#sherlock would be lost without john

[starks-hero]

brother dearest

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Summary: Mycroft had never considered himself to be overprotective. However, he isn't overly pleased with how smitten his little brother is with you...

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: John is the only one with any emotional intelligence and Mycroft is faced with the horrifying ordeal of realising his younger sibling is dating, so they're all idiots really

Mycroft Holmes could practically feel his blood pressure rising. Confidential documents had been stolen from the very hands of the British government, putting the democratic well-being of an entire nation in jeopardy. And his little brother wouldn't answer the phone.

The moment word of the breach had gotten to Mycroft his first plan of action was to call Sherlock. Of course, he could have hypothetically dealt with the issue himself had it not required leg work. But to his dismay, contacting the youngest Holmes seemed to be as unlikely as winning the lottery.

Tossing dignity to the wind in the name of restoring balance to the western world, Mycroft stooped to the, in his opinion, ever embarrassing low of visiting Baker Street himself. He ascended the stairs, his displeasure evident in the weight of his steps, and refused to practice the common courtesy of knocking before entering the flat. Sherlock had lost that privilege when he refused to pick up the bloody phone.

Mycroft tutted with annoyance when he found both the living room and kitchen empty. Sherlock's coat, with whom he refused to go anywhere without, still hung idle on the clothes rack. He was in the flat and Mycroft was going to find him if he had to tear away every brick.

With all the begrudgement of a man who'd had his morning routine seriously uprooted, Mycroft marched towards Sherlock's bedroom and swung open the door.

He almost immediately wished he hadn't.

Sherlock lay sprawled out on the bed, white sheets twisting over alabaster skin. His eyes were shut, his hair a tangled mess of curls and you lay by his side.

Mycroft's jaw fell so quickly he expected it to unhinge and clatter against the floor with all the comedic effect of a nineties cartoon.

Sherlock's head rested against your shoulder whilst the lower half of your face was largely hidden by his curls. Your lips brushed his forehead in a prolonged kiss and Sherlock's arm was thrown over you almost possessively. Your own hand curled softly around the nape of his neck.

Disbelief, embarrassment and anger chased each other across Mycroft's expression before he settled with complete mortification. He couldn't explain it, not really, but seeing his little brother in bed with someone made him feel ridiculously nauseous.

Sherlock shifted, stretching out his limbs like a content cat before nuzzling closer to you.

Having no idea what else to do, the eldest Holmes shut the door. After a quick and failed attempt to purge the last few moments from his memory, he made his way back towards the living room.

He was met by John.

The doctor quickly did away with his fresh bag of groceries in order to make small talk, much to Mycroft's disdain. When John got around to the reason for his visit, and therefore Sherlock's current whereabouts, Mycroft shifted awkwardly.

“He seems to be occupied.”

A look of confusion clouded John's expression. He glanced down the hallway, jutting his thumb in the direction of Sherlock's room.

“I'm fairly certain he's just–” John's words were dissolved by the bitter look that was thrown his way by the eldest Holmes. “–oh, he didn't tell you?”

“Tell me what?” Mycroft asked with a painfully fake smile.

John swallowed thickly, suddenly very unhappy with the fact that he was the one that had to break the news to possibly the most powerful man in Britain that his little brother was seeing someone.

“He uh– he didn't tell you about himself and Y/N?”

Mycroft blinked. “It would appear he left out that minor detail.”

The silence that followed was awkward at best and utterly painful at worst. John, who wanted nothing more for the interaction to end but had no idea how to make that happen, nodded. Mycroft cleared his throat and readjusted his hold on his umbrella.

He glanced back towards his brother's room and John didn't miss the subtle glare he was trying to hide. Ah, so that's what this was about. John may not have shared Sherlock's observational skills but he did have a sister. He knew what overprotectiveness looked like.

“Mycroft, you do realise that Sherlock is an adult.”

“If that's what you would like to call him.”

“Right,” John dismissed quickly. “But he and Y/N are together. They have feelings–”

What was very much beginning to sound like a new rendition of ‘the birds and the bees’ was shortened by a scoff on Mycroft's behalf.

"My brother is barely capable of understanding his own feelings, you think he can handle someone else's?"

“You'd be surprised.”

Surprised was certainly one word for it. Mycroft simply couldn't imagine his brother being emotionally involved with anyone, regardless of how much imagination he tried to employ. He failed to imagine Sherlock in any situation that involved intimacy or vulnerability, let alone with you.

As if the very thought of you had doubled as a summoning spell, you entered the kitchen, steps lazy and eyes tired. If you were surprised to see the eldest Holmes you hid it well.

“Mycroft,” you greeted with a tight-lipped smile.

“Y/N.”

Your eyes moved between him and John, trying to piece together what exactly you'd walked into. John cleared his throat. You fought the urge to just go back to bed.

“Can I get you anything?” You motioned to the kitchen.

“My brother, if it's no trouble.”

“Showering,” you yawned. You decided not to add the bit where Sherlock had mentioned needing to ‘cool off before facing the devil so early in the morning’ upon realising his brother was in the living room. “He won't be long.”

“I see. I hate to show up unannounced. But I tried to call this morning and it seemed he was unavailable.”

You smirked despite yourself. Mycroft's grasp on his umbrella tightened.

After a few agonising moments that consisted of you cluelessly making yourself a morning cup of tea, Mycroft glaring holes into your back and John all but hiding behind his newspaper, Sherlock joined you.

His hair was damp, curls frizzed up due to the warm water. Mycroft hadn't seen it in such a state since Sherlock was a child. The unruly nature of his hair, as well as its tendency to make him look far less intimidating and far more endearing, often led to embarrassment. Which is why Mycroft was so surprised to see him so at ease.

Sherlock didn't so much as acknowledge his brother's existence as he made a beeline towards you, accepting the tea you offered and leaving a lazy kiss against the side of your head. He was smiling fondly all the while.

Said smile immediately fell when he spotted Mycroft. Sherlock muttered something about god under his breath and took a long, almost purposefully so, sip from his mug before speaking.

“Terrorist attack or security breach?”

Mycroft raised an unamused brow.

“It's ten o'clock on a Sunday morning, from my understanding you should be having tea with the prime minister or something–” Sherlock waved his free hand around dismissively. “You wouldn't be here if it wasn't of national importance. So which is it? Suspected terrorist attack or a security breach?”

“That, brother mine, is something you would have already been clued in on if you'd learned how to answer my calls.” Mycroft intended for his words to be somewhat scolding but judging by how Sherlock reclined in his chair and crossed his legs he figured his attempt at exerting some sort of authority over his younger brother had failed. “Now, it's not as threatening as initially believed but still relevant enough to warrant some sort of investigation. Which is why I need you to–”

His words fizzled out at the sight of you moving to stand behind Sherlock's chair. Your stance was relaxed, comfortable, as if you felt you belonged where you stood, as some sort of watchful protector. Mycroft glowered.

You seemed unfazed and Mycroft couldn't tell which he hated more, your hand now on Sherlock's shoulder or the fact that his brother was smirking because of it.

By some miracle, he managed to make it through the rest of the briefing without giving away just how much he wanted the floorboards to open up and swallow him.

He didn't know why the sight of you both together irritated him so much but by god was it getting under his skin. The glances you shared that Mycroft knew had hidden meanings behind them. How his brother, who needed a week's recovery in his room after any social interaction, preened under your touch. The youthful look in his eyes, the boyish smile. It was somehow painful to look at.

Mycroft could still recall when he was the only one that could placate his brother. When they were children, spending hours in their garden estate, finding insects and frogs and recalling their Latin names. Anything to keep their brilliant young minds entertained. He remembered how Sherlock would light up with each new nugget of information Mycroft gave him. Even into their teenage years, he was the one Sherlock trusted, the one he looked to for help and guidance. It had always been him.

But now, now there was you.

He had you to confide in. To talk to. To irritate with a tirade of useless facts that anyone else would think irrelevant. He had you to look out for him and comfort him and Mycroft couldn't understand why this was angering him so–

Oh.

The notion that his little brother had, in fact, grown up and didn't need him anymore came as a very unwelcome realisation. Mycroft had the sudden desire to leave the flat as promptly as he could.

“Well,” he cleared his throat. “I should be getting on. I trust you'll fill me in on your findings?”

Sherlock groaned, in agreement or dismissal it was hard to tell.

Mycroft, who now wanted nothing more than to leave, turned to make his way to the door. “Good day, doctor Watson.”

John nodded, not failing to notice the change in Mycroft's stance.

‘He's copped on then.’

Partially because of your closeness to the door and partially in an attempt to rectify whatever you'd done to wrong Mycroft, you moved to show him out.

He passed you silently but as you stepped back to close the door, he stopped you.

He seemed uneasy, an emotion that looked unnatural and foreign on him. His nerves were infectious and you quickly found yourself growing anxious, expecting him to gift you with some horrific piece of information to pass on to Sherlock to save him from dealing with the mess of telling his brother himself.

His actual request was something much softer.

“Take care of him, will you?”

It took a few moments for you to blink away your surprise. As confused as you were, you nodded all the same.

“Of course.”

Mycroft responded with a nod of his own, offered a surprisingly genuine smile and then turned to leave. He'd descended the stairs entirely by the time you finally closed the flat door.

“What was that about?” Sherlock asked nonchalantly.

You shook your head. “Absolutely no idea.”

John took a sudden interest in his newspaper in an attempt to ignore just how hard he was biting his tongue.

thank you for reading!

