Oneword: MedicalOneword: Medical3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The two Londoners had unknowingly pinned a Gallifreyan against a brick wall in a dark alley. Having caught him suspiciously breaking into a high-tech facility, Sherlock feared that the tall, gangly man in the tweed jacket had been another member of Moriarty's web. John, not familiar with the technology contained in the stranger's little green-bulbed instrument with extendable claws, had pointed his gun at him for a sense of safety.
"Whatever went wrong," pleaded the man, both hands in the air against the wall, "I can assure you with... um.. about eighty six percent certainty that it wasn't me. Probably."
John wrinkled his nose at Sherlock in confusion. "Who are you?" he demanded of the stranger, lowering his gun by a couple inches.
"I'm the Doctor," he claimed, eyes darting back and forth between the darkly-clad man whose cheekbones he could sympathize with, to a shorter blond man who would almost remind him of the Master's last form if not for his kind, tired eyes.
"Yeah right," snort
Giveaway prompt: SpoonGiveaway prompt: Spoon3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
John sighed when he saw Sherlock sprawled out over all three of the couch cushions, covered in no less than two blankets, his head propped on the arm rest as he stared, glassy-eyed with boredom at the talk-show program currently prattling away through the night. John hadn't been able to get back to sleep after his most recent nightmare (an afghani child, half his body blown away and bleeding profusely). He had sat in bed for a while, trying to forget the look of horror and pain which had remained burned in the backs of his eyes, just listening to the sounds of the city at night, and the muffled talking of the telly downstairs. After awhile, he had donned his slippers and shuffled down to the sitting room to join Sherlock for some company, to get the afterimage out of his head.
"Budge up," he'd mumbled, just loudly enough to be heard over the inane chatter, as he stood looming over Sherlock's head, arms crossed across his chest for warmth- a tee shirt was not quite warm enough in the cu
Giveaway prompt: KissGiveaway prompt: Kiss3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Sherlock glanced at the empty mug that John set on the end table with a muffled little thud, his heart already sinking a bit. The end of John's tea usually signified an oncoming end to his time spent on the couch with Sherlock, in a mindless, telly-induced domestic bliss. Before John could gather himself up to shuffle off into the kitchen, Sherlock caught him gently by the right arm, giving a gentle squeeze to his brachioradialis, which caused John to pause and cover Sherlock's hand with his left one. Ever since Sherlock's return, they'd been sharing these subtle platonic touches, which almost seemed to serve as another form of communication. (Far easier to learn than code phrases like "Vatican cameos," Sherlock admitted to himself) John usually would be the one to bring about the contact; Sherlock would only do so when it was very important. He wondered what was so important now, that made him reach out to prevent John's departure?
John smiled up at Sherlock, the subtle light of the s
Sherlock's sonnetSherlock's sonnet3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
If I had known that I could have a friend
More loyal than the royal Queen's brigade,
I would have made my selfishness an end
And for a quick delivery have prayed.
Before we met I thought it left to chance
That I would play the game of life alone
Abandoned had I all thoughts of romance
Until we made our partnership our home
But how, my doctor, shall we now progress?
No longer do I wish to tempt my fate-
Uncertainty my impulse does oppress,
What if my own decisions come too late?
If I'm the brain to your unfailing heart,
Then please, I beg you, tell me where to start.
The LessonThe Lesson3 years ago in Romance More Like This
"Honestly John, it's really quite simple."
"No, Sherlock! It's not 'quite simple!'"
"Of the two human beings in this room, which one is more able to make a well-informed and intelligent decision on the difficulty of a certain task?"
"I really think there's only one human being in this room: me. But in any case I should cause I'm normal."
Sherlock scoffed. "Ugh. Boring. Now try it again."
"Sherlock, my fingers are tired. I seriously can't play anymore. My fingers are going to start bleeding and I'm going to get an infection."
"Are you insinuating something about the cleanliness of my bow?"
"Actually, maybe I am." John set the violin down on the armchair. "You've come home soaked in blood before."
