Sherlock- Burning BridgesWarning: Post Reinbach spoilersSherlock- Burning Bridges3 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Mycroft fiddled with the handle of his umbrella, twirling it under his long fingers. The metal tip worked as a pivot into the wood floor. Though calling the floor wood was like calling the crown jewels 'jewelry'. A special little place in an exotic rainforest had provided the floorboards beneath him.
He checked his pocketwatch. His guest was late. He knew for a fact that this particular person was never late. They were doing this purely to spite him, he was sure. Mycroft considered pulling out his phone to call Anthea, inquiring their subject's location, but then again they could arrive at any moment, and being on his phone would detract from the atmosphere he had built in the room. Lights dim, fireplace lit and casting jumpy orange shadows across the luxuries in the room, Mycroft in the perfect position, at an angle to the fireplace, facing away, so that his face was in half-shadow. The empty armchair across from him would give his visitor the opposite
Close Relations Part 1"I'm not going to some silly family meal Mycroft." Sherlock informed his brother firmly; his voice loudening a little at the end.Close Relations Part 14 years ago in Romance More Like This
"Don't be so petty, Sherlock. Mummy will be very upset if you don't attend." Mycroft replied sternly, ignoring the glower he was receiving from his younger sibling. "Dr. Watson can come as well, if you would prefer." He suggested his gaze flickering to the much shorter blonde who was standing next to Sherlock, before returning back to his brother.
"And why would he want to come to such an inevitable disaster?" Came the retort quickly cutting across anything his companion had to say on the idea; knowing only two well how curious John was to meeting his parents. He wanted to know if they were anything like he and his brother the thing was though, they were much, much worse. Then came the response he had been waiting for, the one his overly intelligent relation had used countless times, knowing how well it worked.
"Why don't we hear wha
Under Your Spell"I'm afraid that is impossible." Sherlock waited for the reply. "I do not involve myself with..." John watched as Sherlock frowned and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Is there nothing else I can do instead?" Sherlock sighed. "Very well," was his final answer as he hung up and threw his mobile on the space next to him on the couch. John said nothing but looked expectantly at Sherlock. "Count Benini. He refuses to be of any help to us."Under Your Spell3 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
"Doesn't he understand that we are trying to catch a thief?" John asked.
"Oh John, you and your morals. Benini is a Count, therefore reputation and power is the most important thing in his life. He does not care whether we catch a petty thief or not."
"This thief killed someone that caught him in the act! How can he..." John sighed, he couldn't understand how some people could value life at such a low price. "All we want is a list of names that were at his party last month."
"Yes but these people are high up on the social calendar, including the Italian
Angels in London - Pt 1THE PERSONAL BLOG OF DR. JOHN H. WATSONAngels in London - Pt 12 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
Chapter 1 - 221B Paw StoriesREAD PREQUEL FIRSTChapter 1 - 221B Paw Stories3 years ago in Romance More Like This
221B PAW STORIES
«(o.o)» . «(o.o)»
Tea for two
John was late in coming down that morning. Sherlock had been up most of the night, as usual, and was now checking his website to see if there were any new cases. There were none. He sighed.
9am. What was John doing? He hadn't gone out last night, and he habitually got up around 7. Sherlock hadn't even heard him shower this morning. In fact, he hadn't heard anything at all coming from the upper room. His thoughts suddenly grew uneasy. What if John was ill? A fever perhaps? But he was a doctor, Sherlock wouldn't be useful with something like that, at all. Would he? No, definitely not. There was no point in going up to check on him. No point at all.
After five minutes of finger-tapping on the kitchen tabl
Johnlockowy poemat dla polewki 8'DDzisiaj z rana wielki krzyk!Johnlockowy poemat dla polewki 8'D2 years ago in Humor More Like This
Gdzie dokładnie, spytasz się?
Jak to gdzie, że jak: gdzie?
Pod 221 b.
No bo Sherlock, dumny paw,
Johnowi w twarz drze się tak:
"Ah, nie będę jeść, ah, co to?
Zabierz to stąd, ty idioto!"
John wydymać nie da mu się.
"Zeżryj już to, ty lamusie!"
I podsuwa zupy miskę,
I podaje dużą łyżkę.
I wystawia mu walizki.
