45 More Things You Didn't Know About Molly Hooper46. She asked Sherlock out for coffee, but she doesn't even like coffee, unless it's extremely diluted in milk and sugar. She just knew that he practically survived on it.45 More Things You Didn't Know About Molly Hooper3 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
47. She's still not sure how she ended up adopting Toby. She just went in to look a kittens, and an hour later, she was signing papers for a large-ish adult male tabby. He didn't play like the other cats, but when let out of his little crate, he just jumped into her lap and settled down there. Then he looked up at her with yellow eyes like, "Well, that's settled." And it was.
48. Her hair tangles absurdly easily, which is one of the reasons she likes to keep it pulled back.
49. She's thought about cutting her hair short, but...that's a big change.
50. Other than being...well...alone, and Sherlock Holmes, her life is going exactly as she's planned for a long time. Yes, those are two big things, but it's close enough that her friends call her "Little Miss Perfect."
51. She hates raisins. They're just...wrong, all gummy
Incantations and Deductions SHObviously it took years for them to ever get around to speaking to each other. Sherlock reasoned that it was natural: as well as being in different, some might even say rival, houses, there was also the social class divide and the fact that Sherlock always gave off the general air of someone who never wanted to talk to anyone, in his life, ever. As a general rule Sherlock felt that unless someone was directly benefitting him by being alive in his presence he would do his best to tolerate them, but if not they could bloody well bugger off and do their dull living /breathing /sleeping /eating /talking /having fun business somewhere else.Incantations and Deductions SH5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
His mother said it was just his age, that teenage years were awkward, his anti social nature was a phase he was going through. Sherlock rather suspected that it wasn't so much his age as his life. And he wasn't awkward, he was perfectly poised. It was the rest of the world that was awkward and unpredictable and usually mundane but occasionally
Incantations and Deductions Chapter ElevenChapter ElevenIncantations and Deductions Chapter Eleven4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
John makes his way to the Great Hall trying not to feel too downhearted. The beginning of fifth year has so far not been great: seeing Sherlock has churned up feelings that he doesn't want to examine too closely and which hadn't put him in the best of moods. Then his meeting with the head of Gryffindor had just been...well, shitty.
"I understand your desire to be back with your friends John, but you must understand that you attacked a fellow student in the midst of one of your nightmares. Now, whilst your Healers tell me you're improving they cannot guarantee that you won't relapse."
Arguing, John had realised, would have been pointless. The housemistress had been sympathetic but stern. It was an important year for everyone of his age at Hogwarts: they needed no distractions, least of all from one of their friends waking them up every night, screaming at things that weren't really there. John supposes he should just consider this as another case of 'taking one for the te
BBC Sherlock-BabysittingJohn Watson rubbed his eyes wearily and summoned the last fragments of his patience. "Alright, run it by me one more time. You did what?"BBC Sherlock-Babysitting5 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
Sherlock Holmes was, for some unfathomable reason, sopping wet and covered in soap suds. His clothes were plastered to his skinny frame and he stood dripping in front of Watson's armchair, peering down at his friend through his sodden fringe. "I ran through a car wash." He explained, calmly, for the third time.
John sat back in his chair, his eyes closing despairingly, and asked the question again. "Why?"
"Chasing a suspect."
"And it didn't occur to you to go around the car wash instead of through it?" Then John remembered this was a guy who, on the very night he met him, got hit by a car whilst chasing a suspect. Sherlock may have been incredibly intelligent but the tunnel vision he got when a suspect was in sight often led him to do chronically stupid things. Rather like running through an operational car wash . . .
"Well, he w
Curl Up and Dye SxJIt should be amusing actually, John thinks to himself. Had he really just not let himself notice? He'd been living with a man who forced him to notice things, who got disappointed in John when he couldn't see something that to Sherlock was just so bloody obvious it didn't even need one whole brain cell to notice it, work out what it meant and file it away. He had a feeling that if Sherlock had even the first inkling of what John was thinking now he'd get that look on his face which Mrs Clarkson would get when he handed in an essay on Alexander Pope late, riddled with spelling mistakes. "Really, John you must try harder next time."Curl Up and Dye SxJ5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Sherlock has had a haircut. Brilliant deduction so far, Watson, keep going old boy. His hair is now just a shade from being the length of a military recruit, dark fuzz covering his head where once it was those minky curls that looked so thick and soft, like you could bury hands into and loose them... and this is what John can'
ReichenbachOnce upon a time in a kingdom united,Reichenbach4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The angels and the demons so furiously fighted.
They battled on concrete, traffic lights and jewels
And belived they were better, although they were fools.
Up in the tower the devil began his plan
For the angel to suffer, and so the angel ran.
Whispers from knights at a round table
Stopped believing in the poor angel's fable
The genius was broken; there's no going back,
One name with a reference to Reichenbach.
