BBC Sherlock: NightmaresThe moment John woke up, he knew something was wrong. He was a light sleeper, courtesy of Afghanistan, so any sign of danger could instantly jolt him wide awake. And now he clearly sensed that his life was hanging by a thread. However, John decided to be cautious and not to make any unnecessary movements, which might provoke an assault. Instead he just opened his eyes slightly and carefully scanned the room shrouded in darkness. Yes, his instinct didn't fail him. There was someone standing at the door. The stranger was motionless, but John could hear him breathing irregularly, as if he just stopped running and tried to calm down. A shadowy, anonymous silhouette, like a monster from children's nightmares.BBC Sherlock: Nightmares3 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
John felt fear rising in his chest, but years of being a soldier helped him to maintain his cool. His mind started racing, desperately trying to figure out what to do. He thought about the gun he kept in a bedside table's drawer, but he doubt he'd be quick enough to grab it before th
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
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.Forever3 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
Fetch The Milk - A Sherlock Oneshot "There's no milk in the fridge, John, that's a problem." Sherlock said, casually stepping over a pile of miscellaneous household debris as he walked into the living room from the kitchen.Fetch The Milk - A Sherlock Oneshot4 years ago in Humor More Like This
"No, but there's a head, and apparently that's not " John grumbled, fully expecting his roommate not to hear the comment.
He was wrong.
"John," Sherlock sighed, exasperated. "I've already told you, it's to prevent coagulation, and there is no other feasible location to store it. But that's beside the point."
"Whose head is it, anyway?"
"Once again, irrelevant. Back to the matter at hand: Milk."
"Since when do you drink milk? Or, for that matter, store anything edible in that fridge?"
BrothersMycroft wasn't sure what all the fuss was about. He watched the Baby sleeping in Mummy's arms, waiting for it to do something. Everyone said it was a beautiful baby. If that was the case, Mycroft wasn't sure he wanted to see any other babies, ever. It was almost absurdly small, with blotchy pink skin and one wispy dark cowlick of hair on its head. What was the point of babies, he wondered, rocking back on his feet. He was seven years old- practically grown, if you thought about it. What was he supposed to do with a baby brother?Brothers3 years ago in Drama More Like This
"What are you thinking, sweetheart?" Mummy said. He looked up from the Baby's face to hers. Her dark hair, usually pinned back, was curling loose around her face, and he couldn't help but notice the lines and shadows around her eyes.
"About the Baby," he said vaguely.
"Ah," she said, adjusting the Baby's weight in her arms. "Do you know his name?"
There had been almost no other word on his au pair's lips for the past three days. Mycroft smiled. He liked knowing
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
Glass and BandagesGlass and Bandages3 years ago in Romance More Like This
"Ow! John, that hurt!" Sherlock yelled and whined at John.
So this is what it had come to, Sherlock thought bitterly. The world's only consulting detective, and one of its most brilliant inhabitants, reduced to a whinging, screaming child, just because of a few injuries. Specifically, glass in his feet. He felt so pathetic and weak.
John eyed him at these words, slight amusement etched into his raised eyebrow and subtle grin as he pulled another shard of glass from his friend's right foot (luckily, his left one had gone unscathed). He had been doing this for nearly an hour, and it hadn't been a pleasant affair for either one of them, he could tell you that much. Let's just say that picking glass out of his friend's dirty and bloody foot was not exactly his idea of a satisfying Saturday morning. And as if doing this wasn't unpleasant enough, every time he had removed a piece, it had always either resulted in Sherlock clenching his teeth, fists, or jaw, crying out in pain, yelli
Sherlock- ReunionATTENTION: CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR THE END OF SEASON 2. DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN THE REINBACH FALL. Or, you know, do. If you don't care about spoilers.Sherlock- Reunion4 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Sherlock Holmes was
John couldn't finish the sentence.
His hand curled and uncurled, the nervous tick that used to ail him returning. It had been doing that almost without stop since that day. The day that replayed in his memory over and over, each time bringing an overwhelming wave of emotion, mixing from disbelief to horror to pain that stabbed him in a place no bullet could ever puncture. Sherlock's arms pinwheeling, his iconic coat tails billowing like wings oh if only they had been wings to stop his fall. The pavement hadn't done a very nice job of it.
