volume seventeen — mary morstan.

welcome!

and happy chinese new year!

given some special circumstances, victor wasn't able to organize this edition; that's why I ( gwyn ) will be accompanying you all throughout this volume, which if you hadn't noticed yet, is about mary morstan

so without further ado....

ｔａｂｌｅ ｏｆ ｃｏｎｔｅｎｔｓ

artwork

story one

edits

story two

article

story three

outro

ａｒｔｗｏｒｋ

_.ginnu

since my laggy old ipad is finally being fixed, which will take around a week to two, and because i'm currently on holiday, have a scrappy little doodle of mary with the symbolic horns from the sign of three! i found a pencil, pen, a highlighter and a notepad so i had to work with what i got but i hope it looks decent anyways :^) deductions are from another screen cap. very smudged, very doodley, very rushed overall but that's all i got! (also: i didn't mean to make 'morstan' look like 'moran'. oops. i'm bad at positioning text)

SpicyTortle

Sherlock126

I wasn't too sure what to do for this prompt, so I did a quote that I think Mary is rather popular for :)

ｓｔｏｒｙ ｏｎｅ

Mary Watson had promised her husband that she would go to bed with him hours ago. Eleven o’clock, she promised, they were going to have a nice time just laying in bed together, enjoying the silence and each other’s company. They hadn’t been able to relax together recently, and she knew how much John valued his time with her. She truly did. But tonight… something prevented her from wanting to keep her word.

She kept her promise until John fell asleep.

As soon as his breathing evened out, she slipped carefully out of bed, grabbing the gun that she kept safely tucked away in her closet before padding softly downstairs and pacing in her living room, peeking out the window every few seconds. Something felt wrong, had been feeling wrong for the entire day, and she just couldn’t put her finger on the reason why.

She got her answer when, upon peeking out the window for the umpteenth time, she saw a dark figure lurking in her front yard, as if trying to bekon her outside. With her gun held tight in her grip and her jaw clenched, she opened the front door as quietly as she could. The figure, who seemed pleased that she left the comfort of her home to greet them, took a step forward, bringing himself into the light. Her grip tightened minutely on the handle of her gun, and she took another step forward.

“You.” She recognized him, of course she did. No one could live their college years avoiding a stalker without having their face burned permanently into their minds. Not in Mary’s case, anyways.

“In the flesh.” He sketched a small bow and smiled that smile that she hated so very much, that instilled so much rage in her that she could barely keep from knocking him over the head with her handgun. Instead, she took a step back and crossed her arms, being mindful of the gun in her hand.

“Why are you here?” She asked coldly. His smile grew wider, more vicious.

“Isn’t it obvious?” He growled, taking a possessive step towards Mary, flashing his own gun at her with a wicked grin.

“I’m not letting you take me away from here,” she said, narrowing her eyes threateningly. The man turned his mouth into a faux frown and placed a hand against his chest, making a fake whimpering sound.

“Oh, that’s cute. You think I’m here to steal you away, because I used to be obsessed with you when we were younger. Well guess what?” He spat out, taking an angry step forward. “I don’t care about pursuing you anymore. I just want to hurt you. So, no no no, I’m not here for you, I’m here for him.” He pointed up towards the house, and Mary growled, taking a step forward herself.

“I’m not letting you lay a finger on him,” she seethed, walking towards him aggressively, gun trembling in her grip. “You are not going to touch him, not while I’m here.” He put his hands up in mock surrender, shrugging and smiling.

“You think I’m going to stop because of a simple threat? He’s going to die, whatever you do, so you might as well get out of the way and save yourself the struggle,” he said casually. Something inside Mary snapped, I won’t let him kill John, I won’t, I won’t, I can’t. I will not let him. She stepped up to him, got in his face, and smiled menacingly.

“There’s one thing you’ve forgotten,” she whispered.

“What?” He said.

