#“bachelor john watson”

[adriwithae]

Him getting mistletoe for Christmas is a small detail that really dosent matter.

BUT IT MATTERS TO MEEEEEE

[contact-guy]

Noble Bachelor doodles I HAVE A THEORY and I have to make it funny or else I will cry

(this is a part of the Watson's Sketchbook series)

[johnsspacesuittight]

discovered the Sherlock and Co. podcast randomly on Spotify yesterday (hey sometimes the algorithm’s not so bad) and my god is it beautiful perfect everything to me, I mean Sherlock is my one definite special interest so it’s hard to go wrong with anything even adjacent to that, but when you then have Sherlock pretty immediately list all his diagnoses importantly including ADHD and Autism I was pretty much as happy as I can be, literally spent a good chunk of my final year of uni being frustrated at all the ways people elect to just not acknowledge Sherlock’s autism/variable diagnoses nor sexuality despite like clearly making choices about how to portray him/writing some very undeniable traits for him, so I don’t think I can even express just how much I enjoy canonically autistic Sherlock

[paperleef]

LazyPigeonz on Twitter (formerly known as X) made prompts for a sherlock & co week and because I’m going to be very busy this week I’ll just be posting the first three days in advance

[friday411]

The Adventure of the Noble Bachelor

A widow became a new bride, But right after the new knot was tied, The "widow" went missing. (Her first was still living) They’d run off and faked that she'd died.

-=<+>=-

Thank you for reading & reblogging!

LMK if you want on or off the list!

More @ AO3

Tags also in the comments! @calaisreno @helloliriels @naefelldaurk @peanitbear @totallysilvergirl

[winterdaphne2]

okay so I'm re-reading the original ACD Sherlock Holmes stories for the first time in years, and I have to talk about "The Adventure of the Noble Bachelor." Holmes takes a case that centers around a couple who live a rough, dangerous life together and fall in love, but then have to part because of reasons beyond their control. The husband goes off on his own to complete a task that will allow him to return to his beloved, but then gets captured. He escapes and tries to return to his wife, but by that point she's believed him dead for more than a year. He follows her to London, only to find out that she's about to marry someone else. But now here's the real kicker: when he approaches her and she catches sight of him and realizes that he's still alive, she immediately decides to leave her new fiancé for her first, true love.

Also, Holmes doesn't think the wife did anything wrong by leaving her new lover for her first husband.

Ugh. It's like Moftiss truly just lifted this plotline and embedded it into TRF and TEH, but obviously with John making the opposite decision from the wife in the ACD story.

The story literally ends with Holmes saying to Watson that they should "thank our stars that we are never likely to find ourselves in the same position." (Holmes is talking about the position of the second man whom the wife left, but still.) That hurt.

[hereticaldetective]

Watson: “D’you wanna come for a walk?”

Sherlock: “…A walk.”

Watson: “Yeah. ‘Round Regent’s Park with me and Archie.”

Sherlock: “Can I wear sunglasses and ear defenders?”

Watson: “You can wear whatever you want, mate.”

Sherlock: “Fine.”

[whats-in-a-sentence]

"(...) Draw your chair up, and hand me my violin, for the only problem which we still have to solve is how to while away these bleak autumnal evenings."

"The Illustrated Sherlock Holmes Treasury" - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

[alistair-theirins-tits]

POV you looked at some girls

[captainsolocide]

eligible bachelor you will always be famous (rainbows literally EVERYWHERE also ty completely insane sideplot about Holmes having nightmares about Moriarty and confiding about the to Watson) (the scene where that happens is where the majority of the rainbows appear)

[criticalfai1ure]

if their narrative wasn’t warped by time and tall tales woven around their names turning them into people they were nothing like, august van de hoek and cornelius “kees” smeenk would have been considered by historians to be “Very Close Friends.”

[tenth-sentence]

"The vanishing of the lady."

