NCIS fanfic chapter 2The next day I came in as usual. I sat at Gibbs desk, and logged in, well my computer was broken and I needed to send some emails to people, almost instantly I felt those pale blue eyes boring into the back of my head.
"Hello Gibbs" I said without even turning "what do you want"
"I want to know why you're on my computer" I could sense him smiling, he never did mind, he trusted me and I him.
"I am checking my emails, because my computer had a....accident" I indicated the smashed up bits of plastic in a box, waiting for the bins to be taken out.
"Oh I see, it disagreed with you did it?" he asked casually
"Oh no, it disagreed with an angry murderer I was tracking, he was trying to destroy my files, luckily I was waiting for him before he moved to the others" I logged out and turned when I stood up, I banged straight into Gibbs because he had gotten so close when I wasn't facing him "Oh sorry Jethro"
"It's ok. Did you enjoy the opera last night?" he said it with an sly grin.
"Oh it was exc
NCIS Fanfic Chapter 1I got out of the lift, and walked briskly over to Gibbs' desk. Tony, Ziva and McGee were already there but Gibbs wasn't. That was annoying. I walked to McGee's desk, ignoring the feeling of Tony's eyes burning into my ass, I had been forced to wear my tight jeans today, and knew it was a mistake.
"Loving the jeans, very...flattering" he said with a wry smile. I ignored it. I approached McGee.
"Have you seen Gibbs?"
"I wonder where he is, first he tells me to bring this file, and doesn't say why and now he isn't here." I was angry and riled.
"He may be with Abby" said McGee hopefully, he smiled pleasantly at me, I smiled back and headed for Abby's lab, Tim was sweet, but not my type. God I hated wearing these jeans, every male was staring, mid-sentence, their eyes following the sway of my hips. I wanted my baggy jeans back, but I had left them at a certain someone's house.
I clicked 'down' on the elevator, the doors pinged shut. When they opened the eardrum piercing noise fr
The End of EverythingI looked about, there was nothing left, say for dust and smoke. People and children lay wide eyed and staring in the choking cloud the engulfed us.
I breathed heavily and could feel the particles clogging up my windpipe. My saviour who had protected me from the blast lay limp before me, his glazed, glassy eyes staring into nothingness. The thick smog began to clear revealing the damage, all I could see was the odd tree, stripped of its leaves, standing alone in the barren wasteland that our world had become. The people around me were coming to their senses too, dazed and confused; they made their way to their feet, eyes watering with the accumulating dust.
The buildings had been vaporised along with thousands of people. I heard some children begin to cry, tears carving deep grooves on the thick layer of ash on their faces. Some coughed violently, but what could anyone do? We were doomed to rot away, unable to help ourselves, unable to help others. Then I remembered.....remembered what
Being A Good PatientJohn's suspicions were right, Sherlock was more than awful he was as appalling as an elephant with earache in a particularly loud brass band, playing annoying music. He moaned and complained about every little thing.
He had so many injuries, it would take ages for anyone to fully recover, but he made it worse by getting up and wandering around. His shattered ribs were not properly fixed, because they needed to be weak in case his lung collapsed again, they could get easy access into his major organs, without causing more pain to Sherlock.
John had a special bleeper thing just for Sherlock because he buzzed it so many times; he was one of the main Healers helping Sherlock. John had few other patients as Sherlock was so demanding. To start with Sherlock was on a public ward, but many complaints were received about his behaviour, analysing other patients' lives and insulting them. Some even tried to start fights with him which John new to be very dangerous. It was decided that for the hea
Some AnswersThey appeared in the auror office. Sherlock walked off, taking long strides, his coat flowing behind him with a majestic superiority. John had to jog o keep up.
"Where are we going?" John asked.
"To do a spot of burglary, my favourite" said Sherlock, casting a swift look up and down the corridor to make sure no one was watching. There was a solitary cleaner, staring at the two wizards. Her broom stopped brushing. She was about to speak, but John had already seen Sherlock's acute, piercing eyes quickly lock onto their target, they narrowed. Sherlock had stood up and frozen, like when a dog has a rabbit in its sights, and John knew that he was silently putting a charm on the witch. Sherlock's lips thinned and the witch turned and obediently walked off, her equipment floating behind her. Sherlock's body slackened.
"Rather difficult that one" he remarked "had an anti-jinx charm on her, quite a strong one, I think Lestrade has begun to tire of me just letting myself into his Office." Sherlo
The Plot ThickensSherlock didn't eat or sleep for a week. He survived on coffee. He sat looking at his cork board, pictures of the dead girl, Voldemort's Dark Mark, the dark man above the brothel and the dark mark on the dead girl's arm. He sat staring at them for ours, making comparisons.
He sat leaning forward, fingertips to his mouth- his 'classic' position, one morning. John walked in.
"Morning. Any breakfast?" he asked. Sherlock sat for a moment and took a sudden breath and sat up.
"Mrs Hudson brought some shopping up before." He waved towards the kitchen. As John went towards the kitchen Sherlock stretched and brought his hands to his head and ruffled his raven black, curly hair. He let out a long sigh. He looked out of the window which was half an arm's length away. A large black owl landed on the window sill. His big spherical, orange eyes stared at Sherlock, who stared coolly back with his pale blue ones.
"Jooohhnnnn" drawled Sherlock
"Yes?" came the voice of the busied John.
"Argon's here wit