"Pig's blood." Sherlock murmured.
"As if that makes it alright!" John shouted, throwing his hands up in defeat. "How am I supposed to know what sort of rubbish gets on your bow?" He crossed the room, desperate to get away from the world's most aggravating flatmate, and let himself fall onto the
John's limerickJohn's limerick3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Nobody could call me objective
Regarding my favorite detective
I'll gladly take aim
To save his good name
Of his heart I am overly protective
Giveaway prompt: TerrifiedGiveaway prompt: Terrified3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Sherlock stood quietly in John's doorframe, the silhouette of the doctor's body illuminated only by the orange city lights glowing in from the window. Sherlock became increasingly concerned as the world-weary veteran tossed and turned in his sleep, muffled "No"s and "help"s occasionally escaping his lips as he thrashed about in the sheets. Sherlock could see the deep wrinkles in the sheet where John's fingers gripped it so tightly it seemed it might tear. Soon, the poor doctor was trembling and panting in his sleep, seemingly terrified by whatever his mind was haunting him with.
Sherlock could take it no longer, making the decision that John's comfort was far more important than his eight hours of sleep. He crossed the few feet between the door and the bed, and crawled in to curl his lanky limbs around John, wincing only a little as he was struck with an unconscious fist. A few moments of gentle stroking at his ribs, and a firm grip around the pelvis with his leg, and John's fitful nig
72. Insomnia - JohnlockJohn lay awake in bed, an all too familiar violin screeching downstairs. Of course, it wasn't actually screeching, but at three in the morning it might as well be. Now if it had been in the afternoon or sometime that wasn't in the middle of the night, the violin would be quite pleasant.72. Insomnia - Johnlock3 years ago in Romance More Like This
He squeezed his eyes shut and held his pillow up against his ears. The action was futile, he knew from doing so several times before. Upon realizing that it still wouldn't work he let go of the pillow and opened his eyes with a sigh. He kicked off the blankets and stood up, walking over to the door of his room. He opened it up just enough to poke his head out and yelled, "Would you keep it down! Some people are trying to sleep!" He tried his best to sound threatening and angry but it only came out as tired and groggy and not intimidating at all. The sound of the violin paused for a moment and John thought that he finally got through to him. Unfortunately he didn't and the screeching continued. John sigh
Oneword: SliverOneword: Sliver3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Sherlock had frozen in mid-stride as they paraded through one of the less busy streets of London, returning home after their repeat visit to the Art Gallery. He had been muttering softly as they walked, gesturing from hand to hand as he worked out the course of events they'd been following for the good part of a day. John kept a good meter or two of distance between himself and Sherlock, not wanting to give anything away with any facial expressions. He knew it was probably a hopeless cause, but why make it any easier on the genius? At least they were getting some sun. John gently nudged his elbow against each pole that passed between them, not paying as much attention as he might ordinarily.
When Sherlock suddenly stopped and spun on his heel, hurrying off back the way they'd just come, John was caught by surprise and reached out to grab the telephone pole he was about to nudge, using his momentum to swing around it and hurry after his partner. A sharp, hissing intake as John's palm dr
Sherlock and Green Eggs and Ham?It was St. Patrick's day, and everything was green. Green flags, green decorations, green shirts saying "kiss me I'm Irish", and a thousand other things, including food. Sherlock and John went out to eat as they always did, except that it was breakfast, which was unusual for them. But they did anyway because somehow making toast and coffee seemed like too much work today.Sherlock and Green Eggs and Ham?3 years ago in Romance More Like This
Sherlock fiddled with the green, shamrock speckled scarf John insisted him to wear as he sat waiting for their food. They both got eggs and ham, but knowing the festive Irish restaurant they were in something would be green on those plates. The coffee they got was green and the mugs were decorated with bright four-leaf clovers.