"The Illustrated Sherlock Holmes Treasury" - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

[holmesianlove]

Chapter 12 - Red

Sherlock had been out when John arrived home. Another failed date which barely made it through the first drink of his evening and ended before the second drink had been delivered to their table. He had hoped to come home and find Sherlock on the couch. He wasn’t really sure why. There was just some sense of comfort in that. Even though Sherlock would have deduced ten things about the date and ribbed him mercilessly, it had become their little ritual. Somehow, it made John feel better, despite his grumblings to the contrary. Sherlock noticed things about him. About his comings and goings to Baker Street and he secretly enjoyed it: which shoes were his good date shoes; what shirt signified a second date; or when it was a clinic day, based on the trousers he chose. Sherlock’s little quirks made John’s every day feel important, somehow. Someone noticed him.

But Sherlock wasn’t there tonight. The flat was cold, empty, still. It was unnerving. He much preferred the detective to be at home, even when he was contorted on the couch in a sulk, or messing up the kitchen with an experiment. One time he was even using a staple gun to attach photographs to the wallpaper for a case. It was never dull at Baker Street. His home. He smiled to himself, very briefly, before his face fell again. What on earth was he going to do with himself, all alone? He’d lost his appetite on the date, but maybe he’d make some toast and a cup of tea. He could read through the case notes again. There were a couple of things he was still wanting to read back over.

He dropped his keys on the table beside his laptop and he noticed, on top of the mess of papers, the new pair of headphones that Sherlock had purchased during the week. Noise cancelling, top of the line, beautiful headphones. It was too late to respectably play music to unwind after the date, but with the headphones, maybe he could put on something loud and angry to lament the fact he would be a bachelor forever. Mrs Hudson wouldn’t be disturbed and he could do some rage cleaning or something. The bathroom was due a scrub down.

He put them on and paired it to his phone, picking something to listen to. Some heavy rock was in order. At first, he stood there enjoying it - the loud angry rage music. Single, pathetic John Watson. A soldier and surgeon and now crime solver, and still he couldn’t hold someone down long enough for a third date. These days, he was just hopeful he’d pick someone who didn’t stand by the three date rule. There has been some dirty alleyway trysts and a bit of uncomfortable car sex and occasionally an offer to come up to theirs. John never brought them to Baker Street through. It somehow felt wrong. He never had figured out why. It just did. He sat precariously, on the edge of the coffee table, pondering that for a moment and the image of Sherlock with the kitten nestled against his neck came flooding into his head. He blushed. Again. What was that? Why was he getting strange stirrings about snuggling up to Sherlock? Sherlock didn’t do relationships. It had always just been the two of them. As friends. And Sherlock never wanted to discuss it.

He needed to stop thinking about his flatmate in that way. Nothing good could come of that. He actually hadn’t really dated any men for a long time. Now that he thought about it, maybe he’d have more luck on Grindr. Men were always more prone to one night stands on Grindr. Women always wanted to start with the pretence of a date, at least. Fake romance before admitting to wanting to just get off with someone.

A particularly good song came on and John was inspired to dance. He started dancing across the whole flat, using the furniture as props to grind against or lean into. He grabbed a chair and straddled it and then ran up and down the stairs to his room. He kicked off his shoes and socks and started stripping down piece by piece, twirling items of clothing around his head. Yeah, John Watson. You’ve still got it, he told himself. You could absolutely be one of those hot male strippers. He looked down and tried to ignore the little belly he had there. Maybe he needed to do some jogging again. Get back into shape. But here, right now in Casa del Baker, he would be the hot stud that everyone wanted.

By the time he was stripped down to his underpants, the plan had been to grab pyjamas and go have a warm shower. But a particularly good song came on and distracted him, so the dance moves now took priority. He used every inch of the floor space. Dancing in his favourite red underpants. Very festive. Red for speed. Red supposedly induced hunger in the brain. John Watson was the house stud.

Bathroom. Stay focussed, Watson. He was going to rage clean that bathroom and then he could shower and get in pyjamas and make some toast and tea. Yes, that was a good plan.

Meanwhile, Sherlock had finally returned home from his brother’s after a really long walk home, trying to think through the sorts of things he might say to John, to potentially, maybe flag that there was something between them he’d like to discuss. He stood in the foyer downstairs just mulling over his options one more time, trying to encourage himself to get up the courage, give himself a gee-up.

