#221b careful what you wish for

[edwardallenpoe]

My first ever Sherlock & Co. Fic, it's ofc about Sherlock's DID. One of Sherlock's headmates fronts after being dormant for a number of years and meets John. Very fluffy, kind of angsty but more comfort less hurt. Mentions ofc of dormancy and allusions to past trauma, plus mentions of panic attacks.

I wrote this mostly inspired by some of my own dormant headmates coming out of dormancy, it's a weird and wonderful and relieving experience for us.

This fic is now on ao3 (link)

Fic under the cut (no editing, I wrote this in a flash, do not judge lol):

When he opened my eyes, he knew immediately some time has passed since the last time he did. 

He looked around the room, trying to discern and deduce where he was- definitely an apartment, so not a dorm or his parents place, somewhere he resides, mainly. He stood on wobbly feet, noticing the tightness of his trousers on his waist- they've gained weight, how odd- and made his way outside the bedroom, finding the bathroom to be right next to his bedroom, seeing in the mirror his- no, Sherlock's- reflection. 

He touches his cheek, sees new scars, and old, familiar ones faded. He runs his hands through his hair, clean and scented and soft. It's been a considerable amount of time. 

“Sherlock? It's around that time, Mariana wanted to talk about some potential clients, remember?” He heard a voice, and he felt a small sort of panic rise in him. 

“Er, j-just a minute!” He lets out, and wonders at how full his voice sounds. 

“uh… alright, then… you alright, mate?” The voice just inside the doorframe now, the reflection of a man with shaggy blond hair and a scruffy beard leaning on the frame, his blue eyes piercing through him. The silence in his head, a void only a minute ago, helpfully supplies him with some help as he hears John play over. 

“Yes, I'm fine, John.” He says, and the man's eyebrows shoot towards his hairline, his eyes wide. 

“You called me John, and it wasn't even a tense emotionally charged moment of stress and trauma, now I definitely know somethings wrong. What is it, Sherlock?” He asked, and he damned his parts. 

“I…” then, fear rises. He had no idea if this John person knew, knew of the secret that they had held since Trevor, new of the myriad of thoughts and voices this body shares. 

John's eyes softened. “Hey, it's okay, whatever it is. You can trust me.” 

He wishes desperately for someone, anyone to confirm or deny this, and he gets the overwhelming trust his host feels for this man. 

“I… I'm Scotty.” He says. “I haven't… not since…” 

Understanding blooms on John's face, and he smiles. “It's really nice to meet you, Scotty. I'm John Watson. Sherlock has told me about you.” 

Scotty crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at John's shoes. “What has he told you?” 

“He told me you left, a long time ago. Dormancy, he said?” 

Scotty nodded. “It's been a very long time. I don't know what…” he intended to add time, year, anything, but it was a given. He didn't really know anything. 

“The year's 2024, it's July. We're in London, 221b Baker Street. I'm your roommate, and Sherlock's best friend. We have Mariana, and Archie downstairs.” John explains softly. “D'you want something to eat?” 

Scotty nods. 

John smiles. “I've only just started getting Sherlock to eat, it's nice to have some cooperation, c'mon.” 

John leads him out of the bathroom and to a small kitchen area, in complete disarray but generally nicer than most kitchens Scotty has seen. It looks like the people that use it care, not only for the stationary and cutlery but for their living space, their home. It makes something warm inside of Scotty bubble. 

“This is… nice.” He says to John, and the man snorts. 

“Glad you think so, I think I about given up on keeping it tidy, keeping track of Sherlock is a near impossible task.” John motions for the and, and Scotty sits, placing his hands on the surface. “How does, um… eggs? Eggs sound?” John asked as he rummaged through their fridge. Scotty smiled at John, tried not to laugh at the effort the man was putting into this. 

“That sounds good, John.” he looked around more, peering into the living room a bit. It was also messy, papers and books and mugs and wires everywhere, hoodies and dog toys and dvd's as well, and Scotty furrowed his brow in fascination. “How long have we been living together, John?” He asked. 

“Oh, uh,” he blew out some air as he thought, clicking his tongue. “Around, I want to say, nine months now? Moved in around the end of october, I think?” 

“Wow…” He mutters. All the trinkets, all. The pieces, the papers, the studies Sherlock loves and cares for so much, integrated so deeply into John's own life. To be honest with himself, he wasn't sure where Sherlock's things started and John's ended. “You're… really important to us.” 

He hears John sputter a little. “What? I mean, not that I didn't know, just- y'know. Odd to hear it.” 

Scotty shook his head. “Even with Trevor, or all of Sherlock's other friends, things weren't like… this. We really care for you, and you care for us.” 

John clears throat. “I'mean, 'course I do, Scotty. Your system has helped me in a lot of ways, ways I'm not sure even I understand.” 

Scotty looked to John, fascinated. “You've met the others?” 

“Fleetingly,” John clarified. “I believe his name was… Arthur? He helps Sherlock go to bed, sometimes, when he stays up for longer than four days. And Shelley, she's fronted a couple times to help with my panic attacks.” 

Scotty's heart warms. To know that his parts were still around, doing good when he was away, it was reassuring to know. 

“I'm glad, then.” Scotty says. “It's good to know we've met you, John Watson. Things weren't always… like this. This nice. Things were…” he closes his eyes as he tries to not think of that night, that man, once so high, now brought down by his own hubris, and the rushing torrent of your fault, your fault, your fault- he felt that night. “Hard. It's good.” 

John comes to sit across from Scotty, smiling. “I know. It was the same for me. I'm glad I met you, Scotty.” 

John makes the eggs, and Scotty eats about two before he's finished, and John goes downstairs to explain that Sherlock was having a bad day, and Scotty stayed upstairs, petting Archie, who slobbered all over his lap, though he found he couldn't mind. 

We made it, he thought, over and over. We made it. 

By the time John had come back upstairs, The body of Sherlock's system was curled up on the couch, nuzzling Archie to find comfort. “Scotty?” He asked, and got a negative hum in response. 

“Sherlock?” He tried, and he got a nod. “Hey, how are you doing?” 

Sherlock lifted his head, his face red and tear streaked. “I'm… I'm okay. I'm good. Thank you, John.” 

John's heart melts, and he comes to sit next to Sherlock, rubbing a hand between his shoulder blades. “Of course, Sherlock, of course. It was really the least I could do.” 

Sherlock sniffled. “Frédéric had said that there was a chance Scotty wasn't ever coming back. That he wouldn't until he felt complete and utter safety.” 

Realization slowly crept onto John. “I… you feel safe. Here, with us?” 

Sherlock nodded. “After what happened… I couldn't blame him. But I'm just-” he turned away from the dog and instead found comfort in John's embrace, and John immediately wrapped his arms around him. “Thank you.” 

John squeezed, rubbing his back. “Of course, Sherlock, of course.” 

Scotty popped up a couple times over the next few days, but his fronting activity dwindled. John had almost worried he had gone dormant again, but Sherlock seemed happy, whole, and good, and he found that wherever Scotty lay in that great big brain of theirs, he would do what it took to make him feel safe. 

[girl-next-door-writes]

Under The Umbrella

Characters: Mycroft Holmes x reader

Summary: Mycroft shares a cigarette with you outside 221B, and feelings are felt if not expressed.

Word Count: 1013 words

Prompt: Sharing a cigarette with him under his umbrella just outside 221B; romantic but not official yet.

A/N: @russian-soft-bitch thank you for this request. I know it has taken me a while but I really like what I’ve written, and I hope you do too.  

The landscape was grey, from the rolling clouds right down to the dirty slab laden pavements, the buildings merging into the murky mistiness of the day to create a swirling vortex of drab and dreariness which was the city of London. There was a chill in the air, despite the lack of wind; the heavy drops of rain hurtling down towards the ground on a straight trajectory, bouncing up from whichever surface they reached first. The ground shimmered lightly as the streetlights began to glow, reflected in the growing pools of water, the gloom creating the illusion that the hour was much later than the 4pm it truly was.

You pulled your coat tighter in a vain attempt to stave off the chill, a light shiver rippling through your body. Mycroft noticed your actions, frowning slightly, causing his brow to furrow in a rather endearing manner. A sudden warmth around your neck had you looking up as he nonchalantly draped his scarf around you with one hand, his other holding his umbrella.  The soft cashmere smelled of his aftershave and you found your eyes fluttering closed as you inhaled deeply for a moment.

Upon opening your eyes, you saw him watching you with amusement, his face illuminated by the glowing embers of the cigarette between his lips. After taking a drag, he languidly removed the cigarette with his gloved fingers, the soft leather creaking slightly, bending and flexing around his digits as he offered the filter to you.

The sheets of rain cascaded around the pair of you, bouncing up from the ground to soak through the bottoms of your trousers and your socks. Neither of you registered the discomfort of your damp clothing clinging to your ankles. Instead, the rhythmical, soft thudding of raindrops pounding against the black umbrella he held aloft over the two of you had become your own personal soundtrack, covering the silence that blanketed your interaction, leaving only soft looks and a tantalizing tension which always seemed to indicate this was more than an acquaintance, more than two people simply in his brother’s orbit.

You took the cigarette from him, shuffling a little closer, but always careful never to make physical contact. There was always a buffer of a few inches between the two of you, something you both subconsciously maintained at all times.

He watched as your fingers raised the cigarette to your lips; unable to look away from the gentle pout, the softness of your lips, the intimacy of the gesture. Mycroft was aware of your chest rising as you inhaled, despite the many layers of clothing you were wearing, and he felt his stomach flip. Transfixed, he watched the way the thick white smoke curled from your mouth, almost taunting him. That smoke which had tenderly caressed your lips in a way he often wished he had the right to do, met with the chilly air, rising through the damp until it encountered the rain. His gaze was still on your mouth, his own lips parting slightly as his imagination began to run away with him.

How easy it would be to take you in his arms, to hold you close, to finally give in and taste your kiss instead of just fantasising about it. This moment, right here, where the two of you existed only beneath the shelter of his umbrella, would be perfect, if he could only find the courage to step off the emotional ledge. Yet, his fear of falling was too great. The humiliation of potential rejection stung as if it were real, and he simply took the cigarette from you and closed his eyes as he inhaled deeply, trying to calm his nerves.

Neither of you pointed out that you had your own cigarettes, or that he had a packet in his inside jacket pocket which would allow you to each smoke separately. This was not the first time the two of you had shared a moment like this, although the rain was a new touch. The easy silence between you where all the things unsaid existed was an addiction neither of you wished to give up. The strange thing was, this was now the only time either of you smoked. A cigarette was just an excuse, a reason for you to linger there with him, and he with you.

People hurried past as you both stood at the bottom of the steps up to 221, neither of you in any hurry to leave. Sadly, the cigarette was burning down, now dangerously close to the filter, the excuse to remain was disappearing as the ash fell, seemingly disintegrating in the air as your time together came to an end.

Mycroft’s brow furrowed, and, for a brief moment, you both thought he might say something, but the words never came. Instead, you removed his scarf, offering it back to him with a soft, grateful smile.

“Keep it.” His voice was low, a little gravel making its way into his tone before he coughed to clear his throat. “Your need is greater.”

You simply nodded, wrapping the scarf around you once more, and then the two of you parted company.

Mycroft fought the urge to turn and watch you leave; he preferred to imagine you there one moment and then gone the next as if by magic. That made all the times he imagined you being by his side easier somehow. He held onto the spent cigarette, the stain of your chap-stick the only evidence that you had really been there with him this time. Pulling his cigarette packet from his jacket, he carefully slipped the butt into it, wanting to carry around a tiny part of you just for a little longer.

