Hold the Stars Apart"John?"Hold the Stars Apart1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"I'm here, Sherlock."
"Are you all right?"
"Yes, I'm good, but you've been injured. So you need to try to be as still as you can. I've got you." John tightened his embrace on Sherlock.
"I can feel your arms around me, John."
"I'm worried about shock, I've got you positioned correctly but I need to help you stay warm."
"I've never been held, John. Not that I can remember."
"Not even as a child, an infant?" John asked.
"I was an extremely fussy infant; preferring not to be held. I cried when held, was quiet when left alone."
"Well, you are being held now, Sherlock."
"It feels good, John."
"Lucky, my mobile works out this far. I've called for help. It will be a while before it gets here. We just have to be patient and wait a bit."
"The night is cold and beautiful." Sherlock looked to the sky over head. "Away from the city lights, the night sky is breath-taking."
"Are you cold, Sherlock? I can take off my jacket and "
"No, John, I'm not cold, with you close, I'm not cold. My t
Talking SexOne shotTalking Sex1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
John was reading the paper when Sherlock walked by wearing a towel and carrying a biscuit in one hand and a book in the other.
"Sherlock, would you mind if I asked you a really personal question?"
"Humm what John?"
"You have told me that relationships are not your area. That everything else is transport. Does that mean you've never dabbled in relationships at all? Does that mean you are asexual?" John was being very sincere.
"I now have numerous 'relationships', John, you being a prime example. I know you were asking about physical relationships. I'm really not enamored of the chemical fallout that physical sex engenders; there that was easy wasn't it?"
"Wait, wait that was too easy," John was totally skeptically.
"So you want the long version, John? Okay." Sherlock sat in his chair facing John; placing his book and biscuit on the nearby table.
"I first experienced unconditional love and steadfast loyalty through you John. You constantly educate me
Nothing more that we can doOne shotNothing more that we can do1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"There is really nothing more that we can do, Dr. Watson."
"Thank you Dr. Clarkson, Would it be okay if I spent the night with him?" John asked.
"Yes, of course, would you like a cot brought in for you?"
"Yes, thanks. I appreciate your assistance in this."
Dr. Clarkson extended his hand in friendship. "I've read about the legendary friendship between you and Mr. Holmes. I'll be by in the morning and we'll have the results of all the post op tests. Have a good evening."
"I'll see you then." John said. He pushed a comfortable chair close to Sherlock's bed, but didn't sit.
"Well Sherlock. I want to thank you so very much for pushing me out of the way of that murderer's bullet," John started out with a tinge of sarcasm in his voice, which broke down into a near sob. "but it would have been even better if you had dodged that bit of shattered bullet that nicked your hard-as-a-rock skull."
He took hold of Sherlock's hand.
"I'm going to stay with you tonigh
The QuestionOne shotThe Question1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The power in Sherlock's voice made John stop typing his latest blog and look up.
"At the swimming pool, you were prepared to relinquish your life. Why would you do that?"
"Been thinking again, have you?" John said with a sly smile.
John heaved a sigh and sat back in his chair. "I think you already know the answer. I've seen a lot of men die, Sherlock. I've watched them die quickly and very, very slowly. Some of them were my friends. I am not prepared to lose your friendship."
Standing Sherlock paced a bit and turned toward John who was giving him his full attention.
"Growing up I experienced a more chaotic existence when my ability to interact with others was severely limited by my own lack of desire to do so."
"I can see that." John agreed and wondered where this was headed.
"That and Mycoft was an inconsiderate git, but I digress. I have found that while you do not possess the same mind-set that I enjoy. You consistently
The Cold War"Just what do you think you are doing?" John spoke as Sherlock closed his computer and pulled it from John's lap.The Cold War1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"Your insatiable blog readers will have to forgo this morning's entry as you will be attending a 'get well' conference in your bed."
"Wait a minute, Sherlock," John began to protest when his phone started ringing.
"And your current girl friend can also find some other means of diversion for the next few days."
"Sherlock, I have a blasted cold not the bloody Black Plague."
