LeotheLion25

She sits at her desk Her headphones in, The world shut out. She bleeds for others As words fly from Her mind to her fingertips. She stares at the screen, At every little comment, The good and the painful. She forms her emotions Into books and poems To throw away the hurt. She's a writer, And her best weapons Are her mind and her pen.

     (Name) sat on a white blanket gazing up at the dark sky. There weren't any clouds in the sky so you could see the stars twinkle with beauty. (Name) slightly smiled at herself. She was in bliss. Laying in a blanket in the middle of a meadow, everything quiet besides the common chirp of crickets or the occasional rustle of leaves.     Then (Name) heard something she didn't want to. Footsteps. All she wanted to do is go away from civilization, sit and gaze at the stars alone and forget about her troubles. But nope, someone had to come. (Name) glanced behind her and it honestly surprised her. (Name) thought it would be some bulky man with

“Here.” Sherlock said sharply, offering his scarf to John. John just blinked at him, peering at the blue scarf curiously. Sherlock sighed, wrapping the scarf around John’s neck before shoving his hands in his pockets and striding forward. John hurried to catch up, cursing Sherlock’s longer legs as he did so. “What was that for?” John questioned as he fell into step beside Sherlock. “You nose was red, you were visibly shaking, your arms were crossed; all signs that you were cold. I need you to be focused, you can’t be cold.” Sherlock answered simply, peering over at John, noting the sh