Dreams of goals

Weed confession – I never really put it here that I tend to smoke from time to time. Mind you, my approach to it is either smoke for few days in a row, when I feel it  and then not smoke for a while. But, I tend to be like that with everyting in my life, so this is no suprise. I suppose I thought that people would feel against it and as such, wouldn’t wish to be part of this anymore, no matter how small it currently is. But, my conclusion about life right now is that honesty is the best policy.

The thing that I also found that weed can make my brain go in overdrive, thinking more deeply about things than really necessary for anyone who doesn’t like to complicate their lives. Me, for better or worse, do tend to do that. But, what I really wanted to share today is a short confession that I wrote that kinda describes my deeper current mindset which happened when I was high, thus he first paragraph.

I don’t wish to be succesful just,

I want to reach for the stars

Feel how it is to be a star

For she is made of what I am made of.

Not just see the wild waves and pass them through on my way to school

I want to feel them as I feel myself,

Totally and completely.

If that is not fullfilled, the ultimate happiness of living, how can I be happy?

Even if I have a success in business, the joy won’t be full because I would feel the emptiness

That only one with everything

remembering that I am a creator and planets,

birds and oak trees,

all that is, is me, as well.

Light and God,

One and everything.

That I am part of this energy that is everything and all.

It is the ultimate power, the ultimate truth.

And you truly know this,

And once you feel it and know by heart,

Then your conciousness and your mind will automatically know it, as well.

But, knowing intelectually is not all there is.

In fact, it is a lower level of knowing – learned theory, one that you may or may not apply in life and what use is that?

A level that you need, but is not enough.

However, it will happen on its own accord, you will know intelectually of itself if you know it first by feeling it, by breathing it, by living the truth.

Which is a joy to know, for now you can skip thousands of books

Who all tell you in the end the same truth.

Just live and be lived through,

Life wants to flow

Don’t stop it with fear spready by a mad society.

Let yourself live as a god on earth in a sense that what you think you become and that is ultimate godhood and so become true to your heritage.

Only that is the truth.

And only that matters.

We used to forget for we were playing and we wanted to take the play to the next level.

Now, we are stuck in this play for a moment of time.

And once we reach the truth again

We’ll probably want to forget again for it is the nature of play  and it is the only way that you can have the illusion of free will and free choice.

Only when you are cut of the whole, or better to say, your mind forgets it is part of the whole, can there be created an illusion of existence as a individual unit, Of self, of a personality that you use to function in this world of society and this form of existence.

But, once you remember, you go back to the universe level. You live and exist purely in the form of energy and there are no desires, no dreams, no past or future, only now.

And that’s why we like to play the game of forgetting.

After all, only in the game can we experience the ups and downs, joys and sorrows, in its illusionist form where everything can be created, from biggest peaks of humanity to worst tragedies that you can imagine and that makes all the fun in the world possible.

It is a bit reformed for the sake of better understanding for I wrote some sentences in the way that are not neither gramatically correct nor much understandable. However, this is something that occupies my mind a lot lately and hopefully, there are some individuals out there that think similary 🙂

Until next time,

Lots of love,





{Music. Kygo feat. Maty Noyes – Stay}


It’s strange how thoughts just start to follow one another. I never thought before much about romance and yet now, since coming to this magical place of London, people that I find beautiful and fascinating just keep popping up and they become gorgeous in my eyes the more I get to know them. Honestly, I don’t even know where to turn and focus, on which person to look at more. And they all equally deserve the same focus because they are all equally enchanting in their own ways. It is a hardship, but in a certain sweet kind of way if that makes sense.

Don’t know how much others experienced this transaction from one end to the other in their life, but it can be quite enlightening about what kind of person you can become and what you can do to make others happier and what kind of actions can make others sad.

But, it is actually disturbing when you realize how much we give up responsibility. Not gonna say give up control because if we really did give up control fully and enjoy whatever came to our life then it would be way easier and more fulfilling to live it. But, people always place the reason and the responsibility of their happiness on other people.

He is my boyfriend so he has to take care of me just the way I like it and I will be happy. If he doesn’t, I feel sad and that is his fault.

My mom didn’t congratulate me my birthday today so I am depressed.

My teacher didn’t praise me today so I will not study for her class anymore.

My friend didn’t text me back…


One hundred and one reason of why you feel sad and then you place the blame on others like it is their job to make you happy. Every person is responsible for only one person and one person only – and that is itself.

Every other action taken to make someone else happy is considered a gift, not an obligation. And as such, should be valued whenever given and not angered or sad when not.

Why not? Simply because if you yourself first can’t make yourself happy than no one can make you happy, not truly. Because you will always depend on that person to make you happy and that is never a way of being happy for long. Then it is fleeting and usually brings more pain than pleasure.

Also, if you can’t be happy with yourself and expect others to make you happy, you are actually putting a horrible burden on others and even worse responsibility that nobody wants and they always leave in the end because it is an impossible task to fulfill.

I honestly think that many people approach relationships wrong. They approach usually with an illusion of what the person should be and is. As they meet they adjust their perspective one way or other. Expectations follow. I’ll be stereotypical here simply to make a point, not to make it seem as if it is truly like that. A girl wants flowers before every date, guys want sex after every date. If it is not fulfilled, they don’t like it and put the blame on the other significant.

