#dogs of 221b

[milquetoast27]

POV u swore in front of archie

#sherlock & co #seriously I can't wait for archie to get more “screen time” #they added a dog to 221b baker street #I LOVE SHERLOCK & CO

[consultjohnwatson]

You are cute, but don't worry, you're also incredibly handsome.

…. Right.

OK.

Yeah.

Thanks?

#handsome #at least I don’t sound like a dog #or can dogs be handsome too #??? #john watson #sherlock #sherlock holmes #bbc sherlock #sherlock bbc #john replies #john watson replies #johnlock #221b #tjlc

[bakerstreethound]

A Single Touch

Relationship: Sherlock Holmes x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ Smut, hints of soft (sub) husband Sherlock/dom Sherlock, gentle teasing, mentions of marking, tenderness, and feelings

Summary: A peaceful afternoon in 221B takes a turn when you become insistent on needing Sherlock's attention and he indulges.

All writings belong to me @bakerstreethound​ (Do NOT claim, copy, repost, or translate my works to other sites. I only publish here and on A03 under the same username) 

Word Count: 1.1k+

A/N: Hello my lovelies, I hope you are all well. I hope you enjoy this little treat for I adore Sherlock so and he deserves the love and attention even when he can be annoying. Special thank you to @strangelockd for beta reading and loving this story from its conception. She is now the official aunt of this fanfic. As always, comments and reblogs are most appreciated! Graphic by @firefly-graphics

You smile to yourself as you look around 221B, enjoying the rare peaceful afternoon on the couch, your favorite book discarded on the coffee table. Sherlock’s features are calm and relaxed and you grin despite yourself, knowing how much he hated to admit he liked this…whatever this supposed routine had become.

Your fingers ruffled gently through his curls, his breath coming steady, occasionally shuddering when you tugged harder on them to tease him. You gaze upon him fondly, watching his cheek quiver, lips pursing while he flips a page of his novel.

So that’s how it was going to be, then. You smile to yourself, for you do so love a challenge. 

Carefully you tug his curls once more, earning a raised brow in return, until you reach for the book, pulling it from his grasp, not before inserting the bookmark into place; you don't have the heart to dog ear the page like a heathen. 

“I was reading that,” he huffs, feigning annoyance, yet his eyes shimmer in mischief and mirth. 

“Yeah? What are you going to do about it? Surely you can think of something.” 

He shifts, sitting upright on the couch, watching you intently, dark fierceness flashing for a moment in his eyes. “I’ve considered no less than five options.” 

You smirk at his practicality and calculating mind, and shake your head in amusement, before you climb over onto his lap, swinging a leg over to straddle a thigh. Ever so slowly, you lean into him, pressing your lips to his forehead, relishing in the faint sigh he releases.

His grip on your waist tightens as you settle yourself fully, tracing a thumb along his lower lip. You relish in the widening of his eyes, the faint twitch of his cheek, mind, and body fighting to take over whatever impulses have him in a frenzy.

You adore the push and pull and could fall into it for eons. With him, every touch, every instinct of yours screams yes for it all is right, almost too good to be true. 

“Damn you.”

“Whatever for, dear boy?” You murmur not a care in the world, nuzzling his neck before grazing your tongue over a sensitive spot, relishing in the way his shoulders tense as he fights off a shiver. 

He says nothing else as you continue on your merry way, smirking to yourself at his reactions, the way he gripes your waist tighter, fighting off the anticipation of your lips latching on to his neck for what feels like the hundredth time.

Even if it is the hundredth time, he wouldn’t tire of it for a moment, for it is you, and that’s all he wants. 

You in every moment. 

It’s what you want as well, want to show him how much you love and adore him, how you can never get enough of him. How you deserved him you wouldn't know for he is everything to you and more.

You press another kiss to his waiting lips which accept you eagerly, your hands running down his torso, and you sigh. 

How was this your husband? 

He softly pressed a kiss to your lips and you gracefully fell into the feel of him, wanting to adore him. Your heart ached in kind, a mixture of melancholy and longing, desperation and want. It is your form of love, all because of him.

Through the years you count him as one of your greatest blessings, but the words catch in your throat when you try to speak them aloud.

You hope he knows, surely, he does for he’s the only one who braved your tumultuous shores, the depths of your heart, and still he stayed. 

He stayed unwavering and you as well through it all. Thoughts of these flood his mind, for he’s all too enraptured with your form, the way you melt into him, the way his nails dig deep into your waist. He jolts slightly at the praises that pull from your lips, a slight blush creeping along his cheeks at your words. 

“You don’t….that’s not…” he struggles to voice and you offer him a smile, kissing him once more, whispering your pleas in tandem. 

“Let me help you…” you sigh into him, tugging his lower lip, earning a low groan before shifting on his lap, his hands reading to your back, gripping you impossibly tighter. 

“Then I should help you, darling.”

You can practically hear the smirk in his voice, the teasing tone sending shivers down your spine in a delightful manner and you welcome it. You both require a reprieve and it starts with a single touch. 

One of love. 

One of need. 

One of desire. 

One of desperation. 

That’s how you find yourself an hour later on your shared bed, engulfed by sheets and the delicious heat of his lips on your own, tongue trailing along your body, his deep sonorous baritone edging you on. 

“I said every inch, my dear,” his voice rumbles from his throat igniting your body from the inside out, “Isn’t that right?”  Your shirt slides higher up your body as inch by inch your upper body is revealed to him and Sherlock smirks, delighting in the situation. 

You roll your eyes, shuddering as his hands grip you tighter, before pulling the rest of your shirt off, promptly discarding it on the floor, not a care in the world. His gaze bores into your back and you fight off a shiver to no avail.

You can feel his smirk searing to your back before he presses the gentlest kisses along your spine and you melt in kind before he sucks a mark, making you squirm. 

“Not…fair…”

“Nothing about you is fair,” he growls.

You groan in kind, letting him do as he pleases, pulling you impossibly closer to him, heat radiating between you, sending you aflame. It was only a shift of the hand, a brush against his wrist, and the tension filled him to the brim like lightning before it struck.

You shudder when his finger brushes back along your body, melting, completely undone by him and his embrace. He traces the marks he made along your spine, and you bite back another whimper, causing him to whisper in your ear. 

“I want to hear you make those pretty noises for me, alright?” 

You swallow, knowing he’s not asking and when he kisses you heatedly, you let yourself fall into the abyss and infinite as you’re made one, relishing in the warmth, and eternal bliss you fall into every time you’re here safe in his arms. 

All it takes is a single burning, aching touch. 

And you fall together. 

Down in the abyss where love and pleasure combine, something else you can’t quite fathom or remember, but it’s enough. All you could ever want and more; the gasped pleas from parted lips, hand entangled in those sinful curls, your bodies forever intertwined. 

******

#sherlock x reader #sherlock x you #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes fanfiction #sherlock holmes fanfic #bbc sherlock #benedict cumberbatch #sherlock tv #my writing #my alleyway

[housethemd]

Behind Closed Doors

When Chase happened to mention he had to be out of his apartment for 24 hours due to windows being replaced, Wilson invites him to stay with himself and House. Chase gets to see a side of his boss few do.

Established married House/Wilson.

