#and holmes has been working nonstop before that

[skyriderwednesday]

See I had put Wisteria Lodge in March of 1895, but the problem of that is, based on Watson's description of the previous year, Holmes wouldn't have time to get bored--

Obviously Holmes is able to get bored within five minutes of finishing a case, but even if he's being dramatic (which of course he is, this is Holmes we're talking about) it really seems as if he's talking about a drought of cases, which is the complete opposite of 1894.

I honestly don't think he has time free to get bored in March until 1898 at least???

So Wisteria Lodge is pulled out of the list to float impossibly once more...

[nyarmand]

And – I think this part was really important actually – because in ep1, Sherlock responds to John actually being impressed by his deductions with the startled vulnerability of someone who’s never before met someone who doesn’t immediately want to either defeat him in battle or never speak to him again. John is truly impressed with Sherlock, but unthreatened by him, and Sherlock doesn’t really know what to do with that but he really doesn’t want to lose it. So he invites John along on his case, and then shows off for him like a peacock flashing his tail in the nervous hope that John might say more nice things, and he’s clearly floored when John does.

And that’s a really good dynamic on which to build a friendship! Closet thrill-seeker who’s extremely secure in his own abilities befriends arrogant mean girl genius who’s spent so long being envied and disliked by everyone he meets that he imprints like a duckling on the first person who doesn’t do that, but he has no clue how friendships work so he just drags this person to crime scenes and worse in the hopes that somehow this’ll do the trick.

not to be one of those people who reposts and bolds something i think is important but you're right this part IS really important. holmes's genuine attachment to watson is one of the most humanizing elements in the original stories--it's explicitly stated in the adventure of the three garridebs when watson is injured. i quote: '"You're not hurt, Watson? For God's sake, say that you are not hurt!"' and watson's response to that is that 'It was worth a wound--it was worth many wounds--to know the depth of loyalty and love which lay behind that cold mask. The clear, hard eyes were dimmed for a moment, and the firm lips were shaking. For the one and only time I caught a glimpse of a great heart as well as of a great brain. All my years of humble but single-minded service culminated in that moment of revelation.'

holmes literally attacks the man who hurt watson and says that he wouldn't have left the room alive if the injury had been fatal. it's a way of illustrating that holmes isn't actually a complete heartless asshole (like bbc sherlock portrays him), he's literally just a man whose brain works differently from most. it makes him extremely talented and unique, but by the same token it also isolates him. i feel like that's obvious from the very beginning--he literally lays out all of his 'problems' at his first meeting with watson like someone expecting the response to be 'uh, never mind then'. and when that doesn't happen, well, it's pretty obviously uphill from there. not like they don't have their issues, but they're still dear friends.

meanwhile bbc sherlock takes that and fucking ruins it. it ruins all his relationships tbh. suddenly mycroft is his enemy? (suddenly they have a secret evil sister??? look i'm never forgiving that one) i don't even know how to continue the things this show did fill me with such rage. where is the friendship. the PARTNERSHIP. holmes does so much better with watson by his side and i feel like we just don't see that in bbc sherlock outside of the occasional 'not good?' 'bit not good, yeah' moments. augh. sorry i have been nonstop emotional about sherlock holmes for the past 11 years and i'm not stopping now

honestly it was a red flag when bbc sherlock went “well obviously the word written in blood isn’t the german word for revenge, it’s clearly the beginning of the name ‘rachel’, what absolute idiot would fail to see that” when in the original novel it is, in fact, the german word for revenge, which sherlock points out gleefully to a roomful of policemen who all figure it’s the beginning of the name ‘rachel.’

and by red flag I mean it was a clear sign that the adaptation was trying to one-up the source material, instead of engaging with it with love.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Quick question sorry if this has been asked before: do you know any Johnlock fanfic where they’re extremely sensual? Like not just making love but just super methodically drawn out and slow and sweet?

Hi Nonny!!

Ahh, because of this ask, I went through my bookmarks to see if I have any listed with “sensuality” so that’s what this list is!! It definitely doesn’t have all of my fics because I have to go back through them and tag them, but in the meantime, enjoy what I started tagging a few months ago when you sent me this ask, LOL <3

As always, add your own fics here, Lovelies!!