John was helped up from his chair and ushered into his bed room. Plopped down in his bed and unceremoniously covered with various blankets that engulfed him completely.
"This cold has surpassed the normal 4 to 6 days in duration and, therefore needs to be attended to in a more vigorous manner." Sherlock assumed his authoritative tone as he handed John a bottle of zinc tables and a glass of water.
"Sherlock, I am not a child. I'm a doctor for God's sake."
"I have observed you, John, and your attempts at 'tr
What is love, John?One ShotWhat is love, John?1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
John had a subdued fierceness about him. He carried himself well and was not above speaking his mind. Sherlock liked that about him. The more time he spent with the short, brave, outspoken man, the more comfortable he became. Sherlock wasn't comfortable with many people at all. Mrs. Hudson. Yeah, that was it, well maybe a bit of Lestrade.
The first time John Watson had walked through that door at Bart's, Sherlock had felt a tinge of something. Strange that. He never felt at all. He'd walled off feelings, built the barricades tall and strong against those pesky problematic emotion things. But there it had been, a sensation that he'd never felt before.
He'd seen the psychosomatic limp and immediately his mind worked to solve the problem. That was what his mind did, all the time. Solve the problem; whether it was a serial killer or a psychosomatic limp. So inside his 'study in pink' case he'd placed his solution for John's limp. Redirection, he'd redirected
WRONG!Sherlock walked briskly through the London night. He realized that his great coat was open and the chilly air was blowing in. He pulled up his collar, buttoned up and searched his deep pockets for his warm gloves. He'd forgot his scarf. Ahh, typical, he didn't like the cold on his neck.WRONG!1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
What an idiot he was, walking in circles around the perimeters of the flat, leaving John because of his over inflated ego. John was right. He wasn't always right, but he was right this time. Sherlock hated to be wrong. Well, hate was the wrong word, despised made a better attempt.
Okay, he owed John an apology. He'd been a git. Famously. Sherlock sighed, dreading his commitment to that particular dialog. Maybe he could provide an apologetic gift; one that would not require a verbal accompaniment? What do you give a man of very stodgy tastes? He cleaned up well enough when it suited him, but most of the time his idea of style was at least 12 degrees below Sherlock's standards. Being a military man and a
ExperimentJohn?Experiment1 year 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
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: Nightmares1 year 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
Sherlock BBC: The Meowing ProblemSensing that it was John, who was coming home and not someone else, didn't prove a challenge to the great Sherlock Holmes. Doctor Watson had this very specific way of opening the front door, unique pace of climbing the stairs and breathing pattern that somehow felt soothing. But Sherlock, sitting in his armchair and browsing through a newspaper, knew that something was different today. All those little habits of John's were slightly altered. Perhaps due to the rain that kept falling incessantly for the whole day. Whatever the reason, Sherlock was mildly intrigued. Something was afoot.Sherlock BBC: The Meowing Problem1 year ago in Romance More Like This
"Hello, John," he said casually, eyes fixed on John.
"Hello, Sherlock," John replied quickly and hurried to the kitchen, clearly trying to avoid the attention of his flatmate. Obviously, that had quite the opposite effect, especially when a muffled "meow" could be heard coming from the general direction of John.
"John?" Sherlock asked with misleading calmness.
"Yes?" The water was dripping from him as if
The Only ExceptionJohn closed his eyes, listening to the pounding rain on the window. The rain always relaxed him, just the sound of the pitter-patter of water hitting concert, the way the sky darkened and everything just slowed down. John stood up and walked to his room, not attracting the attention of his lover and flatmate, Sherlock Holmes.The Only Exception1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
John returned moments later with an Ipod touch and some portable speakers. He set them down on the table next to him and fumbled with the cord for a few minutes. Sherlock looked up from his book and shot John a questioningly look.
John pressed play and soft cords from an acoustic guitar played through the flat. John smiled at Sherlock as "The Only Exception" by Paramore strummed softly. The female singer's voice filled the flat with perfectly hit notes that seemed so relaxing to John.
"What's that, John?" Sherlock asked, wondering why John turned on this noise.
"Music. Come on Sherlock." John reached out his hand. "Dance with me?"
