oh, love me dead

itsathreepipeproblem:

rawrmynameisval:

ifbythisyoumeanthat:

captclockwork:

Sherlock/Pushing Daisies crossover requested by cheekbones-and-a-good-coat

Yes. I’ve never seen pushing daisies but it seems awesome. I just love this.

The Pie Maker! Oh god, as if the color saturation in Sherlock needed a boost, an x-over with Pushing Daisies… My eyes.

YES OH MY GOODNESS YES.

FANGASM

FAN. GASM.

“You have 60 seconds. Tell us why you did it. Your friend called us to find out.”

The revived detective sat up. “John—” he breathed.

“Yeah, John Watson.”

The man patted himself down, disbelief written all over his face.

“I’m alive. Fascinating.” He turned his curious gaze to Ned. “How do you do it?”

Ned and Emerson exchanged glances.

“Look, we only have fifty-five more seconds before we have to…um—”

The detective smirked. “Put me back to sleep?”

Ned tensed uncomfortably. “Would you mind just explaining why you jumped off that building? Please? It would make your friend—John—really very happy.”

The man shook his head. “No. No it wouldn’t. I need to see him…I have to tell him—”

“Forty-eight seconds,” Emerson interrupted. “You can’t leave the room. Sorry.”

“What happens if I decide I want to live?”

“Then someone else dies,” Ned interjected. “Please don’t. We can’t let you.”

Sherlock Holmes down at his hands again.

A beat.

Ned was suddenly knocked backwards into his associate with a powerful kick to the stomach. The should-be-dead detective hopped to his feet. As the other two men fumbled around on the floor, Sherlock snapped on a pair of gloves. Just in time to deliver a nasty punch to Emerson’s jaw as the P.I. regained his footing. His opponents temporarily disabled, the lanky detective made a break for the door.

Molly shrieked as he bolted past her desk.

“GET AS FAR AWAY FROM ME AND THAT PIE-MAKER AS YOU CAN, MOLLY!” he shouted to her on his way out.

She nodded nervously and headed upstairs, just as he had told her a few days ago, before he had jumped to his death.

Just as she disappeared around the corner, Ned and Emerson came rushing out of the morgue.

“Oh, this is really, really bad.” Ned looked at his watch again. Twenty-five seconds. They had no chance of catching the escaped dead man. “Get out of here, Emerson. We don’t want you to end up taking this one. And if you see that Hooper girl, tell her to get out too. She seemed nice.”

The P.I. was already halfway down the hall.

Ned inhaled and exhaled, trying to stay calm, counting the seconds.

He knew who we were, he thought to himself. He knew we’d bring him back to life.

The realization unnerved him again.

When he jumped off the roof, he planned for us to—

It hadn’t been John Watson who had emailed him about Sherlock’s suicide. It was that girl. Molly Hooper. She was in on it too.

He knew everything. Everything about us.

A clatter down the hall interrupted his thoughts. A cleaning lady had been claimed as victim in place of Sherlock Holmes.

An innocent woman dead while the undead Sherlock Holmes was alive and running around the city—and even worse, he knew Ned’s secret. This was very, very bad.

SCREAMING. ENDLESS SCREAMING. THIS IS FLAWLESS.

(via blanketforyourshock)