SENSUALITY

See also:

Emotional Love Making || [MOBILE POST]

Emotional Love Making Pt. 2

Loved. by inevitably_johnlocked (G, 1,231 w., 1 Ch. || First Sherlock POV, Slice of Life, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Nose Kisses, Morning After, Love Confessions, Morning Cuddles, Emotional Sherlock, Sentiment, Bed Sharing) – Sherlock reflects on his relationship with John. Part 5 of I-J's Tumblr Ficlet Collection

Morning Sunlight by slashscribe (E, 3,565 w., 1 Ch. || PWP, Morning Sex, Fluff, PWP, Established Rel., Soft Idiots) – A thin band of soft morning light peeks between the curtains and stretches across John’s torso, laying dormant across his forearm, dipping into the space between his arm and his chest, illuminating his right nipple but just brushing the edge of his left, disappearing into his armpit, and reappearing again right over Sherlock’s eyes where his head rests, nestled against John’s shoulder. Sherlock is not annoyed by the light’s intrusion on his sleep, not when it rests so soft and tantalizing on John’s skin, a work of unintentionally erotic art. A PWP with so much emotion.

Living Musical by VeeTheRee (G, 4,149 w. 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Hobbies, Summer, Song Fic, POV Sherlock, Painting, Play Fighting, Soft Sherlock, Dancing, Love Declarations, Hair Petting, Promise of Forever) – A one-shot of John and Sherlock being domestic during summer. There is paint, fluff, and music from Imagine Dragons, namely from the album 'Speak To Me', specific song in this one-shot is 'Living Musical'. Part 1 of the Happy Fluffy Johnlock Time series

London Gods by a_different_equation (E, 11,092 w., 5 Ch. || American Gods Fusion || Magical Realism, Sex Magic, True Love, PTSD John, First Kiss/Time, Marathon Sex, Sensuality, Genie Sherlock, Human John, Internalized Homophobia, Star-Crossed Lovers, Soul Mates) – Sherlock Holmes is a jinn who does not grant wishes. However, when Dr. John H. Watson, recently returned from the war in Afghanistan, gets into his cab by "accident", it might not even need magic to grant both men their deepest wish: love.

To be loved by Strange_johnlock (E, 12,436 w., 8 Ch. || Post S3, Established Relationship, First Person POV Sherlock, Pet Names, Soft Sherlock, Mild ADHD, Protective John, Captain Watson, Body Appreciation, Bottomlock, Rough Sex, Travelling for Holidays, Introspection, Sherlock Loves John So Much It Hurts) – John is so deeply integrated into the work, both as my conductor of light, and as a great shot with a vicious right hook who tackles men -and women- no matter their size all in my defense. He protects me with all he can without question, and this loyalty is surely more than I deserve. Or: Sherlock is counting his blessings.

The Invocation of Saint Margaret by Ewebie (E, 15,831 w., 1 Ch. || POV John,  Crossing Timelines, Light Angst, Fluff, Series 3 John / Series 1 Sherlock, The Matchbox, Mushy Romance, First Time, Bisexual John, Pining John, Bottomlock, Love Confessions, Sensuality, Emotional Love Making, Snippets of Time) – When Sherlock Holmes opens the matchbox from The Sign of Three and John finds himself years in the past, back to that first dinner at Angelo's with a much younger Sherlock Holmes. Is he dreaming?

Permanent Fixture by vitruvianwatson (E, 18,836 w., 9 Ch. || Post-S4, Parentlock, Slow Build, Friends to Lovers, They’re Good Parents, Blushing Sherlock, First Kiss/Time, Explicit Consent, Sexual Content, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Big Feelings, Crying, First Kiss, Fluff, Anxious Sherlock, Inexperienced Sherlock, Emotional Communication, Love Confessions) – Now, as Rosie sat curled up against Sherlock’s side, John watched and wondered exactly how he had ended up here. Domesticity had never suited him before, not at any point in his life. His disastrous marriage had been proof of that. But somehow, here in the warmth and safety of 221B Baker Street, here with Sherlock Holmes reading medical jargon to his daughter, Sherlock’s bony feet nudging against his leg, John couldn’t imagine anyplace that would make him happier.

