Steve lick a slow, torturous line up his neck, and he was coming too, with a barely restrained cry, hips arching off the bed like an overeager teenager instead of a grown man, stars going nova behind his eyelids, coming so hard he practically blacked out from it. “The—” Steve glared down at Tony. There was a pale pink flush banding over his cheekbones. “Don't play dumb, Stark. It doesn't suit you.” And sure, there was a conversation they could've had right then, about how that almost certainly qualified as assault. But Clint had wolf-whistled over comms like the actual grade-schooler he was, and everybody had gotten a brief, breathless laugh out of it, pumped up on adrenaline, while Tony firebombed the stupid waddling bots, trying to stop them before they got to the damn zoo, and stepped on the actual, stinkingpenguins. “How the fuck do you taste so good?” Tony demanded, and realized the thing his calves had bumped up against was his bed, there had been a bed this whole time. “Marissa canceled actually,” Tony blurted, which was a lie, a lie, he’d asked Marissa if she wouldn’t mind going stag, because Tony had— had conjured up some bizarre, ridiculous fantasy of asking Steve to come with him, what the hell, what had he been thinking, and his eyes slid shut in pure defense. And Tony rolled his eyes, and pasted on a smirk that would've fooled God and St. Paul. “Relax, Cap. It’s a big party. I’ll find some company.” Of course, Tony thought deliriously, kissing back just as soft and dark and wanting, of course Captain America was a faceholder, of course he

<|output|> <|example|> the way, except that was when one of the kids swooped in and— <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> But Clint had wolf-whistled over comms like the actual grade-schooler he was, and everybody had gotten a brief, breathless laugh out of it, pumped up on adrenaline, while Tony firebombed the stupid waddling bots, trying to stop them before they got to the damn zoo, and stepped on the actual, stinkingpenguins <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> It’s a big party <|indexes|> 1 1 1 <|example|> His heart was starting to pound a little <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> It doesn't suit you <|indexes|> 3 <|example|> I’ll find some company <|indexes|> 4 <|example|> But Clint had wolf-whistled over comms like the actual grade-schooler he was, and everybody had gotten a brief, breathless laugh out of it, pumped up on adrenaline, while Tony firebombed the stupid waddling bots, trying to stop them before they got to the damn zoo, and stepped on the actual, stinkingpenguins <|indexes|> 5 5 |

<|text|> did incredibly sappy things like that, just to fuck with Tony’s understanding of the laws of the universe. His calves bumped into something, and Tony made a soft, confused sound into that mouth, and Steve took the moment to slide his tongue in, hot and silken and hungry. Their kissing was growing rougher, out of control, Tony could feel his knees start to buckle, could feel the hot, hard stroke of Steve’s hands along his back, clutching his nape, hungrily palming his ass. He shifted a litttle, notched their hips together, and then pulled their mouths apart on a soundless inhale. God, he could feel it, his cock slotting against Steve’s, against the hard, firm bulge of it, unhampered by the sweats. But Steve had barely been interrupted, had moved to Tony’s jaw, to his neck, was biting a hungry noise into his throat. “No,” Steve said. The frown had not quite gone away, and his hands were cupping Tony’s jaw, gripping his shoulder, and Tony was only just realizing that at some point he had curled his own hands low around Steve’s waist, probably to steady him, he couldn’t even remember. “You don't look too cut up about it.” Steve’s voice was a rich low murmur, and now Tony could feel the slow drag of his gaze, touching his bare skin like a physical caress. “Because I’m—” Steve was squinting down at him, like some kind of awful ‘09 internet meme about small, confused puppies. Tony wanted to fling himself off the top of the Empire State. “Wait, you really didn't know.” The rest of the day passes in a blur, that brief interaction with Toni occupying so much of his attention that he makes absolutely no headway on his work. And it isn’t until he’s in bed, half-asleep, that he realizes that he hardly even thought of Peggy. The days tick by, my chief officers and directors all give me various shakedowns that always make me feel like absolute shit, like it’s somehow my fault that I got kidnapped. Thousands of people have their livelihood at stake thanks to the Ten Rings. Apparently, me being around being a pain in the ass is just enough to keep our shares steady. Thank you to those who took a chance on my fic, i know i disappointed and i'm sorry. Here's to getting better at writing. We stare at each other, the air between us thick with tension that had never existed before my damned kidnapping. Humming to myself, I tap my now empty mug with my index finger as I walk towards the exit. When I pass by Steve, I mouth ‘later’ to him. He’s got his concentration face on, a small furrow between his brows, but he gives me a responding nod at least. “It wasn’t you who sold the weapons to the terrorists that did it.” He takes one of my hands in both of his. “I know you feel like it’s your responsibility, but it’s not. You thought you were doing something for the good of the country, hell, we both did. We have to live with

<|output|> <|example|> did incredibly sappy things like that, just to fuck with Tony’s understanding of the laws of the universe. His calves bumped into something, and Tony made a soft, confused sound into that mouth, and Steve took the moment to slide his tongue in, hot and silken and hungry. Their kissing was growing rougher, out of control, Tony could feel his knees start to buckle, could feel the hot, hard stroke of Steve’s hands along his back, clutching his nape, hungrily palming his ass. He shifted a litttle, notched their hips together, and then pulled their mouths apart on a soundless inhale. God, he could feel it, his cock slotting against Steve’s, against the hard, firm bulge of it, unhampered by the sweats. But Steve had barely been interrupted, had moved to Tony’s jaw, to his neck, was biting a hungry noise into his throat. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 <|example|> The rest of the day passes in a blur, that brief interaction with Toni occupying so much of his attention that he makes absolutely no headway on his work. And it isn’t until he’s in bed, half-asleep, that he realizes that he hardly even thought of Peggy. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 |

<|output|> <|example|> ” He takes one of my hands in both of his <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> We stare at each other, the air between us thick with tension that had never existed before my damned kidnapping <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> “No,” Steve said <|indexes|> 2 2 |

<|text|> the consequences of our actions but don’t take on more than is your due.” My toes are still mangled and hurt like fucking hell when I take steps, but I can work through it. As soon as everything is good to go, I aim at the door and blast it to high hell. Immediately, I hear a siren. I look at Yinsen through the gaps of my faceplate. “Once they have the primary schematics down and I have a chance to look over them, we should be able to produce 10 of the same high-tech prosthetics and at least 3 different varieties. So that’s around 30, give or take.” I look at them in the eye. “I also want you to understand that this is taking in account per person. If one person is missing three limbs, then that goes into the count. That’s as much as I can offer without compromising on quality.” “Tony,” Steve murmured. His voice was low, a rough, gravelly scrape Tony had never heard before, and it went straight to his cock, curled fresh lines of heat through his veins. He wrapped his hand around the head of his cock, thumb under the head, and wow, wow, okay, apparently this was a two-hand job, except for how Steve had closed his eyes, braced above Tony, and his hips were rutting forward, fucking into the tight clasp of his fingers, the head wet and shiny and Tony had never wanted anything in his mouth quite as badly as— “Yeah, that's it baby, come on,” Tony was saying, nonsense words, his own cock begging, aching for release, he was humping Steve’s thigh like a mentally deficient labradoodle, watching the wet, hungry thrusts of Steve’s cock, “Christ, I want to see you come, let me see you come, get it all over me, fuck, fuck Steve—” Steve pulled away almost immediately, said, “What?” in his rough, bewildered voice, and Tony groaned; this time he did grasp the back of Steve's neck, because old habits were impossible to break, and hissed, “Don't actually stop,” right up against his mouth, before kissing him again, fucking that gorgeous mouth with his tongue, biting into those lips, until they were both sore and slick, messy with it. He tasted so good, was the thing. He tasted so— And instead of straightening up, Steve sort of half-melted into him. “Whoops,” he mumbled into Tony’s shoulder. So it turned out, that day was not the day Tony fucked his teammate and irreparably damaged the Avengers. Instead, it turned out, that was the day Tony helped the surface world establish diplomatic relations with, ah, Atlantis, apparently. Tony dove in, aiming a repulsor blast directly at the hinges that connected the head to the rounded body. Jesus, these were some ugly fuckin’ bots. “Well, shit, sweetheart,” Tony said, and his voice wasn't shaking, it wasn't, “if I’d known, they wouldn’t have been jokes, would they.” And then Tony clicked his jaw shut, because holy shit, holy shit, he’d just hit on Captain America, just openly done that, he was going to die, he was three seconds from

<|output|> <|example|> the consequences of our actions but don’t take on more than is your due.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 <|example|> “Tony,” Steve murmured. His voice was low, a rough, gravelly scrape Tony had never heard before, and it went straight to his cock, curled fresh lines of heat through his veins. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 |

<|output|> <|example|> Jesus, these were some ugly fuckin’ bots <|indexes|> 0 0 0 <|example|> Instead, it turned out, that was the day Tony helped the surface world establish diplomatic relations with, ah, Atlantis, apparently <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> ” My toes are still mangled and hurt like fucking hell when I take steps, but I can work through it <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> I look at Yinsen through the gaps of my faceplate <|indexes|> 3 3 |

<|text|> being murdered, Pepper and Rhodey were going to have their hearts broken all over again— So, Tony started to say, that was interesting. And then Steve would have said, That’s one word for it, or maybe, Is that what the kids are calling it these days? because he liked to play up the ninety-five year old angle, as if he wasn't actually, horrifyingly the youngest person on their team. Steve found Tony out on the deck, cellphone in one hand, a glass of scotch in the other, staring out at the sea of lights that was New York City by night, gorgeous and glittering and seemingly endless. And Steve seemed to breathe in deeply, and everything about him turned sort of hungry and intentional, and he said, “So I could do this,” and leaned in, holding Tony still, and kissed him. “Right back at you,” Steve replied, and thumbed at his throat, choking his air just enough that Tony’s mouth dropped open, and Steve could kiss him again, and oh, that dirty bastard, was that how they were gonna play it? Tony’s hand had somehow slipped under that amazingly tight t-shirt, rucked it up. He was stroking smooth, hot skin now, a steady continuous sweep of his thumb, and Steve wasn't stepping away. Wasn't even looking away, actually. His eyes had gone dark, and half-lidded, his lips had parted a fraction of an inch, and the way he looked… And that sent a bucket of ice water coursing down his spine. It's not right. Tony could feel a sharp tightness draw over his face. “Not right,” he said blandly. “Why, Cap? Can't handle having a faggot on your precious team, is that it? Worried I won’t be able to stop myself from getting my filthy hands on you? No, no, don't worry,” he cut in when Steve’s jaw dropped in surprise, and he stepped into the guy's personal space with a sort of vindictive deliberateness, patted his shoulder, let his hand rest on that hard, defined stretch of muscle for just a second too long. “I’ll try to keep my mouth off your cock. It’ll be hard,” and the Captain looked gobsmacked, like he’d been slapped, and that sent a rush of angry pleasure through Tony, “but I’ll do my best. Anything else?” Which was just as well. They'd never been very good at words, and Tony heard what Steve hadn't yet said, wouldn't say, not until the next morning, with the air around them quiet and still, dawn's light filtering in past light, linen curtains in a soft wash of gold — “There's nobody else for me either. Nobody but you.” He had felt it flare up then, that sudden riptide of grief-rage-no, and before he knew it, his hand had coiled into a fist and smashed into the nearest mirror, shattering it into a thousand pieces, a soundless roar escaping his throat, his mind a blissful haze of pain, and nothing else. Tony found the Captain in his bedroom, ostensibly waiting for him — which, you know, was very much not the usual. Steve didn't seek Tony out, not

<|output|> <|example|> being murdered, Pepper and Rhodey were going to have their hearts broken all over again— <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> Nobody but you <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> It's not right <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> Steve didn't seek Tony out, not <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> Tony could feel a sharp tightness draw over his face <|indexes|> 3 |

<|text|> unless it was on Avengers business, and they’d just gotten through with a mission debrief from SHIELD, so that was out. Steve wasn't in uniform either, just sweatpants and one of those criminally tight t-shirts, the kind they didn't even make pornstars wear because they probably cut off circulation or something, and — and fuck, Tony had been staring too long, hadn't he? “Oh Cap,” Tony drawled, and that hot low drag in his voice was of course totally inappropriate for a commlink open to all the rest of the Avengers, unless you were Tony Stark and had gotten rid of things like Modesty and Personal Shame back in the 90s when you were railing down enough lines of cocaine to form a Black Diamond slope. “If the sex is a pain in the ass, he ain't doin’ you right, baby.” Tony blinked while his brain tried to reboot. What the fuck was Steve talking about. “What kind of talk?” It's just that he had so completely not seen it coming, hadn't believed something like that could happen, which was how this kid, this teenage boy, blue-eyed and dakr-haired and skinny as a reed, ended up having more than enough time to lean over and land a smacker full on Cap’s astonished mouth, before scampering away with his buddies. “Yeah,” Steve mumbled into the curve of his neck, and Tony found the elastic band of his pants, shoved them down hard when the fabric caught agaisnt the head of Steve’s cock, and oh sweet God, apparently the man had gone commando underneath, because it was suddenly his cock that Tony could see, hard and thickly veined and listing slightly to the left, and shit, shit— “It’s an open bar, Steve.” He went back to the refugee crisis in Central Asia. “An open bar, incidentally, that I’m paying for, so if anyone’s buyin’ anyone a drink…” George tapped his shoulder, the one Steve hadn’t already invaded and occupied. “Hey,” he said quietly, “I’m gonna give you guys a little space.” “I thought I just did,” Tony replied, more than a little hoarse. Steve’s eyes were blue points of fire, dark and intent, and they stayed there, balanced on the edge of a blade. And then it had turned out that Hawkeye’s sonics did disable the stupid bots, and Tony had configured his suit to emit the frequency on blast, using Cap’s shield as an amplifier, and everyone had forgotten about his stupid quip. Tony set the glass down, and balanced his elbows back against the balcony’s railing, hips tilted forward. He knew what he looked like. Steve was sitting up, when Tony came back in, sweatpants back in place, texting someone on his phone. Bucky kept giving him pep talks whenever they were alone together, words of encouragement when training, thumbs-ups in the halls... Steve had to admit, it was helping, but not much, and there were only so many times you could hear 'You've got this buddy,' before you felt like punching something. The Captain part of him wanted to be proud, his team were all working together to achieve a common goal. The

<|output|> <|example|> unless it was on Avengers business, and they’d just gotten through with a mission debrief from SHIELD, so that was out. Steve wasn't in uniform either, just sweatpants and one of those criminally tight t-shirts, the kind they didn't even make pornstars wear because they probably cut off circulation or something, and — and fuck, Tony had been staring too long, hadn't he? <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> Bucky kept giving him pep talks whenever they were alone together, words of encouragement when training, thumbs-ups in the halls... Steve had to admit, it was helping, but not much, and there were only so many times you could hear 'You've got this buddy,' before you felt like punching something. <|indexes|> 1 1 |

<|output|> <|example|> ” He went back to the refugee crisis in Central Asia <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> ” “I thought I just did,” Tony replied, more than a little hoarse <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> ” Tony blinked while his brain tried to reboot <|indexes|> 2 2 |

<|text|> Steve part of him, however, was Steve swallows, straightening up "N-no, I'm fine, Tony," he says, somehow managing a reassuring smile. "Just a headache, I'll be fine after I've slept." Tony hums against his lips. "Let me think..." he murmurs, looking off at the side with a thoughtful expression. "Uhhh nope," he declares cheerily, grinning. Tony steps a bit closer to him, almost brushing up against him, "Well Steve, you know what they say about assuming things..." he says quietly "But there's really no need to assume because I can assure you," He leans up to whisper in Steve's ear, "I am Steve closes his eyes, hanging his head. "They're just trying to be helpful," he mutters, and he's not sure if he's assuring Tony or himself of that. He opens his eyes but keeps them fixed on his shoes. "In their own way..." Steve jumps, his head snapping up and eyes locking with Bucky's, who was sitting solemnly in his armchair, gazing at him with concern. Carefully, he lowers Tony onto the bed, shaking his head at him in disbelief. Tony had been in the lab sixty-seven hours, and Steve had been beginning to wonder if he was ever to re-surface. How the man does this shit all the time and still remains functional was beyond him. Tony's brow furrows, the brunet walking the last few strides up to him. Steve could smell his aftershave. "Steve, you've all been really weird these last couple of months. Clint keeps giving you cookies and breaking your equipment, Thor's been stocking the pantry with Asgardian mead, Bruce has been kicking me out of the lab because I don't 'talk to the team enough'." He rolls his eyes at that. "Nat has been shockingly behaved and that in and of itself is concerning..." he trails off with a tsk. His eyes meet Steve's, looking hurt and confused. "Is something going on?" The first article is a long-winded rant about the perils of allowing a woman to create weapons, cleverly disguised misogyny as journalism, nothing new there. The second is something along the same lines with a dash of judgement on the US military for not having the armor under its control. A sudden ticking sound halts the blows. The ‘interrogator’ looks around and then glances at a small shiny ball next to his boot. The ticking speeds up and Steve is abruptly struck with the realization. The chopper must spot me because it turns toward my direction and hovers over the sand. I shield my eyes the best I can and when I see the man who clambers out of the helicopter, I think that I died during my escape and am now in purgatory. A sudden crackle through the coms. “Hey Captain, we’ve infiltrated the command center. It’s empty.” The synthetic sounding voice is familiar, if unwelcome. He’d told Shield that they had no need for Iron Man at first. But after scouting the base, they’d decided to call him in—completely disregarding Steve’s wishes. “No prisoners and no further hostiles.” I lean against my desk, clenching my hands behind my back. “You aren’t average Steve.” When

<|output|> <|example|> Steve part of him, however, was <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> The first article is a long-winded rant about the perils of allowing a woman to create weapons, cleverly disguised misogyny as journalism, nothing new there. The second is something along the same lines with a dash of judgement on the US military for not having the armor under its control. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 |

<|output|> <|example|> "Nat has been shockingly behaved and that in and of itself is concerning <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> The second is something along the same lines with a dash of judgement on the US military for not having the armor under its control <|indexes|> 1 |

<|text|> things start to get emotional, deflect. Unlike earlier in the day and every other interaction with him, standing here in my lab feels intimate. Especially considering that he’s complimenting me. “But don’t worry, it’s no big deal.” A sudden scream in the crowd makes the placid shoppers scatter in shock. Steve turns to look and sees Bucky on the ground, unconscious. “Not necessary, J.” I scrub at my face with my hands. “Ugh, I hate it when I get like this. I’m supposed to just have flings not emotional attachments.” This chapter was originally much longer but I wasn't sold on the idea of an alternating POV in the same chapter so ... next chapter will be from Toni's POV! The tags were updated (I know i know, again) and i'm kind of thinking of changing the summary because my original idea was just three chapters and now it's kind of huge lmao. I snarl, finally snatching the sunglasses off my face before glaring at him. “I hate that you’re trying to get under my skin but most of all, I hate that you’ve managed it Agent.” I take a deep breath. “If Fury manages to find a cure, I’ll consider joining. But not one moment before.” I nod. “You’re brilliant Pep. You’ll do so much better as CEO than as a glorified babysitter for an eccentric billionaire like myself.” I hug my midsection. “And I asked you out because I don’t want to leave things up to chance anymore.” God, I hadn’t thought this would be so hard. “Sir, Happy is reporting that he is one block away from your location.” Jarvis interrupts my internal pity party. With his Ma’s words in mind, Steve mingles with a greater ease. He might not be one of the rich, but he’s got his gorgeous wife at his side and his career is finally taking off in the direction that he wanted. Of course, just as he makes peace with the discomfort of being forced to mingle with those living worlds away from his tax bracket, he spots her. “I—” Her cries become muffled, as if she tries to cover her mouth to cover the noise. His heart lurches in response. “Toni, honey, I want to be there for you. Tell me where you are.” “Stark, we might have a breakthrough on your problem.” Hope flutters in my chest. “In your father’s things, we have come across a tape that might have the solution.” “Just peachy.” She laughs, the sound far from humorous. “I gotta go Cap. It was… good to talk to you again.” He hangs his head, pulling his hand back. Sighing, he moves to the door. He looks back, hand on the doorframe, smilies sadly, and switches the light off, closing the door silently behind him. The sound of the elevator doors opening brings him out of his thoughts. He sighs, moving to unlock his apartment door. Steve bites his lip, leaning his shoulder against his door. "They're, uh, t-trying to get me to ask someone out..." he says, rubbing the back is his neck. Smooth, Steve. Steve gathers up his things. He had been

<|output|> <|example|> things start to get emotional, deflect. Unlike earlier in the day and every other interaction with him, standing here in my lab feels intimate. Especially considering that he’s complimenting me. “But don’t worry, it’s no big deal.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> He hangs his head, pulling his hand back. Sighing, he moves to the door. He looks back, hand on the doorframe, smilies sadly, and switches the light off, closing the door silently behind him. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 |

<|output|> <|example|> Unlike earlier in the day and every other interaction with him, standing here in my lab feels intimate <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “Ugh, I hate it when I get like this <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> ” I hug my midsection <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> ” She laughs, the sound far from humorous <|indexes|> 3 <|example|> Steve bites his lip, leaning his shoulder against his door <|indexes|> 4 <|example|> <|indexes|> 5 <|example|> <|indexes|> 6 |

<|text|> drawing the night-time skyline from Tony's apartment and was definitely Now was the perfect opportunity. C'mon, Rogers, just say 'Actually Tony, I wanted to talk to you about something.' He walks into the room, tossing his keys in their bowl and placing his art supplies onto his desk. He slumps down onto his couch, head in his hands.

<|output|> <|example|> drawing the night-time skyline from Tony's apartment and was definitely <|indexes|> 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> He slumps down onto his couch, head in his hands <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> ' He walks into the room, tossing his keys in their bowl and placing his art supplies onto his desk <|indexes|> 1 1 |

<|text|> <|example|> “No.” He looks up in shock from where his gaze has been slipping shamefacedly towards the floor and Steve has a stubborn set to his jaw. The soldier catches himself, turns his voice soft and low before he starts again. “That’s not true, Tony.” He gets up from his chair and makes the couple steps to where Tony’s sitting before crouching down so they’re at eye level. He lifts a hand and it wavers in the air slightly before he sets it firm on the engineer’s knee. “Did that hurt?” he asks softly, gaze raking down Tony's chest and settling on the scars with a new expression the genius has never seen before. It’s not pity or probing or judgement. Just quiet curiosity and patient waiting and normally Tony would just tell him to fuck off, but-. Steve’s just waiting there, so close, the warmth of his touch burning through his jeans and his expression isn’t demanding. Just offering. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “Don’t worry Jarvis, I’ll take it easy.” I laugh and jet into the sky. The lights of the city become a blur below me, the speed on the HUD slowly increasing until I’m skirting 200 miles per hour. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 | <|example|> is sexual harass—” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> unable to process more information than this shocking revelation. “Since when?” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “Quit it. You’re grown men, stop acting like children,” she rolls her eyes as she takes a sip of her own scotch. “Though I would say, “last picked for dodgeball assassin.” Tony laughs uproariously as Clint casts hurt, puppy dog eyes in Natasha’s direction. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 | <|example|> get something through my thick skull.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> to bed, Barton. And I’ll see if I can get some poor Postmate to bring you some PopTarts at ass o’clock on a Tuesday.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> my PopTarts so this is considerably better. I’m not gonna make you leave just to make you haul your ass back through Manhattan traffic later.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> Thankfully, there’s a thump and a crash as the archer lets out an indignant squawk and Tony makes a mental note to buy Natasha something nice. Or maybe he’ll design her some of that hallucinogenic lipstick River Song’s always using on hapless guards in Doctor Who. His mind immediately starts suggesting an entire line of deadly lipsticks and he wonders if maybe that’s something SI should put on the market. Though, he guesses Pepper would probably shoot that down, because of liability or whatever. His mind’s still suggesting chemical formulas in ten shades of fabulous when he turns his attention back to Thor and gives his shoulder another comforting squeeze. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> the surface. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> “No.” He looks up in shock from where his gaze has been slipping shamefacedly towards the floor and Steve has a stubborn set to his jaw. The soldier catches himself, turns his voice soft and low before he starts again. “That’s not true, Tony.” He gets up from his chair and makes the couple steps to where Tony’s sitting before crouching down so they’re at eye level. He lifts a hand and it wavers in the air slightly before he sets it firm on the engineer’s knee. “Did that hurt?” he asks softly, gaze raking down Tony's chest and settling on the scars with a new expression the genius has never seen before. It’s not pity or probing or judgement. Just quiet curiosity and patient waiting and normally Tony would just tell him to fuck off, but-. Steve’s just waiting there, so close, the warmth of his touch burning through his jeans and his expression isn’t demanding. Just offering. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “Don’t worry Jarvis, I’ll take it easy.” I laugh and jet into the sky. The lights of the city become a blur below me, the speed on the HUD slowly increasing until I’m skirting 200 miles per hour. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> You’re grown men, stop acting like children,” she rolls her eyes as she takes a sip of her own scotch <|indexes|> 0 0 |

<|text|> <|example|> get something through my thick skull.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> to bed, Barton. And I’ll see if I can get some poor Postmate to bring you some PopTarts at ass o’clock on a Tuesday.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> my PopTarts so this is considerably better. I’m not gonna make you leave just to make you haul your ass back through Manhattan traffic later.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> Thankfully, there’s a thump and a crash as the archer lets out an indignant squawk and Tony makes a mental note to buy Natasha something nice. Or maybe he’ll design her some of that hallucinogenic lipstick River Song’s always using on hapless guards in Doctor Who. His mind immediately starts suggesting an entire line of deadly lipsticks and he wonders if maybe that’s something SI should put on the market. Though, he guesses Pepper would probably shoot that down, because of liability or whatever. His mind’s still suggesting chemical formulas in ten shades of fabulous when he turns his attention back to Thor and gives his shoulder another comforting squeeze. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> the surface. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> really liked her and I thought maybe she could actually handle, well, me and all the shit I do, <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> in the entirety of New York who has PopTarts for you to desecrate and then <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> his wrist to drag him over to the coffee table. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> “That’s alright. I’ll have plenty of time to convince you while we’re looking for Bucky.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> get something through my thick skull.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> Or maybe he’ll design her some of that hallucinogenic lipstick River Song’s always using on hapless guards in Doctor Who <|indexes|> 0 0 |

<|text|> <|example|> Thankfully, there’s a thump and a crash as the archer lets out an indignant squawk and Tony makes a mental note to buy Natasha something nice. Or maybe he’ll design her some of that hallucinogenic lipstick River Song’s always using on hapless guards in Doctor Who. His mind immediately starts suggesting an entire line of deadly lipsticks and he wonders if maybe that’s something SI should put on the market. Though, he guesses Pepper would probably shoot that down, because of liability or whatever. His mind’s still suggesting chemical formulas in ten shades of fabulous when he turns his attention back to Thor and gives his shoulder another comforting squeeze. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> the surface. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> really liked her and I thought maybe she could actually handle, well, me and all the shit I do, <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> in the entirety of New York who has PopTarts for you to desecrate and then <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> his wrist to drag him over to the coffee table. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> “That’s alright. I’ll have plenty of time to convince you while we’re looking for Bucky.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> Thankfully, there’s a thump and a crash as the archer lets out an indignant squawk and Tony makes a mental note to buy Natasha something nice. Or maybe he’ll design her some of that hallucinogenic lipstick River Song’s always using on hapless guards in Doctor Who. His mind immediately starts suggesting an entire line of deadly lipsticks and he wonders if maybe that’s something SI should put on the market. Though, he guesses Pepper would probably shoot that down, because of liability or whatever. His mind’s still suggesting chemical formulas in ten shades of fabulous when he turns his attention back to Thor and gives his shoulder another comforting squeeze. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> His mind immediately starts suggesting an entire line of deadly lipsticks and he wonders if maybe that’s something SI should put on the market <|indexes|> 0 0 |

<|text|> <|example|> in the entirety of New York who has PopTarts for you to desecrate and then <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> his wrist to drag him over to the coffee table. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> “That’s alright. I’ll have plenty of time to convince you while we’re looking for Bucky.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> Tony was given the chance he would <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> spoons in what is probably an unhealthy amount of sugar and makes his way back over to the couch to join the two super spies. “Thanks for the coffee whoever.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> bad you’re trying to get into Stark’s pants now?” <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> “--you’ll get your geriatric behind tossed in the can for statutory,” Steve retorted, and then sighed. “Area clear of civilians. Hawkeye, maybe try a sonic arrow. Widow, let’s get SHIELD’s containment unit closer. Iron Man, you know dealing with fans with a pain in the ass.” <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 | <|example|> had fought to remain standing. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> the way, except that was when one of the kids swooped in and— <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> in the entirety of New York who has PopTarts for you to desecrate and then <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “--you’ll get your geriatric behind tossed in the can for statutory,” Steve retorted, and then sighed. “Area clear of civilians. Hawkeye, maybe try a sonic arrow. Widow, let’s get SHIELD’s containment unit closer. Iron Man, you know dealing with fans with a pain in the ass.” <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 |