That is no way to really go about because you will always end up disappointed in the end. No one can meet your expectations fully because no one can read your mind and no should actually. Everyone is their won person and what you expect is the extension of your persona and to expect someone to fill up all the check points is impossible to achieve.

But, love… Love can change all that. Just loving, not forcing or changing anything or anyone, just feeling that joy and love. Dance and sign with it. Work and create with it changes you and later on the world for the better.

After all, there is a reason for the saying love yourself first before you can love anybody else. Well, I am not sure that is really how it goes, but the point is the important one. Once you learn to enjoy yourself, you want need others to make you feel joy. But, sharing is caring and thus sharing your joy with someone familiar will just intensify it for the better and that makes a true relationship matter all the more.



Life is weird and so am I


So, the blog is becoming a diary it seems as today is a recap of my day.
I woke up wonderful, finally rested after a week of constant work in a restaurant where I found a job as a waitress for a minimal wage so that I could stay in London.
Today I had a interview for a better paid job and was really looking forward to it. I mean really looking forward to it.

I woke up, my friends who took me in already off on their University’s and I stayed with a lovely cat, Mimi. Shower, meditation, laundry and food with a bit of book reading passed my time until 3 o’clock when I had to leave to get to the interview at 4 o’clock.

So, here is a thing, when you go to such interview you have to have a proof of living somewhere. Mine was a gas bill. Now, I would love to say that the cat slept on it or something and I didn’t see it but the simple fact is that I forgot it as I was leaving.
I was walking down the street from my house, happy that I won’t be late when I was hit with the thought ‘the gas bill!’
I think I kinda creeped out the guy that walked behind me when I suddenly stopped, grabbed my head and started muttering “fuck, fuck, fuck, fucking fuck”

Now, you would probably say, no worries, just go back and take it, you’ll be late ten minutes, but oh well. Ha! As if.

See, I am a guest in the flat not a flatmate which in translation means that I have no key to get back in. Some would pose a question ‘how the heck do you lock the door when you leave?’
The doors have some kind of very secure lock that automatically locks behind you. You need a key to get in, nothing else gets past them.

I believe it was the universe itself that made me shut the window that day, but not actually pulling the handle in place and locking it.

Here’s a thing. The apartment is in the building on the first floor. Right in front of that window is the roof of the ground apartment and thus an access to crazy ass people like me. Problem is, it is still too tall to just climb the bare wall and I would need a ladder, but I admit, sometimes I am just plain crazy in my decisions and plans that others would simply deem foolish. Plus, absolutely everybody knows that I am as clumsy as they come and I have no idea how everybody survived around me as I carry a tray with food and drinks about (FIY, I only had two accidents in this week and a half that I work which I think is contratibuted to my lucky star in the sky).
Keep in my mind that I left the cat in the flat (she ain’t really our cat, she just moved in so we have to let her out when we leave so she doesn’t piss somewhere) as I expected my friends to be back by 5pm and she slept so peacefully I didn’t have a heart to push her out. Big mistake as I read the text on my phone when I left that they won’t be back until after 9pm. So, I needed to get the gas bill and get the cat out.
I still don’t know how I managed it. My mind just started supplying me with half okay ideas on how to get in and I didn’t think much about it before I did them.
I just know that I grabbed a trash box by the entrance and pushed it against the wall. Heaven knows how I didn’t freak out the neighbors with the noise enough to get them to check what the hell is dragging a trash can about. I was kinda hoping someone would get out so I could ask for a ladder. Nobody came,unfortunately (or fortunately?).
The trash can didn’t work. My head just reached the top of the roof which is flat and had nothing to grab on.
But, there is a small wall by the ground flat which is supposed to part away the road and parking of the building from the supposed garden which only has grass and a tree in it. The wall isn’t wide in length, to be clear. However, everything was welcome in that moment.
So, I climbed the wall, pulled the trash can on it and tried to balance it somehow. Let me tell you, it certainly wasn’t balanced enough that anyone would tell you ‘come, hop on, it is as safe as it can be’ it was secure enough at best and I was somehow on it in seconds. I somehow managed to push my bag on the roof and was looking how to pull myself up as well. Twice the trash box almost went off from my feet. I somehow grabbed and pulled myself up and I still wonder how the heck haven’t I broke my neck. Off I went to the window, opened it and jumped in like some kind of ninja. I didn’t freak out the neighbour’s, but I certainly did freak out the cat. She looked at me with eyes clearly saying “What is wrong with you?” I wonder, as well.