Perhaps, one day, these encounters may end differently. Perhaps there would come a time when nicotine would not be the thing that joined the two of you. For now, though, Mycroft made sure he always carried a packet of cigarettes and a lighter, just on the off chance your paths crossed and he could steal some time with you.

[annesthaeticc]

lovers rock | sherlock x fem!reader

| Sherlock Holmes x Fem!Reader

| one shot , song fic

| 961 words

| 'because love can burn like a cigarette, and leave you alone with nothing...' What Sherlock and Y/N had was beautiful, but it crashed and burned.

A/N okay bear with me it's short, but hey it's something, right? testing the waters asi hopefully hopefully come back into writing. let me know what you think!

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“Such a small world,” you quietly said and watched as the air escaped your lungs, echoing your words. The party inside was loud, but not loud enough for the silence outside was piercing yet calming. And so, he heard you. Slowly, he turned to see who spoke and found your silhouette, your shape outlined amongst the trees and the pillars.

Slowly, he walked towards you. Yet another mistake he was about to make. For all the choices he made that involved you, it led to one.

One. Big. Mistake.

Sherlock heard his heart thudding. Crashing and breaking in every step he made towards you. You sat there frozen, your eyes unblinking, or at least trying not to blink for you feared that if you do so, he might disappear.

Just like he did back then.

Sherlock sometimes wished he never pursued you, but here he was, about to do the very same thing. He never learned.

“Indeed it is.” he replied, his very perfect presence now crowding over you. His shadow embraced you and your eyes finally blinked only to find he was still there, standing in front of you.

He was taller. His face is more defined. His curls, curled to perfection. His perfume was the same, or is it? His lips fuller, more inviting than ever.

Sherlock noticed this, and cannot help himself but do the very same. You were perfect in every shape and form, as the day he met you. He committed crimes before, but his favorite might be the one he is about to make; to kiss you.

Silence passed by the small distance between you and him and it was almost deafening. You were waiting for him to say something. Something along the lines of “I’m sorry I left you…” And he was doing just the same, waiting for the words like “I’m sorry I couldn't wait for you…”

“Best man leaving early?” you finally said, shyly asking. He nodded and looked away.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, cutting you off before you could even say anything.

“I was invited, well not just me really, Ian and I were…” your voice trailed off as your husband's name left your lips. Again, he nodded.

Ah yes, Ian. Sherlock knew more than you. He is decent enough, this Sherlock could guarantee. But not decent enough to leave you on your own for days, even weeks or months on end while he was traveling the world on some sort of opera tour. Sherlock didn't care enough to dig for more details.

All he knew was deep seated anger and sadness.

And this resonated through the walls of the second floor of 221B Baker Street for months. Your wedding invitation sent for him lay hopeless on his desk, waiting to be written on to confirm his invitation. He was about to decline after finally making a decision that went on for weeks, only to find out it was pointless to respond because your wedding was already done.

And so, he threw the invitation in the fire. He watched as the intricate paper got swallowed by the flames, melting into ashes, into nothing. He was mesmerized by it. How something could be nothing because of the burning flames.

He was shaken from his thoughts when he saw your hand, holding a packet of cigarettes. You were offering him one and Sherlock accepted. You sat down again on the bench and he followed, allowing a few inches between you.

Quietly, the two of you smoked. Avoiding glancing or talking. You were caught up in a trance and were shaken out of it when you felt movement. Sherlock stood up and stepped on the cigarette. His shoe dug into the grass as the last of the embers glowed.

“Going somewhere?” you asked.

“Home.” he replied, his voice deep.

“I could drive you.” you offered.

“No thank you. I’ll catch a cab.” he replied, slowly walking away.

“Sherlock, wait, please—” you caught up with him and offered to drive him once more. He declined and you almost gave up.

His figure faded into the darkness when you cried out, “Sherlock, I'm sorry.”

Tears flooded your eyes and you couldn't help. It fell from your eyes, flowing down your face. Everything was blurry and you felt your hands shaking from the nicotine and from the adrenaline of your apology.

“It's been 12 years, Y/N,” he replied. “Why are you saying sorry now?”

“Because…”

“You will not tempt me to play one of your games, Y/N. Not this time. Not ever again.”

“Sherlock, please,”

“I'm sorry? Is that all you could think? You left me, Y/N,” he cried. And now you see his face. Anger, despair, and longing painted his face,

“You left me first!” you accused him. He really did.

“And yet you couldn't wait for me, couldn't you? All the promises I made—”

“Were gone as soon as you disappeared, Sherlock.”

“Oh ye of little faith!” he said, his voice booming.

“Sherlock,” you breathlessly begged. “I'm sorry.”

Sherlock heard you, and saw your eyes. He hated you for marrying someone else, but what he hated most is seeing you cry. He pulled out his handkerchief from his jacket pocket and dabbed your face, wiping away the tears. He pulled you into his embrace, just like he did back then. When your cries died down, he pulled away then planted a kiss on your temple.

“We would never work out. You're happier with him.” Sherlock said.

“I realized that what he had, was all that it was. Nothing more, nothing less. We burned too fast until we became nothing, Y/N.” he continued.

“I loved you,” you whispered.

“And I did too. So much.” he said, his voice breaking.

————— • ————— • ————— • ————— • ————— • ——

TAGLIST:

@migurin @damiensoda @inas-thing @peachywoong @ruevz @sammiisnthere @srapalestina @winchestersgirl222 @taramaria @alexag-barnes @sleutherclaw @will0wfairy @vexedvalerie @lovecleastrange @evelynrosestuff @azu21 @getlostsquidward @bubu890 @strangefilms @ice-ksk @my-beel @doctorswitch @tuitiononlivings @windchaser1990 @swds @andrewgarfieldsloml @spencerreidslittleslut @sherlockstrangewolf @littlebadariell @whosgwyneth @cumberbitch @lostfleurs @strangeobsessed @slvtforstr4nge @jyessaminereads @dancerpanda04 @stephenstrangeaddictions @starryeddie @cemak @valoa3s @paola-carter @runningnannie @siredlust @stupidthoughtsinwriting

[kat651]

sensory overload

word count:689

You returned to 221b exhausted. One more thing and you knew you would burst into tears. You just needed a long, hot shower, and to sleep for as long as you wanted. 

You hadn't even finished taking off your shoes when your name was called from the living room. You took a slow breath and let it out you then walked into the living room. “What is it, Sherlock?” you asked you immediately scolded yourself for sounding so small and weak. 

“I was wondering if you could-” Sherlock paused when he saw your face. “Oh y/n what's wrong?” he asked, walking over to you.

“I-it nothing.” you lied, voice trembling a  little. “What was it you wanted me to do?” you asked, unable to meet his eyes. 

“Nothing, it can wait,” he said gently.

“Sherlock i-” you fell silent as he slowly, cautiously, put his arms around you. You couldn't recall him even once showing you or anyone else physical affection. “s-sherlock? “ 

He gently rubbed your back. “Long day?”

You opened your mouth to answer but instead broke down in tears, sobbing into his shoulder. You felt Sherlock stiffen, clearly shocked by your sudden raw display of emotions, you were normally so calm and collected that even Sherlock had a hard time reading you. “y/n?”

“I'm sorry!” you sobbed. “I-i don't mean to cry i-” Sherlock gently shushed you before slowly and gently leading you over to his chair. He sat and pulled you into his lap, rocking to and fro as you cried. 

“Its ok, y/n, let it out… its ok im here…im here…” he whispered, holding you close to his chest. When you had no tears left to cry, you relaxed in his arms. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, gently stroking your hair.

You shook your head, continuing to hide your face. “Just hold me… please…” you whimpered, clutching his shirt. 

He chuckled softly and pulled you closer. “Of course y/n… of course i will.”

You snuggled as close to him as possible and yawned before closing your eyes. 

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. You whimpered and hid your face in the crook of his neck. “No!” Sherlock shouted, placing his hand on the back of your head. “Go away!” there was another knock and Sherlock cursed under his breath. “I'll be right back ok?”

You whimpered but nodded. Knowing he had to deal with whoever was at the door. Sherlock covered you with a blanket and gently kissed your forehead before going to the door. You placed your fingers on your forehead, startled by his actions. 

There was another knock. “What?!” Sherlock yelled, opening the door. “What do you- oh, hey John.”

“You seem angry, is everything alright?”

“Oh it's just….” Sherlock looked over at you. “y/n’s had a long day… she needs some quiet.” 

“Oh,” John said. “Well i- here,” he said, handing Sherlock a folder. “That's our next case, I'll come back tomorrow, take care.”

Sherlock came back to you and tossed the file on the coffee table before pulling you back into his lap. “The case can wait,” he said when you began to protest. “You're much more important.”

You smiled and closed your eyes. “Thank you sherlock…”

“What?”

“You didn't have to do this for me…”

“Oh yes I did, you're my top priority.” 

“What?” you asked, looking over at him confused.

“I-i wasn't planning on telling you but… you have a right to know…” Sherlock sighed and looked at you softly. “I like you, y/n… I like you a lot,” he whispered. “More than I wish to admit…”

You blushed and then put your arms around him. “I like you too…” you whispered, gently placing a kiss on his cheek. 

Sherlock chuckled and hid his face in your neck. “And here I was worried you wouldn't feel the same…”

“And why wouldn't I feel the same? You're absolutely incredible…” you whispered, gently kissing the top of his head. “I like you a lot… have for quite some time…”

Sherlock smiled and kissed your cheek. “ I'm glad…” he said. 

[bakerstreethound]

Bakerstreethound Masterlist 2.0

Hello! I'm in the process of cleaning up the disaster that was my old masterlist. Please read the Request Rules ​ for info on what I do/don't write. Please be kind to each other. Any ageless, blank, or bot blogs will be blocked as will those who spam like.

5yr Anniversary Celebration Event

Strawberry Sherlock Masterlist 

Kinktober 2022

Jan Writing Challenge (2020)

Old Masterlist

Last updated: 12/September/2024

BBC Sherlock

Sherlock Holmes

What if Mornings Were Good? - Days pass in a blur, and they've been hard to find joy in, each one passing slowly, yet quickly simultaneously and you want it to slow down. Luckily, Sherlock is there to comfort and support you along the way, though your mind is intent on bullying you and causing you anxiety for the future and everything in between.

Gentle Love - Sherlock Holmes is not the best at expressing his emotions, let alone how to help you when you are going through a rough day. Years ago, he discovered that washing your hair was one of the ways he liked to show his care and adoration, especially when words fail him, and he cannot fully express his love for you.

Weariness & Passion - Sherlock comforts you after a rough day and you want nothing more than to be near him, holding him close and kissing him.

To Ease Such Panic - Sherlock comforts you after a night of panicking and he helps ease your mind and worries.

Heavy is the Burden - After a long day of errands and classes, you finally return home seeking solace and basking in the warmth of Sherlock.

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

To Another Year - When the party for the new year begins at 221B, you reflect upon your year and the many blessings it's given you - that one of a new family, both blood and chosen.

******

Berry Kisses - Sherlock's kisses are one thing you cannot live without anymore. He can't resist you anymore than when he's on the trail of a killer. You live for the quiet moments where you can be at peace with each other, if even for a short while.

Light in the Darkness (Request) - Waking up in Sherlock's arms is one of the highlights of your day, and he shows you how much he adores you; how grateful he is to have you in his life.

