#Sherry and Jon

[thesylverlining]

I had a DREAM about Chapter One Sherlock and Jon on a very big fancy (...Titanic-esque) cruise liner, and of course there had been One or Several Murders and something about secret codes, but it was very actiony and fast paced and you could JUMP, i remember going nuts about that, and you could play as Jon too

Watson was there of course and Sherlock was actually trying to tell him about Jon (who I guess just Was Fine, regardless of Chapter One endings lol, becasue of course he is) except

And here's the good part

Sherlock kept getting flustered and tongue-tied and couldn't spit it out, so Watson of course (and NOT ENTIRELY WRONGLY) thought Sherlock was trying to Confess Feelings, so he'd be all "aH, A-ARE YOU CERTAIN we should speak about it heRE?" which made Sherlock think *OH GOD HE KNOWS, he knows the Mental Illness and Darkness in me* (Jon: hey! not nice!) except played for MOSTLY laughs with just a LITTLE tragedy

And it was this Shakespearean Misunderstanding and I was just ROLLING in it and. fuck.if this makes me write more fic for them...

[storiesbytoria]

John Meet Jon

A fanfiction inspired by Frogwares’ incredible retelling of this beloved duo :) 

Warning: There may be some spoilers if you haven’t played Sherlock Holmes: Chapter One and The Awakened!

SUMMARY: John Watson has never inquired into Sherlock’s life in Cordona, though it is clear - in the rare, but tense visits from Mycroft - that Cordona holds a big role in the young detective’s past. One of the names mentioned by the Holmes brothers - Jon - is still an enigma, though Watson surmises the gentleman may be part of the reason behind the bittersweet tones with which Holmes speaks of Cordona. John knew all too well the pain that can come from reliving old memories - which is largely why he lets Sherlock alone - but his curiosity gets the best of him when he comes home to find Sherlock’s sketchbook open on their shared table.

JOHN MEET JON

Watson nudged the door to 221B open with his side, mail between his teeth and a box of pastries from the bakery nestled carefully in his arms. The baker’s fiancé had been sick for some time, and he remembered, during one of Watson’s weekly runs, that John was a doctor. John had agreed to see the fiancé and suggested some alternative medication and fresh air, which, thankfully, had the fiancé in much better spirits.

As thanks, the baker made him fresh pastries and twice as many for his visit today. There were some new items in the batch too, he said, that Watson could try and give his feedback. John was most looking forward to a raspberry vanilla tart he caught a glimpse of when the baker showed him the thank you haul. He imagined Sherlock might like the lavender scone with lemon glaze.

Heading up the stairs with the goods, Watson was ready to see Sherlock at one of his usual spots - folded over his chem station, or rifling through the archives. He wasn’t playing violin, he knew that much from the silence. But when he opened the door, Sherlock was nowhere to be seen. Watson fought down the reflexive panic.

“Sherlock?” he called around the letters in his mouth, closing the door behind him with his foot and heading to put the pastry box and mail on the table. It was more crowded than usual, he realized, as he noticed a black sketchbook splayed across some old newspapers.

“Sherlock, are you here?” he called again -properly now - as his gaze is drawn against his better judgment to the pencil sketches. There were some quick landscapes that looked reminiscent of how Sherlock described Cordona. On the opposite page were various perspectives of what looked like a male figure, a portrait of the young man’s face the focal point. He seemed a handsome fellow.

There was a scuffle of feet, and Watson straightened, feeling much like a schoolboy having been caught cheating.

Sherlock walked out of his room, hair mussed and gaze tired. Watson immediately surveyed the rest of him, looking for any sign of strain beyond just exhaustion. Sherlock’s cerulean gaze felt light, though, when he caught Watson’s stare, and it eased the tension that had been in John’s chest.

“Oh, John. Apologies, I didn’t hear you come in.” The detective’s eyes caught the open sketchbook on the table. John wasn’t sure he had ever seen embarrassment on the man’s face before, but there it was. The slightest pinch of his brow, the quick dart of his gaze. There really wasn’t any point in pretending he hadn’t looked, though.

Watson gestured to the sketches.

“They’re quite beautiful,” he said, though Sherlock didn’t acknowledge or deny the compliment. John usually refrained from asking about Sherlock’s past, but he felt a nagging curiosity as Sherlock crossed the room to stand beside the sketchbook. The young detective hesitated at the pages though, not closing it right away as John had expected. He took his chance.

“Cordona?” the doctor asked, moving closer and pointing to the landscapes. Sherlock paused briefly, but nodded.

“Yes, I…had forgotten it once. I suppose this seemed the best method to remember it by.” John was momentarily stunned, as he always was whenever Sherlock admitted something quite personal in such a straight manner. Especially when it involved his past.

Grateful and curious, John allowed himself to point to the young man’s portrait.

“And the gentleman?” Sherlock shifted his weight, and for a moment, Watson thought the door to Sherlock’s mind was about to close.