Sherlock tag list: @miraclesoflove @ilovefanfictions @mylovelysnowflake @quentawewe @bakerstreethound @andreasworlsboring101 @doozywoozy @xxinvisiblexx @the-worst-critic @the-queer-dungeoneer @jellyfishbeansontoast @starrykitn @starryeddie @ladymercury8 @themorningsunshine @evelynrosestuff @mywellspringoflife @simp-for-scammanders @Xhz17x @allieberries @kealohilani-tepise

#finally starting to clear out my drafts to help me get back in the writing groove #sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes x reader #bbc sherlock x reader #sherlock imagine #sherlock x you #sherlock holmes x you #bbc sherlock x you #bbc sherlock imagine #bbc sherlock #1k

[voilaammayi]

okay okay wait a second

victor trevor interrupting stranger’s conversation just because he heard the name sherlock holmes in it? asking if he has been mentioning him? being the only friend sherlock had in college? remembering that the one kind of pasta he eats is penne and having his own predictions about who sherlock’d be in the future? asking right away if he’d been right? thinking that sherlock of all people was a great laugh? and have I heard being in between boyfriends???

finally, speaking about sherlock with this warm nostalgic tone and always with a bashful laugh hidden behind it? oh my, mister victor trevor, you were in love!

and don’t mind me at all, but I’m having a certain vision - of sherlock and victor in college, victor coming late to their dorm after long evening studying in the library or a night out with friends in a pub, and finding sherlock transfixed on some experiment, of course having gone a whole day without a proper meal. victor complaining loudly about you and your fucked up diet, honestly, sherlock, but at the same time getting ready to go make sherlock some pasta for a late night diner. because did you know this penne with mascarpone and tomato sauce that is the only pasta sherlock eats, is originally a victor’s recipe? and after it’s done, them both sitting on a couch, sherlock eating from a pot - they’re students after all, the dishes are in a big dirty pile in the sink - while victor watches him out of the corner of his eye. then the rest of the evening spend on Sherlock talking about his experiment, some interesting plant or a new deduction, while victor just listens to him with a dreamy expression on his face, because that’s what he has been waiting the whole day for.

and I won’t speculate whether sherlock was in love, too, because the man is a mystery to me, but I do imagine victor calling him after the events of gloria scott, asking if he can come by to baker street to thank properly for solving the case. after sherlock agrees - but invites him over when he knows nor john neither mariana would be home - victor arrives with a shoping bag in hand and, in spite of some attempts at protest close to it’s not necessary, he prepares the penne pasta for sherlock one last time. then all is done and there’s no excuse for him to stay longer, really, so he stands up to say goodbye. quick enough for sherlock to not be able to do anything about it, victor kisses him on the cheek. but he had been watching sherlock during the case and heard enough my dear watson to know that he has lost his chance. so he says simply good luck, sherlock and walks out of baker street.

john would come back to the flat few moments later to find sherlock standing in a doorway, hands holding his cheeks. sherlock being even weirder than usual, john would get worried and trying to pry any information from him, even checking his temperature by a quick touch to the forehead. but as sherlock doesn’t comply, in the end john would just shrug his shoulders and leave him alone, only to become perplexed seconds later, when he enters the kitchen.

because there are leftovers of penne with mascarpone and tomato sauce already on the countertop, while john himself was just about to cook them this same thing for dinner.

#sherlock and co #john would be like at least the kitchen isn’t on fire #sherlock would be thinking intensely and quite unable to stop touching his cheek #victor would be smiling to himself on his way home knowing there’re now more people caring about sherlock #excuse me while I’ll go realease my feelings in a cathartic scream #john watson #sherlock #sherlock holmes #goalhanger #goalhanger podcasts #johnlock #sherlock & co #sherlock and co spoilers #sherlock & co spoilers #the gloria scott spoilers #the gloria scott pt1 spoilers #viclock

[calaisreno]

The Case of the Missing Bridegroom

The sequel to Reluctant Bridegroom. 1700 words / Prompt: Cold

Summary: Mrs Hudson does not make tea, Mycroft speaks in italics, and Sherlock goes for a walk.

Mrs Hudson is frowning at him; he gradually becomes aware that she’s been talking. 

Blinking, he looks up. “Hm?”

“I said, do you like her?”

“Who?”

“Mary.”

“Oh, yes. She’s great. Are you making tea?”

Ignoring his implied request, she continues. “She seems clever.”

“Clever? Yes, she is. Quite.” 

…only child linguist Clever part time nurse Shortsighted Guardian Bakes Own Bread Disillusioned Cat Lover Romantic Appendix Scar Lib Dem Secret Tattoo Size 12 Liar…

Liar. 

That might be where to begin his investigation.

“Sherlock.” She clicks her tongue. “You must have known.”

“Known? What are you jabbering about, Mrs Hudson?”

“You must have known he’d move on while you were gone.”

He doesn’t have an answer for this. 

“He’s just that kind of person,” she adds.

“The moving on kind?”

“No, he’s the staying kind, but you left. What was he supposed to do? He thought you were dead.”

Sherlock puts his head down and mumbles incoherently. Maybe she will take the hint and make tea. And bring up some biscuits as well. 

“Sherlock.” She sits in John’s chair. “He’s not like you, love. Not a loner. He needs someone. He had you, and when you died—”

“He didn’t have me, Mrs Hudson. We weren’t like that.”

She gives him the look that means he’s an idiot. “Maybe not, but there was something there. And John needed that. He was lost without you. I’m sure he wouldn’t have found Mary if you’d come home a bit sooner.”

“Well, I’m sure they’ll be very happy.”

She makes a scoffing noise. “You know that’s not true.”

He scoffs back at her. “As I understand it, people who are engaged to be married often go through a period of regret. Cold feet, it’s called. Fear of change. A reluctance to follow through. He’ll get over it.”

“Will he?” 

Before Mrs Hudson can explain to him why he’s wrong, his phone buzzes with a text.

John’s missing. M

It takes him just a second to realise it’s Mary.  

He never came home last night. Won’t answer my texts. M

 I’ll find him. SH

Liar. He opens his phone and begins to type a message. Before he can hit send, his phone rings.

“He’s not an idiot, Sherlock.”

“Where is he, Mycroft? I know you have surveillance on him. What I want to know is why?”

“Let’s just say, he’s attracted the attention of someone we’ve been watching. You need not worry.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Mycroft, I’m not in the mood for—”

“Miss Morstan. What do you know about her?”

“Why don’t you just tell me what you know? As I recall, you said you’d keep Moriarty’s London people away from him.”

“She’s not one of Moriarty’s. Just a freelancer, recently retired.”

“When were you going to tell me? More importantly, when were you going to tell John?”

“Doctor Watson is not an idiot, as I’ve said. His decision to propose to her was rash, I thought, but I’m fairly sure he’s having cold feet since you have returned.”

Mycroft speaks in italics only when he’s amused, Sherlock notes. “Just tell me where he is.”

“I think you can deduce,” Mycroft replies. 

I must be getting slow, he thinks. He’s just been to all the places John used to go when he ‘needed some air’ and slammed the door of the flat behind him. He’s been to five pubs, popped into three coffee shops, and walked the perimeter of the park twice.

Home again, he sits on the stairs, conceding defeat. 

His phone rings. 

“Mycroft.”

“It’s very simple, Sherlock. He’s gone home.”

He nods. It would have been nice if Mary had texted to say—

“Home, Sherlock.”

His head jerks up. Ending the call, he runs up the two flights to John’s room. He knocks and cracks the door open. “John?”

The shape in the bed stirs, rolls over and blinks at him. “Sherlock?”

“John, what are you doing here?”

“Needed to think.” He sits up. “Went around the park a few times last night after I left. More than a few. Decided to sleep here.”

Sherlock steps into the room. When John lived here, Sherlock rarely respected his privacy, barging into the room at any hour. Now, it feels like an invasion. 

“May I?”

John nods, and Sherlock sits on the bed. “What’s wrong?”

“You always told me I see but do not observe. I’m a bit slow, but I did actually learn a few things living with you.” He smiles. “After you died, I could barely cope. I sleepwalked through every day. And then, you came back, and it was like I woke up.”

“I’m sorry. I had no idea you’d be so affected.”

“I believe you. As angry as I’ve been, I have forgiven you. Since you came back, I’ve been awake. And I’ve noticed things… that disturb me.”

“What things?”

“In the cab going home that night, Mary kept talking, and I just had this feeling… she wasn’t who she said she was. So I did what you would do. I investigated. I called her job references. I looked up her employment history. I went through her things when she was out. And I made a deduction.”

“Yes?”

“I think you already know, Sherlock. Mary didn’t exist until a couple years ago. I don’t know who the woman I’m engaged to is, but Mary Morstan was an infant who died in 1972. Stillborn. She’s borrowed a name, made a new life. And for some reason, she took a job at my surgery.” He looks at Sherlock. “Maybe she has a good reason, but my spidey-senses are tingling.”

“Spidey-senses?”

“Spider Man. He can always sense danger.”

“Well, you always did. You knew whenever I was getting myself into trouble. So, what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to tell her the truth.”

“You should know, Mycroft’s people have been watching her. She’s freelance, recently retired. It might not be good to confront her with what you know. She may feel cornered, and that could be dangerous.”

“Not that truth, Sherlock. I don’t need to know who she is, but I’m not going to marry her.”

“But… what reason will you give?”

“I’ll tell her…” John looks down at his hands, licks his lips, and whispers, “I’m in love with my best friend.”

“You’re in love with Mike Stamford? Inconvenient, as he’s married and has four—no, five children.”

“Mike is not my best friend.”

“Gavin?”

“Who?”

“Gavin Lestrade.”

“Sherlock, Greg is a friend, but not my best friend. I’m in love with you.”

“Oh. You’re— I see. You will pretend you’re in love with me, which will soften the blow and allow her to bow out without compromising her assumed identity—”

“Sherlock, I’m not pretending I’m in love with you. I really am in love with you. I know you don’t do that—love is a dangerous distraction, sentiment on the losing side, blah, blah… That’s okay. If you’ll let me, I’d like to move back here. I not asking for—”

He doesn’t remember grabbing John and kissing him, but when his brain comes back on line, they’re lying on John’s bed, and John’s looking at him like he’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. 