Sherlock Holmes was
John was limping again. Psychosomatic, his therapist said. Like Sherlock had said. The shock from the loss was bringing it back just like the tremor in his hand. Not that the therapist had been able to do anything about it. John didn't know
I Feel So Close To YouI Feel So Close To You4 years ago in Romance More Like This
There he was, falling away as the masked criminals pulled him away by his dark curls. "Sherlock" John yelled after him. Sherlock's cold eyes stared back silently at him mixed with an emotion he could not quite discern. "Sherlo-" and then the world was a sudden abyss of black and cold.
John awoke to the cold. A damned cold at that. Even during his tour in Afghanistan did the nights ever get this chilly. He opened his eyes to searing white and quickly closed them again. What the hell? He slowly opened his eyes once more and let the blinding light fade to focus. He realized the white light was snow. It was about 10 or 12 feet away from him and he...he looked around, he was under a rock? Quite literally John laid almost snuggly under a rock craig that stretched out ahead of him. Underneath him was hard rock and it's freezing temperature could be felt through John's wool jacket. It had to have be
JohnMy words gush out like oil from a barrel- dark, toxic, bitter. They spill all over the couch and slosh onto the floor. I desperately want to make them stop, to scoop them all up and pour them back inside so I can hide them away in the space where all my other unwanted words go, but they keep on flowing, filling up the room, drowning me. I'm scared they'll drown John, too. I try to tell him that. Try to tell him to ignore what I'm saying, to leave me alone, to just leave, but he won't have any of that.John3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Because he's John- steady, dependable John- and without me telling him he seems to know exactly what I need. He pulls me into his arms as readily as he would a crying child, and in a lot of ways, that's just what I am. I lean into him, burying my face in his jumper so he won't see the sadness slipping between my eyelids and dripping down cheeks that shouldn't be half as rosy as they are. The knit smells of tea and calm. He is warm and solid and steady and safe.
Some days his
Pillow TalkPillow Talk4 years ago in Romance More Like This
"Mm... why 'r'nt you sleep'n yet?"
"And why aren't you sleeping, John?"
"'m waitin' for you."
"Don't worry John, just go to sleep; I'll follow soon enough."
"I love you too, John."
Ridiculous221b. I need your help, now. -SHRidiculous3 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Sherlock, no. I'm on a date! -JW
This is more important. -SH
What is it? -JW
I've deleted forks. -SH
This afternoon while researching for the Whitfield case I apparently deleted the deceptively simple but necessary motor skills required in handling a fork.
draft: How the
draft: I'm not
So eat something with your hands! -JW
John this is important. Aren't you always saying I need to eat? -SH
And now I'm trying and you won't assist me. -SH
What a shame, guess I'll just have to go hungry. -SH
John sighed, pocketing his phone just as Katherine returned from the bathroom. She smiled at him. "Miss me?"
He tried not to make eye contact. "Erm, not exactly...there's a bit of an emergency at the flat."
She raised her eyebrows.
"I, um, I have to go...help Sherlock. He accidentally...well." He grimaced. "Look, I'm really sorry. I know you were looking forward- I mean, you could just come with me. To the flat. Get...take-out or something?"
Asperger'sAsperger's3 years ago in Drama More Like This
"You know, he's secretly pleased to see you here."
"Yeah, he likes to see familiar faces together. It appeals to his "
The large pile of papers made a satisfyingly large thumping sound as they hit the bottom of the recycling bin.
John smirked, rubbing his hands against the knees of his jeans in an attempt to rid them of the inevitable dust and dirt. Slowly, he stood up, straightening with a grimace, stretching his back after long hours of cleaning. Looking around the room, John saw progress.