The waitress finally came around with their food and when she set the plates down in front of them, they looked down at their plates, shocked. There, on their plates was exactly what they ordered: two sunny-side up eggs and a slice of ham. But they were green, a bright green that made them look
BathwaterJohn's neck was hot and damp and something rocked against his chin, spilling past his lips. Confused he took an experimental swallow and immediately choked. His eyes snapped open, wide with surprise, and he began to cough violently, gasping for air. The water slapped over the rim of the bath, splashing onto the bathroom floor. John blinked, puzzled: how on earth had he gotten there?Bathwater3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
He looked down at himself. His torso and arms were bare and prickly, and there was a bruise on his abdomen, just below his ribcage but just above his stomach, that flowered sorely. To his relief he was wearing trousers, denim jeans that had turned black and heavy from the water and thus made it difficult to move his legs. His feet were naked. He at last winced at the heat of the bath water.
Sherlock came in, crumbs on his mouth and the remnants of a toast slice in his hand. He looked closely at his friend, then at the sodden tiles and back again. He smiled with relief.
"Oh, good, you didn't drown then," he
Sherlock- Cafe JWWWarning- contains post reichenbach spoilers/angstSherlock- Cafe JWW3 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
A John Watson's War Fic
He didn't realize it was Valentine's day until he got to the coffee shop.
Being in the shop was an event led up to by pure chance and dumb luck, or more specifically, dumb bad luck. The motel's coffee machine had been out of order, and so had his stove (what could he expect at that price? This marked the last time he cheaped out on a room), leaving him without either of his two sources of caffene.
So, being a rational man, he'd gone out to get coffee. He'd never been in this little shop before, but he could deduce that the streamers and strings of pink and silver hearts strung low across the ceiling were a new addition. That paired with the high number of couples making googly-eyes at each other across the little round tables and the dead giveaway 'Happy Valentine's Day!" sign hung across the wall behind the counter informed him of the date.
He limped up to the counter to a bright young brunette on the othe
Oneword: CrescentOneword: Crescent3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Sherlock awoke to the smell of something delicious. Butter, at the very least, and perhaps something chocolate? The oven was filling the flat with an enticing aroma which had Sherlock instantly out of bed and into the kitchen (thankfully remembering to put on a robe first). John had just removed a tray from the oven, lined with sixteen perfectly-browned crescent rolls, drizzled with melted chocolate. The very steam rising from their crisp surface seemed divine.
"Ah, you're up," John smiled as Sherlock poked his head into the kitchen, already fixated on the sweets, "I was just fixing breakfast." He indicated a freshly-cleared table, covered with a spread of fresh fruit, eggs, and bacon. "I figured since you'd finished your last study, you could spare the kitchen table for at least one decent meal."
Sherlock only mumbled incoherently, largely ignoring the spread of healthier items as he leaned over John at the stove, resting his chin on a head of sandy hair as he inhaled the prescious su
Oneword: LiftOneword: Lift3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
It had been a particularly windy day, and Sherlock's hair had still not recovered its usual large curls. The detective had quickly tried to tame the black frizz before their meeting in the executive office of the insurance company, but had had little success. It was fortunate for their bank account, then, that their new employer didn't much care what Sherlock looked like, so long as he was able to prove that the fire had been deliberate insurance fraud.
It was about halfway down their trip from the top floor when the wind knocked out a transformer, and the power to the whole building suddenly died down. John glanced up and around in alarm at the emergency lights, quickly calming as he realized what had happened. He only hoped it wouldn't be long before the power returned, as the longer he spent in the confined space the longer it started to remind him of the hide-holes he'd had to crawl into in search of terrorists.
"Well," he quipped, trying to keep his tone light, "It's a good thing
Oneword: EnticeOneword: Entice3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Sherlock didn't mind John's bed. In fact, it was probably more comfortable than his own, if he cared to admit it. The doctor's firm mattress was an excellent support for the back, and the covers were kept remarkably straight and neat. (As was the rest of the room, to John's credit.)