John loves him.

“I won’t pretend,” he tells John. “No fake relationships. If you’re going to make love confessions like that, just casually dropping I love yous on me, you’d better be prepared for the real thing. I love you. And just so you understand me properly, only one bedroom will be needed.”

John laughs. “Well, that went better than I expected. Now I only have to break up with Mary.”

Sitting up, Sherlock grabs his phone and texts Mycroft. “The British Government can handle that, I think. Now, kiss me.”

@keirgreeneyes @totallysilvergirl @redmondcollege @lisbeth-kk @ninasnakie

#mayprompts2024 #my fics #johnlock

[bs2sjh]

An Extra May 20 Prompt - Do-Over

Okay, I couldn't let today pass without writing an actual do-over, so I chose this scene to rewrite. Enjoy!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Let me through, he's my friend." 

John could only sit there on the pavement as he watched his friend be lifted onto the trolley and wheeled away. The blood ran in rivers along the cracks in the pavement, forming a spider's web of red. Soon, it would all be washed away, leaving nothing to mark the devastation of this moment.

"John?"

The voice was nearby, yet he couldn't bring himself to turn towards it, to tear his eyes away from where the person who made his life worth living had just ended theirs. 

"Come on, John. Up you get. You can't stay here. You're wet through."  Hands wrapped around his arm, pulling him upwards off the floor. Sluggishly, he stood, his legs feeling like jelly, a hollow emptiness filling his entire body. "Come on. Let's get you warmed up." He followed the hand on his arm, his eyes never leaving the now faintly pink paving stones. 

John blindly followed. His feet moved automatically. Sometimes, he stumbled as his knees threatened to give out again; each time, an arm came around his waist to keep him upright. 

"You're alright. We're nearly there now." The voice was vaguely familiar but distant like the voice was a recording playing through far away speakers. 

You're in shock, John. You should have a blanket.

John shook his head. Hearing his best friend's voice already. Definitely a bit not good. 

"Here we are, just through this door." John heard the door squeak slightly as it opened. The room was dark inside and seemed to be empty. "You'll be alright in here." The familiar stranger left the room and left John alone in the dark. 

"Hello, John." John shook his head. 

"You're not real. I just watched you die." Someone flicked the switch, flooding the room with fluorescent light. 

"I assure you, I am very much real and alive. I have the bruises to prove it." Sherlock stood before him, a sad smile on his face. 

Upon seeing his friend, John collapsed onto the floor, the stress of the last forty minutes leaching the last of his strength. Sherlock at once knelt before him. "You weren't meant to see. You weren't meant to be there. I am so sorry, John." 

Sherlock folded John into his arms, holding him close, John gripping on just as tightly. 

"Oh, God. You're really here. You're really here." 

"I am. I really am. But we can't tarry for long. We have a mission, John, and I will need your help. I can't do this without you." John sat back, keeping hold but just far enough to see Sherlock's face. "It could be dangerous." John couldn't help but laugh, his body feeling a thousand times lighter for knowing Sherlock was alive.

"Only could be?" Sherlock smiled. "Were you actually going to leave me thinking you were dead?" The smile faded. 

"That was one version of the plan. But I'd be totally, hopelessly lost without my blogger." As Sherlock's lips met John's, Mike Stamford decided his job was really done and walked away, a very big smile on his face. 

An extra one-shot for @calaisreno's May Prompt Challenge.

#sherlock holmes #john watson #sherlock #221b baker street #johnlock #bbc sherlock #sherlock bbc #may prompt challenge 2024 #may prompts 2024 #221b ficlet #the reichenbach fall #do-over #mayprompts2024

[weeesi]

Imperfect - May Prompts (24)

“Erm,” John scratches the back of his neck. They’re stood outside a kebab shop a little after four in the morning. To Sherlock’s chagrin, only John had caught a glimpse of the suspect before they’d lost him. “Dark hair. About your height, maybe. Dark clothes.” 

“That’s it?”

“And…dark shoes.” 

“Brilliant.”

“Really?”

“Brilliant description of approximately 2.8 million men living in London, including me,” Sherlock snaps. They’d been working this case for a week and were no closer to catching the thief, even after two consecutive nights on stakeout. 

“More, I need more, what did he look like,” Sherlock mumbles, pacing. With a gasp, he claps his hands together and whirls round. “Draw him.”

“Excuse me?”

“Draw him.”

“How will that help?”

“Oh I dunno, perhaps you’re better with your fingers than your mouth,” Sherlock says without thinking.

They both pretend not to notice how the other blushes at that.

In short order Sherlock scrounges up some paper and a biro from the shop.

John would throw himself in front of a bus for Sherlock, least he can do is try.

Two minutes later he presents his drawing. “It’s a bit imperfect, the nose isn’t quite, well, noses are bloody impossible to draw—”

After the suspect is arrested later that morning, Sherlock learns John is actually quite good with his mouth.

+

Thank you to @calaisreno for the fun prompt series! Tags in replies. Thanks for reading! <3

#mayprompts2024 #johnlock #ficlet #johnlock ficlet #bbc sherlock

[raina-at]

Here's an interesting thought...

What do you think would have happened if Mary hadn't shot Sherlock that night, if the break-in had been successful?

John, who just learned Sherlock's engagement to Janine was fake.

Sherlock, who saw with his own eyes how unhappy John is without him.

The adrenaline of a successful break-in and escape, the thrill of the chase, the two of them against the world, running, coming to a stop, panting, in an alley, hearts pumping. Eyes meet, sparks fly, hands fist in jackets, the dirty brick wall is hard against John's back, all thoughts of truths and cosequences and realities lost in that one moment when they're finally on the same page...

#johnlock #bbc sherlock #is there a fic #do i need to write the fic

[safedistancefrombeingsmart]

What did John say in his letter to Sherlock? We never find out and I regularly wonder what John could have written. Here's my version of John's letter.

(Also, this is my 1st time writing anything, so this is a bit nerve- wracking stressful. Not a native speaker, not beta'd/ britpicked, and so on.)

Warnings: nothing too bad, just a bit lot of angst.

Broken

You broke me, Sherlock. You broke me in so many ways and I don't know if I can ever recover from it.

I have been damaged before. By Mum and Dad, by Harry. Bit by bit, piece by piece I rebuild myself, every time. Then came Afghanistan and it broke me more than anything before, inside and out. It took away my career, my future and I was certain that I could never fix what the war took from me. I was ready to end it all, on my own terms.

But then I met you and to my surprise you could repair what I could not, not on my own. You gave me purpose and brought back joy to my life. I felt alive. Needed. Happy. I don't think I've ever been this happy before, and I am sure I never will be again. I was convinced that you would never do anything to harm my happiness. But you did.

You broke me, shattered me when you jumped off that damn roof. You crushed my heart into a million pieces when you leapt into inevitable death, when I saw your skull cracked open and your dead eyes and the blood. So much blood. I didn't know that it was just a magic trick. A lie. Why did you have to lie to me, Sherlock? Not trust me enough to take me with you? I would have gone everywhere with you, done everything for you. Everything. I think that's what hurt the most. You not trusting me. I trusted you. With everything I had. And you broke that trust by not trusting me.

I don't know how I managed not to fling myself off that same roof. Oh, I've thought about it. Many, many times. But I couldn't do it. I couldn't do this to Mrs. H. or Greg who had already lost a son (or close enough) and a friend. I could not be that selfish. Yes, I thought you were a selfish bastard. Doing that to us. To me. Even made me watch. Cruel doesn't even come close to describe what you did. Did you know that I don't dream about Afghanistan anymore? I dream about your Fall and the cracked skull and the dead eyes and the blood. And how I failed to save you. You never needed saving, but I didn't know that and it haunts me to this day.

I don't know what Mary saw in me. I was a grieving, broken man with no purpose. But she insisted that she liked me and I couldn't convince her that I wasn't worth her time. She distracted me from the grief and in a way she saved me, not unlike you did when we first met.

And then you came back. And I should have been happy, right? The miracle I had asked for so many times. But you treated your return like a joke, like it didn't matter -like I didn't matter- and you ridiculed me and something else inside me broke and this time I broke something of yours in return. Sorry about the nose, but I was so FUCKING angry and you kept talking and you kept being an enormous prick and it made me so angry.

Mary thought she talked me around, to see you again, to talk to you again. The truth is: I needed no one to talk me around. I could have never stayed away from you for too long. As soon as (most of) my anger had vanished,  I was drawn back to you like a moth to the light. And I thought that, maybe, I could be happy again. With you AND Mary by my side. And a little girl on the way.

And then you got shot and I nearly lost you. Again. My heart shattered to pieces, again, while I waited for news at the hospital. And as if it wasn't bad enough with you nearly dying, it was bloody Mary who tried to break me this time by breaking you. How could you not see who she really was? The world's only Consulting Detective and the smartest man I have ever known, and you didn't bloody know??? I could not leave her, not with Rosie on the way. I didn't want my little girl to grow up without a father. I promised her to be a better father than my own and I could never break this promise. Not before she was even born. But you made me break that promise. You didn't pull the trigger, that day in the aquarium, but you might have as well. You SWORE to protect Mary so my little girl would have a mother and she still died. I cannot care for Rosie, not on my own. I can barely take care of myself.

I am a broken man, Sherlock, I am not the man I want to be. Not anymore. I am a washed up soldier and doctor, a single father who can't take care of his daughter, a son and brother being only 1 step away from following his father's and sister's footsteps and becoming a full blown alcoholic.

I can't be near you anymore. Not until I get better. And I don't know if I ever can. I do not trust myself, with all the anger and sadness and guilt and broken promises. Maybe this time I am broken beyond repair.