Division by MrsNoggin (E, 19,542 w., 11 Ch. || Coffee Shop AU || First Kiss/Time, Fluff, Barista Sherlock, Clingy Sherlock, POV John, John’s Limp, Bed Sharing, Fluff, Sleepy Cuddles, Sensuality, Touching, Virgin Sherlock, Insecure John) – John likes mysteries. And every morning he dips into the local independent coffee bar with his newspaper and ponders another... one Sherlock Holmes.

Through the Clouds by Mazarin221b (E, 20,004 w., 6 Ch. || Retirement, Sussex, Bees, Home Improvement, First Time, Romance) – Sherlock takes a remarkably early retirement at 47, and convinces John that a change of pace would do them both good. They buy an old cottage on the South Downs, and exchange their nonstop life in Baker Street for quiet contemplation, bee studies, and book writing. They might go completely insane, but sometimes it takes stepping outside of the life you're living to find the life you want. Part 1 of Through The Clouds

How To Unfold a Heart by elwinglyre (E, 25,477 w., 7 Ch. || Post S4 Fix It, BAMF John, Mentioned Eurus, POV First Person Sherlock, Case Fic, Fluff, Slow Burn, Topping from the Bottom, 3 Yr Old Rosie, Introspection, Sexual Fantasies, John Worship, Ogling, Hand Holding, Kidnapping, Domesticity, Sherlock Whump, First Kiss/Time, Doctor John, Caring John, Soft Sherlock, Sensuality, Touching, Crying, Love Confessions, Anxious Sherlock, Rimming, Toplock, Fingering, Bossy Bottom John) – To Sherlock’s dismay, John’s return to Baker Street with Rosie is only temporary. Sherlock’s daily visits to Regent Park with John and Rosie illuminate his lost childhood memories and missed opportunities. But with each trip to the park, Sherlock also feels a growing sense of hope. That is until the past horrors return unexpectedly in a cryptic note folded in the shape of a heart. To decipher the message, Sherlock must uncover the nature of the hearts around him, including his own.

Lucifer's Gardens by ampersand_ch (E, 32,679 w., 12 Ch. || GERMAN VERSION || Romance, Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Murder, Poison / Drugging, Mystery, John Undercover, Academic Club, Therapy, Rituals, Jungian Archetypes, Doctors & Physicians, Grief/Mourning, Esotericism, Hospitals, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, John Falls In Love With Another Man, Jealous Sherlock, Crying, Doctor John, Hand Holding, First Kiss/Time, Mysticism, Hugging, Touching) – John goes undercover for an investigation as a favour to Lestrade in a village in Suffolk. The events surrounding the case awaken deep-seated fears in Sherlock. While John begins to come to a realisation of what he needs in Lucifer's Gardens, Sherlock tries to find a way to reach John – in more ways than one.

A Promise Made to Be Broken by PlantsAreNeat (E, 37,018 w., 7 Ch. || Fake Relationship, Pining, Slow Burn, RST, Eventual Relationship, POV Sherlock) – A young John makes an ‘if we’re still single at 40, we’ll get together’ pledge to a woman who ends up all wrong for him. She keeps reminding him of the promise, and won’t let go of it. John asks Sherlock to pose as his boyfriend at a family wedding, so as to dash her hopes permanently. Sherlock, who has at last acknowledged his feelings for John, reluctantly agrees despite knowing how painful it will be to ‘have’ John, but not keep him.

Gold Rush by ShirleyCarlton (E, 71,783 w., 17 Ch. || Post S3 / No Mary, Friends to Lovers, Mentions of Past Sexual Abuse, First Kiss, Case Fic, Slow Burn, Alternating POV, Switchlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Marriage Proposal, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Abduction, Anxious/Insecure Sherlock, Miscommunication, Emotional Lovemaking) – John has divorced Mary and pops round to 221B one evening to find Sherlock in the middle of a case. As Sherlock tries to find the identity of a young woman’s stalker, John realises he can no longer deny his feelings for Sherlock – which then, to their befuddlement, turn out to be mutual. Shy kisses and tentative embraces ensue. But will Sherlock be able to cast off a shadow from his past that he thinks might prevent John from wanting to stay?