Strawberry Delight (Strawberry!Sherlock) - Quiet early mornings on Baker Street are a rarity, especially with Sherlock clinging to you and asking for more than kisses. One thing leads to another and you oblige his wishes.

Anatomy of Boredom (short blurb request) - During a quiet night you ask Sherlock what he's reading, and he begins to read aloud the excerpts of his Anatomy book, but soon enough he gives in to one of your choices.

Blooming Chemistry (University Era Sherlock) - When Sherlock becomes your Chemistry tutor, you form an unlikely friendship, and an undeniable bond unfolds. Do either of you confess your feelings or continue living in denial? Waiting until the week before finals sounds like the perfect time to muse over these feelings, right? 

A New Horizon  - It’s the end of the semester and the night before graduating with your Bachelors Degree and you reflect on your journey. Sherlock, on the other hand, is determined to let you know how proud he is of you and your accomplishments. 

Madness or Madly in Love? (Request) - When Sherlock notices you refusing to give him affection for a couple of hours, he grows worried, knowing it’s because he forgot to let you know of his whereabouts the past week. Now, he has to pay his penance, asking for your forgiveness. 

Give Me One More Chance (Request) - How many chances is enough? For you, you’ve reached your breaking point and break the news to Sherlock after feeling neglected in an on again off again relationship with him, if that’s even what you can call it. (Angst NO Comfort)

Forget Me Not (Request) - Sherlock is worried about you and comes to comfort you.

Hold Me Close (Short Blurb) - Sherlock senses your stress and brings you to bed to help ease your worries as you strokes his curls.

Won’t You Stay? - Starting a new semester always has it downfalls and shortcomings, but Sherlock is there to hold you through the worst of times, especially to help combat your greatest foe - your mind. 

Corrupted Evidence (Request) - You accidentally messed up with some evidence Andersons when Sherlock brings you with him to a crime scene. Sherlock gets mad at Anderson and stands up for you.

Never Idle - Being a workaholic has its downsides and Sherlock, the poor lad, does his best trying to get you to relax, even though he isn’t well versed in healthy ways to cope with day-to-day life and boredom.

Desperation Calls (Short Blurb) - After dragging Sherlock to a night you're receiving an award at work; he whisks away to ravish you.

Birthday Boy - A short blurb involving my beloved detective. This is kinda rushed and scattered since I should've been in bed hours ago but I'll probably do another birthday surprise for him sometime later. Cheers

A Thousand Wishes  - You reminisce over the year with Sherlock after the New Years Eve party at 221B comes to a close.

******

Successful Year (Blurb Request) - Sherlock discovers something and wants to show you immediately.

Patience is a Virtue (Strawberry!Sherlock - Kinktober 2022) - With Sherlock home, you decide to have a little fun and rile him up all while making sure he knows how much you love and adore him. 

Otter Paw Mittens (Strawberry!Sherlock Blurb) - You gift Sherlock a pair of mittens for Christmas.

Cuddles & Unruly Curls (Strawberry!Sherlock Blurb) - Sherlock is grumpy and flops on your lap, demanding attention, which you gladly bestow, that is after you tease him first.

Rest my Darling - I may or may not be freaking out about the end of the semester which lead to me writing this plus I wasn't feeling the greatest either. Is it too much to ask for one extra week of break to rest more?

Adorable Otters (Strawberry!Sherlock) - Sherlock tries to grab your attention to show you some otters.

Hold my Heart for it Bleeds (Request) - Soft Sherlock drags you to his room and curls up with you on his bed after a really bad day. He doesn’t say anything, just clings to you as he silently cries into your neck, not wanting you to see just how horrible he feels but also needing to close to you.

Feeding Sherlock (Blurb) - You use your wiles to convince Sherlock to eat something after days of him forgetting to sustain himself.

Tangled Sheets (Short Blurb) - Being tangled in the sheets with Sherlock, you can't help but give him kisses, and perhaps something more.

Must be the Late Night Talking (Blurb) - Nothing to see here but another blurb. I apologize if it seems scattered, but writing has been keeping me going pretty much for the last couple of days as a form of comfort so...yeah this happened. We’re also going to ignore that this is 1.1k+ words so yes, it’s a blurb. 

For Once (Short Blurb) - Registering for classes is a pain in the ass and I’m stuck in a pickle as I’m trying to graduate soon, so this blurb is a big anger outlet where Sherlock tries to help out.

Forever Yours (Kinktober 2022) - You’ve had a long day at work, Sherlock is out on a long case and yet he comes home early to surprise you and give comfort. 

Fire & Ice (Kinktober 2022) - Sherlock decides to try out a new experiment with you involving some ice. Needless to say, you both enjoy it, finding comfort in each other’s arms not long after.

I’ll Take Care of You (Strawberry!Sherlock - Kinktober 2022) - You grow desperate for Sherlock’s presence and when he’s not in bed with you the early hours of the morning you start to worry, but when you wake the second time, you are pleased to find him safe and sound in your arms. You then decide to take matters into your own hands and show/tell him how much he means to you. 

Strength to Carry On (Short Blurb) - You get overwhelmed and don’t feel like you have the strength to do anything but fall into Sherlock’s arms for comfort. Everything feels like too much. 

After the Storm (Strawberry!Sherlock -request) - Strawberry!Sherlock comforts you after a thunderstorm causes you to panic and you hurt yourself. 

Hair Product (Short Blurb) - A self-indulgent little blurb featuring Sherlock and his messy morning curls.

Simple Evenings (Strawberry!Sherlock) - Sherlock gets clingy and tries to drag you to bed after a long day because he wants to cuddle and adore you. 

Graduation Nights, Old Regrets - You drag Sherlock along to your niece’s high school graduation which you yourself aren’t too keen on attending. Throughout the night, though you look back on regrets of not having or attending your own graduation, but Sherlock ever the charming gentleman he tries to be, eases your worries a little through the strenuous night.  

Flight or Freeze - After a nightmarish weekend, that doesn’t provide any semblance of peace, you try to come to terms with a flashback into your past and Sherlock comes to your aid.

******

A Case of Mistletoe & Presents -  Despite not liking or seeing a point in the holiday season, you show Sherlock with a little bit of mistletoe & presents, the holidays aren’t too much of a bore…at least you’re with him to keep him company. 

Semester’s Dread -In wake of signing up for classes for the coming semester, Sherlock eases you through your stress and worries. 

Atonement of Sins - After your multiple outbursts, sadness, and heartbreak, you and Sherlock come to terms to help mend the rift of your relationship and if it’s worth resolving in order to be in each other’s arms again. 

Chocolate Covered (Strawberry!Sherlock) - It’s Valentine’s Day and you decide to try out a sweet new experiment with Sherlock, which in turn ends in passion play. 

Winter Wonderland - Despite not understanding why decorating 221B for Christmas is entertaining for you and John, Sherlock attempts to join in on the festivities. 

******

Summoning Angels (Victorian Era Holmes) - Four years your husband, Sherlock Holmes has been dead. Four years since you left 221B behind to deal with your grief. Today is just another day suffering the absence of his loss.

Ecstasy - It’s been a long day & you want to help Sherlock de-stress after a hellish couple of weeks.

Sweet Remedy (Strawberry!Sherlock) - It’s the end of a tiring week and you want to spend the evening in Sherlock’s arms

Back in Your Arms - You’re back home at your flat after your first day of University and are exhausted beyond measure and Sherlock comforts you. 

Until the Bell Tolls - You’re about to start another semester of college and Sherlock helps reassure you. 

Home At Last (sequel to Miss Me, Miss You) - Sequel to Miss Me? Miss You. You’re back from your trip with your parents and Sherlock is very…well, Sherlock. 

Take & You Take - You and Sherlock get into an argument after a mission from Mycroft goes awry. 

Miss Me? Miss You - After receiving news that you’re going to your parents place for over a week, Sherlock struggles with the realization you won’t be around and tells you in a very Sherlock like way and you make sure he knows how much you’ll miss him. 

My Bright Place - You and Sherlock have a domestic after a case after you have had enough of Sherlock’s excuses and antics, leading both of you to make up in your own unconventional ways.

Dress Me Up - You wake up Sherlock for a case, but get distracted. 

Save Yourself - You've tried to save Sherlock from himself countless times, but you leave it up to him, reminding him your help only extends so far.

Narrow Way -  You come back to 221B hoping to make resolutions with your ex-husband but not all ends up according to plan.

Fine Tuning - All you want to do at the end of the day is fall into the arms of your husband.

Where Pettiness Lies - Drama always seems to find you at the most inconvenient time. Luckily, Sherlock is there to comfort you.

Late Night Essay Night - Stressed about an upcoming paper, you rant to Sherlock about it.

Truth Be Told (mini-series)

Beautiful Chaos | Fear of Falling Apart | Truth Be Told

******

The Sandman Universe

Morpheus (Dream of the Endless)

Once a Dream, Twice the Nightmare - Going on a date proves to be difficult, especially when it is from a guy at your office who cannot take a hint that you do not like him nor that you don't want to go out with him. Morpheus convinces you not to go and instead enjoy time with him and the two other people who care about you more than anything in the world. Needless to say, you lose yourself to them and indulge in their ministrations.

[yyxandere]

psst psst, i heard you wanted some ace attorney requests so mind if i chip in with my own idea for a oneshot you could so? (or any type of format you think is best, i don’t mind :) /gen)

how about a y/n that just cares for iris a lot and always dotes on her, kinda like a mother or sister figure to the girl and sholmes is just so fucking enamored with her that he kinda tries tricking her to stay behind and spend time with them some more, usually by using iris as an excuse. you can choose however you wish to end it or change up any of the details if you’d like, i’ve read some of your content and i like it a lot!! (i might even send in more requests if you don’t mind hehehe)

･ ｡ﾟ☆ 𝐃𝐎𝐍’𝐓 𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄

[♡]ー ꒱・！CHARACTERS！:: SHERLOCK HOLMES AND IRIS WILSON.

☆ - Art Credits: NELL

✧.* gender/pronouns ─ 'You' pronouns yet female titles

✩.* note ─ HIII MOOTIE ITS BEEN SO LONG LOL!! I RLLY HOPE U LIKE THIS, IM SO BRAINDEAD WHEN I WAS DOING THIS SO IM SO SO OSRRY IF ITS ASS BC OF HOW RUSHED IT IS 😭😭

✩.* TRIGGER WARNINGS ─ Overbearingness, Manipulation, and Drugging, Guilt Tripping and SPOILERS FOR TGAA 2

"(Y/n)! (Y/n)! You have to see this new discovery!"

Such eagerness could be heard at 221B Baker Street or the house of “The Great Detective” - Herlock Sholmes and Iris Wilson. May the days be cloudy or rainy nothing can ruin the mood the cheerfulness of the young assistant Iris whenever you're around. The giddiness she feels whenever you visit could always make you smile.

"(Y/n), please do taste this new tea that I brewed!"

"(Y/n) You have to come with me to the upcoming science festival! I already have three tickets, for all three of us!"

No matter how tired you are you can never deny her, especially not when she asks so earnestly and her eyes! Oh, her eyes whenever she pleads! They glow! She's the very embodiment of pure joy, happiness, and warmth, she could make anyone feel better no matter what kind of mood they were having, and you couldn't help but adore the way she talks.

Even if it's a simple thing such as drinking her new blend, you always manage to eat the pastries she made, but most of the time you help her make the sweet pastries, but in most cases both of you would be covered in flour yet not minding it for how you were both laughing. Iris brings a side of you, a very nice and warm feeling, like how a mother loves her child . . .