Sherlock thought for a moment as
SH: HeadspaceSH: Headspace1 year ago in Humor More Like This
Warning: violence references (crime scene)
"There's something not missing!"
John blinked, sharing a look of surprise with Lestrade. As odd as most of Sherlock's outbursts were, that was one of the strangest. At least in the last week or so.
Sherlock was pacing madly, hands fluttering and grasping at the empty air. John grimaced as he noted the red smears his feet left on the plastic path someone had laid down. Gore and blood lined the walls, even some clumps dripping obscenely from the ceiling, but the filth didn't bother Sherlock.
Nor him, really. Which spoke volumes about them both. Even Lestrade was uneasy as he waited for Sherlock's brilliant deduction and next course of action, refusing to move more than a few feet from John.
"What's he going on about?"
John chuckled, digging his hands into his pockets and shrugging. "I don't think we want to know."
"Shut up!" Sherlock snarled, whirling and glarin
The ReunionOne shotThe Reunion1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
John sat in the flat reading the newspaper. It had been an uneventful week, but there seemed to be strangeness happening just out at the edge of his life. He couldn't place a finger on it. It was as if everything and everyone was just a bit wonky, maybe out of phase. He chalked it up to a lack of sleep or something he'd eaten.
He'd returned to the flat at Mrs. Hudson's urging. She was the one woman in his life who never ceased to amaze him with her kindness and her loving ways. Like a second mother, only better, coming in regularly to give him a warm smile and a laugh. She kept him honest about eating and taking good care of himself, even coming in regularly to 'move things around' as she said. And lately, things seemed to be moving of their own accord. John had found items moved and Mrs. Hudson swore that she hadn't touched them. Maybe a ghost in the elegant dust?
It had been hard a first. The emptiness was like a great hole in his heart. But he knew 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 Virgin1 year 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
Can I Kiss You, SherlockJohn traced his thumb against Sherlock's lively pink lip, looking deep into the detective's blue/gray, mysterious eyes. Oh, how badly he wanted to kiss this man, he didn't even know! His heart started pounding, hard, against his chest, fighting to get out.Can I Kiss You, Sherlock1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
"I don't see any damage, Sherlock..." John muttered, his thumb still skimming that delicate lip.
"Keep looking." Sherlock urged. "I know there must be something wrong with it! It hurts..."
Sometimes Sherlock made this face. It reminded John so much of a helpless little kid, and it was adorable. John's heart stopped as Sherlock's eyes looked so helplessly into his own, and he gasped lightly for breath. He panted, in a way, wanting to bring Sherlock closer.
John moved closer to Sherlock's face, examining the lip for tiny cuts of any kind. Of course, there were none that he could see... but he couldn't look away from that pair of adorable lips. He wanted to claim them as his own with his.
"Keep looking, John." Sherlo
Wounded in ActionCaptain John WatsonWounded in Action1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Captain Watson was out visiting a school for girls in Afghanistan; one of several that where opening in small pools of relative peacefulness. His interpreter, a local whom everyone called Bob, was invaluable and constantly at his side as he talked to the new teacher and her charges. The young girls were shy and withdrawn, but when he brought forth back packs with school supplies they become much more excited and bright eyed.
"Please tell her that this is everything she requested from our last visit and does she have another list for me now?" Bob was genuinely gladdened by the British Captains generosity to the young girls who would normally have no education offered to them at all. Change was good. He conveyed the message and the young teacher brought forth another list.
Everyone was smiles and laughter; everyone crowded around Watson as he opened bags full of pencils, paper, erases and crayons, minor items that meant the world to these tiny souls
NightmareOne shotNightmare1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Every night for months the dream haunted John.
John was looking up at the roof top. He was talking on the phone with Sherlock; his heart racing, mind numb with anxiety. Don't do this Sherlock, don't let this happen.
Listening to his best friend confess himself a fraud. Though he couldn't see, he could hear the precious tears in Sherlock's voice. That's not the truth, Sherlock. I'll never believe it.
The sound of flesh and bone impacting on the unforgiving pavement.