Kick the cat out – check (it was very gentle in practice). Grab the bill – checked.
Get to the interview – fail of outmost failures.
Off I went, puffing and thinking fanatically on how to get.
Anyone who lives in London knows how bloody big it is and how you need to leave at least an hour time to get somewhere on time. I had 20 minutes. Citymapper, a wonderful, lovely app that I love fully and unconditionally only had one option on how to get to place in 20 min. Call a cab. Call an Uber cab for which you need an app on your phone because the London is so advanced that calling the cab the usual way – by phone – is so out of fashion.
Anyone that knows me even a little bit will know that I never have memory on my phone because it is crowded by photos and editing apps. I think I deleted about a dozen apps that I need to get back online in my attempt to download the app for the taxi. Only, my darling phone is a bit of a grandpa lately and didn’t get the notification that there is space being created for Uber taxi app. Only thing he had to say to me after deleting dozen of apps is sorry, storage space too full. Reseting didn’t jog his calculation back on track either.
When technology doesn’t work, you turn towards something else – kindness of people. I hate to do that to be honest.
So I stopped about five people with a question can they call me a cab until finally a lady I stopped had an app for it. It wasn’t Uber, it was a Cabbie, but I wasn’t picky. It was so wonderful that somebody actually wished to waste 10 minutes to call a cab for a stranger. The lady said it will be in 11 minutes and will cost me 15 pounds. I was willing to give 30 pounds at that moment to be there on time.
I waited for 18 minutes, looking about, flinching at every horn that sounded until I gave up and run for the Kentish Town station to get on the tube. The main reason I didn’t want to go on tube was because of being late, now it was my only option which I knew. I managed to get there in 25 minutes from one part of town to the other. Only, I was late 40 minutes and wasn’t let in. Only thing I got was that to call them for the reschedulment of the interview. I doubt they’ll let me come back, but here’s what I learned – the Old Street part of town is lovely and I like it a lot, I need to start writing things that I need down before leaving the house, start way earlier when going somewhere and Starbucks is a savior.  I dragged myself about, ready to head to the university to get the keys from my friends so I could get in the flat cuz I shut the window and wasn’t ready ro repeat it that soon when the Starbucks showed it’s presence on the corner of the street. Chai tea latte and carrot cake actually do help calm your mood.


I don’t recommend climbing the roofs for anybody. It makes you sweaty and certainly isn’t fun if you fall. I do recommend Starbucks though it is an expansive mother chucker.
Hope your day was a bit more calmer and restful then mine
Until next time…



In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Always Something There to Remind Me.”


{Music. Maitre Gims – Bella}

He sees her across the lavish restaurant. The music is live and guitar can be heard clearly amongst the other instruments and singing voices. Her skin is glowing under the lights, her hair waves of chocolate and her eyes big and light, enchanting when they meet his across the room.


She moves like she is made of air and water, all smooth moves and light steps, graceful in her approach. His heart stutters when she smiles, enchanting him even more.


He doesn’t remember how they meet, so pulled in her green eyes with speckles of gold he was. He doesn’t remember what he said, only her laugh, loud and honest. It sounds even sweeter later, when she laughs low against his ear as he holds her.


He knew that they are dancing in the moments that come. He is never more grateful for having learned all the dances as the stumbling, young boy. Now, he is grateful he is no longer clumsy, so that he may follow this beauty with a grace of a swan across the dance room and reflecting lights.


She was truly beautiful, with her smoky eyed make-up, lips painted red, enhancing the fullness of them and the whiteness of her teeth. Her hair done in perfect curls as they tumbled down her open back and mocca-colored skin sprinkled lightly with a perfume he came to associate with her.


He thinks he loved her at the sight. He thinks it is possible. Even before he knew her little quirks and secrets. Even before he knew that she only loved apple pie as a dessert and refused any other sweets. That she loved spicy food and enjoyed the various cultures. That she loved to travel in a summer, but in winter liked to stay curled in her home. That she had six different laughs and he was still counting. Before he knew how beautiful she looked after taking the shower, all clean and fresh, natural in her grace and bare as she laid before him.


He loved her since the first time he seen her and he never forgets how fitting the music accompanying their first gaze was.


He thinks how lucky he is that she accepts him so, even his quiet demur where he smiles at her whenever she enters the room, but doesn’t know how to express his admiration and love so well in words as she does. But, he thinks that’s alright, because she always smiles with warmth in her eyes, making them shine when he leaves roses for her, makes her dinner or kisses her good morning. He thinks action is just as telling as words, if not more.


He thinks that she is his Bella and he is finally breathing life since he met her.

It was just too sweet not to write though since I didn’t have a radio nor my set of headphones with me, I had to relay on my playlist on my phone and shuffle it. This came up and immediately the idea formed. Hope you like it.

Song is Maitre Gims – Bella if you missed the link at the beginning.




A reminder of what we have

{Music. Ludovico Einaudi – Walk}

Air and water,

Fire and earth

Did you know that at the start of alchemy and thoughts about what the earth was made of, they thought that every element was made by the four of those. Each object was made of different combinations of four main, basic elements. Today, we know that every object is made of thousands elements and thus, the endless possibilities in our minds expanded to never-ending.

Gold and silver,

Diamonds and metals

So many elements there are, so many things that once you pay attention, you find magical and mystical in its appearance and its existence.

Mud – created from water and earth. Full of potential to help and heal.

Dust – air and earth in its beauty dances under the reflector of sun light, carrying secrets we have yet to interpret and understand.

Fog – fire and water, hiding and finding things, making everything look like the time of witching hour.

Molten lava – earth and fire, making fiery accessories across the surface of the Earth, slow and relentless, it shows how some things may come slow, but they will come, steadily and surely just like anything you do.

Stranger things did happen when air and fire collided, the power it could cause, so simple and light separated, they became a force to reckon once united.

Isn’t life beautiful in it never-ending circle or growth, creation, living and then gracefully dieing before being reborn in a new shape and joy? Sounds kinda romantic for just basic every day things, but I thinks that where the secret of life actually is. In finding the beauty over and over again in things you thought you see every day, but are different with every second.

Thoughts and free time can do wonders for your blog, you know. Just a little bit of something for all of you lovelies out there, finding time to click on this post.



Sunday rest and talks

{Music. Alan Walker – Fade}

To be honest, I like to watch people, observe them, learn them and then move on.

