(Source: actresssophiamyles)

Reported Mary Morstan, on the scene at Westminster.

(Source: actresssophiamyles)

Citing several sources with knowledge of the ongoing investigation of an apparant bomb threat to London’s own Westminster carried out by Taimour Abdulwahab, British tabloids reported that an employee of the British government agency may well have been seized in advance.

Though Scotland Yard have yet to confirm reports of a hostage situation or terrorist attack, they have sent a warning to the general public to steer clear of the north end of Westminster.

Following an internal investigation carried out by the Military Intelligence and Security Service allegations that the royal family may be at risk have been dismissed, though not denied. Reporter Mary Morstan, who is still investigating the reports, is on the fringes of the scene preparing a live broadcast with the BBC camera crew, with the hope that, in spite the denial, furthur information can be gained from the situation.

The Yard also declined comment at this time.

(Source: hellyeahjamiebell)

ooc: Ugh, terribly sorry. I’ve been picking up more than my fair share of late ‘shifts’ this week.

See, at least I spelt it right this time ;)

(Source: actresssophiamyles)

harriwatson:

marymaryquite-contrary:

Finally lifting her coffee to take a tiny sip, Mary sets it back down and sighs, leaning back slightly on her elbows and looking out of the window. Any death is tragic, she knows that and has even built up something of a guard since entering the media bizz. Having to report deaths every day, but never anyone she was close to. Perhaps she’s lucky in that respect.

She becomes alert though at the mention of one crucial name, eyes fully opening as she speaks practically on the tail end of Harry’s sentence. “Sorry, Sherlock? As in, Sherlock Holmes?”

Before Harry can confirm it, Mary is already taken aback. All of it flooding back - the countless sifting through copies of the Daily Mail, constant interview refusals from Scotland Yard, and all the mysterious graffiti. She touches her hand to the corner of her forehead, looking amazed. “I .. I did entire broadcasts on that man. Years ago. I had no idea John was involved!”

Harry’s face showed the faintest hint of ‘no, the other dude called Sherlock’ which she quickly covered with an inquisitive look. She could all but see the cogs in Mary’s brain churning and clicking as everything fell into place. She nodded in confirmation, all be it with no hint of enthusiasm.

“Yes, Sherlock Holmes.”

She found herself remembering all the crazy stories she had heard from her brother, all the mad things they had gotten up to, how much he admired the genius. Harry had gone from disbelieving to indifferent to secretly grateful to the man that had given John his life back. Now however, she was livid. She didn’t for one moment believe that Sherlock had been a fraud, she always defended him when the story broke, because she trusted her brother’s instinct. No, she was livid, because he had left John.

“The man who was supposed to be John’s best friend, and paid him back like this.”

“I know.”

Mary speaks with an air of resignation, it having sunk in. Poor, sweet John. He’d never been any kind of malicious, not intentionally, and he’d been taken for a complete muggins by this Holmes bloke. She knows all that had been printed about him, of course. From the phoney cases to the hired actor fiasco, Sherlock Holmes had been a very twisted man.

She sinks her forehead furthur into her hand, sighing and glancing sidelong away. “I don’t understand. John could always pick his own friends, so .. how could he get so close to such a mental case?”

(Source: actresssophiamyles)

harriwatson:

marymaryquite-contrary:

“And John saw it?”

Mary’s hands are cupped around the pearly mug, flicking the sides of it with her thumbs rather than drinking it. Truthfully, her appetite had taken a brief knock. From what she remembered John had never been much of a softie, and he always had this hunted look on his face, she used to compare it to that of a sad puppy. His hurt was contagious, no matter how stoic he tried to be. Of course, she can’t imagine what he must have felt.

How he must be feeling.

She shakes her head again, failing to recall John’s -or this friend’s- name in any of her coverages. “I don’t know. Suicides make headlines all the time.”

“Yep. He was right there when Sherlock was on the floor, the last person that spoke to him as well.” Harry sighed, “I don’t even know how to imagine being in his place.”

She had done everything she could to try and help him and now she was completely out of ideas. It was the strange role reversal that had struck her most. She used to be the tearaway, the emotional wreck. John was their parents’ pride and joy, the wonder child. But after the news had broken, they didn’t know what to do. She was angry at them for not seeming to make any attempt to comfort him. Harry had suddenly found herself the messenger, and the person who had to remain level headed and responsible for all three of their welfares. She suddenly realised just how much pressure John would have been under whilst they were growing up. She looked up at Mary’s comment.

“Suicides are ten a penny, especially in the city, but you always dismiss them as thing that could never happen to you…” She turned away, gazing out of the window, “It’s only when you’re directly affected you realise just how selfish and ignorant you are.”

Finally lifting her coffee to take a tiny sip, Mary sets it back down and sighs, leaning back slightly on her elbows and looking out of the window. Any death is tragic, she knows that and has even built up something of a guard since entering the media bizz. Having to report deaths every day, but never anyone she was close to. Perhaps she’s lucky in that respect.

She becomes alert though at the mention of one crucial name, eyes fully opening as she speaks practically on the tail end of Harry’s sentence. “Sorry, Sherlock? As in, Sherlock Holmes?”

Before Harry can confirm it, Mary is already taken aback. All of it flooding back - the countless sifting through copies of the Daily Mail, constant interview refusals from Scotland Yard, and all the mysterious graffiti. She touches her hand to the corner of her forehead, looking amazed. “I .. I did entire broadcasts on that man. Years ago. I had no idea John was involved!”