Herlock too was a nice individual to be with, even though quite an eccentric individual he was still a companion that you enjoy being with but it made you very much have less time for your own personal things, for example, Herlock dragging you from your friends to show off his new invention or basically dragging you to his crazy and wacky shenanigans the same could be said about Iris, she would also always invite you to where ever she is, may it be her inviting you to their house so you can help her bake or going where ever she and Herlock goes, it could be very overwhelming but who are you to say no to them?

Herlock knows what he is doing. The many times when he always picked up a case near your house or city just to get close to you, the times when he put laudanum a sleeping drug on one of Iris's teas whenever you were at their house so you could sleep there, don't worry about bothering them it's really fine! While you sleep in the guest bedroom Herlock likes to watch you sleep maybe it was the way your relaxed state made him feel giddy or the fact that he can touch you and kiss you while you sleep. That, or just because you look really cute when you sleep. It's definitely because of the latter reason.

Whenever Herlock sees you baking, cooking, or just spending time with Iris, he just can't help but imagine what would it feel like but him hugging you from behind as you give him kisses while you call him your beloved husband…

"Dinner's ready Herlock!" You said as you took the freshly baked potato out of the oven while you did that Iris was preparing the table, putting the

cutleries neatly, she intentionally put your plate next to Herlock and hers, making sure that you would be in the middle. Herlock was already seated at the dining table, waiting for the two of you to arrive.

"Here you go! Hope you guys like enjoy it!" You said as you put down the bowl full of mashed potatoes that were still steaming. "Well then dig in!" you said as you sat in the middle, not knowing that you were unconsciously following their plan.

"My, this is incredibly good dear (Y/n), if you keep on cooking like this I might as well marry you, so I can taste this every day." Herlock said as he took another bite of the food, you then giggled "You're amusing Herlock." you said thinking what he said was some sort of flattery or joke, but Herlock was dead serious, he actually meant it and you felt a little flustered since you were caught off guard.

"(Y/n), there's a new festival tomorrow and I bought three tickets already, I was supposed to invite Mr, Van Zieks but he was busy, so was Gina and Mr, Kazuma, so you don't mind if you join us right? Just me you and Hurley!" Iris said cheerfully as she looked at you with such pleading eyes. If only you knew the exact plan she had.

"Ohh, Iris, I have plans tomorrow I have to help a friend of mine to do research about the new case he's trying to solve plus I have to be there to also babysit his daughter too…" You said dejectedly after you said that you noticed the immediate fade of the glimmer Iris had on her eyes and the smile she just had now vanished but was replaced with a dejected one, a sad smile that made you feel like you just ruined a dream of hers, you then noticed Herlock wiping his mouth with the napkin and taking out his pipe.

"Well that's a bother, Iris was excited for the festival and wanted anyone to be with her but all rejected the offer, mh it's such a shame…" Herlock said as he closed his eyes and blew his pipe smoke to the ceiling "It's alright, she'll find other friends to hang out with."

You were about to reply to Herlock's comment but Iris beat you to it.

"No need Hurley, I won't go to the festival…" Now that's when you saw little tears pricking in the corner of her eyes, such a scene truly broke your heart, and before you could stop yourself, you reached over to Iris and grabbed her hands, which made Iris shocked by the sudden move.

"I'll go! I'll talk to them so I can go to the festival! So please don't give me that look, Iris…" You said in a softly stern voice. Iri's eyes immediately lit up and her smile came back again. "Really! you would go!" Iris said excitedly as you nodded which made Iris yell out a little yay and as Herlock smiled and put down his pipe. "You would not regret it (Y/n), I swear you wouldn't!" Iris said as she hugged you.

After dinner, Iris wanted to sleep early so she could prepare herself for the big day tomorrow so you decided to leave soon after but Iris wanted you to stay so you could read her a bedtime story, even if it was late and there's a high chance that there will be fewer cabs at this late hour but your heart ached seeing how disappointed she was by the turn of events earlier you didn't want her to be unhappy or feel bad and besides, she asked you nicely after all.

When Iris started to doze off, you carefully moved away from the book and stood up where Herlock was with his trusty pipe in his hand.

"It looks like your soothing voice really made Iris sleep, that's a kind of talent that I needed before when Iris was a baby." Herlock chuckled reminiscing about those memories, You giggled in reply, "Well then my dear lady, I should walk you home, at this late hour there are many thugs that are willing to prey on an unsuspecting woman like you." Herlock said as you both walked down the stairs, even though you were worried that you might bother Herlock but at the same time you do prioritize your safety too, "Oh, well, you are right."

Walking home was very relaxing, small conversation there while Herlock smoked his pipe but it was a very pleasant silence and when you reached your home you said goodbye and goodnight.

"Well then thank you for walking with me Herlock, sorry if it was a bother, well then see you tomorrow!" You said but before you could open your door, Herlock took your hand and kissed it, he then gave you a very seductive eye and hugged you.

"Well then, I'll be off, make sure that you actually keep your promise tomorrow, yes? You do not want to ruin Iris's smile do you?. . .'

[lisbeth-kk]

December moments

Prompt used in this chapter: Boxing Day

It’s time to go home, but the train doesn’t meet Sherlock’s demands when it comes to speed. For quite some time he wishes he lived in Japan and could rely on the Shinkansen to get him home and into bed with John in minutes instead of hours.

December 26

There had been some blurry eyes at breakfast on Christmas Day when John told the other Holmes’s about the engagement. Mycroft just lifted an eyebrow and gave them both a knowing look that suggested they hadn’t been that silent in the shower after all. John was too euphoric to care and didn’t even blush. Sherlock on the other hand got a tinge of pink on his cheekbones, which John ached to kiss, but he stayed decent, just squeezing Sherlock’s hand and interlacing their fingers. 

John had urged Sherlock to tell his family about the upcoming trip to the north, to get the attention away from innuendos about their passionate encounter. 

Sherlock’s parents eagerly told them about their honeymoon to the Norwegian city of Tromsø, where Mrs. Holmes also was to give a few lectures at the university. 

“Of course, she was,” Sherlock muttered under his breath. 

“We married on New Years Eve and left for the north two days later. It was -25 degrees for the entire week, and we saw the northern lights every day,” Mr. Holmes said dreamily. 

“Did you know this?” John asked Sherlock when they’d eaten. 

“I did not,” Sherlock admits, still awed and puzzled by this new insight about his parents. 

After a late breakfast on Boxing Day, Sherlock and John packed their bags to return home to London. The former was taught as a violin string, eager to experience what awaited him once they got inside 221B. Just thinking back to John’s promise on Christmas Eve, of what he would do to his fiancé, made Sherlock’s brain buzz and his body sing. 

***

“Do you regret leaving your family home?” John asks after they’ve found their seats on the train. 

Sherlock looks at John like he’d asked him if he wants Anderson to be his best man, and it must show on his face, if John’s chuckle is any indicator. 

“You just seem anxious and a bit agitated,” John explains. 

Sherlock huffs and rolls his eyes. 

“This train stops at every station, John! It will take us ages to get home.”

“I see,” John purrs and lets his eyes roam over Sherlock’s body, lingering on his groin. 

Sherlock growls in frustration and squirms in his seat. His trousers are getting uncomfortably tight around aforementioned area. He can’t decide if he’s pleased or irritated that the train is so crowded, but in the end sets on the former. It would’ve been far too tempting to crowd in on John if there were more space around them. 

For the remainder of the train ride, John has an amused look on his face. He has obviously observed Sherlock’s discomfort, and Sherlock’s unable to tell if John’s in a similar state. John’s so good at hiding his expressions and bodily impulses when they’re in public. 

John leans forward, placing his hand on Sherlock’s knee and murmurs something under his breath. At first, Sherlock’s not able to decipher the words, because his senses are distracted by the warm and tingling sensation John’s hand on his knee has on him. John repeats himself, and squeezes his knee for emphasis, which gets Sherlock’s brain working again. 

“Deep breaths, love.”

Sherlock inhales and exhales like his doctor ordered and feels some of the tension subsides. He lets his hand rest atop of John’s for a few seconds before he leans back in his seat and gazes out of the window, realising that London Bridge is the next stop. 

***

Sherlock tosses their bags haphazardly to the floor and shrugs out of his coat in seconds, before turning to face John who stands at parade’s rest looking expectantly at him. Sherlock’s mouth is dry, and he feels tension building in every limb and nerve ending. 

“What do you want, love?” John asks so softly it contradicts his stance.

Sherlock closes his eyes relieved that John lets him choose. 

“Just you, John,” he whispers, anxiously searching John’s face for any displeasure. 

“Come here, fiancé.”

John opens his arms and Sherlock stumbles toward him, burying his face in John’s neck, inhaling the scent there, which always grounds him. 

“I was hoping you’d say that,” John tells him. “Captain Watson can wait. Tonight, I just want us to be Sherlock and John.”

“How did I get this lucky, John?” Sherlock mumbles into John’s skin, placing warm kisses wherever he can reach without moving away. 

John pets his hair and Sherlock relaxes completely with just a hint of arousal tingling in the outskirts of his consciousness. 

“Let me take you to bed, Sherlock,” John whispers in Sherlock’s ear. 

“Yes, fiancé,” Sherlock retorts, and follows John down the hallway with blushing cheeks. 

Read it on AO3

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

[eggcompany]

Hysterical Matters Part 1

John Watson had nowhere to go. Freshly out of the army with a wounded shoulder and bum leg, he spent most days searching for temporary work until he could return to the medical field. That's how he ended up answering an ad looking for an In Home Health Nurse. It paid well, only had one patient, and he got live in a great flat on Baker Street.

He didn't know what he got wrangled into with Sherlock Holmes. Depressed, wasting away in 221B, lost to the world. However with a push, a lovely downstairs landlady, a persistent detective with Scotland Yard, and the unyielding care of an army doctor, Sherlock would get back on his feet, find himself once again, and best of all, find the only person on earth who'd ever made him truly curious. It just happened to be John Watson. Because it was always all John Watson.

John didn’t have anywhere to go. Too proud to go to his sister for help, too hurt to find real work, he didn’t have a foot to stand on. He couldn’t work at the hospital, not with his busted arm and bum leg, or his still reeling mind. He couldn’t sleep, echoes of yelling and bursting shells thundering through his mind at all hours. He could still feel the sand and dirt in his eyes, under his nails, blood drying on his skin, a pulse stopping under his fingertips. 

John Watson was stuck between wishing he was back in the army, and begging to be a normal civilian. He couldn’t fit in either anymore, stuck in his tiny apartment, and limping around town to soup kitchens and the library. 

That’s where he found the advert. On the library computer, scrolling through job listings. In home nurse, full time, background in medicine, payment every week and free board in home. John thought it sounded pretty good, the pay was very generous. One patient, physical and mental health needs, pay increases every month still in employment with suitable care taken. John scribbled down the number listed for inquiries. 

He was interested, he would be out of his sling in the coming weeks, he could manage until then. One patient couldn’t be so difficult. He’d sewn people together, dealt with people so mentally torn they couldn’t recognize reality anymore, surely whatever London had to offer couldn’t be any more difficult. 

John called, he made it very clear he was freshly out of the service, would be in his sling for the next few weeks until he was cleared to use his arm again, and that he had a bad leg. He was still interested, he was a doctor, had dealt with both civilian and military medical needs, and didn’t have any pre-existing needs so he would be available 24/7. He was told there would be a car to pick him up from his apartment the next day, to meet with the employer. 

