Nothing more that we can doOne shotNothing more that we can do3 years 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
Talking SexOne shotTalking Sex3 years 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
The QuestionOne shotThe Question3 years 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
Hold the Stars Apart"John?"Hold the Stars Apart3 years 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
NightmareOne shotNightmare3 years 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
The ReunionOne shotThe Reunion3 years 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
SH: HeadspaceSH: Headspace3 years 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 Gift"John... what on Earth is this?"The Gift4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Two beings stared deep into each other's eyes, neither blinking nor moving an inch. One of them was calculating, cold and unfeeling; the other was Sherlock Holmes.
"It's a parrot. What does it look like?" John replied, picking up the white, plastic washing basket.
"It 'looks like' it's staring right at me..." Sherlock whispered.
"Well maybe it finds you inter-... What are you doing?"
Sherlock was darting from side to side trying desperately to catch the little creature out. The parrot managed effortlessly to keep up with Sherlock's fast movements, all the while keeping perfect eye contact.
"I want it out of my home!" Sherlock demanded, stabbing a finger at the blameless bird.
"That's a strange kind of thank you..." John said.
"I'm sorry John, but you must have been drugged in order to think this was an appropriate gift!"
"Of course not, don't be ridiculous," said John. "I just thought it might be a bit useful."
"You could teach
The dreams in which I'm dyingOne shotThe dreams in which I'm dying3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Are the best I've ever had
(from Mad World by Gary Jules)
That first evening with Sherlock after 'The Study in Pink' case; John walked around the darkened rooms, peeking into Sherlock's open bedroom door. It took a while for the consulting detective to motor down after the death of the serial killer cabbie. Now he was sleeping, peacefully; a jumble of long limbs thrown carelessly upon the bed. It was good to see Sherlock finally at peace. He slept in the all-together, John smiled at that.
[What a quirky young man,] John thought, [brilliant, but eccentric as they come. Would life always be like this living in the wake of a genius like Sherlock Holmes?]
John had killed the cabbie that night, but to protect Sherlock, he would have gladly killed him every night for the rest of his life. Sherlock was alive, so vibrant, a magnet of personality. His genius had a price though; he needed training in the art of human relationships, in his 'timing'. Oh and there wa
What is love, John?One ShotWhat is love, John?3 years 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
Molly's rewardAfter the Reichenback FallMolly's reward3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"Molly," Sherlock began, "without your assistance I would be dead now. I wanted to thank you, but more than that I wanted to let you know that I am in your debt. Please, if there is anything I can do for you. Anything at all, I will pay that debt as you desire."
Molly looked into his eyes, then embarrassed, looked down to her hands in her lap.
"Don't be shy, Molly." Sherlock encouraged her. "I won't bite unless you want me to." He smiled at her and not in a manipulative way; she could tell when he was doing that.
She'd seen Sherlock manipulate people. He could be more charming than anyone she knew. He could give fake smiles and fake tears. He could twist anyone and his dog around his little finger. That was just the way Sherlock was. He got what he wanted with a carrot or a very large stick.
"Well, you don't have to come up with something right this minute," he said.
Sherlock lifted her hand with his; touching his fair lips to the back of that
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!3 years 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
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 War3 years 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