Do not contact me. Do not follow me. Do not spy on me (same goes for you, Mycroft!). Don't even think about me. Do not! Sherlock, I mean it. This time it has to be my way, not yours.

I don't know when I can bear to see you again, if I can bear to ever see you again. And this thought breaks whatever is left of my already broken heart.

John

(AO3 link)

#john watson #sherlock holmes #sherlock bbc #bbc sherlock #fanfic #sherlock fanfic #sherlock fandom #my fics

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom.

I can’t get you off my mind

I knew Mrs. Hudson was wrong when she told me marriage changes people. 

Not my John, I thought.

How wrong I was.  

Seen in hindsight; has it been three months already, she was right. I should have known that. After all, she was more of an expert on relationships than me. What did I have to show for? My only relationship, if you didn’t count family, had been with John. He was the only one who could fit that term. 

I told Mrs. Hudson that Mary would be reasonable when I needed John on a case. Her response baffled me. 

“Don’t ever use that word and her name in the same sentence, Sherlock. They don’t match. At all.”

Then she huffed and clenched her jaw tight, unwilling to explain herself. So, I’d turned to Mycroft. If anyone knew what was going on, it was him.

“Brother mine,” he said quietly when I came forth with my request about John’s wife. 

“Don’t patronise me, Mycroft,” I snapped. “Just tell me what’s going on. Is John safe?”

“Why would you ask…” Mycroft began, but something about my appearance stopped him from whatever nonsense he was going to utter. 

He sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. Neither were good signs. 

“She’s an assassin with a prize on her head. We have her under surveillance. I suspect she’ll attempt to flee any day to escape,” Mycroft told me. 

My brain buzzed, analysed, and calculated in quick succession, but in vain. All I could think of was John, unknowing, unsafe, and the baby.

“Mary isn’t pregnant, Sherlock,” Mycroft said. 

“Excuse me?” Were you ever going to tell me any of this?” I asked furiously.

*** 

It’s over now. John’s personal Armageddon. His wife gone when he woke. A letter explaining nothing. The fake pregnancy belly was the final nail in the coffin. I tried to reach out to him, but he was so angry. Thought I’d known all along. He didn’t want to listen to reason. I didn’t blame him. I still don’t. 

Again, it’s Mrs. Hudson’s words putting things in motion.

“Are you just going to let it slide? He needs you, Sherlock! You are his best friend, his entire world. Save him, dear, and yourself. Ask him to come home.”

“He is home,” I protest. 

The look she gives me, makes me feel like a five-year old again. She doesn’t pester me further, but it’s enough. I fetch my laptop and start to write an email. The most important one I’ve ever written.

Dear, John

Believe me when I say I didn’t know anything about Mary or the baby until the day before she left. I would’ve told you if I knew. I was terrified when Mycroft told me, and I couldn’t bear the thought of you being unsafe and unknowing. My plan was to tell you the day you woke up without her, but by then it was too late. 

I don’t blame you for not believing me, John. After all, I’ve lied to you about severe things in the past. If you want to talk, we can. Whenever you want. I’m just a text away. And if you can’t bear the thought of staying where you live; know that you’re always welcome at Baker Street. It was your home, and it’s empty without you. 

We’re not good with words, John. Not these kinds, anyway, but don’t let our friendship end like this. I want you in my life, in my home, our home. I can’t get you off my mind, John. I never could. Please, consider coming back. 

If you don’t answer this email, text, phone or come to Baker Street, I’ll understand, but I hope you’ll do at least one of those things. To let me know where we stand. 

SH

***

I’m mentally exhausted after I’ve sent the email, and go to bed, sleeping like the dead for almost ten hours. When I’ve showered and had some tea and toast, I take out my violin and play all of John’s favourites. 

This can’t be how it ends; I think when I lower the violin and bow. After I’ve placed the instrument back in its case, I hear a sound. I’d been so lost in my own head and haven’t been paying attention to my surroundings. And why would I? I’ve lived alone for months, but now I sense a presence. 

I turn, slowly, alert, and there he is, in his chair, looking at me with eyes filled with unshed tears. Any second now they will trickle down his cheeks. In an instant I’m kneeling in front of him, letting my hands rest on his knees. 

“John, is everything okay? Are you…”

“I’m okay, Sherlock. Just…”

His voice his hoarse. I can tell this isn’t the first time he’s been crying today. Something catches my eye just inside the door. John’s duffle bag. I jerk my head back to look at him.

“John?”

“I’m coming home, Sherlock. For good,” he says and manages to smile while he’s crying. 

***

So, this is how it ends. With a pair of broken hearts that are going to be mended. We only have to give it some time, and we will get there. Together.

@flashfictionfridayofficial @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @calaisreno @a-victorian-girl @phoenix27884 @sabsi221b @safedistancefrombeingsmart @gregorovitchworld @raina-at @helloliriels @peanitbear @topsyturvy-turtely

#flash fiction friday #sherlock fandom #sherlock #john watson #mrs hudson #mycroft holmes #sherlock fanfic #bbc sherlock #johnlock #FFF234 #how it ends

[meetinginsamarra]

mayprompts2024 #14, eavesdropping

Read parts 1-10 on AO3 here

The Bed Shop AU continues. YAY!

++++++

The Perfect Place - Part Eleven

John gazed out of the taxi’s window. He watched London passing by without actually seeing it, deeply lost in thought. Once again, John was back in Afghanistan and remembered the day he was shot, when everything had changed. The day that had ended his life without taking his life.

John hoped that today was the day that would change his life again by giving it back to him. Making Sherlock Holmes’ acquaintance had already revived him. John looked at his hand and found no tremor. Then, John startled. He suddenly realized that he had forgotten his walking stick and also, that he could not remember when he had used it the last time.

Sherlock fixed his eyes on John. Grinning, he said, “You left it in the shop. Didn’t need it since we were testing the bed.” Since I made a show of dry humping it and totally distracted you from the psychosomatic limp.

“Dear God, it’s like you’ve been eavesdropping in my brain,” John exclaimed. “How did you know what I was thinking?”

“I observed that you looked surprised, then touched your bad knee and were feeling around with your other hand. I deduced you were wondering about what happened to the cane now that your limp is gone.”

John looked at Sherlock in awe, licking his lips. “Amazing!” I want to kiss you now, he thought.

“That’s not what people usually say.” Mesmerized, Sherlock watched the tongue moistening John’s lips. They looked very kissable.

“What do they usually say?” John asked and leant a bit closer to Sherlock.

“You’re a creepy freak.” Some kind of magnetism drew Sherlock closer to John, too.

“Wrong!” John said sternly, “You’re not.” You’re brilliant and handsome and so kissable, John thought, and felt amazing when I spooned you in the bed. When you made me spoon you, John’s brain corrected itself, but I’d do it again any time you’d ask.

“Please ask me.” John begged. Oops, did I just say that out loud?

“What do you want me to ask?” Sherlock looked puzzled. “Erm, Afghanistan or Iraq?” Sherlock scratched his chin, feeling sheepish. “The one thing I couldn’t deduce so far.”

“Afghanistan.” John inched a bit closer towards Sherlock. “How?” He whispered.

Sherlock began to explain about tan lines and military posture, getting shot and suffering from trembling and limping. “Ergo, ex-army doctor, wounded in action.” He found that his body had moved towards John’s, too. Only five inches separated them now.

“Fantastic!” John breathed.

“Seems like you’ve only needed some thrill in your life to make the limp and tremor go away.” I'll give you what you crave, every day, in abundance. Be my flatmate, John. (Wedding bells chimed loudly in the Mind Palace.)

I need you in my life, John thought but said, “Seems like it, yeah.”

They were now so close that they could feel the other’s breath on their face. John discovered a tiny brown spot in one of Sherlock’s otherwise blue and grey eyes. Sherlock discovered the tiny scar below John’s ear where the Afghan sniper’s second bullet had missed its target. John inhaled and slightly opened his mouth. Sherlock exhaled and dipped his head downward, staring at John’s lips.

“Here we are, 221b Baker Street,” the cabbie cried out.

In this moment, John wanted to shoot the man straight in the head, fiddling with the gun in his pocket and cursing that there were no rounds in it.

+++++

tagging some people @calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @lisbeth-kk @peanitbear @raina-at

#mayprompts2024 #number 14 eavesdropping #calaisreno #my sherlock fanfics #the perfect place #no beta we die like (wo)men

[ohwhataniight]

I'm never gonna dance again - Part 3

I can't stop writing this story and I'm not even proofreading properly before posting (I'm sure it's obvious). Thank you so much for your likes and reblogs, I hope you like this <3

Part 1, Part 2

Songs:

Cry to Me, Solomon Burke

Photo source

I'm never gonna dance again

Guilty feet have got no rhythm

Though it's easy to pretend

I know you're not a fool

“I have an international reputation.” Sherlock slurs, raising his head, his back still pressed against John’s sides as they’re lying down on the stairs. “Do you have an international reputation?”

“No, I don’t have an international reputation.” John responds, squeezing his eyes tightly together and seeing black dots. His head is spinning, the room is spinning even though he can’t see it, and his stomach churns. He can smell Sherlock’s cologne mixed with a hint of leather and tobbaco. When did Sherlock sneak outside for a smoke? They’d been together all night. John blames his negligence, but he doesn’t blame himself for his choices. Never. Sherlock decided things would pan out that way when he made crystal clear that he was married to his work, when he left him, all alone, for two excruciating years.

Mrs. Hudson finds them like that, scolds them for being back so early on his freaking stag night. Oh, yes. The stag night. The wedding. John is getting married in the morning and all he can think about is Sherlock’s body pressed against his own as the corners of the steps dig into their spines.