<|output|> <|example|> “Area clear of civilians <|indexes|> 0 |

<|text|> <|example|> Tony was given the chance he would <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> spoons in what is probably an unhealthy amount of sugar and makes his way back over to the couch to join the two super spies. “Thanks for the coffee whoever.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> bad you’re trying to get into Stark’s pants now?” <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> “--you’ll get your geriatric behind tossed in the can for statutory,” Steve retorted, and then sighed. “Area clear of civilians. Hawkeye, maybe try a sonic arrow. Widow, let’s get SHIELD’s containment unit closer. Iron Man, you know dealing with fans with a pain in the ass.” <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 | <|example|> had fought to remain standing. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> the way, except that was when one of the kids swooped in and— <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> Tony was given the chance he would <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “--you’ll get your geriatric behind tossed in the can for statutory,” Steve retorted, and then sighed. “Area clear of civilians. Hawkeye, maybe try a sonic arrow. Widow, let’s get SHIELD’s containment unit closer. Iron Man, you know dealing with fans with a pain in the ass.” <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 |

<|output|> <|example|> Iron Man, you know dealing with fans with a pain in the ass <|indexes|> 0 |

<|text|> Over the next days, his chest closed, the tissues and bone coming together, visibly healing. Holmes had by that time learned what the human body was capable of, and what it was not. He had studied Death with a knife, dissecting and probing and looking for the cause. He knew what it took to kill a human body. I know Greg pretty well. He’s sad too. And I haven’t seen him since the funeral. He texted me once, and I think I replied. I open my phone and check. “A pleasure to meet you, Doctor Watson,” Mycroft says smoothly. The loathing is still there, under the polite facade. “I understand that you are a graduate of the Priory School, like my brother. Perhaps what I have to say will interest you as well.” In that state, there is no awareness. Life dims, but like a pilot light, it keeps burning. That is the threshold, he thinks. If only he could stand there long enough to understand. For a long moment she gazed at me, and I fancied that it was love I saw in her eyes. Or admiration. She remained speechless, her blancmange untasted. John knows the emptiness in himself. He’s a social man, and for months he’s been alone. He remembers the moment that void appeared. He was lying in a bed in a field hospital, reading a letter from Mary. When his vision cleared, John Watson was standing in front of him, smiling. The shaggy beard was gone, the hair trimmed. He was wearing an Aran jumper identical to the one he used to wear. Moriarty is in a drawer, his compartment pulled out, his bag zipped down to reveal what is left of him. Holmes stands, carefully, shuffles over to him and has a look. When I lifted his skull from the ground, he smiled at it, as if recognising himself. I placed it in the box with the other bones, covered it with a canvas tarp, and took it away with me. John winces. What will he deduce from this broken army doctor’s limp, his ill-fitting suit, his nervous manner? Watson is wondering about how they will find out what they need to know, what questions will open up a useful conversation with the students. He knows that Holmes has his own methods, and wants to defer to his understanding, but worries that he may bully the more fearful students into silence, rather than encouraging them to talk by showing himself to be an ally. Still, he did defer to Watson in their questioning of Henry, so maybe this is why he’s asked Watson to assist, because he has a less aggressive way of questioning. Then he would call her mother and give his daughter a small lecture while they waited for her to come pick her up. “I’m glad you realise that. If anyone turns this into a disaster, it will be him. I hope you’ve got a stand-in lined up in case he goes off the deep end.” “Everybody, this is Irene Adler,” Molly said, smiling. “She’s the director’s assistant, and she’ll be, well…She’s the script consultant, and will

<|output|> <|example|> Over the next days, his chest closed, the tissues and bone coming together, visibly healing. Holmes had by that time learned what the human body was capable of, and what it was not. He had studied Death with a knife, dissecting and probing and looking for the cause. He knew what it took to kill a human body. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> He’s sad too <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> Life dims, but like a pilot light, it keeps burning <|indexes|> 1 1 1 <|example|> When his vision cleared, John Watson was standing in front of him, smiling <|indexes|> 2 2 2 <|example|> He’s a social man, and for months he’s been alone <|indexes|> 3 3 <|example|> If only he could stand there long enough to understand <|indexes|> 4 <|example|> He was wearing an Aran jumper identical to the one he used to wear <|indexes|> 5 <|example|> Life dims, but like a pilot light, it keeps burning <|indexes|> 6 6 <|example|> ” “Everybody, this is Irene Adler,” Molly said, smiling <|indexes|> 7 |

<|text|> be directing us today. Say hello to Miss Adler, everybody, and introduce yourselves!” . And Ella’s right. The change has to come from him. He’s been doling his happiness out in small portions, afraid to say what he wants, afraid he’s lost the chance to have it and never deserved it in the first place. At home, he liked to keep an eye on Dad, make sure he wasn’t about to start drunken raving and decide that John was doing something— spending his money, spying on him for the government, trying to have him put away. His paranoia made John a bit paranoid. He knew how to handle his father, most of the time, though he could remember Harry locking the two of them in the bedroom upstairs when Dad went on a rampage downstairs and started smashing things. They would wait, silently, until the rant ended. “It’s fine. Come on up.” She buzzes him in, puts her robe over her pyjamas and fills the kettle again. When she hears the knock, she lets him in. Sherlock stops, turns, and regards me without surprise, almost as if he expected to find me here. “I can’t take you with me, John. I know you don’t understand, but you have to believe I’m dead.” “There are other vices less expensive and more pleasant.” I lit my cigar and blew out a cloud of smoke. . People are no longer reaching around us to get a quart of milk or a tub of yoghurt. They’re watching us. Over the years, Watson has felt a lot of anger towards his father. An impotent rage, seeing as the man died years ago. He and Harry have carried that anger for years, and what has it done for them? Maybe Harry has already learned that lesson, and that’s why she’s stopped drinking, moved on from Clara. But what has John done, other than cling to his anger and disappointment as if there were someone who could still answer to all that? There is no answer, in fact. “Got it,” Irene said. “We can add a line or two that makes it clear they have some kind of psychic connection.” John is grinning up at him. The lines around his eyes are deeper, his hair is more silver than gold now, but he’s even more handsome than the day he limped into Barts. He’s happy. , they call it. For a long time, Molly thought Sherlock was meant for her, and he wonders if she still thinks that. If so, she must be disappointed that they can’t be together. She must think herself unlucky. No, that wouldn’t have been possible. It was good that he hadn’t said. John was a heartthrob, a media darling, a cover boy for all the teen magazines. Girls screamed when they caught sight of him, fainted when he made public appearances. He was blond and cute, and smiled shyly, as if he were befuddled by his own popularity. The producers had pushed him, arranging appearances and interviews. They even made him record a song, something forgettable. And he’d dutifully done it all, for the sake

<|output|> <|example|> be directing us today. Say hello to Miss Adler, everybody, and introduce yourselves!” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> When she hears the knock, she lets him in <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> John was a heartthrob, a media darling, a cover boy for all the teen magazines <|indexes|> 1 1 |

<|text|> of the series. John collapses onto his bed, trying not to think too hard about cameras and sirens. Tomorrow when he wakes up, this will be nothing more than a dream. John lowers his face to Sherlock’s, and for a moment he thinks John is going to whisper something to him. Instead, he leans over and presses his lips to Sherlock’s. They undress each other, giggling a bit as they do, and slip between the sheets. So far, sex has meant either oral or hand jobs. John has said that he’s never done anything else with a man, and so far they haven’t tried any penetration. Sherlock has been waiting, letting John become more comfortable with the idea of that before pushing him. “He was distracting you, feeding you a story that he hoped you would repeat to me in order to throw us off.” “Well, I’m not holding my breath,” said Sherlock. “To expect the producers of a successful series to take such a risk is not reasonable.” aware. And he remembered the wad of pages his fan on the train had pulled out. He’d thought of it as a fringe thing, though, hardly a serious threat to his role. I preferred the passive role in love-making, but had never liked being penetrated by another. Tonight, however, I lay on my back, letting John ease himself down on my prick, entering him from below. He was gorgeous like this, so beautifully debauched. I loved seeing the effect I could have on him, making him shudder and moan. “You work for a data company. As I recall you once boasted that you could find out anything about anybody— police records, employment history, drug use, porn preferences, internet search history… Was that just a boast?” “Well, Master William knows his letters, to be sure,” she said, smiling. “Let’s see if he can read this.” No one spoke as Stan laid the box in the ground and they took turns covering it with dirt. Rachel became hysterical once it was done, and Stan led her inside, holding her close against his side. Kitty stayed with Billy, holding her son's hand as they stared at the ground. Ah, that was Sherlock all over. Simple, direct…and enough love in his voice to break your heart. “I dunno. Unless you can somehow tell me how to get out. Trouble is it’s pitch black there, and I was unconscious when they put me in.” They did have a lovely time that summer. Mycroft met all five of the MacDonald brood, and they were delighted to meet the ‘London man’ who sent them such thoughtful presents. Maggie and Matthew were charmed by Mycroft, and they endeavoured to make sure their guest was happy. They didn’t need to put in much effort. Kitty’s text, filled with expletives that made John raise his eyebrows, came early the next morning. He debated about showing Sherlock, but decided that could wait. He put his phone down again and nestled back against his husband. “You can stay here,” Holmes answered, deep voice rumbling against John’s ear. “It’s bright here, and quiet if you need it, or I can

<|output|> <|example|> of the series. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> No one spoke as Stan laid the box in the ground and they took turns covering it with dirt. Rachel became hysterical once it was done, and Stan led her inside, holding her close against his side. Kitty stayed with Billy, holding her son's hand as they stared at the ground. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 |

<|output|> <|example|> So far, sex has meant either oral or hand jobs <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> Simple, direct…and enough love in his voice to break your heart <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> Maggie and Matthew were charmed by Mycroft, and they endeavoured to make sure their guest was happy <|indexes|> 2 2 |

<|text|> talk if you like.” John smiled and took a deep breath. "I should have," he answered. "I should have believed it every time you told me, every time you've shown me, but...I don't think I've believed it until now. It felt like—" “Oh.” Molly pulled Janine close. She didn’t really care if it was a common song. She was a commoner, after all, and being in love with a beautiful Princess couldn’t quite change that. “John, I am attempting to be supportive. Sex might be an important component of their relationship—” Ireni unbound his hands. “I don’t think so, darling. I think we’ll be just fine. I guess we’ll know more than you.” She looked up and her beautiful face creased with annoyance. “Maria, stop watching behind us!” They held hands on the ride. Sherlock didn’t talk much and John stared out the window, trying to figure out where they were going. He and Sherlock were sitting and having a nice, quiet, late supper. Their blogs were updated, their phones turned off, and there was every indication that this was going to be one of the nights they spent making love together and falling asleep without nightmares. The beggar-woman limped up the palace steps. She ignored the guards who tried to help her, drawing her bundle of rags to her chest and glaring at any who were more persistent. When she got to the Prince’s door, she walked right past the lords and slammed the bundle on the Prince’s desk. After nearly three years of thinking Sherlock didn’t love him, having a dream Sherlock who loved him, really loved him, was more than enough to keep him patient. His opportunity would come. Mycroft and Gregory spent many hours sitting together, often in silence, sometimes discussing the latest strange occurrence in London or Matt’s last prank. There was something comfortable about the silence; two men near the end of their days, finding solace in a new friendship. Sherlock was a strong swimmer (push away the memory of why, the first time he’d ever made John laugh when they were children), and he started swimming as quietly as he could. “The chocolate makes it go down easier,” Martha said distractedly. She was holding John’s hand as she brushed the pill, covering it carefully. “What’s the news from the castle?” Thankfully they caught the early train, but it was still nearly supper time when they reached Plymouth. Holmes led Watson down to the docks, growing more puzzled by the moment. There were no obvious signs of political unrest, and the summer crowds made the town far more crowded than Mycroft liked. If his brother ever left London, he tended to retire to their old family home in the country. What on earth would possess him to come here, especially if he could simply send him and Watson? "Really? How is that?" Against his will (he was a grown man and could look after himself, thank you very much) John started looking around for Sherlock. He was standing near the far wall, talking to Greg. He wouldn’t be able to hear John from that distance without attracting attention. “You always

<|output|> <|example|> talk if you like.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> She ignored the guards who tried to help her, drawing her bundle of rags to her chest and glaring at any who were more persistent <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> There was something comfortable about the silence; two men near the end of their days, finding solace in a new friendship <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> She ignored the guards who tried to help her, drawing her bundle of rags to her chest and glaring at any who were more persistent <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> <|indexes|> 3 <|example|> “The chocolate makes it go down easier,” Martha said distractedly <|indexes|> 4 <|example|> She ignored the guards who tried to help her, drawing her bundle of rags to her chest and glaring at any who were more persistent <|indexes|> 5 5 |

<|text|> were a coward, Jamiarty.” King Lotharon shook his head. “You forfeited your right to die when you took your sister’s right to live. You are going to live a long, healthy life, alone with your cowardice and failure. ” It was late afternoon, judging by the light. They’d come staggering home from St. Bart’s, unwilling to let each other go for a moment, stopping just long enough to explain to poor Mrs. Hudson why the nice young man fixing the fridge now had a bullet in his skull. They’d collapsed in bed right after their phones were switched off. John fell asleep almost immediately; apparently being knocked unconscious for several hours didn’t make up for missed sleep. “It will someday,” Watson said. He shared a look with Holmes, eyes raised, clearly thinking of the same night. “But Holmes is right, Mycroft, what is the point?” “Because we are showing support for Mycroft and Greg’s relationship,” John explained. For the tenth time. Not like anyone was counting. “They’ve both been very good to us, even when we told them—well.” “What if we don’t?” That was Ireni’s blunt voice. “No offense, but we’re going up against one of the most powerful men on earth, and if he catches wind of what we’re doing, we’ll have armies after us before we can blink.” As the giant began to follow Ireni, taking tiny steps so not to overtake the woman, Sherlock couldn’t resist asking a question. "Not for long," Kitty said. "I mean, I'm a working girl, aren't I? She never knew, and it was just too hard to keep a secret, so I lied and said I wasn't into girls anymore. Luckily enough, neither was she. We've stayed friends, sort of—I ring her sometimes." Kitty started picking at her nails. "The last time I called her was about two months ago, and she said that she was seeing someone. Two nights later I was dancing at one of his clubs, and I saw them together." “Take her to the dungeons,” Mycroft ordered. “Keep her in that chair, and lock her far away from Moran.” Sherlock said nothing, but he believed the large man, who was now attaching the women to his front, leaving his massive arms free. And now that he was thinking about it, what would be so bad about death? At the least, his existence would end and there would be no more pain. At the best…maybe he would see John again. When Molly Hooper was thirty-five she and Mike bought a tiny house together. It was in a quiet neighbourhood and they had flowers in the garden and plenty of room to hang up her Dad’s paintings. There was even room in their dining room to dance as long as they pushed the chairs out of the way. Sally heard that loud and clear, but that was only because Max was a loud man. Sally suspected he was going deaf, because he hadn’t started the shouting until after Waverly was born. close. He’d worried in the last couple of months that the baby would somehow feel like his, but it didn’t feel that

<|output|> <|example|> were a coward, Jamiarty.” King Lotharon shook his head. “You forfeited your right to die when you took your sister’s right to live. You are going to live a long, healthy life, alone with your cowardice and failure. ” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> And now that he was thinking about it, what would be so bad about death? At the least, his existence would end and there would be no more pain <|indexes|> 0 0 |

<|text|> way at all. This baby was family, certainly. But Rachel Molly Hopkins was his granddaughter. Certainly not his daughter. The girl seemed to be more alert now. She looked to be in her early twenties, though there were lines on her face that usually came with many more years. She had a pretty face—deep brown eyes, dark skin, a small mouth and nose and high cheekbones. She was tall but she was bent nearly double now, trying to make herself smaller even as she glared at them. Dressed in dark jeans and a black tank top, there was an ugly scar across her left forearm. As the room echoed the chant, and the banner man from Nepce removed her headdress , Molly turned puzzled eyes to Janine. Her lover winked, and tapped her tiara. “I tried to free him. But he refused. He wants to save his Princess, and I want to see that happen. I have a wheelbarrow, we can use that.” “Very well.” Mycroft's eyebrows were drawn firmly together. “I will make preliminary arrangements. You will be told very little, John, to make your acting more natural. Will you agree to that?” He went up for the funeral, speaking quietly to everyone. Sherlock and his husband had come up as well, faces lined with grief, but Mycroft couldn’t bear to look at them. Later perhaps, in the spring, once he could face the depth of his loss…but for now looking at his brother’s happiness, his brother’s love standing with him, was too hard. “I understand.” Riley’s voice was sweet and high, not at all what Janine expected from a woman with such fierce eyes. “I can figure out when I’m beaten. Shame none of you can.” “Then where’s he gone?” John started to tremble, and he clutched at the post. “Molly, you need help, the blood…” “And now what?” John shouted right back. “Now that we're lovers, you're going to tell me goodbye before you leave me behind? How kind of you. Damn you Sherlock, I was your friend before I was your partner. How do you think I would have coped without you there?” It was different for the others. Molly had Janine now, and of course the Princess had his husband. Grezzik didn’t need that kind of happiness (though it would be nice), but he was starting to feel dissatisfied. He didn’t have to fight anymore, which was nice, and his friends were here, and that was nice too. But he was starting to feel useless. Really, what had he done since coming here? Several miles away, Maria Montoya wandered in the darkness, head throbbing and unsure how to get back. They would meet back at the beginning. They always did. There are many songs that fit Johnlock, but this one is mine (that I like). Next installment we'll be heading back to Victorian times; it will hopefully be up Wednesday but might be delayed to Thursday (if so I apologize in advance). For you canon buffs, this story follows an adventure to do with threes... “We don’t have to do this, you know.” Maria got to hers, her sword

<|output|> <|example|> way at all. This baby was family, certainly. But Rachel Molly Hopkins was his granddaughter. Certainly not his daughter. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> ” Mycroft's eyebrows were drawn firmly together <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> Damn you Sherlock, I was your friend before I was your partner <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> ” Mycroft's eyebrows were drawn firmly together <|indexes|> 3 |

<|text|> in her left hand. “If you leave now and go the other way, I’m happy to let you go.” There were chains attached to each wrist, and chains attached to a collar around his neck. There were chains at his ankles too, and his knees were attached to the chair by rope. Stam stood next to him with a knife. ), but he failed to realize that Riley was very much in love with him. Well, as in love as she could be. And when Anderson ran off with Sally, and Riley found out that the Carrier was carrying Anderson’s child…well. Hell hath no fury, and all that. Miracle Max didn’t answer. He turned John’s hand palm up. There was a birthmark on his wrist, a small, nearly-perfect circle. I am still hesitant to write these words, for fear of this book falling into the wrong hands. But I must write these words down, to stop them from coming out of my mouth. I must trace my love across these pages, as I cannot write them anywhere else. When dawn came Sally was still laboring, and the contractions were no closer together. Martha wasn’t worried. “It’s your first, darling. This is normal. It took me twelve hours to birth John’s father. And that was with every tincture Max could give me.” Mrs. Hudson drew back at last, wiping her eyes. “Thank goodness. Now eat up, and tell me what happened.” Text in bold is my voice, speaking to you all. Kinda like what William Goldman does in the book. It is a faster way of doing exposition (and let's face it, I can just tell you what you need to know about Florin's gender politics, and then we can move on). It’s not, of course. Not home anymore. My eyes come to rest on your dressing gown, draped across the bookshelf for some reason. Maybe you flung it off and that’s where it landed. You’re like a fucking tornado sometimes, leaving random detritus in improbable places, then expecting me to know where your phone is. Nothing else to see there, so he listened outside the bedroom door, just in case. It was half open, a hard clue to decipher. Though he lived alone, Sherlock always closed his own door at night. Having a nosy older brother meant that he had an overdeveloped need for privacy. Some people left their doors open for air circulation. No telling which kind of sleeper John was; they had never shared a room except on set. “No threats, but they’ve offered some inducements,” Mike said. “First, Martha Hudson has agreed to be in it, reprising the role of John’s grandmum. I know you always got along with her.” “I just wondered if they blame themselves. Mycroft said Mr Crawford dismissed the boy’s complaints, tried to force him to go back to school.” The Crawfords hesitate, but agree. Watson wonders what Holmes makes of their insistence that the investigation is pointless. He doesn’t remember falling asleep. When he wakes in the morning, there is no sign that John has been back. “Oh, very good, Watson!” He throws up his hands. “Brilliant deduction!

<|output|> <|example|> in her left hand. “If you leave now and go the other way, I’m happy to let you go.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> It’s not, of course. Not home anymore. My eyes come to rest on your dressing gown, draped across the bookshelf for some reason. Maybe you flung it off and that’s where it landed. You’re like a fucking tornado sometimes, leaving random detritus in improbable places, then expecting me to know where your phone is. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 |

<|output|> <|example|> It is a faster way of doing exposition (and let's face it, I can just tell you what you need to know about Florin's gender politics, and then we can move on) <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> Hudson drew back at last, wiping her eyes <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 <|example|> ” Mrs <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> Nothing else to see there, so he listened outside the bedroom door, just in case <|indexes|> 3 <|example|> Miracle Max didn’t answer <|indexes|> 4 <|example|> ” The Crawfords hesitate, but agree <|indexes|> 5 |

<|text|> Too bad you didn’t reach that blatantly obvious conclusion He’s still thinking about Molly when he arrives at his cottage. He makes tea and takes the urn down from the mantel. Sitting in his chair, he sets it on the table in front of him. Sherlock stands in the parking lot of Roland-Kerr College, talking to Lestrade. He has a shock blanket, and he supposes he ought to be less coherent than he is. The blanket is distracting; it’s orange and linty. He doesn’t feel like he’s in shock. He feels like he’s been electrified, hooked up to a current that has poured life into him. “Of course,” John says. He knows he’s been drinking a bit too much since he returned. He’s spent several evenings on the phone, arguing with his sister, and he bought a fairly pricey bottle of scotch to console himself about everything— his cheating wife, his ruined career, his unreasonable sister, his inadequate pension, and the unrelenting pain in his leg that’s really all in his head. But his purse is tighter now, and he hasn’t had a drink in a week, not even a pint of beer. Tonight he feels like he deserves a glass. Or two. David has never been convinced that the limp was psychosomatic. Pain is not well understood, he always says. He’s seen people whose MRIs say they should be in agony, but they’re walking around with minimal pain. And there are people whose scans show no damage, no underlying cause for the excruciating pain they feel. It’s a nerve thing, he’s decided. “Maybe when you fell, you knocked something back into place.” This isn’t a scientific theory, but it’s better than the theory that says John has to endanger his life at regular intervals in order to be a whole, healthy human being without disabilities. she’d said. Both men and women marry to elevate their social status, or for economic reasons, and nobody thinks badly of that. Why shouldn’t I have a wife, whatever my reasons might be, and why should this John will step inside then. Seeing Sherlock makes him sad, but it also makes him brave. He remembers when he held Sherlock’s wrist and found no pulse, when he realised it was too late for what might have been. And now, he’s waited so long; he’s not going to wait any longer. Sherlock asks for a moment, and the waiter promises to return and answer any questions they have. John doesn’t usually dine in restaurants where the menu would prompt questions or discussions of appropriate wines. He knows red wine or white wine, sweet or dry, and that’s the extent of it. He decides that if there’s a special on the menu tonight, he’ll have that, whatever it is, and take whatever wine the waiter suggests. For a moment Sherlock lay on his belly, literally stunned from the blow. As he began to move, to check himself, he felt something hard press into the back of his neck. Everything else on his list that day was boring. He’d insisted that we stop at Tesco to pick up milk,

<|output|> <|example|> Too bad you didn’t reach that blatantly obvious conclusion <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> And there are people whose scans show no damage, no underlying cause for the excruciating pain they feel <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> David has never been convinced that the limp was psychosomatic <|indexes|> 1 |

<|text|> and since I was already in a bad mood, I agreed to tag along. Shopping isn’t my area. John does the shopping, but it doesn’t hurt for me to appear interested in it, especially now that he’s my boyfriend. She told me about my cousins. Emma had married a man named Barnes and moved to Australia. Her husband had not succeeded in any of the ventures he had tried in England, so that seemed like their best option. They had a little boy named Henry, who was, according to my aunt, Lestrade sometimes came to consult with me on cases, as he used to, but it often seemed as if he was really checking on me. He would linger and talk, and once or twice asked me if I had heard from Watson. My reply was invariably negative. He would nod then, and say he was sure Watson would write soon. How could he not have heard by now that I was back in London, alive and resuming my practice? When the show ended, however, she was the one who organised the annual reunions, sent Christmas cards to them all, and phoned on their birthdays. At least he’d assumed that she called each of them on their birthdays, until he learned that he was the only one getting the calls. He didn’t even know her birthday. “True,” said Lestrade. “You don’t have anyone to protect, though. What if you had a boyfriend? Would you feel differently?” “You’ve said. I’m not sure you can reach any conclusions about yourself from her experience, though. And it isn’t “Married? No, of course not,” she said, as if this were the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard. “He’s gone away.” “He will come home!” I cried. “He must! Oh, he sounds desperate! Mycroft, you must see to it at once! Oh, my poor Watson!” “I just hope,” John begins. He isn’t sure how much he can share with Greg. When he was with Mary, he never talked to anyone about their relationship. It seemed dishonest, underhanded to do that. Maybe it would have helped, though, and he could have figured things out sooner. “Leave. I don’t care where. Our partnership is at an end. I can manage the rent, and you’ve got your romance writing to occupy you. No, this was all a mistake, I’m afraid. Best to make a clean cut, rip the plaster off— a new beginning. Goodbye, old boy. I’ll miss you.” “Sometimes, after he’d berated me for a while, he… made me strip. And…” John drew a deep breath and let it out. “He touched himself. I thought it was my fault, that I could have stopped him, or walked away or something. Or that it wasn’t a big deal. My manager at the time told me to keep quiet, and I suppose he had a point. It’s part of the territory, he said, and everybody understands that. All directors have their quirks. If you want to get anywhere, you go along with it. Magnussen could have ruined my career. As it happened, my career nearly killed me. The only scripts I

<|output|> <|example|> and since I was already in a bad mood, I agreed to tag along. Shopping isn’t my area. John does the shopping, but it doesn’t hurt for me to appear interested in it, especially now that he’s my boyfriend. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> When he was with Mary, he never talked to anyone about their relationship <|indexes|> 0 0 0 <|example|> The only scripts I <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> The only scripts I <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> Maybe it would have helped, though, and he could have figured things out sooner <|indexes|> 3 3 |

<|text|> got after that were teen romances.” Sherlock has stopped eating. He stares down at his plate, not inscrutable, but sad. “That’s what worries me. I am who I am.” “I believe Mrs. Hopkins directed the majority of the operations,” Holmes replied. “She’s got quite an eye.” Bertie Gruner had been an attractive man in a sense—tall, dark, smouldering eyes, strong jaw and firm mouth. Now acid—it was sulfuric acid, and Sherlock had a sneaking suspicion that it had come from his kitchen table—was eating away at his features, turning a face any woman would look twice at into a mockery of the human form. “As Head Priest of London, I ask the Powers to look upon these men. These men love each other, and stand here in your sight to pledge this love forevermore, to stand by each other and provide comfort and guidance through the trials and pleasures of life. I ask you to bless this union, and keep the faith between them strong.” They joined the others downstairs. Janine’s eyes were red and she was holding Molly tightly, and Sherlock was stunned to see Grezzik give Mycroft a quick kiss. He shot his brother a look, and Mycroft just blinked at him. “Until you kill me,” Sherlock retorted. The giant stepped off the boat and, once Ireni and Maria were off, put his foot through it. The boat began to sink. John winced. Running the Revenge away from Florin when he’d heard of Sherlock’s engagement had been the worst decision he’d ever made. “The past cannot be undone,” Grezzik said quietly. “What has been done has been done. We need to think about the future.” “It’s alright,” John said. “I just…wow. I thought they were long dead. And I couldn’t remember…it doesn’t matter now. Why am I here?” "He isn't one, much to my chagrin." Sherlock bent and kissed John. "I'll be back soon, love." He nodded to Kitty, then left the room. John waited until he heard the door swing shut before turning to Kitty. He bent and picked the girl up. There wasn't enough of her for the height she was. “Not by sailboat,” John agreed. He seemed to understand what his husband was getting at. “But rowboat. Think, Grezzik. Were you tired when you climbed the Cliffs of Insanity?” If Sherlock had been born in a rich man’s home, he would have become the cleverest man on earth. He had the kind of mind that hungers for knowledge yet is never satisfied. Unfortunately, he was born to two poor farmers who were dismayed to birth a second mouth to feed, and so had to settle for being only the most beautiful man on earth. “Yeah, but I didn’t even ask if you were interested in my life before you, I just didn’t say anything and let your deductions be enough. That wasn’t fair to you.” “I don’t know if I’m brave enough.” Sherlock had his face buried in John’s chest now, but John still heard him. "I pray to God you do," Kitty replied, her voice suddenly alight with passion. "Because you'll be fighting the fucking Devil." “Sherlock, everything’s going to be alright.”