I like to talk to them for a moment or a day, depending on how interesting I find them, and go back to my shadowy corner once I am done.

That is to say, I am not exactly a people person. Throw a horde of dogs, cats, or any animal there is, I would be content to spend my day, lazing around and playing with the little bundles of joy that they are to me. Throw people at me and it isn’t that easy. It depends on the type of people, the energy around them, their mindset and my general mood for me to able to spend a whole day with them and enjoy every second of it.

I think working on a reception isn’t all that for me. I can smile prettily, but damn, I like the honesty. I like telling a person, okay, I am not in a mood, stop talking to me. Not that harshly, unless the person is being annoying, but it is the general ability to do so that counts. If you can, you don’t have a need to all that much, you leave or put on the headphones. If you can’t,well, it starts to nag at you like a terrible itch that just keeps getting worse.

And I don’t know, but even though your face shows that you are clearly not interested, they just keep talking. It is like they never have a chance to share their experience or thoughts or anything before being interrupted and once they start, they seemingly can’t stop. It is worryingly because, well, everyone should be able to feel content all the time, not feeling bottled up.

Btw, found this little babe right now, so that is the music theme for this post today {Music. Alan Walker – Fade}

So, in a terrible worry that I don’t become one of those people without knowing, I will be the terrible bore here, expressing all my complicated feelings and thoughts that are jumbled up like headphones cords once you put them in the bag.

Thankfully, you only need to click the back button to get the hell out of here. But, if you stay… Well, lots of virtual kisses for you. And lots of very real love from me.

That’s about it from the rambling of mine.

Next time, I hope that a sweet story will come from this fingers of mine and clicked away towards your Reader for your lovely eyes.

Until tomorrow,



p.s. Thanks for listening.

p.p. Cover photo doesn’t really have anything to do with this post, but it just so wonderful and a really great advice in my opinion.


Sherlock Holmes and the Wailing woman

I have no idea how will this turn out, but let’s try. So, a prompt from Daily Post about two characters from different fandoms meeting. And this video right here inspired me to write about this two specifically.

Lydia Martin from Teen Wolf, tv show and Sherlock Holmes from Sherlock BBC, tv show.

{Music. 2Cellos – Smooth Criminal}


“London? Lydia, what could possibly be so important in London?”, Stiles said, flying the purchased plain ticked around in his hand. “Is it Jackson? I mean, I get you two were a thing, but don’t you think that at a present moment Desert Wolf is a bit more important than Jackson, no offense!”, Stiles says, mouth running without filter.

Lydia sigh as she zips her bag and turns to face Stiles. She grabs the poor ticket, tsking at how crumbled it became due to flaying around with it. “No, Stiles, this has nothing to do with Jackson. Last I heard from him he was in a boarding school learning marketing. I am going to London to meet up with a detective. He became famous for solving most unusual of cases. I am going to see if he can track down our Desert Wolf.”, Lydia says.

“A detective?”, Stiles frowns. “Lydia, we don’t need a detective. Besides, Desert Wolf is mostly likely some kinda of werecoyote. And a curious detective is hardly what we need. We have you, and me and like Derek and everybody on it!”

“Exactly. We have everybody on this case and nobody is closer to finding out who Desert Wolf is. I already talked to Scott and he agrees. This isn’t up for discussion, Stiles. Besides, we got nothing to lose.”, Lydia says.

“Expect a sum of money in unnecessary and futile attempt at getting answers.”, Stiles answer turns to mumble as Lydia gives him a look. “Okay, fine. But, then I am coming with you.”, Stiles says, throwing his hands in the air.

“And with what money do you think to buy a ticket?”, Lydia asks, crossing her arms. Stiles stops and frowns, pursin his lips.

“Uh. That. Maybe I can fit in the bag?”, he says and looks at Lydia’s designers bag and thinks better of it. “Okay, no, that’s a bad one. Than take someone else. Like, Derek. He has money to get a ticket. And while he is a sourwolf, at least he will keep you safe.”, Stiles says. Lydia shakes her head.

“Derek is out there with Braeden, searching for Desert Wolf. Enough, Stiles. I am going and I am returning with answers.”, she says, grabs her stuff and walks out. Stiles hastily follows still rumbling about the how unnecessary it all was.

Lydia supposed there could be a better solution, but it has been months already and they were no closer to answer. And yes, she could ignore it all, not bother with knowing who this person is, only that she is unknown mother of Stiles’s girlfriend, Malia, but she wanted answers. And she also heard that there might be more information on her being a banshee and how to be one in London. She needed answers like she needed to breath. She couldn’t just follow her instinct anymore.

So, she packed her bags and headed on an hours long journey to London. At least her mother wasn’t the worried sort that trusted her daughter and trusted the photoshoped letter that Lydia gave her, saying that Lydia was invited on an exchange course in London. If she only knew the truth, she would hardly let her daughter easily leave. And not just about the truth about the forged letter.



Lydia wasn’t sure what to expect when she finally made her way to Baker Street 221B. She looked down at a printed photo of Sherlock Holmes. It was blurry, caught by the paparazzi in a flash of a moment and than zoomed up to be bigger. Still, she could see sharp-cheekbones and messy, curly hair. Unique, but nothing impressive. She titled her chin up, back straight and walked up to the door.