Repairing the Broken Things by BakerTumblings (M, 75,252 w., 15 Ch. || S4 Compliant, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Trauma, Hospitals, Big Brother Mycroft, Misunderstandings, Realizations, Severe Accident, John Whump, Pneumonia, Medical Procedures, Bed Sharing, First Time, Healing, Happy Ending) – "I'm calling today to notify you that there's been an accident."

Northwest Passage by Kryptaria (E, 95,157 w., 27 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Canadian AU ||  BAMF!John, Canadian John, PTSD, Anal / Oral Sex, Rimming, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Drug Rehab, Falling in Love, Pining Sherlock, Love Confessions, Sherlock’s Violin, Panic Attacks, Switching, Anxious / Protective Sherlock, Hugs for Comfort, Suicide Mentions, Healing Each Other) – Seven years ago, Captain John Watson of the Canadian Forces Medical Service withdrew from society, seeking a simple, isolated life in the distant northern wilderness of Canada. Though he survives from one day to the next, he doesn't truly live until someone from his dark past calls in a favor and turns his world upside-down with the introduction of Sherlock Holmes." Part 1 of Tales from the Northwest

Against the Rest of the World by SilentAuror (E, 151,714 w., 20 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Hiatus Fic, POV First Person Sherlock, Present Tense, First Kiss/Time, Big Brother Mycroft, Escaping from Capture, Soft Sherlock, Toplock, Insecurity, Infidelity, Travelling, Introspection, Pining Sherlock, Depression, Fantasies, Yearning for the Past, PTSD Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation) – Sherlock has been away from London for nine hundred and twelve days and counting, and has no idea what sort of reception to expect when he finally returns.

[hecalledme-jagi]

TOT Boy’s Favorite Media

TOT is pretty good about giving us a lot of info about what these boys like, but I had more headcanons.

This turned out a lot longer than I thought, so each boy will get their own post.

Artem, Vyn, Marius

Luke Pearce

It’s obvious that he loves the Sherlock Holmes mystery novels, and I’d say it’s highly likely that he’s seen the shows and movies made off the books, though he definitely prefers the books. To add, it’s been made known that he and Rosa used to watch anime and read manga together, so with that in mind, take my head-canons!

Movie:

- Murder on the Orient Express(2017)

He loves this movie more so because of the memory attached to it, rather than because of its story or mystery style.

Taking into consideration it’s 2030, he didn’t see the movie in theaters, instead he rented it as a reward to both him and yourself after a long week of nonstop work.

You guys watched it at his place and decided to take a hands on approach, discovering the mystery along with the detective of the movie.

You guys took notes and would frequently pause to discuss new clues, and how they matched up with preexisting ones.

What was originally going to be a simple dinner and movie hang out, turned into a five hour long mystery adventure, but it was totally worth it.

Before the murder was revealed in the film, the both of you had reached the same conclusion as the detective in the movie, and were shocked by the outcome(won’t spoil the end for those who wish to watch the movie themselves).

Afterwards Luke watched the original film from 1974 and even read the book in his free time, but the excitement of figuring out the mystery with you, can’t be matched.

Anime:

- Death Note

Major Spoilers ahead, tread carefully.

He watched the show many times over, and you gifted him the manga set for Christmas one year.

The Death Note set sits right beside his First Addition Sherlock Holmes collection.

Unlike the Murder on the Orient Express, where he mostly has an attachment to it bc he enjoyed the experience, he absolutely loves the cat and mouse aspect of Death Note.

As someone that wanted to become a person that helps and protects others, he eventually sided with L and the police. Although, that was only after having a bit of a dilemma over Light’s morally gray character.

L was his favorite character and it would be an understatement to say he was upset over L’s death.

Game:

- Portal

Disclaimer: I’ve never played Portal, but I did some research to give homage to the game, considering its a classic.

While Luke prefers multiplayer games, so he can play with you, Portal spoke to him and he was hooked from then on.

You would sit and watch him play this game, trying to figure out the puzzles with him, piecing together the story as you went.

The both of you have always loved riddles and puzzles, so this game couldn’t hide forever.