But what's in a name, my darling, my dear?
Moriarty or Brook, there's still plently to fear.
And he stood on the roof with the sun in his eyes
And the devil was waiting to say his goodbyes.
Three people, three bullets, but this is so dull;
The devil left this world with a hole in his skull.
It dawned on the angel what had to be done.
He flew from the roof in the morning sun.
For a moment he faltered; he felt he was flying
Whilst the doctor on the pavement began 3 years of crying.
His body was broken and the angel was go
MiscommunicationJohn had been acting strangely. Ever since the incident at the pool with Moriarty he had been skittish. He might have thought Sherlock didn't notice but of course he did. Every time they were in a room together John would make an excuse to leave. He would be sitting in his chair when Sherlock would come into the room and sit down on the sofa. Within minutes John would start twitching, his hands would clench and unclench and he would start looking over his shoulder. Then he would rise and go up to his room or leave to do the shopping. Or just leave, no excuse given.Miscommunication4 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
At first Sherlock thought it was just normal nerves. The man had been strapped to a bomb, it was normal not to want to stay still for too long. Movement made you harder to catch. But he seemed to have no trouble staying still for long periods of time when the consulting detective wasn't within his range of vision. He knew because he'd followed him one day and watched him sit on a park bench for an hour and a half.
The Reichenbach FallThe Reichenbach FallThe Reichenbach Fall4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Together they fell
Through the dark abyss
Of heaven and hell
Rivers of red
Rivers of blue
It was a great fall
I'm telling you
Tears of loss
Tears of sorrow
It made one man
The Spider weaved his web
of hate and gore
And the Reichenbach hero
Was a hero no more
Sherlock : Dobrze wiedziec John Watson był wdowcem, ojcem, miał siedemdziesiąt lat i wciąż mieszkał na Baker Street z swoim nieprzewidywalnym współlokatorem Sherlockiem Holmesem. Przez te wszystkie lata wyprowadził się stąd tylko na krótki okres małżeństwa z Mary, ale po jej śmierci wrócił do tego domu wariatów. Potrzebował hałasu, wybuchów, części ciał w lodówce. Musiał mieć obok życie, nie tylko płacz dziecka. I Sherlock dawał mu dokładnie to, czego potrzebował.Sherlock : Dobrze wiedziec4 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Spojrzał na przyjaciela, który w milczeniu mierzył sobie ciśnienie. Zaraz obok leżał glukometr. Dzisiaj wszystko było w porządku. Dobrze. Holmes ostentacyjnie połknął tabletki i spojrzał na niego, uśmiechając się sztucznie. Niemal się zaśmiał, codziennie odstawiali t
The Art of TrollingThe Blog of Dr. John WatsonThe Art of Trolling4 years ago in Humor More Like This
He was my best friend and I'll always believe in him.
Hi sexy, it's me again. I'm bored. Let's play.
Rich Brook(geddit?) 29 June 15:23
I didn't actually shoot myself in the face, you know. Obviously.
Rich Brook(geddit?) 30 June 12:20
I've got your adorable conversation with Johnny-boy recorded on my phone, you know. Maybe I'll post it to Youtube.
Rich Brook(geddit?) 30 June 12: 34
"I want you to tell Lestrade, tell Mrs. Hudson, tell Molly – in fact, tell anyone who will listen to you that I INVENTED Moriarrrteeeee for MY OWN P URPOSESSS"
Rich Brook(geddit?) 30 June 12:36
And so forth. Amirite?
Rich Brook(geddit?) 30 June 12:40
Hunt and catchHunt and catch4 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Hunt and Catch
His feet are carrying him all by themselves, faster, faster, through the streets, sideways, through backyards, even though it is a pain to run, each step getting harder to force on his right leg, each time his right foot meets solid ground being answered by a dozen needles and a brief moment of numbness.
His breath comes in a painful, short, almost non-existent gasps and for some reason his sight had blurred, he can't even see where he was running or who was there in his way...
For some reason his ears still work as fine as ever, even with the rush of running around his head.
He can still hear his voice in his back, slowly closing in. But then again he would have recognized that voice any place, anywhere, any time.
His leg ignoring John Watson just runs two steps faster.
This is not true.
This is a nightmare. He himself had seen the dead body, broken and smashed and bloody and still and without a pulse and lifeless.