The ring was a sharp pierce that echoed around Lydia’s head. Voices, sounds, frequencies – her companions. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. Voices usually meant promotions of someone’s death. This had a different feeling to it, they whispered a different song this time. Like something life altering would happen, yet not life ending. She purses her lips. She didn’t like not knowing, only having this gnawing this feeling that drew her insane.

A woman opened, tiny and somewhat sweet in her appearance.

“Yes, dear?”, she says.

“Hello. My name is Lydia Martin. I am here to see Sherlock Holmes?”, she trails the name into a question.

“Oh, yes! Come in, my dear. Up the stairs, straight ahead. It is good that you showed up. He had been bored again. Goodness knows that my walls can’t take that much shooting.”, the woman says as she ushers her up the stairs. “I’ll bring you some tea. Off you go.”, and the women busters off, leaving Lydia alone who suddenly thought that where she goes, a doze of strangeness must follow. Steeling herself, she walks upstairs and finds herself entering a living room. She studies the clutter of stuff in it and carefully steps further inside, wondering if she should call out and make her presence known.

“Hello.”, a voice says and she almost startles. She turns and sees the man from the photograph. He is studying her with piercing, light blue eyes and Lydia thinks that only Peter had such intensity in his gaze. But, than he was a psychopathic werewolf that came back from the dead so that isn’t that surprising, unlike this gaze here.

“Hello.”, she greets back. “My name is Lydia Martin. You must be Mr. Holmes.”, she says. He studies her for a moment than steps back into the living room from the kitchen he stood at.

“Sherlock.”, he says and indicates for her to sit in the armchair as he settles in one as well. She does, sitting across from him. They study each other for few minutes, both content in a silent exchange of body language.

“You came a long way.”, he finally says. She gazes at him with a raised eyebrow. “Coming from America just to see me. Must be something important.”, he says.

“What makes you think I came for you?”, she says coldly. He smiles a half-crooked smile.

“It isn’t a hard guess. After all, you didn’t even had any rest, only a change of clothes. Tell me, what could possibly be so urgent for a high school student to fly almost 4000 miles to reach me? You could just emailed.”, Sherlock says. Lydia reaches in her bag, pulling out a folder she had. Braeden gave her all the files and reports she wrote about tracking down Desert Wolf. She gave it to him and he took it, opening it with sharp movement, eyes immediately scanning the context.

“I need you to find someone. The only thing we know for certain is the codename – Desert Wolf.”, she says.

“Hmm. Sounds boring. Finding a missing person. Surely there are dozens of private detectives who are experts at this particular field.”, Sherlock says as he flips through the pages. There weren’t much, barely any valuable lead.

“None proved to be capable. I assure you this isn’t just another missing person.”, more like a missing werecoyote with deadly abilities. Lydia wanted to go home to her pack, work it out together with them, but finding out what exactly can she do, along with the identity of this person would be invaluable. Sherlock Holmes would find a Desert Wolf and she would find a banshee that Deanton said resided in London.

“Alright. I’ll take the case. Things have been slow this days anyway.”, he says finally and Lydia smiles somewhat. At least that she can check off the list.

“Here’s the tea, my dears.”, the lady who opened the door appears with a tray in her hands.

“That won’t be necessary, Mrs. Hudson. My client was just leaving.”, Sherlock says. Lydia raises an eyebrow.

“Sherlock! That is very rude. You client should be treated better and as well as such a pretty lady as she is.”, Mrs. Hudson says scolding. Lydia smiles at her politely as the lady set the tray down. She sees Sherlock rolling his eyes, still focused on the file she gave him.

“You know, I am in a bit of a hurry, actually.”, Lydia says and stands up. “Thank you for the tea.”, she says to Mrs. Hudson. “And for taking the case.”, she turns to Sherlock. He looks at her and she feels goosebumps. Something about his gaze sets something off in her. She is not sure if it is good or bad yet and she quickly leaves, dodging Mrs. Hudson’s attempts at pursing her to have a cup of tea.

“What a pretty lady. Somewhat a bit too serious, but very pretty.”, Mrs. Hudson says when Lydia leaves. Sherlock hums, gaze unfocused.

“Sherlock, would you like a cup of tea, then?”, Mrs. Hudson continues. “Sherlock? Sherlock!”, finally he looks up at her.

“No, Mrs. Hudson, I wouldn’t like a cup of tea.”, he says and raises on his feet, making his way towards his bedroom. “And take that thing away.”

“Mrs. Hudson huffs. “You’ll never find a pretty lady with that attitude, young man.”, as she grabs a tea-tray.

“I already have you, Mrs. Hudson. No need for another pretty lady.”, Sherlock calls before shutting the door. Mrs. Hudson smiles. And there was the reason why she put up with the wall shooting from Sherlock. Oh, and her tea going to waste.


Lydia lost track of time. In one moment she was searching through the addresses that Deanton gave her and in another minute, it was already dark outside and she was standing in a small, open stadium behind a yellow police tape. She blinks and looks up at the police officer who is standing before her, looking worried.

“Miss? Miss, can you hear me?”, he seems to be repeating that for a while. She try’s to collect herself.

“Yes, yes. I am fine.”, she says, trying to see where exactly she is without being obvious about it. There were more people behind her, civilians, and there was a squad of police officers before her. And, a dead body with a long stick prodding from it. A murder. She takes a shaky breath.

“It’s alright, officer. I’ll take it from here.”, a familiar voice says and she turns her head to see Sherlock Holmes. He was taller than her by a head and she was aware of that now that he stood right besides her.