However, there were times when Sherlock felt as though their relationship was a bit unbalanced in certain regards. While the withdrawn detective knew that John would never force or even insinuate starting something without Sherlock's interest and explicit permission, it still left Sherlock ill at ease sometimes... As though he had less control over the situation, because he was a guest in John's space.
It was a conscious effort, then, when he took the time to put his studies aside for a day and tend to more common duties. He threw the windows of his bedroom open to let in the cool, fresh air and evacuate the musty smell that had built up from his last experiment. He skittered about his room, tossing anythin
Oneword: SavageOneword: Savage4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
John glanced up from his blog and was startled to see the savage expression with which Sherlock was staring at him. "Sherlock?" he called across the coffee table gently, bringing the detective out of his focused trance, "Was something wrong?"
Sherlock quirked a brow, debating how honest to be with John. "Oh, I was just wondering how hard I could bite your neck before you cried out." The doctor sat for a second, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly as his cheeks slowly flushed a bit brighter.
Iced Mint"John? What do I smell like?" They were both lying face up on John's bed, with Sherlock's head nestled between John's neck, and John's right arm resting against Sherlock's chest.Iced Mint3 years ago in Romance More Like This
"Icy." It was the first word that popped into his mind. "You always smell clean. Hang on." John sat up and rolled over so that he was on top of Sherlock, and he nuzzled his neck, taking in a deep breath and Sherlock gave a few small but deep laughs at the sensation.
"Mmmm…" John sighed out in delight. He took in another breath and smiled. He loved that smell–it was unlike anything he'd ever smelled, and he had never really truly understood the meaning of "intoxicating" until he had smelled Sherlock. Come to think of it, there were a lot of things he found intoxicating about Sherlock Holmes. The way his body seemed to be sculpted of marble. His black as night hair that always had a few perfectly formed ringlets. His iridescent eyes. The way his voice deepened when he wanted something. The
Oneword: HassleOneword: Hassle3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
John sat up straight in his armchair as Sherlock stomped up the stairs with a couple bags of groceries. The doctor had to remember to close his mouth as he watched the introvert bring the goods into the kitchen and store them properly in the refrigerator, even going so far as to dispose of the oldest experiments in the back, which had started to mould over the previous week.
John stammered for a second, then gave up on wording and followed Sherlock into the kitchen. Curling his arms around the detective's diminutive waist as the last item, a pint of milk, was shoved into the door, John let his chin rest on Sherlock's shoulder as he gave a firm squeeze of affection. "What brought this on?" He nosed gently behind Sherlock's ear, eliciting a soft rumble against his chest.
"Why, I'm certain I've no idea what you mean," Sherlock teased, "I was just being a responsible flat-mate, like usual." He curled his fingers in with John's, who leaned in against him gently until he was pinned against t
Oneword: DisregardOneword: Disregard3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
John pressed the warm compress gently against the shallow cut, letting the fresh blood soak in and away from Sherlock's pale skin. The detective was hunched over his own knees, lower lip held between his teeth as he tried not to flinch away from the doctor's touch. The water matted down the topmost feathers, turning the deep blue a dark, iridescent black which sent shivers along the wing from the cool air.
"You knew there was a storm coming." John sighed as he wrung out the washcloth and re-wet it, pressing it back against the cut. "You could have waited until it passed." He dabbed a bit of hydrogen peroxide into the cut and let it fizz.
Sherlock grunted softly, fingers clenched into a fist. "And miss the opportunity to catch Burke? Not likely. I'll gladly disregard minor danger when it comes to the work." He turned back to inspect John's work. "You know that."