Just make the first move. That’s easy. Right? That’s all you have to do. Then, apparently, he will jump off a cliff with you… or maybe without you… in terror.

He rolled his eyes at the very thought. But willed himself to go forward. As he came up the stairs, he could hear John humming from somewhere in the flat. Good mood. That’s a good start.

“John? You there? I had something I wanted to…?” Sherlock looked around the empty flat. “John?”

Some of John’s clothes were balanced in odd ways on parts of the furniture and a Sherlock struggled to piece together what was happening. The humming kept coming, but John didn’t seem to be responding so Sherlock wandered over to the kitchen and then back to the lounge.

“John?” he called out with more volume. Why wasn’t he hearing this?

He was going to go up towards John’s room next, but his ears told him it was coming from the corridor.

Ah. Bathroom. Was he in a bath? On the toilet? Was that a bad time to do this? Or maybe he could say it through the closed door and save some of the embarrassment.

As he turned towards the corridor, heading for the bathroom, quite suddenly, out of nowhere, John Watson leapt out from the bathroom, into the corridor, straight in front of Sherlock. He had not been expecting to see Sherlock. Clearly. And Sherlock had not expected to be under attack either.

John Watson stood there in his red underpants and noise cancelling headphones and a sponge in hand. His body glistened with the sweat of an excellent rage cleaning session. He had planned to grab one more product to get a particularly stubborn stain out, but it was in the kitchen. So he had planned to dance there and unfortunately leapt out dramatically into the corridor to find Sherlock gaping at him. The embarrassment was acute. He wanted to shrivel up and die in this moment.

The two of them froze in place, eyes wide. John had let out a yelp in fright and Sherlock had sucked in a breath that he had almost forgotten about until he let out an aggravated growl in frustration at being surprised in that way. Especially with the thoughts that were spinning around in his head in the moment.

John dropped the sponge and ripped the headphones off his head, creating a sweaty, scruffy mess of hair in its wake. The music could still be heard, albeit in a much softer incarnation as the headphones continued playing the track he had been on. John reached down and pressed the pause button on the side of the headphones without his eyes leaving Sherlock’s. They were two flatmates locked in a confused stand off, neither able to process the moment.

“What the… hell… John?” Sherlock finally asked loudly. His eyeballs drifted up and down John’s entire body. He didn’t even hide the action, and then he dropped his key to the floor, and turned bright red with embarrassment as his brain caught up. That had completely put a spanner in his plan.

“Sorry I…” John also stood, completely frozen, utterly humiliated. Suddenly his brilliant idea seemed very un-brilliant. This is why Sherlock thinks you’re an idiot.

“You had… a date.” Sherlock stuttered out, suddenly looking horrified. “Did you bring her here? You never… Sorry, I didn’t… You really should message me if you want… privacy….” He sounded disgusted, though. He was disgusted. He was about to declare his love and John was about to copulate with some below-par woman in their flat.

“We never set up any rules,” John retorted, completely caught off guard by Sherlock’s slightly aggressive tone.

“No. But it’s never come up before. And I’ve certainly never come home to you dancing around in your underwear either. Is she upstairs? Or did you just decide to go all out and use my bed?” Sherlock snapped.

“What kind of psychopath do you take me for?!” John yelled back not understanding Sherlock’s behaviour.

“I don’t know, John. You’re the one naked in our flat.”

“You’ve been naked plenty of times.” John stormed past Sherlock, their shoulders colliding as he moved to the lounge, grabbing his shirt to cover his torso at least. Not that an open shirt really did much, but somehow he felt less naked in the moment. A protective layer. He turned back to Sherlock. “You were naked in the god damned Palace, need I remind you. Perhaps you should have mentioned your double standards before I moved in too.”

“Oh is that another cat-related-criticism, is it?” Sherlock spat back.

John crossed his arms. “I’m not going to stand here and argue with you in my underpants.”

“Good, I’d much prefer that you didn’t.” Sherlock crossed his arms as well. “And you should tell her to leave too,” he said, nodding towards the stairs. “She’s not welcome.”