“That I’m an assassin.” With that, she hit him over the head with her handgun, promptly knocking him out. She wanted to kill him, oh God did she want to, but she stopped herself for John. John would never forgive her if she killed someone, no matter how terrible they were, no matter what kind of threat they were making towards him.

Instead, she decided to dump him into an alleyway near her house and give Greg a call, letting him know what happened and where he could pick up the man. At peace at last, she entered her house, padded up to her bedroom, and slipped under the covers behind her sleeping husband, pressing a soft kiss to the back of his neck before falling into a deep sleep.

- sceibbles

ｅｄｉｔｓ

jesslyn

watch an amazing video edit here:

https://youtu.be/6AtZgRbfhi0

The King

ｓｔｏｒｙ ｔｗｏ

tw: cannon character death

Rosamund was a boyish girl with short blond hair and blue eyes.

At first glance, there really wasn't anything special about her: she was quite plain, smart but not a genius, with a nice personality and a cute smile...

At least that was what anyone would think if they didn't really pay attention to her, if they saw but did not observe.

Rosamund was an orphan, a girl who started life in a gutter, a girl who learned how to survive before she even knew how to read, a girl ready to do anything to protect herself and her assets...

"So, what did you do? "

A soft voice, coming from a boy who looked even younger than her, his dark eyes widening innocently.

She had been standing next to the door leading to the heaster's office, waiting for the man to call her inside.

"Sorry? "

He shook his head in exaggerated annoyance, tutting softly :

"If you're here, then you must have done something. "

"I should ask you the same question then. " Rosamund huffed, purposely turning away from the other.

"That's not how it works!" he exclaimed, pratically jumping in front of her" I'm here because I'm new. "

'New? '

Like the boy knew that exactly what she was thinking about, he grinned widely, his dark eyes shining in mischief behind his lowered eyelashes.

"What do you think of a little bet? "

Taken aback, it took her a second to answer, her eyes widening in surprise :

"A bet? "

"Yup! " he popped the p, now leaning confidently against the wall "if I can properly guess what you did to get here, you'll let me call you by a nickname! "

'A nickname? What kind of stupid request is this? '

The boy only smirked, waiting for her answer.

Hoping he would finally leave her alone after he failed, she sighed in annoyance before nodding :

"Whatever, but you have to leave me alone after you miss, that means not talking to me EVER again, got it? "

He hummed in agreement, his piercing eyes scrutinizing her, scanning everything everything he could see.

After a second, his grin somehow widened and he leaned towards her.

"You got into a fight... With another girl. " a beat, a silent pause where he looked her up and down again before adding "You scratched her because she tried to steal from you and you cut her pretty deeply right? Maybe it'll even scar, that's why you're here! " he exclaimed, obviously excited.

'What? '

...

'How? '

Some girl in her class had tried to bully her for being an orphan, Rosamund hadn't cared much, but when the other had tried to steal her pen... Well, she didn't react too well since it was one of the only thing that really belonged to her.

'But how could he know that? '

It was obvious that he knew what she was thinking by her expression, but he didn't bother explaining himself, his dark eyes glinting strangely.

"A bet is a bet right? But I guess I should at least introduce myself before the heaster calls me..." He stepped forwards, closer, so close Rosamund had to lower her eyes in order to meet the smaller's gaze "Hello tiger, my name is James Moriarty. "

----------

Somehow, months ed, seasons shifted into one another and they became friends.

Rosamund soon realized that Jim, as he insisted on being called, was a genius, and that saying that was neither a flattery or a lie.

He saw something, truly saw everything there was to see, and then analysed every little thing, his thoughts whirling in his skull, behind his sharp eyes, until a cutting comment slipped out of his lips.

He revealed in the gasps and the shocked questions he got, playing with people like they were toys and throwing them away once they started to become boring.

Of course, not everyone loved him, in fact, he was pretty much dispised by everyone except Rosamund... And their new friends.