(This is the fic that got the most votes when I did a poll on which of my WIP people were most interested in.)

~~~~~~~~~~

Chase stood awkwardly outside the door of 221B, trying to convince himself to knock. It wasn’t too late to turn around, get a hotel room. Wilson had offered, nay, insisted that he stay with him and House for the night however.

Wilson was a nice guy. Far to nice to be married to House in Chase’s opinion, but the two seemed to make each other happy so he supposed he couldn’t judge. He doesn’t know what he’s so nervous of, he’s been at 221B before. He knows there’s no sex dungeon or large aggressive dog waiting on the other side. Maybe it’s that it’s his boss, that it’s House.

He closes his eyes, bites the bullet, and knocks. It takes long enough for someone to answer that Chase begins to wonder if this wasn’t some elaborate prank. While House is usually the one staging such things, it wouldn’t be unusual for Wilson to get involved. He’s about to turn around and leave when he hears the door unlock and it opens to reveal House himself standing on the other side.

“Um. Hi.” Chase says. He’d been hoping Wilson would answer the door.

“Wombat.” House replies.

House is dressed in one of his band t-shirts and a pair of loose fitting basketball shorts. His feet are bare and he’s leaning on the wall, his cane nowhere to be seen. They stand eye to eye for a few moments, neither speaking or moving, when a voice calls out from inside the apartment.

“Don’t just stand there, invite him in!” It’s Wilson’s voice, and it holds a tone of fond exasperation.

House doesn’t say anything, but turns around and limps into the apartment. Chase glances around, but ultimately follows him in. Given House’s lack shoes he opts to remove his own. He’s more comfortable that way anyway. He’s never understood why Americans wear their shoes at home.

House is sitting on the couch, and there is an American football game playing on the TV. The windows are open, letting in the slightly cool September breeze. He can smell something delicious coming from the kitchen where Wilson stands at the stove.

“You made it!” Wilson says when he sees Chase.

“Yeah, found the place alright.” Chase jokes.

He stands awkwardly for a moment, not sure where he’s supposed to be going or what he’s supposed to be doing. Should he be offering to help in the kitchen? He’s a little nervous to just sit down next to House. At work they’re comfortable around each other, hell the could go for a drink and it probably wouldn’t be awkward, but something about being in House’s domain makes him nervous.

“Sit down, make yourself comfortable. I’ll bring you a beer in a second.” Wilson tells him.

He does as he told, and sit on the opposite end of the couch to House, who doesn’t acknowledge him.

“You want another beer, Greg?” Wilson sticks his head out of the kitchen.

“Yeah.” House replies.

It’s strange hearing House called “Greg.” He shouldn’t be shocked, they are a married couple for God’s sake. Still, House is one of those people who seems like he only has one name - House.

Wilson comes out with two beers in hand. He’s dressed in grey sweatpants and what looks like one of House’s t-shirts. It strikes him as odd but he reminds himself again that they are married. Wilson hands the beers over the back of the couch. Chase makes a point to say thank you but House just sort of grunts, eyes never straying from the TV.

After a while Wilson appears again with two plates full of what looks like homemade Pad Thai. After placing them in front of the two of them he leaves and returns with his own plate, sitting down between them.

The food is delicious. They all dig in with reckless abandon and take turns making comments on the game. House makes scathing deductions about the players personal lives and Chase has no idea if he is serious or is just saying ridiculous and offensive things to make Wilson laugh.

“Stop stealing my chicken.” Wilson says without taking his eyes off the game.

House had been using his chopsticks to steal bits of chicken off the edge of Wilson’s plate.

“You barely gave me any.” House whined.

“I gave you plenty.” Wilson replied as if reasoning with a small child.

“Fine. But it tastes better when it’s yours.” House’s voice held a tone of flirtation which Chase took as his cue to go grab a beer from the fridge.

He felt lucky that Wilson didn’t seem to escalate the situation in an amorous direction, though when he was returning from the kitchen he did catch Wilson feeding House a piece of chicken from his own plate.

House and Wilson finished their food before he did, and they both took their plates out to the kitchen. Chase paid them no mind, until he heard House’s voice speaking in a low register.

“Dinner was extremely acceptable.” He said as he leaned on the kitchen island.

“Oh my, that’s almost a compliment.” Wilson replied, placing both hands on either side of House’s hips on the island, leaning into his space.

It was like watching a car crash, Chase thought as Wilson pressed a deep kiss to House’s mouth. He didn’t want to be watching his boss and his husband make out, yet he couldn’t quite look away. It was so odd, seeing them in this domestic light. While everyone at work knew they were married, they didn’t really engage in a lot of PDA.

“If you want to thank me for that extremely acceptable dinner, I can think of a way.” Wilson rasped when he pulled away from the kiss.

One of Wilson’s hands moved from it’s place by House’s hip, to grab a handful of his ass.

Chase immediately turned back to the game. That was more than he needed to know about the intimate dynamics of their marriage. He quickly finished his food, and excused himself to the bathroom. When he returned House was on the floor in front of the TV, pulling at something on the stand.

“Wilson!” He exclaimed, far louder than necessary given that Wilson was just in the kitchen.

“Yes, Darling?” Wilson came into the living room, hands on his hips and smirk on his face.

“Where are the cables for the PlayStation?”

Wilson’s eyes lit up, seeming quite pleased with himself. Chase wasn’t sure he wanted to know what was going on.

“It’s your night to do the dishes.” Wilson stated, still in his hands on hips position.

“Are you hard of hearing? I said where are the cords for the PlayStation.” House over emphasized, staring at Wilson with a Jack Nicholson level stare.

“And I’ll tell you where the cords for the PlayStation are, as soon as you’ve done the dishes.” Wilson mocked.

“You really think that will make me do the dishes? I’m a genius, you think I can’t just find the cords?” House argued.

“That’s exactly what I think. You can either spend hours searching for the cords, which you won’t find by the way, and then do the dishes or you can spend ten minutes doing the dishes now, then I’ll give you the cords, and you can be playing GTA before the sun goes down. But it’s up you, genius.”

Wilson looked exactly like the cat that got the canary as House used the coffee table to help push himself up off the floor, grumbling about how rude it was to make cripples do chores.

“I put the stool in front of the sink for you so you don’t have to stand!” Wilson called after him, before starting a ridiculous and frankly awkward looking dance of victory.

Twenty minutes later House limps back into the living room, declaring the dishes complete. Wilson goes as far as to inspect the kitchen, including opening the oven for some reason, before opening the cupboard under the sink and pulling out a blue bucket filled with cleaning supplies. Reaching his hand inside he produces the cords, handing them to House.

“There you go, have fun.” He says with a fond smile.

Chase is truthfully confused. Wilson cooked dinner, had his food stolen by House, at some point he took apart their PlayStation and hid the cords just to bribe House into doing a completely normal household task, and yet he seems completely unbothered. In fact he seems to be enjoying himself.

House, on the other hand, seems slightly less abrasive though he wouldn’t go as far as to call him caring. He doesn’t really know why the incredibly kind Wilson tolerates him as his spouse.

Once House has the PlayStation up and running Wilson brings them each another beer and together the three of them play a few rounds of Mario Kart. They are all competitive and while Chase never manages to beat House, he takes solace in the fact Wilson does.

“Would you guys mind if I went out for a run? I like going to this trail just outside town so I’ll be gone a couple hours.” Chase asks.

“Sure but don’t think you can you use our shower.” House says, getting up from the couch to hobble over to the piano bench.

