ForeverJohn was sitting in his arm chair, reading the paper as rain hit the window on the other side of the room. He felt eyes on him. He could feel the stares but he didn't dare look up. He was mad. Ferrous even. Mad that he had done this to him. Mad that he had left him alone for three bloody years.Forever2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Mad that he loved him after it was all said and done.
"John..?" Sherlock's voice was barely audible being just above a whisper.
John ignored him.
"John? Please..." Sherlock sounded pitiful.
John turned the page to the paper. He was going to make Sherlock suffer as long as he could. He was alone for three years. He was depressed, alone, and pissed all that time. Depressed his best friend had killed himself. Alone in the world he didn't want to be in anymore. Pissed that Sherlock had done this to him.
Sherlock stood and moved over to John, snatching the paper out of his hands.
"Listen to me..." He begged, his eyes sad and a little annoyed.
"Give me the pap
PeachesPlease, do get my brother to eat. I'm tired of watching him waste away to nothingness. -MHPeaches2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
John sighed at the text he received from Sherlock's elder and pinched the bridge of his nose.
Then maybe you should try. I've tried everything and I'm lucky to get him to nibble on toast once in a while! -JW
He used to love to eat peaches. -MH
Yes, peaches, the kind in the can you just pop open and throw into a bowl? Know them? -MH
Of course I know them, but I never saw Sherlock as a peaches eater. -JW
Try them. Please. -MH
I'll grab some after work. Speaking of which, bye Mycroft. -JW
John closed and pocketed his phone and turned back to the paper work that lined his desk top. "Peaches?" He muttered, leaning back after fruitlessly trying to get some paperwork done. "There's no way... Not Sherlock..."
He pushed the paperwork aside and started preparing for his next patient to come in.
It had been a long, tiresome day at the office. Five couldn't have come slower, but as so
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 Heart2 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
Pet NamesIt started out simply enough.Pet Names2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
They were at St Bart's examining some soil samples for a case.
Sherlock was determined that they didn't belong in the house, where they were found and they were somehow linked to the killer. But they didn't match the samples that came from his footprints in another part of the house.
So they'd been here for about half an hour with Sherlock bent over the microscope muttering to himself. John had stopped trying to make sense of what he was saying after the first ten minutes and was now simply hovering over his shoulder, watching and waiting for his inevitable breakthrough.
Having heard they were working there, Molly came in with coffee for them, as always.The coffee was more for Sherlock than John of course; but Molly was not rude so she always brought him a cup as well. John was very grateful for this because after the shift he'd just pulled at the clinic and the usual "wear and tear" from a case he needed caffeine.
So he thanked her quite warmly when she h
Coming Home - Johnlock - 2/4As the gun pressed heavily into his temple, his sweat-slick finger slipped on the trigger, hand shaking like never before.Coming Home - Johnlock - 2/42 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I can do this. I can. I will.
The hesitation was merely momentary. He steadied himself, thinking only of reuniting with Sherlock in whatever afterlife there may be, and took a deep breath. But before he could pull the trigger, he heard a sudden cry 'John, no!' and he was grabbed suddenly from behind, the gun wrestled away from his head. Some miserable survival instinct forced his hand, and he threw the person off, slamming them on the floor, and pointed the gun at them. He expected Mycroft, or maybe Greg, but instead he looked down to see a gaunt, white face, a mop of curly hair and pleading blue eyes.
'John,' Sherlock whispered, baritone rough with emotion, 'I'm so sorry.'
John paled, and the hand pressing Sherlock's chest to the ground clenched and unclenched in his coat fabric.
'Jesus Christ. It's happened. I've done it. I've actually gone i
You Don't Need a Girlfriend"You're wasting your time." Sherlock said uncaringly, as John walk in and stripped his coat.You Don't Need a Girlfriend2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Sherlock didn't look up at him, he just sat staring at the wall, hands stapled under his chin. John paused at the coat rack, thinking over what Sherlock just said.
"Excuse me?" He asked, turning and taking three long, brief strides to Sherlock.
