Zeiloo

Dear Diary chapter 3 Sunday, the 28th December 1986 Why am I so alone? Yes. Sebastian, you're right. You're here. Everything will change, soon. I will make it change. I don't believe in miracles, I will do it myself. ________________________________________________________________________________ Monday, the 5th January 1987 Something funny happened today in school. Yes, in school! Very unusual, yeah, but whatever- During the break, I ran back into the school building (Carl chased after me again) and I wanted to hide in one of the classrooms. The door wasn't locked, so I ran inside and then - That was just so great, Seb: I saw Mrs S

Dear Diary chapter 2 Wednesday, the 10th June 1986 Have you ever seen a man die, Sebastian? I bet you haven't. Today he shot a police officer. The man broke down, gasping and throwing up blood. It sounded like the waste-pipe in the school-toilettes after flushing. Funny. Then father ran into his room, grabbed everything in his reach and then stumbled to the car without looking back. I'm sure he would have left me, if I didn't run after him, with my rucksack in one hand, jumping into the back of the car. He would have left me there with this school-toilette-imitator on the floor. He would have left me. Not because he wanted to leave

Dear Diary   Saturday, the 15th February 1986 Well... Hello, book I guess, diary. One of father's women gave you to me. I guess she wants to brown-nose me. I wonder if she even noticed me. Normally they don't. Know what? Dad will dump her soon anyway... Like always. I don't even know her name. Probably Mary, Sherry, Sarah.. Whatever. Father is never nice to them. He beats them. They cry. I can hear it upstairs. Women are so annoying. Weak. Stupid. Why do they always go back to Dad, when he hurts them? Well... I don't really ________________________________________________________________________________ Tuesday, the 4th March 1

"Where are you going?" John asked surprised as Sherlock came out of the bathroom, fully dressed. They had just settled down after a hell of a run through (John was sure) the whole (bloody) London canalization following a triple murderer, who they had haunted for more than two weeks. Well at least they had finally caught their literally stinking thief. Ponging like something that had died two weeks ago in a pool of his own residues they had proudly handed over their prey to Lestrade, who had (wrinkling up his nose) took some steps backward and had ordered (to Sherlock's amusement) Anderson and Donovan to take the thief in the police car. Af

He cares A week later, John got a message on his way home.   S.H. 6.14 p.m. You can move back in your room.   Back in the flat, John went to his room first, just to see that it looked like it did, before Sherlock stored everything in it.   The doctor sighed heavily, shuffled to his bed and fell into it. Don't you care for anyone else, beside yourself?! His own words suddenly sounded so awfully horrible in his head. Did he really say that? Wasn't he was the one not caring? Taking his stress out on him? The urge to apologize to Sherlock grew more and more. Sherlock wasn't like normal people. He said it himself, he

1: He cares No Sherlock? That was new. He wasn't on a crime scene, could he? When Lestrade texted the detective, the detective always, always texted John immediately to come to baker street, to join him, when he wasn't at home. It didn't matter, whether John was working, or do the shopping… He wouldn't leave without him. But here John stood in the flat and no black haired man at all. Not on the sofa, not surfing in the internet with John's Laptop… not in the kitchen, experimenting with body parts. John even peeked in his bedroom. No one slept in the bed. Where could the great detective has gone to? When John left this morning f

I don't have friends It was the second week the greatest detective of them all lived alone again in 221b Baker Street. After a stupid quarrel, the stupidest doctor alive moved out, going to his even more, if this was even possible, stupid girlfriend. Well, girlfriend was too much to say, John still slept on the sofa. Why did Sherlock know? Mycroft told him. This bastard had his eyes everywhere and after seeing John going in and out Sarah's flat for some time, he texted Sherlock. The detective could felt the sarcasm and satisfaction through the tipped words. No cases to distract his mind, no psychopathic murder who wanted to get caught, no

Subtext „Let us go for a walk.", he proposed with a quick glance to his watch. "No, thanks. I rather stay here. But you can buy some milk if your way crosses the supermarket.", came the answer from the black haired man. The one and only consulting detective and at the moment the most bored human alive. But not bored enough to lift his ass from the sofa. "Well, then you can't be too bored.". "What's with this conclusion? Doesn't make sense, John, better leave the thinking for me.", mumbled the detective, staring at the ceiling. "Well-", began the blond with a light testy undertone, "If you would be so 'bored to the bone', like you