They all met because of Jim, because of things he said or did, and Rosamund wasn't even sure they would have even talked once without the younger.

Ajay, Gabriel and Alex.

All outcasts in their own way, orphans like her, kids that didn't hesitate to fight in order to get what they wanted.

They all met through Jim, drawn to his genius like moths flying closer to the light, trying to get closer to him even if that meant burning their wings, and after they started to know the others, they formed a tightly knit group of friends...

So close that they didn't mind commiting a murder to protect one of their own.

------

Carl Power died because he dared to hurt James Moriarty.

Carl Power died, but Jim wasn't the one that poisoned him, wasn't even the one that hid the shoes afterwards.

Carl Power died unlike he had lived, with a great splash and a silent struggle.

And it was easy, so easy, for Alex to steal his medecine, for Gabriel to poison it, for Ajay to place it back in his bag and for Rosamund to steal his shoes afterwards.

Carl Power died because four children were ready to do anything in order to protect their friend, and Jim Moriarty watched from afar with a grin on his face, his hands as clean as they always would be.

-------

They pilled up in the tiny photo booth, making sure everyone would be in the frame before hitting the button.

Bright grins, five prints coming out of the machine.

They had just killed someone, but they were young and happy.

------

Days shifted into months, and months blended into eachother to make years.

Time ed, they grew, falling deeper into the criminal underworld with each ing moment, but their friendship didn't waver for a second.

They all kept the photo against their heart and vowed to become the best in their field.

----------

It was funny how everything could fall apart in a moment.

It was a simple mission... At least it was supposed to be.

An hostage situation after a coup in Georgia, the British government asking for their help.

"Should we go? " Rosamund had asked when she saw the message.

Jim had shrugged absent-mindedly, typing on his phone.

He never went with them and wasn't mentioned in the AGRA initials, but he was always there in the shadows, giving them advices about their mission.

In a way, he was the only leader AGRA would ever have...

But still, Jim had shrugged and the other four had left.

Only one came back.

"Tiger? " her eyes were dry, and she hated herself for it, but no salty tear rolled on her cheeks.

He didn't need that to understand what had happened though.

He looked at her face, and he knew.

-------

AGRA was dead and buried, a memory in a closed coffin and James Moriarty got a new sniper, the best in the world even.

"Tiger, you just stay in that staircase and make sure he jumps alright? If he doesn't, then shoot his friend. "

Rosemund, Mary, or as she was now called in the criminal underworld, Sebastian Moran, simply nodded.

"Alright... Should I leave after he landed? "

The criminal shook his head, a grin on his face.

"No, not after he landed, after he jumped. "

-----

Jim died with a smile on his face, but he died nonetheless.

It had rained the day they had held a small ceremony for the others.

Jim had been the one with the umbrella but he hadn't opened it, he had looked at the sky and let the water pour on his face.

The day Rosamund burried Jim wasn't particularly sunny, but it wasn't raining either.

It was just a day like any other, the kind of day the criminal would have hated because it was so bland.

She hated it too, hated that the world wasn't weeping like her heart was, hated that even now that Jim was dead, her face stayed as blank as the sky, no tear staining her cheeks with its salty trail.

Rosamund couldn't help but wait near his grave, coming everyday like the other man might just pop out from behind a tree and tease his tiger for believing him.

She waited, waited for so long, waited for the tiniest sign that the whole thing had been a charade...

But deep inside her, in her guts, she knew.

She knew that Jim had never cared for anyone but them and that he would never have been able to forget he had told them to go.

She knew, but she couldn't erase the way he smiled before shooting himself in the head, the way his genius brain just destroyed itself in one gesture.

----------

Years ed, Rosamund became Mary Morstan, and Mary Morstan turned into Mary Watson.

She was happy, she had a husband, friends, a daughter...

A family.

Sherlock somehow never found out about her link with James Moriarty.

He came close a few times, when he searched the usb or when he heard her speak with Ajay...