Sherlock makes an attempt to stand up and suddenly there is nothing against John’s side. The air hovering between them pisses him off, he wants to close the gap, to pull Sherlock close and lie back down, shut their eyes and let the universe swirl them in its vast vacuum of stars and nothingness.

Fuck.

Never without your love

I should've known better than to cheat a friend (should've known better, yeah)

And waste the chance that I'd been given

So I'm never gonna dance again

The way I danced with you, oh

John is sitting on his chair, Sherlock’s leg bent between his own, his grip tight on Sherlock’s knee. His head is still spinning, standing upright has become a struggle, and he has to keep himself from getting nauseous, staring into Sherlock’s silver eyes that are glassy with stupor. They’ve been trying to figure out the names taped on their foreheads for a while, without much success.

“I’m you, aren’t I?” Sherlock asks eventually.

“No, you idiot, you’re you.”

Sherlock takes a few seconds to register the information, then goes pale. “John, my trusted doctor, you have to help me. I’m losing my power to deduce.”

John pokes him on the chest with his index finger. “Sod off, you’re just drunk.”

“I am, amn’t I?” Sherlock slurs, and John doesn’t even have the energy and focus to laugh at his friend’s faltering grammar. “I failed to deduce myself!” he carries on in a frantic voice.

John groans and presses the heel of his hands against his eyes, losing his balance and falling over, kneeling on the floor between Sherlock’s bent legs. “Don’t be too harsh on yourself. No one can deduce you sometimes, not even yourself,” he opens his eyes, staring at Sherlock’s form that’s swaying in front of him, so dangerously close that he can feel the intoxication on the man’s breath. Without completely realizing what he’s doing, his right hand comes to rest on the left side of Sherlock’s chest, his fingers sprawled out against the expensive fabric. “No one can deduce your heart, Sherlock,” he blurts out, lost in the alcoholic haze of his mind. He feels his own pulse thrumming in his veins, his head throbbing with excitement and sheer terror. They’ve gotten too close. If John does not contain himself it’s going to be too late, too soon.

Sherlock’s hand comes to rest upon John’s own, pressing it firmly on his chest, over his heart that’s fluttering like the wings of a hummingbird. “You are my heart,” he murmurs, his eyes moving from John’s eyes to his dry lips for a split second, then back up to his eyes, breath catching on his throat.

John doesn’t register who makes the first move, but they’re kissing, ever so softly, lips pressed on lips in timid exploration, and soon it becomes urgent, vehement, lips part and they’re dancing, this time with their tongues, in a frantic rhythm full of breathless staccatos. John’s free hand comes to rest on Sherlock’s cheek and he feels the ever so faint beginnings of a day’s stubble sprouting on the detective’s skin. His hand moves back, cupping the nape of Sherlock’s neck, gently tugging on his dark curls as he takes Sherlock’s lush lower lip between his teeth. He elicits a groan and takes it as his cue to break the kiss and dig his teeth lower, into Sherlock’s long neck, his tongue tracing the sharp line of his jaw.

Sherlock hands press against John’s chest and he’s pushing him away, looking horrified as he’s trying to catch his breath. “No, John. We can’t... Mary...”

“Shh,” John silences him softly as his fingers come to trace the outline of Sherlock’s facial features ever so slowly, the pupils of his eyes moving frantically around Sherlock’s face, trying to take him all in. “I’ve waited for so long...” he mutters, closing the distance between them with another kiss. “Why, Sherlock?” he mumbles against his lips, his voice breaking. “Why? Everything could be different...”

“I know,” Sherlock breathes hoarsely, his own fingers travelling on the rougher skin of John’s face. “I’m sorry, I know...” He lets himself slide from his chair and join John on the floor, helping him shift from the uncomfortable position that must have made his knees lose feeling. They are both sitting down, their legs sprawled out, Sherlock’s knees bent around John’s waist. John’s hands travel down to Sherlock’s back, on his sides, on his hips, and land under his buttocks. With strong arms he pulls Sherlock to sit on his lap and Sherlock bends his legs, his calves folded on the floor under his thighs, the bulge on his pants pressing hard against John’s own throbbing erection. He presses their bodies together, attempting to synchronize their heartbeats but it’s all too frantic and Sherlock can’t keep up. He’s dizzy and has lost all control of his body and mind. Everything hurts, from his eyelashes to his toes. Everything is burning him from inside out.

John breaks the kiss when he tastes tears. He doesn’t know whom they belong to; they pull away, staring at each other, and they both realize they’re tasting salt. Their foreheads come to rest together, their fingers intertwine on their sides.

Suddenly, Sherlock untangles his own from John's and manages to pull himself up so that he can stand. He manages to with unexpected sobriety and he reaches for his phone, deft fingers manipulating the screen, thumb pressing Play. He extends his hand to John and helps him up, steadying him against his body as the first, notes of Cry to Me fill the room with yearning.

To be continued...

#sherlock holmes #john watson #johnlock #bbc sherlock #johnlock fanfiction #fanfiction #johnlock fic #sherlock #queer #dance!lock

[griseldabanks]

Let Me Count the Ways 48 for John and Sherlock? But make it kidLock!

--Rain on Main

Let Me Count the Ways ask game

Prompt: "We should eat something."

“We should eat something,” John said.

Sherlock merely grunted, adjusting the lens on his microscope.

John's stomach growled again. It was a Saturday, so he'd come over to Sherlock's house as soon as he'd finished breakfast. When he checked the clock on Sherlock's bedside table, it said 15:23. That meant he hadn't eaten in...well, he couldn't remember exactly when he'd finished breakfast, but it had been a long time.

“Aren't you hungry?” John prodded.

“Digestion takes blood flow away from the brain,” Sherlock said distractedly, jotting something down in his notebook. “Eating just slows down thinking.”

“Yeah, but your brain also needs energy from food to keep thinking.”

“I'm fine,” Sherlock said, picking up another slide and sticking it carefully under the microscope.

John held his breath and counted to ten in his head, like his mother always told him and Harry to do when they started arguing. Once he thought he could keep from raising his voice, John snapped, “Well, I'm hungry.”

Sherlock didn't even look up, just waved his hand absently over his shoulder. “You know where the kitchen is.”

With a huff of irritation, John dropped his own notebook onto the table next to Sherlock's and stomped out of the room. He didn't exactly slam the door, but he shut it with a satisfying snap.

Sherlock's single-mindedness was great and all; it was probably one of the main reasons he was so far ahead in school. John knew he would never be as smart as his friend, but one thing he did have Sherlock beat at was hospitality. If they'd gone to John's house today, not only would they have gotten a full lunch, but the second Sherlock mentioned feeling a bit peckish, John knew his mother would whip out a healthy snack for them. And Sherlock would eat it, whether it took the blood flow away from his stupid brain or not.

John strode over to the banister at the top of the stairs and hesitated, peering over them into the empty front hall. True, he did know where the kitchen was, after Sherlock had taken him there a few times, but John still felt a bit awkward in this huge, fancy house. He tiptoed down the stairs, then quietly walked down the hall, feeling as though at any moment, a maid or butler would suddenly appear and warn him that he was trespassing where he didn't belong.

But in the end, he made it to the large kitchen without incident. There didn't seem to be anybody about. Maybe he and Sherlock were the only ones at home.

John stood in the huge, immaculate kitchen for a minute, just looking around and trying to convince himself to make something for them to eat. Was he allowed to take anything? He opened the fridge and the pantry and just stared at all of the food waiting to be used—expensive brands he'd never even heard of, the kind of things his mother would never even consider buying.

After dithering about for far too long, John's growling stomach finally convinced him to make a choice. He decided to make cucumber sandwiches, and he found a package of biscuits that he sampled and decided would make a good addition. With the biscuits under his arm and the sandwiches piled up on a plate, it occurred to him that they needed something to drink as well. Hydration was important, after all.

After digging around some more, he eventually found some bottles of water, which he tucked under his other arm. Then, walking carefully with his precious load, he made his way back upstairs to Sherlock's room. At every step, the terrified thought plagued him of what would happen if he tripped and dropped the food. Crumbs and bits of cucumber would go everywhere, and he wouldn't know how to clean it all up in time, and then someone would come along and tell him to get lost, he was just a dirty little boy who had no right to come here and bother them....

But he made it all the way back to Sherlock's room without dropping a thing. He had to set the plate down on the floor to open the door, then pick it back up again to bring it inside, but then he was safe. Letting out a relieved sigh, John set the plate on the edge of Sherlock's desk, then unloaded the rest of his wares beside it.

Through it all, Sherlock didn't look up from whatever he was scribbling in his notebook. John was used to being ignored when Sherlock was focused on something, so he didn't mind. He just pulled his chair closer and started on the sandwiches, looking over Sherlock's shoulder and trying to decipher his complicated equations.

John had just finished his second sandwich and was opening a water bottle when Sherlock reached over without looking and grabbed a sandwich for himself. John watched in surprise as Sherlock stuffed the sandwich into his mouth in three impatient bites, still writing with his other hand.

“I've got it, John!” he cried through a mouthful of bread and cucumbers. “It was so absurdly simple, why didn't I see it immediately?” Springing to his feet, he began pacing back and forth across his room, and when he passed by his desk, he grabbed another sandwich from the plate. He didn't even seem to realize he'd done it.

As Sherlock excitedly explained why what was on the bottom of that shoe they'd found was crucially important, using words John could barely follow, John opened the package of biscuits. While nibbling on one himself, John pulled one biscuit after another and handed them off to Sherlock as he passed. Sherlock grabbed each one he was offered and shoved it into his mouth, with manners that would have appalled John's mother and earned him a scolding for sure.

John didn't care. He just listened to his friend talking a mile a minute, barely able to keep up. If anything, Sherlock seemed to talk faster and pace with a little more spring in his step with each biscuit he ate. So much for digestion slowing down his thinking.