“He’s joking. Of course you can go for your run and of course you can shower after.” Wilson shoots a look at House, who is staring innocently down at the keys of the instrument.

Chase changes in the bathroom, and when he returns to the living room Wilson curled up on the couch reading a book while House plays a quiet, gentle melody. It’s shockingly domestic and Chase puts on his shoes and slips out the door quietly, not wanting to disturb them.

When Chase returns from his run, Wilson is still sitting on the couch but now he’s watching a black and white film on TV. House is stretched out across the couch, right foot propped up on the arm, left foot tucked under his right knee, and his head in Wilson’s lap. He’s also snoring softly.

“Is he…” Chase trails off as he toes off his running shoes.

“Asleep? Yeah.” Wilson says, not turning from the TV.

Wilson’s fingers are in House’s hair. Just absentmindedly stroking as he watches his movie. They look very sweet, the two of them.

He walks as softly as possible to the kitchen for some water, opening the fridge gently.

“You don’t have to worry about being quiet. He’ll sleep until I wake him up.” Wilson says.

He’s not watching the movie now, he’s staring down at House’s sleeping form with that fond smile on his face again, like House is the most wonderful thing he’s ever seen. Chase can’t imagine what about the misanthropic doctor makes Wilson so happy.

As Chase passes behind the couch, heading for a shower, Wilson stops him.

“Hey, can you pass me the blanket that’s on the floor behind the couch? It’s usually over the back where I can reach it but I didn’t notice it had fallen.” He explains.

Chase grabs the blanket. It’s brown and fuzzy, very soft. He wonders how Wilson plans on getting himself under the blanket without suffocating House when Wilson tosses the blanket down the couch to cover House’s body. He isn’t totally successful though, the blanket falls at House’s knees, bunched up.

“Would you mind pulling it over him the rest of the way? When it’s on the back of the couch I can pull it down to cover him but my throwing skills need work.” Wilson says.

Chase does as he’s asked. The blanket is quite large and covers house from shoulders to feet quite easily. It occurs to him that what Wilson said implies this happens a lot - House snoozing on the couch using Wilson as a pillow.

“Thanks, he gets cold when he’s sleeping.”

“Does he usually fall asleep at 9pm?” Chase finds himself asking. Wilson chuckles.

“Sometimes. People tend to write it off, because of his other eccentricities, but he does have chronic pain. It can be pretty tiring.”

Chase momentarily feels bad. While House’s frequent Vicodin popping reminds them that House does experience pain, they tend to forget that the pills don’t make him pain free, they just keep him standing. Chase heads for the shower with this in mind.

When he’s towelling off he can hear Wilson in the other room talking to House.

“Greg, wake up.”

There is some unintelligible grumbling from House.

“I know Baby, come on. Chase is going to be out of the bathroom soon so you’ve got to get up.” Wilson’s voice is terribly gentle.

Chase runs the towel through his hair, and hears more caterwauling from House.

“You can bring the blanket with you, and I’ll still cuddle with you in the bedroom.”

Chase lets out a small laugh at that. He never would have pegged House as the cuddly type.

“My cane - it’s in the kitchen.”

The first actual words he’s heard from House. Chase is fully dressed and could walk out at any time, but he finds he doesn’t want too. He’s learned a little about them as a couple from watching them at home, but he’s curious about their interactions when he isn’t in the room.

“Just lean on me Baby.”

And Chase can’t imagine House willingly leaning on anyone to help him walk, yet the next sound he hears is the uneven gait of the two of them.

“Leg’s sore.” House says, their voices growing closer.

“You’ve just been laying down on the couch for nearly two hours, I’m not surprised. You’ve got some pills in the bedroom, we’ll get you your bedtime dose and it’ll feel a little better. I can massage it too.”

“Hmm, love you Jimmy.”

“I love you too, Greg.”

Chase is well and truly shocked. House leaning on Wilson to walk, admitting his leg is bothering him, saying ‘I love you’, it’s all so un-House like.

When he hears the door to the bedroom close, he finally leaves the bathroom to get the couch ready. The light above the stove has been left on, and he isn’t sure if it’s for his benefit or if they always leave it on.

As he arranges the bedding to his liking, and when he’s settled down he mulls over his experience with House and Wilson over the course of the evening.

He is reminded of a cat that used to live around the dumpsters near his school when he was young. It had been white at one time but it appeared more brown from the dirt the caked in it’s fur. It was a vicious thing, anytime you got anywhere neat it, it would hiss and arch it’s back. His friends liked to laugh at it, but one day after school he went back with some food for it. He felt sort of bad for the thing.

It became somewhat of a ritual and slowly the cat stopped hissing at him when he would bring the food, until one day he was able to touch it. Eventually it would roll over on it’s back and purr when he came to see it, but only if it was just him.

He tried to bring his friend to see the cat once, but despite him having food and it being only the two of them, the cat hissed and arched its back before disappearing behind the dumpster. His friend had laughed and claimed he knew that cat couldn’t like anyone. He went back after supper that night and sure enough the cat greeted him happily.

He remembers how special it made him feel, to know that cat was friendly only to him. Even if no one else would ever know, he did.

And he supposes that’s how Wilson feels about House.

#house md #james wilson #hate crimes md #greg house #hilson #dr house #dr wilson #wilson x house #house/wilson #robert chase #dr chase #house md fanfiction #house/wilson fanfic #house md fanfic #housethemd writes

[voilaammayi]

I just can’t stop wondering how much we don’t know because we can’t hear it - because of sherlock & co being recorded.

how many times had john rolled his eyes at sherlock when he was being ridiculous, but smiled to himself the moment he turned around? how many times had mariana leaned in the doorway to 221b baker street and silently but fondly watched john and sherlock bickering? how many times sherlock just didn’t say anything when archie climbed on his lap and instead started to scratch behind the dog’s ears?

how many gentle smiles, cheeky grins and warm gazes with sparkling eyes? fingers touching one’s arm, hands on the shoulder or tight hugs? how much affection spread without words?

how much is being not said, left to imagination?

#sherlock and co #can’t sleep at night because of this #how much nonverbal acts of affection happens during all those dialogues we hear every week? #making each other tea in the morning? #laying on one’s beds scrolling on the phone while the other cleans the room? #washing the dishes together where one rinses and the other dries therefore fingers touching when passing the plates? #the constant emanating warmth in those two flats on baker street must feel amazing #john watson #sherlock #sherlock holmes #goalhanger #goalhanger podcasts #sherlock & co #johnlock #mariana ametxazurra

[love-elevated]

#semi specific poll #personal #poll #all of the above happened to me at some point

[xohachi]

illuminate

| sherlock holmes x u |

word count: 966

u have a date tonight! ur actually on the date for the first half of the story and sherlock’s brooding about it so badly that he can’t sleep :( BUT u come back sad 😧 so he comforts u ☺️. {angst/comfort/cute ending} {this is for the girls w no dad.}

(LOOK AT HIS PUPPY DOG EYES I WANNA CRYYYYYY) (i hate writing stories in my notes app but I watched American beauty last night and that “you could never be ordinary,” scene literally ate me so i just haddd to write something based off it. so enjoy this blurb i wrote first thing in the morning at a sleepover)

The mundane tick of the clock nearly lulled Sherlock to sleep. He persevered through the heavy bricks on his eyelids, pacing the room thinking of you. The time now was 12:34am. You’d left for a date at around 8, you never went on dates. Sherlock preferred it that way, maybe then he’d get some sleep. He thought of you, the image of you in your little black dress and red heels… the way you styled your hair and left a few dangling curls to frame your already perfect face. The stubborn detective would never say it but it enraged him to see you dressed up like this for another man.