The room was far cleaner than it had been in the morning. John, finally convinced Sherlock to move his most important papers into a cabinet and allow John to throw out or organize th
Sherlock BBC - Like a VirginAs John was staggering up the stairs to their shared flat on 221B Baker Street and struggling to keep his balance in a really pathetic and futile impression of a walk, he thought that spending the whole evening in "Red Lion", drinking pint after pint, maybe wasn't such a good idea.Sherlock BBC - Like a Virgin3 years ago in Romance More Like This
It was all Sherlock's fault, as usual. A few hours ago he announced fervently that he was bored out of his mind, and, since there wasn't any interesting case available, it could be fruitful to go to a pub and try spying on people. After all, drunk clientele are more prone to spill the beans and reveal some juicy secrets. At least that's what Sherlock claimed using more sophisticated vocabulary and making those puppy eyes, which you couldn't simply refuse. The truth was, John didn't really want to oppose this time, because an evening in a pub sounded fantastic. He envisioned that a bit of unwinding will be a nicer pastime than chasing criminals all around London as they normally do. So John was quite glad whe
BBC SH- Great Wall of PillowsJohn Watson knew for a fact he was a boring sleeper.BBC SH- Great Wall of Pillows4 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Despite Sherlock's many quips about his snoring shaking plaster dust off the ceiling, John still was certain that his flatmate was joking and that in fact he was a placid, uneventful snoozer.
Sherlock however slept only sporadically. And when he did he would wriggle and mumble to himself in his sleep, as well as clutching onto anything within the reach of his sleepy arms and cuddling into it contentedly. But, even with John's firm guidance Sherlock could only be coaxed into a semi-regular sleep pattern and even then only when there was no case to be had.
John got the feeling however that this was not to be one of those nights.
They had spent the entire day chasing around Manchester in the course of a case and they had only resolved the matter after a tense chase through the city that had involved Sherlock misjudging a rugby tackle which sent him and the suspect flying into the River Mersey.
It was December. It was freezing. It
Drawn from the HeartDrawn from the Heart3 years ago in Romance More Like This
John stares at the sticky note affixed to the fridge.
It says: 'We need milk and biscuits. And a boning knife.'
It's a perfectly normal note except that the dots on the i's are all little lovehearts instead of dots. It's a grocery list left by a 13 year old girl, but it's in Sherlock's handwriting.
Another sticky note below the first says 'Please also extract the remaining half of the old boning knife from the sofa.' The i's on that note are normal dots. Instead, the whole note is framed in a loveheart. Elegantly drawn, with a dynamic swirl on the tail.
Bemused but delighted, John pockets the two notes and goes shopping.
When he comes home, Sherlock is still out, so he finds a hygienic shelf on the fridge for the milk, puts the biscuits in the tin, the new knife on the counter, and goes upstairs to sort the washing. He'd rather be chasing villains across London, frankly, but he supposes it'll be a good idea to have clean socks for the next time it's necessary.
He hears Sherlock return
Four patch problem?It wasn't often that John Watson woke up in the middle of the night for reasons not concerning his nightmares.Four patch problem?4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The nightmares had certainly woken him up, screaming into his pillow for soldiers lost, but there was something that was keeping him from drifting off again.
From his little room upstairs, John woke to hear the sounds of Sherlock stirring in his sleep. He sat on the edge of his bed, head in his hands, just for a few seconds so that he could slowly wake up before investigating further.
Sherlock didn't even try sleeping most nights; he'd just stay up with his cases, or his experiments. After almost a week of sleepless nights, he'd cave in. Rarely in his own bed. John, if ever he got up in the night, which was likely, would often find Sherlock asleep in the oddest of places. Most unusually on the sofa, but other times, his flat-mate would be snoring gently on the kitchen floor, perhaps not quite making it to the fridge or the sink, and letting his tiredness overrule his defiance
Sherlock- Poor Watson JWWContains post Reichenbach spoilers and angst. Don't read if you haven't seen season 2 episode 3.Sherlock- Poor Watson JWW4 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
A John Watson's War fic
John had never really thought about blood, much. It pulsed through his veins. It carried oxygen through his body. It leaked out of bullet wounds to stain army camo. It flowed through black curls to run in to a puddle on pavement.
It dripped from his nose and lips and cheek.
He watched it drip almost artfully on his shirt. It was so red. So vibrant. That was what his mind registered as most important in that moment. Not the throbbing pain from his head. Not the fact that his nose was probably broken, or that his lip was split or even that he was probably in more danger than he had been since back when Sherlock was alive. It just registered the artful dripping of his blood onto his shirt.