Sherlock łypie więc do miski.
"Dobra, skończ już to kazanie!"
"Jedz już, w gardle ci nie stanie."
"Ja pewności to bym nie miał..."
"Zamilcz, starczy ci ględzenia."
Sherlock wzdycha, umęczony.
"Jakbym słyszał krzyki żony."
"Żona by cię już zabiła."
"Prędzej ona by skończyła."
Warknął Sherlock, rozeźlony.
(Z resztą, w dupie on ma żony.
Bo naprawdę kocha Johna.
Się nie przyzna, bo by skonał.)
Je więc zupę, myśl
I BELIEVE IN SHERLOCK HOLMESEvery big change of John's life begins at St. Bart's in one way or another.I BELIEVE IN SHERLOCK HOLMES3 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Living with Sherlock. (The address is 221B, Baker Street.)
Sleeping with Sherlock. (It's not just an experiment. But I don't think that my work will like it.)
And then living without Sherlock. (Goodbye, John.)
He shouldn't have been surprised then that another part of his life also starts here.
It's a normal evening, with John starting to work late. The week after Sherlock's death (he still can't think of it without a lump forming in his throat) he stopped working at the clinic and instead got a job at the morgue.
He can't stand listening to people who think they are bad off when he recalls listening to Sherlock's voice, almost breaking, looking down at John and reaching for him. It's easier to look at a corpse and find out about their lives on his own.
So he's just walking into the morgue, passing the clipboard they put on the wall there, looking over the notes ("Someone can take my shift
Just a glass 2"...Sherlock?!"Just a glass 24 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
The called man turned his head to Watson. John looked at the bottle. It was almost half empty. "What happened to just one glass?!" Sherlock said, his eyes lidded: "I got bored." John walked towards the obviously drunken man. "You're actually drunk." Sherlock answered him still sitting in his armchair: "Well, congratulations. I don't get why you like alcohol. My head is spinning, I feel sick and I'm seeing blurry." John observed his flatmate. He poured himself another glass of rum and then took the bottle. "Where are you going?" John replied: "Obviously you have had enough. I'm suprised you haven't vomited by now." "Don't be so sure of that John."
The doctor felt amusement as he put the bottle of liquir away. The great Sherlock got drunk and threw up. And he'll probably have a nasty headache in the morning, so the doctor thought. "I was sober enough to clean it up," Sherlock said when John met his eyesight again. The shorter man sat facing Sherlock and drank his glass, a
JohnLock - Safe and SoundIt was, to the day, three years since Sherlock Holmes walked of the roof of St Bart's.JohnLock - Safe and Sound3 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
For John Watson; three years of pain and grief and misery; three years spent pushing everyone except Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade away. Even Mycroft checked in on him once in a while. Three years during which he had been the same person he was after returning from Afghanistan; the limp was back, he went to therapy, he tried to blog, but there was honestly nothing going on in his life that was worth blogging or writing about.
Honestly, who would want to read of the misery of an ex-Army doctor who still believed Sherlock Holmes when everyone apart from Molly, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, Mycroft and himself found him a freak; a fraud?
Still, there were signs out there that others believed Sherlock as well. Posters coming up all over London which said "Moriarty was real" and "Richard Brooke was a fraud", graffiti in the exact same paint that was used in their second case which stated "I believe in Sherlock."
JohnLock - His Broken Angel(Read the AN first please)JohnLock - His Broken Angel3 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
When John turns his head and sees Sherlock, he doesn't know what to do at first.
He doesn't know if he should believe him to believe or if he has finally gone complete bonkers after all those years.
But the hand on his shoulder feels real enough... Should he dare to believe?
Should he dare to believe that his long lost friend is back? That he was alive all that time?
John Watson's never been a believer of the supernatural, so that should by his normal standards make this very easy to decide. But his brain is foggy; it's not what it once used to be, so he does not know what to think.
At last, after what seems like hours, but in fact was mere seconds, his brain believes Sherlock to be real, to be there. And once his brain has decided that is the fact; so does his heart.
And when John Watson's heart decides on something, there's no going back.