…

“How do I look?” You asked sheepishly. He watched your eyes meet his, inhaling the presence of your soul snaking its way into the void where his was supposed to be. Somehow during the time that the two of you had roomed together at 221B Baker St, Sherlock had fallen in love with you and he hated the fact that he didn’t hate it.

“You’re leaving?” His tone was low, monotonous.

“Yeah silly, I happen to have a date tonight.” You gave him a spin. His eyes locked onto the slit in your already short dress and how it hiked up even higher when you moved. A scowl snuck onto his face as he thought about you dancing with lesser men at sub par bars, the way they’d probably slide a hand down your back, itching for an invitation to taint you with their touch.

…

‘A date,’ He muttered to himself. A cigarette sat between his lips. Sherlock leaned onto the fireplace and pulled his head back as he exhaled. Finally, your footsteps echoed up the stairs. He put out his cigarette and scrambled to find a place in his chair. Quickly picking up his violin, fumbling with the tuning to look busy. You’d left the house wearing heels yet your footsteps showed no indication of heels on your feet. You’d probably taken them off after too much dancing & the thought brought a red jealous haze back into his mind but he decided to let it go. Your dark silhouette emerged from the shadows. Something was wrong. He quickly scanned you with his eyes. Messy hair, your left dress strap sliding down your shoulder, your hand on your right shoulder seemingly massaging a bothering ache, perhaps from carrying your purse. Turning around, a yelp emerged from your throat.

“Sorry,” You choked out, trying to mask your sobs, “I didn’t mean to interrupt.” You glanced down at the violin in his hands, yet his attention was solely on you. Sherlock’s eyebrow was cocked as he continued to silently read your tells. Shaky voice, running mascara, you’d been crying. Your arms were hugging your body, you’d been hurt. He stood up cautiously.

“He hurt you…” Sherlock concluded aloud, inching closer. His hands were somewhat extended towards you as if he wanted to touch you but couldn’t.

“No, Sherlock he didn’t, I’m alright.” You closed the space between the two of you. The sudden feeling of your small hands on his chest electrified him yet also diminished a fraction of his anger. Physically sure, you seemed to be okay. Sherlock realized that you were hugging your body to console deep emotional pain. Physical or emotional didn’t matter to him though, all that mattered was that you were in pain.

“You’re crying. He made you cry, I’ll murder him.” His rough calloused hands cupped either side of your face, his words venomous with intent. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation but Sherlock had never allowed himself to touch you like this. The most touch you shared was when he’d let you rest your head on his shoulder during long train rides, even then he felt like he was playing with fire.

“He was good to me, I promise,” a small silence, “I did this to myself, with my own insecurities.”

“Am I… ordinary, Sherlock?”

The streetlights trickled through the curtains, illuminating the silhouette of you both holding back from indulging in your deepest desires. The image of you, gazing up at the cold detective with wide teary eyes, clinging to his word like he’s god reciting the bible directly to you. Him, his hands on either sides of your face, soothing you with his words, “You could never be ordinary, not even if you tried.”

Although your crying had ceased, his words broke the dam behind your y/e/c eyes. Your head fell into his chest and the sudden intimacy caused Sherlock tense up. He could feel you needing him, begging him to hold you just this once, to tell you that everything will be okay…and that he loves you so. He opened his mouth to protest the hug, only to be cut off by a small, “Please, just this once,” whispered into his chest.

Frozen in time, the gears in his brain began to short circuit. He was a sociopath, how could he feel like this? The two of you were never even meant to get this close. He could feel his defenses crumble. Every alarm inside his mind palace blaring. Emergency! Emergency! The void where his soul should lie was no longer empty. You’d fought your way past his defenses, seemingly effortlessly. He lived and breathed you. He burned for you, and only you. Your soul igniting him, Sherlock finally allowed himself to wrap his arms around your small figure tightly. His chin resting atop your head. He wouldn’t admit any of this aloud. As a matter of fact, he wouldn’t say anything at all. This was enough for now, he’d just be here, with you, for you, in the moment.

#bbc sherlock #bbc sherlock x reader #bbc sherlock x you #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes #fluff #angst comfort

[224bbaker]

Fawx & Stallion Crowdfund: What is this season, even?

Great question, detective! I also want to know what I'm investing in before I make the decision one way or the other--James Stallion would be impressed!

Season one followed Hampton, James, and Madge in 1889, as they solved The Case of the Crimeria Jewels over the course of 9 episodes and one long weekend (while Holmes and Watson were away working on some case about a dog in Dartmoor). Season two will be a brand new, ten episode, full-cast mystery and, in the great tradition of sequels everywhere, operates on a bit larger of a scale. 

We'll pick up two years later in:

LONDON, 1891! At the press night of London’s first amusement park, and James’s newest investment venture, a ghastly murder is committed, and its intended target appears to be one of the illustrious residents of 221B. The only problem being, he’s since disappeared, leaving only the residents of 224B to solve the case… and this time, every eye in London has turned to them…

Does it seem like we may be leaving a few things out in that description? Misleading you a tiny bit? Drawing out tension for a better listening experience when the season arrives? How dare you, we would never! But also: trust us. And also: fuck it, more teases under the cut.

An increased scope! This season is far more ambitious than the first, in terms of the scale of the narrative and the extent to which we are widening out the world of the show. Which means…

New characters! They’re coming, whether you like it or not! We can’t wait for you to meet this illustrious lineup of new suspects, clients, and informants with very serious names like Lucius Peppermint, Dr. Iphegenia Brown, Desmond Highbottom, Farnsworth Truckle, Chauncy Grace, Joey Biscotti, and Fitzy. But that’s not all…

New settings! Did you catch that theme park mention in the season tease? Yeah, it’s a thing! One of this season’s settings is a full-scale, themed Victorian amusement park that we cannot tell you any more about other than the fact that it is the single silliest thing we’ve ever put (virtually) to paper and now hopefully into your ears. Speaking of other things we can’t wait to bring to you…

Holmes and Watson! That’s right, they’re in the public domain, which means they’re actually in this season! Listeners may remember them from our surprise minisode, The Case of the Well-Earned Holiday, but since they’re back in town (and right across the street) they’ll be pretty hard to ignore. Much like… 

Puns! I cannot spoil any of these but rest assured they are plentiful and they are glorious. Also like…

More Set Pieces! The first season had an underground fight club that opened up into a lava pit. Just imagine what our incredible sound design team is going to bring to life this time! And speaking of “bringing to life…”

A murder this time! We’ve been reliably informed that a great way to raise the stakes from a season one jewel heist is to center this season around a murder case so… Yeah! We do, in fact, kill a (fictional) guy this time! It rocks*! (*narratively, not ethically, the Fawx & Stallion team in no way endorses murder as fun or cool unless it is very silly and fictional and did we mention deeply silly)

(Also there are some clues in that crowdfund picture but you didn't hear it from us)

#fawx & stallion #224bbaker #audio drama #fiction podcast #for ambrosius #crowdfund #s2

[stephdrawsjohnlock]

SH – :Couch Cuddle: (FTH #2 for @discordantwords) Procreate on iPad Pro