John smiled behind the cover of taking another drink. Who knew it would be this easy to con Sherlock Holmes into taking care of himself?

#ask and you shall receive #a2on1break #ask games #let me count the ways #sherlock #bbc sherlock #kidlock #sherlock holmes #john watson #i know i got the idea for this from some fic i read i just can't for the life of me remember which one ^^' #something that included john strategically placing food in places where sherlock would absent-mindedly grab it and start eating it #the little things a friend does to make sure his best friend doesn't turn into a skeleton XD

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hi Steph.

Happy Friday to you.

Hope all is well.

Steph I recently became a Freeman fan like I'm obsessed 🤣🤣

I always loved the boys but Martin took over quite heavily lol so I was looking for fics where John is the centre of attention.

Whump or Romance everything is welcome!

Thank you so much as always we would be lost without our blogger Steph ❤️❤️❤️

Hi Lovely!!

Oh GOSH you're far too kind... Thank you so much for the praise, I really appreciate it!

As for John-centric fics, I have a whole section on Page 4 of my Fic Rec Masterpost that's just John Fics:

JOHN-CENTRIC FICS

John During the Hiatus

John During the Hiatus Pt. 2

Past Sholto / John (Mar 2019) // Past Jolto (Nov 2019)

Jealous John

Jealous John Pt 6 (March 2023)

BAMF! But Insecure John

John Has a Beard

John’s Friends Find Out About Sherlock

John’s Friends Find Out Pt. 2

John’s Internalized Homophobia

Internalized Homophobia Pt 2

Mute John

Soldier John (May 2019)

Soldier John NOT before ASiP (AU)

BAMF and/or Soldier John (July 2020)

BAMF and/or Soldier John Pt. 2 (Nov 2022)

Army-Related John Fics (Sept 2020)

John’s Dog Tags

Slutty John

Pining John

Pining John Pt 2

Pining John in S4

John’s Giant Junk

John Chooses Sherlock Over Mary

John’s Red Pants

Clueless / Oblivious John

Not-So-Oblivious John (Updated June 2023)

John Plays an Instrument

John at the Surgery

Possessive / Obsessive John

Angry/Cranky John

Insecure John

Three Continents Watson Fics

Post-Divorce John

POV John First/Second Person Pt. 1

POV John 3rd Person Pt 1: Fluff, Humour & PWP

POV John 3rd Person Pt 2: Whump & Hurt/Comfort

POV John 3rd Person Pt 3: Angst, Angsty Fluff or BAMF John

Specifically Jealous John b/c of Other People (Apr 2020)

John’s PTSD

Trash John

Gay John

And here are some additional lists that focus on John Whump:

John Whump / Sherlock Takes Care of John

John Whump / Sherlock Takes Care of John Pt. 2

John Whump / Sherlock Takes Care of John Pt. 3

John Whump / Sherlock Takes Care of John Pt. 4

John Whump with Guilty Sherlock

John Has Cancer

These lists are your best bet for Just John fics!

If anyone wants to suggest their new fics recently written, please let me know!

Hope you like this list!! :D

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #john centric fics #my fic recs #fic masterlist #john fics #fic masterpost #john watson fics

[calaisreno]

The Client

936 words / Prompt: Secret

Mary looks at the chair. John can’t be serious. “Why?”

The look he gives her is terrible. She knows his temper, but this is the first time she’s seen Captain Watson, who could shoot a man and have no trouble sleeping afterwards. 

“Because that’s where they sit,” he whispers fiercely. “You’re a client now, Mary. That’s all you are. That’s where you sit and talk, and we listen and decide if we want you or not.”

Sherlock is looking sort of grey. She wonders how he managed to sneak out of the hospital and set this up. Was it really necessary? Did he not think that John would believe him?

Her husband—well, the marriage probably isn’t legal, and now that he knows he’s married to a woman who’s been lying since the day they met, he’s obviously not going to stay. Right now, he can’t even look at her. 

Sherlock nods at her. She’s not sure why he’s trying to help her. Or why she didn’t kill him when she had a chance. She was rattled, or she would have done it properly, and this conversation wouldn’t be happening. 

She thought she was finally safe. John is exactly the kind of man she would marry. If Sherlock hadn’t come back, they could have been happy. John is angry now, and it’s not all about her. He’s in love with Sherlock, and it’s something he can’t admit, even to himself. 

Maybe she should have simply disappeared. 

She still could.

“You know what?” She stands in front of John’s chair, glaring down at him. “Forget this bullshit. Open your eyes, John. This—” She pats her belly. “It isn’t real. There’s no baby.” 

He sits up, wide-eyed now.

She smirks. “Don’t pretend you didn’t suspect. You didn’t want to believe it, so you stopped paying attention.”

John’s speechless for a moment, then stammers. “But… why would you do that?”

“Without the baby, I would have lost you.” She turns to Sherlock. “Thanks, but I’ll handle Magnussen on my own.” 

Picking up her handbag, she walks towards the door. On the threshold she turns and gives her parting shot. “Pull your heads out of your arses, boys. See ya.”

John stares after her until they hear the door downstairs slam. He turns to Sherlock. “What the hell just happened?”

Sherlock tries to push himself up from his chair. “John… I think…”

Heavy feet are clattering up the stairs. John looks towards the door, where the paramedics have appeared. 

“Did somebody call an ambulance?”

Sherlock gasps. “Did you bring any morphine?”

A week later…

BBC News. According to Detective Greg Lestrade of Scotland Yard, the investigation into the death of media mogul Charles Augustus Magnussen has turned up no clues to the identity of his killer, or how they came to Appledore, his residence. Security footage is being examined, but the killer obviously knew their target and took care not to be caught on camera. All leads will be pursued, he says, but it appears to be a professional job.

Months later…

“You know, Sherlock, we didn’t need to have such a big wedding.”

“Don’t say that to Mummy. It’s always been her ambition to plan one. And I’m finding I don’t mind it so much.”

“I don’t even know half of these people. Other than Harry, I assume they’re all your relatives.”

“Most are. And acquaintances. My parents have a lot of friends.”

“Mycroft looks… well, less dyspeptic than usual.”

“Every feast needs a spectre, John.”

“Oh, look, he’s talking with Greg. And he’s actually smiling.”

“Who?”

“Oh, give it up, Sherlock. Greg Lestrade.”

“Ah, yes. They do seem rather… friendly. Interesting…”

“Who’s the woman with the hair?”

“All the women have hair, John. Not a single bald woman in the hall. Oh, I see. Looks like a wig. Probably some mystery relative. She’s talking with my cousin Pansy. Mummy will know.”

“Not important. Just… she seems familiar. Look, here’s Harry. Glad she made it this time.”

“Harry! Come here—I need to dance with my sister-in-law.”

“All right, Sherlock—does this mean Johnny gets to dance with Mycroft?”

“Absolutely not! I’m not dancing with Mycroft, even if he’s secretly running the country.”

“Well, your loss. Come on, Sherlock. John says you’re a good dancer. Let me see you get your boogie on.”

“My what?”

“Mrs Holmes! This is all lovely. Thank you so much.”

“Of course, John! And please, you must call me Viola. Where’s your husband?”

“He’s dancing with Harry. Say, who’s that woman over there with the dark hair and large glasses? She was just talking with Pansy.”

“Oh… I don’t know, John. I thought she was one of yours.”

“No, she’s not. Oh, look, she’s leaving.”

“Honestly, who leaves a wedding early? Sherlock, do come here!”

“Yes, Mummy?”

“It’s your wedding! Dance with your husband, dear! I’m going to look for mine.”

“Gladly. Come here, John.”

“Sherlock, that woman—”

“Yes, John. I know.”

“Does Mycroft know?”

“He told me she was dead. But he’s been wrong about dead people before.”

“Why do you think she came here?”

“You mean, why did she crash our wedding? I think she just wanted to make sure you’re fine. That we’re fine.”

“Is this what she meant by ‘get your heads out of your arses’?”

“I believe so.”

“Well, I’m glad she’s not vengeful.”

“No, I don’t believe she is. And I don’t bear her any ill-will.”

“No? Hm. I do, just a bit. But tonight, I only want to think about you.”

“Do you? Then I’ll just have to keep your attention, won’t I?”

“You always do, love.”

--

All my May Prompts 2024 can be read on AO3 here.

#mayprompts2024

[rey-jake-therapist]

The Lying Detective, self hatred and acceptance of abuse

There's something I need to let out of my chest about Sherlock and this episode in particular, cause it's the one that really opened my eyes about something very important regarding Sherlock: he hates himself. He really does, and because he hates himself he believes he deserves all the abuse he gets from the persons he loves.

At some point he says he believed he thought he was an idiot, because Mycroft kept repeating he was the smartest one when they were younger. That was until he met "ordinary people" and realized he was actually, you know, very smart compared to others. And yet, he kept believing that Mycroft was way above him in terms of intelligence. He accepted it, and because he accepted it he trusted him to know what was better for him. And Mycroft, in return, felt entitled to let him believe that Redbeard was a dog and not his childhood friend, and to hide him that he had a sister, who was also a murderer, who had let said friend rot in a well. He felt he had to do it because he didn't trust Sherlock to handle the truth. He thought he was what? too stupid to understand? Too sensitive?

Now don't get me wrong, I love Mycroft as a character, and I know that he did all that "for Sherlock's good", but at the end of the day, lying, manipulate a child's memory and repeating him all the time that he's stupid was textbook abuse. And Sherlock wouldn't have accepted to be called stupid, and would have probably seen that Mycroft wasn't THAT intelligent if he wasn't so deep in self-loathing. But then how was he supposed to love himself if he was always treated like the "slow one" of the family by his own big brother?