The car was nice, a sleek new black thing. John had asked if it was for him and a curt woman nodded, eyes not leaving her phone. John got in the backseat next to her, greeting the driver politely. 

“So where are we headed? The man on the phone didn’t give me any details.” John asked and the woman glanced from her phone for a split second. 

“He doesn’t. Details are earned things, working for a Holmes. Patient is a virtue, Mister Watson.” The woman said and went back to hitting buttons on her phone. John nodded and was quiet the rest of the ride as they drove out to a run down part of town. There were very few cars. 

They ended up in an empty office building, the woman guiding John, walking past a well dressed man to sit at a desk, always on her phone. John stuck his hand out to the man who was a little older than him. 

“John Watson, nice to meet you, thank you for the opportunity.” John said and the man gave a polite grin and looked him over. 

“Mycroft Holmes, I’m your patient’s older brother. I’ve been through dozens of applicants, so let’s get this through. Please have a seat.” The man, Mycroft said as he motioned toward two chairs and a desk, a few file folders stacked on the cleaned desk. John nodded and sat down, easing himself into the seat with the help of his cane. 

“His name is Sherlock, he’s been struggling for the past few years with depression, anxiety. He’s been sober for two years, he was a heroin addict for a few years, nicotine as well, he’s not allowed any of it. He just turned twenty four, his permanent residence is on Baker Street, he cannot drive. He’s combative, argumentative, he’s a pain in the ass, to be honest.” Mycroft said and pushed the files toward John. He picked them up, medical records, criminal records, travel records. It was a story of everything Sherlock had done for the past eight-ish years. No photos, but there was so much information. 

“His medical records are new, he’s got deficiencies and malnutrition. He should have been admitted for this.” John said as he read the newest report, it was from the last week. The man was barely functional, having had his blood drawn in the home, and it showed he was deficient in… everything. 

“Yes. He was going to be but he refused treatment. I cannot force him to do anything, Doctor, that’s what you’re hired to do. Do what you must to get him back to health. The house is a wreck, it needs cleaning and sanitization, whatever medical devices you need, anything to get the home in order I will pay for. You will receive a lump sum payment once Sherlock has started taking on new cases.” Mycroft explained, making it obvious this was a well paying job, that money was no matter. 

“Cases?” John asked, confused. He flipped through the pages, these people were wealthy. Sherlock was well traveled, arrested in many countries, and well educated too. John looked through the degrees earned in mere months, odd subjects. He looked up at Mycroft who was still standing. 

“He’s a consulting detective for the police. He’s got cold cases to finish before he goes back in the field. He’s not an easy man to be around, let alone care for, Doctor Watson, if you can no longer tolerate it and need to be released from duty, please inform me.” Mycroft explained and John just nodded, stood up, getting his cane under him, and straightened up the files. 

“I can handle him.” John said and shook Mycroft's hand before returning to the car to be driven home, wondering what he’d just signed himself up for. 

John didn’t know what he signed himself up for, regretting his decision as he made his way into the apartment. He’d been greeted nicely by an older woman, Miss Hudson, who said she’d be out and left after him. 

He’d been given a key, the stairs were a trip to climb up on his bad leg but not too steep. He was told he was in the upstairs bedroom, so two flights of stairs, but first he needed to see the flat. 

He was hit with a wall of stench, rot and filth, as soon as he opened the door. The floors were covered in takeout trash, empty containers, papers, maps, and books. It was a foot thick and John trudged through, every surface covered in something. The kitchen was worse. Molded food and experiments fused down to the floors, cabinets, countertop, even the ceiling. He could make out what was once a microwave, but wasn’t going to venture towards it. There were bugs, in the corners, skittering across the floor, hidden under things. John knew that was something that would get better the cleaned the house was, but some catchers would be needed. 

The bathroom wasn’t as bad as John had anticipated. A layer of dust and rings in the tub, overflowing trash can. 

There was a path through it all, from the front door to the bathroom to the first bedroom door. Sherlock’s bedroom door. John knocked on the door, announcing himself. 

“Sherlock? My name’s John Watson, your brother hired me to tend to you. Can you come to the door please?” John said against the wood, wanting to give the patient a chance to introduce himself. It was a good way to make a connection, and build trust and establish any boundaries. 

But then something slammed into the door. John jerked back surprised, hearing whatever was thrown hit the floor with a cracking thud. He pushed the door open, an effort as there was far more trash and clothes and everything else piled on the floor. He finally spotted what had been thrown, a cellphone. 

He turned back to look at the bed. It was messy, the sheets and pillows stained and smelled heavily of body odor. There wasn’t much of a figure, just a lump under the blankets. 

“Sherlock, did you throw your phone? Don’t do that, these little buggers are expensive. Now how do you-” John paused, ducking back out the door as another phone was flying through the air. He closed the door with a huff, having at least seen the fact the patient was alive, having caught sight of a pale arm coming from under the bedding. 

John shook his head, sighing as he went to the second set of stairs, slowly making his way to his own room. It was the only room on the top floor, larger than his old apartment. There was a small bed, the same as his old one but almost brand new and comfortable when he laid down on it. A desk, a lamp, a window overlooking the building behind. It was good, John would bring up his belongings from his apartment when he got the flat suitable for anyone to live in it. 

He looked around, spotting a plain envelope on the top of the dresser. ‘For any necessary actions’ was written on the front, John flipped it open, feeling a weight to the paper. Rows of bills, crisp twenty pound notes. John sat down on his bed and counted them, trying to figure out a plan. 

He just needed to get the house clean first. And he certainly couldn’t do it by himself, and he’d hate to try and find kind maids to wrangle into the rotten horrors downstairs. 

However he knew more than one buddy in need after leaving the army, people who could use the money, who wouldn’t run screaming from the place. They’d all seen worse, and it would be nice to step back into friendships. And it was ideal to send in combat veterans into Sherlock’s room, in case of any flying projectiles. 

John himself mostly helped carry trash bags out and dusted the cobwebs away. It was nice, took a few days, but was nice. Sherlock laid in the bed motionless, bed pulled under the sheets, unmoving. The soldier’s came and went, making sure to leave John their numbers once the job was done, a promise of a beer too. 

Sherlock refused to move. Refused to say anything as the army men came and went, as they shoved the bed to clean under it, as they made a ruckus in the flat, as they touched his things. He refused it. 

John didn’t care. He was patient, he could out stubborn the younger man. He made sure to keep the documents and case files, images and all, stacked in organized piles. He went out and bought a new fridge and microwave, informing Mycroft they’d been hauled away as a biohazard. The laundry was sent with Miss Hudson, who had gratefully invited John to have a biscuit and tea whenever he had a chance so they could properly get to know each other. 

He could outwait the petulant young man. He sat down in one of the nice chairs that had been uncovered and started going through the stacks of papers, sorting through them. He was halfway through the second stack when the bedroom door behind him opened. John turned around, ready to properly introduce himself. He’d expected something. He’d read the files, he’d expected someone grizzled, scarred from wild life. Someone trembling without favor, a weak thing. 

But what met him was… well a beautiful man. Tall, slender, carved bone structure with eyes the color of the ocean. Even with his matted dark hair and darker yet circles around those eyes, he was a stunning man. Dressed in a white undershirt and black silk pajama pants and a navy silk dressing gown, he was a mess but John couldn’t think of a more beautiful man, at least until the man opened his mouth. 

“And who did Mycroft drag into my home this time? Hmm? Some half pint nursing student who needs some pocket change and a free bed so he can bring home every slut he can stick his dick in before abandoning this hell hole for a dorm room? Another homeless man desperate to steal my cufflinks? Leave now and save us all the trouble. I'll double what Mycroft promised.” He spoke with a sharp tongue, hate so heavy in his pitched voice. He stood crossed armed, the picture of a brat. 

John was tired, he’d been around the block of life, he’d seen the worst of the world. He’d been shot, stabbed, had been in one too many fights to waiver at the spoiled brat. It rightly pissed him off. 

He stood up straight as he could, getting his cane under him, arm still strapped to his chest in his sling. 

“I’m Doctor John Watson, Captain in the Royal Army Medical Corps and Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, I am here to clean this house, get you in working order, and if I must, force medication down your throat if not through much more uncomfortable channels. Mycroft told me you’d be difficult and I expect nothing less from the first and only consulting detective for New Scotland Yard. I am far more capable than I appear at the moment. I am not going to put up with any shit. Do you understand that?” John said, voice tuned to the one he used to bark at corporals. He didn’t often pull rank, didn’t usually shout or raise his voice. But he stood steadfast, staring into the younger man’s eyes. 

Sherlock huffed, rolling his eyes as he turned away, looking into the kitchen. John didn’t miss the pink blush that rose to his sharp cheekbones, the way his shoulders dropped, resolve crumbling. John tried to tuck it away in his brain for the moment, needing to get other things done than. Best not to assume too much about a man you’d just met, he thought to himself. 

“And my documents? My experiment research? You’ve thrown it away. I must restart now from the very begi-” Sherlock began as he walked through the scrubbed kitchen waving at the table where there had been beakers and melted animal parts. 

“Beakers are in the cupboard next to the better china, papers are over here. Scientific, criminal, hobby, and illegible.” John said and pointed with his cane toward the coffee table where he’d been sorting papers. Sherlock’s head whipped around, stalking over to the papers, picking them up and flicking through them. 

“Fine. You may stay. Get whatever you must get done over with quickly.” Sherlock finally agreed, sounding put out, looking away from the doctor. John smiled and nodded, going to the medicine cabinet in the kitchen. 

“Medicine first, I have to start you on a schedule. Not everything is taken everyday, not everything can be taken together. Vitamins, supplements, and one of your Lustral tablets today. Then we can work on your body and bed.” John explained and sorted through the bottles, pulling out the necessary ones. He thought about how he’d been to set up one of those E-Z doses to keep everything straight. 

“What do you mean my body and bed?” Sherlock asked, voice pitching up out of his control. He was staring at John now, eyes wide. John turned around with a small smile, it was a little funny. 

“You’ll need a right soak to get good and clean, I’ll have a look at your arms and see if there’s anything concerning, and it’ll take hours to get a handle on that hair. We can buzz it off, if you want, I have electric clippers.” John explained, focusing on opening the pill bottles, which was difficult enough without having a bum arm. He looked up at Sherlock, who looked almost frightened. 

“No, don’t cut my hair, don’t cut it.” He said, hand going to touch the hair that wasn’t matted around his forehead. John nodded, understanding. He helped nurses work through a hair mat before, it was a lot of work but gaining a patient’s trust was crucial. He could deal with it. 

“That’s fine. We’ll just have to take the time and brush it out. I’ll fix you a bath, check your arms, and while you get clean, I’ll change out your bedding. Mycroft gave me a stipend for anything we may need to buy new. There’s all new bedding, freshly washed by Miss Hudson, who insisted you had a preferred detergent. We’re going to do this step by step, playing it by ear. I’m not going to put up with any bullshit and I won’t force you to do anything too out of bounds. Sounds like a plan?” John asked and stuck his hand out, waiting as Sherlock looked around the kitchen, at the medication, at the window, anywhere but John for a long few moments before his boney hand took John’s, shaking it loosely. 

John felt better, touching the other man’s hand. It was… Sherlock had rather unappealing hands. Boney and freezing cold, paler than paper white, nails bitten ragged and callused in strange spots, spindly. But he could feel his pulse, thrumming a little fast but even, and John liked that.  