<|output|> <|example|> got after that were teen romances.” <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> “I believe Mrs. Hopkins directed the majority of the operations,” Holmes replied. “She’s got quite an eye.” <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 |

<|output|> <|example|> “Yeah, but I didn’t even ask if you were interested in my life before you, I just didn’t say anything and let your deductions be enough <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> He seemed to understand what his husband was getting at <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> John winced <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> " Sherlock bent and kissed John <|indexes|> 3 <|example|> “That’s what worries me <|indexes|> 4 <|example|> “Not by sailboat,” John agreed <|indexes|> 5 5 |

<|text|> John spoke as gently as possible, keeping his grip steady around Sherlock’s pale hands. “If there’s a hound, we can kill it. I’m a pretty decent shot—” The small church was crowded with off-duty policemen, several of the scrubbed-up Irregular lads and a few of her friends from boarding school. John was probably (hopefully) at the altar, waiting with his best man, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock was gasping into the phone when John turned back to it, crying softly. John felt tears run down his own face as he looked down, shuddering. He was about to die. Not from a wound or a charge, but from stepping off a building. Falling. Hitting the ground in front of the man he loved. At least his death might spare the others from a bullet, but since when did Moriarty tell the truth? Mycroft held out a hand, and Watson shook it. “You’re a brave man, Dr. Watson, and I wish that things might be easier for you and Sherlock. Though it’s rather unorthodox, I am glad that Sherlock has found you. He’s been happy in your friendship, but since your revelation he has been the happiest I have ever seen him. I will do what I can to ease your way.” “Yeah, Sher and I got married when it became legal in Britain,” John said. “We could’ve done it sooner and had a civil partnership, but we both wanted to wait. Sherlock beat me to the proposal, but he had inside information.” "The main thing is," and now David's face became more serious, "that you don't need it anymore. You're not tied to your bodies anymore, and your souls have been refreshed, so to speak. There won't be any more minds racing off the tracks." Sherlock's smile widened. "Come along, Stan," he said, pulling the boy down the hall. "Now, the first thing to remember is to notice everything. Not everything matters, but..." “More to the point,” Lord Moran said loudly over the bickering, “how do we say we found out about the baby?” He turned to Riley. “Is the news public in London?” “Look at you, getting smarter.” Ireni let Waverly grab one of her fingers. “Yes. By the time I found you both again, you were in London. And you were…well, you were happy. I didn’t want to spoil that.” “We’ll have to be careful,” Sherlock said. “And we must swear now that we will not…we will not give in, no matter what.” Just as Grezzik settled the King in his arms, there was an explosion of light, coming from beyond the wall. Molly heard shouts from the closest house, and Sukiv and Chessa ran out of the carriage, followed by Miracle Max and Martha. “Then Florin needs a Princess.” Her father took her hand. “Sally, I know I haven’t given you the training, but you are my only living child. And I think you would make a wonderful queen someday. Will you become my Heir?” There will be another chapter of this before the New Year, and I hope to post a few little oneshots as well. “Like I said, the little girl will

<|output|> <|example|> John spoke as gently as possible, keeping his grip steady around Sherlock’s pale hands. “If there’s a hound, we can kill it. I’m a pretty decent shot—” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> Watson, and I wish that things might be easier for you and Sherlock <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 <|example|> I didn’t want to spoil that <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> He’s been happy in your friendship, but since your revelation he has been the happiest I have ever seen him <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> Sherlock was gasping into the phone when John turned back to it, crying softly <|indexes|> 3 3 <|example|> "Now, the first thing to remember is to notice everything <|indexes|> 4 4 |

<|text|> likely die if you’re all fighting, and that ruins my favour.” Ireni glanced over her shoulder. “We’re here now, anyways. I didn’t have enough time to come up with a brilliant plan.” Molly had her hand around her sword handle in a second, but the girl picked herself up. “Good to see you, husband.” Despite his joke to John, Mike loves to teach, and he’ll often borrow John’s case stories to illustrate different aspects of medicine. He had Sherlock in as a guest speaker once. Once. John rolled his eyes fondly. Only a Holmes. “That sounds like a brilliant idea. We should invite Greg as well.” It took a little over two months to get everything sorted. Mrs. Hudson was terribly sad to see them go, but it did allow her to move nearer to her sister’s home in Bath. She hugged them both goodbye, and Watson felt no shame in his tears as he bid her farewell. He couldn’t quite see whether Holmes was doing the same, but he had his suspicions. For the first time since they’d met, Sherlock was completely quiet as John led him past Lestrade and out of the small park. He didn’t say a word as John signalled a cab, just nodded when John inclined his head (he wasn’t going to make that mistake again, thank you). John dropped a piece of paper into the front seat with the address. The cabbie gave him a look, but John just smiled. “It’s a surprise.” Kitty didn't come downstairs until nearly noon, which proved Sherlock right about her lack of sleep. John was just starting to wonder whether he should go check on her when he heard a faint thumping from the stairs. He went out to see Kitty sliding down the stairs sitting down one step at a time, taking care not to jar her ankle. “The King was truly ill,” Moran said quickly. “But yes, Jamiarty has had Riley poisoning him for the last few years. It was enough to fool the Miracle Man.” "Come off it." Donovan was smiling now, and there was a pity in her face that John decidedly didn't like. "How long have you two been together now, hm? Three months?" When the man in black came around the corner, he had just enough time to see the rock before it crashed…into a tree, two feet from his head. The prince did, shoving the pale man to the ground. He tossed the knife on the table and drew his sword. “To the death.” “Yes, they are very small,” Grezzik agreed. “But they each have a purpose, and they work together to do amazing things.” He sighed. Molly blinked awake. It was the middle of the night, and she was lying in Janine’s bed, their bodies pressed close together. "Not if I can't get people to get my name right," Stan said bitterly. John could see it now—the outline of a binder under a too-tight uniform, hair hacked off, a face that would never grow a beard without hormones. “We’ve been planning for months,” Mrs. Hudson replied. She had her best dress on, and she looked ten

<|output|> <|example|> likely die if you’re all fighting, and that ruins my favour.” Ireni glanced over her shoulder. “We’re here now, anyways. I didn’t have enough time to come up with a brilliant plan.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> Molly blinked awake <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “Good to see you, husband <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> Mrs <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> " Donovan was smiling now, and there was a pity in her face that John decidedly didn't like <|indexes|> 3 <|example|> The prince did, shoving the pale man to the ground <|indexes|> 4 4 |

<|text|> years younger with her face wreathed in smiles. “I’m so pleased for you both, truly.” "I could go instead," Molly said. She blushed as Sherlock stared at her. "What? I like Naruto. It's a decent show. Mike introduced me to it." Apologies for the lateness of the chapter, I was away and didn't have time to finish editing last night. Hopefully this modern multi-parter makes up for it! Holmes had no such inhibitions. "Come along, John!" he cried. "Let's go see where we are. I must admit, it is a strange sort of Hell." He didn’t appear to be dead. He was sitting now, going swiftly up the Cliffs with Waverly, who was smiling hugely. John smiled at him. “Later, love,” he promised. “I believe we owe our friends a chance to have some cake.” Moriarty coughed loudly, and John snapped out of it. He didn’t have much time here. He had to make it count for Sherlock. “Oh, I know when I’m beaten,” Ireni said amiably. “Fair play to him; love is supposed to be powerful. I’d destroy anyone that got in my way too. So what’s Jamiarty doing now?” , and Sherlock had a horror of crumbs in the sheets despite John’s repeated assurances that he’d wash the sheets himself the one time he’d brought his partner breakfast. Yet here he was at ten, John’s alarm cleverly silenced hours before, with toast and tea and bacon and eggs. And Sherlock knew exactly what his husband meant. There were more chairs, for one thing, and a strange slipper on the mantel next to the skull. It was still their sitting room, still their flat, but it almost felt like there were other people who belonged here too. The twins, on the other hand, were ecstatic. "Do you know any good dragon games?" Lily asked her. "I like dragons." “We can’t ask Jamiarty for help!” John snapped. “We have no ground, and if we let him know that we know his plan, he’ll go to war anyways. His advantage is gone.” And, to his delight, she was also a detective, though she wasn't doing so much running about now since he was born. When Molly Morstan was ten, Jacob asked her if she wouldn’t mind having another new name. “If your Mummy agrees, I want to share my name with both of you,” he said. Molly agreed, as long as she could call him Dad. They shook hands, and once they’d talked to Mummy and bought her a pretty white dress with sparkles she and Molly became Hoopers. “When Jamiarty was ten, a girl of seven died. She was his half-sister. Riley was given Veritas, and she claimed that he murdered her.” “You’re right, Anderson. You are quite often, you know.” Sherlock looked at him thoughtfully. “All we can do now is try and delay things, until Sally and the others have a chance to get back.” Once he was dressed too they made their way out to the kitchen. Sherlock heard footsteps on the stairs, wasn’t surprised to see Mrs. Hudson coming up the stairs. She had a large tray of food, too—his and John’s favourites. That

<|output|> <|example|> years younger with her face wreathed in smiles. “I’m so pleased for you both, truly.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> It's a decent show <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> It's a decent show <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 <|example|> “Later, love,” he promised <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> It's a decent show <|indexes|> 3 <|example|> ” "I could go instead," Molly said <|indexes|> 4 4 <|example|> Hopefully this modern multi-parter makes up for it! Holmes had no such inhibitions <|indexes|> 5 <|example|> You are quite often, you know <|indexes|> 6 6 <|example|> "What? I like Naruto <|indexes|> 7 <|example|> "Come along, John!" he cried <|indexes|> 8 8 |

<|text|> was a little more surprising. The man in black seemed to notice, and yanked him forward, making Sherlock stumble. The man pushed him onto a rock. “Catch your breath.” Kitty took their hands as Stan came into the room, his eyes red. “Don’t you worry about anything. It…it must give you some comfort, to know when it’s coming?” She sat with Molly and Mycroft in the throne room. Lord Moran seemed less nervous this time, but there was still stress in his face. If Stam were here, he might be able to understand his cousin better, but Stam refused to stand in his cousin’s presence. Whether it was to hide his grief or avoid temptation to return with him, Janine wasn’t quite sure. Stam had been quiet these last few months about his cousin, but he didn’t seem to have any other family. It took a few moments to coax her out of her swoon, but when she was more alert Molly seemed calm. “That’s a shock,” she managed. “How?” For a moment Stam felt sick. His cousin—the only person who’d ever been kind to him despite his albinism—stood in a cell, full of secrets. Full of Jamiarty’s secrets. The law of gravity states that objects follow the same rate of falling, but Sir Isaac Newton had never met Grezzik. Grezzik started flutter-kicking through the air, keeping a smile on his face in case Waverly saw him. “Magic or poison?” Ireni said bluntly. She pulled up the King’s sleeve and gasped. The flesh looked normal to Sally, normal for an older man. Greg has always tried to go with the flow (which is why he can handle Sherlock so well). So when Mycroft asked him if their regular coffee could perhaps be held at a more romantic location, he didn’t panic or even ask if he was sure. He could learn to love Mycroft. What he learned instead was that he already did. “But were you ever close to anyone?” Sherlock mused. “I don’t think you were, though I can’t imagine why.” “You made vows, Philip! Your lives are intertwined, in the eyes of the Powers and of each other! You have to talk to her about all of this, and you cannot make decisions on your own. How would Waverly feel, knowing her father disrespects her mother this way?!” “Just two more, I think,” Mycroft replied, eyes twinkling in the fading light. Footsteps—Holmes groaned as he recognized the treads—announced the arrival of the final two wedding guests, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade. , what a marvellous word) chat with their family and friends. He ate slowly and methodically, watching his hands as he used his knife and fork. More specifically, he watched his left hand. “Good. I want you to go and renew the treaty. Make up whatever you like, just get in the door. In fact, you should agree to whatever they say. While you’re talking, get Riley into the castle. She can search for the baby, and lead you to it.” “Not like you don't, Detective.” John tucked his head against Sherlock, listening to the steady beat of his heart. It wouldn't be much

<|output|> <|example|> was a little more surprising. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> , what a marvellous word) chat with their family and friends <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> Hudson and Lestrade <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> was a little more surprising <|indexes|> 2 2 |

<|text|> longer until he would have to pretend that this precious, wonderful heart had ceased to beat. He shuddered. Mycroft meant well with his acting classes, but he didn't understand that the horror John felt at the mere idea of Sherlock being dead would be enough to convince the casual observer of his pain. “It was fun!” Billy said enthusiastically. He pushed down the slight worry he’d felt, pulling out of the station, watching Rachel try to run and catch up. A whole week without Mum and Dad…but he had his grandfathers. This would be fun! Mary let herself relax. “Will your wife do me the honour of arranging my flowers? I still do not possess her knack, and I want everything to be beautiful.” “You are a war starter! You don’t have to be fair!” Ireni yanked the Princess up the hill, and Grezzik picked up a rock. “Thought you were dead,” Maria replied. “Thought you and Ireni might be dead. And we failed. And I had nowhere else to go, and nothing to do.” “Right. Well, you’ve heard the first part of it already. My saying ‘please’ did happen, and it intrigued Roberts, as did my description of your beauty. Finally he said ‘alright Watson, never had a valet, why don’t we try that for one night? If it doesn’t work, I’ll kill you in the morning.’ Luckily for me, his first mate had a tooth ache, and I managed to help pull the tooth. So he let me live, and I kept treating people. Terrible health care on a pirate ship.” It is important to realize that Grezzik was never really little. He was fifteen pounds at birth, and by the time he was five he was ready to shave and was nearly six feet tall. His giant body managed to hide his soft heart, but it didn’t protect him from the bullying of the other children, and the frightened looks of the adults. The most direct route once you’d summitted the Cliff was indeed through a sort of no-man’s-land to Gondor. But there was another route, one she knew well, because that was going to be their escape after the Princess—after Sherlock—had been killed. When the door closed behind the bell hop John glanced up at Sherlock, suddenly and unaccountably nervous. "Do you want to...well, shall we have a drink?" John looked flummoxed, but he let Sherlock take him by the hand, and they left the dungeon together. “Of course, Mycroft. I am at your service.” A job, at the palace! Finally, he had a place in London. “I will be terrible to people sometimes, so that you can get some rest.” John shuffled. “I mean, the music for the party—if we have one at all, if Mycroft has his way it’ll just be the ceremony—” John didn't reply. He was having trouble holding Sherlock's gaze, and it wasn't due to the height difference that sometimes caused a crick in his neck, in both their necks. Sherlock took just enough time to throw on a pale blue robe before he sprinted down the castle hall. “And you’ll be put up for murder. I

<|output|> <|example|> longer until he would have to pretend that this precious, wonderful heart had ceased to beat. He shuddered. Mycroft meant well with his acting classes, but he didn't understand that the horror John felt at the mere idea of Sherlock being dead would be enough to convince the casual observer of his pain. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> “And you’ll be put up for murder <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> ” John shuffled <|indexes|> 1 1 |

<|text|> see it in your eyes, girl. It won’t help her—he’s got seven brothers, all worse than him. She knows she’s lucky right now.” Sherlock wrapped an arm around John's waist. "Oh my dear John, of course I do. Isn't this one of the fun parts of being a parent?" “Waverly,” Sally crooned. Her eyes were drifting shut again, and Molly could tell this time it was because she was going to sleep. “Our Waverly.” “I never knew how varied the climate was in Florin,” Molly panted. Her hair was damp with sweat. “It almost feels like Spain.” Back in London, the Diplomacy group (so named by Stam, who wanted some levity), were finding out the same thing from Lord Moran. “Sally is on her way,” John said, hoping it was true, hoping it was fine. “I know the monster Jamiarty is. And I know that you have lost your daughter to this man, and you know too. We’re going to protect you no matter what, but will you help us help Sally take the throne?” “John, I love you. I vow to stand by your side forever, no matter what challenges we face. I vow to cheer you in sad times, to comfort you in hard times and to rejoice with you in the good. I give you my heart, such as it is.” He slid the ring onto John’s waiting, trembling finger. John looked around to see Holmes, tinkering busily with Sherlock’s instruments. Watson was out for a visit with their Kitty, and Sherlock had gone with him. John stepped forward uncertainly, eyes momentarily drawn to the faded scratches of ‘Rache’ on the floor. When he turned Sherlock was staring at him from across the room. John dragged him down and kissed him. It was strange, all those people who said that John was the one who had the way with words. On a computer screen, maybe. But somehow Sherlock had known exactly what John needed to hear and had said it despite their audience, despite his 'reputation', despite every single factor raised against men who want to be sentimental. Grezzik went to the ornate chest in front of an altar to the Powers, and pulled out an enormous bundle of robes. For the first time Sally felt doubt. Could she wear all of those? Could they even put them all on in time? And the other burdens—her dead mother, her murdered half-sister. She shouldn’t even be here to do this. "Goodnight Kitty." John left the light on but closed the door, frowning deeply as he went downstairs. But she made it around the throne, ignoring Jamiarty’s shouts, one foot in front of the other. Her shoulders were bowed with the weight, but her head was held high. Whatever he'd been expecting to come out of his husband's mouth, it certainly hadn't been that. "I...what on Earth do you mean, Sherlock?" Rachel didn't speak, but she set the table without asking and carried the trays in with an unusual level of care. It should have only been an hour ride, but the effort to avoid leaving a trail took an extra hour, and allowing Molly and

<|output|> <|example|> see it in your eyes, girl. It won’t help her—he’s got seven brothers, all worse than him. She knows she’s lucky right now.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> And I know that you have lost your daughter to this man, and you know too <|indexes|> 0 |

<|text|> John occasional breaks took another. But they were still well within their deadline when they got to Stam’s boat. “I thought it might be interesting to meet your Sherlock’s Mycroft,” Holmes said. “I imagine there are some similarities, though from the way you describe him there are some marked differences. I am, of course, willing to supply my own.” Something happened today that is not entirely to do with us, but is another story that must be guarded. And yet…I will still write it, in case someday there comes a reader who wishes to know the full truth. Once they were all inside—they’d borrowed a few chairs from the Rileys’ for this occasion—Holmes offered around sherry. Billy looked up hopefully. “Yes, and the most intelligent of the professionals, with the exception of your father,” Holmes answered readily. “We should try for a visit, John, when we can.” The other man—Sherlock—rushed over. “John’s not here,” he said—rather strange, why did that matter? “He’s visiting Harry.” “Well…” Sherlock was struggling. “I’m all for saying it’s our anniversary so long as we’re awake, but most restaurants are closed by now…” Holmes swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. "He was a good man," he whispered. "We hadn't written in some years, but I always thought that he would still be there, somehow." It surrounded her like a dozen woodpeckers in the spring, barely piercing the mist that sheathed her ears. Everything felt numb and far away. Perhaps she was dying—she’d heard you could do that. Die from a broken heart. Greg dragged Mycroft into the kitchen and kicked John out. “Go and handle the drinks, I can finish the cottage pie!” Mycroft was helping by moving parts of Sherlock’s experiments out of the way of Greg’s enthusiastic chopping. The large room was crowded with people. Molly spotted Grezzik and Ireni, and moved to stand with them. Janine tapped her arm. John shrugged. “He wants to get married, I didn’t ask why.” He looked to the side, a faint blush in his cheeks. “I wasn’t the one asking the questions, anyways.” “That should help,” Sherlock’s voice came from a distance. “It’s not completely fixed, but there shouldn’t be any infection.” Then there was silence for a few minutes, and Grezzik’s heart leapt. They were gaining on Waverly and Riley, he could feel it. They were closer, and when he risked a quick look back over his shoulder, the Cliffs were close indeed. He could make out the bones on the shore, just white blotches at this distance. “All you need to know right now is that help is coming, and Jamiarty won’t be Prince for much longer.” John leaned his head against Sherlock's shoulder. "You know you don't have to keep coming up with new places to...rendezvous, right? I'm perfectly happy with what we already do." The next morning Molly was one of the witnesses for the Sherriff. They all told the same story: the barmaid, Waverly, had screamed at her husband and his seven brothers, calling them out for their foul deeds against woman and man alike. She then placed a curse on each and every one, so that if they

<|output|> <|example|> John occasional breaks took another. But they were still well within their deadline when they got to Stam’s boat. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> Molly spotted Grezzik and Ireni, and moved to stand with them <|indexes|> 0 |

<|text|> tried to hurt anyone, they would feel the injury upon themselves. The husband had tried to grab his wife and throw her to the ground, but Waverly remained in place, and the man fell, dashing his own brains against the ground. The brothers fled, howling, into the night. The next morning there were cold meats and warm eggs and coffee (Watson could cook a little bit), and a promise to dine with Mycroft at his home later that evening was revealed, an invitation that hadn't been extended since an incident with the turkey that Holmes had to swear would not be repeated. Gifts were opened: Holmes' large package was a brand new set of commonplace books of various sizes, perfect for any type of note taking, while Watson was charmed by his new inks, all in various colours. “Maybe because you’re my lover, and my flatmate, and my friend, and you deserve to know why I don’t want to talk about my family?” John retorted. John has terrible memories of being alone in a hospital, and refuses to let Sherlock be in them by himself. Sherlock thinks visiting hours are dull. They generally end up sleeping on a cot because the nurses give up. John remembered the last time he’d slept up there, the night he still didn’t understand, when he’d spoken with a man trapped in a time without freedom for love. The next night he’d only gone into the room long enough to grab pyjamas. “We’re only ten minutes early,” John said, losing the battle with his laughter. “We should have knocked, though—sorry.” She let Mrs. Forrester fuss with her bouquet, took Mr. Forrester’s arm, and walked down the aisle towards John, whose eyes were shining with tears of joy. Sherlock leaned his head against John’s chest. “But we didn’t have a chance to fuck their start up.” “Your daughter,” Martha replied. “Well, born one, anyways.” And she helped Sally sit up just enough to lay the baby on her chest. “She’s healthy, and you’ll recover, my dear.” Mycroft slammed his hand on the table, and Grezzik jumped. “Of course it’s wrong! What about saving yourself, Grezzik?” Max tapped the centre of her palm. “One day before the King became as ill as he is, he brought me a rock. He was very proud of it—he said it was his child’s handprints, made in the rock before it turned solid “I’d better leave too,” Kitty said, quickly brushing a kiss to my cheek. “I need to return in time for supper, or Mrs. Turner will have my head.” Sherlock remembered that night very well. He wanted to impress John, to show him that he was important enough that the police wouldn’t question him bringing anyone into a crime scene. “Really? Show us. I’m not comfortable leaving you here anyways.” Maria glared at Stam. “I do not trust you.” “Pray explain,” Holmes said coldly. He’d only been trying to help, after all, and he didn’t appreciate being mocked. Watson wasn’t sure how long they’d been walking when he noticed a slight blurring in the air. The next lamp confirmed it; fog was descending. Dressed as they

<|output|> <|example|> tried to hurt anyone, they would feel the injury upon themselves. The husband had tried to grab his wife and throw her to the ground, but Waverly remained in place, and the man fell, dashing his own brains against the ground. The brothers fled, howling, into the night. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> “She’s healthy, and you’ll recover, my dear <|indexes|> 0 0 0 <|example|> “One day before the King became as ill as he is, he brought me a rock <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> Dressed as they <|indexes|> 2 2 |

<|text|> were, it wouldn’t take long for the night to become unbearably damp. It was a shame; they’d never be able to walk like this during the day. “What, there are people who wish to be asleep at this hour?” Watson queried, reaching for his trousers. “Imagine that.” The master held no violin; could not, in his listener's arms. And the song was not meant for any but the finest of instruments; any less would surely be an insult. “Yes. I think so.” John is baffled by what he has seen so far. He looks at Sherlock and waits for an explanation. “That is not a site I ever expected to see.” He closes the laptop and is about to go downstairs to make some tea when he hears John stirring in the bed behind him. Sherlock and Mycroft are in the lounge, a map of London tacked to the wall. The desk has been cleared of its standard clutter and in now covered in what John can only assume are the contents of Katherine’s pockets. The clothes that she had been wearing are draped carefully over the chairs, and the brothers are currently examining her coat. He knows they are trying to track the route that she took to find them. “She’s stable for now, but I’m not sure if she’ll stay that way. She’s lost a lot of blood over the course of the last few days. First, there was an accident. She has bruising from the seat belt, three broken ribs, and several cuts along the right side of her torso and on the inside of her right arm.” Katherine turns to look at John, smiling. “I’ve actually got a bit of a chill. I’d forgotten how cold London can be sometimes. I’ll hold on to it for now, thank you.“ “When do you think we’ll be able to speak with her? The best we can do now is guess. We need more data.” Sherlock sinks down in his desk chair, and starts typing away on the laptop, searching for more information to aid him in his deductions. "It's quite useless to argue with Katherine. She can find the holes in any argument you provide and having you seeing her way with a few well-chosen words." He gestures to the stairs again. The nurse finally takes the hint and heads up the stairs to wake Dr. Watson. John mumbles something along the lines of “it was no problem” and dozes off in his chair. Mycroft continues down the hall to check in on the patient. “I was upset. I was leaving behind my family, two of the only friends that I had ever had, a school that I loved. I was afraid. I was sad. It got to me. I was a teenage girl. The hormones were bound to rear their head at some point. Be glad you weren’t there for the rest of my teens, or during the early months of this pregnancy. I’ve been unbearable.” Mycroft sits back in his chair. “Katherine’s always had a great mind for

<|output|> <|example|> were, it wouldn’t take long for the night to become unbearably damp. It was a shame; they’d never be able to walk like this during the day. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 <|example|> “Yes. I think so.” John is baffled by what he has seen so far. He looks at Sherlock and waits for an explanation. “That is not a site I ever expected to see.” <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 |

<|output|> <|example|> ” Katherine turns to look at John, smiling <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> "It's quite useless to argue with Katherine <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> ” The master held no violin; could not, in his listener's arms <|indexes|> 2 2 |

<|text|> detail, John. It will all come back to her soon, I’m sure.” “Ricardo was an art historian, with a background in architecture. He was in Barcelona working on a book about Gaudi and his inspirations. He was concentrating on the story of the man than of his work, and he often spent his days wandering the city, searching for new bits of information or trying to imagine how it was back then. We were very happy together, especially when we found out I was pregnant. It wasn’t planned, but it was an especially delightful surprise.” She stops. The expression that crosses her face is a mixture of sadness and confusion. She takes a deep breath before continuing. John met Sherlock’s gaze as he came back in the room, carrying the tea. “Right. We’ll just have a cuppa, and then I’ll have to insist that you go back to bed, Katherine. You need your rest.” “I like what we do, and I like writing about it. It would be damn near perfect if I could get paid a proper wage for it, so, yeah. I’d like to give it a go. See what they have to offer. You probably know a lawyer that can look over the contracts for us, right? Probably one that owes you a favor?” “No. That’s not it. Not entirely. You looked hurt. Betrayed. You stood at the gate and looked back at our house, with your fingers on your lips, one arm wrapped around your waist, as if you were trying to hold yourself together. Mummy saw you, too. She said you looked like your heart had been broken. She is much better at understanding that sort of thing than I am, so I trusted her assessment. I was afraid that I had been the cause. I am glad that I was not. But who was? What happened?” “No. Not yet. I told them I had to talk it over with you first, since it’s about you and I’m hoping you’ll help with the project. It should give you something to do during your downtime. They said they’d send over a preliminary contract for us to take a look at.” “It’s hard to say. Eight months is early, but not so early that there are any major concerns. It will depend on whether or not the child was injured during the accident or the delivery. The are no obvious signs that it was, but I have no way of knowing. I’d say that odds are good that it’s still alive. But where is it?” John tries hard to keep the desperation from his voice, but he can’t escape the memory of the case they had just finished. His stomach turns at the thought of another dead child, this one gone before it had even had a chance to live. Sherlock could hear the shower going down the hall. He fetched his laptop and logged in to John’s blog. There’d been a new message from Anonymous every few days for the last two weeks, since John had been ill. They

<|output|> <|example|> detail, John. It will all come back to her soon, I’m sure.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> detail, John <|indexes|> 0 0 0 <|example|> He fetched his laptop and logged in to John’s blog <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> That’s not it <|indexes|> 2 |