“Mr. Holmes.”, the officer murmured, nodded and left.

“You haven’t been London for a full day and already you are meeting the darker sides of a big city.”, Sherlock smiles, but Lydia has a feeling like it is more for a show than a genuine amusement.

“An unhappy coincident. I was just passing by.”, Lydia lies. Sherlock studies her.

“If you say so.”, he says and bend down to pass through the yellow tape. He holds it up and turns to her. “Come on.”

“Come on where?”, Lydia says, somewhat bewildered. Sherlock raises an eyebrow in a ‘Don’t be slow’ manner.

“You don’t know where you are, you don’t know where to go and yet you found your way to a dead body. I find that very interesting. If you do not wish to get lost in this, not so pleasant, part of town, I suggest you follow me.”, he says and she takes a moment to sigh heavily before ducking under a yellow tape and following him to a body. She stays behind him, curious that nobody question her presence here even though they are shooting her questioned glances. The consulting detective is by the body, studying it and she watches him work. There is something elegant in the way he moves even though the setting is most unpleasant.

“Sherlock. Please, tell me you got something.”, a man comes towards them. He looks up at her and takes a double look before frowning. “Who is that?”, he asks Sherlock, indicating towards her. Sherlock looks at her fleetingly.

“My new assistant. Which isn’t important right now, Lestrade. This has been done in a fit of rage. You are looking someone with a mental disorder of IED. The person is male, strong, extremely strong. Might even be one of the members of the team.”, Sherlock continues, listing off the facts while Lydia looked on with growing fascination and maybe a bit of admiration. She edged closer, trying to find the evidence from which Sherlock Holmes drew conclusions of. The body was roughed up, like beaten up in rage. There was blood on the face and bruises and the clothes was all half torn up. Sherlock rose to his feet and sighs.

“This is too boring for me. Your murderer works with the victim. In any case, they spent enough time together in which he could be provoked into a rage based on familiar insults and abuse. He will be distraught, he shall have a preference for a left fist and will probably be bruised as the victim fought back. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”, Sherlock swiftly turned and Lydia followed him, glad that she had practice in running in high heels and thus being able to keep up with him. They pass the yellow tape and head down the street.

“Left fist.”, Lydia says.

“Sorry?”,Sherlock glances at her.

“You said he prefered left fist. Yet, the body was on its belly. Even if he was beaten up, how do you know it was a left fist that is stronger?”, Lydia asks.

“By the position of the body and the head. Different angels result in different position of a body. Also, the spatters of blood on the jacket. It was in different direction than it would be if a right hand was used as primal hand.”, Sherlock says and Lydia process it.

“Where did you learn to deduct like this?”, she asks and they stop. He hails a taxi and then looks at her as they wait for it.

“No where. I simply didn’t let my brain rot like others do.”, he says and opens the doors for her. She enters and settles in.

“Do you like chinese?”, Sherlock says as he enters and gives the address.

“Excuse me?”, Lydia asks, unsure where it leads to.

“Chinese or italian? I doubt you manage to eat all day and I have a few questions to ask.”, Sherlock says and Lydia is silent, calculating.

“Mexican.”, she says just to be difficult. She sees him smirk from the corner of the eye and wonders what could he possibly ask her now when he had nothing to ask her few hours ago in his apartment.

They drive in silence. He pays the taxi and leads her in a small, cozy restaurant. The waiter seems to know him, greeting him familiarly and leads them with a wide smile to a small booth. They order water and wait for the menus.

Lydia looks up only to find herself already under a studious gaze. She pursues her lips.

“Alright. What is it?”, she asks, pretending to not being effected by his stare. Sherlock studies her for a moment.

“How does a high school student finds her way around a dead body so well? Most people, especially young adults can’t stand seeing a dead body for the first time. Often it results in vomiting, nausea, dizziness and unsettlement. Neither of which you show to be experiencing.”, Sherlock says.

“Horror movies this days are quite realistic. Maybe I am just used to it already.”, Lydia says with a smirk.

“No, that’s not it. Used to it you are, but not through horror movies. Experience is the right answer. Stop lying to me. I can tell when you are lying. Would you like to tell me a truth?”, Sherlock says and she presses her lips. Scratch that, maybe finding a Desert Wolf herself was smarter idea.

“This isn’t a first body I have seen.”, she admits finally.

“Neither is it a second. You’re body language indicated that you are used to being around them. And for a top student in her class in a small town with strange occurrences, this is all the more interesting.”, he says and Lydia looks up sharply.

“You looked me up?”, she demands.

“Of course I did.”, he says like it is obvious.

“That is a breach of privateness and is forbidden by the law.”, she says coldly. This isn’t going how she planned. To her astonishment, the detective just rolls his eyes like the law is beneath him.

“Not the point of all this. What is, is your familiarity with the dead and the curious thing that you found a dead body in matter of hours from when you came to London. Also the fact that you wish for me to find a person of interest.”, he says and she can’t look at his eyes anymore. She feels like he is finding out all the answers if he looks her in the eye. She is grateful that the waiter came with the menus and she has an excuse to ignore him until she collects her bearings.

“Why would you think it is a person of interest?”, she says as she searches through the menu.

“Fairly obvious. The code names like that are mostly used by operatives and people who don’t wish to be found. Specifically, people who have something to hide. Furthermore, curious patterns of murders and death appear in Beacon Hills through decades, increasing in a last few years. Obviously, it is all connected.”, he looks at her like she has all the answers and she wishes that she does. Than, she wouldn’t need this.