“Alright, these are for today. I’ll go get the bath ready.” John said and handed the multiple pills to Sherlock who simply looked down and pouted at them. 

John made the bath warm, not too hot, and dumped in epsom salts and some bath soak he’d found under the sink while cleaning. Sherlock had a well stockpile of luxury things among the mess of his home. Bath salts, soaks, all assortments of hand crafted handsoaps and designer hair care products. John had gone through, what was good stayed, what was bad went, and there was still quite a bit left. 

Getting Sherlock clean was first priority. Cleanliness was always the first priority. The house was clean, now Sherlock, then his bed, and then John could start actually working on the man. 

When he was content with the softly scented bath, he returned to the kitchen to see Sherlock using the toaster as a mirror, picking and pulling at his hair, pills still clutched in his hand. 

“Sherlock, it’s too matted. We’re going to have to spend time and slowly unmat it. It could take hours, it could take a while for it to grow back properly. We could always buzz it down, if you want to try that. We can work on it after your bath, if you're up to it. Now we need to get you clean and get your bed freshened up.” John explained and put his hand on Sherlock’s shoulder, trying to comfort him. Sherlock pulled away from the touch, looking down at the floor. 

“Don’t cut it. No one cuts my hair.” Sherlock said clearly. John nodded, at least he was setting clear boundaries. 

“We won’t cut it, then. Easy as that. Now take your medicine, get in the bath, and I’ll do up your bed. Get to it.” John said, handing Sherlock a glass of water, watching him take his medicine. Sherlock glared down at the pills for a breath before downing them all in one go, drinking the entirety of the glass. 

John was putting away the pill bottles, back where they went, as Sherlock stopped in the doorway of the kitchen, heading toward the bathroom. 

“Do you know of all my… conditions?” Sherlock asked, looking over his shoulder at the doctor. John looked at him, confused. Sherlock was aware he’d been given all his medical files. He knew, John knew. 

“What condition? I am aware of your medication regimen.” John answered, if Sherlock wanted to play games, John could play back. He was perfectly capable of keeping up. 

“My physical condition. My aesthetic condition.” Sherlock said, nose turning up in the air, the words falling from his lips with disdain. He hated to say it, hated what he was referring too. 

John nodded and closed the cabinet door. He knew everything. From Sherlock’s hysterectomy he got at sixteen, to his dental issues, his self harm, to his slight allergy toward aspirin. 

“If you’re concerned about your testosterone gel, we’ll be administering that once we have your new schedule settled. I need to get your other medications in line first.” John answered calmly, easily. He was telling the truth though, he was far more concerned with Sherlock’s overall health than getting him back on his hormone treatments. 

“You understand why I take it?” Sherlock asked, and John huffed and rolled his eyes. It was a game of cat and house, questions and answers, something to make Sherlock feel in control. 

“Yeah, Sherlock, I get it. Now go get your bath.” John said with a wave of his hand, sending Sherlock away. He turned to put on the kettle, let it boil while he stripped the bed, but stopped short when Sherlock spoke again, this time his voice quieter. 

“Could you… after you do the bed, could you sit with me?” Sherlock offered quietly, his voice losing its intensity, the words softer in the air. 

John turned and really looked at him, their eyes meeting. It made him feel something, knowing a man so capable of tremendous things, brilliant and painfully aware of it, was doubtful asking for something so minor. It was something so small, to sit with him, but the way the world seemed to fall away to just hold the flat in that moment, it made John’s heart beat a little louder in his chest. 

“‘Course. I’ll drag a chair in.” John said and watched as SHerlock nodded, just a small jerk of his head before leaving for the bath. 

John wrestled the bedding around for a good while, to his own dismay. But he kept his words and drug a wooden chair into the bathroom. He was a little sweaty, and tired, as he sat down next to the door, giving Sherlock some privacy, some space. 

He was sitting in the tub, knees to his chin, arms wrapped around them. He was horribly thin, ribs visible, the knobs of his spin bumping out on his back, the joints of his body obvious under his skin. He was just sitting there in the water, unmoving, looking as if he’d simply gotten himself wet, and stopped. 

“Do you think you can wash yourself?” John asked quietly, grabbing a dry wash cloth from the stack folded next to the towels. He waited, watching as Sherlock slumped forward, face hidden in his knees. 

“No.” Sherlock finally said after a long pause. He stayed unmoving as John huffed his way down to the floor, getting down on his good knee first before settling on his bottom. 

“That’s fine, better than a sponge bath, believe me.” John said, trying to lighten the mood as he lathered the cloth with soap. Sherlock huffed a half laugh, only flinching a small bit as the cloth drew across his back. 

“Do you want me to be quiet?” John asked, methodically cleaning off Sherlock’s back, neck, and arms. 

“No.” Sherlock answered, turning his face to look at the doctor. His cheeks were pink, which he could blame on the warm water, but John knew better. He was embarrassed, needing help in such a vulnerable way. John was fine with that, some people couldn’t handle the silence. 

John rattled on quietly about tales from when he worked in the hospital, a cat getting loose and ending up in the vents, the halloween where six people came in from trying to make melted sugar art, the time he found a dollar braided in a man’s hair. It eased Sherlock, making him pliable as John lifted his arms and unfolded his legs. The water turned a dingy yellow, the cloth getting traded for a clean one with more soap. 

He looked over the detective’s body, making mental notes. His scratched arms, his spattering of scars, how soft his skin was, how boney he was. He washed Sherlock with easy hands, putting just enough pressure to get him clean, careful to not hurt him. He was a little hesitant to run the cloth over Sherlock’s chest, the measly breast tissue there not more than small points tipped with pink nipples. SHerlock looked at the wall and stiffened as the cloth washed over his chest and belly. He avoided the inside of Sherlock’s thighs and the oddly straight hair that covered his small mound. 

He sighed and pulled back when he was satisfied Sherlock was clean enough. Sherlock was red faced, looking away, knees drawing back together to shield himself. 

“Alright mate, let’s rinse you off. Pop up yeah.” John instructed and used the toilet and side on the tub to wrangle himself onto his feet. Sherlock stood up, hands covering his crotch, moving the showerhead to be in the right position. John turned on the shower, it wasn’t the most powerful thing but it was warm and helped rinse off the dirty water. 

“Better. You smell less like the barracks and more like a proper man. Do you want to try and soak your hair now and work through some of it today?” John offered, handing a towel to the man. 

“Yes, that’ll be fine.” Sherlock answered, wrapping the towel around his body. John smiled and nodded, pulling the kitchen chair back out. 

“When you’re ready, just come out to the living room.” John said as he pulled the chair behind him. Sherlock nodded and shut the door behind the doctor, leaving it cracked open a small bit. 

Sherlock sat statue still in the chair, dressed in a towel around his waist and one over his shoulders, as John had the wide tooth comb lifted to his hair. It wasn’t as bad as it looked. The mat was mostly on the side of his head, the other side was mostly knotted. The shower had loosened some of it, some detangler and conditioner and it would be good to go. He got a good section done, maybe a half of the main mat worked down before he stopped, hand cramping. It looked better, even though long strands of hair had been combed out in clumps, it looked better. 

“Alright that’s it for today. My left hand can’t take anymore. How about we order in, you can actually look at me and speak. So go get dressed. We’ve laundered all your clothes, suits and all but choose something comfortable. You can order whatever you’re willing to eat and then we can talk schedule and medication.” John said as Sherlock touched his hair, running his fingers through the untangled parts. Sherlock got up, holding his towels around himself tightly as he went into his bedroom. 

John brought the takeout menus from the stack he’d collected, looking through them himself. There were some good places, besides of course the place downstairs. Sherlock soon joined him, sitting in the chair opposite of him, dressed in a pair of striped flannel pants, a cotton grey undershirt, and his newly cleaned navy silk dressing gown. 

They ended up with Italian food, Sherlock picking something off the kids menu, to John’s amusement. John turned on the TV, people ate more when they were distracted from their plates. He ate his own meal, it was hot and wonderful. Sherlock picked at his own food, moving it around the container. 

“Do you have a hard time with it because it’s heavy or the texture?” John asked and Sherlock looked up like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He looked almost surprised that John could even begin to understand him. 

“It hurts my stomach. My teeth.” Sherlock answered after a moment of John staring at him. He looked away but still picked at his plate. He liked spaghetti, but each bite made him feel nauseous and made his jaw throb. 

“I can make you some porridge. It would be easier on your stomach. You just need to eat a little at a time.” John offered, already standing up to fetch the small microwaveable cups he usually preferred. He’d stocked the kitchen with options already. Microwave meals, cups of macaroni and cheese, ramen, easy rice, and porridge. He’d bought frozen things as well, and enough yogurt to make Sherlock smoothies throughout the day with upped calories and vitamins. 

“I like porridge.” Sherlock mumbled and sat back away from the noodles he’d been trying. He pouted at them, but after a minute, peeked over the back of the chair to watch John. He watched, curious, as John mixed in the milk and warmed up the mush, stirring it as he walked back over to their meals. 

Sherlock was much happier for the porridge, eating small spoonfuls until the paper cup was empty. John felt a small bit of pride. It was a pride all doctors and nurses felt when they knew what a patient really wanted, what they needed. 

“Do you want to get better?” John asked as he walked back from throwing away their containers of food and washing the utensils. Sherlock kept his eyes on the TV, disinterested with the actual program but not wanting to speak. 

“Whether you like it or not, I live here, I’m going to be on your tail 24/7 till you’re a healthy weight and can go back to work. I’m sure you’re used to getting your way and bullying others to bend how you want. I’ll push you right back, I’m not going to be some push over nanny. You’re a grown man, I expect you to act like one. No toddler tantrums, no throwing things at me, if you have an issue you talk to me like an adult. Understand?” John said and looked at Sherlock. He made it clear. 

Sherlock felt something deep in his gut. He understood why Mycroft had hired the man. He was solid, solid and respectable. He treated Sherlock with respect, set boundaries, respected them too. He was… well Sherlock could read people like open books, knew their entire lives and what they thought before they did, but John wasn’t so easy to read. He was… new.

“Understood, Captain Watson.” Sherlock said with a tinge of sarcasm. John shook his head with a small smile. 

“You’re an arse.” John said and turned back to the game show that was on the TV. 

He made sure Sherlock put his pajamas on before heading to bed. He sent the younger man to bed with the promise of a start at 8a.m. And that Sherlock could come and wake him up if he needed anything at all. 

John stayed up, finding where he could send Sherlock. The dentist for one. And he could do a full check except for blood work. He had buddies at the hospital so he knew they could slip Sherlock in for a workup. 

Tomorrow Sherlock needed to take his medication in full. John opened Sherlock’s bedroom quietly, peeking in on the man, eyes closed sleeping deeply. He looked a bit angelic in his silk sheets, bare shoulders and collarbones peeking out from under the edge of the blanket. John headed out for a 24/7 pharmacy and somewhere to sit and think. 