“…that’s…Jon…”

“Jon…” At the start of their rooming together, Watson had heard the name in the rare times that Mycroft visited - the times that they argued - and had been confused until it was more apparent that they had not been referring to himself. He had no details other than the young man apparently being a part of Sherlock’s life in Cordona, though Mycroft often had a condescending tone when he was mentioned, and Sherlock seemed particularly shaken whenever Mycroft brought him up. But now…

There was a smile on Sherlock’s lips as he gazed down at the young man’s portrait, a slight but warm uptick at the corner of his lips. His gaze was equally affectionate and sad.

“You grew up together?”

“…in a way, yes…” Watson gave him a questioning look, but Sherlock didn’t elaborate.

“And Mycroft knew him as well?”

“No.” The word was sharp, though Sherlock’s tone often became clipped when it came to any talk or mention of his older sibling. “…but he thought he did.” Watson hummed in soft understanding…at least of the little he was piecing together so far. He flipped through another few pages.

“It seems you had quite the time together,” Watson said, smiling at a sketch of a younger Sherlock and John on a blanket in what looked like a garden. Another of them, older, sitting side by side on a wooden swing.

John looked up at Sherlock.

“He was important to you.” The detective’s jaw tightened just the slightest. He sank into the chair beside him, laced his fingers together and rested his chin on them with a measured but distant gaze. Watson could see the tired weight of his shoulders. He waited. Sherlock seemed to be debating his next words.

“He…wasn’t real, Watson.” As soon as the words left him, Sherlock seemed regretful, pained. He reconsidered. “Well, not by “normal” standards.” Not real? Watson flipped through the sketchbook again, all the detailed recounts, the intimate details, the obvious care, love, and freedom in the strokes that brought these…memories…to life.

Watson wasn’t sure he believed in a god. He had seen too much in his time in Afghanistan, but…an imaginary friend didn’t quite seem to fit who this Jon was - which seemed to be what Sherlock (or maybe Mycroft) was insisting upon as the explanation. But with their run in with the cult that had both gentlemen questioning reality, it was hard to discredit the possibility of Jon having actually existed - even if it was in a different, inexplicable, but much more benevolent manner.

With more thought though, and the way he remembered Sherlock talking about Jon, gazing at his portrait earlier, Watson realized it didn’t really matter what the explanation was.

“It’s clear he was real to you, Sherlock.” The young detective looked to Watson, obviously taken aback by the response - and likely the lack of judgment in Watson’s gentle gaze.

John realized this must have been why Sherlock rarely talked of Cordona. Cordona, despite the obvious place it had in Sherlock’s heart and mind, was also a reminder of what Sherlock feared so deeply now - the loss of his mind. His mother. Jon. The visions. It all felt like proof that he would always have to question his sanity - why he clung so desperately to facts.

Except…from all those memories…Jon, from what Watson could understand and sense and see in the sketches between his hands, felt like light. A light that Sherlock may have needed in that time. And he felt compelled to put a note of gratitude into the universe in the off-chance that Jon did indeed exist in a way to receive it.

Watson drifted back into the present, startled when he saw tears on Sherlock’s cheeks. His hand reached before his mind could process, palm cupping the side of Sherlock’s face.

“Sherlock?” Sherlock blinked, startled at the touch and seemingly unaware that he had even been crying. He seemed abashed then, cheeks warming beneath John’s thumb.

“I-I…” He pulled away. “Apologies,” Sherlock said, rubbing the back of his hand across his cheeks to dry them. John’s hand floated - uncertain and yearning - in the space between them. He dared to reach again, rested it at Sherlock’s back.

Watson felt warmth spread through his chest. His smile came easy.

“It’s quite alright. I’m sorry if I caused some turmoil.” Sherlock shook his head.

“No, no, it’s…it’s alright. I��ll admit today was not one of my better days. But…” The young detective glanced at the sketches beneath Watson’s hand again, but then his gaze found John’s - held it. “…this helped. Thank you…John.”

“Of course.” Squeezing Sherlock’s shoulder, John closed the sketchbook with care, albeit hoping that this wouldn’t be the first and last time they could talk like this. “Have you eaten?”

Sherlock’s silence was answer enough. And though he normally worried about the detective’s absentmindedness when it came to regular self-care, he didn’t feel in the mood for a lecture. John opened the box of pastries.

“You’ll need a full meal afterwards, but I don’t see a problem starting with dessert today.” The doctor waved Sherlock over, and he was relieved when the detective didn’t object, getting to his feet and making his way over to the assorted goods. John watched crystal blue eyes survey the treats.

“Is that a lavender scone?” John felt a swell of pride and a hint of a warmth that had been appearing more frequently in their time together.

“Yes! Please help yourself. Though I’m claiming the raspberry tart for myself.” Sherlock’s lips eased into a smile.

“Of course.”

