ComfortComfort3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Molly looked from the door to her kitchen at the man who was clearly too tall for his chair. She was used to being ignored by him in the lab, not talking to her or even looking as she would hand him what ever tool he asked for. But that was usually in front of a microscope, and this This was after an impossible situation. One that she herself would not be able to get through on her own.
Sherlock seemed determined to be alone.
Leaving John would possibly be the hardest thing Sherlock would ever have to do in his life. Knowing that John would have to go through every day believing his best friend had killed himself right in front of him made Molly want to shove Sherlock out the door and straight back to Baker Street. It was hard to look at him. Just sitting there. Like nothing mattered. Not anymore.
His voice surprised her. It was oddly calm and emotionless. Not that Sherlock talk with emotion before, but this was just Empty.
"I'm sorry," Molly said, walking
BBC Sherlock AU: BohemienParis is indeed splendid. Doctor John Watson thought to himself as he was strolling on a boulevard right next to the Seine. Weather was certainly more pleasant here than in England all sunny, with occasional white cloud puffs blowing across the blue sky.BBC Sherlock AU: Bohemien3 years ago in Romance More Like This
John was really glad that he had accepted an invitation to a medical conference, which took place in the capital of France two days ago, and decided to stay in the city for a whole week. A well-deserved vacation, he repeated inwardly with satisfaction. And the hotel was just marvellous.
He glanced mildly intrigued at bookstalls lined up on both sides of the path, but he brought himself to heel and averted his gaze. He wasn't here to browse through musty novels, his purpose was far more important. Or so he hoped, filled with doubt.
It was still relatively early, so the gas lanterns weren't lit. John, however, wished that the darkness could come and engulf him, hiding from prying eyes of other people. As a doctor and a gent
Johnlock: To The Opera!Johnlock: To The Opera!3 years ago in Romance More Like This
To The Opera!
"You've been to the Opera?"
John tilted his head back to look at Sherlock upside-down- sneaking a rather indecent stare at Sherlock's trousers. "That's random. No, I haven't actually."
Sherlock paused mid-stride, staring down at him incredulously. "Never?"
John shrugged. "Never, not once in my life."
Sherlock huffed in annoyance. "Then we shall remedy that tonight."
"Oh?" John perked, sitting up with an eager smile. He chuckled when Sherlock shoved his legs aside, pilfering under and around the sofa cushions until he finally withdrew two slips of paper. Sherlock handed him one with a flourish.
"Here's your ticket. I'll meet you there in two hours."
"Wait- What?" John frowned, pursing his lips. "I thought the whole point of taking me to the Opera was, you know, taking me to-,"
"I'll meet you there," Sherlock repeated with a mysterious smile.
John sputtered a question, but Sherlock bounced out the room and down the stairs, the slam of the f
Always Look at the Hands"Always look at the hands first, John."Always Look at the Hands3 years ago in Romance More Like This
That's what he had told him once. He didn't know if John had paid any attention to it, but it was one of his sure-fire methods of deduction. After observing one's hands, you were then to examine the cuffs of their clothing, their trousers, and then the trainers or boots.
One quiet night at Baker Street, John had been lying on the couch reading, but only after an hour or so had dozed off and the book had slumped onto his chest. Sherlock had come into the room, looking for something, but he lost the thought (a rare occurrence for him) when he saw John. Looking so peaceful. He knew that everyone looked peaceful when they slept, but still, he couldn't help but walk over to the couch and just look at him, and after a few minutes, he kneeled beside him to look closer. He took in everything. The way John's breath was deep and how his chest rose and fell, how his hands still held the book, how every once in a while he would swallow and take a de
SH: HeadspaceSH: Headspace3 years ago in Humor More Like This
Warning: violence references (crime scene)
"There's something not missing!"
John blinked, sharing a look of surprise with Lestrade. As odd as most of Sherlock's outbursts were, that was one of the strangest. At least in the last week or so.
Sherlock was pacing madly, hands fluttering and grasping at the empty air. John grimaced as he noted the red smears his feet left on the plastic path someone had laid down. Gore and blood lined the walls, even some clumps dripping obscenely from the ceiling, but the filth didn't bother Sherlock.
Nor him, really. Which spoke volumes about them both. Even Lestrade was uneasy as he waited for Sherlock's brilliant deduction and next course of action, refusing to move more than a few feet from John.
"What's he going on about?"
John chuckled, digging his hands into his pockets and shrugging. "I don't think we want to know."
"Shut up!" Sherlock snarled, whirling and glarin
You Just Can't Without a Heart"I don't even know where to begin..." John started, pacing the room in front of Sherlock, who was sitting in his arm chair, legs pulled to his chest and his eyes trained on John. "...I mean... You left for a week! I didn't know where in bloody hell you were and I was worried sick! I though someone had you, or worse, I thought you were dead!"You Just Can't Without a Heart3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"John..." Sherlock started, his voice low and almost quiet. It was so uncharacteristically like Sherlock to be quiet.
