From Flatmate to FianceOh my God, I’m his wife.From Flatmate to Fiance2 years ago in Romance More Like This
John lay dumbfounded, trapped under the weight of Sherlock’s limp limbs, staring at Sherlock’s face still smooshed into the pillow next to him after having poked him several times to remind him the alarm had gone off and they wouldn’t have time for breakfast. The morning light was glowing on his white skin making this mad-devil look positively angelic in his peaceful slumber.
It had happened so gradually John hadn’t even realized. It began, really, that first night when he’d saved Sherlock’s life. At least that should have been a good foreshadowing of the eventual inevitable. But aside from that, it had been a million simple little things that just happen as you get used to living with someone. The times he’d grabbed Sherlock’s scarf by mistake. The times when one or the other of them had accidentally drank from each other’s
BBC Sherlock: Something to talk aboutSix o'clock in the morning, Saturday. A call from Lestrade. Yes, a case, come to Scotland Yard at once.BBC Sherlock: Something to talk about2 years ago in Romance More Like This
Sherlock hung up with excitement, John just groaned plaintively. Friday was hellish at the hospital and he definitely could use some rest. Watson was determined to sleep through the whole morning, no matter what. Sherlock didn't waste any time, though. He sprang out of the bed, already wide awake, and delved into his wardrobe, preparing clothes for today.
"Come on, John! Don't dawdle! The adventure awaits!" Sherlock urged him in an upbeat tone.
John covered his head with a duvet, mumbling something incoherently about the place where Sherlock could put this adventure right now and how deep. The detective rolled his eyes.
"John, you are perfectly aware that I won't back off. You're coming with me whether you like it or not," he said adamantly, folding his arms across his chest. "After all, I'm completely lost without my blogger..." He added in a kinder voice, shamelessly butter
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: Nightmares2 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
I'm sorry, MycroftI'm sorry, Mycroft2 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
He just stood there, hands in pockets, looking at his big brother as nothing had happened. Well, it was his usual look, the one that couldn't tell you much of the thoughts and emotions hidden behind those eyes. Actually, Mycroft was not much different, they were brothers after all and they were both extremely good at hiding feelings. So they were standing staring at each other trying to guess the following movement of one another. Sherlock expected everything, just everything, he never knew what could Mycroft do if his honour was wounded, and Sherlock was sure that it was. He hadn't told his brother about the plan, he had made him consider his little brother dead. It hurt, it definitely hurt. Not his feelings, but his pride. He had always been the person who knew everything about everyone. And now he was fooled by his own little brother. And that fact made the great Sherlock Holmes feel nervous. Like he was again five years old standing before his brother with his broken toy in one han
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
A Change of PlansJohn sighed and leaned back from his computer, his stomach rumbling. He’d been catching up on his blog all afternoon, having nothing better to do since Lestrade hadn’t even had any petty cases for them all week and Sherlock had vetoed the idea of planning a Christmas party (before he’d even mentioned it) when John had brought home a small tree a few days ago. Writing about murders hardly seemed fitting for the holiday season, though, and John didn’t enjoy feeling like a scrooge sitting home thinking about death on Christmas Eve. He scowled at the screen a moment and decided he ought to make a Christmas post that didn’t have anything to do with one of their cases. His stomach rumbled again. But perhaps after a break he thought.A Change of Plans7 months ago in Romance More Like This
John turned to face the door, but didn’t actually get out of his chair. Sherlock had taken over the kitchen almost as soon as he’d gotten up that morning, experimenting with god-
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
Sherlock BBC: Emails from the War ZoneTo: firstname.lastname@example.orgSherlock BBC: Emails from the War Zone1 year ago in Romance More Like This
Subject: You're an idiot
I know you're on the plane now, busy chatting with your war buddies and whatnot, so you probably won't read this message until you'll get to the base and settle in. Frankly speaking, I don't care when you'll read this, the time won't change the way I feel about this whole nonsense. What came to your mind to go back to Afghanistan, really? Don't you have enough excitements and rushes of adrenaline here in London? And what am I supposed to do without my blogger and assistant? The criminals won't wait patiently until you come home. You can't possibly picture me working with Anderson and the skull's input to conversations is hardly impressive. Basically, I'm disappointed in your lack of consideration towards my work. Don't be surprised if I burn all your jumpers to execute my revenge.
