DeathFrisbee221B

"Linked?" John blinked at his friend incredulously. His lips pursed. "As in the murders and the robbery?" The Doctor nodded. "And you failed to mention this earlier?" The annoyance in John's tone told you that this was not the first time Sherlock had left him in the dark. You found it strange, though, that the Doctor had not said anything to you about it. After all you had been through with the Doctor, and all the trust you had put in each other throughout your adventures, you thought he would at least bother to keep you informed. Especially about a case that involved your fiancé and your work partner. You glared at the said man, hoping

All you ever were was busy. Busy hunting, busy running, busy travelling, busy finding new ways to be busy. It was such an action-filled, exhausting life on the road with the Winchesters. And though it was a quiet contrast to the other variety of ways you could be occupied, sitting in the Bunker researching your current hunt still counted as busy. Dean, not being the sort for staying still hours on end and trying to find information in books and websites, had "kindly" vouched to make lunch for his little brother and you. Not a word had been spoken since Dean had left the room, taking his constant grumblings along with him. Not that you could

It was a wonderful day in New York: the sun was warm and shining, skies were clear and the air was crisp and cool. Almost everybody was out and about in the lovely weather. It was the perfect day to go for a walk or to catch up with friends. And yet… (Y/n) was sitting lazily on a couch… in the penthouse of Stark Tower… eating a packet of ice-cream. She couldn't be bothered doing anything else. Today was her lazy day. A soft ding from the elevator on the other side of the room served as a short notice that its doors would open. They slid open, just as predicted, revealing the red hair and determined look of the woman behind t

I had to tell her. I had to tell her and it had to be today. I couldn't keep putting it off. The weather was chilly outside. I could see it snowing from my bedroom window. New York was always cold in the winter. But my mind was certainly not on the weather. "She has to know," I muttered to myself, pacing backwards and forwards through my room. I shook my head slightly. But how on earth was I supposed to tell her? How was I, Peter Parker - the shy, nerdy high school boy, supposed to tell (Y/n) - the most beautiful and smartest girl in the world, that I was Spider-Man? I kicked my desk chair in frustration. What if I told her and she freaked

Spending a night in the TARDIS was just the same as it had always been. It was comfortable, warm, inviting and incredibly home-like. All of which bothered you more than it comforted you. Those welcoming attributes of the time-machine hadn’t always made you feel uneasy, though. They had once given you a sense of warmth and true belonging with the Doctor in his TARDIS. But that had been a long time ago. And for some absurd reason, you had thought that maybe, just maybe it would feel different sleeping there after such an amount of time. A part of you had almost hoped that the TARDIS would no longer be friendly or welcoming or a nice plac

"Poisoned..." You muttered under you breath, trying to catch up with what John had just told you. "Oh, dear," Mrs. Hudson murmured, scuttling closer to her kitchen. Your mind was searching frantically for any information that could be useful in the current situation. Nothing came to light. "Alright, what are we supposed to do?" You asked as calmly as you could. In the corner of your eye, you saw Sherlock lean down and pick up the cup that (until previously) had had James's tea in it, then quickly put it back in its saucer. He leapt over Mrs. Hudson's coffee table and out of her flat. The Doctor continued to scan James with his sonic screw

The idea of living in the same apartment as your work partner hadn't bothered you at first. It really hadn't. He was your good friend, after all, and having him stay with you was necessary for his safety... But after a two whole weeks, his unrequited love towards you had just about driven you mad. Having James around also meant that Sherlock was in a huff half of the time, and making smart-arse remarks for the other half (Although that was barely a change from his normal behaviour). The Doctor, being the "everybody's important" sort of person, had tried engaging in conversation with James many times, but he was a shy man and barely responde

Agent Clint Barton sighed and grumbled as he stepped through the doors of his house. Well, not entirely. It wasn't what you'd call a house, more of a whole floor... and it wasn't what you'd call his either. It belonged to none other than the infamous Tony Stark. He had "generously donated" (as he put it) a floor of Stark Tower to each member of the Avengers, a couple of months after the whole alien ordeal. At first, Clint had been skeptical about the whole idea of staying in the same tower with a bunch of superheroes, but his younger sister (Y/n) Barton - who had just turned 18 - begged and begged him to let them move in. She was completely

"The army?" John gulped. Sherlock and the Doctor stood there with uncertain looks on their faces. You continued to beam at them, hoping they would catch on. "The army..." The Doctor said, still looking puzzled.   "It's the army, I'm sure of it," you said, getting out your phone again and turning it around do that the others could see. "First guy," you continued, "I know you might say that cleaning has nothing to do the army, but of course it does! Being involved with the army doesn't mean that one has to work in the field. I searched it up and I discovered that the company he cleans for in town, is actually in association with the British Ar

You awoke early the next morning, curled up in something warm. You sat up, rubbing your eyes and looking around. As you did, what you assumed was a blanket slid from your shoulders, leaving you cold and shivering. Your immediate reaction was to pull it back up. You looked down at the blanket around you, only to find that it wasn't a blanket at all. It was Sherlock's coat. You pulled it off again, not knowing what to think. Your mind stalled for a moment as you tried to assess the situation. You were still on the lounge room couch of 221B. Meaning you must've fallen asleep while doing your police work. "Great," you groaned, "Just great." It