“Well than, obviously you have everything figured out.”, Lydia says, taking a sip of her water.

He smiles. “Not yet.”

They order and Lydia is surprised that they sit in a fairly comfortable silence. He still studies her, but his gaze is more curious than intense now and she feels comfortable enough to relax.

“You aren’t telling me something crucial.”, he says finally.

“Some things are better left unknown.”, she says as the food arrives. She is just becoming aware how hungry she really was.

“Not to me.”, he says.

“Trust me, I wish I didn’t know some things and I want to know things.”, she sighs. “Life used to be easier before knowing.”

“Knowing what exactly?”, he asks and she looks up at him. How do you tell someone, anyone, who depends on logic and deduction that there are werewolves, banshees, kitsunes and what not, in the world?

“If I could tell you, I would. But, I can’t.”, she says finally. He settles back in his chair.

“Very well. Than, I’ll simply find out myself.”, he says. She wants to scold him, convince him that somehow that is not what he truly wants, but then thinks better of it. She is the one that brought him this puzzle. She could hardly expect someone who lives for solving mysteries to just leave it be.

“Alright.”, she says instead and turns towards her meal.

He tells her more about a case when she asks and she is fascinated by his deduction skills. He also seems to enjoy the attention she gives him. But, by the scathing looks she saw thrown at him at the crime scene, she could understand. She used to have a familiar problem before she decided playing dumb pays off way more on a popularity scale.

They finish their meal and he drops her off near her hotel. She feels pleasantly tired and is happy that she checked in and paid already and was free to use her room as she saw fit, without being bothered anymore. She settles in, leaving a message to her mom that everything is fine and to her pack that operation Desert Wolf in underway before heading to bed.

The next day wasn’t as succesful as one might expect. Banshees, it seemed weren’t really easy to find when they didn’t wish to be found. She already could cross off six addresses of her list which left her with seven more.

In the end, she found her way to Baker Street 221B though she couldn’t really say was it her banshee instinct or her that wished to come there. Mrs. Hudson opened the door and Lydia smiled.

“I would like that tea now if it is still available.”, she says and Mrs. Hudson ushers her in with a smile, closing the door. Lydia hears the music coming from upstairs and looks at Mrs. Hudson questionably.

“You know, dear, I am glad to see you coming back. Sherlock is upstairs, playing as you can hear. He is rather good. I am sure he wouldn’t mind if you go upstairs and listen while I make some tea.”, Mrs. Hudson says and Lydia smiles.

She slowly walks upstairs, the music drawing her in. With every press and pull of the string, the voices get a bit louder and she moves a step further. Change. Find Marian. Marian McDough. Find her. Change.

She finds herself entering the living room and Sherlock turns to her, still playing. He stops and the voices stop as well. Lydia blinks from the spell the music caused and smiles.

“Hi.”, she says.

“Welcome back.”, Sherlock says and shows her with a bow towards the armchair. She takes a seat, saying.

“Thank you. I never heard that one before. Who composed it?”, Lydia asks, curious.

“I did.”, he answers. “Would you like to hear more?”, he asks and she finds herself nodding and leaning forward in her seat.

As the music started again, she closes her eyes, the voices not a buzz in her head, but clear words that she could distinguish.

Find Marian… Marian McDough…

“Yoo-hoo. I brought tea.”, Mrs. Hudson announces her presence and the music stops once again. Lydia slowly opens her eyes and looks up to see Sherlock studying her. He doesn’t say a word as he settles in his chair and Mrs. Hudson sets the tea down.

“Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.”, Lydia says as she accepts her cup. Mrs. Hudson smiles.

“Of course, my dear. You are always welcomed for tea. Now, how do you find London?”, she asks.

“A bit cold, but very nice.”, Lydia replies.

“Why yes, you are all the way from California, aren’t you? Must be nice, to have warmth all year, thought I can’t simply imagine myself living that way anymore. I used to live in Florida, with my late husband, you see. It was very nice, but now I am used to the cold, you know.”, Mrs. Hudson chatters away. Lydia sips at her tea and thinks about what she heard. Usually she had to scream to drown out the voices so she can hear the whispers and voices. Never before had this occurred by just simply listening to live music.

“Mrs. Hudson. We have work to do.”, Sherlock says, standing up. Mrs. Hudson stops her chatter.

“Oh, alright. I’ll take my cue then.”, Mrs. Hudson smiles and stands up to go.

Sherlock walks around, lightly. “You came to find someone, but a banshee should have a natural instinct in finding anyone.”

Lydia froze, going still in shock. She looks at Sherlock who looks at her like it a most normal thing to do, to announce that someone is a banshee.

“What did you say?”, Lydia whisperers.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised. It wasn’t a such a hard guess. Now, I can only assume you still haven’t grown into your abilities if you need me to find your missing person.”, Sherlock says.

“How do you know about any of this?”, Lydia asks, setting down the teacup.

“For two years I was taking down a master web of criminals designed by one Jim Moriarty. In that time period, I learned a lot of new things. One of them is the existence of supernatural creatures all around us. I must admit, I thought I was going crazy for couple of weeks, but I accepted that the world isn’t as I thought it was. Werewolves, druids and other creatures suddenly became obvious once I knew what to look for. But, a banshee. I must admit you are the first one I have met in person.”, Sherlock says.