<|text|> were all similar in tone, but not overtly threatening. Insulting, but not threatening. Sherlock was still bothered by them, but he hadn’t yet figured out why. For now, he was making sure to copy each one. He had a file going. And he’d asked Mycroft to monitor the traffic to the blog. Just in case. Sherlock pauses his search for a moment, and looks at John with both gratitude and concern on his face. “You should rest. You’ve more than done your part. Let us work now. I’ll be sure to wake you if you’re needed.” They arrive at Mycroft’s office to find Anthea waiting for them with a rough timeline of the last month, including surveillance images of Katherine’s imprecise route to England. She had entered the country via Eurostar, as John had suggested, and she had done so under the Catalan version of her name. John had just finished the reading the newspaper. He leans forward in his armchair, elbows on his knees, hands clasped in front of him, not sure what he should do to fill up the hours. He needs a distraction. He makes up his mind to go to the shops and find something to make for dinner when the doorbell sounds. Sherlock doesn’t pause at his work. “One or two.” Sherlock assumes the conversation is over, stares down at his phone, his fingers moving swiftly over the keys and his attention elsewhere. John realizes that there will not be any further conversation on the subject at the moment, so he gets up and heads off to take a shower. “John, we didn’t just terrorize his brother. We also exasperated our teachers and drove our mothers to distraction. Mycroft was the only real challenge. At least half the time he figured out our plots before we had a chance to put them in action.” “You, no doubt, argued in favor of tradition,” Sherlock replies, as he finishes off a series of text activating his homeless network, looking for a lead on the woman who looked after Katherine on the train. “Who exactly did she marry, brother? Did she know nothing about him?” Sherlock, as ever, finds himself confused by matters of the heart. “We are not yet sure what has become of the child. Sherlock and I have been working to retrace the path that led you to Baker Street. We know you arrived in a taxi. Before that you were on a train.” “I encouraged him to contact his family, to tell them the good news. I have no one left, and the idea that our child would have family and not know them bothered me. I had even been contemplating getting in touch with the two of you, asking you to represent his or her English heritage.” Mycroft smiles at this, and John chuckles to himself, imagining the two men he had come to know so well as uncles. It’s not a particularly violent assault, but Sherlock doesn’t take it well when someone calls John’s honesty, integrity, or bravery into question. He likes it no better than John does when someone

<|output|> <|example|> were all similar in tone, but not overtly threatening. Insulting, but not threatening. Sherlock was still bothered by them, but he hadn’t yet figured out why. For now, he was making sure to copy each one. He had a file going. And he’d asked Mycroft to monitor the traffic to the blog. Just in case. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> It’s not a particularly violent assault, but Sherlock doesn’t take it well when someone calls John’s honesty, integrity, or bravery into question <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 <|example|> were all similar in tone, but not overtly threatening <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> He had a file going <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> He leans forward in his armchair, elbows on his knees, hands clasped in front of him, not sure what he should do to fill up the hours <|indexes|> 3 <|example|> ” “You, no doubt, argued in favor of tradition,” Sherlock replies, as he finishes off a series of text activating his homeless network, looking for a lead on the woman who looked after Katherine on the train <|indexes|> 4 4 |

<|text|> dare suggests that Sherlock is a fraud. The pair are a bit protective of each other in that way. In most ways, really. He dashed off what he intended to be a biting response, but when he read back over it before hitting post, he realized that he sounded more hurt than angry. His threats had come off sounding more childish than menacing. He sounded sentimental, much more so than he had realized. Prince Jamiarty looked well enough, but Sherlock didn’t really care as they walked through the small chapel. An old bishop stood at the altar, and after they’d both knelt and he blessed them, he began to speak. Maria put her hand on her heart. “I swear on the soul of my father Domingo Montoya, you will reach the top alive.” Watson had crossed to the shelves and was looking through the books. To his shock, he found his book of stories from his childhood, the ones his mother had read to him before she died of fever. He opened it and traced the letters, trying to take it all in. And for now, this story comes to a close. If I ever get any prompts or inspiration strikes, I may add something new, but for now, goodbye to the world of Dreams and Visions. It will always be there to welcome back its readers :) Sally’s head snapped up. Jamiarty was in the room now (where did he come from, had he been waiting?) He stood with a sword, and there was a madness in his face Sally had never seen. “Now, a clever man would put the poison in his opponent’s glass, because only a great fool would drink what was in front of him. I’m not a great fool, so clearly I cannot drink the wine in front of me. But you’re well aware I’m not a great fool, so clearly I cannot drink the wine in front of you.” It's the wedding day, and the Brute Squad has a job to do. One member in particular, however, meets up with an old friend... John reached over and took Sherlock’s pulse. “Your heart is racing like mad, and your pupils are dilated. And you’re sweating.” Quick summary for those who haven’t read this story [Adventure of the Three Garridebs]: a case of a very convoluted imposter leads Holmes and Watson to the basement of an old house, where the imposter, ‘Killer Evans’ is trying to hide his counterfeiting press (not much real about this guy). Holmes confronts him, and Evans appears to agree, only to shoot Watson twice in the leg. Watson’s not badly wounded, so he’s lucid enough to think this as Holmes bends over him frantically: Hope everyone enjoyed, and good luck to those of you who are going back to school. (Or who started a while ago...you have my sympathy). Martha Sissons was very much in love with her husband, and even though she disapproved of the cartel she would have stood by him. It was only when she caught Frank with another woman, and found out about the rest of them, that she wished

<|output|> <|example|> dare suggests that Sherlock is a fraud. The pair are a bit protective of each other in that way. In most ways, really. He dashed off what he intended to be a biting response, but when he read back over it before hitting post, he realized that he sounded more hurt than angry. His threats had come off sounding more childish than menacing. He sounded sentimental, much more so than he had realized. <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> Prince Jamiarty looked well enough, but Sherlock didn’t really care as they walked through the small chapel. An old bishop stood at the altar, and after they’d both knelt and he blessed them, he began to speak. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 |

<|output|> <|example|> But you’re well aware I’m not a great fool, so clearly I cannot drink the wine in front of you <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> In most ways, really <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> <|indexes|> 3 <|example|> It was only when she caught Frank with another woman, and found out about the rest of them, that she wished <|indexes|> 4 |

<|text|> she’d listened to her best friend. “Of course not. Now, to business. The vast majority of the wedding details are simple or have been taken care of already. I believe a month should be sufficient?” Billy loved his room on sight. It was bright and warm, the same wallpaper as his room at home, and a huge bed. Grandfather John laid the case on the ground by the bed. “Need any help?” “I know it did, dear, but sometimes I stop and think about how lucky we are that we’re not in some mental institution.” “I don’t know, Sally. Your mother only said that she hoped he would care for you, but no one ever came.” "John!" Sherlock's voice broke something in John; deeper than his heart, down into the very core of who he was. He never wanted Sherlock to sound like that, to feel that broken. “I deny these charges,” Jamiarty answered. He sounded just as bored as he looked. “Any action I took last night, Father, was on false information. I had heard from a reliable source that the Carrier whore was going to stage a coup. It seems as though it was true.” Moriarty sighed, looking almost gloomy. “I've known for about...oh, I'd say a month, now? Miss Donovan's an excellent spy. Tell her I'm trying to get rid of Sherlock and she's loyal as anything. I probably could have told her I was really Moriarty and not 'Rich Brook'...I doubt she would have cared.” “Not recently. He was shot at about a year ago. His bodyguards took care of the shooter—terrible shot.” “Well, it’s going to be her birth name, and she can change it if she likes,” Kitty answered with a glance at Stan, “but we thought maybe the best start for a name is one that reminds you of love. So her name’s Rachel Molly Hopkins.” Watson swallowed. “Of course.” It was odd, this; he’d been in similar situations before, but never when the stakes were quite so high. “How did they know to play this one?” Molly asked, her feet remembering the steps as her mind was distracted. The palace grounds felt very different as an intruder and not a valuable trophy, Sherlock reflected as he darted through the gardens. He used to avoid the guards because he got tired of being followed everywhere. Now he remembered how difficult it was to avoid them, how ruthless they could be. Jamiarty had trained them well. It was Greg's turn to laugh. "Holmes-sexual," he gasped, wiping his eyes. John was all but growling into the phone. "My God, I want that on a T-shirt. Wait until Mycroft hears that one." Watson looked at his lover’s brother, who had every reason to denounce them, to disapprove, yet warmly proclaimed his support instead. “Actually, I’m not expected home for a while yet, I imagine. I’d be delighted, Mycroft.” John turned, still calm, and faced Mycroft. “That would be terrible, Mycroft, and I would hate myself forever. But the best way to avoid that will be to send me with him. I know my limits, better than most men, and I will agree to

<|output|> <|example|> she’d listened to her best friend. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> ” Moriarty sighed, looking almost gloomy <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> So her name’s Rachel Molly Hopkins <|indexes|> 1 1 1 <|example|> John was all but growling into the phone <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> Your mother only said that she hoped he would care for you, but no one ever came <|indexes|> 3 |

<|text|> this plan because I know you love your brother and will make sure he survives this, life and reputation intact.” Mycroft fidgeted. “But I will not stay at home and worry for months, years, because someone else decided what was best for me. That's not who I am.” Kitty and Hopkins have been seeing a great deal of each other in the last few months; they are officially courting. Then everything was brought sharply, squeakily into focus with a misjudged slip of the hand, a meeting of eyes, and the violin fell silent with surprise and a dawning horror. King Lotharon took the first robe off the pile. It was blue silk, shimmering in the candlelight. “As ruler you must be like the water. You must give your subjects life and sustenance, and give them the chance to explore the world. Do you accept?” Apparently not, for the phone rang just as he was nearly finished with the last bit of paperwork before lunch. Greg groaned and answered it without looking at the caller ID. "Alright, alright." Kitty thundered down the stairs, glitter still smeared on her cheek from the arts and crafts she'd done with Lily and Jacob. Without pausing, she dashed into the kitchen, grabbed the cold beers and biscuits, turned sharply and somehow landed between John and Sherlock without upsetting plates or dropping the cans. "You do realize that we're watching a DVD, right? The show can start at any time?" The final room was just off the kitchen—a bedroom with a large clothes cabinet and a door leading out to the veranda. The walls had a print of delicate bursts of colour against a gray background. “Mycroft,” Watson said. His tongue felt too large for his mouth. “He took us to international waters.” He pulled on the chain around his neck. “Here.” Stan bit his lip. “Well, you’ll be changing your name anyways if you agree. And Kitty Winter is just as pretty a name as Kitty Watson, though I like Kitty Hopkins better.” "Make them get it right," he said, surprising himself. "Show them that who you are matters, that you can be better than all of them while you're still solving your own case. You'll be fine, lad." Hope everyone enjoyed this holiday time! I swear there's a reference to one of them giving the other cuff links in canon, but I can't REMEMBER WHICH STORY. Whatevs. It's headcanon now. Lestrade looked surprised. “I suppose that in itself is a long story, but it can wait. I’m told that the modern version of myself is coming?” When it finally grew too dark to see, they began walking back to Baker Street. As they were nearly alone on the street, Holmes decided it was safe to confide his deductions to Watson. “Your face is very expressive, my dear Watson,” he finished. “Perhaps it would be safer to…control it, somehow?” Holmes smiled, laying down his bag. "Happy Christmas, my dear John," he whispered, kneeling next to the sofa. "I'm home." Those of you who've read my story By Any Name know that the idea John suggests is a favourite idea of mine

<|output|> <|example|> this plan because I know you love your brother and will make sure he survives this, life and reputation intact.” Mycroft fidgeted. “But I will not stay at home and worry for months, years, because someone else decided what was best for me. That's not who I am.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> ” "Make them get it right," he said, surprising himself <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “Mycroft,” Watson said <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> "Happy Christmas, my dear John," he whispered, kneeling next to the sofa <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> ” "Make them get it right," he said, surprising himself <|indexes|> 3 <|example|> ” Mycroft fidgeted <|indexes|> 4 <|example|> “Your face is very expressive, my dear Watson,” he finished <|indexes|> 5 |

<|text|> (because seriously, lover, friend or colleague, BBC Sherlock would never have left John behind if he could avoid it)...*takes deep breath* but that may or may not be what's happening here. John undressed and coaxed Sherlock into the shower with him. There was nothing to do with sex—hell, it was nothing to do with intimacy in some ways. It was about making sure that Sherlock felt safe, and having John that close was the best way to do that. John whirled. Moriarty stood there, John’s gun in his hand and a lazy, satisfied smirk on his smug face. It took a long, intense year, but Domingo fulfilled his vow. He slaved all day and most of each night, long after Maria went to bed. Sherlock sat at the desk and opened the box of knives he’d ordered for Jamiarty. A wedding present, for a husband who loved to hunt. There was a dagger that would kill anything in ten seconds…a nearly painless death. She stopped and raised her eyebrows at John’s cough. John cursed himself. How had he fallen for that? “No. A few are suspicious of a coup, and others…well, even someone like Jamiarty manages to have supporters. So we’ve decided to move the trial up.” “And what was yours?” John asked, squaring his shoulders even as his heart sank. He had a strange feeling he knew what was coming; the feeling that had pressed on him for months now, that they'd been missing something obvious. He and John had been as blissfully happy as an irritating older brother, infuriating Yarders and an overly-indulgent landlady could allow a couple to be. Nearly two months into their new relationship, they had yet to have a ‘couple-fight’ (This was established after John had pointed out that the domestics they had before they were a couple didn’t count as their first fight, no matter what. Sherlock had lost that argument—“which isn’t a fight either, love”—and had been careful ever since.) “Then I’ll give you the Potion and explain it all, and then you can decide. I can give you a few batches, so you can have as many as you like.” “As I observed,” Sherlock snapped, hands shaking as he tore at his tunic. “Here, I’ll make you a bandage.” That day Ireni learned two things. The first was that she had to know more than magic to survive, that to depend on it would make you weak. The second was that her growing suspicion that she wasn’t built to love, that caring about people just didn’t happen to her…that was the greatest blessing she’d ever known. “And he gets it!” Moriarty put the gun inside his coat and clapped. “Bravo, Johnny! I certainly did think about destroying Sherlock and having him kill himself—that would have been the worst ending for him, once upon a time. My first plan, you know, so I'm not surprised that Sherlock was able to deduce that.”  He took a step closer to John. “But you see it now, don't you? The pool, Miss Adler, even this whole Reichenbach affair—I was doing my best to make him suffer through Molly had clambered

<|output|> <|example|> (because seriously, lover, friend or colleague, BBC Sherlock would never have left John behind if he could avoid it)...*takes deep breath* but that may or may not be what's happening here. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> Nearly two months into their new relationship, they had yet to have a ‘couple-fight’ (This was established after John had pointed out that the domestics they had before they were a couple didn’t count as their first fight, no matter what <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “But you see it now, don't you? The pool, Miss Adler, even this whole Reichenbach affair—I was doing my best to make him suffer through Molly had clambered <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> There was nothing to do with sex—hell, it was nothing to do with intimacy in some ways <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> She stopped and raised her eyebrows at John’s cough <|indexes|> 3 3 |

<|text|> off his back and sat curled in a ball in the front of the boat. She knew to keep out of the way when he was getting himself sorted. He was always clumsy when he first got into a boat. But Sherlock shook his head. “No presumption of innocence for those accused of high treason,” he murmured back. “And anyone who helps them, joins them. No one will risk doing it, for fear of the Traitor’s Fate.” “What are you talking about?” John let go of Kitty. “You’ve got more to offer than me in terms of good genes.” Molly threw it, and helped the man in black to the top of the Cliff. The man drew his sword, but Maria waved it away. “When you’ve caught your breath.” "Even if he doesn't, he probably wants to make sure that anyone who knew of Sally's mother is dead. We have to save them." Sherlock huffed, his breathing coming under control. She helped hold Anderson back as Grezzik cut into Sally with an expert touch, laid the blade aside, and pulled out a child, covered in blood and other things that made Anderson turn pale. There was a cord around the baby’s neck, and Grezzik pulled it free, tapping gently on the baby’s back. The baby—a girl, it was a girl—let out a wail. Neither Kitty nor Stan was in a rush, and Sherlock did go a bit overboard in the planning stage, but the wedding did finally happen. Four years to the day after Stan and Kitty met (the real day, as John observed), they rented out a gorgeous hall in Bristol Sally looked down at her daughter, still tied to her chest. In the dim moonlight, she could just make out the shape of Waverly’s face. Eventually, Kitty calmed down. "Maybe you ought to explain it, Mr. Holmes," she croaked. "I dunno if I can, now that it comes to it." Sherlock swept the glass up while John gave Kitty a cursory examination. There were a few pieces of glass in her hair, but besides a few cuts and her bad ankle—which she allowed him to wrap with great reluctance—she was mostly uninjured from her defenestration. No, John thought, wrong word. What on earth is the opposite of defenestration? Sherlock opened his eyes and stared up at John. It was deeply unsettling, partly because John was never taller than Sherlock, and partly because the grief in Sherlock's eyes was greater than anything he'd ever seen. It was John who’d realized that Jamiarty would be in the throne room. They’d run there right after making sure Cerise was safe (not that she needed help, she was running through the halls, her bandaged arms more than capable of holding two pikes). Then it was a simple matter of waiting for Jamiarty to reveal himself. The throne room had at least eighteen different hiding places, and most of them had exits out of the room. Raz was the Head librarian, one of six who curated and cared for the royal collection of books and artifacts. Sherlock had spent many hours there, and he knew the librarian

<|output|> <|example|> off his back and sat curled in a ball in the front of the boat. She knew to keep out of the way when he was getting himself sorted. He was always clumsy when he first got into a boat. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> ” "Even if he doesn't, he probably wants to make sure that anyone who knew of Sally's mother is dead <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> Sherlock had spent many hours there, and he knew the librarian <|indexes|> 1 |

<|text|> well. “In the first place, a knighthood is meaningless to me. The title would not change my station; I still have enemies in high places as much as I do friends, and any monetary compensation is unnecessary. We have plenty of money for ourselves, even enough to indulge, now that—” Holmes broke off. Shortly after he'd given up drugs for good, Watson had come to him with his cheque book, with instructions not to give it to him if there were any sort of race on that day. Since then the doctor was in much better financial condition. It struck Holmes, however, that bringing this up to one's husband was impolite. He stared up at Sherlock, who was standing stock still in the middle of the path, arm absentmindedly around John’s shoulders. blowing up all the beakers and having to start again, crowing in triumph and making a notation on a napkin pinned to the mantel. Sherlock had texted that he had gone to fetch Mycroft and Greg (death had not stopped his impatience), but Watson beat him back. Sherlock looked back at her; the one person he'd ever counted on absolutely, the one that Moriarty had managed to overlook. Molly would follow him no matter what; there was something humbling about that, considering he'd never given her anything in return. He made a mental note to do better in future—perhaps making sure that Mike's investments paid off would be a start. She'd always wanted a nice house with a garden. “The point is for the two of you to have things that others in love may have!” Mycroft cried exasperatedly. “Perhaps only those of us onboard may know of it, but you will be bound together. I know that you both wish it, why not have it?” The Florinese Heir Making ceremony was full of pomp and circumstance. It involved the Ruler Regnant bringing the prospective Heir up to the throne and dressing them in royal robes, each layer representing a different part of the responsibilities of the Crown. To make things even more interesting, the robes were all made of different types of material, from fine silk to heavy, thinly pressed metal. If the Heir could stay on their feet and walk around the throne once (to intense music), they were deemed the Heir. Mycroft went to Humperdinck’s Heir Making, and had been so bored he almost fell asleep. Grezzik kept his eyes closed, because perhaps he’d died too quickly to feel the pain. And now that he was facing it, it was scary, and what if he opened his eyes and there was nothing? Just cold and…dark, and alone? “That’s not true.” Stam had kept this secret since the escape, and it was hard to admit it now. “I—I thought a hundred times about trying to save you. You haven’t always been a bad man, cousin. Away from Jamiarty’s influence, I thought you could be saved. But every time I thought about it, something stopped me. I knew you…well, I didn’t know you anymore. I didn’t think it would work.” He stepped away from the cell. “My

<|output|> <|example|> well. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> Sherlock looked back at her; the one person he'd ever counted on absolutely, the one that Moriarty had managed to overlook <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> If the Heir could stay on their feet and walk around the throne once (to intense music), they were deemed the Heir <|indexes|> 1 1 1 <|example|> Grezzik kept his eyes closed, because perhaps he’d died too quickly to feel the pain <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> But every time I thought about it, something stopped me <|indexes|> 3 3 <|example|> She'd always wanted a nice house with a garden <|indexes|> 4 |

<|text|> hands aren’t clean either, cousin. But my loyalty to my prince pales before my loyalty to my country.” “You would risk your lover's safety, Dr. Watson?” Mycroft's voice was cold and hard as steel. “If Moriarty's people see you running around the world, will they not find that suspicious? They might discover that Sherlock is alive, and then what?” “That’s a pretty story, Doctor, but I’ve no living family, and I don’t need to be asking more strangers for charity.” Maria drew her sword and held it out. “This,” she said bitterly. “This, and a man with six fingers on his right hand.” "Not really," John managed as Sherlock trailed kisses down his neck. "What about you? We can go to sleep?" “Then I name your union complete in the eyes of man and the eyes of the Powers. Please seal your union with a kiss.” He was the only child of the king, the only heir, and Florin had gotten used to that long ago, when as a boy of seven he’d ordered the death of a duke’s son because he called him a name. Kitty didn't like lying to her children, but how could she tell Rachel the truth? How could she say that she wasn't at all sure that they were going to be alright? Sherlock kissed him back, not caring where the horse was going, where they were. They were together, and they were free. “You couldn’t have known that,” Sherlock said awkwardly. He looked to John for help, but John seemed just as flummoxed. “I’m not having you get ill when you’re already taxing your body,” he told her. “Relax. The world isn’t going to end because you can’t consult.” The first thing that shocked Sally about the King was that he was standing. And standing on his own, reaching up for a book, in fact. Queen Bella was the one sitting, but she was on a raised chair. It was almost comical, her feet dangling in the air, but that wasn’t why Sally smiled. Queen Bella had never looked so relaxed in all the time Sally had known her. Holmes opened his mouth, then let it close as he considered Watson. John. His John. He’d always hated the idea of marriage, but now that he had John…he’d thought more than once if he could place a ring on John’s finger he would, if only to show the world that he loved this man. The passage ended in a wall surrounded by bookshelves, and Sherlock crouched there for several breaths, listening for movement. He could hear Raz, humming an off-key tune, but there were no other sounds. Sherlock crept through the shelves, walking the way an old woman should. ” John complained as he got out his own phone to text Greg and Mycroft. “That’s all it is, you can’t have known that.” Then the song came back with wrathful, grief stricken vengeance, a punishment for daring to hope for happiness. The same violin that had played a wedding waltz now moaned and wailed, angry with itself, angry with the world, weeping for a love not understood nor allowed. “Oh no. You beat

<|output|> <|example|> hands aren’t clean either, cousin. But my loyalty to my prince pales before my loyalty to my country.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> ” "Not really," John managed as Sherlock trailed kisses down his neck <|indexes|> 0 0 0 <|example|> Holmes opened his mouth, then let it close as he considered Watson <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> ” He was the only child of the king, the only heir, and Florin had gotten used to that long ago, when as a boy of seven he’d ordered the death of a duke’s son because he called him a name <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> “I’m not having you get ill when you’re already taxing your body,” he told her <|indexes|> 3 3 <|example|> They were together, and they were free <|indexes|> 4 4 <|example|> Kitty didn't like lying to her children, but how could she tell Rachel the truth? How could she say that she wasn't at all sure that they were going to be alright? Sherlock kissed him back, not caring where the horse was going, where they were <|indexes|> 5 <|example|> His John <|indexes|> 6 <|example|> His John <|indexes|> 7 7 |

<|text|> me fair and square. I just had some magic up my sleeve.” Ireni looked at Sherlock. “Hello, Princess.” The plan now was simple. Molly and Gruner were going to the collector's room. Sherlock, through an open window, was going to watch and make sure nothing untoward happen, and climb in to retrieve the book once they were gone. John, meanwhile was going after the girls, making his way quietly through the house to the basement. If all went well, Molly would point out where the book was or Sherlock would see it himself, the girls would be out of the house, and everyone would be safe. Watson was laughing as he stood, taking Holmes’ hand casually as they crossed the deck. “So you knew all along?” In that day and age, autopsies were much more thorough, able to tell many certainties where once there were only guesses. When Sherlock and John first met, you could tell time of death within a span of hours. He got out of bed and went for a walk. It was a windy, overcast day, and the bees were buzzing. Perfect, in other words. Holmes closed his eyes and took a deep breath. They’d been so worried about the visit, unable to write to Kitty and Stan properly about their concerns. Kitty had just told them that it would be alright. Holmes shook his head. What had he done to deserve such a wonderful daughter? Truly, the folly of thinking all women were like his nanny so long ago…well, perhaps the bitter taste of being proven wrong, no matter how happy an occasion, was penance enough. As Grezzik readjusted Sherlock, this time tied with his arms around the giant’s neck and hanging off the back (the first time he’d felt short in Mycroft was surprised to receive a telegram from Scotland Yard that day. Sherlock had taken his husband off to the Downs nearly three months since, and although he’d made an agreement to consult with the Yard, he’d never gotten a telegram. Sherlock’s adopted son tended to come by himself, and they would sit in the Stranger’s Room, talking through the problem. “Sit, Watson. We have two hours before he will disturb our peace. I intend to enjoy my breakfast in quiet.” “Yes, well. You’ll be receiving some more boxes in a bit. I’ve taken the liberty of having some of John’s things packed up so he’ll have something to wear, if that should be necessary.” Philip smiled. “I have loved mathematics as a pure science, but deduction, as you describe it, is much more of an art. It is almost poetic.” You were just thinking that, I know. Don’t deny it— Yes, you were. But if I were a sociopathic serial killer— which, rest assured, I am Though science was becoming more and more the domain of professionals, this did not exclude many amateurs from the study of spiritualism. Here was an area where scientists feared to go and charlatans made money. The belief that the dead could speak with the living was very popular and it was quite easy to make a show for the

<|output|> <|example|> me fair and square. I just had some magic up my sleeve.” Ireni looked at Sherlock. “Hello, Princess.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “Sit, Watson. We have two hours before he will disturb our peace. I intend to enjoy my breakfast in quiet.” <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 |

<|output|> <|example|> “So you knew all along?” In that day and age, autopsies were much more thorough, able to tell many certainties where once there were only guesses <|indexes|> 0 |

<|text|> gullible. But the campaign that was waged on him at Priory was something else. The constant demoralisation he went through nearly broke him. When the other rugby players told him to ignore it, he tried. He pretended it didn’t bother him. But it didn’t let up, despite his lack of response, and he never rose above it. For three years he silently suffered. It took a piece of his confidence, taught him that people are horrible and not to be trusted. It showed him that being gay was something to be ashamed of, to hide at all costs. He goes on cases with Sherlock. If Lestrade is doing the summoning, it’s normally a murder, and John has learned his role at a scene. He’s a doctor, but Anderson is the forensic tech, and even though the man is an arse, he isn’t a complete idiot and can usually get the medical basics right— time of death, signs of violence, and anything else pertaining to the condition of the body. John has seen a lot of violent death, but the violence he’s seen has mostly been caused by artillery. These deaths are poisonings, stranglings, stabbings, drownings, and occasionally shootings. He knows this landscape too, having worked for a time in emergency medicine, but he tries not to overstep. She stepped towards me. “Your client may rest in peace. I am loved by a far better man than he, and shall keep it only to safeguard myself.” John pulls his phone out and begins to text, looking at his daughter. “I’m texting your mom. Do you have anything to say to Sherlock before I take you home?” “You were flirting with her, my dear.” My fingers undid his flies; I slid a hand into his trousers, gripping his cock. It became a game they played. Each time one of them would drop a bit of information for the Yarders and the other would play his role. “I have a few names, boys who were close to Adam, and Henry as well. We’ll pull them out of class and talk. I’m hoping they will— well, something like this changes everything. It makes our job both easier and harder. We’ll need to find out which boys are the leaders. More than that, which teachers have been encouraging it.” He hesitates. John is no idiot. He sees things that Sherlock ignores, sheds light in the dark corners where Sherlock would rather not look. But if you love someone, you trust them. You admit your weaknesses and failures. “Okay.” on John, things became even more embarrassing, and friendship was outside of the range of possibilities. John was friendly, but he was also There’s no one to fight now. Maybe this is what life is meant to be, losing pieces of who you think you are so you can see what’s underneath. His dad would have said that it’s one fucking kick in the arse after another. “We must agree how the couple’s motivations will be proved. I say that marriage assumes love. You must prove that money is the motivation.” “Any— any way you want.” I was trying to work