When Molly slapped him not once, but THREE TIMES, because he was high, again he didn't flinch, didn't protest. It's not an attack against Molly, I understand why she was upset at the sight of the man she loved destroying himself, but my point is: he could have considered that it wasn't her business, he could have told her to stop. But again, if someone he respects like Molly believes he deserves to be slapped, then he does.

Now John. Sorry guys, that's the hard part I have to say out loud. John was an excellent friend up until a certain time, no argument. One could even argue, and be right, that Sherlock was the abusive one for a while: he treated him like an idiot -but then Sherlock thinks everyone's an idiot except for Mycroft, ruined his first date, unintentionnally (or not) ruined several of his relationships by being obnoxious around his girlfriends, played dead for two years instead of confiding in him like any good friend would do, made him believe they would both die only to hear him say good things about him, I mean... Sherlock's definitely not an angel and for quite a long time, he was rather a shitty friend too. I guess growing up without friends, not even your own sibling will do that to you, but it's an explanation, not an excuse for being an asshole to everyone.

And yet John accepted him as he was, and always forgave him, so of course Sherlock came to idealize him like he idealized Mycroft, for different reasons of course. For the record, I love Sherlock and John's relationship/friendship/bromance/romance/whatever it is. Up until TLD at least I found it... precious. Yes Sherlock was an ass, more than once, but he acknowledged it, and showed he wanted to be better: he not only apologized, but he also grew to become a better person, someone who would be worth of John's affection.

What happened in The Lying Detective, though... what the hell happened? So John was sad because he lost Mary. Understandable. Even if popular theories like to claim he never loved her, his despair and the fact that he keeps her ghost with him all the time said it loud and clear: John loved Mary, very much indeed. And he was mad at Sherlock who he considered responsible for Mary's death. It was also understandable, if Sherlock hadn't shut his big mouth, yada yada... Ah I love to see a a female character fridged so two male characters can suffer and grow thanks to her sacrifice . But then what we know... happened, Sherlock was high as a kite, to the point he was very close to losing it completely he lost it completely, he took a scalpel and John, well, stopped him. But then John lashed on him. He BEAT HIM UP LIKE A PULP, which was at this point completely unjustifiable because Sherlock was no longer a threat, and he would have maybe killed him in his effort if two male nurses hadn't stopped him. But this post isn't about John and his disturbing lust for violence, not really. It's about Sherlock.

What Sherlock did? Nothing. Not one time did he try to defend himself. He took all the hits, didn't ask John to stop, just once again... Accepted. He accepted that he deserved John's violence, even said John was entitled to do that because he had "killed his wife". And Joh doubled down, "yes you killed my wife". But HE knew it wasn't true. Sherlock didn't, though. He was sick because he felt as if he had killed Mary herself, and that's why he was so adamant to grant her her last wish. As someone who hated myself for a long time, I totally recognized the impulse to take the blame for everything bad that happens. That's what Sherlock does, all the damn time.

Violence between men is often glossed over because the old say "boys will be boys". After all it wasn't the first time that John beat Sherlock up, he had done it after Sherlock came back from the dead but it was just for laughs and giggles then, "haha so funny John assaulted him three times, look his noise's bleeding, lol", and also the audience thought that Sherlock deserved it after all, so... it was fine, sort of. Notice that there too, Sherlock didn't try to fight back and didn't ask John to stop. Like, I still don't undrstand why John punched him the last time: because he told him he missed the thrill of the chase? What was wrong in saying that? Except that it was probably true? I'm personally never comfortable with the normalization of violence between men on TV especially when only one is actually fighting the other, but that's just me I guess.

In TLD it was very different. It wasn't funny, and it was certainly not ok. And I was very upset when at the end, not only John didn't apologize to his best friend for physically abusing him, but Sherlock was the one comforting him at the end. The man had almost been murdered by a serial killer, before that his second role model beat him like a pulp for a crime he didn't commit, and he was still the one being strong for John.

I have a big problem with the way this matter was handled, because John's violence was just.... forgotten. And if it had been the only time that he had expressed his anger against Sherlock with his fists, I'd agree it was just a bad moment in their relationship even though he'd still need to apologize for making it ok. But here there's nothing that tells Sherlock that John won't do it again; nothing that guarantees that the next time Sherlock will upset him, John won't lash out on him again, and it will be acceptable because for some reason, violence against a man is somehow ok.

The idea is, I suppose, that there's no power imbalance like there is between a man a woman. If Sherlock wanted to fight John he probably could easily win, he's strong and has enough fighting skills for that. That's not the problem. There IS a power imbalance in that Sherlock will always believe that John is entitled to be mad at him, thus to beat him up if he wants. And since John apparently never apologized for assaulting Sherlock, I have no idea if he realized how wrong it was, and if he intends to change. I don't know about you, but personally I thought texting a woman in secret from his wife wasn't a big deal compared to what he did to Sherlock, and yet that was the only thing that, apparently, John felt guilty of.

Sherlock really broke my heart when he told John that by saving his life, Mary had given it a value. Which meant, basically that before Mary's sacrifice, his life had no value whatsoever, at least in his eyes. Let that sink in for a minute.

"The Lying Detective" is a very fitting name for this episode and for Sherlock in general, because Sherlock doesn't just lie about being almost killed by Culverton Smith, he constantly lies to himself.

He did it when he claimed he fell back into his drug habits "for a case" -if he wanted to attract the press/Magnussen's attention on him there was a lot of things he could have done, he did it all his life about being devoid of feelings and emotions, did it about the reason why he literally offered his life to Culverton; yeah he wanted to "save John Watson" and honor Mary, but it was also about ending his own suffering, a result he hoped to get at best by catching Culverton Smith, at worst by dying.

No wonder why when Eurus challenged him to choose between John and Mycroft, he chose to kill himself. That's actually strange that she didn't see it coming. Probably she didn't know him as much as she thought. He made that choice because he thought he was the one deserving to die. Not Mycroft, not John, not even Eurus... Of course it was also a calculated risk, as he had understood at this point that he was the only one Eurus wanted to keep alive because everything she did was about him for some reason. But I truly believe he would have rather pulled the trigger and shot himself rather than killing Mycroft or John. I saw once someone claim that Mycroft knew Sherlock would choose to save John anyway and that's why he wanted to make things easier, but I think nothing's further for the truth. Sherlock would have never chosen. It would have always been him.

#bbc sherlock #self loathing #the lying detective #emotional abuse #physical abuse #john watson #mycroft holmes #molly hooper #sherlock holmes #sherlock season 4

[starkraivennemad]

How Does That Feel?

Mycroft Holmes stood with his little brother as they got dressed together. They were very grown men now and it dawned to him they had not done such since...

"The day before you left for uni. Black trousers, a white button with slate pullover, a navy-blue tie, black socks, and lace-up brogues for you. Black short pants with braces, a tee with charcoal stripes, white knee socks and black penny loafers for me." Sherlock chuckled, speaking aloud the thought in Mycroft’s head, his usually mellifluous voice soft with bittersweet reminiscence.

For all their differences as they became men of the world, when the Holmes brothers were in sync, it was uncanny. This was one of those times.

How does that feel? he asks himself. It something Mycroft does on emotionally laden days to acknowledge the feeling, name it and move on so that he’s not overwhelmed.

“Funny how that feels.” He mused aloud.

“I know.” Sherlock nodded in understanding.

“You loved those braces. They had little yellow and black bee buttons sewn into the front of them."

"Little bee buttons that YOU had sewn into the braces." Sherlock emphasized.

"I did not know you knew." Mycroft smiled surprised, but pleased.

"Mummy refused to buy me the short pants I had seen in a store window and wanted them." Sherlock chuckled in memory. "Yes, they were shorts for little girls, but I did not care. I wanted the bees."

"Yes. And you had caused quite the scene on the asphalt I was told. You were five and already so head strong. Mummy really should have known better." Mycroft chuckled. "You were so chuffed when I presented the black braces, with the bees sewn on, to you a few days later."

"Oh, my behavior then was a pittance compared to the meltdown I had when school bully Melvin Vandenberg, popped off one the buttons, then ran off and tossed it where I could not see. I tore up the flower beds looking for it until I was bodily picked-up and carried out screaming when I could not find it. I thought it lost forever. I was inconsolable. I  thought..."

Mycroft saw the slight melancholy that creased Sherlock’s brow then and he knew.

"Though I have to say that must have been one impressive meltdown - enough to have your friend Victor and all of facilities scour the entire yard until it was found, Brother Mine, I would have never hated you for losing a simple button were it not found."

"I realized that later in hindsight. But right then and there when I already felt abandoned by you for going to uni without me, I just knew you were never coming back because I had been so careless." Sherlock shrugged and continued dressing.

So many, many years later and Mycroft could see a shadow of that hurt within his brother. It was life, he could not apologize for being off to university. Nonetheless he felt sorry for the pain his leaving caused Sherlock. It was the beginning of the chasm that formed between them. Given who they are as men, though things are certainly better between them, there still were moments when Mycroft wondered if it will ever fully close.

How does that feel? Sorrow, Regret.

Sherlock’s momentary grasp on his shoulder brought him back to the present and reminded him of how far they have come that Sherlock not only noticed, but quietly did what was needed to remind him that it might have taken them a couple of decades but that chasm has begun to close.

How does that feel? Good. It was a good feeling.

"Victor found the button later and gave it to me and then walked up to Vandenberg and punched him in the nose making it bleed." Sherlock looked askance for a moment a small bittersweet smile played at his lips. In less than a two year from that day is when Sherlock loses Victor because…her.

And it is Mycroft’s turn to grasp Sherlock’s shoulder to ground him.

"No one did anything like that for you again until John...and the cabbie..."  Mycroft said carefully, years of being who he is reminding him ears can be anywhere listening.

"Not until John." Sherlock confirmed.