Sherlock Holmes is real. He is alive and he is right there, behind Joh
To the crime scene! (a Sherlock one-shot)A door slammed, making John jump in his seat, and before he had even fully turned the cause of the slam was speaking.To the crime scene! (a Sherlock one-shot)2 years ago in Humor More Like This
"Hurry John! We've got another case!" Sherlock proclaimed, eyes flashing and one hand still splayed on the door as he waited expectantly for the other's reply (though he'd barely finished speaking himself).
'Inpatient as always...' John thought ruefully.
"In a bit."
The silence that fell clearly said that was not the correct response.
"I said 'in a bit', as in 'not now'." the doctor answered a bit distractedly, already typing away once more.
"Why not now?" Sherlock demanded.
"I'm just finishing writing out our last case. I'll catch up..." he waved the detective off.
"But you don't even know what's happened this time!"
Now slightly disheartened, the dark haired male frowned, "Don't you want to know?"
But this time his question was met with complete silence, save the keys tapping.
Sighing loudly said doctor closed his eyes, "W
Letter with Seven Stamps The tears fell from the Grey-green eyes as he looked at John. The blood that had covered him was gone, and for that Sherlock was grateful. He stood there for what seemed an eternity, before John stirred from his drug induced sleep.Letter with Seven Stamps4 years ago in Drama More Like This
It was more a moan, and under the haze Sherlock could hear fear and worry. He strode to Johns side in three long steps. He wasn't sure, but there was a giddiness inside his chest at the fact his name was the first word John had spoken in two weeks.
"Here." he murmured, resting his hand on his shoulder. Touching John made Sherlock feel so much better, as if everything would be fine. He was warm and healthy... Kind of.
John felt Sherlock close by, and felt his friends hand. A tiny smile made its way to his lips and he opened his eyes a little, the hospital room lights blinding him, to look at Sherlock. His eyes instantly registered the tear streaks and redness around his friends eyes. His face was pale, and there were bags under his e
Crystal Cold 10"You couldn't have honestly thought that I was stupid enough to let you go alone?" Lestrade inquired amazedly.Crystal Cold 103 years ago in Romance More Like This
Sherlock ran a careful hand over the bandaged part of his upper back, wincing at the soreness. "Maybe I could."
The Detective Inspector shook his head mutely, seemingly at a loss. The silence stretched on, until finally Sherlock spoke.
"Any sign of Moriarty?"
"Nothing. And none of those snipers of his, either. Not to mention the diamond. They're going to have to thaw the whole place, waste that much meat, just to find the damned stone. And I suppose Scotland Yard will be expected to pay for it."
Sherlock sighed, slumping down a bit farther in the plastic chair he'd been situated in. He'd never particularly liked hospitals. Though useful, they also kept themselves irritatingly clean. The scent of disinfectant seemed to be slowly poisoning his sinuses. They were also kind enough to bar visitors to a room. Which was possibly the most infuriating thing he could think of at the mom
Blue VelvetFandom: "Sherlock" (BBC, 2010)Blue Velvet4 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
Ostrzeżenie: sugerowane bromance - Jim x Sherlock, Sherlock x John. Post!TGG, ale niezbyt mocno zaznaczone.
"Miłość nigdy nie ustaje"
Stał we mgle, na szarym, brudnym piasku, pod ciemnym nocnym niebem, i czekał. Czekał, uśmiechając się leniwie, patrzył niewidzącym wzrokiem w mętne wody Tamizy i kołysał się lekko na piętach.
Chłód wkradał się pod skórę i przenikał kości, ale jemu nigdy nie przeszkadzało coś tak przyziemnego jak chłód.
Było bardzo późno, a może bardzo wcześnie nie miało to jednak dla niego wielkiego znaczenia. Ważne było, że wciąż czekał. Zaczynał się już niecierpliwić, czas się dłużył mimo swej nieistotności, i czekanie okazywało się w końcu nudne, tak nudne.
Wholock - Watson the Weeping AngelThere was a great metallic wheezing sound that awoke Sherlock from his spot on the couch. He looked around for a brief moment, believing that John had accidentally left his volume on on his laptop and a stray add popped up, but the serviceman was nowhere to be found. Quickly throwing off the shroud of sleep still floating about his senses, Sherlock dashed to the window, only to see a strange blue box appear across the street, directly out of thin air.Wholock - Watson the Weeping Angel3 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Blue. Wooden. Police Call Box, circa 1950's.