<|output|> <|example|> gullible. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> “We must agree how the couple’s motivations will be proved <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> For three years he silently suffered <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> ” John pulls his phone out and begins to text, looking at his daughter <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> “Okay <|indexes|> 3 3 <|example|> His dad would have said that it’s one fucking kick in the arse after another <|indexes|> 4 4 <|example|> He’s a doctor, but Anderson is the forensic tech, and even though the man is an arse, he isn’t a complete idiot and can usually get the medical basics right— time of death, signs of violence, and anything else pertaining to the condition of the body <|indexes|> 5 <|example|> If Lestrade is doing the summoning, it’s normally a murder, and John has learned his role at a scene <|indexes|> 6 |

<|text|> out the logistics of copulation, fully-clothed, in an alley, when he dropped to his knees and opened my trousers. Afterwards, Harry would tell John tales of How it Used to Be, before Mum ran off and Dad lost his job. He couldn’t remember those days well, and it always made him feel a bit like he’d been cheated out of something he ought to have had. that night after John shot the cabbie, so they have at least one living parent. It’s odd, really, that Sherlock hasn’t talked about them, not even a passing remark. In fact, there is very little that he actually does know about Sherlock. He doesn’t know his birthday, but assumes he’s in his early thirties, perhaps a couple years younger than John. He must have gone to school, but never talks about that, either. No school friends checking in, no birthday cards, no alumni newsletters. Nothing from his past. “Seeing as how that theory might involve you as well, I’ll not say what I think. I’d like to search these premises and then take you down to the Yard for some questions.” He looks, finally sees. On the inside of his arms there are thin, silvery hatch marks. Both arms, but mostly the left one. “You cut yourself. Were you… when I knew you?” John turns and runs out the door, almost slamming it in his haste. Sherlock hears his feet hurrying down the stairs, the front door open and slam. “I think so,” said Lestrade. “I hope he would. He was a trouper, and would do anything for the show.” Wilkes’s nose twitches. He rubs it and says, “Dr Huxtable has asked me to speak with you. You’ll require my approval to talk to anyone.” “A Queen?” Holmes frowned at the mattress they were investigating. “Watson, you’re a very small man, and are likely to get lost in this mattress. I would have to come looking for you every morning— and find you lost in the bedding.” He shakes his head, exasperated. It’s a stupid argument. He doesn’t want to talk about it. “I’m not trying to do anything.” . People like Watson can only find the perfect words once they’ve left the room and find themselves at the bottom of the stairs. He turned so that he could see John’s face. Still unable to tell a lie without giving himself away, he could tell. Struggling with something, he seemed to be reaching a decision about Sherlock, perhaps whether he could trust him or not. He picks up a copy of the book and reads the flyleaf. It sounds like a twisted version of his own life. In the story, a military husband returns home a changed man, unable to love the family he’d left. Is that really how she saw him? He’d tried to love her, or at least keep his vow to her, but it was she who had broken their vows. Michael pauses, the needle still in his hand. He doesn’t seem to have noticed that the drug is wearing off. “I’m not gay. I have a girlfriend.” I turned back to the mirror, taking my comb

<|output|> <|example|> out the logistics of copulation, fully-clothed, in an alley, when he dropped to his knees and opened my trousers. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> He doesn’t seem to have noticed that the drug is wearing off <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> It’s a stupid argument <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> “I think so,” said Lestrade <|indexes|> 2 2 2 <|example|> He rubs it and says, “Dr Huxtable has asked me to speak with you <|indexes|> 3 3 <|example|> “You cut yourself <|indexes|> 4 <|example|> Both arms, but mostly the left one <|indexes|> 5 <|example|> Sherlock hears his feet hurrying down the stairs, the front door open and slam <|indexes|> 6 <|example|> ” He shakes his head, exasperated <|indexes|> 7 7 |

<|text|> in hand and making another attempt to tame my unruly curls. “There is nothing to dislike in your appearance or manners, John.” And even if your mates aren’t married, they’ll have girlfriends with stupid bookclubs and you’ll still be stood up. A boyfriend will choose you every time.” Tonight, I would call to mind all the years we’d been together, remind myself how lucky we were that we had one another. “I know you feel he deserves it.” Holmes lowers himself to the floor, sitting a few feet from Charles and the other boy. “But if you kill him, Adam will still be gone, and there won’t be anything you can do about people like him. You’ll be a murderer, just like the ones who killed Adam.” The walls are blank, the furniture institutional, like what you would find in the waiting room of a hospital. Not even as nice as Ella’s office. The bed is made with military precision, according to his habit. A chair and a small table, a cupboard, a mini-fridge, and a single burner make up his furnishings. It’s what they call a bed-sit. A bed and a place to sit. A single space for sleeping, eating, sitting. His entire life now fits into this space. “That would appear to be a requirement of the profession,” I replied. “Focus, now. You are to accompany me attired in soft-soled shoes, dark clothing, and—“ Then it’s as if a switch is flipped. Watson’s head snaps up and he reacts automatically, raising his knee and kicking the man’s groin. He rakes his foot against the man’s legs, toppling him to the ground, and kicks him again. “Last night we were sitting in a expensive restaurant attempting awkward conversation. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.” He laughed. “Was your adventure with Miss Ashton-Farbridge not enough romance for you? If you want seducing done well, you might have asked me.” I hope he would save his brother, but once more my anger flares. I was excluded from the plan, and I’m sure Mycroft is the one who ensured that. He doesn’t trust me. How can I trust him? “Everyone.” Carmichael points at Huxtable. “Even he knew. Was he worried? Not until parents started complaining. We all accepted it because it was the same for us. We rose above, learned to be men. Nobody told us it should be any different.” “So…” He’s still trying to incorporate this information into his world view. All this time he’s been imagining Holmes with a beautiful woman on his arm, sauntering down the street with hordes of admiring females in his wake. “Do you have a boyfriend?” The forensic tech lectures Sherlock about basic procedures. He wonders whether it’s professional jealousy, or something about Sherlock that has caused the hostility. I encountered several ostlers in a lane which ran beside the house. Seeing me stumbling, they ran to help me. In a very few minutes they’d brought me to the house, where the bruise on my face gained me entrance. He thought about doing cop shows for the rest of his life. Better than aliens, but still. “I’ve enjoyed

<|output|> <|example|> in hand and making another attempt to tame my unruly curls. “There is nothing to dislike in your appearance or manners, John.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> I didn’t think I’d ever see you again <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 <|example|> ” I hope he would save his brother, but once more my anger flares <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> How can I trust him? “Everyone <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> ” And even if your mates aren’t married, they’ll have girlfriends with stupid bookclubs and you’ll still be stood up <|indexes|> 3 |

<|text|> our collaboration.” , but she just laughs. People would talk, she says. The name Sherlock Holmes is still remembered in London. I moved my jaw, tested my neck by turning my head back and forth. “No worries. A very precise hit, indeed.” Gingerly, I felt my face. “I’m sure you left an authentic mark. No one will doubt that I’ve been assaulted.” His vaguely honest confession hadn’t relaxed her stance in the least. If anything, she seemed more skeptical, and not a bit sympathetic. In fact, I had already chosen a destination for our holiday. The idea of visiting the continent with Watson at my side had facilitated my deductions, but it was clear that the newlyweds were idiots in love. When Harry started coming home drunk, she was just fifteen. It made him angry that she was doing just what Dad always did, avoiding things by pretending they didn’t exist. As he got older, he nagged her to quit, told her she had a responsibility, that they both did, to be better people. It never did any good to tell her, and he understands better now. She knew what she was doing every time she got her hands on a bottle; she wasn’t cut out for school and didn’t see much opportunity. He wants his own life, to be who he was once meant to be, but he’s struggling just to get out of bed each day. Many days he wonders if it’s even worth it. “We’re flying?” Which would be much nicer than walking when his legs can’t seem to find the floor, but it’s a rather stupid thing to say. Watson opened it and read the note. “I’m asked to return to the lodge. An English lady is in need of a doctor. She is seriously ill, possibly dying.” Sherlock is frowning, but his mouth begins to quirk up at one corner despite his best efforts to look serious, and John can’t help it. He laughs, and Sherlock’s eyes open wide in surprise before he begins laughing too. Reluctantly, Watson picked up his book and pretended to read. I sat smoking a cigarette, occasionally closing my eyes in thought. We sat for an hour, Watson rising only to warm up my cup. “It was…” Sherlock began, uncertain how to finish the sentence. “For me, Greg was a good mentor. He’s a very… grounded actor. I learned a lot from him, which was why I jumped at the chance to act with him again.” was not his type, but now he realises that he fancies the man sitting opposite him. Ethereal, but not People always thought the same about actors, he reminded himself. Being a good actor meant making it look so effortless that people assumed you were just playing yourself. It was insulting, really, that very few fans understood what went into creating a role, making it come to life, but that was the price of being good at it, he supposed. Whatever happens after that, she doesn’t need to imagine. She’ll see them in a few days when Sherlock needs a spleen or some other body part. John will say something about

<|output|> <|example|> our collaboration.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> I learned a lot from him, which was why I jumped at the chance to act with him again <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> He laughs, and Sherlock’s eyes open wide in surprise before he begins laughing too <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> I learned a lot from him, which was why I jumped at the chance to act with him again <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> ” Sherlock is frowning, but his mouth begins to quirk up at one corner despite his best efforts to look serious, and John can’t help it <|indexes|> 3 3 |

<|text|> where it ought to be kept, and Sherlock will pretend John is being unreasonable, but won’t quite be able to keep from smiling. They’ll bicker a bit, like a married couple. They’ve always done that, but now it will feel different. The smiles they give each other won’t be hidden. They won’t pretend it’s anything but what it is. Holmes is crazy, he thinks, even more so than the guy who tried to kill him. Murderers have an agenda. It’s a crazy agenda, but at least you can understand what they’re about. He’s not sure what brand of crazy Holmes might be or what his agenda is. , rather. She will refuse to be outlived by any of us, Mycroft, not even her own children, if she can help it.” “It wasn’t a terrible experience,” he said. “I’m glad I did it. I’m glad I know you. It’s just… it hasn’t been easy for me, either, having that as the place where I started. I’ve been lucky. I know that, and am grateful for the breaks I’ve had.” “Power of suggestion,” she said, using her fingers to open his eyes wide and leaning down to peer into them. “Your pupils are not dilated, Sherlock. Take a deep breath. You’re okay.” Milverton laughed. “Don’t be a fool, boy. Do you really think I would bring the letters here with me? And what would you do— steal them from me? Then I would have to shoot you, and the law would be on my side.” , he thinks. It’s bad enough having to use the cane, but he really can’t manage without it. He’s gaunt, having lost much of his muscle mass over the last four months. Grey hairs are starting to come in among the blond, and the eyes that stare back at him look weary. Not surprising, since he hasn’t slept through a night since he returned. Worse, he’s lost nearly all the confidence he once had. He’s no longer Doctor Watson, army surgeon, Captain Watson, RAMC. He’s a reject. No job, no family, no purpose. His once busy life has been reduced to therapy three times a week, physio Monday and Friday and Ella every Wednesday. He feels old. He looks old. But he won’t see John again. He saw the look on his face. No love there; John hates him. He’ll wait until Sherlock is out of the flat, come in and empty all his drawers, take his books from the bookcase, clear out his desk. He’ll leave his key on the kitchen table, close the door, walk down seventeen steps, and leave, never to return. Instead of setting the opening scene in the surgery where Jason and Neil worked, Irene had made it a chance encounter at the local coffee shop. Holly and Neil would do a quick catch-up of the last few years, express their concerns about Jason’s obsession. Then Martha Hudson, playing Jason’s grandmother, would make her entrance. She would appear distressed; Jason had returned from his UFO sighting trip, but didn’t seem to be himself. successful man, well-known, consulted even by royalty. Had I wished

<|output|> <|example|> where it ought to be kept, and Sherlock will pretend John is being unreasonable, but won’t quite be able to keep from smiling. They’ll bicker a bit, like a married couple. They’ve always done that, but now it will feel different. The smiles they give each other won’t be hidden. They won’t pretend it’s anything but what it is. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> ” , he thinks <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> Worse, he’s lost nearly all the confidence he once had <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> “I’m glad I did it <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> It’s bad enough having to use the cane, but he really can’t manage without it <|indexes|> 3 <|example|> He feels old <|indexes|> 4 |

<|text|> to marry, I would have no trouble finding a bride. Indeed, women had aimed their snares at me before, and I had left them empty-handed. Perhaps I am not handsome in a traditional sense, but women are silly to care about such things. I was not a man to be rejected; I was meant to do the rejecting. Watson made the tea, spread some toast with jam, and cut it into triangles. “You must eat something, my dear.” “Killing yourself. I haven’t lost anyone to suicide, fortunately. I’ve known people who did that, though, and I saw what it did to the people close to them. I understood what he felt.” “I believe there is a clause in our partnership agreement requiring you to give me a month’s notice, Watson.” In the Times he reads of a body stolen from the morgue at Barts Hospital in London. Scotland Yard is puzzled as to why anyone would steal the body of Sherlock Holmes. Fitting, that his last case with Lestrade should remain unsolved. He can imagine that it might keep the DI up at night, wondering. If the box were empty, he would propose to her, and she would accept. The wedding would happen soon. He would buy into a practice, perhaps, and find himself too busy with all that entailed to have time to visit his old friend. “I can promise you one, but not the other,” Moriarty snarled, backing out of the room. As the door closed behind him, Watson turned to me. Hearing John’s feet on the stairs made us both rise from our seats before sentiment could overwhelm us. I stood, awkward, while John fetched his coat and hat and helped him into them. gay; all boys go through that phase, all men have fantasies. It didn’t mean anything. That’s not true, though. It I called a week ago and was able to talk with Rosie, but Mary still hasn’t called me back to set up visits.” “Not for certain, though he was in the water when I arrived, and the boys swore they didn’t touch him. I observed a mark on his forehead, as if he’d hit it on the rocks.” He wondered. Now that the idea had been planted, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. It could be a very bad thing for Baz to have a love interest. Or a very good one. It would depend on him, he realised, and how he played it. After that she would call him and just sob. Or nag him to get his stuff. Or tell him what’s wrong with everything. What’s wrong with him. He looks thin. I noticed that night that he’d lost weight. It’s hard to discern a physique when it’s draped in an ill-fitting suit, but it didn’t look like he’d been biking to work, trying to slim down. Not a trying-to-get-buff kind of thin. More like he’d been ill. “And how am I to help her? The blackmailer cannot lose. Either he receives the money he has demanded, or he gains credibility for his threats against others by following through and ruining her.” “I hope so.” She looks up

<|output|> <|example|> to marry, I would have no trouble finding a bride. Indeed, women had aimed their snares at me before, and I had left them empty-handed. Perhaps I am not handsome in a traditional sense, but women are silly to care about such things. I was not a man to be rejected; I was meant to do the rejecting. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> After that she would call him and just sob <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> It would depend on him, he realised, and how he played it <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> It didn’t mean anything <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> That’s not true, though <|indexes|> 3 3 <|example|> It would depend on him, he realised, and how he played it <|indexes|> 4 4 <|example|> Hearing John’s feet on the stairs made us both rise from our seats before sentiment could overwhelm us <|indexes|> 5 <|example|> ” “Not for certain, though he was in the water when I arrived, and the boys swore they didn’t touch him <|indexes|> 6 |

<|text|> at him, pulling off her gloves. “I could use a cup of coffee. Do you have somewhere to be?” John can be cranky sometimes, and he doesn’t like some of the things that appear in the refrigerator, but he is easy to live with, easy to love. He likes crime scenes and murders and chasing criminals as much as Sherlock does. He admires the deductions Sherlock makes. He is willing to shoot people who threaten Sherlock. Holmes sighs but gives him a fond look. “No, you did that. Your liver is not happy about it, either. It takes no leave of you. It sends no compliments to your mother, or father, or brother. You do not deserve such attentions. It is most seriously displeased.” Billy leaned his cheek against the old man’s. “You’re welcome.” He paused. He really wanted to ask, but… “None of this politeness would be necessary, would it?” Molly stood. “What can we do? What do we know about witches?” Then he turned, and placed the goblets back on the rock, one in front of him, one in front of Ireni. Right, so here's the deal: This was supposed to be one chapter detailing wedding and...something else. It has very quickly gotten out of hand (glares at my brain for enjoying wedding planning so much). So pt.2 will be up either tomorrow or Friday, likely Friday. Hope you enjoyed, and for anyone who had exactly zero understanding of Kitty's wedding dress from my lousy description, this is the one I had in mind: He’d never been afraid of heights, and his stomach was calm as he tumbled down after the precious bundle. He was focused on one thing alone—getting to Waverly. Holmes stepped closer and wrapped wiry arms around him. “I need you, John. The work has been secondary for years. You know that.” “No,” John said. It wasn’t quite a lie. The group that had taken him was brutal but physical violence wasn’t exactly their Sally did put down the soup this time. “I was bred to be a Carrier. That was all I was ever supposed to be. Not a mother, I know, but I was raised to bear the children of kings. And I nearly died bringing my daughter into the world.” Sherlock softened his voice. "Kitty, you've done as much as you can do, far more than anyone could have asked of you. Now you've got to hand it over, and I know that it's frustrating, but this is the best thing you can do for your friends." “And I don’t reckon you’ll need to do much crawling about in the forest once you’re King,” Sherlock added. “What you do not smell is called iocane powder. It’s odorless, tasteless, dissolves instantly in liquid…and is one of the more deadly poisons known to man.” Jamiarty smiled up at her. “How’s it going, Riley?” He looked around. “Do we need the whole council?” “Do not doubt your worth,” Holmes said firmly. “Ever. I know you. You will never stop trying to be useful, and you will never fail…until your very bones give out.” (I mean if you've read my stuff so far you

<|output|> <|example|> at him, pulling off her gloves. “I could use a cup of coffee. Do you have somewhere to be?” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 <|example|> Billy leaned his cheek against the old man’s. “You’re welcome.” He paused. He really wanted to ask, but… <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 |

<|output|> <|example|> He admires the deductions Sherlock makes <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> He is willing to shoot people who threaten Sherlock <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> It’s odorless, tasteless, dissolves instantly in liquid…and is one of the more deadly poisons known to man <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> “Ever <|indexes|> 3 |

<|text|> know I wouldn't hurt a wee smol...grownups, on the other hand, are very much fair game). This wasn’t true. Mycroft wanted to be King. Much like his brother, he was born in the wrong house for his ambitions. When Mary Morstan was eight, a kind man brought Mummy some flowers one evening. Mary was afraid at first, but she soon realized that this man was nothing like Father. Father never brought flowers, and he never smiled. The man’s name was Jacob, and he and Mummy laughed together a lot and took Mary on walks in the park and even to films a few times. “I’m a rubbish spy—I had no idea Jamiarty meant to kill you, only that he was going to do something that involved you. And I got Riley so angry she came and stole my child! And that’s another thing—I never meant for Sally to become pregnant, it just happened! When I try to do something it’s not good enough, and my accidents are catastrophic.” Anderson put his hands over his face. “ “Stam spoke to a guard on our way here. Apparently you never said I do, so if you never said it, it never happened.” “Maybe not, but we’re here now.” Janine took Molly’s hand. “We saw the horses and recognized the disguise. And now here we are! Where is Sally?” Mild spoilers for Game of Thrones ahead (specifically for the Red Wedding if you're far behind), and some swearing. John yanked off his tie and threw it on Mycroft's sofa. Mycroft shot him a glare, but John was past caring. The day at court had exhausted him. Moriarty had looked his way every chance he got, a horrible smirk on his face. The rest of the time he was staring at Sherlock, but John couldn't see his expression. He wasn't sure which was worse. They were breaking many rules tonight; what was one more? “I love you,” Watson whispered. He could have sworn he heard an echo just before he fell asleep. “Sherlock.” John cursed every time he’d been annoyed that day. “I don’t know if anyone’s brave enough for that.” Then the night table became their daughter’s, and now the room was open again, open for any of their family to visit. Blackwater recoiled. John glanced to the right, saw Greg and Dimmock coming down the hall. Blackwater saw them too. "You'll need it. I've searched as much as I dared, the bastard's got it hidden well." Kitty looked at John. "What's upstairs?" “I know he told you what he wanted to know. He wants to know who Sally’s mother is, and kill her. He has no idea that she’s dead, and you weren’t going to tell him. So he’s waiting for you to bleed more. To hear the voices of the past, and maybe that will make you speak. You have other children, Cerise. He knows you want to live.” John hung up and started to dial for a cab again. Distracted by the bright screen and his worries about Donovan—they hadn't thought about her, what were they going to do?—he didn't hear the near-silent footsteps behind him. Unable

<|output|> <|example|> know I wouldn't hurt a wee smol...grownups, on the other hand, are very much fair game). <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> So he’s waiting for you to bleed more <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> The day at court had exhausted him <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> ” John cursed every time he’d been annoyed that day <|indexes|> 3 3 <|example|> ” Anderson put his hands over his face <|indexes|> 4 <|example|> “We saw the horses and recognized the disguise <|indexes|> 5 <|example|> Father never brought flowers, and he never smiled <|indexes|> 6 <|example|> Mycroft shot him a glare, but John was past caring <|indexes|> 7 7 |

<|text|> to speak anymore, she kissed their foreheads and left the room, heart and eyes full. "Come on," she told her children, curled up together on the sofa. "Let's go for a walk. Your father will join us soon." that a man that talented would be anything other than Roberts himself. So that must be a lie. And he went to great effort for the Princess; he would be here by now if he could. Therefore he cannot. And Grezzik—Guilder didn’t kidnap the Princess. We did.” “I’m with Princess Sherlock and Philip Anderson, husband of Sally Donovan. We represent her interests.” Now he knew for a fact that wasn’t true. John was open with his affection, clear with annoyance and laughed as loud as Sherlock did at crime scenes (well, they weren’t supposed to giggle, what else could they do?) It was only pain he hid, and Sherlock wanted to know why. He needed to make plans, specific to important details, so that John would never be hurt again. “There is nothing to forgive,” Sherlock answered. “I would have believed the worst too. You just didn’t have enough data. I was playing love. So was Jamiarty.” He prefers the corner, no matter whether it’s a pub or a cafe. Ella might make something out of that. She might say that it’s his military background that makes him watchful, needing to keep an eye on everything happening in the room. But he knows that he was already doing this when he was sixteen. “Sherlock,” Mrs Hudson chides. “It’s Christmas. No more talk of serial killers. And John’s jumper is very festive.” His thoughts went back to the cabbie, Jason Bradford. In general, Sherlock never paid much attention to people driving cabs. Usually he was texting or looking at a script or on the phone arguing with Mike about something. The person driving was just an anonymous functionary, interchangeable with any other cabbie. He spends Saturday and Sunday thinking about this. He helps Rosie with her homework, takes her shopping, and does odd jobs around the house. Mary has a list. He should have expected that. She always has a list of broken things she expects him to fix. He fixes the toilet, touches up paint in various spots, installs the new lighting fixture she wants in the dining room. She smiles and pats his arm. “Talk to John. Whatever you think is wrong, I’m sure he’ll forgive you.” “It did.” He sighs. “It made all the difference. If I was hurt, or ill. Lonely. Especially the last time. That was the worst. I don’t know… I might have given up…” He waits an hour, pacing around, wishing he had a case, or that Molly had something for him to experiment on. “I just don’t… I don’t think he’s the one.” She flushes. “You probably think that’s silly, that I believe there’s someone out there meant for me.” “Or you might leave the gas on, burn down the entire block. A million people die in home accidents each year, in the UK alone. Don’t quote me. A million ways it’s unsafe to leave you home alone. I’m a

<|output|> <|example|> to speak anymore, she kissed their foreheads and left the room, heart and eyes full. "Come on," she told her children, curled up together on the sofa. "Let's go for a walk. Your father will join us soon." <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> He prefers the corner, no matter whether it’s a pub or a cafe. Ella might make something out of that. She might say that it’s his military background that makes him watchful, needing to keep an eye on everything happening in the room. But he knows that he was already doing this when he was sixteen. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 |

<|output|> <|example|> And John’s jumper is very festive <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> But he knows that he was already doing this when he was sixteen <|indexes|> 1 1 1 <|example|> ” He prefers the corner, no matter whether it’s a pub or a cafe <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> He needed to make plans, specific to important details, so that John would never be hurt again <|indexes|> 3 3 <|example|> “It’s Christmas <|indexes|> 4 4 <|example|> "Let's go for a walk <|indexes|> 5 <|example|> “You probably think that’s silly, that I believe there’s someone out there meant for me <|indexes|> 6 <|example|> ” He sighs <|indexes|> 7 |

<|text|> detective, I know what people get up to at home, and how many of them end up as corpses. No, you can’t be trusted on your own yet. You need looking after.” He frowns at Watson as if this is all one great, sodding inconvenience. The read-through began with the scene where Brook meets with Vivian and Todd, instructing them that he still has the real Jason stashed somewhere, and that he doesn’t want Alex harmed. He turns slowly until we’re facing one another again. “Just this.” Stepping towards me, he goes up on his toes, pulls my face towards his, and kisses me. He considered putting water on for tea, but poured himself a glass of wine instead, sank into his favourite chair, and sighed deeply. An existential sigh. He never completely understood it, but decided that she was the kind of person who adopted lost causes. She saw him as a sad puppy. He treated her as he did everyone, saying rude things and ignoring her when she tried to talk to him. This only seemed to inflame her more. “The boy has refused to tell, and his father was reluctant to force him into counselling. Instead, he has brought the matter to me, hoping I could advise him. Naturally, I thought my brother would be eager to assist in such a matter, especially when it involves his Ireni sank back in the water. “Well, there’s no sense going tonight. We’ll head there in the morning.” Still scowling, John shuffled into the kitchen. In the fifteen minutes since he’d left their room, Sherlock had somehow managed to get dressed, get up without disturbing him in the loo, and make tea and toast. Mycroft blinked. “Well, that will be pleasant. You’re headed to Scotland, then? Just outside of Glasgow?” Sherlock heard John scream from nightmares every so often from the first night they shared a flat. He saw him turn green at the sight of an arson that killed a family of seven, saw a flicker of fear in his eyes when Moriarty was mentioned. They were normal reactions, subdued perhaps but still appropriate to the situation. Before the Dream he assumed that John Watson was as English as his name, and emotion was simply not done. Sherlock opened the door for John and they stepped into the café. “I’ve no desire to make myself uncomfortable.” “If Sally left of her own free will, she rightfully stole herself.” Ireni glanced behind her at London. “Well, I’ll do what I can. I’ve my own score to settle. And on the way, who knows? I might figure out your favour, Molly.” "Well, Billy, you're awfully young, but how about this? If you like, your granddads can keep telling you stories and teach you about it...I can tell you some too, actually. Then, when you're a bit older, you can maybe try it, okay?" “I remember,” Miracle Max continued, and his voice was softer now. “But you need to have faith. Grezzik knows she’s alive.” Grezzik obediently bent his own head to Watson’s chest. He listened for a long time, long enough that Stam hoped he’d been mistaken,

<|output|> <|example|> detective, I know what people get up to at home, and how many of them end up as corpses. No, you can’t be trusted on your own yet. You need looking after.” He frowns at Watson as if this is all one great, sodding inconvenience. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> Ireni sank back in the water. “Well, there’s no sense going tonight. We’ll head there in the morning.” <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 |

<|output|> <|example|> “Well, that will be pleasant <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> I’ve my own score to settle <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> They were normal reactions, subdued perhaps but still appropriate to the situation <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> detective, I know what people get up to at home, and how many of them end up as corpses <|indexes|> 3 3 |

<|text|> maybe the shock and pain had sent Watson into a waking sleep, but the giant stood and shook his head. There was a black blotch, about a quarter of the way up the Cliffs. It was rising slowly. It almost looked like it was climbing, but Grezzik couldn’t see any arm movement. Stam shook his head and put simple food on a tray. The others were still in the library making diplomatic plans, so he took Seb’s dinner down alone. Just behind him was an enormous man, tall and…it wasn’t fat, so much as a sheer amount of mass. He seemed far too cheerful to be Mycroft, but his eyes—piercing and thoughtful at the same time—removed any doubt. “I understand,” the taller one (at least Watson thought it was the taller one) said. “We do the same whenever my insomnia coincides with my husband’s.” Sherlock keeps his wedding ring almost obsessively clean. He’s delighted to realize that John does the same. Also, I am still taking prompts! Victorian or modern, either is fine; again, my only request is no porn--can't write it on technical grounds. If someone wants to write porn (or even other things) in this verse, or draw something...I mean, that would be awesome. Just link it to me so I can see it! Stan loves Jane Eyre, but hates Wuthering Heights. Kitty allows this as a compromise. They both enjoy Jane Steele when it comes out. John did relent after Act One. Greg had learned his lesson, one he should have learned long ago. 'Never mess with a Holmes, even if it's only by marriage.' Stan wasn’t born female. The idea of being a different gender than his sex was unthinkable; then again, so was the idea of two men in love. Tolkien, in all his triumphs and shortcomings (Sherlock has fought people over Samwise Gamgee) becomes one of their favourite entertainment sources: their first anniversary they watched the entirety of the Extended Editions. The quotes on their wedding rings are from Sam’s speech. Jamiarty and Molly were still duelling. Sally heard running footsteps just outside the door, and panicked—Molly wasn’t there to block the door—but it was Sherlock and John, dashing into the room. John stayed at the door, and Sherlock ran for Jamiarty. It took John a full twenty seconds to process the scene in front of him. There was Mycroft, and Greg…and considerably less clothing than normal. “Well, he’s always been bright,” Stan said, a smirk playing on his lips. “Suppose that’s a good reason for you to be Holmes-sexual, Dad.” He watched in shock as his grandfather’s face went a bit pale. “Well…yes, we do. We’re getting on in years, Billy. We thought it might be best…and anyways, this cottage is still quite small. It gives us space for the study.” “Because I just called Brook, to tell him that I knew what he was doing and—” Sally choked. “He thanked me, he said that I'd helped him to get right to the heart of the matter, and that he'd take care of John. And I know that means—” Kitty was beaming, for once all traces of pain gone from her

<|output|> <|example|> maybe the shock and pain had sent Watson into a waking sleep, but the giant stood and shook his head. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> “We do the same whenever my insomnia coincides with my husband’s <|indexes|> 0 0 0 <|example|> Stam shook his head and put simple food on a tray <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> The idea of being a different gender than his sex was unthinkable; then again, so was the idea of two men in love <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> Tolkien, in all his triumphs and shortcomings (Sherlock has fought people over Samwise Gamgee) becomes one of their favourite entertainment sources: their first anniversary they watched the entirety of the Extended Editions <|indexes|> 3 <|example|> “He thanked me, he said that I'd helped him to get right to the heart of the matter, and that he'd take care of John <|indexes|> 4 4 <|example|> If someone wants to write porn (or even other things) in this verse, or draw something <|indexes|> 5 |

<|text|> eyes as she held her son. "Isn't he beautiful?" she whispered. Watson stepped forward and gripped Holmes’ shoulders. “I’m sorry,” he replied. “I didn’t think of that.” He paused. “I can’t let you keep going out alone, though. Will you at least take one of the erstwhile Irregulars with you—Wiggins, perhaps?” Bill Wiggins was now a constable who’d been taken under Hopkins’ wing—surely he could protect Holmes. "Sure, why not?" Greg was, after all, in a good mood. He could always tell Mycroft (and Sherlock too, while he was at it) much later, when they were publicly out. Girls wanted marriage and babies and all sorts of boring things. He wanted adventure, he wanted to learn, he wanted to run away and never come back to this farm. “I would suggest you find your own place to live,” Mycroft Holmes replied. “If you do not live together, and if you consult on his cases only occasionally, then you would arouse far less suspicion. Who would suspect two men who deliberately chose to lessen their time together of being in love?” “The King will have to do that,” Mycroft said thoughtfully. “He will have to make his way back to the castle and complete the ceremony with Sally in order to make that happen.” The woman threw the veil off and stood. The fiery passion that had twisted her face when we first met her had faded, and with her fair hair dyed it took a moment for me to recognize Miss Kitty Winter. Watson felt the blood drain from his face. He’d never heard this voice before, but by the way Holmes’ hand was suddenly tightly in his...he was right. Yikes! I've had no power for the last two hours, I sprinted to my computer to post this, hopefully it can stay on for like five more seconds.