Someone grabbed his hair at the crown of his head and dragged his head upwards. They examined him, determining if he was in the state to respond to them, and obviously found the
BBC Sherlock-Christmas DinnerJohn Watson rolled his eyes as he heard yet another smash coming from Sherlock's bedroom. He had never ventured past the (faintly-charred) door and had no ideas of the horrors which lurked within. But, he mused, given that it belonged to a man who kept eyeballs in the microwave and frequently attempted to create plastic explosives in the kitchen sink, chances are he probably had some nefarious experiments in there. Experiments which, to judge by the noise, were currently being knocked to the floor.BBC Sherlock-Christmas Dinner5 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
"Sherlock, we're going to be late." He called through the door.
"I know, I know!" Came the irritated response, coupled with a sound like a parrot being sat on.
"Mycroft specified 6:30. If we're to get to Holmes House in time we've got to leave in the next five minutes. Especially since taxis are always so scarce on Christmas eve." John said, re-reading the invitation he held in his hand.
"I know." There was a high pitched whizzing noise and a thud as something embedded itself i
I Could Watch You For A LifetimeI Could Watch You For A Lifetime4 years ago in Romance More Like This
Running, running, more running. Thats what most of John's days now consisted off, that and watching the back of Sherlock's tailcoat, and broad shoulders, and slim waist, and....He always did this, getting caught up in Sherlock's appearance, but how could one not? With those tall cheekbones, sharp, silver eyes, and full lips....He did it again. He knew it wasn't healthy, he would never do more than look at Sherlock, but he was content to do that for the rest of his lifetime.
Sherlock and John stopped to breathe as their chase of the china-vase-thief was brought to an end, by cornering him into Lestrade's waiting people. Their breathe's came out heavy as both tried to regain their posture and John let out a chuckle at their struggle. Sherlock caught his eye and laughed once enjoying the way John's mouth turned at the edges with his grin and the small lines around his eyes crinkled. Once they f
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 Girlfriend3 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
BBC Sherlock - OpheliaSherlock Holmes was currently laying half on the sofa and half on the floor, looking and feeling like a scarecrow that had had most of its stuffing removed. This awkward, sprawling position was far from comfortable but he didn't really have a whole lot of choice. At this point he was just grateful that breathing was a reflexive action because his normally infallible mind and body were currently in a state of rebellion.BBC Sherlock - Ophelia5 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
"Joooohn." He let out a low hoarse groan and then coughed at the effort that had required.
"What?" The doctor stuck his head around the door, tugging a comb through his short hair, eyebrows quirked curiously.
"John . . . Think 'm broken." Sherlock moaned into his arm.
"Seriously Sherlock, you should move." John said stepping over Dante who was sleeping stretched out on his back like a hairy grey draught excluder. "You'll do your back in if you stay in that position."
"Can't do your back in?"
John frowned slightly, reading bey
Oneword: RunawayOneword: Runaway4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
John shuffled home from a long, menial day at work. He drudged up the stairs and stood in the door frame of 221B. Everything was exactly how he had left it. No thumbs in the fridge, no chemicals burning away on the kitchen table, no violin wavering away through the air and no gangly detective sitting in the leather armchair. John glanced at his own chair, despairing the thought of another day sitting in it with nobody across from him.
Instead of taking his jacket off and settling in, he turned back around and hurried down the steps. He had barely remembered to lock the door behind himself before sprinting away down Baker street, trying to escape everything that reminded him of Sherlock.
BBC SH - Reunion - LestradeHis phone rang.BBC SH - Reunion - Lestrade3 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Lestrade sighed and reached for it, noticing how Donovan looked over her shoulder at him from where she was driving the car. "Hello?"
"Sir," He recognised Evelyn's voice. Young, relatively new, he had recognised her potential when she first joined and helped her learn the ropes. As such Sergeant Evelyn 'Evie' Makepeace was fiercely loyal to him.
Even now after everything that had happened.
He sighed. "I'm not 'Sir' anymore Evie. I'm just Greg, remember?"
To her credit, Donovan tried not to look too smug at that.
"Whatever you say, Sir." Evie said, slightly darkly. "You need to get back, Sir. Fast."
"Why? What's wrong?"
"Someone you need to see."
" . . . You'll want to see for yourself, Sir."
"Wha . . . Look, alright . . . We're an hour and fifteen minutes away. Tell whoever it is they might want to go away and come back later."
There was a pause.
"He said he'd wait."
Lestrade frowned. That did sound odd. Informers never lingered long at the Yard for fear they mig