There is no way on earth he could b
Hearts (prelude/Chapter 1)John looked up from his notebook and looked across the playground. A small, somber boy, probably around the age of six, was looking steadily back at him. John eyed him curiously from the other side of the playground, across the sea of children yelling and playing. The other boy seemed to be trying to read his mind from across the playground. John shook his head slightly, trying to shake off the younger boy's gaze. He turned back to his notebook, and realized that he had been sketching without noticing. Blushing slightly, he realized his hand had drawn a truly excellent sketch of the younger boy across the playground. He glanced up at the other boy who was smirking as if he knew exactly what John had been doing. John's eyes flickered down to his notebook and then back up, but when his glance returned to the opposite side of the playground, the boy was gone. John had no idea who he was or why he had been watching John. He shook his head once again and returned to his notebook.Hearts (prelude/Chapter 1)3 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
It was the
Home- BBC Watson x Reader Chpt. 1221B Baker St.Home- BBC Watson x Reader Chpt. 12 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
You wondered if your brother, Sherlock, would be surprised to see you or if he would have anticipated your return. You hoped he’d be surprised as you adjusted the duffle over your shoulder. You rummaged around in the pocket of your military issue camouflage pants for the set of keys you always carried.
You hadn’t bothered to change when the plane had landed, instead opting to go straight home in uniform, pulling off your jacket to reveal the white tank top underneath so you could enjoy the cool London air.
Quickly unlocking the door, you forced yourself to take the stairs slowly and with the upmost stealth even though you were itching to bound up them excitedly. You carefully skipped the squeaky step, holding your dog tags so they wouldn’t clink together as you did, and came to a stop in front of the door. You caressed the knob lightly with a slight smile- Home.
It was unlocked you noted, meaning he was home or that Mrs. Hudson was cleaning, but t
What a Silly ThingSummary: After an excruciatingly long week, John returns home to find Sherlock going through his clothes. There is simply no way for this to end well.What a Silly Thing4 years ago in Humor More Like This
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Dedicated to Lenap who drew the absolutely wonderful picture that inspired this (see description)
A chill wind rattled the windows of 221B Baker Street. Coming off of a case with Sherlock which was exhausting as always and a double shift at the clinic one doctor out with the flu and the other with a broken leg from falling down his stairs had left the clinic severely understaffed John could barely find the energy to put one foot in front of the other. The stairs to the second story seemed particularly long that day, and John trudged upstairs, scuffing his feet on the well-worn runner that was gradually slinking farther and farther down towards the lower landing.
The possibility of terrible programming on the tele was awfully temping, but he still hadn't gotten around to f
Danger DayFor a moment, everything stopsDanger Day3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
In a city forever in motion
The only voice, ringing in my ears
"Keep your eyes on me."
It wasn't going to happen
I wouldn't let it, somehow I could stop it
There was no way
A scrawled note without the paper
A bloody villain to paint the scene
He won't he can't
And then I, along with my friend
Felt myself tumbling down
Until nothing was alive
SH i wspolczesna literaturanajpierw komentarz, plzSH i wspolczesna literatura5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
- ... no i tak to właśnie było, rozumiesz? pytanie zatańczyło w powietrzu wraz z drobinkami kurzu, po czym znieruchomiało, niecierpliwie oczekując na odpowiedź, która jednak nie chciała nadejść. Mężczyzna podciągnął sobie gruby wełniany koc pod szyję, kichnął i podjął zachrypniętym, ale ożywionym głosem Ten telefon nie był przecież żadnym dowodem, tak naprawdę kluczowym czynnikiem okazały się być buty przyjaciela kuzyna żony brata zmarłego! A w szczególności dwucentymetrowe zadrapanie na...
Klucz obrócił się w zamku, zawiasy skrzypnęły, nogi przestąpiły próg.
- ... sznurówki były kupione we Francji, nie było możliwości, żeby...
Buty ustawiły się pod ścianą, kurtka zawisła n
SH fanfic ch. 1. IntroductionsSH fanfic ch. 1. Introductions3 years ago in Profiles More Like This
My name is Grace. Grace Irena Claxton. But last names are unimportant. This is the story of why I avenged the death of my father, and how I got there.
It was a chilly November morning when i set out from my warm home in London to find my father's friend. Dr. Watson and my father had met back in the war, as they had served together. Dr. Watson being, well, a doctor, and my father being head of communications for his troop. But this was not a time for a lighthearted visit. I had come on the most buisness-like of pretenses. My father had been murdered only two days before, and Scotland Yard had been unable to find anything. Not even when I had explained to them that both the deed to the house and my father's bank book had been taken.
The whole situation still perplexed me. But that was why I was making this journey. Watson had many tales of a friend of his and their adventures in solving crimes. Some seemingly impossible cases had been resolved. And impossible is what i was currently face
Dead and Buried(After Reichenbach)Dead and Buried4 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
John didn't flinch, didn't even look surprised when - one fine, ordinary morning just like any other - he found Sherlock sitting in his chair with raised brows and an expecting look in his eyes.
"I'm back," he said and John only responded with a quiet "I know" and fell silent on the matter.
This wasn't right, Sherlock thought, didn't fit with how he'd imagined John react. He had imagined yelling and heated arguments, maybe even objects thrown and abuse being shouted. Calm resignation was one of the traits John did not possess - or rather, should not be able to possess. It was puzzling. Sherlock didn't like puzzles (yes, solving them was nice, was wonderful, was what he strived and lived for, but puzzles themselves were not likable in the least), but it seemed that this one needed further investigation.