John bit his tongue and reached for a bandage, trying to figure out how to apply it. The field of orni-anthro medic
BlanketIt had been days since Sherlock had slept, but John didn't really worry. Of course he worried a little bit–with the protectiveness he felt for Sherlock and his doctor's instinct how could he not? But he knew that eventually Sherlock's body would shut down, (despite Sherlock's protests), and force him to rest. And so when John came home that night after a slow day at the clinic, the sight of Sherlock slumped in his usual armchair did not surprise him in the least, and it brought a smile to the tired doctor's weary face and a certain contentedness to his heart. He imagined it was how a parent must feel after watching their child struggle for days on end and then at long last find peace.Blanket3 years ago in Romance More Like This
He saw Sherlock's bare feet and noticed that he wasn't wearing his coat and scarf either. So he went to his room, grabbed the blanket off the bed, and came back into the study. He knew he didn't have to worry about waking Sherlock up, so he took as much force as necessary to properly wrap the blanke
Oneword: BlastOneword: Blast3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Sherlock eyed the blue box dubiously. Sure, it may have contained unknown technology, and sure, it may appear to be bigger on the inside, but there was no visible form of propulsion. He seriously doubted that the thing was space-worthy as its apparent owner, this strange man in a bow-tie, had claimed with conviction. John seemed to share Sherlock's train of thought, as he spoke up with a frown, "There's no way in hell this thing can blast off into space."
"No, no, of course not," the self-proclaimed Time Lord waved his hand as though shooing away such a silly notion. "It's not really a blast so much as... a rough intrusion into the time-space vortex. Much more of a shortcut, no atmosphere to deal with. Though with such a limited understanding of the concept, it really would be easier for me to just show you!" The Doctor threw both doors wide open and strode into the cavernous inside excitedly.
John peered into the box again, nearly disoriented by optical illusion, and turned back to wh
Oneword: AntsOneword: Ants3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Sherlock stood for a moment at the edge, swaying slightly as he peered down at the busy roads, more than three stories below the front of his shoes. Moriarty's body lay crumpled and empty behind him, but the genius criminal's master plan was still in motion. As much as Sherlock hated to cave in to the lies, he nearly stepped away from the edge to flee down the staircase.
The crowds below him continued about their busy day, oblivious to the turmoil in the darkly-clad man atop the roof of the hospital around which they all made their way. From so high up, Sherlock mused, they hardly looked like more than so many ants, crawling from food to queen and country. These were the people whose opinion he was so concerned with?
From the swarm emerged another little ant, paused in the middle of the well-defined pathways. The fair color of his hair, his shorter stature, the shape of his jacket, Sherlock could immediately identify the little insect as the only person in the world who really mattered
Sherlock- BelieveCONTAINS POST-REINBACH SPOILERSSherlock- Believe4 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
What was he doing here?
The grafiti'd skatepark was buzzing with the rebellious youth of London. Hair filled with gel and hairspray and even a few individuals with feathers was dyed all colors imaginable, and a few others that even John Watson had no name for. Clothes were ripped in all the wrong places for any hope of practicality, and a few men had their pants slung so low that the doctor had no idea how they managed to walk.
The army doctor shifted from one leg to the other, before quickly shifting back at the shot of pain up his right leg at the application of pressure. Damn limp. Damn leg. Damn just damn. What was he doing here? It was stupid. He was stupid.
Ten seconds. That's all he was getting to show up. Ten seconds and then John was leaving. He didn't have time for this. At this very moment he could be curled up in the corner of a dark hotel room pretending to be dead. Maybe if he pretended long enough it would happen. A man could only ho
Giveaway prompt: Who?Giveaway prompt: Who?3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Mrs. Hudson frowned as her daytime telly was drowned out by a strange wooshing sound coming from outside her window, unlike anything anything she'd ever heard before. Rising carefully from the couch (her hip was particularly bad today), she shuffled over to the front window to see if she could spy the source of the noise. A long pause, then the noise seemed to reverse itself just as the front door swung open quickly, admitting her boys from 221B. She hadn't seen them this happy and excited since the last big serial murderer case! "Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed, "What have you gotten yourself into?"
"Space and time, Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock gripped her excitedly around the shoulders as John shed his jacket, shutting the front door behind himself. "We've just been with the Doctor!"
Mrs. Hudson hadn't heard Sherlock mention any other doctor other than John, but this sounded important. "Doctor who, dear?"
Sherlock was about to try to explain, but John placed a hand on each of their should