<|output|> <|example|> eyes as she held her son. "Isn't he beautiful?" she whispered. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> “I would suggest you find your own place to live,” Mycroft Holmes replied <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> “I would suggest you find your own place to live,” Mycroft Holmes replied <|indexes|> 1 |

<|text|> <|example|> Over the next days, his chest closed, the tissues and bone coming together, visibly healing. Holmes had by that time learned what the human body was capable of, and what it was not. He had studied Death with a knife, dissecting and probing and looking for the cause. He knew what it took to kill a human body. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> be directing us today. Say hello to Miss Adler, everybody, and introduce yourselves!” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> of the series. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> No one spoke as Stan laid the box in the ground and they took turns covering it with dirt. Rachel became hysterical once it was done, and Stan led her inside, holding her close against his side. Kitty stayed with Billy, holding her son's hand as they stared at the ground. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 | <|example|> talk if you like.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> were a coward, Jamiarty.” King Lotharon shook his head. “You forfeited your right to die when you took your sister’s right to live. You are going to live a long, healthy life, alone with your cowardice and failure. ” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> way at all. This baby was family, certainly. But Rachel Molly Hopkins was his granddaughter. Certainly not his daughter. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> in her left hand. “If you leave now and go the other way, I’m happy to let you go.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> It’s not, of course. Not home anymore. My eyes come to rest on your dressing gown, draped across the bookshelf for some reason. Maybe you flung it off and that’s where it landed. You’re like a fucking tornado sometimes, leaving random detritus in improbable places, then expecting me to know where your phone is. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 | <|example|> Too bad you didn’t reach that blatantly obvious conclusion <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> and since I was already in a bad mood, I agreed to tag along. Shopping isn’t my area. John does the shopping, but it doesn’t hurt for me to appear interested in it, especially now that he’s my boyfriend. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> Over the next days, his chest closed, the tissues and bone coming together, visibly healing. Holmes had by that time learned what the human body was capable of, and what it was not. He had studied Death with a knife, dissecting and probing and looking for the cause. He knew what it took to kill a human body. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> No one spoke as Stan laid the box in the ground and they took turns covering it with dirt. Rachel became hysterical once it was done, and Stan led her inside, holding her close against his side. Kitty stayed with Billy, holding her son's hand as they stared at the ground. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> You’re like a fucking tornado sometimes, leaving random detritus in improbable places, then expecting me to know where your phone is <|indexes|> 0 0 |

<|text|> <|example|> talk if you like.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> were a coward, Jamiarty.” King Lotharon shook his head. “You forfeited your right to die when you took your sister’s right to live. You are going to live a long, healthy life, alone with your cowardice and failure. ” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> way at all. This baby was family, certainly. But Rachel Molly Hopkins was his granddaughter. Certainly not his daughter. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> in her left hand. “If you leave now and go the other way, I’m happy to let you go.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> It’s not, of course. Not home anymore. My eyes come to rest on your dressing gown, draped across the bookshelf for some reason. Maybe you flung it off and that’s where it landed. You’re like a fucking tornado sometimes, leaving random detritus in improbable places, then expecting me to know where your phone is. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 | <|example|> Too bad you didn’t reach that blatantly obvious conclusion <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> talk if you like.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> It’s not, of course. Not home anymore. My eyes come to rest on your dressing gown, draped across the bookshelf for some reason. Maybe you flung it off and that’s where it landed. You’re like a fucking tornado sometimes, leaving random detritus in improbable places, then expecting me to know where your phone is. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 |

<|output|> <|example|> ” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> way at all <|indexes|> 0 |

<|text|> <|example|> in her left hand. “If you leave now and go the other way, I’m happy to let you go.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> It’s not, of course. Not home anymore. My eyes come to rest on your dressing gown, draped across the bookshelf for some reason. Maybe you flung it off and that’s where it landed. You’re like a fucking tornado sometimes, leaving random detritus in improbable places, then expecting me to know where your phone is. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 | <|example|> Too bad you didn’t reach that blatantly obvious conclusion <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> and since I was already in a bad mood, I agreed to tag along. Shopping isn’t my area. John does the shopping, but it doesn’t hurt for me to appear interested in it, especially now that he’s my boyfriend. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> got after that were teen romances.” <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> “I believe Mrs. Hopkins directed the majority of the operations,” Holmes replied. “She’s got quite an eye.” <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 | <|example|> John spoke as gently as possible, keeping his grip steady around Sherlock’s pale hands. “If there’s a hound, we can kill it. I’m a pretty decent shot—” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> likely die if you’re all fighting, and that ruins my favour.” Ireni glanced over her shoulder. “We’re here now, anyways. I didn’t have enough time to come up with a brilliant plan.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> years younger with her face wreathed in smiles. “I’m so pleased for you both, truly.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> in her left hand. “If you leave now and go the other way, I’m happy to let you go.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> It’s not, of course. Not home anymore. My eyes come to rest on your dressing gown, draped across the bookshelf for some reason. Maybe you flung it off and that’s where it landed. You’re like a fucking tornado sometimes, leaving random detritus in improbable places, then expecting me to know where your phone is. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> “If you leave now and go the other way, I’m happy to let you go <|indexes|> 0 0 |

<|text|> <|example|> got after that were teen romances.” <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> “I believe Mrs. Hopkins directed the majority of the operations,” Holmes replied. “She’s got quite an eye.” <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 | <|example|> John spoke as gently as possible, keeping his grip steady around Sherlock’s pale hands. “If there’s a hound, we can kill it. I’m a pretty decent shot—” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> likely die if you’re all fighting, and that ruins my favour.” Ireni glanced over her shoulder. “We’re here now, anyways. I didn’t have enough time to come up with a brilliant plan.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> years younger with her face wreathed in smiles. “I’m so pleased for you both, truly.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> was a little more surprising. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> longer until he would have to pretend that this precious, wonderful heart had ceased to beat. He shuddered. Mycroft meant well with his acting classes, but he didn't understand that the horror John felt at the mere idea of Sherlock being dead would be enough to convince the casual observer of his pain. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> see it in your eyes, girl. It won’t help her—he’s got seven brothers, all worse than him. She knows she’s lucky right now.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> John occasional breaks took another. But they were still well within their deadline when they got to Stam’s boat. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> tried to hurt anyone, they would feel the injury upon themselves. The husband had tried to grab his wife and throw her to the ground, but Waverly remained in place, and the man fell, dashing his own brains against the ground. The brothers fled, howling, into the night. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> were, it wouldn’t take long for the night to become unbearably damp. It was a shame; they’d never be able to walk like this during the day. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 <|example|> “Yes. I think so.” John is baffled by what he has seen so far. He looks at Sherlock and waits for an explanation. “That is not a site I ever expected to see.” <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 |

<|output|> <|example|> got after that were teen romances.” <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> “I believe Mrs. Hopkins directed the majority of the operations,” Holmes replied. “She’s got quite an eye.” <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 <|example|> “Yes. I think so.” John is baffled by what he has seen so far. He looks at Sherlock and waits for an explanation. “That is not a site I ever expected to see.” <|indexes|> 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 |

<|output|> <|example|> ” <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 | <|indexes|> 0 0 |

<|text|> <|example|> years younger with her face wreathed in smiles. “I’m so pleased for you both, truly.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> was a little more surprising. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> longer until he would have to pretend that this precious, wonderful heart had ceased to beat. He shuddered. Mycroft meant well with his acting classes, but he didn't understand that the horror John felt at the mere idea of Sherlock being dead would be enough to convince the casual observer of his pain. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> see it in your eyes, girl. It won’t help her—he’s got seven brothers, all worse than him. She knows she’s lucky right now.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> John occasional breaks took another. But they were still well within their deadline when they got to Stam’s boat. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> tried to hurt anyone, they would feel the injury upon themselves. The husband had tried to grab his wife and throw her to the ground, but Waverly remained in place, and the man fell, dashing his own brains against the ground. The brothers fled, howling, into the night. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> were, it wouldn’t take long for the night to become unbearably damp. It was a shame; they’d never be able to walk like this during the day. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 <|example|> “Yes. I think so.” John is baffled by what he has seen so far. He looks at Sherlock and waits for an explanation. “That is not a site I ever expected to see.” <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 | <|example|> detail, John. It will all come back to her soon, I’m sure.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> were all similar in tone, but not overtly threatening. Insulting, but not threatening. Sherlock was still bothered by them, but he hadn’t yet figured out why. For now, he was making sure to copy each one. He had a file going. And he’d asked Mycroft to monitor the traffic to the blog. Just in case. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> dare suggests that Sherlock is a fraud. The pair are a bit protective of each other in that way. In most ways, really. He dashed off what he intended to be a biting response, but when he read back over it before hitting post, he realized that he sounded more hurt than angry. His threats had come off sounding more childish than menacing. He sounded sentimental, much more so than he had realized. <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> Prince Jamiarty looked well enough, but Sherlock didn’t really care as they walked through the small chapel. An old bishop stood at the altar, and after they’d both knelt and he blessed them, he began to speak. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 |

<|output|> <|example|> years younger with her face wreathed in smiles. “I’m so pleased for you both, truly.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “Yes. I think so.” John is baffled by what he has seen so far. He looks at Sherlock and waits for an explanation. “That is not a site I ever expected to see.” <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> The husband had tried to grab his wife and throw her to the ground, but Waverly remained in place, and the man fell, dashing his own brains against the ground <|indexes|> 0 |

<|text|> <|example|> see it in your eyes, girl. It won’t help her—he’s got seven brothers, all worse than him. She knows she’s lucky right now.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> John occasional breaks took another. But they were still well within their deadline when they got to Stam’s boat. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> tried to hurt anyone, they would feel the injury upon themselves. The husband had tried to grab his wife and throw her to the ground, but Waverly remained in place, and the man fell, dashing his own brains against the ground. The brothers fled, howling, into the night. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> were, it wouldn’t take long for the night to become unbearably damp. It was a shame; they’d never be able to walk like this during the day. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 <|example|> “Yes. I think so.” John is baffled by what he has seen so far. He looks at Sherlock and waits for an explanation. “That is not a site I ever expected to see.” <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 | <|example|> detail, John. It will all come back to her soon, I’m sure.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> see it in your eyes, girl. It won’t help her—he’s got seven brothers, all worse than him. She knows she’s lucky right now.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “Yes. I think so.” John is baffled by what he has seen so far. He looks at Sherlock and waits for an explanation. “That is not a site I ever expected to see.” <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 |

<|output|> <|example|> The husband had tried to grab his wife and throw her to the ground, but Waverly remained in place, and the man fell, dashing his own brains against the ground <|indexes|> 0 0 |

<|text|> <|example|> were, it wouldn’t take long for the night to become unbearably damp. It was a shame; they’d never be able to walk like this during the day. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 <|example|> “Yes. I think so.” John is baffled by what he has seen so far. He looks at Sherlock and waits for an explanation. “That is not a site I ever expected to see.” <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 | <|example|> detail, John. It will all come back to her soon, I’m sure.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> were all similar in tone, but not overtly threatening. Insulting, but not threatening. Sherlock was still bothered by them, but he hadn’t yet figured out why. For now, he was making sure to copy each one. He had a file going. And he’d asked Mycroft to monitor the traffic to the blog. Just in case. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> dare suggests that Sherlock is a fraud. The pair are a bit protective of each other in that way. In most ways, really. He dashed off what he intended to be a biting response, but when he read back over it before hitting post, he realized that he sounded more hurt than angry. His threats had come off sounding more childish than menacing. He sounded sentimental, much more so than he had realized. <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> Prince Jamiarty looked well enough, but Sherlock didn’t really care as they walked through the small chapel. An old bishop stood at the altar, and after they’d both knelt and he blessed them, he began to speak. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 | <|example|> she’d listened to her best friend. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> this plan because I know you love your brother and will make sure he survives this, life and reputation intact.” Mycroft fidgeted. “But I will not stay at home and worry for months, years, because someone else decided what was best for me. That's not who I am.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> (because seriously, lover, friend or colleague, BBC Sherlock would never have left John behind if he could avoid it)...*takes deep breath* but that may or may not be what's happening here. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> off his back and sat curled in a ball in the front of the boat. She knew to keep out of the way when he was getting himself sorted. He was always clumsy when he first got into a boat. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> well. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> were, it wouldn’t take long for the night to become unbearably damp. It was a shame; they’d never be able to walk like this during the day. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 <|example|> “Yes. I think so.” John is baffled by what he has seen so far. He looks at Sherlock and waits for an explanation. “That is not a site I ever expected to see.” <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> Sherlock was still bothered by them, but he hadn’t yet figured out why <|indexes|> 0 0 |

<|text|> <|example|> dare suggests that Sherlock is a fraud. The pair are a bit protective of each other in that way. In most ways, really. He dashed off what he intended to be a biting response, but when he read back over it before hitting post, he realized that he sounded more hurt than angry. His threats had come off sounding more childish than menacing. He sounded sentimental, much more so than he had realized. <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> Prince Jamiarty looked well enough, but Sherlock didn’t really care as they walked through the small chapel. An old bishop stood at the altar, and after they’d both knelt and he blessed them, he began to speak. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 | <|example|> she’d listened to her best friend. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> this plan because I know you love your brother and will make sure he survives this, life and reputation intact.” Mycroft fidgeted. “But I will not stay at home and worry for months, years, because someone else decided what was best for me. That's not who I am.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> (because seriously, lover, friend or colleague, BBC Sherlock would never have left John behind if he could avoid it)...*takes deep breath* but that may or may not be what's happening here. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> off his back and sat curled in a ball in the front of the boat. She knew to keep out of the way when he was getting himself sorted. He was always clumsy when he first got into a boat. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> well. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> hands aren’t clean either, cousin. But my loyalty to my prince pales before my loyalty to my country.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> dare suggests that Sherlock is a fraud. The pair are a bit protective of each other in that way. In most ways, really. He dashed off what he intended to be a biting response, but when he read back over it before hitting post, he realized that he sounded more hurt than angry. His threats had come off sounding more childish than menacing. He sounded sentimental, much more so than he had realized. <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> Prince Jamiarty looked well enough, but Sherlock didn’t really care as they walked through the small chapel. An old bishop stood at the altar, and after they’d both knelt and he blessed them, he began to speak. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 |

<|output|> <|example|> The pair are a bit protective of each other in that way <|indexes|> 0 |

<|text|> <|example|> (because seriously, lover, friend or colleague, BBC Sherlock would never have left John behind if he could avoid it)...*takes deep breath* but that may or may not be what's happening here. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> off his back and sat curled in a ball in the front of the boat. She knew to keep out of the way when he was getting himself sorted. He was always clumsy when he first got into a boat. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> well. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> hands aren’t clean either, cousin. But my loyalty to my prince pales before my loyalty to my country.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> me fair and square. I just had some magic up my sleeve.” Ireni looked at Sherlock. “Hello, Princess.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “Sit, Watson. We have two hours before he will disturb our peace. I intend to enjoy my breakfast in quiet.” <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 | <|example|> gullible. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> out the logistics of copulation, fully-clothed, in an alley, when he dropped to his knees and opened my trousers. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> in hand and making another attempt to tame my unruly curls. “There is nothing to dislike in your appearance or manners, John.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> our collaboration.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> (because seriously, lover, friend or colleague, BBC Sherlock would never have left John behind if he could avoid it)...*takes deep breath* but that may or may not be what's happening here. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “Sit, Watson. We have two hours before he will disturb our peace. I intend to enjoy my breakfast in quiet.” <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 |

<|output|> <|example|> <|example|> (because seriously, lover, friend or colleague, BBC Sherlock would never have left John behind if he could avoid it) <|indexes|> 0 0 |

<|text|> <|example|> hands aren’t clean either, cousin. But my loyalty to my prince pales before my loyalty to my country.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> me fair and square. I just had some magic up my sleeve.” Ireni looked at Sherlock. “Hello, Princess.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “Sit, Watson. We have two hours before he will disturb our peace. I intend to enjoy my breakfast in quiet.” <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 | <|example|> gullible. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> out the logistics of copulation, fully-clothed, in an alley, when he dropped to his knees and opened my trousers. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> in hand and making another attempt to tame my unruly curls. “There is nothing to dislike in your appearance or manners, John.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> our collaboration.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> where it ought to be kept, and Sherlock will pretend John is being unreasonable, but won’t quite be able to keep from smiling. They’ll bicker a bit, like a married couple. They’ve always done that, but now it will feel different. The smiles they give each other won’t be hidden. They won’t pretend it’s anything but what it is. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> to marry, I would have no trouble finding a bride. Indeed, women had aimed their snares at me before, and I had left them empty-handed. Perhaps I am not handsome in a traditional sense, but women are silly to care about such things. I was not a man to be rejected; I was meant to do the rejecting. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> at him, pulling off her gloves. “I could use a cup of coffee. Do you have somewhere to be?” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 <|example|> Billy leaned his cheek against the old man’s. “You’re welcome.” He paused. He really wanted to ask, but… <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 |

<|output|> <|example|> hands aren’t clean either, cousin. But my loyalty to my prince pales before my loyalty to my country.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “Sit, Watson. We have two hours before he will disturb our peace. I intend to enjoy my breakfast in quiet.” <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> I was not a man to be rejected; I was meant to do the rejecting <|indexes|> 0 |

<|text|> <|example|> out the logistics of copulation, fully-clothed, in an alley, when he dropped to his knees and opened my trousers. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> in hand and making another attempt to tame my unruly curls. “There is nothing to dislike in your appearance or manners, John.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> our collaboration.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> where it ought to be kept, and Sherlock will pretend John is being unreasonable, but won’t quite be able to keep from smiling. They’ll bicker a bit, like a married couple. They’ve always done that, but now it will feel different. The smiles they give each other won’t be hidden. They won’t pretend it’s anything but what it is. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> to marry, I would have no trouble finding a bride. Indeed, women had aimed their snares at me before, and I had left them empty-handed. Perhaps I am not handsome in a traditional sense, but women are silly to care about such things. I was not a man to be rejected; I was meant to do the rejecting. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> at him, pulling off her gloves. “I could use a cup of coffee. Do you have somewhere to be?” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 <|example|> Billy leaned his cheek against the old man’s. “You’re welcome.” He paused. He really wanted to ask, but… <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 | <|example|> know I wouldn't hurt a wee smol...grownups, on the other hand, are very much fair game). <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> to speak anymore, she kissed their foreheads and left the room, heart and eyes full. "Come on," she told her children, curled up together on the sofa. "Let's go for a walk. Your father will join us soon." <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> He prefers the corner, no matter whether it’s a pub or a cafe. Ella might make something out of that. She might say that it’s his military background that makes him watchful, needing to keep an eye on everything happening in the room. But he knows that he was already doing this when he was sixteen. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 | <|example|> detective, I know what people get up to at home, and how many of them end up as corpses. No, you can’t be trusted on your own yet. You need looking after.” He frowns at Watson as if this is all one great, sodding inconvenience. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> Ireni sank back in the water. “Well, there’s no sense going tonight. We’ll head there in the morning.” <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 | <|example|> maybe the shock and pain had sent Watson into a waking sleep, but the giant stood and shook his head. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> out the logistics of copulation, fully-clothed, in an alley, when he dropped to his knees and opened my trousers. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> Billy leaned his cheek against the old man’s. “You’re welcome.” He paused. He really wanted to ask, but… <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 |

<|output|> <|example|> <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> in hand and making another attempt to tame my unruly curls <|indexes|> 0 0 |

<|text|> <|example|> Over the next days, his chest closed, the tissues and bone coming together, visibly healing. Holmes had by that time learned what the human body was capable of, and what it was not. He had studied Death with a knife, dissecting and probing and looking for the cause. He knew what it took to kill a human body. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> No one spoke as Stan laid the box in the ground and they took turns covering it with dirt. Rachel became hysterical once it was done, and Stan led her inside, holding her close against his side. Kitty stayed with Billy, holding her son's hand as they stared at the ground. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|example|> talk if you like.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> It’s not, of course. Not home anymore. My eyes come to rest on your dressing gown, draped across the bookshelf for some reason. Maybe you flung it off and that’s where it landed. You’re like a fucking tornado sometimes, leaving random detritus in improbable places, then expecting me to know where your phone is. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 | | <|example|> in her left hand. “If you leave now and go the other way, I’m happy to let you go.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> It’s not, of course. Not home anymore. My eyes come to rest on your dressing gown, draped across the bookshelf for some reason. Maybe you flung it off and that’s where it landed. You’re like a fucking tornado sometimes, leaving random detritus in improbable places, then expecting me to know where your phone is. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|example|> got after that were teen romances.” <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> “I believe Mrs. Hopkins directed the majority of the operations,” Holmes replied. “She’s got quite an eye.” <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 <|example|> “Yes. I think so.” John is baffled by what he has seen so far. He looks at Sherlock and waits for an explanation. “That is not a site I ever expected to see.” <|indexes|> 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 | | <|example|> years younger with her face wreathed in smiles. “I’m so pleased for you both, truly.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “Yes. I think so.” John is baffled by what he has seen so far. He looks at Sherlock and waits for an explanation. “That is not a site I ever expected to see.” <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|example|> see it in your eyes, girl. It won’t help her—he’s got seven brothers, all worse than him. She knows she’s lucky right now.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “Yes. I think so.” John is baffled by what he has seen so far. He looks at Sherlock and waits for an explanation. “That is not a site I ever expected to see.” <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 | | <|example|> were, it wouldn’t take long for the night to become unbearably damp. It was a shame; they’d never be able to walk like this during the day. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 <|example|> “Yes. I think so.” John is baffled by what he has seen so far. He looks at Sherlock and waits for an explanation. “That is not a site I ever expected to see.” <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | |

<|output|> <|example|> Over the next days, his chest closed, the tissues and bone coming together, visibly healing. Holmes had by that time learned what the human body was capable of, and what it was not. He had studied Death with a knife, dissecting and probing and looking for the cause. He knew what it took to kill a human body. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> No one spoke as Stan laid the box in the ground and they took turns covering it with dirt. Rachel became hysterical once it was done, and Stan led her inside, holding her close against his side. Kitty stayed with Billy, holding her son's hand as they stared at the ground. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 <|indexes|> 0 0 <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 <|example|> “Yes. I think so.” John is baffled by what he has seen so far. He looks at Sherlock and waits for an explanation. “That is not a site I ever expected to see.” <|indexes|> 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 <|indexes|> 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 <|indexes|> 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 <|indexes|> 1 1 1 <|indexes|> 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 |

<|output|> <|example|> I think so <|indexes|> 0 |

<|text|> Dean blows out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and follows Cas’ eyes to the sea. There’s something fluttering in Dean’s throat, pressing at the backs of his teeth, waiting to slip out. Dean holds the tiny words on his tongue, tasting them on every inhale. He looks over at Kevin scribbling away, oblivious. Dean calls his name, but it comes out in a cracked, stammering whisper. He clears his throat and tries again. “Kevin.” Dean frowns for a moment, bemused, before he follows Sam’s eyes to the massive, jutting peak in the distance. He feels his eyebrows climb his forehead and points with the rod. “The mountain?” He’d eventually stumbled upon his soggy marsh, his legs cramping, back stiff, and a headache pounding at his temples. In hindsight, Dean supposes he could’ve called for a lift - Sam or Charlie would’ve come for him, surely. Or he could’ve just There’s something desolate in his tone - distant and resolute, like a poorly set bone already healed around the damage. Castiel’s eyes flick over to Dean for less than a second before he turns back to his book. “Hello, Dean,” he says. His voice is mostly bland, though it’s edged with something sharp. Something cold and hard forms in his stomach, and Dean shakes his head, eyes wide and unblinking, stuck to Cas’ like glue. “I’m good,” lie. “Yeah, I’m- I’m real good,” fucking He assumes it’s heaven’s off-brand kind of ESP that’s landed him here, seated at a teakwood dining table in a house Dean had returned in the dead of night, pilfered the vase from the storeroom, and headed out to a little copse by the parking lot to burn it. As he’d poured the lighter fluid over it, a little girl had appeared between the trees. “I know sugar.” Dean says gruffly back, looking up at Cas. “You gonna handle her?” He asks and Cas adjusts her in his arms while she hugs his neck, making another miserable sound. Polly watches them from under the kitchen table, her ears pricking in their direction. Cas leaned his head back into the palm of Dean’s hand where it was still looped in Cas’ hair, laughing his ass off. Dean took his hand away and pinned Cas to the stairs. Cas gave him a shit eating grin and reached up to swipe at Dean’s cheek before sucking his thumb back into his mouth, smirking around it. It appeared that Dean had no idea that Castiel could see him, so Castiel had tucked this secret away and gone about his business. “I can’t sleep.” He croaked and Cas sat up a little more, rubbing the sleep from his eye. Dean saw as Danny shifted from foot to foot before swaying a little, like he was light headed. That got Danny’s full attention and he was scrambling out of bed, dragging his beloved stuffed puppy with him. Polly was quick at his heels, herding him as he scampered to the staircase, descending them slowly until he got halfway and saw the fort still set up. Sam usually, when Dean complains, which he does frequently, asks with