I would love something domestic and Johnlock-y, though I don't have anything very specific in mind. Maybe Sherlock and John on the sofa in 221B watching a movie? Or looking after a dog or cat? Or cleaning up after one of Sherlock's messy experiments? Just something where the boys are enjoying each other's company together where they belong. I'm not overly picky, I just want to see them happy. :)

Here's pic two of three for my @fandomtrumpshate pieces for 2023, this one for the WONDERFUL @discordantwords, who gave me pretty much free reign on what I wanted to do, as long as it was Domestic Johnlock!

I absolutely wanted to do a piece with a puppy after I saw that suggested, here's our favourite (married!) duo with a new Redbeard puppy!

They're supposed to be lying down on one of those L-shaped couches but it looks weird to me, I dunno. DiscordantWords seemed really happy with this one, so I'm gonna just ignore all the things I think are wrong with it, LOL

One nitpick I will make is I think I should have made the couch a different colour because Redbeard is hard to see, LOL. Ah well. Hope y'all like it, anyway.

And thank you DiscordantWords for this fun prompt! I'm so happy you liked this! <3<3

🖼 I’M ON INSTAGRAM at stephdrawsfanart 🎨 @stephratte is my Primary Fanart Blog! Art © to S.G.M. Ratté. Do not repost or sell.

(Tags below cut, dm to be added/removed)

@discordantwords

@queerbeess

@ayryn-art

@antisocial-otaku

@havetardiswilltimetravel

@yorkiepug

@tea-and-gingernuts

@quantum-sparrow

@chinike

@chained-to-the-mirror

@almosttomorocco

@loveismyrevolution

#fandom trumps hate #fandom trumps hate 2023 #fth 2023 #johnlock #johnlock fanart #sherlock #sherlock fanart #fanart #my art #sdjl johnlock #sdjl sherlock #sdjl myart

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Five Fics Friday: January 5/24

Happy first Five Fics Friday of 2024!! I hope you all had a wonderful holiday season and are ready to start off the year right with some fantastic fics on my radar!

Enjoy!!

SIGNAL BOOSTING

Here With Me by bodyandsoul (T, 5,260 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4, Domestic Fluff, Light Angst, Love Confessions, Big Brother Mycroft, Parentlock, Families, Happy Ending) – Sherlock wants John to move back to Baker Street. It's clearly the best choice for everyone: he wants John and Rosie living at 221B more than anything, and John's struggle to balance working with raising Rosie by himself has him looking more tired by the day, so when John agrees to return it's almost everything that Sherlock's ever allowed himself to hope for. Sherlock also knows that the secrets he's kept in the past to try and protect John - his faked death, Mary's assassination attempt - nearly ended their friendship, which leaves him with a dilemma. He could say nothing about his feelings and revel in John and Rosie's return to Baker Street, or finally set the record straight (or not, as it were) with John which could mark the end of their friendship. But there's really only one right answer and Sherlock knows that he owes John the truth. He just hopes there will be something left standing of their friendship when it's all said and done...

RECENTLY BOOKMARKED

The Skin Over My Heart by standbygo (E, 8,849 w., 1 Ch. || Post-Hiatus, Fake Relationship, Case Fic, Dog Tags, Military, Homophobia, Gay Bashing, POV First Person Sherlock, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss / Time, Declarations of Love, Undercover, Haircuts, Flashbacks, Touching, Pining Sherlock, Hospitalization, Metaphors, Introspection, Hand Jobs, On the Couch, John’s Past, Angst with Happy Ending) – Sherlock and John are still trying to adjust to Sherlock's return from his hiatus when John's friend Bill Murray brings them a case. Someone is targeting the LGBTQA+ members of Bill's unit. John and Sherlock go undercover at the unit, but when they end up having to flirt to flush out the suspect, Sherlock realizes he's in over his head.

Both Sides Now by Silvergirl (M, 14,724 w., 5 Ch. || Post-TEH / Reunion Fix-It, Bed Sharing, First Kiss / Time, Undercover John, Couple for a Case, Assassin Mary, Big Brother Mycroft, Norfolk Coast, Angry John, First Kiss, Worried Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Hand Holding, Bed Sharing, Alternating POV, Infidelity, Meddling Mycroft, Emotional Love Making, Matchmaker Mycroft) – Sherlock, undercover on the Norfolk coast, texts that he needs help; John is still seething after Sherlock’s gambit in the train car, and he refuses. When Sherlock goes missing, Mycroft sends John in to pose as Sherlock’s bit on the side.

RECENTLY MARKED FOR LATER

Magpies: Five for Silver by 7PercentSolution (T, 1,726+ w., 1/6 Ch. || WiP || HLV Fix-It, Case Fic, Magpies) – The bullet isn’t silver, but it changes everything. Mycroft, John, Mary, and Sherlock grapple with the aftermath of pain, betrayal and loss. The fifth instalment of the Magpies story.

Next Year's Words by thegildedbee (G, 9,959+ w., 5/6 Ch. || WiP || New Year's Eve, Fluff, Romance, Shenanigans, Marriage Proposal) – Sherlock and John each set out to surprise the other on December 31st, inspired to give new meaning to the phrase "ringing in the new year." But what each had imagined would be a relatively straightforward event undergoes an unexpected reversal when their backs are turned – and each ends up with a double surprise.

#five fics friday #my fic recs #johnlock fic recs

[discordantwords]

20 questions for fic writers

I was tagged by @khorazir and @raina-at. Thanks so much for tagging me!

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 47 (how is it that many?!) 29 for BBC Sherlock 18 for The X-Files

2. What's your total A03 word count? 897,533

3. What fandoms do you write for? Currently only BBC Sherlock

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

(Never) Turn Your Back to the Sea

White Knight

Incidents with Dogs, Curious and Otherwise

Another Auld Lang Syne

The Dead Detective

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? I try to! I'm not always the best at keeping up, especially lately as my schedule has been erratic and I can only steal a few minutes here and there for fandom activities. But even when I don't have a chance to reply, I do read and treasure each and every comment.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? I guess maybe The Pillar upon which England Rests has the saddest ending of anything that I've ever written, but I don't really consider it a sad story. It's set immediately post Reichenbach, told mostly through flashbacks as Mrs Hudson shares the story of how she met Sherlock with John. Sherlock is still "dead" when the story comes to a close, and John and Mrs Hudson are both grieving, though we as the reader know their loss is temporary.

I have a few shorter fics with ambiguous endings that lean in the angsty direction:

Nothing Happened in Belarus deals with accidental time travel, with grief-stricken S4 Sherlock finding himself briefly in the care of S1 John. Alas, the reprieve is a short one, as neither Sherlock nor John become aware of what is happening in time to take advantage of the opportunity.

At the end of Leaves Sherlock and John have either triumphed over the hallucinogenic vines that have invaded 221B… or they haven't. (I have my own theory, but you are free to interpret the ending however you choose.)

In EXECUTE John inadvertently deletes Mary from existence. He gets his happy ending, but has to live with the uncomfortable knowledge of the choices he's made.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Most of my fics have happy or at least hopeful endings. I like leaving the boys in a good place. I guess it depends on the flavor of happy you're looking for. But I'd say that these are probably the happiest:

(Never) Turn Your Back to the Sea

Inscrutable to the Last

White Knight

Another Auld Lang Syne

Whirlwind

8. Do you get hate on fics? Thankfully, no. A few weird comments here and there, but nothing too bad. The vast majority of my interaction with others in the fandom has been absolutely wonderful.

9. Do you write smut? Most of my sex scenes stay in R rated territory. But I tend to roll with whatever the plot demands of me.

10. Do you write crossovers? I've done quite a few fusion fics, but not crossovers. Crossovers aren't usually my cup of tea.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Once, sort of, but I don't believe it was done maliciously and I don't wish to call attention to it.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Yes! I'm always flattered by requests to translate my writing.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? A friend and I used to write together quite a bit in high school, but nothing that has made it out into the world.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship? Sherlock & John and Mulder & Scully.