"You very well heard me, it's useless for me to repeat myself." Sherlock said, sending him a sideways glance.
"And what are you talking about when you say I'm wasting my time?" John asked, leaning on the table in front of Sherlock.
"All your girlfriends and -dates-. You're wasting your time." Sherlock lowered his hands and stared at John.
John raised an eyebrow at him. "Oh? Is that so? Just because I want to have some fun? Just because I want to actually have a girlfriend?"
"You don't need a girlfriend." Sherlock said, standing and going into the kitchen, starting up the kettle.
"Why's that?" John followed Sherlock into the
It's Just Not Your BattleJohn sat in his arm chair, not making eye contact with the DI that sat across from him. He sat in Sher- -his- old chair. Why did he have to sit in -his- old chair?!It's Just Not Your Battle2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"John?" Lestrade asked slowly, pulling John from his ever painful thoughts that seemed to be twisting in his head.
John looked up to meet Lestrade's eyes at last. He didn't say anything, just rose an eyebrow to let him know he was listening.
"John, you can't stay up here forever... I know it hurts, losing your best friend and all, but-"
"He wasn't just my best friend..." John cut in, lowering his gaze once again to the carpet. "He was so much more than that. He was my life, what gave my life actual meaning. He pulled me from the depths of darkness no one could even reach me in. That man was everything..."
John sat there in silence for a moment and Lestrade felt like he was going to continue. His heart skipped a beat then dropped as John removed the pistol from his jacket pocket and raised it to his temple.
"He was my life,
Dates and Debates2:30Dates and Debates2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
You and Molly
What are you talking about?
Didn't you take her out for coffee yesterday evening?
I don't even want know how you know that.
Simple - she told me.
Oh. I thought you might've deduced it from her perfume or something
What relevance does her perfume have?
I don't know, you're the genius.
I am indeed. But you brought it up.
It was a joke! Sarcasm
Ah - Not very amusing.
Why are you interested in who I take to coffee anyway?
So why bring it up?
My brother however is.
Don't play the fool Lestrade. I know all about you two.
And what do you "know" about us?
That you've been dancing around a romantic relationship for three months and when your wife finally announces that she's leaving you for the librarian you will make it an official arrangement.
I thought you told me she
Coming Home - Johnlock - 1/4Grief, in many ways, is like any other strong emotion. Fear, joy, hatred, all wax and wane, but in theory begin with a spark, an event like no other that turns you upside down with heady feeling, and changes you, at least for a while, incredibly. And yet, after a period of hours or days or weeks or months, it is expected that the emotion will begin to dissipate. That you will no longer be frightened, that you will no longer feel ecstatic, that hatred will turn to indifference. That the pain in your chest will die away. But for John Watson, an anomaly like no other, this simply was not true.Coming Home - Johnlock - 1/42 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
It was a Friday afternoon, three years to the day that his best friend had jumped to his death from St. Bart's hospital, and John was tired. He was sat in his usual, threadbare armchair, cradling a lukewarm cup of tea in his hands, staring across at the dusty violin that lay undisturbed in the seat across from him. The tick of the clock seemed abnormally loud and slow as John waited for an un
I never thought......I never thoughtI never thought......3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Never thought I'd fall in love
Now I stand corrected
I can't help but smile at the sight of John sleeping next to me. He looks so peaceful, so innocent. You wouldn't believe he'd been in a war. But it doesn't matter how happy he is now, there are still scars. And there always will be. John slowly opens his eyes and smiles. "Did you sleep well?" I whisper and he replies with a kiss. I don't want to get up; I want to stay in this bubble forever. But I know it can't last. It's Tuesday and there's been a triple murder that needs to be solved. But murders happen all the time and I really can't be bothered to resolve all of them.
Never thought I'd feel what I feel
Never been so affected
I never thought I would ever find true love, especially not with Sherlock. At first I thought he was just strange and plain weird. But he's grown on me, in the best possible way. Its ten thirty and we should have been out solving crimes hours ago. Sherlock s
ExperimentJohn?Experiment2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I need you to come get me...
They won't let me leave.