Write to me everyday, even about mundane things. I'm so bored now alone in the flat that every distraction is more than welcome.
And don't get shot.
Kiss Mycroft, He's Wasted"Sherlock, we need to get your brother drunk."Kiss Mycroft, He's Wasted2 years ago in Humor More Like This
Sherlock and John looked up from the Cluedo board, recently removed from the far wall, to see a frazzled, frowning Greg Lestrade standing in the doorway of 221B.
"What?" John looked flabbergasted and amused, grinning when his eyes met Sherlock's.
Greg flopped down onto the couch with a sigh. "He showed up at the Yard again and started telling me how to improve my surveillance for the Braxton case. In front of the Detective Superintendent, who then asked me why I had brought my boyfriend to work. Donovan and Anderson had a field day, everyone was laughing at me "
"Surely you're above caring what people think?" Sherlock was focused on the Cluedo board, only a small grin betraying his glee.
"Well, yeah, but I don't tell him how to do his job, whatever it is. He needs to just get off my back and- I swear, I haven't seen him do anything fun-"
"Mycroft, having fun? While you're clearly dazzled by whatever
Theme Prompt - Fairy TaleSherlock looked up in the middle of his speech about thermonuclear dynamics and how it related to the current case and realized John was no longer there. The doctor had left a note on the coffee table next to Sherlock and he picked it up in annoyance.Theme Prompt - Fairy Tale2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Went to get some milk. Sarah texted me so I'm going to be going on a date with her after. Try not to shoot the walls while I'm gone.
Rolling his eyes, Sherlock jumped up from the couch and grabbed his phone out of the pocket of his coat. Honestly, when was John going to realize that the dates were useless? He already had a full life here helping with the cases.
'Helping me,' Sherlock's active brain supplied treacherously. He shook his head and typed out a quick text to Lestrade, telling him the killer was actually the man's brother. He flopped back down on the couch, boredom already setting in. Usually, John was effulgent in his praise of Sherlock's deductions and the detective could preen a little bit under that ado
SH: Sleeping With Sherlock Pt1SH: Sleeping With Sherlock Pt12 years ago in Humor More Like This
Sleeping With Sherlock - Part 1
John Watson was not a morning person; and the migraine pressing on the back of his eyes promised to make this one rougher than usual. Fortunately he'd remembered to pull the drapes last night before collapsing into bed, so the sun couldn't greet him with piercing needlepoints of light.
He laid there for a moment, keeping his breathing slow and relaxed as his head throbbed with the barest of movements. He'd have to down an Imitrex or two; sooner rather than later, if eating breakfast and hydrating didn't work. The medication made him feel strange, in a way he didn't care for at all, but it was the only thing that relieved his powerful headaches.
With that tentative schedule planned, he next concentrated on getting himself from the bed to the sitting room- a considerable feat, as the stairs were a part of that path. He allowed himself a soft grunt of pain as he cracked his eyelids open, his hands unfisting from the sheets.
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
Watson LockedJohn looked so cute. So peaceful as he slept, his arms crossed over his stomach, his mouth opened just slightly ajar, his breathing deep and gentle, one in a while swallowing and taking a deep, long breath. Sherlock never knew someone could look so at peace. He almost had second thoughts of waking the peaceful solider. But yet, he needed him... Needed to hear him speak, needed to have him hold him, needed to have John's warm lips brush his forehead with a kiss.Watson Locked2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Slowly, Sherlock entered the room.
"John?" He asked softly, still unsure about waking him. "John?" He asked a little louder.