[cupidford]

I've not done a big rec list in months and have so many stories to share with you! Here are some...I went with a mix of 20, with more to come! Also I've got love letters for these queued for the next few months, so look out for 'em! xx

❤️‍🔥TOP FIC - One of the best fics I've read in a few years!❤️‍🔥

Indefinite Lines by ArwaMachine

Sherlock and John find themselves faced with a series of seemingly disparate cases, one involving murdered children and one involving ghosties that little Rosie tries to help solve. Except the cases are growing increasingly connected, increasingly personal. ~298.5k

🔥TOP HOT FIC🔥

Vicarious by CouldBeDangerous (VestedVestra)

John starts smoking with a woman at work. Sherlock couldn't be happier. The smoking kink spirals... ~44k

💗💗💗💗💗💗

The Man With the Cartier Frames by JRow

Sherlock's case will surely be solved quickly...in between trips to Putney to help with Rosie, collecting her from school, and preparing for her sleepover at 221B. ~32.5k

The Long and the Short of It by Accident, Hobbitsfeet

What if John and Rosie move back into Baker Street, and Rosie decides she is going to parent-trap them? Or so she thinks... ~44.5k

❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️❣️

Spare Parts by Raina_at

Futuristic sci-fi au, 24th century. On the Planet Titan, Sherlock comes back from the dead after two years. While figuring out why the biggest manufacturer or synthetic limbs in the System is going after veterans, Sherlock and John also need to find out whether there's a way to fix what's broken between them. ~63.5k

A Doctor in the House by KittenKin

S3 fix it. Sherlock returns, with John immediately taking care of him as his doctor. John uses index cards as a guide to speaking with him, and Sherlock in turn has questions. ~32.5k

Again by DiscordantWords

Christmas. It never seemed like the right time. And then time ran out. Until John makes a wish and gets a second chance. ~10k

💘💘💘💘💘💘

Cupid's Venom by SilentAuror

Stamford tells Sherlock that he wished he could have taken credit for being Cupid. Unfamiliar with the reference, Sherlock plunges into studies of toxins and Greek mythology... ~29.5k

Live from the Morgue by disfictional

Post trf. Molly interviews Sherlock on her podcast, Live from the Morgue. John listens. ~10k

A Rock, An Island by stopthat

TRF fix it/redo. John is not so blind. He sees a lot more than he’s given credit for. ~5k

💝💝💝💝💝💝

A not-so-meticulously prepared art by aquileaofthelonelymountain

Greg agrees to pick up Sherlock from a pub, and he's going to regret it soon - for Sherlock is drunk, talkative, and desperately in love with his flatmate. ~6k

Waiting in the Wings by standbygo

John finally gets the courage to ask Sherlock for a romantic relationship. But when they run into an old friend of Sherlock's, John wonders if it would be best to step aside. ~7k

All I Want for Christmas (is Proof) by Raina_at

Sherlock and John go undercover at a Christmas party in a gay club. In costume. Things... escalate. ~6.5k

💕💕💕💕💕💕

Hypotheticals by ArwaMachine

John finally manages to confess his love to Sherlock. Sherlock, of course, has questions. Lots of questions. Switchlock, Established Relationship. ~7k

A Second to Midnight by AlgySwinburne

John invites Sherlock out on January 29. It is, at face value, a date. If Sherlock weren’t a part of the equation, it would most certainly be a date. But because he is, it must be something else entirely. ~4.5k

January 6 by Gxlyleo

John keeps reliving the same day and has no clue why. He makes a list. ~14k

❤️ HONORABLE MENTIONS ❤️

Rhinestone Cowboy by consult_this_prick

After the death of his father, John drops out of college and returns home to take care of the family farm. He still hasn't processed the death of his father and new problems arise when his ex-best friend, Sherlock, comes home for the summer to work on his research. ~37k

Come Back to Me by BenAddictViolaBatch

A fusion of Sherlock and the classic 1980 film, "Somewhere in Time." In 1945, John receives a brief and mysterious visit from an elderly scientist, Sherlock. John researches Holmes and learns that he died on the same night of the visit. He realises that they are destined for each other. ~21.5k

A Strange Encounter by holmesian_love

John heads to the bank to speak his mind and instead finds himself distracted by a stranger who turns his plans around. ~7.5k

Accidental Magic by Calais_Reno

After his return Sherlock takes the case of a woman seeking stolen books hidden in her late husband’s library.Working together after so much time apart, John and Sherlock begin to discover more than stolen books. ~40k

[discordantwords]

20 questions for fic writers

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

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

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

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

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

(Never) Turn Your Back to the Sea

White Knight

Incidents with Dogs, Curious and Otherwise

Another Auld Lang Syne

The Dead Detective

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Never) Turn Your Back to the Sea

Inscrutable to the Last

White Knight

Another Auld Lang Syne

Whirlwind

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[sandcobangevent]

Please Don’t Say You Love Me

Written by @ratinavan, Illustrated by @silliestofg33sevik

Read Here on AO3

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

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

“Sherlock I-”

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

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

Oh how wrong he was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His stomach plummeted.

“Get up here and kiss me you git.”

[meandhisjohn]

Doctors, friends, husbands.

My visual mind palace.

I'm new at this so please be patient with me and let me know if I can tag you in the future or not.

Your wish is my command:)

My first book of the Doctor series arrived this week and another one will come by the end of the month.

As a librarian I care a lot for books much more than digital reading and the German company who print PDF's into books is surely happy about their returning costumer:)

Here are the explanation link:

I also love nothing more than inventing a whole world attached to an AU story.

My teachers used to say I had way too much imagination but decades after finishing school it came in handy.

My mind allows me to create a world I enjoy as much as watching the series years ago.

Sometimes even more.

Here is my personal chart for Jill Ballier's and 7PercentSolution series:

" YOU GO TO MY HEAD " PART I

I let the company print my favourite stories from the 22 part series which make each book heavy and around 900 pages.

If you haven't read the series here is the link:

This series means as much to me as the original BBC show because besides it's great and high quality it gave me inspiration to work through my depression this summer and most of all it shows a Sherlock I can relate to.

Sherlock and all his issues and what others ( except) him would call a disability are so well described and shows his strength and weakness in equal measures and his constant fight for himself and John and often we see that Sherlock simply feels too deeply and get easily hurt.

John is equally greatly described!

His patience, loyalty and sometimes temper ( in normal actions and situations) is certainly another highlight.

And makes you love the character even more than before.

But even the characters you can't relate or won't are so extraordinary largely scaled and considered from different psychological angles that you can't stop thinking about.

Not an easy read and some chapters are triggering but important to understand Dr. Holmes and yourself.

You can't explain going through the rain without getting wet:)

Dr. Holmes and Dr.Watson are so real for me as the detective and his blogger.

The character analyses in this stories are exceptional and I go through all kind of emotions every time I'm reading it.

That's why I love to create their own visual world.

More imaginary characters can also be found in Jill's charts.

They are brilliant please don't miss them!

I definitely share her imagination of the parents and Joanna.

Maybe my little overview can support your own sweet mind palace filled with our gorgeous and clever doctors.

Review Part I and II will be uploaded here shortly.

Personal note:

Thank you Jill and 7 percent for your support! It means the world to me.

And thank you Steph and everyone who encouraged me and is patient enough to read my babbling and for every follow and interaction ❤️❤️

@jbaillier @7-percent @helloliriels @keirgreeneyes @inevitably-johnlocked @alessiapelonzi @discordantwords @dizzyone55 @drummingcupcake @fullyouthwerewolf @greeneyed-thestral @gaypiningshit @gingersnapbandersnatch @holmesianlove @hisfavouritejumper @hellfridge @im-sherlock-ed @immaculate-benediction-batch @iheardyou @johnfuckingwatson @johnlockiseverywhere @love-in-mind-palace @missdeliadili @masterofhounds @neinknives @onesmallfamily @purplesherlock @sherlockspeare @sherleck @tendalee @violincameos @watsonsdick @gaylilsherlock

[calaisreno]

Eloquent

For @notjustamumj May 5 prompt: Purple

John Watson is no writer of purple prose. 

He finds a couple adjectives he likes — brilliant, amazing — and wears them out. He writes short, choppy sentences. And while he may know enough about plot to keep from spoiling the big reveal, his awkward sentimentality, expressed in blocky, stumbling prose, makes me sigh with relief when it’s over. 

I may have expressed my distaste for his stories on one or more occasions. He is my blogger, though, and there is no one else who would bother to write up our cases, much less make me look like a hero. I’m no hero, but this doesn’t stop John from wearing out his adjectives, trying to make me one.

Lately I’ve given up grumbling about his writing, though. He takes obvious pleasure in it, and it actually has brought us quite a few clients. Writing makes him happy, and who am I to complain about that?

There’s another reason, though. 

John Watson has an eloquent face. If his writing were half as eloquent, he would win prizes. Though he certainly has no idea that his every thought passes over his expression like wind on water, I observe it with fascination. 

It was at his wedding that I first began to hope. 

He was happy, overwhelmed, and uncharacteristically giddy, even before the champagne was poured. I stood at his side, my broken heart temporarily mended at seeing his happiness. I gave my speech, played the piece I’d composed for the occasion, and stepped back to watch.

I wanted to soak in his joy, the reason I had done everything for this day. 

Mary at his side, he was being congratulated by various people, laughing and smiling. He turned to Mary and said something, still smiling. 

And I realised: I had never seen him look at her the way he looked at me. 

John, at Angelo’s. Do you have a boyfriend?

John, gazing at me across the police tape, a small smile on his lips. 

John, his eyes admiring as I explain how Lestrade had got everything wrong.

John, too far away to see his expression; hearing his broken voice: You could. 

John, at my grave: You were the best and wisest man…

John, the night I returned. Angry, for sure. But that mask cracked, and I could see his sorrow, all the grief he’d suffered, thinking I was dead.

John, asking me to be his best man: Of course you’re my best friend. 

John Watson is not a hugger. But he’d hugged me during my speech. I was too startled to hug him back, and now I wished I had.

I watched him then, gathering more data. He cared for Mary, that much was obvious. But the smiles on that expressive face told another story. He thought he loved her, believed that he should love her. He liked her, was grateful to her, and had asked her to marry him precisely because he thought I didn’t love him. Because I had more or less told him that I couldn’t, over and over. Not much cop, this caring lark.

He looked up at me then, just as I was realising this. I don’t know what my face showed him. I was sad, I suppose, and maybe he could see that. But the look he gave me was of utter despair, like a man who’s lost everything meaningful in his life. 

That was when I knew that he loved me. And that he didn’t love Mary.

His face shifted, flickered into a smile as he looked back at Mary, but it was a smile devoid of love. He’d seen my face, too, and knew now. 

I left the wedding shortly thereafter. I’d wanted him to be happy, and he wasn’t. But I felt hopeful as I walked away. I loved John, and he loved me, even if he couldn’t admit it. 

It wasn’t so simple, of course. The mystery of Mary Morstan caused us both a lot of anguish. 

John still writes up our cases these days. And he talks about his feelings, though he reminds me that he finds that sort of stuff difficult. It doesn’t matter how prosaic his words are. His eyes are constantly telling me, I love you.

This one got out of the 221b manacles and ran. 😮

Tagging: @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @elwinglyre @jrow @meetinginsamarra @raina-at @lisbeth-kk @mydogwatson @elwinglyre

Thanks for reading ❤️ I keep forgetting who's been tagged, but the invitation is still open! Read or write, and tag some people!

[bakerstreethound]

A Thousand Wishes

Relationship: Sherlock Holmes x reader

Warnings: fluff and soft sherlock

Summary: You reminisce over the year with Sherlock after the New Years Eve party at 221B comes to a close.