Sherlock wracked his brain for answers, and for the first time in what felt like his whole life, could not come up with any theories as to how the Police Box appeared there. Not a single thing. Not one.
"...John." His eyes were glued to the box, still staring out the window. He could hear the stairs slowly creak as John managed to come down the stairs. Judging by the rate, he wasn't come down fast enough.
"I'm coming, Sherlock. What is it?" He paused in the doorway briefly, before Sherl
Sherlock : Gaz LzawiacyNie wiedział, kiedy padł pierwszy strzał. Była ich cała seria. Zabarykadowany za skrzyniami złodziej miał pistolet maszynowy.Sherlock : Gaz Lzawiacy3 years ago in Drama More Like This
Sherlock wpadł za ścianę, przeklinając cicho pod nosem. W ostatnim momencie umknął przed kolejną kulą. Odetchnął głęboko i rozejrzał się uważnie.
John. Gdzie John?
Dopiero po chwili dojrzał go po drugiej stronie sali. Kucał za jakimiś pudłami, oddychał ciężko, uśmiechając się szeroko w jego stronę. Miał być na randce z jakąś idiotką, ale gdy usłyszał o szczegółach sprawy, natychmiast popędził za detektywem.
Pozostawało czekać na Lestrade. Dali mu znać, że potrzebują wsparcia. Złodziej prawdopodobnie miał sporo amunicji.
Detektyw poderwał głowę, gdy pomieszczenie wypełnił dźwięk
Chapter 2 - Sherlock Holmes's Paw StoriesChapter 2 - Sherlock Holmes's Paw Stories3 years ago in Humor More Like This
Title: Sherlock Holmes's 7 Paw Stories: John
Words: 12,031Summary: When the door was pushed open, John grabbed his handgun. When something heavy jumped on his bed and roared, he fired. The roar broke into a wail as the tiger fell back. A tiger. There was a tiger in his room. Johnlock, bromance or slash. Tiger!SH
Chapter 2: SH
Sherlock Holmes's 7 Paw Stories: Sherlock
Sherlock hated sleeping. It was dull and waiting to fall asleep bored him to death – to such an extent that he usually just gave up and went to do something. He didn't like waking up, either, because it usually took him more than 10 seconds to be perfectly alert and it made him feel slow and sluggish. That was one of the reasons he had needed to win against the Woman – he really hadn't appreciated her trick with the syringe – although he still admired her for it.
Therefore when i
Awaken the Addict, Pt 1It was so unassuming.Awaken the Addict, Pt 12 years ago in Drama More Like This
It just sat there, on the soft, rumpled surface of the comforter that lay over his bed.
The white plastic plunger. The clear, millimetre-marked canister, filled with an equally diamond-hued liquid. The long steel needle, glittering dangerously, daring those who looked at it to fall into it's hellish trap.
If it was good enough for him...
Dusty blue orbs regarding this instrument of injection in front of him. He didn't even remember how he came across it, but he knew that it sat with him now, whispering to him, like some shadow of a long-ago demon, desperate for attention once more.
His eyes hurt...too much crying. Eyelashes were marred by drops of salt water, as tears continued to stream forth. His breath came at a steady rhythm, with a tremble, and the horrible weight of grief on every lengthy sigh.
Three years ago.
Three years ago today...
That's what people do, don't they? Leave a note?
Leave a note? When?
He picked u
5 razy "tak", 1 raz "nie"Pięć razy „tak”, jeden raz „nie”5 razy "tak", 1 raz "nie"3 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Komórka milczała jak zaklęta od czasu ostatniego smsa od Sherlocka. Czyli tak mniej więcej… (Zaraz, która to już- aha…) od jakichś dobrych dziesięciu godzin.
Siedziałem w fotelu i nerwowo splatałem i rozplatałem palce, błądząc wzrokiem po podłodze, półkach, stole…
Specyficzny porządek w mieszkaniu 221B przy Baker Street, do którego, jak sądziłem, zdążyłem już przywyknąć, zaczynał mnie powoli drażnić. W oczach Sherlocka był synonimem idealnie zorganizowanego biura detektywistycznego. W moich był… jakby to określić… burdelem na kółkach. Wszędzie walały się stosy papierów, słoików
Whatever You Want -Part Two-Whatever You Want -Part Two-5 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
Marriage was suppose to be the ultimate form of bonding in a relationship. When one married another it meant they were in love, and always would be. They were suppose to vow to each other to remain in love until death do they part, so why did this feel this way? This was not love. In love there was a feeling of passion for the other, but that did not seem to be the case at all. These souls were distant at best, even if one wished to be closer to the other.