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? Crime Writer is a Sherlock/Knight Rider fusion that ran out of steam a while back (although it was intended to be episodic and IMO doesn't feel too horribly unresolved where it ends, so don't let the unfinished nature of it put you off if you're inclined to read it).

I'm still optimistic about most of the WIPs in my WIP folder, heh. I guess we'll see what next year brings.

16. What are your writing strengths? I like to think I'm good at writing complicated people with complicated feelings that don't always resolve neatly.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? I don't think my smut is particularly inspired. And I have a very hard time writing fluff or domestic situations without having some angst to drive the plot.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? I personally wouldn't attempt it. I'm not fluent in any other languages and there's far too much nuance to leave in the hands of Google Translate. :)

19. First fandom you wrote for? X-Files! (Unless you count unrefined and unposted scribblings from my younger years, I definitely went through a phase where I was trying to fix the Terminator time loop in a way that allowed Sarah Connor and Kyle Reese to live happily ever after.)

20. Favourite fic you've ever written? Oh, this is always such a hard question to answer. The Pillar upon Which England Rests is the first fic I wrote for the Sherlock fandom, so it has a special place in my heart. I'm really proud of the cases and complex plot in Out There. (Never) Turn Your Back to the Sea is the one that seems to resonate with the most people. And White Knight is the fic I'd most like to see turned into an episode of the show. :D

I'll tag @thetimemoves @insistentbass @lololollywrites @arwamachine @naefelldaurk @clueless-mp4 @totallysilvergirl and anyone else who would like to play along!

#fic writer questions #sherlock #johnlock

[cupidford]

It's not the end of spring yet, but I've read a crazy amount the last few months so here we go with twenty amazing reads!!

I've got so many more in the arsenal to share with yall!

❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

Light by Vanimedla4

Battling his addiction and depression, Sherlock moves to a lighthouse where he plans to end his life. He is stopped by John, a ghost. ~102k

🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

The Q-Axis by Calais_Reno

Assassin John leaves a stalled train and attempts to find his way to the surface. Once above ground, he begins to notice puzzling discrepancies in the world around him. He calls this new reality the Q-axis. Meanwhile, detective Sherlock Holmes tries to solve a series of puzzling murders, all of which seem linked to a man who doesn’t exist. ~81.5k

All This Time by stopthat

“We share a life,” John says, eyes searching. “Have you ever wanted anything more from me?” ~3.5k

💛💛💛💛💛

Matchmaking for Solitary Animals by ArwaMachine

Following Sherlock’s return from the dead, he entertains gentlemen callers, a fact that seems to make John irrationally angry. Intent on proving that he’s not a dick, John makes it his mission to find Sherlock a boyfriend. Switchlock, ish toplock. ~72k

On an Eyelash by stopthat

Sherlock returns from the dead, but he and John don't talk about it. Until slowly they do, and between Christmas and Sherlock's birthday wishes really do come true. ~5k

The Art of Putting Up Shelves by Amyreadsandstresses

S3 fix it. Sherlock meets Adrian at a Chip Shop. They start a romantic relationship amongst the events of S3. Painful but lovely, and not Johnlock! ~19k

The Force of the Interaction by CorvidCordelia

Five Times John Thought About Sex and Sherlock and His Brain Broke + One Time It Didn't. Warning there is AdLock. ~17k

💚💚💚💚💚

A Christmas Stroll with Sherlock Holmes by aquileaofthelonelymountain

Sherlock offers a Christmas Stroll experience as a contribution to a local dog charity auction. The auction winners? None other than John and Rosie Watson. ~12k

Blue Plaques by JRow

John’s engagement is off, and he is back at the place he feels most at home — 221B Baker Street. In the process of solving a mystery, will John accidentally reveal a secret of his own? Asexual Sherlock. ~36.5k

noise complaint by simplyclockwork

One loud upstairs neighbour and three days of non-stop party music lead Sherlock to an unexpected meeting. Unilock, switchlock. ~85.5k

💙💙💙💙💙

Paper Men by Lurikko

Sherlock becomes obsessed with John having sex with women. John wonders if Sherlock is running an experiment or flirting? And after they start having sex themselves, are they actually in a relationship yet, or what exactly is going on? ~13.5k

You Have Demons (I Do Too) by wannabesir

ACD. Sherlock is fresh out of rehab and assigned community service thanks to his ever-spying brother Mycroft. At the theatre, he meets a blonde army doctor, turned actor, suffering from a PTSD flashback. ~105.5k

The Slow Dance and Death of a Carbon Copy by batslikepastel

After Mary's death, John starts spiraling. He starts mistaking Sherlock for Mary, the first sign of delusion, and Sherlock starts pretending to be her. 15.5k

the old songs by allsovacant

Sherlock vanishes after John and Mary's wedding. Five years later, John receives a text message from Sherlock asking for a chance to talk and clear the air between them. ~4.5k

Found by Callist

Life goes on in Baker Street, and it's time for a remodel to fit Rosie. As the project grows, John and Sherlock find something else growing between them. 11.5k

💜 HONORABLE MENTIONS 💜

body and soul by simplyclockwork

Established relationship. Sherlock knows himself as a man with refined tastes. In his opinion, John Watson is artwork of the highest calibre. ~3k

Meet Me on the Ice by consult_this_prick

Sherlock grows fond of the figure skater he sees before his hockey practices. ~6k

Places in the Mind by Calais_Reno

Post HLV. S3 fix it. John rescues Sherlock in Serbia after he is wounded. ~4.5k

Demitasse by oorsprong

Victorian ACD. We found ourselves at Pagani's upon nearly every successful completion of a case in unspoken celebration. ~1.5k

Community Service by Accident, Hobbitsfeet, Tindomerelhloni

Forensics Medical Examiner John H. Watson is forced to set up an office Christmas party with Sherlock Holmes. ~12.5k

#fic recs #au fic recs #johnlock fics #johnlock fic recs #Accident #Hobbitsfeet #Tindomerelhloni #oorsprong #Calais Reno #Calais_Reno #consult this prick #consult_this_prick #simplyclockwork #Callist #allsovacant #batslikepastel #wannabesir #Lurikko #JRow #aquileaofthelonelymountain #CorvidCordelia #Amyreadsandstresses #stopthat #ArwaMachine

[consultjohnwatson]

cats or dogs?

Cags.

No, err dogs. Definitely dogs.

#dogs vs cats #cats vs dogs #john watson #john replies #john watson replies #221b baker street #221b

[sandcobangevent]

Please Don’t Say You Love Me

Written by @ratinavan, Illustrated by @silliestofg33sevik

Read Here on AO3

If this was how the podcast was going to end, so be it. Don’t let John be the one to stop it, obviously The Great Sherlock Holmes is just too good at what he does to want to associate with the likes of poor old John Watson. It doesn’t matter that he worked damn hard to get them where they were, it doesn’t matter that he hung onto every word that fell from the detective’s mouth, it doesn’t matter that he would throw his life away for that bastard man. None of it matters because the detective decided that the cases were the only thing that needed his consideration, the only thing that warranted even a scrap of his attention.

John had done everything, everything for this man. He followed that tall silhouette wherever it may go for weeks, months, God! He had watched that back for nigh on a year and what did he get in return? Abandoned, kicked to the curb like he was a bloody dog - homeless, broke, and heartbroken. Sherlock is- no, was , his everything. His reason to keep going after being shipped back from Ukraine, his reason to get up in the morning, his reason to not grab as many of those stupid chemical experiments and shove them down his throat when his own mind got too harsh. All of this - all of this - and it got him the sum total of nothing. His dedication, his life, his everything, had been turned away in disgust by the detective.

“Sherlock I-”

“I don’t want to hear it, Watson. I wish to end our acquaintance here, you may have a week to find alternative lodgings.”