“There’s no-one bloody here, Sherlock!” John yelled. He sucked in a few breaths trying to calm things. What the hell was going on? “I was just… bored… and you weren’t home… and I was listening to music and… ugh never mind. It shouldn’t matter either way, but for your information, I’m here alone.”

“Alone. In your underpants?” Sherlock scoffed in disbelief.

“Yes. So?” John bristled.

Sherlock just stood staring at John. His brother’s words challenged him over and over in his head and yet, somehow even he knew this was not the best time to suddenly make a first move. Despite how ridiculously enticing John looked, and how incredibly charged the room was with their testosterone-fuelled argument now. Sherlock could easily just cross the floor and kiss John right now. That’s what his brain wanted him to do. His whole body flushed with embarrassment as the realisation hit him and he glanced briefly over at the mirror on the mantle to see he was almost as red as the stupid underpants that somehow were glaring back at him, almost as aggressively as John was.

“Where were you tonight, anyway?” John asked, trying to save some face.

“I went to see my brother, if you must know.”

“Your brother?” John was surprised.

Sherlock avoided seeing his brother at all costs. In fact, he often sent John in his place to annoy everyone as much as possible. “Is everything… alright?” John suddenly found himself asking, his demeanour relaxing somewhat as he stepped forward, dropping his arms, genuinely concerned, but this only seemed to upset Sherlock more as he took a step away from John.

“God, could you just put some clothes on!” Sherlock snapped, turning on his heel and storming to his room. He slammed the door and threw himself down on the bed, face planting with an impressive level of dramatic flare.

John stood alone in the lounge room completely humiliated. He and Sherlock rarely argued like that. They yelled and carried on all the time and took their moods out on each other but this one felt so very different. Sherlock had been startled by John’s appearance. And properly angry about it. And John didn’t understand why. He certainly felt mortified to his bones. He put his face in his hands and ran straight back up to his room. He pulled the shirt off and grabbed a dressing gown instead, collapsing backwards onto his bed. “You are a bloody idiot, John Watson. You may as well have gone out and danced in the middle of the street. What the devil were you thinking?” he whispered. He never did anything like that. Sex in public? Maybe. Solo John Watson showing off in any way, with no clothing on? Never. It had felt so freeing and wonderful for the length of a few songs. And then the fun had crashed down around his bare ankles.

After a considerable time lying there in his dressing gown feeling like a real idiot, he remembered he hadn’t eaten and really did need something in his stomach. He put on some socks and padded down to the kitchen, his dressing gown wrapped safely, tightly around his body and double knotted for safety.

While he waited for the kettle to boil, he heard a phone vibrating loudly and he walked back into the main area to find his phone. No, it wasn’t his phone. He could still hear the vibrating so he searched around and finally found the spot Sherlock had put his scarf and coat and his phone - probably when he came in before he was set upon by a naked pesterer. John groaned to himself as the memory refreshed itself in his brain and re-established new levels of embarrasment.

He grabbed the phone and answered. “Sherlock’s phone.”

“Oh John, it’s Greg. I wanted Sherlock to look into something for me tonight. Is he home?”

John paused before answering. Was Sherlock home? Was that Sherlock in his usual form? Or some demon clone? Clearly whatever had happened at his brother’s house had upset him. Maybe it was best to leave him alone. But Sherlock prized The Work over everything and would never forgive John for ignoring a call-out. If he had been that mad about John’s red underpants, ignoring this call would probably be eviction worthy.

“Yeah, hang on Greg. I’ll get him.”

John made the terrifying walk down the corridor to Sherlock’s bedroom and stood outside, unable to muster up the courage for a moment.

“How urgent is it, Greg?” John asked, hoping for an excuse to not have to do this.

“Pretty time sensitive,” he replied.

John tapped lightly at the door. “Ah… Sherlock? It’s Greg. It’s work stuff,” he said. He was embarrassed to hear a little quiver in his own voice. He was a coward. He stood there for what felt like too long. Maybe Sherlock wouldn’t come out. Maybe he’d crawled out a window and escaped to the streets of London below, disgusted by his naked flatmate.