Why not? What did you do?!
I'm too drunk.
Ha! You?! Drunk?! There's a new one!
Ok, ok, I'm sorry. I'll be right there.
The pub on the corner right?
Would you stop laughing at me?
After all the times I picked you up from this pub!!
I'm almost there.
John walked over to Sherlock who was sitting at the counter. John greeted the bar tender, took Sherlock's wrist, and helped him stand.
"I can -walk- John!" Sherlock hissed, pulling his wrist out of John's grasp.
And he seemed to be right. He lead the way out the exit and looked up and down the street. Something about Sherlock, being drunk never affected him. He could talk perfectly fine, walk perfectly straight, think perfectly annoyingly as always... The only thing the alcohol may do to him is ge
Doctor's Orders12:04Doctor's Orders2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Where are you?
At home. Resting.
Yes. Watching crappy telly on the couch. Just like the Dr ordered.
That's very interesting.
Yes. Because I'm home too.
Why are you there?!
A better question is why aren't you?
I got bored lying around.
You have the flu. You're supposed to lie around.
But I was bored.
I don't care. Where are you?
I could always send Mycroft to find you.
You wouldn't dare.
At St Bart's. Molly has a fresh corpse ideal for experimenting.
Right. I'm coming to get you.
No! I'm not finished.
I just dropped home on my lunch break to check on you and find that you're at the morgue. With a flu. Not in the mood to argue.
Well I am.
Only a fool argues with his Dr.
Or a bored genius.
I don't care what the hell you are. I'm bringi
Watching the dreamThe dark figure sits in front of the monitor, without blinking, like he is trying to memorize the picture on it. The man sits in front of the computer every night after his "death".Watching the dream2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Sherlock Holmes watches his friend's sleep.
Night after night the former army doctor sleeps with more and more difficulties. The nightmares are back.
In the room on 221b Baker Street darkness hides the tragedy that fills the place, eating all emotions of the man with fair hair and kind eyes, slowly leading him into the depression.
However, John Watson is fighting. For now.
The detective blinks at last and takes a deep breath. Because of Mycroft's support he has cameras at their flat. Suddenly, the realization that the flat is no more their, but only John's, makes him feeling empty. He closes his eyes and sits thus for some long minutes.
At the night minutes are always long.
A sound from the laptop's speakers brings Sherlock back to the reality. His sharp gaze sparkles in the lights from the scre
End of DaysSherlock looked into the cardboard casket. In his hand he held a purple rose. He placed the tender blossom in John's hand; touching him for the very last time. John had requested cremation and his every last wish was to be carried out.End of Days2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Sherlock looked at the old man in the casket. Eighty-nine years and he had died as he had lived at Sherlock's side. Sherlock felt empty, hollow as if he would never be filled again.
Mrs. Hudson was gone, leaving 221B to him in her will. Lestrade had retired early after that near fatal accident. Molly had married and gone to live in Dublin. He still consulted with the new people in the department and at Bart's, but it wouldn't the same without John.
John had been there through it all; a life time of adventures that had finally taken his blogger, his companion and his only friend. At least it had been quick; a brain aneurism had taken the only person he'd ever loved away from Sherlock.
The service was short and very memorable. John had many friends and a f
This is My NoteI am John H. Watson. Ex-army doctor in the Afghanistan War and the only friend to Sherlock Holmes. I was his "live in", his flatmate, his coworker, and his blogger. I was the only one really able to put up with his crazy psychopathic ways and in a way, I ended up bring the one to take care of the lazy bastard.This is My Note2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I owed it to him to put up with his silly little experiments and the random severed body parts in places where we kept our food, the little we had (the register at the store and I don't really get along. One day I will shoot that thing and just walk away...). He saved me from a life after the war, the life I never wanted to live. The life where I felt old and slow, with a limp in a leg I never hurt and a hollowness that only came from loss of interest in... Well... Everything. Each day, I would regret getting up and getting dressed. Each day I would walk the lonely streets of London alone. Each day, I would have my coffee, read the paper, watch crap telly for a few hours, have di
When He SleepsSherlock detests sleep. Avoids it whenever possible. It's dull, pedestrian, unproductive and a waste of time. He only sleeps when it becomes absolutely necessary. When his body and mind are on the edge of collapse from over-exertion. Sleep was never a voluntary activity for him.When He Sleeps2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
At least that's how it used to be. Now he sleeps quite regularly. Even on cases.