"NO, no let me through. I'm a doctor. He's my friend." The lifeless body, the milky blue eyes empty of intelligence; the blood splattered face, the huge pool of warm blood coagulating on the sidewalk. John gripping the long fingered, elegant hand. No pulse, nothing. John was bone-less, heartbroken, bereft. Then the rain started; the cold, heart-less rain to wash Sherlock's blood into the common street.
"Sherlock," John whimpered as he woke into the desolation that was their sha
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 Girlfriend1 year 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
The First Breath After ComaThree years, four months, eighteen days and seven hours. That is precisely the amount of time that Sherlock has taken to return to England, to 221b Baker Street, to John. All loose ends have been tied up not neatly, because it had been harrowing, dangerous and painful. But after all this hunting, searching and waiting, finally it was done and there was nothing more keeping Sherlock from coming home.The First Breath After Coma1 year ago in General Fiction More Like This
He'd ignored Mycroft's offer to send a car to fetch him from the airport, preferring instead to take a double-decker, to feel the familiar London air on his face and in his hair, and to think. Three years should have been enough time to think for most people, but then, Sherlock was not most people. He'd pushed every single thought of what was happening in England or would happen when he'd return to instead focus all his energy and ability on the present. He'd become a murder machine digging, burrowing, further, deeper into the web of crime until he'd eliminated the last evil s
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 Days1 year 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
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.Forever1 year 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
Warmth3:27Warmth2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Are you awake?
Sherlock? What's wrong? Where are you?
In my room.
Oh. Is something wrong?
Yes. I'm cold.
Well it is snowing outside
You texted me at 3:30 to tell me you're cold?
3:27. And yes.
Get a blanket!
Won't work. I need another source of heat generation.
Do you expect me buy you a heater?
Don't be ridiculous. I want you to be my heater.
You want me to sleep with you?
No. I want you to come stand in the room so that the heat generated from you body helps to raise the overall temperature.
Are you serious?!
It's called sarcasm John.
Oh. Right. Well it's too early for sarcasm and I'm too tired.
Too tired to sleep with me? I wasn't implying anything.
Too tired for sarcasm.
Oh. Right. Sorry
Are you coming?
Why should I?
I just told you - I'm cold!
Sherlock BBC: UncertaintyA semi-sequel to Like a VirginSherlock BBC: Uncertainty1 year ago in Romance More Like This
Six o'clock in the morning is never the right time to wake up after a drinking session. John Watson moaned and groaned and tried to go back to sleep, but repeated thuds, rustles and beeps coming from the living room rendered his intention impossible.
He opened his eyelids slowly, but the sunlight attacked his pupils with the force of a nuclear blast causing him to put a pillow over his head with a faint hope to block out the dazzling brightness, which pierced right through his skull. He felt as if a herd of elephants was tap dancing inside his brain, his throat was bone dry and the taste inside his mouth indicated that he must have at least munched on a dead cat. He moaned heartbreakingly once again, wishing he was dead. The noises from the living room, without a doubt produced by Sherlock, certainly didn't improve his psychical and mental condition.
When he finally gathered strength to sit up, he started massaging his temples and tried to pull him
Sleepy John - Johnlock ...ishJohn rubbed his tired eyes. He hadn't slept for two... Three days? He couldn't remember. He shoved the thought from his mind, knowing they only made him sleepier. He sipped his second cup of coffee, though the caffeine didn't help much at this point.Sleepy John - Johnlock ...ish1 year ago in Romance More Like This
Sherlock stared at John as he worked, noticing his exhaustion in the multiple yawns and his occasionally nodding off. He frowned in slight confusion. It's only been two and a half days since John has slept. That wasn't long at all. Sherlock didn't feel exhausted until at least a week. But then again, Sherlock wasn't like most people. It only took a third cup of coffee for Sherlock to realize that John needed sleep to function.
"When did you last have a decent sleep?" The question slips out before he can take it back. He knows exactly how long it's been since John slept last. 60 hours.
It takes John a moment to realize a question had been asked and another moment to process it. He answers with a slight shrug, "Two, three days?" Instead of a