"And him? Did he know!? Did he betray us like you did? Where is he? "

He didn't give any name but Mary immediately knew who he was talking about...

James, Jim, Jimmy.

"He's dead. "

A snarl, filled with hate and pain.

"You were supposed to protect him! You were supposed to PROTECT HIM! " Ajay screamed.

Sherlock had asked afterwards who they were talking about, and she had only smiled sadly.

"A friend of our past... "

She lost everything, but she managed to start her life again, and she was happy...

"Surprise. "

She was happy as she jumped in front of the bullet meant for Sherlock

Her last instants were filled with pain and stammered apologies, but for some reason, she felt calm, calmer than she had felt since the Georgia coup.

Mary had killed for her old life, and she would have died for her family if she had been able too, but maybe...

"Mary Watson's life was the only one worth living. "

She smiled, her vision fading.

Against her chest, the picture they had taken all those years ago in that tiny photo booth was quickly soaking blood.

The bullet had went right through their smiling faces, directly into her heart.

- Lyrae

ａｒｔｉｃｌｅ

totally mrs hudson

read some cool and interesting stuff here:

http://aminoapps.vertvonline.info/p/elmuly

ｓｔｏｒｙ ｔｈｒｅｅ

tw: mentions of blood, implied death, insults

“To Mary, lots of love poppet, oodles of love and heaps of good wishes, from CAM. Wish your family could have seen this…”

Anyone else wouldn't have noticed, how could they? They hadn't lived what she had. They hadn't gone through what she had. But she had, so she did.

The threat made her blood run cold, and her mind quickly started running. She was snapped out of her distress by John, oh always so caring, worried by her sudden uneasiness. She shot him a quick fleeting smile, and let herself enjoy the rest of the day. It was her day, at least. She could finally put all the horrors of her past life behind, and forget.

………………………..

Mary mentally slapped herself. An idiot, that's what she was. How could she have ever thought that she'd get a happy nice, quiet ending?

The name hadn't left her completely at all, but when she read it in the newspaper, a mental warning alarm pinged. Charles Augustus Magnussen. C.A.M. Business Man. A Periodist some would say. Owner of a Newspaper Firm, would others state. Blackmailer, was what he was for her. And a threat.

Shots cutting the air above her, debris falling and screams over the alarm blaring.

Her first paid job.

A masked man grasped her arm and pulled her up roughly.

She followed him down a corridor.

There was no backing out now.

……………………….

The body in front of her was slumped into the seat it was tied to. The man was pale, and his sunken eyes matched the dark of the bruises that littered his arms and face, probably the rest of his body.

He's refused to say a thing during his time of captivity.

Mary raised her arm, it surprised her how the gun grasped in her hand became less heavy each time she had to do this.

She shook the thoughts away.

The shot reverberated off the walls, and through the man's skull.

…………………………

The skin under the rope that bound her ached as she woke, eyes not recognizing the surroundings, but yes all the figures tied up next to her; her teammates.

One month after they escaped, bruised, bloody, broken.

Mary couldn't mourn the loss of her comrade. She couldn't cry as they escaped, ran, hid, and worked, worked, worked. She wasn't really living, but wasn't dying, so she couldn't complain.

Thanking John's absence Mary dashed around the room, taking out her outfit from the back of her placard, and the gun from the hideout. She'd vowed to herself not to touch any of those objects again. But here she was.

The gun fit into her hand just as she ed. Almost too familiar for her liking.

'It's for John' she told herself as she went out of the house, using the backdoor.

'It is for John' she repeated as she ran down London's streets.

'It's for John' she said once again, as she broke into Magnussen's office, forcing the man down, holding him at gunpoint.

No matter how many times she tried to convince herself, the thought still tasted bitter.

(Mary's character is complicated, and there's a lot that we don't know about her, especially about her past, but this is my take on her, I hope I did her justice)

- gwyn

thanks for reading! I hope you all enjoyed! See ya on the next volume!