SpockHorror

--Confrontation-- Jim Moriarty watched as light danced across the surface of the pool like stars in the night sky, and wondered how much longer he would have to wait. He hated waiting, the time dragging by at snail’s pace, it wasn’t his style, and neither was patience. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his suit and listened for footsteps, but none came. John was most likely still unconscious in the pool showers, and if he did wake up before his time, Seb could easily deal with it, and so there was nothing for him to do, except wait for the Virgin to arrive. Footsteps. It could be Sherlock, or it could just be Seb, but just

Mycroft Holmes examined the man sat across from him. He had always admired that tweet jacket, but had never got round to buying one of his own. He liked the bow tie as well, although that, he would never admit to. He curled a finger round the handle of his tea cup and raised it to his lips, never taking his eyes off the John Smith. “And what have you been up to since our last meeting?” He asked, setting the cup back on its saucer and adding a sprinkle more sugar. He saw John’s raised eyebrow at this and sighed, did the entire world know he was on a diet? “Oh you know, time and space and all that” John replied, he

The bar was fairly quiet, with only a few people scattered about within its walls; a young couple slow dancing in the middle of the floor, a suited man with his long legs stretched out on the seat in front of him, a cigarette between his fingers, two women lounged close by, trying to attract his attention, to no avail it seemed. Slow, coffee-jazz music waltzed through the air from a small band in the corner, consisting only of piano, bass and saxophone. A good time, Picard thought dully, from his position on a stool by the bar, head bowed, whisky in hand, a simpler time. He had always had a fondness for the 1920s - its smooth jazz and style,

Q did not follow the rules. The Continuum berated him for it, punished him, damn, they hated him for it, but Q's nature was to go against nature, and therefore he did. He knew, on some unconscious, uncaring level, that he shouldn't, that one day he'd end up in a situation he couldn't escape from, and if he was truly honest with himself, it scared him a little. Not a lot, not enough to make him stop, just enough to bother him in those quiet moments drifting in space, those days of just watching planets turn on their axis and contemplating the past, the future, the present, every time was open to him, but it didn't mean he stopped thinking abo

I can tell you what happens when you die. I can tell you that your heart stops in your chest, you stop breathing, and your brain becomes inactive. I can tell you what cancer you have, where it is, where it might spread. I can tell you that your loved one is dead, tell you why, and how I couldn't have stopped it. I can tell you why you hurt, and sometimes, why I can't fix. I can tell you the chances of surviving, and the risks of an operation, and why it still needs to be done. I can cure the physical pain, but the mental pain, that's down to you. Every person responds to the death and fear in a different way, and normally, only half of what t

I sometimes catch myself thinking about the strangers in the background of my photos, of everybody's photos really. Just another face out of the main focus of a photo, but I remember, all those faces have a story, no matter how old or young they are, every one of them has a tale to tell of their life, one we've never heard before. But there's more than just a story and a face, there's the people they love, the people they hate, the missed chances and the seized moments, the triumphs and the failures, and then there's things they may or may not have found yet, their calling, their dream job, their perfect partner, their ideal home, a better li