John had started seeing his therapist again. Sherlock wondered why, for he still believed her to be rather incompetent. One time, he told Joh
Oneword: MedicalOneword: Medical4 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
Always A Solider, Trooping On"John! Wake up! It's already five o'clock in the morning! And I've just received a case! Come on!" Sherlock yelled like an excited puppy at his blogger's bedroom door. No response, except for the sound of John snoring.Always A Solider, Trooping On3 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Sherlock rolled his eyes and pounded on the door. "Wake up! Come on! I'll even give you time to shower and dress and if you get up right now!"
Sherlock sucked in a breath and pounded on the door again, annoyed, but also bubbling with anticipation over the case. "Come on! I'll even let you have breakfast! I'll even cook it. Well, actually no I won't. But come on! Your sleeping patterns are irrelevant to this! It's a kidnapping!"
Sherlock paused, waiting for an answer. When he still didn't get one, he decided to just walk in. He started to open the door "Really, John, you're acting like a-"
Sherlock didn't finish his sentence, realizing it was on empty ears. John really was asleep. He was tangled in his sheets, showing he had been tossing and turning a while. Jo
Sail Away - AU PirateLock!"Ah, good morning, Sherlock. You're late." the crisp voice greets him as he enters the elegant office. The speaker, Mycroft Holmes, sits behind an ornate mahogany desk, with an expectant look on his face.Sail Away - AU PirateLock!3 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Sherlock continues his stride until he comes to the front on the desk. "What do you want, Mycroft?" he demands, cutting past the expected courtesies. He leans in, on the desk, his fingers drumming impatiently.
"Amiable as always." Mycroft quips in sarcastic response, and gestures to the chairs in front of his desk. "Take a seat." He says, expertly disguising the command as a request.
Sherlock quirks and eye-brow and instead perches on the corner of his desk in defiance. Not an easy feat, made awkward by the sword and sheath dangling from his side, but it makes his point.
Mycroft sucks in an exasperated breath at his childish tactics, but proceeds as though there is nothing unusual about the situation. Considering its Sherlock, there really isn't.
"Would you like some tea?" he offers,
JohnLock - GravityGravity JohnLockJohnLock - Gravity4 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Something always brings me back to you
It never takes too long
No matter what I say or do
I still feel you here 'til the moment I'm gone
Sherlock Holmes stood by the grave that was beside his own fake one.
He visited it frequently, because he could not stand to be back at the flat where Mrs. Hudson was. He could not stand that sad, broken accusing look in her eyes when she saw him.
It was his fault that his good doctor now was laying six feet under, side by side with nothingness; side by side with what he had thought was Sherlock.
Every time Sherlock stood or sat or just was in the cemetery, he could feel John's presence.
He was uncertain if it was a good or bad thing, because there was no resentment in that presence; just a feeling of love and home that did not belong in such a place.
You hold me without touch
You keep me without chains
I never wanted anything so much
Than to d
An Unexpected Novel - SherlockIt's been much too long (two days) since the last case and John has hidden Sherlock's gun. He'll find it in a momentit's either behind John's dresser or rolled up in a towel with the linensbut right now he can't be bothered to get up off the sofa.An Unexpected Novel - Sherlock4 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Bored. Bored bored bored bored bored bored.
He doesn't have any experiments to run. Freezer burn invalidated the last one and John said he was sorry but it had certainly looked like bagged gravy to him, and the freezer seemed like a suitable place for it. And Sherlock had asked peevishly what kind of person puts gravy in bags? and John had snapped back about how oh don't tell me I'm supposed to evaluate your actions according to the standard of 'people' now. And so Sherlock was sulking. For the loss of his not-gravy (river water and sloughed flesh emulsification, actually), not for the retort, which was actually a reasonable one.
He doesn't know how John does this, the long, quiet afternoons. Sure, John
Angels in London - Pt 1THE PERSONAL BLOG OF DR. JOHN H. WATSONAngels in London - Pt 13 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Incidentally, this is both the first and last case I will ever write about my adventures with the world's only consulting detective, and my best friend, Sherlock Holmes...
--Two Weeks Before Post--
Like any other day of any other week, the dark-haired Sherlock Holmes and the light-haired John Watson were in the main room of their flat at 221B Baker Street doing what they normally on just any day of the week waiting for a client. John sat in his chair reading the paper and hoping to find something that might rouse their interest while Sherlock was playing the violin; the ladder of the two men hadn't even bothered to change out of his pajamas, though had elected to putting a dark blue robe on over them.
But nothing was happening in the papers.
And the song that was being played was nearly over. Soon the man would be attempting to write another new song just to keep from getting bo