<|output|> <|example|> Dean blows out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and follows Cas’ eyes to the sea. There’s something fluttering in Dean’s throat, pressing at the backs of his teeth, waiting to slip out. Dean holds the tiny words on his tongue, tasting them on every inhale. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “I know sugar.” Dean says gruffly back, looking up at Cas. “You gonna handle her?” He asks and Cas adjusts her in his arms while she hugs his neck, making another miserable sound. Polly watches them from under the kitchen table, her ears pricking in their direction. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 |

<|output|> <|example|> He feels his eyebrows climb his forehead and points with the rod <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> “I know sugar <|indexes|> 1 1 1 <|example|> His voice is mostly bland, though it’s edged with something sharp <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> ” He croaked and Cas sat up a little more, rubbing the sleep from his eye <|indexes|> 3 <|example|> Sam usually, when Dean complains, which he does frequently, asks with <|indexes|> 4 |

<|text|> a sigh why Dean just doesn’t engage Cas to change the channel, but then things get complicated. Dean gets defensive. Says he wouldn’t do that, says that it doesn’t bother him that much, that he finds other things to do. Now though, the piano seems to warm the house with its music, but perhaps the very best is when Dean closes his eyes and listens so carefully for the voice just above the instrument. “What are you doing?” He asked and Dean sat up on the bed, crosslegged and held up the chocolate frosting. “You did good.” He nodded, and then, after another moment of considering Dean’s face, shook his head, starting to laugh. He sat up and walked forward on his knees, and Dean, getting the hint, laid back down on the bed till Cas was comfortably situated on his hips, leg on either side of Dean, staring down at him, eyes sparking playfully. “You did very good Mr. Winchester.” He murmured, bending down to kiss Dean briefly before withdrawing to dip his finger in again. Dean made a frustrated noise, not eager to lose the taste of chocolate he was just getting into on Cas’s tongue, but then he was too busy jerking as Cas dotted his chocolate-covered finger twice on Dean’s middle. Craning his neck, Dean watched as Cas painted a very large and indelicately drawn smiley face on Dean’s stomach, the swipe of its mouth laid out sinfully close to the waistband of his boxers, in the taught dip between Dean’s hipbones. “It is absolutely what I wanted, Sam.” Castiel assures, still running his hands over the cover, the wrapping paper beneath it crinkling as he shifts his knees. Dean watches the exchange warily from behind his coffee mug. They are huddled in While Cas had been complaining of odd things for a week, it didn’t become personal for Dean until he discovered the hole in his Doritos. Dean smirks when he hears how slightly impressed Castiel sounds at the final issue. Dean himself didn’t know how he managed to go through the whole box, but there he was with a Trek marathon on the local channel and a box of Little Debbie’s and Castiel off doing some stupid neighborhood association thing. He indulged. “Yeah.” Dean rasps back, lifting a leg and swinging Castiel down onto the duvet, knocking pillows off. They kiss like that, Castiel under him, and Dean’s got his hand back in Castiel’s shorts, sucking down the gasp Cas produces when he closes around him for the first time in a week. He jerks his fingers over Cas’s straining cock in an achingly slow stroke, watching as Cas writhes under him, well on his way to undone. Dean closes his eyes, focuses on the scratch of stubble on his abodmen, the kiss to each rib he receives, the strum of Cas’s fingess as they slip down his sides. The wind filters in and leaves goosebumps on their sticky skin, promising cool weather and rain. Crickets sing in the grass and Dean remembers a far off story about the bird that could catch souls

<|output|> <|example|> a sigh why Dean just doesn’t engage Cas to change the channel, but then things get complicated. Dean gets defensive. Says he wouldn’t do that, says that it doesn’t bother him that much, that he finds other things to do. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> ” He nodded, and then, after another moment of considering Dean’s face, shook his head, starting to laugh <|indexes|> 0 0 |

<|text|> and keep them from leaving earth as the whippoorwill sounds in the wood. Cas’s voice, wooly with sleepiness follows after him, chasing the trembling brooks of sadness that blossom in his stomach like the columbine trellis they nailed to the cottage’s side. “They make me think of Spock.” He answers, “Black hair and green blood!” he points to the black outer edge and the green minty frosting inside, trying to pull that ‘I’m so endearing come cuddle with me and we’ll forget it’ kind of look. Cas reaches foreward and snatches the rest of the cookie, stuffing it in his mouth. The moon ripples over the water and Dean holds Cas’s head in his hands and let’s his tongue cut paths for his gratefulness on the roof of Cas’s mouth as they fit together, rocking steadily, limbs loose and Cas’s legs falling open on either side of him, pulling closer. me.” He whispers on the side of Cas’s neck. Cas knows it’s true – he could get off on Dean’s voice. He has a couple of times. Dean brings them towels as the sun starts to go down and carries Faith inside when she fusses, Danny and Cas following to stand dripping in the laundry room. Cas rubs a towel over Danny’s body, frizzes, his hair, kisses all over his face. Little arms go around his neck and he picks Danny up, his little brown eyes peeking out behind his towel, staring at him and tilting his head. Cas wonders if this is just a well-placed lie to keep him from becoming homicidal. He hasn’t slept properly in days, and he’s kept quiet about it, but now he’s just sitting with his head back in the glider, Daniel crying on his lap, and tears just streaming down his face. A moment later, the principle of the elementary school takes the stage and welcomes the parents and faculty alike, smiling and introducing the several mother’s on the hospitality team who helped coordinate before going on to kick off the recital. Dean and Cas sit through two kindergarten classes before finally, Mrs. Raven’s first grade class is announced and Dean grins and Cas does too, holding up the camera. “You fucking tease.” and Castiel’s expression betrays nothing as Dean starts making for him, trying to grab those pale wrists, knock him back against the bed, rip the duvet off, or maybe just keep it on, he doesn’t give a shit. Castiel sidesteps him, easily, and Dean grits his teeth in a dangerous smile, empty handed. “There he is!” Dean prompted and Cas showed himself again. Faith laughed even harder and stomped her foot in a disjointed, joyful, rhythm. She laughed, her cheeks to pink roses, and pawed at the towel, giggling like mad. Cas started to chuckle and let her pull the fabric down over his face before she kept patting, waiting for him to reveal himself, which he did, even more dramatically than the first two times, getting into the game. so comes the wet season, and the tears of the stars flood the riverbeds, and their lovers   swim again. there

<|output|> <|example|> and keep them from leaving earth as the whippoorwill sounds in the wood. Cas’s voice, wooly with sleepiness follows after him, chasing the trembling brooks of sadness that blossom in his stomach like the columbine trellis they nailed to the cottage’s side. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> Cas rubs a towel over Danny’s body, frizzes, his hair, kisses all over his face <|indexes|> 0 0 0 <|example|> Little arms go around his neck and he picks Danny up, his little brown eyes peeking out behind his towel, staring at him and tilting his head <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> “There he is!” Dean prompted and Cas showed himself again <|indexes|> 2 2 |

<|text|> are fish in the river that evade the nets of men, for they are not fish at all. When they reach the bottom Cas is waiting in a jacket, holding Dean’s, the headlights of the Impala shining into the house from the front drive. , Castiel replied, feeling the threat of fate glaring down on him. He knew he was frowning, but what else could you do when all of it was trying to squeeze him into nothing more than a slough of atoms. “Your children are beautiful.” Inias mumbles. “Faith and Daniel? They are very precious." Castiel turns to his former soldier and his face shines with pride. He brought his hands in front of Dannys face and placed his right thumb on his left pinky, and slowly, began to walk them upwards. “No…sir.” He adds reluctantly before turning to his sister and then glancing at Dean before puffing his cheeks out and putting his hands on his ears. Faith stops hiccuping long enough to watch her brother, her features melting into confusion. She watches Daniel, her mind obviously furiously working to understand the sudden change. Dean bites the inside of his cheek as she glowered suspiciously. Go and get the medicine because she owes me a favor, and Leticia goes because she is the middle girl and the middle girl goes to get the medicine. “Danny’s right. You did really well. You did so well.” Cas encourages, and Faith just greedily drinks the juice and then shoves it away, looking flushed and upset despite the praise. “We gonna go drive?” She slurs, coughing and Dean covers her mouth with the towel he used to dry her hair, but she shakes it off when he tries to wipe her face, her little nose red and raw, her eyes all weepy. The way his eyes hood when he looks at Dean, the way they spark as he finally gives in and takes Faith into his arms, plastering her with kisses that make her shriek and tug at his scarf and his hair. He stooped, looked down at Incahuasi, at the blur of himself shining back. As far as his kind was concerned it was not anything to write home about. “I put it in cold water to soak it can wait till tomorrow.” Cas said, exhausted, and Dean kissed him in between the words. “You’re never too big to sit with your dad, now get your sorry self over here and watch this baseball game with me or I’ll kick your butt.” “Then why ask Sam for it?” Dean insists, his grip loosening. Cas seems to ponder this for a long time, and then, finally, a smile surfaces. He looks at Dean as if all the answers should be obvious, which they never are. Dean laughed, head back, and began to sidle away, staring at the dark trees and the duck pond, all the geese standing with their heads tucked under their wings, sleeping. Dean had fumbled, but eventually, picked up and then it was nothing but that same song and that same dance and that pretty girl tossing her head, laughing at him and his concentrated faces. “It’s

<|output|> <|example|> are fish in the river that evade the nets of men, for they are not fish at all. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> ” He adds reluctantly before turning to his sister and then glancing at Dean before puffing his cheeks out and putting his hands on his ears <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> “No…sir <|indexes|> 1 1 |

<|text|> a date.” he responds and she nods before bounding to the door, forgetting to close it behind her. Polly snuffles beside Dean on the bed and he shuts his eyes and feels for her warm head beside him. “I could get behind that.” Cas muttered, sighing at the feeling. “I had - ah - ” He paused as Dean got him right in that spot where his jaw curved strongly upwards. That was Dean’s favorite part, those little erogenous places no one but him would ever know about. “ - plans.” Cas sighed, as Dean kissed him on the mouth again, and again, and again, until Cas’s eyes closed and his breathing evened out. Castiel pulls the sweater over his head and looks out the window, rustling the blinds as he looks between them. He smiles, smoothing the sweater down. “No, you see…” He starts, and he drops his voice to a whisper, leaning against the doorframe into the hall. Just past them, in the kitchen, Dean is dressing Faith and his big hands hold her so gently. 'I’ll tell you, cause’ it’s better to hear from some regular kind, not river folk, though I was one of them, but that was long ago. Strange folk are down on the river, and they’ll tell you stranger things; this ain’t gonna be the last you hear of strange goin He scratches her between the ears, right where grey is starting to drift into her honey-colored fur. “I missed you.” He concedes, and Dean takes the cue. He works his hand up and down and kisses Cas again, gentler this time, taking every mouthy little movement. “Oh…” Cas breathes, and his thighs jerk up, but Dean steadies them with his weight. “Drive safe!” He calls back and Cas smiles and nods before turning quickly so no snow gets inside. Once the door latches Faith looks up at him with food on her face and big doe-eyes blinking expectantly. Dean inhaled and Cas bit his side and Dean blew out the air, tossing his arm over his eyes, arching. “Yeah.” Dean hustles to the refrigerator as Cas tips the medicine down Faith’s throat, and then goes for the Motrin next. Faith wails and Dean can already hear the tears starting and Cas is talking to her in that really-low voice, and it makes Dean feel like there’s cement mixing in his gut. Seeing Sammy sick always hurt and this is no different. He pours the juice into her favorite blue cup before stepping back towards him, waiting as she drinks the rest of her medicine and cries, Cas taking the cup without thinking. He hands it to her, stroking her hair, looking troubled. Danny leans on his elbow, staring up at his baby sister with the same concern. “Dean.” Castiel said, more firmly this time, and Dean blinked at him, pupils adjusting to the light. Castiel smiled and stood, rifling through his shopping bag, bringing out a new mouse trap. He goes back to his book and figures that Dali must have known his daughter in another life and been inspired. What other way could he

<|output|> <|example|> a date.” he responds and she nods before bounding to the door, forgetting to close it behind her. Polly snuffles beside Dean on the bed and he shuts his eyes and feels for her warm head beside him. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> “No, you see…” He starts, and he drops his voice to a whisper, leaning against the doorframe into the hall <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> ” Castiel said, more firmly this time, and Dean blinked at him, pupils adjusting to the light <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> “Yeah <|indexes|> 2 2 |

<|text|> and others try to replicate the beauty he sees whenever she’s near? “Yeah, we’re gonna go drive a little bit. You wanna do that?” He says straightening the sweater a little more. She nods and then pads to Danny’s room, swaying on her feet. Dean moves them faster and Cas feels his arm starting to tingle from holding it up, but he doesn’t want to stop, even when he thinks about the apple going brown in the kitchen. “Uh…” Sam said, suddenly, and Cas slowly turned to Sam, eyes wide with horror. He was completely unused to being caught, and now, well, Sam looked just as shocked that Castiel was being so He pawed at Dean’s legs, little fingers scratching over his denim-covered jeans, wiggling to be in between them. Dean let him, and tried to thumb through the parenting magazine that the office provided. It was thoroughly unconvincing. The kids in the pictures were all way too clean. The woman’s voice he hears next is warbling and diffused by the distance of the rooms. Dean feels the plate he’s holding start to drift back onto the counter as he listens to the music. It’s a tune he’s heard before, though he would never guess what it was. Probably something he’s heard in a movie or in a luxury car commercial. Whatever it is, it’s a lot better than what Dean had expected. The sliding strings supporting her voice almost make him think of the gentle hum of that Led Zep song he likes… Rain Song? Yeah. That one. Castiel sits with his hands folded under the steering wheel, unsure of what to do.  Dean’s been saying that same phrase with slight variation for the past three hours, but never once has Cas actually Leticia waves at the bruja and walks past the cactus, back to the road, still hearing the sweep of her twiggy broom. “Is something wrong, Dean?” Castiel probes, and Dean snorts, picking up a cookie off the plate centered on their coffee table. He spits crumbs as he speaks, and relishes Sam’s disgusted expression. He hears Dean in the kitchen saying something into the phone and Sam assumes it’s probably Cas. He continues to observe the infant, as he was directed, and Daniel makes a baby noise. The reaction is expected, Castiel’s face goes from irritation to just blank, as if Dean has said something so stupid he can’t be bothered to be even remotely surprised. He just stares at Dean, daring him to continue.  Dean does, with confidence. Cas tries to say he is. He really does. He doesn’t want to worry Dean; that old stigma of never wanting to cause him trouble making its more and more infrequent appearance. “Don’t tell monkey…ever.” Daniel whispered and Dean chuckled, closing his eyes. “I love you…more than the moon” Daniel added, rubbing his cheek on Dean’s t-shirt. “Papa! Come play!” He shouts and Dean looks up from his car to glance over his shoulder. Cas stalls for a moment. He isn’t used to being asked to play. He’s never “Could you round up the company?” He suggests, carrying the plate towards the table

<|output|> <|example|> and others try to replicate the beauty he sees whenever she’s near? <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> Cas stalls for a moment <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> He’s never “Could you round up the company?” He suggests, carrying the plate towards the table <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> He’s never “Could you round up the company?” He suggests, carrying the plate towards the table <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> That one <|indexes|> 3 3 <|example|> “Uh…” Sam said, suddenly, and Cas slowly turned to Sam, eyes wide with horror <|indexes|> 4 <|example|> Castiel sits with his hands folded under the steering wheel, unsure of what to do <|indexes|> 5 5 |

<|text|> and Dean takes it from him. say that.” Sam growls, crossing his arms. “You’re just jealous because Cas didn’t put my present down after two seconds.” Dean reaches around and has to actively resist slamming it closed, but somehow manages to get it to make barely a sound. Castiel is stretching his arms now; chest pulled open and the shirt still hanging off of him, and stares at the TV, like he’s Castiel gives him an incredulous stare and then reaches into the long, slim, cardboard box he holds. “She’s your dog, baby, if you would remember: ‘we should get a dog’, 'I want a dog’, 'let’s get a Corgi they are family friendly and manageable’….” Danny dresses slowly in his room, stepping sleepily into his pajamas and coat and boots while Dean helps Faith into her nightie and a sweater that he buttons up and socks too because it’s freezing outside. She puts her feet into them with a tiny smile, spreading her toes because they are her favorite colors: yellow and blue stripe. “Hey, hey, it’s not a big deal!” Dean said, trying to soothe him. In the light from their table lamp Dean could see the bags under Cas’s eyes - deep purple and lasting. He tugged at Cas’s waistband and kissed his bare stomach. “Hey.” He said lowly, and Cas bent down and rested his forehead on Dean’s head for a few seconds before straightening. Cas barely managed to slip away, trying to balance the pie and run at the same time as Dean fought his way around the kitchen table and into the living room, chasing Cas. They circled one another, the couch between them and Dean had both of his arms raised, ready to reach out and snag whatever he could get at. “Well, you know.” Dean said, moving away. He straightened a corner of the blanket and then grinned. There was a muffled whimper came from the baby monitor on the table by the stairs and Cas took a deep breath. “Speaking of…” Dean mentioned, making for the stairs again, Cas and Polly trailing him from behind. “I have complied, so let me go. That’s your rule,” Castiel says harshly and the showman throws his head back and laughs, the crowd laughing along with him. Dean listens to the sound of him going downstairs and the distant clang of him pulling a pot out, probably for the box of kraft macaroni Dean saw sitting out by the stove. i have burrowed into the dark to find bread, but it turns to ash in my mouth. i have clawed canyons in this red earth but no rivers will come. “Do you have medicine?” Leticia tries, making sure, and the bruja waves her brown hand at her, the other patting down the cobwebs on her head. “I missed you.” She says, staring at him without shame and she pats at the butterfly tape on his forehead. He smiles. “Charlie!” His mother said, the exasperation obviously forced as she came to smooth his forehead and kiss his red cheeks and nose, the father grinning. “Stay with daddy and mommy!” “You ok?” Dean said,

<|output|> <|example|> and Dean takes it from him. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> He smiles <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> ” She says, staring at him without shame and she pats at the butterfly tape on his forehead <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> “Stay with daddy and mommy!” “You ok?” Dean said, <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> She puts her feet into them with a tiny smile, spreading her toes because they are her favorite colors: yellow and blue stripe <|indexes|> 3 <|example|> “I missed you <|indexes|> 4 4 <|example|> He tugged at Cas’s waistband and kissed his bare stomach <|indexes|> 5 5 <|example|> i have burrowed into the dark to find bread, but it turns to ash in my mouth <|indexes|> 6 <|example|> i have clawed canyons in this red earth but no rivers will come <|indexes|> 7 <|example|> They circled one another, the couch between them and Dean had both of his arms raised, ready to reach out and snag whatever he could get at <|indexes|> 8 8 |

<|text|> shaking out Daniel’s favorite pajama pants and handing them to him with clean boxers. Daniel remained silent for a moment while he rubbed his hair with another towel. “When Sammy was little my Dad would drive him around in the Impala when he wouldn’t go down. Worked like a charm.” “You boys cold? I made cider and donuts.” He says, standing and Daniel plops down beside his sister. they whispered, so the Father would not hear them, a clutch of cowards afraid of even the idea of his wrath. Every trick his very muddled brain can come up with - and granted, that isn’t many tricks, but he’s trying - and Danny still won’t go down. “Here.” Cas says gruffly, putting a bandaid on Dean when he complains that he’s got a stiff elbow. Dean looks at the little bandage and then up at Cas’s grave face. “Is that better?” , but that was tortuous because then Dean had to coax him out of it and while that usually led to very satisfying ends, the build up was unfathomably irritating. Faith rocks back and forth on her heels, balancing against the back of the tall backed chair Cas is currently employing as he thumbs through the musty-smelling volume on his lap. Cas mewls in response, sweat breaking out on his forehead, and he rubs absent hands up and down Dean’s sides, nails bumping on his ribs. “Go fuck yourself.” Dean slurs, floundering a bit, cheek scraping along the ground. He’s belly down, like some kind of dog, and he’s too exhausted to do a thing about it. “There’s nothing here for you Cas. I lost you.” Dean says again, more firmly, and Dean closes his eyes, because, he has to remember, it’s all in his head. This wouldn’t even have bothered Sam either – but it was the expression on Cas’s face that made him pay attention – it was an expression that said very plainly that this wasn’t some accident. Mama says go and get the medicine, because Keke has a toothache and they don’t have the money or the time and it is so hot, please, mija, please. He did it again and again every time she shrieked, until Cas’s eyes were watering he was laughing so hard, his breath coming in stuttered little pants. He had to stop and wipe at his face as he calmed down, coughing slightly, and Faith mapped his arms with her little fingers, clamoring to get closer to him as he flicked the tears from the corners of his eyes. She collapsed against him and he hooked his hands under her arms and brought her above him. That quiets her and she sucks in her breath and whimpers. Dean looks between his kids and then crosses his arms. Castiel stood there, feet still in the puddle. He saw a truck  in the far distance, just a dark dot spraying wake like the prow of a ship over a still, flat, sea. The salt slipped back into its coma. Its eyes rolled up into its head, unseeing. It wondered what it would be like when it awoke

<|output|> <|example|> shaking out Daniel’s favorite pajama pants and handing them to him with clean boxers. Daniel remained silent for a moment while he rubbed his hair with another towel. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> He had to stop and wipe at his face as he calmed down, coughing slightly, and Faith mapped his arms with her little fingers, clamoring to get closer to him as he flicked the tears from the corners of his eyes <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 <|example|> ” Dean says again, more firmly, and Dean closes his eyes, because, he has to remember, it’s all in his head <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> Worked like a charm <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> Dean looks at the little bandage and then up at Cas’s grave face <|indexes|> 3 <|example|> Worked like a charm <|indexes|> 4 4 <|example|> Its eyes rolled up into its head, unseeing <|indexes|> 5 |

<|text|> with a last exhale of excited ions; it was getting bored staring at the sky. “Cas.” Dean exhaled, but Cas didn’t say anything, merely busied himself with trailing down to the slash of the smile down right at the edge of Dean’s stomach. “C'mere sweetheart, c'mere see me!” He laughed and Faith giggled, stamping her feet, and Cas had to be quick to keep up with her. Her little hand released his as she stumbled into Dean’s arms and he helped her in. Cas watched her shadow as she stared up at the blanket, no doubt mesmerized. Her hands went up, sillhouetted by the lamp and Dean and Danny withdrew. “Yeah.” Dean hustles to the refrigerator as Cas tips the medicine down Faith’s throat, and then goes for the Motrin next. Faith wails and Dean can already hear the tears starting and Cas is talking to her in that really-low voice, and it makes Dean feel like there’s cement mixing in his gut. Seeing Sammy sick always hurt and this is no different. He pours the juice into her favorite blue cup before stepping back towards him, waiting as she drinks the rest of her medicine and cries, Cas taking the cup without thinking. He hands it to her, stroking her hair, looking troubled. Danny leans on his elbow, staring up at his baby sister with the same concern. “Hey, it’s your puppy!” Dean says, picking up the toy, a quilted, plush, dog that they’d been gifted by some hunting friend a while ago. It’s Danny’s absolute favorite. “Nee! Nee!” She cries and then Cas and Dean shush her because the kids are filing onto the stage and standing in front of the standing microphones. Some of them look like they could throw up from nerves, but Dean is too delighted that Daniel is staring straight at them and grinning like a maniac. He waves to the camera and Faith squeals again like mad, clambering into Dean’s lap to see better. Dean bounces her on his legs as she says her shortened version of ‘Danny’ over and over, whispering it when Dean tells her to be extra quiet. “Hey, you’re supposed to wish for something.” Dean mocks, not delivering his answer just yet, letting a boyish smile interrupt the sobriety of Cas’s question. He stops, darts the tip of his tongue out at the ridge of his dry lip and considers. “There’ve gotta be better places than here.” Dean admits after a thoughtful silence. Cas doesn’t tell Dean that the sound of him rolling on the blanket is delightful. It’s one of his favorites - rasping. He likes that and the sound of brooms on the wooden floors of their house, he likes the sound of Dean’s back when he cracks it in the morning. He likes the percolator on the coffee machine, the dry drumming it makes. He likes the strange breathing-laugh that Dean does through his nose when he is trying to secret his smiles away. He doesn’t say any of this, just relishes the muffled sound of his body as it thrashes a moment, adjusting,

<|output|> <|example|> with a last exhale of excited ions; it was getting bored staring at the sky. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> It’s one of his favorites - rasping <|indexes|> 0 |

<|text|> getting comfortable. Dean feels that delicious heat and Cas throws his arms up, draws them close together, his knees over Dean’s elbows. He tucks him in properly and kisses him, Danny curling instinctively up around his worn stuffed dog, coughing lightly as Polly crawls up the bed and assumes her usual post tucked into the crook of Danny’s legs.  Dean turns on his moon lamp and closes the door with a creak. He doesn’t want to risk waking Faith, so he passes her door, and continues into he and Cas’s.  He turns the television on low and turns the lights off, twisting tiredly into a thermal and flannel pants. He finds himself just climbing into bed when Cas comes in and immediately sets about brushing his teeth and the rest of his night routine, scratching lazily at his leg for a moment while he takes his clothes off, watching whatever’s on tv. He puts on a sweatshirt and his own pants, knit, and just about collapses beside Dean after a few moments, his legs having given straight out. Later that night, fat with Italian and more than a little drunk on cheap Chianti, Cas found himself being shoved against the stove, fumbling with Dean’s jacket, the two of them making out like a couple of horny teenagers. “Yeah, Cas.” Sam said, his own smile evening out the furrow on his brow, “He’s almost got it.” He looked back to the former angel blushing like a teenage girl next to him and gave him his best shit-eating-grin. Bobby knows that Dean and Cas will probably give him shit for it later, but he can’t bring himself to do anything about it. The sun hits the water and casts rainbows over their heads and they shimmer in between, invisible to them, but ribboning beautifully across Cas’s view. Droplets halo their brown heads in a haze of white and Cas smiles and Polly suns herself a few feet away, an ear twitching as she watches the little ones. In a sudden moment, Danny turns and Faith turns with him and they stare at Cas. Danny opens his arms in the same way that he would open them for his son. Dean stared at the empty space where it should have been. He swore it was there. He put it there last night, and now it was gone. “Your pie, Mr. Winchester.” Is all he says, smirking, pinching the little bit of skin exposed right above Dean’s right back pocket where his shirt has ridden up. He slips off the workbench and let’s Dean kiss him greedily again. It kind of slams into him suddenly one day, when he’s driving home from work. He has to pull over into a parking lot and stares at his hands on the wheel, the grip of his fingers, the white stretch of his knuckles. here. Well, a semblance of a shark – there are eyes and a fin on the hood of his gray hoody and a tail that juts awkwardly off the back, but for all intents and purposes, he’s speaking to a very hungry, candy-craving, shark under

<|output|> <|example|> getting comfortable. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> In a sudden moment, Danny turns and Faith turns with him and they stare at Cas <|indexes|> 0 0 |

<|text|> a winter coat. He threw down his scythe and refused his work, and a great famine fell over the lands. The wheat withered, the earth became dust under his feet. , and he honestly doesn’t even remember what he did, cracks an eye open and then looks away quickly. he could engage with Dean that Dean also never seemed to realize. It became – not an obsession –but something of a game that Castiel played with Dean that Dean had no idea about. The game was, how could Castiel, as subtly and gracefully as possible, get Dean into positions that Cas could appreciate the most. Of course, Castiel could reason, this was all innocent. Dean had a beautiful body. Cas had “That soup was really good.” He mumbles and Dean just shakes his head on the pillow, the remote starting to fall out of his fingers. here?” Daniel whines and Dean glances at his phone before shoving it unceremoniously back into his pocket. “PAPA!”  Faith crows, and then Dean says goodbye and I love you one more time for the two of them to clarify before hanging up. “Ok, well, just put this on and then try to sleep. I put a bowl next to your bed, so for god sake’s if you feel like you’re going to be sick do it in there.” “Hi baby.” Cas soothes, reaching out to take her tiny hands and kiss each one before kissing her fat face. Then it’s Dean’s turn and their mouths meet for a few seconds before Cas let’s go and goes back to Daniel, hugging him again. “How’d everything go?” Cas says, straightening himself as Daniel plays with his unoccupied hand by threading his own fingers through it. “It’s wonderful.” Cas completes. “Isn’t that wonderful? I get to have all this…” he turns to the windows. “…someone, somewhere, let me have all this, and sure I will die, and I won’t come back, but I get to have "The back rub? Yeah I know.” Dean chuckles, scratching at Cas’s back, between his shoulder blades, and Cas flops down on the pillow, snaking his legs between Dean’s. “Mmm.” Cas hummed, when he paused halfway over the ’s’ in his name and mouthed at Dean’s collar bone and then dragged his tongue down again, scraping teeth over Dean’s nipple. “Speaking my language.” He mouths on Cas’s cheek and Cas pecks him once more before walking back inside. Cas nods and then Dean is pulling Faith out of his arms, though she is whining, but doesn’t seem to be bothered when she’s snuggled into Dean’s shoulder. Bobby kisses her and she smiles at the scratch of his beard on her cheek before he creeps out of the room, off to some other task. Incahuasi whispered, a trembling ripple dancing over the water in infinite directions. Castiel could tell that it was growing sluggish, impatient with the complaining and talked-out. “When he comes back just write us a note and we’ll excuse the absence.” She said sweetly, stamping something once Dean had pushed the clipboard across the counter to her. She smiled at Danny as he shakily stood. “Just leave that trash can

