Again, as he stumbled as quickly as he could down the brightly lit passageway, he shifted both of his arms and knew they weren’t broken. Okay so maybe his rib was broken, his chest was sucking in on itself, but he could feel it was nowhere near his lungs so he could deal with that. It had been a bad crash and he was sure it would be good to watch on the replay later but right now he had something more important to do.

Wrapping his McLaren team jacket more tightly around him and rubbing his ribs in an effort to get warmer, Jacob craned his neck to see further over the barriers onto the track. He always sat right at the bottom row if he could, out of the way of the brightest lights that were always on at the sides of the seating area, and out of sight of anyone in the windows of the commentary and press boxes. So this is the ‘glamour’ of the F1 life.

More F1 writing! Starting to get into their personalities and histories, awh it’s so fun, even if it’s not very good.

This might make more sense if you’ve read my other two, which can be found here.

His brain was already over analysing every single moment that had occurred in that room so far. The Ferrari driver had his back to him and the cameras were focused somewhere else, so for a few painful seconds he could close his eyes, try and be back on the circuit again. Blissfully, he could still hear the screaming of the engines and the bullets of water hitting his helmet if he listened hard enough and shut his eyes tight enough.

-

Whoops, me doing F1 writing again. It was so fun to write though :’)

Right, my first piece of F1 writing :) Don’t expect it to be good, but I had such fun writing it and I think I’ll continue with stuff.

I hope it’s not too bad. /worried

“What are you doing here?” His voice somewhat scared me. It was hoarse and croaky, as if he hadn’t spoken in weeks. His tone was aggressive.

“I’ll leave you to explain, John,” Mycroft said cheerily, and left the room.

“Explain what?” Sherlock glared at me with such ferocity that I almost took a step backwards. I held my ground.

“I’m- I’m not sure,” I admitted, cursing my voice for failing.

Silence.

Explain what happened. Come on, talk!

“I found a body in the Forest,” I began, clenching my jaw. “Of another student. It looked like an animal had done it.” As I continued the thoughts in my head began to gradually order themselves. “Your brother seemed to think it is time for you to return to Hogwarts.”

—

This is the last chapter. I’ve been writing since 6am yesterday morning so I’m going to bed in a minute. xD I’ve also been writing this whole fic for around six months now, urgh, it’s taken so long, sorry.

Thank you thank you thank you to the people who read this <3 I know it’s not brilliant or whatever but I hope you’ve enjoyed reading it.

“Professor, is there a particular reason you are pointing your wand at John here?” a voice said mildly from one of the arches.

I turned to look. It was the tall Ravenclaw Prefect who had talked to me about Sherlock earlier in the year, who I hadn’t seen since Sherlock’s disappearance.

Vonich was indeed pointing his wand rather viciously at my back, and I clenched my jaw.

The Ravenclaw stepped forward, the umbrella swinging gracefully at his side. Vonich glanced doubtfully at it as the Prefect strode confidently across the courtyard to meet us.

“Professor Ctheiz sent me to take young John from your-” he frowned slightly at Vonich’s raised wand, “-capable care and bring him up to his office.”

I tried to look around her little kitchen in an attempt to shake the subject off, glancing between the rusty-hinged cupboards and the rare sunlight pooling on the floorboards near her feet.

“Well you need to get somewhere with it,” she frowned, looking a little concerned.

I could deal with people staring at me every day, I just hid and pretended I didn’t notice. I could deal with this eventually.

But there was still the issue of Sherlock Holmes.

I still couldn’t believe that he had escaped capture. There were so many good Aurors in the Ministry, at least if the wild stories in the Prophet were to be believed, and so many good teachers in Hogwarts that could be looking for him. Because everyone had decided that he was the culprit.

Senna

writingadvice:

A writing prompt is just a phrase or idea that gives your imagination a little boost to get going, and sets you off in a new direction, that you may not have thought of yourself. Once you’re off and running, the rest is up to you. The prompts provide you with that initial direction; where you take it after that is completely up to you.

Writing prompts are a great way to break through writer’s block and can help whichever stage of a writing project you’re at.

(via lord-kitschener)

“John, wake up.”

Blearily, I raised my eyebrows, still half asleep, and grunted with dim recognition.

“John, for god’s sake, get up.”

“What?” I mumbled, slowly noticing the panicked tone of whoever was standing over my bed.

“Just come down to the Hall, quickly.”

By the time I had heaved myself up and rubbed my eyes, whoever was talking to me was gone. In fact, the whole room was deserted, bunks empty, covers thrown back and hastily packed papers in overflowing trunks.

Something was wrong.

“So we can do whatever we like and they won’t be able to do anything about it?” John said, blinking.

Sherlock looked down sideways at him and couldn’t help but show a tiny smile. “Well not anything,” he admitted wryly, lifting John’s chin with a nimble finger so they locked gazes.

“Sherlock, that’s not appropriate,” a voice scolded.

Without moving his finger or his eyes, Sherlock pursed his lips. “Mycroft, take your seat, I think it’ll start soon.”

John, as much as he didn’t want to, turned around in his seat and saw Sherlock’s brother, in an incredibly smart top hat and tails; the only difference to the other male guests was the bright silver pocket watch and the long umbrella he held in his right hand.

“Sherlock, your seat is three rows behind John’s, I told you earlier,” he tutted, raising his chin.