He knew John was a heavy sleeper... But still. He walked over and sat down on the edge of John's bed. As he breathed, he smelled John. Just the light smell in the atmosphere that reminded Sherlock of vanilla and tangerines. He adored that intoxicating smell that was, and always will be, John Watson. -His- John Watson.
He brushed John's soft cheek with his finger and smiled. John's eyes slowly fluttered ope
SickJohn stirred when he heard the bathroom door close... Again. ‘Poor thing’ John thought, sliding out of bed, ‘that’s the fourth time today’. Sherlock had the flu, and a right nasty one at that. John had wondered for a moment if he should put a drip on Sherlock since the detective was often too weak to sit up and grab the water himself and John still had work. He went into Sherlock’s room to grab his mug and fill it with fresh water. Sherlock didn’t like anyone seeing him weak, not even his flatmate, so John waited until he was sure Sherlock wouldn’t mind John coming in to take care of him. Ninety seconds later, John heard the loo go and Sherlock slumping against the wall. Time to get the man and put him back in bed. John knocked on the bathroom door before sliding it open, trying to be careful not to hit Sherlock. He wordlessly handed the cup to Sherlock and sat down on the edge of the tub.Sick10 months ago in General Fiction More Like This
“Just kill me now.” Sherlock murmured
BBC Sherlock: The Ghost of YouOctober 31, Halloween. Just another day, another empty date in the calendar. All days were the same since Sherlock had died. John woke up, took a shower, went to work, returned from work, sat idly while staring blankly at the wall, took shower again, went to bed. Stuck in a loop. Dull, tedious, predictable, unbearable.BBC Sherlock: The Ghost of You2 years ago in Drama More Like This
The stupor and ennui weren't all that bad, though. They helped John to distance himself, to switch his mind off, not to think about what he had lost and how hollow, how broken he felt. Nothing could change his miserable state. His friends' efforts to help him move on were all in vain. John noticed the grinning jack-o'-lantern that Mrs Hudson had put on the table in the faint hope to cheer him up, but the doctor didn't care. Not anymore. He closed his eyes slowly, sinking in Sherlock's armchair. Oh God, how he missed him...
He still could hear Sherlock in his head. The man's deep voice, magnetic eyes, distracting cheekbones, his lean figure, his dark, curly hair
Sherlock's Excuse To Get CuddlesJohn Watson was woken up by someone sliding into his bed with him and wrapping their slender arms around his waist, pressing against his back. At first, he wanted to push away and ask who decided they could get in his bed without his permission. But since he was too tired to do that option, he let the intruder cuddle close. He had always been a sap for cuddling, anyways. Even if he didn't let anyone know. Even if this could be Moriarty about to kill him. He was just too damn tired to do anything about it. Living with Sherlock Holmes really put a strain on John's life. So he could enjoy these few moments with however decided to come into his room and cuddle him, if only for a while, until Sherlock did something stupid or woke him up to complain that he was bored.Sherlock's Excuse To Get Cuddles2 years ago in Romance More Like This
He felt soft hair against the back of his neck and a nose on his shoulder blade. It was nice, and John, sleepy and disoriented, enjoyed spooning with whoever this was. He pushed against the bed intruder slightly, bringin
John's Chair It had taken months for John to work up the courage to admit that the feelings he felt for Sherlock were more than what one feels for a best friend. It had taken another month for John to decide that he couldn't put up with the almost bipolar emotions he went through when he was near Sherlock. It had only taken an hour for Sherlock to kiss John.John's Chair2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
It wasn't like he had meant for it to happen. He had come home from surgery, tired, grumpy, and sore. Sherlock was leaning back in the armchair, mind elsewhere. John put up with a lot from Sherlock-more than flatmates normally put up with- but he would not put up with Sherlock stealing his armchair. "Sherlock," John cleared his throat, "you're in my seat."
Sherlock looked up, glaring at John. "Yes, brilliant, John."