The blood rushing past John’s ears at this moment was definitely unhealthy, but he was too busy trying to both stay upright and prevent himself from vomiting all over the living room floor. What had he done to deserve this, you may wonder? Well, the answer was simple. He had believed that Sher- Holmes would reciprocate, or at least not hate him for, his feelings toward the younger man.

Oh how wrong he was.

That conversation had been dreadful . There was no screaming or shouting. There had been no objects thrown. Just a curled lip and quiet scorn, both of which hurt more than if there had been physical retaliation. So now here he was, shoving his meagre belongings into his duffle bag and attempting to plan his next steps now that his life was over. He had already convinced Mariana to continue to care for Archie - if he was going to be out of a steady home for a while, he was in no position to give the poor boy the life he deserved. She had tried to say no, tried to convince him that this was just one of Holmes’ black moods and he would never truly wish him to leave. It was no use. She hadn’t seen the look on his face after the confession, the deep-rooted hatred that surfaced from seemingly nowhere. 

Maybe the detective had never liked John as much as he had assumed, maybe he was just tolerating him to fill the hole of a companion -  someone to worship the ground he walked on. Well. Not anymore. John was leaving, he refused to live with someone who had such an issue with his sexuality.

Did he feel like shite? Yes. Was he going to miss everything that they had developed in the past years? Absolutely. But he could already tell that his mental health was taking a nosedive back to pre-221B levels and he refused to sit around and let Holmes witness his downfall. If that meant leaving everything and running away? Fine, he’d rather be a coward than a cripple.

Sherlock was busy running through another one of the menial experiments that he was using in an attempt to push all thoughts of Wat- John from his mind. It had been just shy of a week since the Doctor had disappeared from the flat and the detective had devoted himself to his work. Eating, resting, anything that wasn’t one of his experiments had been thrown to the wayside and were only partaken under the scornful gaze of Mrs Hudson.

Sherlock knew why she disapproved, he knew that he had messed up by rejecting John, by doing anything other than falling at his feet and assuring him the feeling was reciprocated. He should have screamed it from the rooftops, posted it in the papers, told anyone and everyone that would have listened. But he didn’t. Instead, he had emotionally broken the best man the world had ever given him. He had done it without a second thought and with the ease that came only from someone as self-assured and arrogant as himself.

As he continued to experiment, his phone began to ring from its place on the coffee table. As usual, he ignored it as the ringtone indicated that it wasn’t the Yard calling. If Lestrade didn’t have a new case for him, he was in no mood to talk. Leaving the call to ring out, he turned his attention back to the samples, however, much to his dismay the phone began ringing again. An irritated sigh escaped his lips, but he made no move to answer it. After three more rings, Mariana barged through the door to 221B with a face like thunder.

“Dios mio, Sherlock! If you aren’t going to answer it, at least leave it somewhere so that it doesn’t echo down to my flat!” The woman stomped over to the phone and picked it up, “Hello, how can I help?” A pause, “He’s here, can I ask who is speaking, please? My name is Mariana, I’m… his flatmate.”

Presumably, the person on the other end replied. Sherlock spotted Mrs Hudson turning to look at him from the corner of his eye - she had gone pale, so pale the detective thought she might faint. 

“Sit down, Mrs Hudson, and hand me the phone.” Sherlock guided her down onto the sofa and pried his mobile from her trembling hands.

“Hello? Sherlock Holmes speaking.” He was now invested in what could have caused such a reaction from the usually strong-willed woman, almost like a pseudo-case.

“Oh, hello, Mister Holmes. My name is Miss Haye and I’m calling from Saint Bartholomew’s Hospital.” Well, this was unusual, how did Saint Bart’s end up with his number? Why would they need to be calling him?

“I see, and what do you need from me? Scotland Yard usually contacts me directly if there is a body that needs examining.” 

“Unfortunately, Sir, this is not a business call. I’m calling regarding Mr John Watson? You’re listed as his emergency contact and he was admitted late last night after being fished out of the Thames in what we presume was a suicide attempt.” Sherlock understood now why Mrs Hudson reacted the way she did. He was sure that he was in much the same state. He reached out behind him to steady his way to sitting, not trusting his legs to support him for the rest of the phone call.

“O-Okay.” He coughed, rueing the tremble in his voice, “Is he still there? What is his condition? Is he allowed visitors?” The questions continued to fall from his mouth in quite possibly the worst case of word-vomit he had ever experienced.

The guilt Sherlock was feeling was insurmountable, this was his fault. If he had just been honest with John rather than prioritising his image of stone this all could have been avoided. Why could he not just admit that John’s affection scared him - Sherlock was so worried about disappointing his podcaster that he immediately shut down any chance of a relationship. He had let John leave, blocked his number, and denied him any chance of contact with him in a fit of unexplainable terror.

“Yes, Mister Holmes, he is available for visitors but he is currently unconscious so may not be responsive by the time you arrive if you plan on coming over immediately.” Sherlock jumped, he had almost forgotten about the woman over the phone. He was quick to finish up the conversation, assuring her that they would be there promptly before hanging up the call.

“What have I done?” Sherlock murmured into his fist, staring at his phone. He navigated over to his contacts and, after a steadying breath, unblocked John’s contact and put his phone face-down on the table.

Immediately, the tone of John’s messages began to come through one after another after another. Each ping of the phone, each vibration against the table only worked to further embed the spear of guilt further into Sherlock’s chest. Nothing had ever gotten to the detective as acutely as this had. He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help himself. He picked up the phone and read the texts.

John: Why did you have to hate me, was my love really that horrible?

John: I miss you, y’know? And I miss Archie and Mariana…

John: I don’t know what to do with myself now, and my phone is going to die soon

John: Not easy to charge your phone on the streets haha

John: I’m sorry, I wish I had never said anything. If I could take it all back, I would.

John: I won’t bother you anymore, I love you, I’m sorry.

Sherlock barely made it through the first messages before his eyes clouded over and tears were carving paths down his cheeks. The consequences of his inconsiderate actions were finally starting to unravel, and he would have to do some serious legwork to even begin fixing what he had done.

The next hour felt more like a daze. Both Sherlock and Mariana managed to flag down a cab and direct it to Saint Barts, all without really registering doing any of it. Climbing out of the cab and approaching the front desk, the woman from the phone directed them to the correct ward with a small smile, informing them that John had woken up just five minutes prior so may still be groggy.

This news spurred the pair of them to hurry in the correct direction, only getting lost once on their way there. When they finally made it to the door of John’s room, Sherlock stopped short, hesitating just before the door could open. “I- I don’t think I can do this Mrs- no, Mariana. I don’t deserve to see him like this, you should go in without me.”

Mariana grabbed him by the shoulders and forced him to look her in the eye. “You listen to me, Sherlock Holmes. You will go into that room, you will face your best friend, and you will tell him how unimaginably sorry you are, AND you will tell him about your feelings. Those are the reasons we’re in this position in the first place.” The no-nonsense tone was enough to force him through the door, stopping a couple of paces inside and locking gazes with the groggy Doctor.

His hair was a mess, his usually well-kept facial hair was now much less flattering than usual, the bags under his eyes were several times the size they should be, and the amount of weight he had lost in just over a week was more than concerning. John’s softer belly was one of Sherlock’s favourite things to admire - it was both effective at disguising his underlying strength and at being the best replacement for Sherlock’s hugging machine.