Suddenly the door unlatched and Sherlock peeked through a crack. His eyes raked over John’s full length to check for clothing first, then he looked into John’s eyes, very hesitantly in silence. They stood just staring at each other, assessing. It seemed the argument had equally frightened Sherlock.

“Greg,” John reiterated holding up the phone to show him in the crack.

Sherlock opened the door more and went to grab the phone but stopped. “John…”

“I’ll get dressed and come with you,” he simply said, handing Sherlock the phone and walking away to put on some clothes.

And with that, the argument would remain unresolved and festering between them. And they would probably behave as if nothing had happened.

— —

Thanks @notjustamumj for the prompt list. I’m so enjoying writing these for you all!

@lisbeth-kk @totallysilvergirl @221beloved @helloliriels @safedistancefrombeingsmart

@givemesherbet-blog-blog @naefelldaurk @a-victorian-girl @phoenix27884 @peanitbear @starlitkeys @lumilama @yorkiepug @talkativeanxiousturtle @kettykika78 @kittenmadnessandtea @whatnext2020 @egregiously-chuffed @chriscalledmesweetie @catlock-holmes@battledress @kholkate @randomquadballpun @little-owls-things @daltongraham @sillygirlsmindpalace @oetkb12 @odditiesandeverything @johnlockficclub @rainstarboii @bheadhe @hospitableasacactus @wssh13 @br-nz @solarmama-plantsareneat @givemesherbet-blog-blog @dw91165

@r4venlyn @ineffably-chloe @fuck-off-watson-rp@rhasima @salmonsown @westandforships

[queerholmcs]

there's a terrible injustice in the form of trf being my least-watched episode and therefore i always forget how good she is!!! anyway, in honour of this being the month for @victorianpining's the stories in our veins, let's consider:

please note that all quotes should be read as encompassing of a broader theme and not solely the line of text proper.

btw if you were curious. watching trf with tst imprinted upon your brain absolutely does add something special to the event. 🫶

[amypihcs]

So i'm dead.

@contact-guy's beautiful comic (i loved it, truly, it killed me.) and watching Hellsing with an offline friend of mine killed me THROUGHLY.

And since i fear i'm figuring out how Holmes and Watson's relationship will evolve into @contact-guy's comic serie i'll curse you with the HCs i made with my dear @i-dont-talk-for-days-on-end today talking about my future drawing of Watson with his loves, Holmes and Mary.

You can probably tell i'm emotionally devastated because my writing is more inconsistent than my usual.

So.

For me is very important that Mary gets treated well, since she exists in canon and is a fantastic woman. And i also love to think that she and Holmes are friends, after all they both love Watson.

My take is, Watson and Mary have kind of a façade marriage based on good friendship and comradeship but without love and generally without sex.

This could work in two ways, both of which are incredibly nice one:

Aroace Mary who needs some sort of social respectability coming from a marriage and got lucky enough to find a man as good and kind as Watson who is more than willing to help her to achieve it without endangering her

Lesbian or Bi Mary in a relationship with a girl, probably her ex employer, could be someone else, who still needs the respectability and stability coming from a marriage and is still lucky enough to find our favourite bisaster, Dr John H. Watson, who is also bisexual and in a relationship with a man and would benefit a lot from the cover of a respectable marriage.

The first one is rather easy to treat. Watson and Mary make good friends during Sign of Four, Holmes notices/guesses that Mary is acespec like him (my Headcanon for Holmes is that he is demigay) and when Watson proposes and she accepts they put immediately straight that it won't be a consummated marriage, ever.

The second one develops in the same way, and this makes so much more explainable the many times Mary is mentioned to be away visiting relatives in canon. Mary is with her partner, Watson is with his partner.

Now angst warning!

Sherlock Holmes looks very favorably upon Watson's marriage, he is in fact the one that pushes Watson into it, and for very good reasons.

Let's put sign of four in 1887, alright? Chances are high he was already pursuing Moriarty, or that he generally was realizing more and more the risk of dying on the job, well, Holmes is a smart man. And a clever, practical and caring one as well. he is a man who loves deeply and cares deeply and wants to always have his affairs in order.