“I don’t really know how to be one.”, Lydia admits. “I came to London in hope of some answers.”

“And how is that going?”, Sherlock asks.

“I got a name. Marian McDough. I think she is a banshee, maybe someone who could help.”, Lydia says. Sherlock grins.

“Excellent. Let’s go then.”, he grabs his coat, putting it on.

“What?”, Lydia says, a bit startled by a such an abrupt change.

“It is not everyday one can experience the ways of a banshee. You need to learn and I wish to observe.”, he opens the door, holding it out for her as she grabs her coat and puts it on.

“What gave me away, exactly?”, she asks, stopping besides him.

“You think, besides the lost look when you walked to crime scene or you blatant listening to whatever you listen to as I played the violin. Or the fact that your are familiar with dead bodies and strange occurences. Not to mention, you bringing a file of a missing werewolf that you can’t find.”, he lists off and she narrows her eyes.

“You said you guessed it.”, she says.

“Well, I was sure 65%, you just confirmed it now.”, he says as they walk out together.

“So, I got it right, a werewolf and a banshee.”, Sherlock says.

“A werecoyote.”, Lydia says with a smile. Sherlock grumbles.

“It is always something.”

They manage to find Marian McDough, only it turns out her current address was the graveyard.

Lydia sighs, frustrated. She couldn’t find a living person for a change, could she?

“Pointless.”, she mutters as she is about to walk away.

“Not exactly.”, Sherlock stops her. “Marian had a daughter, Elizabeth. She lives near. Maybe she has the answers we are looking for.”

“Fine. Let’s try.”, Lydia says. They manage to get to the address and  ringed the doorbell.

“What do I say?”, Lydia asks, nervous.

“I’ll talk, you just smile prettily.”, Sherlock says. Lydia puts on a smile and prays it doesn’t look fake.

A woman opens, hair going grey and wrinkles showing, but still pretty in appearance. “Can I help you?”, she asks.

“Hi, yes. My name is Sherlock Holmes and this is Lydia Martin. Could we have a moment-“, Sherlock is interrupted by the woman.

“Lydia? Lydia Martin?”, she repeats and Lydia meets Sherlock’s eyes, looking confused before looking at the woman again.

“Um, yes. This may sound weird, but I need to ask you about-“, and this time Lydia is interrupted.

“My mother. Yes, she told me you would be coming.”, the woman, Elizabeth, says.

“She did?”, Lydia asks.

“Why yes. Before she dead, she told me. Lydia Martin will come and she will need my stuff, that’s what she said. That’s why I kept them. Wait here for a second.”, Elizabeth says and they are left alone as she closes the door.

Lydia blinks and two partners in crime look at each other. “Well, that is spooky.”, Lydia says.

“But, very efficient, you must admit. Saves us the time.”, Sherlock says. Lydia shoots him a look as the doors open and Elizabeth appears holding a white box. She gives it to Lydia.

“Here you go. I am glad you came for it at last. I wish you best of luck, but I do not want to be reminded of that life anymore. Good day.”, and she hastily closes the door.

“Weird and rude.”, Lydia says, holding the heavy box.

“Quick and up to the point.”, Sherlock retorts. With a smile, Lydia turns to him and shoves the box in his arms.

“Than you can carry it.”, she says. He grumbles after her as she goes hail the cab, but carries the box all the way back to the flat.

“I am afraid to open it.”, Lydia says as she stares at it, sitting on a coffee table. Sherlock rolls his eyes.

“Don’t be stupid.”, and pulls of the lid. Lydia expected, well, something other than notebooks and books and a small music box.

The books were bestiaries and the notebooks seemed to be Marian’s journals about being a banshee. Lydia could guess what the music box was for.

“The scream helps you focus on what we are here to hear, what we can sense. The music helps as well. Hallucinations.”, Lydia murmurs, reading. “This I already know. No help there.”, she says and looks up at Sherlock. He holding a couple of sheets of paper, face frozen.

“What? What is it?”, she asks.

“This is a list.”, he looks up at her. “At all the names that are familiar are the unsolved cases I never managed to solve.”, he says.

“Maybe because they are supernatural?”, Lydia suggests. “You were missing a vital part of the puzzle.”

“Maybe.”, Sherlock mutters.

They spent all night, reading the material they got.

“Oh, this doesn’t help.”, Lydia says. “I knew most of this stuff. Telling me to focus, but not telling me how exactly.”

“It helped when I played the violin.”, Sherlock says. Lydia nods. “Maybe you just to focus on certain tunes, certain notes.”, he says and grabs his violin. He pulls a string and looks at her expectedly.

Lydia shakes her head. “Nothing”

He pulls another and another until they found a combination of C-mol and few notes that made it easier for her to focus. Whisperers got louder and started getting names and locations. By the time they were finished Lydia had her own list with names, dates and time of possible deaths.

“I still don’t know how to become aware of it all, not just acting on the instinct.”, Lydia says and Sherlock looks at her before smiling.

“We’ll get to the bottom of it all. Until than.”, he gives her coat and grabs the list. “The game is on.”

The end

To be continued…

Finally, done. Took me three days to finish this and I started over three times until I was satisfied somewhat. It is still not perfect how I want it, but I think it is alright for now. John and Mary are currently on their honeymoon. Magnusum, the villain in the third season, isn’t active in this canon.

I hope you enjoyed.

Lots of love