  When John met Sherlock’s eyes, the only thing that escaped his mouth was, “I’m sorry…” The doctor looked so small on that hospital bed and now he was apologising?

“ Stop . Just… stop, John.” Sherlock could feel the tears building again. He looked at John, and slowly made his way towards the hospital bed. “Words can never describe the disaster that your loss would have caused me. I may-” He choked on his words, “I may be a genius, but I am also a colossal imbecile, an idiot, the worst man on Baker Street. Believe me when I say that I would never have wished this on you. I would never have wanted you to take your own life, especially not over me .” He was sobbing at this point, fallen to his knees at John’s bedside and trying to put the sheer pain of his agony into words.

“I-” Sherlock hesitated, debating on whether he should continue. A swift kick to the back from Mariana set him to rights and he carried on, “I love you, John Watson.” The pair locked eyes, suspended in time for what felt like an eternity, shame in the gaze of one and disbelief in the gaze of the other.

“Why would you say that to me, Sherlock? After everything that’s happened, why would you taunt me like this?” The doctor was crying now as well, salty tears following well-worn paths down his cheeks and neck. He raised his hands, in practice to wipe away his emotions, but truthfully it was more out of a child-like need to hide. The detective held his heart in his hands - the ability to crush or care hanging in the balance.

The detective rose, “No, no, John. You must believe me, I am not lying to you now. I see how utterly foolish I was to push you away to try and save face - I should never have thought myself above feelings, especially not your own. I will do whatever it takes to reassure you that my words are the truth, I would throw myself at your feet for another chance at us. Please, hear my words and try to find it within yourself to give me another chance. I love you, John Hamish Watson, and I will continue to do so for the rest of my days.”

Sherlock’s world narrowed to nothing but John, the look in his eyes, the words that may leave his mouth.

“You, Sherlock Holmes, are the biggest bastard to walk this Earth.”

His stomach plummeted.

“Get up here and kiss me you git.”

#submission #sherlock and co #sherlock & co #flashbang event #sherlock homes #john watson

[fluffbyday-smutbynight]

~ FluffSmut's Masterlist: Everything Else ~

SHIPPING SHIPS (original ficlets)

Love Hits You Unexpectedly, Sometimes

The Most Beautiful Ship in the World

MADE-UP FIC TITLES ~ fic ideas/synopses/plot bunnies 🐰 (generated in response to this ask game)

Fluffsmut's Totally Correct Sherlock Quotes ~ if you fancy a chuckle. Hehe.

~ BBC Sherlock: Headcanons  ~

Fluffy headcanons you can pry from my cold, dead hands

Smutty headcanons that live in my head rent free

Mycroft's Chocolate Stout Cake (for Greg, and Greg only)

“The Dads Are Alright” Headcanon (parentlock/fluff)

221B pets

221B rules (written by @kitten-kin)

Fluffbruary 2022 Trivia Tuesdays: Week 01 . 02 . 03 . 04

~ BBC Sherlock: Rewatch Meta ~

ASiB ~ Why I Love Irene Adler So Much // THoB  ~ Pt. 1 - Beware of the Dog / Pt. 2 - Lights in the Darkness / Pt. 3 - Killing the Hound // TAB ~ Way Too Deep // TLD ~ The Morgue Scene: a look at the script // TFP ~ The Coffin Scene

~ BBC Sherlock: Character Meta ~  Molly Hooper has been done dirty (and I say this as a hardcore Johnlocker) // (mini-meta) John Watson, a man with issues: one and two

~ Good Omens Meta ~

Petronius' Oysters (a modest contribution to a post by @ineffablyruined)

When in Rome... - Aziraphale's Hot Girl Summer?

The Hundred Guineas Club (a modest contribution to a post by @niceprophecies)

Analogies with the Divine Comedy - Canto V (a modest contribution to a post by @theonevoice)

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Italian language/culture 101 with Fluffsmut:

Good Omens x Michael Sheen x Ancient Rome - a match made in heaven Italy

The versatility of "cazzo"

"Sticazzi" vs "me cojoni"

Random stuff:  

Half-Assed Fic Recs

Martin Freeman Appreciation Posts

Random Thoughts: StartUp (TV show) // Ghost Stories (2017 film) // A List of Things Sherlock and Malcolm Bright (Prodigal Son) have in common

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Jump back to FluffSmut's Masterlist

#tidying up my masterlist #fluffsmut's masterlist

[maeglinyedi]

Yes, I'm still alive and I come bearing gifts. I needed a bit of a break, as I usually do after I've spent a few months writing. But this fall my seasonal depression reared its ugly head worse than usual and put me on my arse for a few months. After some much needed rest and an adjustment of my meds I'm feeling more like a human being again, thankfully. I've started writing a new chapter for Lives Lived and Lives Lost and I'm offering you all a preview as a thank you for being so patient with me. I hope to finish it and post it in the next few days.

Life # 21: That time Harry and Tom were Holmes and Watson

Tom got his memories back the usual way. He met Harry while his friend Mike introduced them at St Bart’s.

Of course, what was different this time around was that Harry introduced himself as Sherlock Holmes with a tiny yet insufferable smile. And then he promptly showed off by metaphorically undressing Tom where he stood as he summed up detail after detail about Tom’s life that he couldn’t possibly know.

Tom slowly closed his eyes. Harry was Sherlock Holmes and Tom was John Watson. Or some modern version of them, at any rate.

How did these lives even get chosen? Who decided what sort of people they were going to be life after life? The previous life they’d been a couple of dog groomers, for fuck’s sake, living a peaceful life in Austria until they died of natural causes while they were well into their eighties.

And now they apparently were the world’s most famous detective along with his faithful sidekick.

Before he could stop it, a sharp pang of envy coursed through Tom’s body, leaving a sour trail in its wake.

Tom should have been Sherlock Holmes. Not Harry the bumbling Gryffindor. Tom was the consummate Slytherin. Tom was always the clever one, no matter what sort of life they led. That’s not to say that Tom as John Watson was stupid. Not at all. Tom in is current itineration was plenty smart. He was a medical doctor, after all. But he wasn’t Sherlock Holmes levels of smart and that stung, no matter that Tom didn’t want to ever feel envious of his soulmate.

Harry announced that Tom could be his roommate and told him to come to 221b Baker Street before giving him a cheeky wink. And then he was gone and Tom was left staring into space in complete shock.

“Yeah,” Mike said with a knowing smile. “He’s always like that.”

Something told Tom he’d be spending most of his time this life trying to save Harry from himself. No matter what kind of life Harry led, he was always the impulsive one. Combine that with a newly acquired genius level intellect and an unstoppable need to solve every interesting crime that came his way and it didn’t take the world’s most famous detective to deduct that Harry was going to get himself killed sooner rather than later.

Oh fuck. If there existed a Sherlock Holmes and a John Watson in this world, there also had to be a James Moriarty. Sherlock Holmes’ arch-nemesis and reportedly at least equally as intelligent. And in every single fictional story starring Sherlock Holmes that Tom had ever read, Moriarty always, always wanted to destroy Sherlock Holmes. 

Yeah, this version of Moriarty was going to be in for a bit of a surprise, because this Sherlock Holmes had a former Dark Lord on his side, determined to keep him safe. Tom squared his shoulders and said a quick goodbye to Mike. There was no time to waste. Harry could be landing himself in a world of trouble right at that moment without Tom to keep him safe.

Tom had been a genius once upon a life. Granted, he’d used that genius intellect to turn himself into a magical mass-murderer while valiantly trying to rule the entire world, consequences be damned. But that experience might serve him well enough to predict what a criminal mastermind like Moriarty might plan to see Harry end up in an early grave.

#harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter/tom riddle #tomarry fanfiction #tomarry #tom riddle #harry potter series #harrymort #tom/harry #fanfiction #lives lived and lives lost #my fics