"And that’s why you're marrying him."

"One of the many reasons why."  Sherlock tied a perfect double-Windsor knot on the second try. "None other cares for me the way John does."

"Oh?" Mycroft hmmed tying a perfect double-Windsor knot on the first try. When Sherlock did not respond, Mycroft said nothing as he finished dressing.

John, for all he does care for Sherlock, he has only been in his brother's life the past eleven years. Even Gregory Lestrade, who certainly cared for Sherlock, had five more years than that. Except for the years in uni and the first few as an agent, Mycroft has spent his life, especially the last near thirty of them protecting Sherlock in so many ways. Yes, things were better, but there was still something of a strained relationship between them as adults. He could not help the twinge of hurt he felt at the seeming dismissal of it all.

How does that feel? Disappointment, with a tinge of resolve. It was not a good feeling.

"You two about ready in there?" Greg, John's best man, knocked on the door just then.

"We are." Mycroft went to the door, grateful for the diversion.

Gregory looked at him, the unspoken “You okay?” in the raised brow.

Mycroft gave a single nod in an equally unspoken “I'm fine.”

“How's John?" Mycroft knew his husband would understand he changed the subject on purpose, but would let it be for now, knowing he'd explain later.

"Left him with Mike, checking off the new, borrowed and blue." Greg stood at the door looking to Sherlock, "He said you had something for us…?"

"That reminds me, Sherlock, where is your something ol...?" Mycroft started to ask.

He stopped when Sherlock reached into a toiletry bag and handed him a small box. He raised a curious brow as he opened it, then gasped aloud as he looked at his brother completely stunned. "Oh Sherlock!"

"Myc?” Greg entered the room fully at Mycroft’s stuttered breath in contrast to Sherlock’s pleased but shy smile. He closed the door behind him. “Sherlock?"

Mycroft held the box out so Greg could see the contents.

"Bees and safety pins?" Greg looked from the little bee buttons inside the box to the two brothers staring at each other.

"You…" Mycroft’s usually cool blue-grey eyes were suddenly warm with unshed tears as he found his somewhat choked voice. His fingers gingerly touched the buttons as though he would not believe they exist without doing so. He stared at his little brother. “…you kept these...?”

"Of course." Sherlock reached into the box, "You got them just for me. You defied Mummy who was stuck on the gender bias of their coming from a girl's outfit. She told me years later how you argued with her for me to have them when you explained exactly how you knew I would wear them."

“Mrs. Hudson, Molly, and Rosie are wearing similar, but different bee buttons that I gifted them as important in my life. But these original buttons are ours…” Sherlock picked up two bees and safety pins and secured them to his brother’s lapel. "Though young yourself, you fought for me. You understood her points, but you fought for me to be me, even at that tender age. Yes, you left for uni soon after, and I simply could not understand that, but I have never forgotten that you did this for me Mycroft."

Mycroft was speechless as he watched Sherlock pin him. He remembered the buttons, but they were both young children when he had given them to Sherlock. He had thought the buttons to be long lost to history. That Sherlock had kept them through the years since floored him.

How does that feel? Frankly overwhelming, but good.

"It was the first of many such battles. Between I and our parents until they finally understood I had to find my own way and they had to accept it. Other than the drug use, you have never stopped me from being me, even if you don’t always agree with my choices. John and Greg also accept me as I am and will each get one bee, but you were the first, so you get two.” Sherlock continued speaking as he straightened Mycroft’s lapel. “And for all the trouble I have given - and let's be honest will continue to give you, today, I wanted you to know while I outgrew the short pants, and the ability to easily tell you such, I have never outgrown my need for someone to understand the dragon slayer, when no one else does. Yes, I have John, Greg and even Molly, but they are not you. None other cares for me the way John does – save one. And right now, I want to acknowledge that one and say thank you. Thank you, for everything, Brother Mine. Thank you."

Hearing the words from Sherlock, the open acknowledgement, Mycroft was ashamed of having just thought his brother was apathetic to him. He should have known better. For all the strain between them growing up, Sherlock was very much like him in certain ways. Sherlock just was not one for such outward displays of affection.

Mycroft gave a tremulous smile at the memory of the conversation held as they smoked in front of their parents' house that long ago Christmas when he called Sherlock a dragon slayer. He was further shamed to realize that had been the last openly tender moment between them as brothers.

Until now.

Mycroft understood that heartfelt thank you was Sherlock's way of saying he loved him. It was as good as he was going to get with his brother.

And the unshed tears flowed. “Oh, Sherlock!”

Sherlock then picked up two more bees with safety pins and held them out to Mycroft. "Can you?""

"Oh, of course!" Mycroft took the items and pinned the bee buttons to Sherlock’s lapel. As soon as he was done, he did something he rarely did with his brother as an adult: pulled Sherlock into his arms and held him tight. "I love you, Sherlock."

Though he would never forget it, Mycroft will be eternally grateful to Greg, whom both brothers had all but forgotten was in the room with them, when in a few days will present him with a framed photograph of the moment captured on his phone.

The moment when Sherlock himself did something even more rare: hugged his brother back tightly and then said the actual words.

"I love you too, Mycroft."

How does that feel? Absolutely Wonderful!

---------

Read/Comment on AO3

#bbc sherlock #sherlock holmes #mycroft holmes #brother!lock #mystradedialogueprompt

[jolieblack]

Jolie’s thoughts on

Silver Blaze Part 3 & 4

(Sherlock & Co. podcast)

No, I tell a lie, because I still have stuff from part 2 that I wanted to point out, too:

I‘m a tiny bit obsessed with John's "doink - doink - doink" sounds after they cross the river.

I also laughed out loud at the Romans clearing out at 3:45.

And there’s a very sweet moment, too, that I didn’t really notice before, when they look at the victim‘s body with Inspector Gregory and Watson goes on about possible reasons why a single blow with a stick could have inflicted such damage, osteoporosis etc and Gregory thinks he’s just rambling, but Sherlock absolutely knows he’s not and nudges him back on track with that gentle "What are you thinking?" Because it’s not just John who wants his Sherlock to shine on a case, it’s the other way round, too!

And I honestly hadn’t noticed until the third relisten that at the very end of part 2 when they’re sneaking around Mapleton, John is basically solving the whole effing case just when Sherlock turns up and interrupts him!

Well, on to part 3 & 4!

Sherlock getting a black eye this time rather than a broken nose, yay, we love variety in our hero whumps. I could listen to entire episodes of Sherlock getting hurt and John looking after him.

Sherlock and John faking a legit job to get the information out of the local bookie was such a classic ACD scene, the way they work together completely seamlessly in situations like that is so great. I’ve also seen it pointed out that Sherlock can be so awkward with people when he’s being himself, but he’s always so confident and at ease when he’s just playing a role and being completely fake (without needing a break afterwards or telling us it’s exhausting, too!). That’s a totally fascinating contrast.

Part 2 had John accidentally solving the mystery of the murder weapon. Part 3 has John basically paving the way for the dog deduction. I love a competent Doctor Watson who knows exactly what he’s doing, but I also love it when he’s truly being Sherlock’s famous conductor of light.

John being canonically a Bond fan, love how they’re still incorporating so much BBC Sherlock fanon into this show. I‘m now eagerly waiting for Moriarty and Colonel Moran to be hot young men who have hot sex with each other, too.

"No more than you’re being human" - "Me more than you, mate" - Can ALL the John Watsons of this world please instantly stop dehumanising their Sherlocks and calling them robots or machines. I can accept it maybe up to their third case together, but in any adaptation that I know, the Sherlocks have proved themselves to have a big heart and to have it entirely in the right place, too, by case 4 at the latest. I don’t like to see any Watson regressing to the cheap laugh of "Sherlock’s a machine and doesn’t have feelings" after that, and I dislike it especially in this version where we get a Watson who is particularly well-attuned to and tolerant of Sherlock’s neurodivergence. Sorry, rant over.

Hey and I was right in my prediction that Sherlock didn’t drop John's phone at Mapleton Stables by accident but left it there on purpose! Even if I assumed it would be recording audio evidence rather than be used as a tracker. Which of course begs the question, did Sherlock really manage to somehow connect his phone to John’s and enable tracking in the very few seconds he had before Silas Brown turned up with the gun? Or is he always tracking John‘s phone as a matter of course? And if the latter, does he do it out of care/worry for John‘s safety and wellbeing, or is he doing it in a creepy/possessive way?

Anyway. After listening to part 4, I must admit I am somewhat underwhelmed by that bit… I don’t know what it is, but parts 1-3 are positively bursting with humour and action, while by part 4 I felt they had kinda lost the momentum. There’s nothing really wrong with it, and maybe it feels different when you’re not familiar with the original story and every revelation is truly jawdropping and not just ticking a box. Maybe I‘m also a little underwhelmed that the final denouement at Aintree is so… private. The horse whose disappearance - we are to believe - has GRIPPED THE NATION and is THE news story of the year is just back, and everyone’s just fine with it? No comments from anyone involved in the case? No congratulations from the owners? No bittersweet relief from Edi and Ned? No genuine relief from Fitz? No acknowledgement from the official police? No tearjerking speeches in parliament? I‘d say if you start a story on that kind of epic scale, you shouldn’t end smaller. I really wanted all those loose ends nicely tied up and got… none.

I also either missed something important, or we never really learned the reason why Mapleton kept hiding Silver Blaze? I see how they took him in at first, maybe thinking they’d get a big reward or ransom, or wanting to pass him off as one of their own, but the way it is, they just hide him for no reason and then give him back for no reason?

Am I being too critical?

The thing with the "S" and the "5" was clever though. And poor John and his abysmal Air BnB rating was hilarious, too.

#sherlock & co #podlock #sherlock & co podcast #sherlock and co #episode notes #silver blaze