Modern Day Dialectical Journal

This confused Sherlock even further. John must have known what he wanted to ask, or he wouldn't have asked him.

Sherlock said, “Do you see partner, you have more friends than you realize. See. You’re not blind as a stone as you thought.”

Sherlock: “You are a skeptic, a lone objector. You don’t believe in the importance of my achieving anything. You have no loyalty to anyone and you’re on your own path. And for your information, I know you may like me and want me to succeed but not at the cost of your goals. I also know, however, you may have a change of heart somewhere down the road. We can in this thing right here and now.”

"I don't know yet, but he's dangerous, five people have been found dead, if you walk in there with your police clothes and handcuffs, he'll kill you. We have to play his game."

Finally, the masterpiece was finished. My sister placed the bowl directly in front of me. My frozen hands itched to steal the warmth radiating from the bowl, and I watched as the steam slowly rose and dissipated.

“We were wondering if you’d like to bring in some dishes for the potluck?” Miki continued, ignoring her minions. “You always seem to have such great lunches. We’d love to try your stuff.”

The detective noticed her shaking hands and approached her cautiously. "Listen. Moriarty is dead. I'm absolutely sure. Whoever this is, they are trying to terrorise you by using his name. I know this is hard-", Sherlock's train of comforting words was cut off by his wife. "Do you? I'm not that sure you do know, Sherlock. You probably feel nothing right now! You didn't raise those children, you weren't there when Clara made her first steps, or when Dorian learned how to eat on his own! You weren't there on their first fight to stop them, you weren't there when they asked me where you were and I had to lie over and over again that you'd be home soon!", she chuckled and continued, "Why would you be anyway? You had better and more important things to do, after all." Sherlock made no sound. She was right. (Y/N) was absolutely right. He could see that now. He felt disgusted by his own person. Sherlock had made his decision- once this... pantomime was over, he was going to walk away from the life of a married man. Let (Y/N) have a life. Have a beautiful life with her two children- perhaps even remarry. He said nothing, though. All he did was nod at here and lower his head. John and Mary Watson looked at each other before Mary took the phone in her own hands and typed

Sherlock: “We’re glad you think so . . . . I’m willing to bet you thought

Sherlock: Oh, don’t worry, it’s all good! I’m sure to give it a whirl sooner than later.”

Smiling, Sherlock took a sly shot the cop, “No, it’s up for grabs. That is if you got the guts and balls to take a stab at being a detective and not fizzle under the weight of becoming one.”

But you knew this would happen. How? You knew that I'd eventually end up with a gun on my hands- and not the one that I was supposed to be holding. How did you know?" Sherlock hissed threatenly at Cassandra. The woman just smiled at him, this time a genuine smile. "Sherlock." She laughed. "Sherlock Holmes. The Great Detective. Possibly the most clever man in Britain. Possibly. You thought Moriarty was dangerous. Well, you hadn't met me yet so, that's forgivable. But believing that I'd just let you have a gun with the hopes of following my orders and actually shooting anyone out of your family? Now, that's unacceptable. That would just be a very bad and lazy scheming. Do you know what the problem is with you, mister Holmes?" the question was mostly ritorical as she didn't let him answer and continued her monologue, "You think there are no other men like you or Moriarty. And you are right. But I'm no man, Sherlock

“She touched my stuff, John!” Sherlock glanced around the room, hoping to see at least some sign of familiarity. Some small object that hadn’t been moved, but even the mirror above the mantel had been adjusted slightly. The smell of febreeze hit his nose. “She uses too much air freshener!” he added, suddenly becoming aware of the walls. With each tick of the clock, with each blink, with each breath, the walls seemed to close in on him.

“Let’s see,” said Sherlock, using bread mold to treat the infection, and then noticing the working steam engine sitting on the table

"A toaster?" said Uncle Arthur. "I was under the impression it was a hand warmer. So it wasn't a malfunction when it started being scorching hot?" He fiddled a bit with the Fenton Toaster in his hands.

Feeling like I'm suddenly in high seas on a heaving ship, I close my eyes to keep my stomach under control. When I open them again, relief wash over me upon noticing that Sherlock's silhouette is a bit sharper than a couple of minutes ago.