"Stop," John cut him off, holding his hand out to stop Sherlock. "Can you just tell me where you've -been-?!"
Sherlock shook his head, looking down at the floor.
"And why -not-, Sherlock?" John asked, stopping in front of him and crossing his arms, looking at Sherlock down his nose.
"Because, John, I just.... Just can't..." Sherlock said slowly, standing and walking over to John, placing a hand on his arm and getting closer. "Can you understand."
"N-no! I c-can't!" John forced out, shoving the rapid heart rate and struggled breathin
ExperimentSherlock was laying on the couch, presumably thinking, possibly asleep. John hardly ever had a chance to sit there himself, as Sherlock was always occupying it. John eyed him for a moment, and then something snapped and he decided to go ahead with the impulse he’d been secretly fighting. He came and stood over him minute before letting his knee rest next to Sherlock’s leg and leaning across with his arm on the back of the couch. Sherlock didn’t move, so he continued to climb on top of him.Experiment3 years ago in Romance More Like This
“John, what are you doing?” Sherlock asked lazily without opening his eyes.
“Experiment,” he replied cheekily.
“Really?” Sherlock’s voice dripped sarcasm.
“You’re not the only one who does experiments on his flat-mate.” John said matter-of-factly, settling himself along Sherlock’s full length and letting his head come to rest over Sherlock’s heart a
Still Not GayHands like pale spiders,Still Not Gay3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Plucking tuned strings with ease.
Smooth and calloused, steady,
The way mine ought to be.
Mind like a machine,
Infinitely complex and alert.
Always sorting through data,
Both relevant and inert.
Voice like dark velvet,
Strong, lilting, and low,
With a timbre so resonant
You'd expect it to show.
Emotions like corpses,
Buried far too down deep;
Seeming dead to the world,
But really just asleep.
Body lithe like a cat,
All angles and grace,
As sharp, straight, and perfect
As the cheekbones on that face.
Lips like a Cupid's bow,
Men and women alike
Face their unintentional pull.
Eyes like blue glaciers,
Or a gray day at sea,
Or like misty green meadows,
Wide and focused on me.
An androgynous Adonis
I still live, work with today.
But if anyone out there still cares-
I'm not actually gay.
The Waiting GameThe purple dress shirt was torn, shredded from the fray it had endured. The collar was stained a deeper cerise from the gaping wounds at his face and neck, spouting blood like a fountain spouts water. His body lay limply on the stretcher as he was wheeled through the endless rush of the white, sterile halls of the hospital.The Waiting Game3 years ago in Drama More Like This
He followed his inert friend, concern tattooing his brow, and heart pounding out a frantic tribal beat that could be heard the world over. Someone, maybe the D.I, pulled on his sleeve, trying to get him to retreat, trying to get him out of the way of the running nurses and doctors who shouted orders for drugs and procedures in some strange, clandestine tongue.
He could be treating him...after all, he was a doctor, and a damn good one at that. He had seen wounds far worse then this, far more bloody and bruised.
...but the tears that pooled up on the bottom of the raw sienna eyes was enough to convince him that he wasn't the man for the job. Not this time.
He stood, p
Sherlock BBC: UncertaintyA semi-sequel to Like a VirginSherlock BBC: Uncertainty3 years ago in Romance More Like This
Six o'clock in the morning is never the right time to wake up after a drinking session. John Watson moaned and groaned and tried to go back to sleep, but repeated thuds, rustles and beeps coming from the living room rendered his intention impossible.
He opened his eyelids slowly, but the sunlight attacked his pupils with the force of a nuclear blast causing him to put a pillow over his head with a faint hope to block out the dazzling brightness, which pierced right through his skull. He felt as if a herd of elephants was tap dancing inside his brain, his throat was bone dry and the taste inside his mouth indicated that he must have at least munched on a dead cat. He moaned heartbreakingly once again, wishing he was dead. The noises from the living room, without a doubt produced by Sherlock, certainly didn't improve his psychical and mental condition.
When he finally gathered strength to sit up, he started massaging his temples and tried to pull him
SH: Cuddling Can't Be SimpleSH: Cuddling Can't Be Simple3 years ago in Humor More Like This
Cuddling Can't Be Simple
(BBC's) Sherlock/John semi-fluff
"What do you want?"
John's brow furrowed, forming well-worn wrinkles as he settled heavily against his too-thin friend. The first time he'd heard Sherlock utter this specific question had been three weeks ago, just after John had finally given in to the soft smirks, the messy dark curls and absentminded touches. Oh, and stupidly adorable clumsy flirting. On both their ends.
Considering the compromising situation they'd been in when Sherlock had asked, he hadn't given the question much thought.
But now he'd kept asking, days and weeks after their flurry of shouts and giggles and confessions. It hadn't taken him terribly long to see the pattern; any time he invaded Sherlock's personal space, The Question was uttered. But why? Any attempts to call Sherlock out on the odd inquiry was met with curious, stupefied eyes and a circular conversation that ended with Sherlock deducing John was the one being obtuse.