NOTES:

Hope you enjoyed! I haven’t been inspired to write again until after playing these games, so it’s safe to say I was both relieved and excited to be writing again :)

I always appreciate comments and feedback, so please feel free to share any constructive notes or just share in my love of these characters! lol

I have other short works/vignettes in the works that I’m hoping to share soon as well, and you can find more of my work on A03 or Instagram! 

https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesbytoria/profile

https://www.instagram.com/victoria.m.draws/

(Extra note: I’m planning to start posting on my Instagram again in June, so bear with me until then! lol) 

[onceinawhilemoon]

not me frantically checking Jon's diary every 10 minutes or so to make sure i didn't disappoint him with my poor decision making and deduction skills

[thesylverlining]

RIGHT... GOOD LORD... it would be so blessed. to be cuddled by Soft Jon (tm)

and might not Fix Sherlock but it'd be a sTEP IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION

Ok, I know how we all imagine Jon as physically strong and all, but… we do agree there isn’t just muscle under the clothes, right? We agree there is a good amount of body fat there as well, right? Because I definitely don’t imagine him like the modern definition of the word „ripped“. He looks strong, but he also looks like he enjoys good food and doesn’t pay beauty standards too much attention.

I can‘t be the only one 😄

[skullislandproductions]

“No relation”-Babs Bunny and Buster Bunny were introduced to the world on September 14th, 1990 when “Steven Spielberg Presents ‘Tiny Toon Adventures’” premiered on CBS as a prime-time special.

[comeonsherry]

sherlock and verner vogel definitely kissed guys (I was there, I was Violet’s grave)

[williamscigar]

My curse is not being able to refer to Sherlock without saying Sherry after playing SHCO

[jonlock]

*sigh* He definitely sees it, Jon.

[ellbie]

pausing this SH:CO wip because I was hit with divine Barbie otp meme inspiration 👀

[r2y9s]

[wip]

wip-tober day 21. it's just gonna be a whole month of guys kissing huh.

[thesylverlining]

So, I, Um.... Yeah.

Perchance To Dream

Chapter One: First, The Storm

"There, there, you're all right now," I gently lied, as I lay him down to rest. And then, I told the truth, with all my heart. "And it will be all right. The room is dry, Sherlock. The waters are far, far from you, and they will not enter as long as I am here. Now rest. I will only be a moment." "Promise, John?" he asked, voice still high, faint, brittle. It was my name he'd said, I insisted to myself, most firmly. Mine.

(A fanfiction for Sherlock Holmes: The Awakened; Frogwares videogame series)

[storiesbytoria]

Shelter in the Storm

A Frogwares’ Sherlock Holmes inspired fanfiction 

Author’s Note: I adore writing scenes of Sherry and Jon and what they might have gotten up to during their time in Cordona lol 

Summary:  A storm has kept Sherlock and Jon confined to Stonewood for several days. In true Holmes fashion, Sherlock tries to bury his restlessness in his work, but his want for focus clashes with Jon's own need for distraction, and their tempers collide. Abandoning the cases he had been trying to work on, Sherlock tries to find a way to soothe the dissonance between them.

CLICK HERE TO READ 

[onceinawhilemoon]

sure, sherry. your brother would just let M walk free after he literally checked every single box under Ways to Antagonize Mycroft Holmes by: killing his agents, actively fucking with intelligence and national security operations, being a literal threat to the nation, and committing the cardinal sin of stalking and threatening to hurt an overprotective mama bear’s cub (aka YOU), a crime easily punished by imprisonment, death, or worse (see: otto richter). but sure… 

[spiteful-crow]

*sighs*

[skullislandproductions]

“Animaniacs” cel from “Meet Minerva” directed by Kirk Tingblad. This cel is from one of the scenes Kirk gave me to animate. When I saw it for sale a few years ago, I snapped it up.

[atomicqueenkingdom]

Coolidge è una risata garantita☾

𝐉𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐀𝐮𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐲 𝐂𝐨𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐝𝐠𝐞 è un'attrice statunitense presente soprattutto in film indipendenti, di genere comico; è nota al pubblico per la serie cinematografica 𝐴𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑃𝑖𝑒 e per la sitcom 2 𝐵𝑟𝑜𝑘𝑒 𝐺𝑖𝑟𝑙𝑠.

Dopo una carriera decennale in cui ha interpretato personaggi iconici, 𝐉𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐂𝐨𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐝𝐠𝐞, col ruolo di Tanya McQuoid in 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑊ℎ𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝐿𝑜𝑡𝑢𝑠, si è aggiudicata un Emmy e, più recentemente, un Golden Globe.

Tanya è una donna estremamente ricca, ma sola e insicura; tra tutti gli spensierati ospiti dell'hotel, attira maggior simpatia per la sua irrequietezza: ha appena perso sua madre ed è disperata per amore. Nella prima stagione di 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑊ℎ𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝐿𝑜𝑡𝑢𝑠 trova l'amore in Greg (Jon Griers), che non avrà però lieto fine.

Nel mockumentary satirico di Christopher Guests su uno spietato spettacolo canino competitivo, 𝐉𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐂𝐨𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐝𝐠𝐞 interpreta Sherri Ann, la moglie-trofeo di un uomo anziano che spera che il suo barboncino possa vincere il trofeo con l'aiuto del famoso allenatore Christy Cummings (Jane Lynch).