But only in the back of a cab. This is because of a certain jumper-wearing doctor that shares the cabs with him. Because in the cabs he can pillow against the above-mentioned doctor and sleep quiet contently.
It started out by accident of course; this "pillowing arrangement." They'd been on a particularly brutal case for over a week; a string of child murders made to look like suicides. The killers knew what they were doing and were painstakingly thorough in covering their tracks. Even managed to feed them a few false leads. Not thorough enough to trump Sherlock though. It had taken 9 days and a 3 hour foot chase across London, but
CondomsJohn bent down to examine a box of tea when he felt a hand on his shoulder. A long, dramatic sigh sounded above him.Condoms2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"Get bored of people watching out front, Sherlock?" John asked, giving Sherlock a glance up for a second before turning back to the tea.
"Yep. Everyone is so booooring!" Sherlock said dramatically, throwing his head back.
"I'm sorry we're all so boring to you," John mused, shooting him an angry glance.
John stood and sighed, rubbing his knee. He threw the tea in his basket and started down the aisle, listening to Sherlock follow him.
"Oh, don't be like that, John. You know you're not quiet as boring as everyone else," Sherlock said, shoving his hands in his pockets.
Sherlock suddenly reached into John's basket and pulled out a box.
"What are -these-?" He asked, turning the box over. "Condoms? What do you need -condoms- for? I know you take them on your dates and all, but you never -use- them."
John's face brightened and he reached for the box, Sherlock pulling it out of
The Discovery of ColorHe dreams of fire, in the darker parts of the nightThe Discovery of Color2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Fire and gun shots and the bone-rattling roar
of the fighter planes.
Every muscle is tensed, his anticipation builds and builds
The adrenaline rush is at its peak, he runs into the fray-
and wakes up.
He hates his cane. It makes him pitiable
a man in his thirties, hobbling along as if he were seventy
He hates his job, or he would, if he had one
Hates the therapy sessions, the counseling, hates
his sister's concern(He never wanted it,
it's pity with another name) hates London, hates
lots of people, the cabbies, the streets, the normality
he hates it.
Being a civilian was a dream in Afghanistan,
and it still is, back in the city.
London isn't real.
Not to him.
The canvas is swathed with shades of grey.
There is so little deviation, variation,
it is beautiful
Each brush stroke carefully made, each one uniform
The painting adheres to every guideline and regulation
it is perfect.
Then whatever idiot runs the cosmos says
"What the h
Welcome Home - Johnlock.Sherlock picked up his phone, and typed, 'John. I'm sorry. SH'. His fingers were shaking as he pressed send.Welcome Home - Johnlock.2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
John sat up straight, he had just dozed off in the living room after watching the News, and the buzzing of his phone in his pocket had made him jump, he unlocked his mobile phone and looked at the text.
His eyes filled with tears and took a few moments to take in the fact that his one wish could have come true. 'Sherlock. You're alive? -JW' he replied.
A few moments later, he received another message, 'That is irrelevant. You need to come pick me up. SH'
'Irrelevant?! But... Ugh. Where are you, Sherlock? JW."
'Outside a pub. Two blocks from 221B. SH'
'Why can't you get a cab? JW'
'None of them will take me, john. SH'
'No wonder! Everyone thinks you're dead! JW'
'That's not why! I may be slightly intoxicated. SH'
John sighed. Only Sherlock. He hadn't even explained how he had jumped off a building in front of him and som
Single: Part 12Sherlock hiked up the stairs that lead to thei... his flat in 221B. Without John, this place was nothing short of Hell. Sherlock walked across thei... his flat and opened the cabinet in the kitchen, the whole time avoiding looking at John's old arm chair. The place he had died. Where Sherlock held him his last moments of life. Where Sherlock had kissed the last breath out of him...Single: Part 122 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Removing a pistol from the cabinet, he strode from the flat, avoiding that chair, and locked the door behind him after leaving a note on the kitchen table.