I Feel So Close To YouI Feel So Close To You2 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
Through All The Days Out Wandering It had taken a good 30 minutes, but John had finally gotten Sherlock from his fetal position on the floor onto the couch. Sherlock's head was in his lap and he was stroking Sherlock's dark hair as the detective tried to process his shock. Every few moments he could feel a tremor pass through Sherlock's lean frame and it made his heart ache to see his invincible friend brought into such a position.Through All The Days Out Wandering2 years ago in Romance More Like This
"Just breath, Sherlock." he repeated for the fifth or sixth time that afternoon. Finally Sherlock seemed to respond as he turned his body over to look at John, the red from his eyes finally gone and replaced with a cold, calculating stare.
"Sherlock?" John asked warily not knowing why that hard gaze was aimed at him. Sherlock's eyes softened momentarily as he shook his head slightly and then he closed his eyes, bringing his fingers to his lips.
A Christmas Miracle: Johnlock"Happy Christmas, Sherlock! Look, Father Christmas came!" Mycroft was bouncing on the edge of Sherlock's bed, beaming with excitement. "I bet I got that set of night vision goggles!"A Christmas Miracle: Johnlock2 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
"Hey! I was the one who wanted those!"
"Too bad! They're all mine!" Mycroft's voice grew deeper, and his face began to change into another all-too-familiar face.
"Moriarty? How'd you do that?" Sherlock squeaked.
"I owe you a cookie, Sherlock,"
"Sherlock, wake up! You're yelling in your sleep again!" John's voice roused Sherlock from his sleep. He sat up, spreading his long arms above him, yawning loudly. His pajama bottoms had little penguins on them. Sherlock wondered why Mycroft had given him the trousers, but they were flannel, and very warm. Sherlock's mind was devoid of all emotions, a clear slate, as usual. Today's Christmas, he realized. No wonder he had dreamt so festively. But Moriarty refused to leave his dreams, always present in one way or another. He had stopped shooting him
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 SH4 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
Johnlock"Sherlock, I don't understand." John Watson looks at his flatmate, Sherlock Holmes, deeply in the eyes.Johnlock2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"What's there not to understand, John?" Sherlock seems to pin John in his place with his gaze.
"You said that..." John looks down at his feet, not knowing where else to go with that statement.
"That, I did, John, and what's your answer?" He stares down at the ex-army doctor.
"Yes." John looks up at his friend and bites his lip.
"Yes?" Sherlock looks at him, a slightly amused expression on his face.
"Yes. Why did you ask me, out of anyone you know you asked me. Why?"
"Because I know you...and I trust you." John smiles at Sherlock.
"Really?" Sherlock nods.
"I always have." John smiles wider.
"Thank you." Sherlock looks at him, genuinely puzzled.
"Asking me to come along." Sherlock shrugs noncommittally.
"Like I said. I trust you above everyone else." John smiled again.
"Do you want to go back to the flat, make some tea?" Sherlock shrugs again.
"Might as well...Lestrade is s
Without a GoodbyeMycroft looked down at the message in his hand. A single text:Without a Goodbye2 years ago in Drama More Like This
I'm not dead. I'm going to India, under the name of Joseph Sigerson. Send money when convenient.
He replied with two words:
He waited for what seemed like hours before the phone in his hand beeped to signify a response.
You've never put much stock in goodbyes, brother.
Mycroft closed his eyes with a groan, and remembered
"Why can't I come with you?"
Sherlock stood in the doorway, his thin arms crossed over an equally thin chest. Mycroft sighed, but did not look up from the suitcase that he was meticulously packing. They'd been over this topic many times before, and he was in no humor to speak about it again.
"I'm smart enough," Sherlock continued petulantly. "A good deal smarter than most of the imbeciles who attend university." Maybe if he kept ignoring Sherlock, his little brother would just go away. Of course, that would not be the case, but Mycroft could dream, couldn't