Hannibal Lector is John and Harry's father. Nobody but them knows and it's not something that they want out. So what happens when dear old daddy dearist Hannibal has come to visit, but his son's been kidnapped by Moriarty.
It's a Hannibal VS Moriarty showdown, with Sherlock and Scotland Yard watching.
Hopes its not too late
anonymous
December 24 2010, 03:42:19 UTC
This idea won't leave me alone. I really can't not write this. *squirms* Oh you may have just brought me out of a writing block of epic proportions. *trots off to type up a fill* Mycroft says "liatures must" I think its a sign.
Fill - Family Business [1a/?]
anonymous
December 24 2010, 22:52:06 UTC
*cracks knuckles* Alright, lets see how this goes. Haven't written in a long while, so feel free to critique this to hell and back. I want to get back in the swing of things. --- John Watson's life, on the surface, was the most normal life one could imagine. Average home, average schooling, average family. The most striking points were his university career and his choice to join the army; even then, John wasn't exactly the most impressive person. Average doctor and average soldier, shipped off to war and returned with a nasty scar on his shoulder from an Afghan bullet. He even looked completely normal. Sandy blond hair, blue eyes that tended to look too dark in the wrong light. Average height, with a stocky build. Average, average, average. It was all on the surface though, a bluff at best. If anyone took a minute to go just a bit deeper, they'd see just how 'normal' he really was.
-~-~ “Now, now Johnny-boy, pay close attention.” His father's voice is calm but firm, knife held with a certain elegance, “Every incision must
( ... )
Fill - Family Business [1b/?]
anonymous
December 24 2010, 22:57:04 UTC
Part of John's brain registered Sherlock prancing around the crime scene as he normally does, but the rest of it was far, far away. The victim was a young woman. Mid-twenties at the oldest with blond hair that framed around her head as if it were some sort of halo, the effect ruined only by a few strands sticking to the laceration at her neck. Her skin was unnaturally pale even for death, bloodless; the only colour was red at her wrists, ankles, and the gaping hole where her stomach should have been. There was one clean slice, from her solar plexus down the entirety of her torso to her anus, all of her internal digestive organs gone as well as a few choice others. Her clothes were no where to be seen, but it was clear there was nothing sexual about this attack.
“John!” Sherlock clapped his hands together, snapping the ex-army doctor out of his reverie, “Cause of death?”
The medical part of John's mind kicked into full force, analyzing the body: Damage to victim's neck, one clean slice from below the left ear dragged across
( ... )
Fill - Family Business [2a/?]
anonymous
December 24 2010, 23:21:08 UTC
-~-~- The light from the shed's ceiling casting a strange yellow hue to the room. A bucket was filled to the top with the viscus red liquid, steam still rising. Large blue eyes look up into brown-maroon, a small hand coming up to rub at the dusting of red on the slightly chubby cheek, smearing it. They watch with unwavering attention. It was hung from the ceiling on hooks, now fully stripped of skin with its organs removed; they were all sitting in various containers on the nearby table, arranged neatly.. Its head sat in a cage near the door, stripped of its usable meat, that would be placed outside later to be properly cleaned.. The top of the skull was sitting a bit oddly now, from its removal and replacement. Its empty eye sockets staring listlessly as its body was slowly, methodically taken apart. -~-~-
Days later and they're still running after the Butcher, as the press dubbed him. Sherlock had been rather disgusted at the name (“How horribly banal. They couldn't be more dull if they tried.”) Two more bodies had shown
( ... )
Fill - Family Business [2b/?]
anonymous
December 24 2010, 23:34:34 UTC
“I'm having a little seminar at Cambridge and I thought I would pay you a visit. See the new flat, meet the flatmate, Sherlock was it?" something in John's chest twisted at the thought of his Father meeting Sherlock, "Seems like an interesting fellow” John could hear the smile on his Father's lips, just his side of predatory.
“S-sure, that's fine” John ran a hand through his cropped hair, sparing a nervous glance at Sherlock, “Um, when do you think you'd be by?” Hold it together, deep calming breathes Watson.
“That's the fun of it, I'll be around tomorrow! Heard there's been a nasty string of murders there. How, unfortunate” that last word sounded more like exciting than anything else (Just like old times).
“Yea, we've had our hands full. Helping the police and all” stressing 'police', “Just, ah, give me a ring? So I make sure I'm in the flat.” Breathe. In, out, in, out, in, out (The Butcher indeed).
“See you soon, Johnny-boy.” -~-~- A/N: So that's the first bit. I couldn't just plop Hannibal into the cage with Moriarty
( ... )
It's a Hannibal VS Moriarty showdown, with Sherlock and Scotland Yard watching.
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I'm a bit weirded out by the fact that I want this, but YES.
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(EDIT: Moriarty's nowhere near as scary or creepy as Hannibal Lector. But I honestly have no idea who would win and it bothers me.)
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I'm going for Hannibal to win, with Moriarty realizing that all his people are dead before he's flayed too.
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Mycroft says "liatures must" I think its a sign.
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---
John Watson's life, on the surface, was the most normal life one could imagine. Average home, average schooling, average family. The most striking points were his university career and his choice to join the army; even then, John wasn't exactly the most impressive person. Average doctor and average soldier, shipped off to war and returned with a nasty scar on his shoulder from an Afghan bullet. He even looked completely normal. Sandy blond hair, blue eyes that tended to look too dark in the wrong light. Average height, with a stocky build. Average, average, average. It was all on the surface though, a bluff at best. If anyone took a minute to go just a bit deeper, they'd see just how 'normal' he really was.
-~-~
“Now, now Johnny-boy, pay close attention.” His father's voice is calm but firm, knife held with a certain elegance, “Every incision must ( ... )
Reply
“John!” Sherlock clapped his hands together, snapping the ex-army doctor out of his reverie, “Cause of death?”
The medical part of John's mind kicked into full force, analyzing the body:
Damage to victim's neck, one clean slice from below the left ear dragged across ( ... )
Reply
The light from the shed's ceiling casting a strange yellow hue to the room. A bucket was filled to the top with the viscus red liquid, steam still rising. Large blue eyes look up into brown-maroon, a small hand coming up to rub at the dusting of red on the slightly chubby cheek, smearing it. They watch with unwavering attention. It was hung from the ceiling on hooks, now fully stripped of skin with its organs removed; they were all sitting in various containers on the nearby table, arranged neatly.. Its head sat in a cage near the door, stripped of its usable meat, that would be placed outside later to be properly cleaned.. The top of the skull was sitting a bit oddly now, from its removal and replacement. Its empty eye sockets staring listlessly as its body was slowly, methodically taken apart.
-~-~-
Days later and they're still running after the Butcher, as the press dubbed him. Sherlock had been rather disgusted at the name (“How horribly banal. They couldn't be more dull if they tried.”) Two more bodies had shown ( ... )
Reply
“S-sure, that's fine” John ran a hand through his cropped hair, sparing a nervous glance at Sherlock, “Um, when do you think you'd be by?” Hold it together, deep calming breathes Watson.
“That's the fun of it, I'll be around tomorrow! Heard there's been a nasty string of murders there. How, unfortunate” that last word sounded more like exciting than anything else (Just like old times).
“Yea, we've had our hands full. Helping the police and all” stressing 'police', “Just, ah, give me a ring? So I make sure I'm in the flat.” Breathe. In, out, in, out, in, out (The Butcher indeed).
“See you soon, Johnny-boy.”
-~-~-
A/N: So that's the first bit. I couldn't just plop Hannibal into the cage with Moriarty ( ... )
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*wonders where she got the tail from*
*wags it anyway*
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