NeverFallin
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不成文章的小想法们，临时灵感
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James doesn’t understand what’s happening.
After the incident by the Black Lake, his red-haired angel had finally managed to break free from that sullen, greasy snake. He ought to have been relieved—yet he can’t stop paying attention to one thing:
That Slytherin… has changed.
The boy who always hunched over, who kept himself tucked into shadows as if he didn’t quite belong—now walks with a straight back, his former unease replaced by a sharp, steady focus. He ignores every gaze on him, striding down the corridors with quick, decisive steps, the hem of his robes sweeping behind him in dark, wave-like ripples.
Once, James even caught Snape standing by a window, watching a group of younger students roughhousing in the hall with a cold, assessing stare—as if he might deduct points any second, as if he had the authority to do that.
James can’t make sense of it.
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詹姆斯不明白发生了什么。
黑湖那件事之后，他红头发的天使终于能够摆脱那条阴暗油腻的蛇，他抱着这种如释重负的心情和小天狼星一起度过了一个愉快的暑假，开学之后，他本应像莱姆斯劝说的那样，再也不把他的关注施舍给可怜的鼻涕精，而是应该专注于赢得莉莉的芳心。但他转移注意力的努力只持续了一星期，他无法不去关注一件事——
那个斯莱特林……变了。
斯内普，他曾经总是抱着书，低头弯背，把自己隐藏在阴影之中，行色匆匆，就好像他认为自己不属于这里一样。可是现在，他向来驼着的背挺直了，曾经那种充斥着不安的仿佛无所适从的神色被凌厉所取代。他忽视所有人的目光，在走廊上疾步行走，长袍的尾端随着主人的脚步在他身后翻卷，如同黑色的浪花。
甚至有一次，詹姆斯发现鼻涕精在窗边驻足，冷冷地凝视着几个在走廊上追逐打闹的低年级学生，就好像下一秒就要开口扣分一样，好像他有权力这么做。
詹姆斯完全无法理解。
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西弗勒斯从未见过母亲这副模样，她坐在餐桌前，手里捏着一封信。她衣衫褴褛，脸色蜡黄，眼神却不是以往的空洞。那双和他一模一样的黑眼睛，此时盈满了泪水。
“西弗勒斯，”艾琳轻柔地呼唤他，“你想要离开这里吗？”
西弗勒斯什么也没说，他只是上前一步，握住了母亲的手。他们在曾姑母遗赠的房屋里安顿下来，平平无奇的一天，平平无奇的一切，直到西弗勒斯遇见了一个黑头发蓝眼睛的男孩。
＊标题是从歌单里随便挑了一个，谢谢陈奕迅养活这么多同人女
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鲜血汇成细流沿着高台蜿蜒而下。麦考夫踏出一步，走上那条由赤红大理石铺就的命运阶梯，没有注意到他是如何成为自己身体的囚徒的。现在只有一个人可以把他带回来。
Bookmarked by NeverFallin
14 Jun 2026
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"We have what you might call... a difficult relationship." The long and winding road to Holmescest, and beyond.
Mycroft wanders on the edge of sleep, the pleasant twilight of the mind when all things seem possible. His room is still and calm; there’s only the low, steady tick of the clock and the occasional shift and snap from the banked fire in its grate. He lies on his left side, one hand under the pillow, the other lightly resting on the crotch of his pyjama bottoms. He thinks of school, his mind’s eye summoning up the invisible threads of friendship, competitiveness and hatred that join his fellow eighth-grade students and himself in a tangled web. A snip here, a twist there, and with a little time and encouragement he hopes he might yet shape the threads according to his will.
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Bookmarked by NeverFallin
14 Jun 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
This unbelievably beautiful and heartbreaking story of yours cost me half a pack of tissues, and I suspect it may even have worsened my depression.
For some reason, although most of the story is written from Mycroft’s perspective, I found myself empathizing more with Sherlock. Perhaps it is because his passion and suffering are as intense as fireworks against the night sky, while Mycroft’s pain is something he spends most of his life trying to ignore, even from himself.
Maybe that is because Mycroft does not love Sherlock enough. Or perhaps it is because he loves Sherlock far too much, to the point that he can never express it with the same honesty that Sherlock does.
I have to admit that I am not entirely sure I understand the direction of the ending. Even so, I still believe they will have what, to put it a little clichély, a happy future.
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Sherlock tells Mycroft about Rebecca Doyle's dying love confession.
Bookmarked by NeverFallin
13 Jun 2026
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Sherlock and Mycroft were raised apart from a young age and don't recognize each other when they meet years later. Unhappiness ensues.
Bookmarked by NeverFallin
13 Jun 2026
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Sherlock makes up for defacing Mycroft's possessions.
Bookmarked by NeverFallin
13 Jun 2026