-I will not be back.-
Sherlock walked the dark streets of London. He knew he could never return to 221B Baker Street, there were too many sad memories that would haunt him of a time, happy with John. A time that can never return, no matter how much he willed it back. Wanted it back. It was all a sad dream now.
Sherlock fingered the pistol in his pocket of John's jumper. He could never take the jumper off, from the simple fact of it
True LoveThat look... That smile... That... Touch...True Love2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I can't think of one thing about you that doesn't make me just...
What have you done to me?
Ever since the unforgiving day of our first kiss, I've fallen harder with each passing day... Each passing hour... Each passing second... That I got to spend with or without you. You've been stuck on my mind, and no day soon are you leaving my heart... That you've made clear...
I smile with each word I get from you, even if it's not from your beautiful voice, but just another text off these beautifully blasted cellular devises. ...Stupid technology...
...Stupid beautiful technology...
Your lips are what I've craved for the past few weeks, ever since you've proclaimed your love to me and mine to you.
A day without your beautifully charming smile might as well be a year without happiness to me.
What have you done to me?
Time slowly moves on that clock, hung perfectly in the doctors office above the table. The perfect picture of what a doctor's o
Much more betterWhat does childhood mean?Much more better1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
A family. Christmas dinners and carols and stockings and silly hats together with your Mom and Dad and Brother or Sister. Stories about dragons or little girl Alice before you fall asleep, camping in spring, chatting in kitchen with a glass of hot milk and chocolate cookies.
Childhood means family.
Family means love.
Love is trust.
Trust is when you have special person in your life.
Life is a story.
A story is a history.
People can't not like history. They don't like their history.
Sherlock sits on the floor near the open window on 221b.
The cigarette in the pale hand of the detective slowly dies. He hasn't smoked for a year. Feeling self-disgust Sherlock raises his hand and inhales the smoke.
It has been seven years since Sherlock's father died. The hand trembles. The detective closes his eyes. Family is love. Richard Holmes loved his son. Did he?
"Open the door, it's me, Mycroft."
The door slowly opened and young Mycroft Holmes sa
The Blind DateHarry Watson rolled her eyes and grinned as she read the most recent entry in John's blog. She barely cared about the case itself but ever since she'd read the first entry about Sherlock Holmes, she'd been curious about how her brother described the man. He seemed to almost have a schoolgirl-type crush on Sherlock, which Harry pointed out in a comment with glee. Further entries showed how John was slowly falling for the arrogant detective, though every hint Harry left was resolutely ignored.The Blind Date1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
The ringing of her phone startled Harry out of her contemplation of John's sadly lacking love life. She didn't recognize the number on the display so ignored it until the phone stopped ringing. The caller didn't leave a voicemail, so she looked back to her computer screen. A few seconds later, her phone rang again with the same number.
"Hello?" Harry asked, irritation in her voice as she answered the phone.
"Harriet Watson?" a cultured voice said on the other end.
"Yes, that's me. Who are you and w
When He WakesJohn stirs. Slowly his senses awaken and return as consciousness washes over him.When He Wakes2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The first thing he becomes aware of is the sound of muted voices and music coming from near by. His foggy mind slowly processes them; noting that he doesn't recognize them.
Then comes scent; the aroma of stale Chinese take-away. And another aroma delightfully sharp and crisp that he can't place but he knows is very familiar. He's rather fond of that scent; if he could just recall what it is. Then he becomes aware of the fact that his bed is longer and narrower than he recalls.
Wait - bed? He's not in bed.
Couch. In front of the TV. That makes sense.
Actually it doesn't. Why is he on the couch?
His groggy mind manages to recall details from the night before.
They'd just finished a case two days ago and Sherlock hadn't had the chance to succumb to boredom and black moods yet. So it was an unusual chance for the two of them to spend a companionable evening together befitting two friends. John sugg