Is it too much of a stretch to imagine that he realizes the higher and higher risk of SOMETHING BAD happening? I don't think so. And he knows that Watson could get caught in the crossfire and he wants of course to protect Watson and offer him some saving net.

He pushes Watson into this marriage that will not mean the end of their relationship but the creation of another meaningful relationship for his love, so that SHOULD I DIE he will have someone to help him weather the storm (would watson care, would he? nobody ever did, but WATSON. Watson cares for everyone... would watson care...). The marriage also means that he will go back into practice, and this is an economic safe net, something always good. Their relationship is of course carefully concealed but such a handsome, sociable, perfect man as Watson is staying unmarried and living with a bachelor friend might give rouse to suspects, marriage will give his incredible partner respectability, something Moriarty or anybody won't dare to attack without sure cards in his hands, and Holmes will make sure NOBODY has any such cards.

Holmes is no coward, but he's not stupid either. He knows his job is dangerous and it might lead to really bad things happening, so he is happy when Watson tells him Mary said yes. He is happy on the morning of the wedding, he is the man who ties Watson's tie and then kisses his lips. He tells his husband to go marry, enjoy his honeymoon and start his life with his wife. And then come back to him, to their rooms and their love. And they both will have tears in their eyes. Holmes will not be at the cerimony, nor will Mary's wife. But they will always support their partners.

Holmes OF COURSE will sulk for a bit, until Scandal in Bohemia. He did what was right, but he still feels lonely. And then Watson comes back. And they're together once more, they're in love and they can break the world apart. And then comes 1890. Watson is a bit more settled down, Holmes has his affairs in order, he can set to the work of his life. And then comes 1891.

Holmes is afraid.

They set fire to their rooms. Home is not safe anymore.

Reichenbach comes.

Holmes is not suicidal, he is terrified. And yet he will once more put Watson's happiness in front of his own. He will not put his husband in front of an impossible choice. He drafts a letter in his head. He leaves it under a silver cigarette case.

He can't imagine he will only see his husband three years later.

His plans worked and failed. But they're back together. Holmes will finally talk. There's a broken window in 221b Baker Street, they're both older, more tired. A bit sad at how things turned out. Mary is dead. Holmes couldn't have forseen that. And yet after some days, after a dinner. Watson will pat the empty spot on his left on the couch, he's still sitting in the center. He will hug Holmes close to his chest, they will remember the times all three of them hugged, Watson and his loves, Mary on the right, Holmes on the left. Holmes on the heart's side, Mary on the reason's side. They will cry. And remember. And be glad for what have been and look forward to what will be.

They're older, more sure of themselves. Watson's status as a widower is respectable enough, he murmurs in the dark. He will only be married to one man for the rest of his life. The following morning, Holmes presents Watson with a French gold coin, for his Watch chain. That will be their ring, their memento.

Years will pass, they will retire, they will always be together, because they never lived, so they can never die. Outside the rain pours and the cabs rattle in the streets.

And it is.

Always.

1895.

Okay, sorry for the immense rant, i have tears streaming down my face, my j'accuse is up in the first lines and it's also my thank you for getting the balls to write this rant on holmes, watson and mary.

[amypihcs]

The PTSD part comes back in the Eligible Bachelor, terrible as that film is at least for me, Holmes having nightmares from PTSD and Watson knowing it and trying to help him is INCREDIBLE. Because the nightmare always starts with Moriarty, and then evolves. Our man still has that mess in his head, his fight with Moriarty is a BAD trauma.

Granada Holmes is a wonder for many reasons but right now I am thinking how impressed I am with its consideration of mental illness, particularly relating to Holmes' PTSD after his struggle with Moriarty (I mean, their handling of that whole arc is so good anyway, but—) I'm on The Devil's Foot now, and when Holmes and Watson do the incredibly dangerous lamp experiment, they show us Holmes having a hallucination of Moriarty wrestling with him. As much as I love the scene in the og story, it's such an interesting adaptation to have Holmes on the ground screaming as he's tormented by visions of his nemesis. And when he then hurls the lamp away into the sea, and stares after it with a look on his face like he's considering the fate he narrowly escaped? *chef's kiss*