She moved about the house, setting books on shelves and dusting pictures. She would maintain the domestic museum their hours had become, if only to entertain herself during the long hours he was away. She understood thought. He was a doctor, an important man. He was needed elsewhere, all the time. He always had somewhere else to be and of he didn't he was in the house asleep. They never did anything together, no moments by the fire, no tender loving moments at all. John and Mary Watson were the most distant married couple
SH: Robot Unicorn Attack Kiedy John wspinał się po schodach, obciążony siatkami pełnymi zakupów, nie spodziewał się tego, co zastanie w domu przy Baker Street 221B.SH: Robot Unicorn Attack3 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Rzecz jasna, niektóre rzeczy pozostają niezmienione - takie jak straszliwy bałagan(nazywany przez Sherlocka kontrolowanym chaosem"), czy też jedyny na świecie detektyw-konsultant, który siedział przed (tym razem swoim, zauważył z ulgą John) laptopem do tego zdążył przywyknąć.
To, co zaintrygowało wojskowego lekarza to banalny utwór lat 90 tych płynący z głośników osobistego komputera należącego do Sherlocka. Po dłuższej chwili John złapał się na tym, że stoi z rozdziawionymi ustami, a uchwyty siatek niemiłosiernie wrzynają się mu w dłonie. Doprowad
Awaken the Addict, FinaleHe stood in the doorway, some dim memory of days long past. He stared pointedly, metallic eyes cutting through flesh and bone alike, shooting straight for both head and heart.Awaken the Addict, Finale2 years ago in Drama More Like This
John's slate eyes flickered to try and ward off the seemingly unceasing flow of sorrow and confusion; tears still filled his sockets and ran down his cheeks. He felt them falling onto his outstretched arm, but the will to move had been pushed out of his mind.
"...what are you doing here?" he asked, only vaguely hearing himself, like his voice had detached from his body and was wandering far off into the London night. He wagered it was trying to find a body that was still living, rather then residing in a walking corpse that rarely used its mouth at all.
The ghost of his former best friend said nothing at first, only walking slowly into the pitiful space of a bedroom and sitting on the bed in front of him. John finally felt his eyes roam, like they had so many times before, and they always found a beautiful place
Dark Mirror : PrologueDark Mirror : Prologue3 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Mycroft's strident voice punctured the silence of 221b and jerked Sherlock from his contemplation of the morphine syringe that lay on the table before him, capped and in a plastic bag. He reached to sweep the incriminating evidence under a pile of newspaper, but his brother was too quick. Scooping up the needle—pilfered from St. Barts, he had no doubt—Mycroft shook it in Sherlock's face.
"This is not reasonable, Sherlock!" he snapped. His face was hard and his lips set in a tight line. "You know better—you learned better, years ago. Or so I thought."
Sherlock spread his hands as if to say I don't know what you're going on about, and sat back on the couch, feigning nonchalance. Mycroft sighed, looked at the evidence of Sherlock's desperation, and dropped the offending object into his coat pocket.
"You know what John would say about this," he said.
Sherlock refused to look up. "Yes, well," he s
Small ThingsAll you can do is smileSmall Things2 years ago in Romance More Like This
It can be the little things that drive a man insane, the small irritations of life that sometimes makes a grown man want to weep in frustration and take his anger out on inanimate objects. Like a chip and pin machine.
On example of a "little thing" that was currently annoying John Watson was one of the more eccentric examples of Sherlock Holmes's genius. After a while John had become accustomed to the various random human and animal body parts that were strewn about the apartment. Apparently as experiments. The truth of which John suspected was more to do with Sherlock purposefully annoying him for fun.
He had also become used to Sherlock almost never buying any food or essentials for the flat, and his inability to clean up after himself. Although despite the opinion of others, John suspected that that inability was not because of willful laziness, but rather a special sort of forgetfulness.
No, the one thing that John found very annoying is that Sher