<|output|> <|example|> a winter coat. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> ” He mouths on Cas’s cheek and Cas pecks him once more before walking back inside <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 <|example|> ” Cas hummed, when he paused halfway over the ’s’ in his name and mouthed at Dean’s collar bone and then dragged his tongue down again, scraping teeth over Dean’s nipple <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> The game was, how could Castiel, as subtly and gracefully as possible, get Dean into positions that Cas could appreciate the most <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> “How’d everything go?” Cas says, straightening himself as Daniel plays with his unoccupied hand by threading his own fingers through it <|indexes|> 3 3 <|example|> I put a bowl next to your bed, so for god sake’s if you feel like you’re going to be sick do it in there <|indexes|> 4 <|example|> The game was, how could Castiel, as subtly and gracefully as possible, get Dean into positions that Cas could appreciate the most <|indexes|> 5 <|example|> ” He mouths on Cas’s cheek and Cas pecks him once more before walking back inside <|indexes|> 6 6 <|example|> Castiel could tell that it was growing sluggish, impatient with the complaining and talked-out <|indexes|> 7 7 |

<|text|> right there honey, we’ll have the aid take care of it!” She called as Danny put it down with and smiled at her, his lips quivering. He staggered forward and Dean rushed to him, putting an arm around his shoulders, trying not to notice how that shoulder was meeting his own and that their heads were getting close to being level. Castiel grumbled, which was something Dean and Sam said when it was sort of a problem but one they didn’t feel like dealing with. “Go inside and get Papa, ok?” He rasps and she draws back, and he can tell she’s uneasy about it. She looks at him once over her shoulder before she flicks her brown hair out of her face and goes inside. “You’re the ‘apple of my pie too’, baby,” he laughed, quoting the pie’s top, the words where an crust would usually be. Cas smiled, trying to keep the slice he made from falling apart as he transferred it to one of the plates. “Yeah!” Danny yelled back, and there was a rattle as he threw them against the baseboard in the hallway and Dean stiffened. He’ll get him almost there, and then one misstep, one little movement, and he’s awake and screaming again. Dean says it’s colic and that it won’t last forever; he’ll grow out of it, eventually. “Please tell me you are out the door? Your son is about to have a nervous breakdown…” Cas begins and Dean smiles reassuringly, hoping Cas can feel it through the phone. He hears her tear-thick voice and he feels like his heart is going to shrivel up and fall out of his chest at that. “Ok. Then it’s ok. Danny says Batman gets hurt sometimes too. So this is ok.” She tells him and he nods against the pillow. “The recital.” He repeats, leaning back in his chair, watching her eat. She picks up her milk and downs that, and then blows a big breath out and he laughs, which makes her laugh too. “Is that it? Is that papa’s plane?!” Daniel cries and Dean lets himself grin, because by god, he’s excited too. Relieved, and exhausted after a week alone, but mostly excited. They get to the door, but Daniel has convinced Dean to let him ride on his shoulders even though he’s getting way too big for that. Dean doesn’t mind though. It isn’t every day he gets to carry a shark like a sack of potatoes over the threshold of their house, having swung Daniel over his shoulder as they went up the drive. Castiel dropped to a squat beside Dean, putting a hand on the small of his back, wincing when Dean hit his head on the top of the cupboard before sliding out to stare at him, flashlight left to roll behind. Daniel plows into Cas who hugs him and Dean ruffles his hair, both enthusiastically telling their son how proud they are of him. Who would have thought the average ten year old wouldn’t chomp at the bit to be Plato or an ancient Tang Dynasty warrior or He had just been walking by with laundry

<|output|> <|example|> right there honey, we’ll have the aid take care of it!” She called as Danny put it down with and smiled at her, his lips quivering. He staggered forward and Dean rushed to him, putting an arm around his shoulders, trying not to notice how that shoulder was meeting his own and that their heads were getting close to being level. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> “Go inside and get Papa, ok?” He rasps and she draws back, and he can tell she’s uneasy about it <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 <|example|> She looks at him once over her shoulder before she flicks her brown hair out of her face and goes inside <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> “Please tell me you are out the door? Your son is about to have a nervous breakdown…” Cas begins and Dean smiles reassuringly, hoping Cas can feel it through the phone <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> Daniel plows into Cas who hugs him and Dean ruffles his hair, both enthusiastically telling their son how proud they are of him <|indexes|> 3 3 <|example|> He staggered forward and Dean rushed to him, putting an arm around his shoulders, trying not to notice how that shoulder was meeting his own and that their heads were getting close to being level <|indexes|> 4 4 |

<|text|> when he did it, just to be cheeky, and he had pulled the big brown towel out of the basket and flung it so that it covered Cas’s face, startling a surprised ‘ah’ out of the former in the angel in the process. picked over, the tiger with a spear coring its rib cage. In the end, Death found the shape of men most pleasing; catastrophe was -” He shoved Dean weakly off and then threw up again, dry heaving when he’d expelled all there was to give. Dean rubbed between his shoulder blades as Daniel sobbed again, shaking. “Hmm.” Dean hums as Cas raises the glass to his lips and gives him a taste. Dean frowns and then laughs, “Oh god, that is cheap.” Cas chuckles into his glass and sets Dean’s beside the cutting board as he moves to start lighting candles. He spreads them out over the house and by the time he gets out of the back bedroom Dean’s folding their omelets over and sliding them onto plates. The kitchen is thankfully warm because of the gas stove and Cas prods at the fire in the living room, so the cold doesn’t get to them too bad. The sun has completely set and the wind still rakes over the lake down the path from the house. Cas takes the hot plates from Dean’s hands and sets them down without real method to it before he drags his hands down Dean’s chest. “Busy?” He says hotly and Cas hums into his kiss. That fire comes back, a smolder.  “Care to share?” Cas tugs on his underwear and slips a hand down between his legs. He winces, dry, and Dean pulls his hand away. He deadpans, pulling out a hand that crunches with empty wrappers. He gazes at them and then back into the box his face painted with disbelief. “Dean, “Oh…” He breathes, gripping his own elbows in his shock, and he shakes his dark-hair out, a piece falling over his forehead. “Oh, no. I was just listening.” He looks back at the record and Dean realizes his face isn’t exactly excited-looking. “Here I am!” He said and she laughed so hard she leaned into his hands that had gone out to support her. Her fat little legs curled up and she tipped forward, headbutting him with the force of her laughter. Cas watching her began to laugh too, his shoulders shaking as he right her, making sure her feet were firmly on the rug before he slowly rearranged the towel again. down at the lake house and Dean knows they won’t be able to get the repair guy out there until tomorrow afternoon – they are an hour out from the high way and the electric company always runs on half time. Dean is mostly freaking out because the land line is out and that means he can’t call Bobby, which means he can’t call about the kids, and the term stressed really isn’t applying very well. Frantic is a better term. “Now, don’t get upset because you have to be the girl.” He teases and Cas looks

<|output|> <|example|> when he did it, just to be cheeky, and he had pulled the big brown towel out of the basket and flung it so that it covered Cas’s face, startling a surprised ‘ah’ out of the former in the angel in the process. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> He spreads them out over the house and by the time he gets out of the back bedroom Dean’s folding their omelets over and sliding them onto plates <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> He deadpans, pulling out a hand that crunches with empty wrappers <|indexes|> 1 |

<|text|> around, as though there’s some kind of joke going on. “Nah, I almost got it…” Dean replied, still working his arm under the couch, scraping around. Sam watched as Cas’s face darkened, Dean’s ass hiking up, the underwear he wore peeking over his pants. “It’s strange to me…I would have thought I could resent it, but, now, I understand so much more what this song is about.” “That sounds great.” Dean answers for all of them, following Cas into the kitchen. “Danny you keep an eye on her, don’t let her eat any of that – she could choke.” “God it gets harder to drive every time. I feel like I gotta practice.” Dean slurs and Cas rubs his back in soothing circles, fingers skating over Dean’s shoulder blades. Man, catfish, it don’t make no difference sometimes. We all in the mud. We all just creatures wallowing in something. “…upon hearing of my homesickness, Jack said to ‘cross my palms’ and since I had never heard such say before, I was curious and asked on its meaning. Such an idiom I had never come across before, being from the East. What he told me was such an explanation that I hope to record it in similar voice so I could describe it to my Emily on my next letter to her. “Now who’s impatient?” Dean says, giving up, because Cas is breathless and needy and scratching at him. “Dean don’t you let that blanket come down on them!” He scolded, but it was drowned out by the sound of Danny laughing and the sloppy noise of Polly starting to bathe his face with her tongue, the constant nanny. “Just come here, please? It can wait, I wanna show you something!” Dean demands, tugging more insistently. “It can wait, I promise, just come here for like, five minutes.” “No - they misplaced it when they moved into the new place…” He sighed, and pulled the camera down and stared at it, clicking the buttons on the side. Dean watched him with an amused expression, noting the way the digital screen lit up and cast a blue-white glow on Cas’s features as he thumbed through the settings and menus, still standing in the middle of the sidewalk. “Detergent.” Cas replies, rolling towards him, rubbing his face, muffling his words. “I forgot…” He trails, “…I forgot to put it on the list. Knew I was forgetting something.” Castiel’s grace curls and churns in anger; he is a fiery reckoning, a finger of God, a tempest of faith and might, how dare he call him anything but – but, he finds he cannot protest, merely standing there, watching as the showman sweeps his arm at the table and lifts the edge, pulling it off in a flurry and casting it aside. A smooth, black stone, sits in the center. Dean takes one out of the tray, staring at it before popping it in his mouth, just as Cas rounds on him again. “We’ll try again this weekend. Get Sam to take Danny or something…” Dean suggested, emphasizing the point with a kiss at Cas’s neck. “Help.” He half laughs, half whines,

<|output|> <|example|> around, as though there’s some kind of joke going on. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> ” “No - they misplaced it when they moved into the new place…” He sighed, and pulled the camera down and stared at it, clicking the buttons on the side <|indexes|> 0 0 |

<|text|> as Dean sits up and drags the comforter over him, the two melting together. Cas’s head lands right over Dean’s heartbeat, and he’s still in seconds, and Dean doesn’t mind that it leaves him setting the sleep timer on the TV and stroking Cas’s back under his sweatshirt, the skin warm and smooth. “Sammy used to eat his eggs with ketchup when he was a kid – and my dad would get so grossed out.” Dean says and Cas leans forward over his plate, smiling. He balances his chin into the palm of his hand and stares so evenly at Dean, his free fingers playing with the skin of Dean’s knuckles. “He grew out of it though. For a few years that’s the only way he’d eat them – but man, this one time we went through a mcdonalds and he made my dad ask for ketchup for his egg mcmuffin and my dad just stared at him and it was so funny because my When they reach the bottom Cas is waiting in a jacket, holding Dean’s, the headlights of the Impala shining into the house from the front drive. Cas eases him down on the kitchen chair and doesn’t say anything about it. He busies himself with the first aid kit and a tall glass of water for the ibuprofen he gets out first. Laundry day was one of his favorites – he had to get up early and round up their clothes, but it forced Dean to walk out in his jockey briefs in search of clean pants, and Cas could get a very uninhibited drink of Dean’s skin while he folded towels. It was especially good if Dean put his pants on right there in the laundry room, which opened up whole other realms of possibilities – the curvature of his spine, the way his shoulder blades went snugly over his back, and of course, Castiel’s favorite, his supreme ass. “I’m sorry, Dean, but I can’t,” he said, his voice grave, a smile hinting on his mouth, “it’s just too important to me.” Dean watched as he kept the fork in one hand and then scrambled for the plate, because Dean had already lurched, his socked feet slipping on the wood floor. Static pours, blurring and obscuring the song that had been playing into a garbled mess.  Frowning, he stands and walks to the radio, pushing it around on the bench, but the station seems to have some kind of problem, so he settles for tuning it to something else. “It’s only gonna be a few more minutes, so quit bellyaching.” Dean said in ways of reply to the incoherent sound his son had just emitted. They were in the waiting room of the pediatrician’s office. Cas and Faith had disappeared behind the heavy blue door ten minutes ago for Faith’s check up, and Danny had abandoned the trucks and toys to come bother Dean. . He stops what he’s doing: cleaning, working on homework, reading (a big deal when you can pull Cas out of a book, because he Dean goes quiet, the static buzzing slightly over

<|output|> <|example|> as Dean sits up and drags the comforter over him, the two melting together. Cas’s head lands right over Dean’s heartbeat, and he’s still in seconds, and Dean doesn’t mind that it leaves him setting the sleep timer on the TV and stroking Cas’s back under his sweatshirt, the skin warm and smooth. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> “Sammy used to eat his eggs with ketchup when he was a kid – and my dad would get so grossed out <|indexes|> 0 0 |

<|text|> the sound of him regulating his breathing after Cas probably scared him half to death. The front door flies open and Dean stalls halfway up the walk to the front porch as something in a yellow sweater comes leaping down the steps and towards him. “You moved a little!” Dean grins, and Danny heaves himself again, trying to get another feel for crawling. He kicks his legs and arms, but it doesn’t really coordinate and he shrieks again, looking right at Dean, frustrated. “What?” Dean says playfully, dropping his voice, and Danny makes another squeak. “I would have liked to have met him.” Cas replies reaching forward to drain the last bit of wine from his glass, pushing Dean’s toward him. “Now, if you do remember, we have a plan?” Cas bends down to kiss the top of Dean’s head, rubbing his back with one hand, both of them looking at Danny as he stares at the toy with wide eyes, his mouth falling open every time it jingles. “Dean, I think you’re projecting again” He says as he ‘lazily’ begins to dip his fingers just barely beneath the waistband of the charcoal underwear, skimming the very top, like he’s scratching an itch or something. Every inch of it is on purpose and Dean can feel the disdainful laugh and the way his tongue is skirting at his teeth, trying to lock up all the things just fighting to come out of his mouth. He wants to say he’s going to fuck the look right off of Castiel’s face. Dean thinks on this – how Cas might even have seen the very composers, divinely inspired, when they laid the notes to these long-sung songs in dusty churches, meant for those old people in stiff clothing, holding their hymnals – how Castiel must have looked on them and smiled. Found beauty and goodness. “Hey bud, what happened?” Dean said softly, coming in, heading straight for his son who smiled pathetically and then grimaced, curling himself more over the trash can. Dean reached out and put a hand on the back of his neck - he was burning up, though the goosebumps told Dean he was probably freezing in the school’s blasting air conditioner. Dean slides his fingers out and when they’re replaced Cas seizes up, mouth open in a voiceless hallelujah. Cas turned to Dean at that moment and looked at him. He was checking his watch, obviously worrying over getting the car out before parade traffic got bad. Cas’s heart swelled, the squirming got worse, the feeling of his throat getting tight with a sensation he could now identify as the peculiarly human expression of “What?” Dean says, the sound muffled by the pillow case. Cas smiles at him and then closes his eyes. “There you go! Told you you’d get it!”” Dean says loudly and Cas grins, proud of himself, and able to look up into Dean’s face instead of their shoes. They keep it up, getting back into the beat of the music that plays till Dean is laughing so hard he’s red in the face and Cas is too, but

<|output|> <|example|> the sound of him regulating his breathing after Cas probably scared him half to death. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> “Dean, I think you’re projecting again” He says as he ‘lazily’ begins to dip his fingers just barely beneath the waistband of the charcoal underwear, skimming the very top, like he’s scratching an itch or something <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> “What?” Dean says playfully, dropping his voice, and Danny makes another squeak <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> Dean thinks on this – how Cas might even have seen the very composers, divinely inspired, when they laid the notes to these long-sung songs in dusty churches, meant for those old people in stiff clothing, holding their hymnals – how Castiel must have looked on them and smiled <|indexes|> 2 2 |

<|text|> not hard enough to scold Dean for stepping on him. Their eyes don’t stray from each other, the rest of the world pretty much forgotten for a few precious minutes. They said that your second child was supposed to be easier, but Dean really wished someone would give their daughter the memo. Faith, while usually a dream, was the most unpredictable sleeper he’d ever met. Some nights she went straight down and stayed down, but others, especially as of late, she’d taken to screaming instead. “What?” She says. Cas doesn’t say anything, just keeps staring at her heart shaped face, the delicate point of her chin. Dean and he had been talking last night about how pretty she was getting. Dean was more than uncomfortable with how beautiful she is. - the same discussion they have every morning (how lovely, how wonderful, how precious). There are dynamics for the artist’s interpretation; subtle variation depending on day and time. “You can always make it up to me later…” he answered suggestively, nipping at Castiel’s neck before walking past him. Cas jerked when Dean slapped his ass, sauntering out of the room to get his plate and bring it back. .” Dean responds, his body sinking into the Impala, the curve of his spine butting awkwardly on her straight edges. “That’s really sad, because, if you haven’t noticed, it’s all gone to shit.” He looks up at Castiel, at his sloppy-looking suit jacket and white shirt. At least Dean’s mind is accurate. “Ten minutes, little man.” He grunts and Daniel sighs, shifting around on Dean’s lap before he’s standing, leaned up against Dean’s shoulder, one arm wrapped around his shoulder. “Danny.” Cas sang softly, sitting on the mattress, rubbing his back. Danny rolled over and tossed his hand out over his eyes, rubbing his whole face. He looked up through his hands at Cas who bent down and nuzzled his face into his son’s hair. “Sip that when you feel you can.” Dean told him, sitting down on the bed, unable to keep himself from touching Daniel’s hair. Daniel groaned back at him and shut his eyes while Dean reached down and placed a kiss on the top of his head. God knew how long it’d been since he’d been able to do something like that without getting glared at. Daniel smiled a little though and Dean smoothed down the back of his t-shirt with the flat of his hand. He had to chuckle when he noticed Daniel had shucked his pants at the foot of the bed, sporting a pair of red boxers that complimented his green lantern shirt quite nicely. He comes to the booster seat and helps her out of it and sets her down on the ground and she takes off running for the stairs. “Here…” He whispered, and Daniel lifted his head, breathing heavily when he settled down onto it. Dean felt as Daniel shifted till his face was pressed up against Dean’s shoulder. Cas put his arm over Danny’s back and scratched it lightly before going still, falling back to sleep almost instantly. “I

<|output|> <|example|> not hard enough to scold Dean for stepping on him. Their eyes don’t stray from each other, the rest of the world pretty much forgotten for a few precious minutes. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> “You can always make it up to me later…” he answered suggestively, nipping at Castiel’s neck before walking past him <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> He had to chuckle when he noticed Daniel had shucked his pants at the foot of the bed, sporting a pair of red boxers that complimented his green lantern shirt quite nicely <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> There are dynamics for the artist’s interpretation; subtle variation depending on day and time <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> He comes to the booster seat and helps her out of it and sets her down on the ground and she takes off running for the stairs <|indexes|> 3 |

<|text|> feel like shit.” He croaked and Dean reached out to palm his forehead, moving his hair to one side before letting his fingers cup his pale cheek. Dean frowns, digging for the kid’s Motrin for their fevers now that he’s not holding a sick child – its orange liquid and he can remember having to take it when he was their ages and how he hated it. He pops the plastic ring off the top and unscrews it. He pours out Danny’s serving before setting Faith’s beside Casl’s busy hands. Cas checks the dosage one last time on the purple bottle he’s currently holding and then moves to brush Faith’s bangs out of her eyes. She moves her head away and Cas puts strong fingers under her chin, looking distressed when Faith keens, all congested and pathetic sounding. Danny takes his himself, holding his nose and frowning. He sticks his tongue out and then puts the little plastic cup on the counter with a heavy sigh. She bounces up and down and Cas shakes his head, laughing softly, leaning forward to press a kiss to her head before looking back up at the camcorder, testing the zoom. Dean frowns, digging for the kid’s Motrin for their fevers now that he’s not holding a sick child – its orange liquid and he can remember having to take it when he was their ages and how he hated it. He pops the plastic ring off the top and unscrews it. He pours out Danny’s serving before setting Faith’s beside Casl’s busy hands. Cas checks the dosage one last time on the purple bottle he’s currently holding and then moves to brush Faith’s bangs out of her eyes. She moves her head away and Cas puts strong fingers under her chin, looking distressed when Faith keens, all congested and pathetic sounding. Danny takes his himself, holding his nose and frowning. He sticks his tongue out and then puts the little plastic cup on the counter with a heavy sigh. The walk is long and dusty, and by the time Leticia gets to the adobe house the sun is high above her head. The bruja is sweeping her front step, moving her whole body with each arc of her twiggy broom. Cas watches them between the gaps of the streams as they watch him expectantly. He stares at them, shifting, their forms blurred by the water. His son drags his tummy against the carpet, wrinkling his onesie, and then collapses, staring at Dean. Dean jerks up, their hips meeting. There’s a brief moment of thought that Dean will regret this tomorrow morning when he walks Faith to school, but the moment is very “Buddha. I thought the irony would be…comical.” It’s Castiel’s turn to smile at himself - infinitely amused by his own idea. Dean rolls his eyes and the door bell rings. Dean groans at the prospect at hearing that same noise for the next three or so hours, but Castiel hustles to the door, brandishing his candy bowl. “Of course.” He whispers softly, all his little demanding self tucked safely away in his

<|output|> <|example|> feel like shit.” He croaked and Dean reached out to palm his forehead, moving his hair to one side before letting his fingers cup his pale cheek. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> Cas checks the dosage one last time on the purple bottle he’s currently holding and then moves to brush Faith’s bangs out of her eyes <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> He pours out Danny’s serving before setting Faith’s beside Casl’s busy hands <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> She bounces up and down and Cas shakes his head, laughing softly, leaning forward to press a kiss to her head before looking back up at the camcorder, testing the zoom <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> Cas watches them between the gaps of the streams as they watch him expectantly <|indexes|> 3 3 <|example|> Dean groans at the prospect at hearing that same noise for the next three or so hours, but Castiel hustles to the door, brandishing his candy bowl <|indexes|> 4 |

<|text|> sublimely tranquil shell. He heaves himself up to walk to the bathroom. He hates sleeping like that, and he wipes himself up, the tap running a wonderful white noise on Dean’s ears, before padding back to bed to nestle naked against Dean’s side. He put his hands back at his sides and then went back to his jigsaw puzzle, happy to bask in the noise that Dean made as he tinkered in the garage. “Projecting, huh?” Dean growls and then he reaches out and this time, Castiel gets caught. Dean sits down on the bed, Castiel between his legs, but Castiel seems to have other ideas as he slides on top of him, one leg over each of Dean’s,  arms up around his neck  pulling them flush. “Kay!” Daniel says, already shoving a snickers into his mouth. “Faith, stop, that’s no!” Daniel say sternly, taking a twix from his sister’s small hands and putting it in the pile he’s allotted. “Here I am!” Cas said, lifting the edge up, exposing his face. Faith’s eyes widened in shock and then, at seeing his smile, she began to giggle. She laughed, pushing at his cheeks and mouth. Cas smiled back and then slowly veiled himself in the towel again. .” Dean spits, harshly, at the earth. “You get the fuck out of my head.” He bends backwards, teetering, one arm bracing himself on that ugly ass Kia and he starts to stand again. He knows he shouldn’t drive. He shouldn’t even try to get up. Every muscle he’s got is protesting movement, begging him to just “Hello…” He laughed, pulling her hand aside, her fingers gripping his. Cas looked at her face and then kissed her, mostly because he could. He looked at the fort, heard the hum of voices and then Faith demanded his attention again, so he yielded and swung her in his arms, walking and rocking her, making her light up. He grabbed his camera from the desk in the kitchen and set her on the ground when she protested about being held, her interest now commanded by the strange blanket structure and the loss of sight of Dean and Danny. She had to keep a hold on Cas’s hand to maintain her balance, but made little toddling steps towards the fort, looking at it, and then looking back up at Cas unsurely. They stand next to the conveyor belt now and Dean finally just hugs Cas good and proper, even though Daniel and Faith are kind of pressed between them. “You’re a piece of work.” Dean accuses, biting him, nipping, and Cas takes it all, scrabbling at Dean’s back, “Fucking tease me…and then you just wanna go.” Her lip quivers and she comes to him, slow as can be, being especially gentle because she knows he’s hurt. He pulls her up on the bed and she lays on top of him and buries her face in his chest. He shushes her and rubs her back over and over. “…but you were the greatest wonder.” Cas says to the possum and the raccoon, to the vixen with yellow

<|output|> <|example|> sublimely tranquil shell. He heaves himself up to walk to the bathroom. He hates sleeping like that, and he wipes himself up, the tap running a wonderful white noise on Dean’s ears, before padding back to bed to nestle naked against Dean’s side. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> ” Cas says to the possum and the raccoon, to the vixen with yellow <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 <|example|> ” He bends backwards, teetering, one arm bracing himself on that ugly ass Kia and he starts to stand again <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> They stand next to the conveyor belt now and Dean finally just hugs Cas good and proper, even though Daniel and Faith are kind of pressed between them <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> sublimely tranquil shell <|indexes|> 3 3 <|example|> Every muscle he’s got is protesting movement, begging him to just “Hello…” He laughed, pulling her hand aside, her fingers gripping his <|indexes|> 4 |

<|text|> eyes gleaming at the seam of the thicket keeping vigil over the kits in her den, fat with milk. Two little kits are curled on their grandfather’s bed as he tells them a story he has been wanting to tell for a long time. He translates it, but in his head it is the story of three boys who saved an old man from himself. The little girl’s infant fist curls against her mouth and she nibbles her finger, nodding forward, trying to keep the sleep away . The boy sprawls at his feet, arms slung out over the old man’s legs, head resting on his thigh. The dog on the rug below kicks absently in her dreams. “Yeah, I guess…” Daniel blushes, and Cas pulls Daniel’s ornaments out for them to hang. Dean’s is a reindeer made from a cut out of Daniel’s foot print and his hands too, its lopsided googly eyes too perfect for Dean to really explain at the moment. Cas’s is a big angel with glitter glue wings that makes him a little misty eyed as he carefully holds it, and Faith’s is a snow person made from cotton balls and felt. As Dean wheels into the playroom he has to navigate over Legos and the insides of the dollhouse, but it’s easy to reach them. Daniel is still holding the lion over his head and Faith is starting to pitch a Cas screams – but it isn’t exactly in ecstasy, because Dean yells too, and they jump apart, Dean tripping on his pants and slamming awkwardly into the table. “You don’t have a good side.” He joked after a moment of more fiddling, “But this one will have to do.” Cas watched Dean as he started to explain and his fingers tightened over the camera. It really had turned out, hadn’t it? Faith squirmed and turned her attention back to Dean who reached up a hand to wipe the crumbs of sleep out of her eye and then pull her onesie back into place where it had gone askew on her round tummy. He prodded the bright yellow bird on it and tickled her. “WAIT, WAIT!” Cas yells, coming into the room, Faith slung over one shoulder, a camera on the other. “Pictures, pictures!” He says this while handing Faith over to Dean who takes her with surprise, smiling at his daughter-turned-ballerina for the occasion. “He would have liked you. My dad.” Dean finishes after a quiet moment and Cas looks thoughtfully at the ceiling, considering this, still running his fingertips over the skin of Dean’s hand. He pushes his palms down, feels the grit of the parking lot dig into his skin, and heaves himself half way up before beaching himself again. His legs sit uselessly behind him, too heavy to lift. Dean breathes through the shifting colors the neon signs are swirling into and tries to figure out how the fuck he plans on crawling to the Impala. Castiel stood with his feet in a puddle on the largest salt flat in the world. The ground there is usually

<|output|> <|example|> eyes gleaming at the seam of the thicket keeping vigil over the kits in her den, fat with milk. Two little kits are curled on their grandfather’s bed as he tells them a story he has been wanting to tell for a long time. He translates it, but in his head it is the story of three boys who saved an old man from himself. The little girl’s infant fist curls against her mouth and she nibbles her finger, nodding forward, trying to keep the sleep away . The boy sprawls at his feet, arms slung out over the old man’s legs, head resting on his thigh. The dog on the rug below kicks absently in her dreams. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> Two little kits are curled on their grandfather’s bed as he tells them a story he has been wanting to tell for a long time <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> ” Cas watched Dean as he started to explain and his fingers tightened over the camera <|indexes|> 1 1 |