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

Word Count: 670

A/N: Happy New Year! I hope 2023 goes well for you all. I wasn’t planning on having a fic posted but I decided to wrap this one up and combine it with the Fanfic Advent Calendar event @lilythemadqueen hosts. I appreciate you all and your support so much and it means the world to me. Please enjoy and thank you again (:

A thousand wishes for the coming year

A thousand wishes and more for you to have

To collect and bottle up with star dust

To dream and create the future

Yours for the taking

Wishing you laughter, warmth and love

For the coming year and all the ones that follow

******

You looked out the window of the flat, the fireworks shooting from the sky, illuminating London in all its glory. It was beautiful, you had to admit, but your attention turned towards the living room of 221B, your home now for six years.

The last notes of Sherlock’s violin resonated through the flat, followed by small applause from John, Mrs. Hudson, Greg, and Molly. Everyone raised their glasses toasting in the new year, delighted at the prospects of what was to come while another crackle of fireworks crackled and illuminated the sky of the city you’d come to love.

Sherlock huffed borderline in annoyance and anticipation to have you alone for himself the rest of the early hours of the morning. He sat his violin down on his desk without a care, darting away to the kitchen while you finished making your rounds and suffering through a little small talk, away from the usual topic of murder and cold cases, switching to potential vacations and holidays the others were planning through the year.

Soon enough, everyone retired, and you hugged and spoke your thanks to your close friends who had become like family and welcomed you as their own. John pecked your cheek, grasping your shoulder to steady himself.

“Happy New Year, don’t get too rowdy tonight,” he cast a knowing wink at you before clobbering up the stairs before you could yell at him to be careful like you usually did.

A tired sigh escaped you when you closed the door and you leaned your head back against it if only to capture a few more minutes of silence to yourself. Somehow then you willed yourself to yours and Sherlock’s shared room, rolling your eyes at his purple robe draped carelessly on the side of his bed. You run your hands along the fine material, loving the way it feels and it brings back many a happy memory through the years.  

The fireworks now long gone made way for a surprise for you; the snow began falling as if by magic, timed right as Sherlock walked into the bedroom huffing, the faint scent of cigarette smoke clinging to his clothes.

“I’ve never seen snow like this before, it’s beautiful,” you sighed breaking the comfortable silence while, admiring the way the snow gently fell along the pavement and flittered throughout the sky.

Sherlock's arms wrapped around you from behind, trapping you in his warmth and you leaned into him, welcoming the protection. His lips found your neck with practiced ease and you groaned, melting further as he sucked gentle marks determined to adore you.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered as if in silent prayer, his hands caressing you gently like you are the most precious thing in his universe, which you are but he won’t admit it out loud. You know deep down he cared but in moments like these you favor, the quiet moments of passion and adoration where you can be close to him.

The snow continued to fall and you fall into the arms of Sherlock, as he claims you over and over in the throes of his unique passions, desperation winning out in the end, for he couldn’t fathom any years alone without you in his life.

Out of the thousand wishes he didn’t believe in, you were the only one he allowed himself to hope for. All he wanted was you and when you kissed him properly, the first one of the New Year, he finally felt complete and full again.

A thousand wishes and you wanted to encapsulate this moment forever never wanting to leave this perfect moment of adoration and peace. But many adventures await in the new year, hope blooming on the horizon.

******

@bakerstreethound​ @disneymarina​ @groovy-lady​ @viper-official​ @lilythemadqueen​ @frostandflamesfanfic​ @feral-for-strange​ @starks-hero​ @wint3r-h3art​ @inklore​

Sherlock tags: @coping-via-clint-eastwood​ @andreasworlsboring101​ @ilovefanfictions​ @clussysposts​ @ravencatart​ @alienoresimagines​ @aephereal​ @turkisherlockian​ @evelynrosestuff​ @french-vanilla-in-the-clouds​ @classickook​ @sherlocksgirl91​ @battledress​ @azu21​ @sylvieofasgard​ @strangelockd​ @sobeautifullyobsessed\​

[sakuplumeria]

Mycroft Holmes :)

Mycroft Holmes

My first impression

This man looks old, but he still has his inner child in him :D

My impression now

Oh yeah you can act cool all you want, Mycroft. The whole world knows you love your little brother so much you become a little overprotective over him.

Favorite thing about that character

He's very quirky in expressing his care and love, he's just so awkward dealing with people he cares the most! The 673 wins over 0, the pigeon. How cute and sweet <3

Least favorite thing

I wish he's not that hard to draw. Uhh, this is exactly why I never draw him… hmmm

Favorite line/scene

I just love how this scene depicts his care for Sherlock so much. But also how he let Sherlock be free. I think it's just so wonderful.

Favorite interaction that character has with another

When Mycroft told the Moriartys about the truth of Holmes’ ancestor, he was also showing them how much he loves and protects his little brother. Even William was pleased by it. Uh, I think I really love his brotherly protective love for Sherlock…

A character that I wish that character would interact with more

William, actually. We don't see much of their interactions canon. I'm so curious what will happen if the two had a conversation in private.

Another character from another fandom that reminds me of that character

Touya :> No, not because I was rewatching CCS, but his so-called brother complex resembles Touya’s sister-complex a lot?

A headcanon about that character

A new headcanon that I came up with lately was that Mycroft had a thing with Miss Hudson and was the sole reason why Sherlock lived in 221B. I wrote a drabble about it here.

A song that reminds of that character

Once again, I shall skip this question :)

An unpopular opinion about that character

While I enjoy MycAl, I don't really ship them together... Please let me live!

Favorite picture

[sarah-dipitous]

Hellsite Nostalgia Tour 2023 Day 178

Many Happy Returns/The Empty Hearse

“Many Happy Returns”

Plot Description: John and Lestrade try to move on with their lives after Sherlock’s apparent death. However, Anderson believes he’s still alive

I didn’t WANT to have to go to youtube to actually find Many Happy Returns, but it’s apparently not on my dvds, which is bullshit

Would you consider Anderson to be the original Charlie Day meme because we used him in these episodes as a “person goes mad over complicated theories” meme first? Or would would whichever episode came out first (Always Sunny) to be the origin of the meme? Or neither because I feel like people have been going mad over complex theories for a LONG long time

Poor Greg getting absolutely RIPPED APART and so CASUALLY by Anderson

Oh these poor boys. They’re very awkward together because the thing that held them together WAS Sherlock. It’s like that episode of New Girl where Schmidt and Winston have to hang out together without Nick…except in this case, they both think Nick is dead instead of………on a date? Maybe? I dunno, it’s been a while since I watched it

Does John just have a degradation kink? Sherlock, on a video for John’s birthday (though this is the uncut version), went on and on about how all of John’s friends hate him, how he wrote a paper on that sort of thing based on spending time with John and his friends, and all John did after is ask him again to stop being dead……..

“The Empty Hearse”

Plot Description: Mycroft calls Sherlock back to London to investigate an underground terrorist organization

The bungee cord, the hypnotist, Sherlock kissing Molly…this is all just very absurd

Oh PLEASE. The height difference between Jim and Sherlock alone should prove that Sherlock’s corpse wasn’t Jim with a mask…

It’s weird to have Greg tell Anderson that all his theories are guilt over what he and Donovan did. Because…it likely IS but also HE’S RIGHT, at least that Sherlock’s been behind a lot of foreign cases getting solved lately and that his death was faked. Maybe not the exact way it happened but still. I wish they explored Anderson’s guilt more without us knowing…thought, that WOULD be difficult to sell. The series is called Sherlock and how do you have season three without the title character?? Anyway…

God. How did I forget about the mustache???

I’ll never not be in favor of things in languages I don’t speak, but mannnn do my eyes hate reading subtitles on my tv screens. The squinting I have to do…

Oh. Mycroft didn’t just CALL Sherlock back. He went to whatever Eastern Europe prison Sherlock was in and, posing as some kind of authority figure there, dragged him out himself. There is a DIFFERENCE

John deciding to…visit? 221b…I don’t like how confused Mrs Hudson was to see him. He stayed in touch to some extent with Greg but not Mrs Hudson?

THAT’S WHAT I’M SAYING!!! Mycroft is MUCH more likely to make calls and decisions to get shit done, not go out and do it himself. That’s what he has spies and Sherlock for. Though, you can’t exactly SEND Sherlock to retrieve Sherlock

I love that Sherlock’s accusing Mycroft of enjoying watching him get beat up in prison. For all the pain Sherlock has caused his brother, let him enjoy it a little

Yeah……..she’s pissssssssed at him. Omg she’s so passive aggressive about it.

Obviously. You’re bi, John. Happy Pride. It’s nearly over now

Ok there’s near NO WAY you could have known that…you literally just walked in

When we call John unobservant…or, well, Sherlock does…this restaurant scene is the epitome. He wants John’s attention SO BAD. And John WILL NOT LOOK AT HIM

The music building as John stands there frozen in anger before he can actually speak

Sherls, girl, you GOTTA learn to read the room. This was not a “lighten the mood by mocking the mustache” kind of moment. He’s very right to throttle you

I don’t care. The number of restaurants they get kicked out of is absolutely hilarious. Martin Freeman’s “THIS BITCH” face when Sherlock asks John for his help after all the past two years of silence and this entire night…unmatched

Greg just lost a bet with Anderson…he’s so happy to see Sherlock

Oh god…is this the Sheriarty theory? I wanna befriend that girl. Or at least find her ao3. It ISSSSSSS

God I miss Jim

I wish they’d done better by Mary. I love how she is in this episode. I love her teasing John about Sherlock

Mycroft getting uncomfortable and offended and insisting Sherlock change the subject when it was suggested that he maybe should have gotten a “goldfish” *wink wink nudge nudge* while Sherlock was absent for two years. It’s giving 🧡💛🤍🩵💙 ya know? With possibly aplatonic too?

Bitch, fuck you. You played that entire deduction game to insinuate that your extremely aspec older brother is lonely only to then throw it in his face that “how would you know?” Get the fuck out of here. Look. I know I’m being a little jokey when I diagnose Mycroft aspec but….he has the vibes, my dears. I know neither Moffat nor Gatiss would ever confirm it, so it’s all headcanon, but I’m protective of my aspec headcanons

The way they get around censoring out “fuck off,” it was very good

I have so little interest in the cases Sherlock and Molly are solving

The episodes are better when there’s one big case or a bunch of small ones but they are explicitly connected from the beginning

You’re right. Molly does deserve better than you

Oh shit. I forgot this part where Sherlock and Mary have to go save John from brewing burned alive

Aw, happy November 5th (in universe) from six years before that date meant EVERYTHING to tumblr

It’s nice to see them getting along again

(OMG THERES HALF AN HOUR LEFT. HOW)

Oh. Right. The train case…see, this is why we need shorter episodes. I forgot about it in the time I was watching it

These stakes are too high and concrete. We need lower or more nebulous stakes. Like, they’re literally trying to keep Parliament from blowing up by train car bomb…is this the moment they out the skis on the ramp in order to make the jump fully over the shark?

How does Sherlock have Icelandic sheep wool facts stuffed away but not something useful like diffusing a bomb? Honestly, I don’t blame John for not believing this or the apology. I certainly don’t believe he doesn’t know

I can’t believe Anderson is disappointed in the (perhaps) real way Sherlock’s death and resurrection went down…except maybe not?? Who knows, honestly

It just….had an off switch?? Wtf? Punch him again. Do it, John.

Maybe it’s not just a degradation…perhaps it’s humiliation too.

So Molly has a type. There’s nothing wrong with that. She can move on with a guy who looks and dresses like Sherlock as long as he treats her miles better

You know, it’s nice he’s leaning into the deer stalker cap look

Our first look at Magnussen