Once Luke found out that there was Portal 2 and it had multiplayer, there’s no doubt you two finished it in a day and it was a blast.

You used to have matching Companion Cube key chains, but unfortunately you lost them once life came alone(stupid life (｀_´)ゞ).

After the eight years of separation, the first gift to commemorate the two of you reuniting was new Companion Cube key chains.

Music:

Luke will listen to pretty much anything, especially if you recommend him some songs, but he does have artists that he prefers more then others.

- Porter Robinson(EDM)

He isn’t a die hard for EDM or anything like that, but he enjoys Porter Robinson’s work. He usually listens to it when he just wants to zone out and work on some new gadgets for you, or when he’s doing antique repairs.

- Jack Staubor(Indie Rock/Indie Pop)

Luke doesn’t really seem like the type to like too much indie, but Jack Staubor intrigues him. The music is on the strange side, yet pleasing to the ear and the same goes for the vocals. The weirdness captured his attention and he’ll listen occasionally.

This one is just for my sake, but he’s totally labeled Wouldn’t It Be Nice by The Beach Boy’s as “your song” and no one can change my mind on this.(This is a reference to the card, “Inner Sanctum”)

˚✧₊⁎𝒥𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑎⁎⁺˳✧༚

Artem, Vyn, Marius

I do not own any characters, all ownership goes to Mihoyo. Thanks for reading!

[luxwritesfanfic]

Right Where You Left Me

Reader gets déjà vu in a way she never expected. Or, the one where Sherlock is the gift that never stops giving. AU!Bucky because he always has your back. Enjoy!

Author’s Note: There is a lot of angst and multiple different aspects that could be very triggering for some within this work. Please be mindful of the trigger warning below and if you see something that you feel should be listed, message me and I will edit accordingly!

Trigger Warning: Severe depression, suicidal ideations, suicide attempt (overdose), forced vomiting, talk of death in general, angst with a happy ending

Sherlock Holmes/Reader

You couldn’t really tell how long you’d been lying in bed for. Time was such a foreign concept to you now. It was either before the fall, when you were happy and he was with you, or after the fall, where you were all alone. You weren’t alone physically because your friends would never allow for that. Since the fall, you’d been staying in Sherlock’s flat, and Mrs. Hudson would always bring you a plate of whatever she was cooking and put it in the fridge. And like clockwork, she’d come every Sunday and clean the fridge out from where you didn’t touch any of the plates. She never seemed to mind, though, and she never stopped bringing you food.  

Bucky would come by every day and check on you and help you do things around the house. And by help you, he did everything for you. Mrs. Hudson would let him stay in John’s old room whenever he needed, and he’d make sure you showered and that your laundry was done. He would tell you he does this because he loves you and that even though you weren’t born his sister, you would die that way.

John had moved on and moved out and you were happy for him. Mary was lovely, and you wished you could move on with your life, but you couldn’t. You knew he was taking it just as hard as you and that you both just had different ways of coping with the pain.  

When you had to quit your job, Mycroft was immediately there and offered to take care of you financially. “Please, allow me to do this for you. It’s what my brother would have wanted. He couldn’t stand me when he was ali—here, so the least I can do is make him happy where he is now,” he said quietly. Pigs must’ve been flying in the window behind you because when you reached to hug Mycroft, he met you halfway. You cried nonstop for days after that.

You had tried to be better after the scare, not for you, but for your family. You don’t remember much from it, but you do know that no one brings it up around you and you haven’t been left alone for longer than a few hours since.

You woke up with your face propped up against something cool, but you could barely open your eyes to see where you were. Your stomach was in the most pain it had ever been in and everything around you sounded so far away. You remember being yanked back and fingers were shoved down your throat and someone, Bucky, was standing over you and holding you up saying through tears, “I know it hurts and I’m sorry, but you have to throw it up, Y/N. You have to. I can’t lose you, too.”  

Everything hurt and in between gags you could hear Mrs. Hudson crying and begging whoever was on the phone to get there faster. You had never heard anyone scream like that and you were sorry you were the one who caused it.

Even though you’d promised Sherlock he would never lose you, Fate stepped in and you lost him. When you thought about the turn your life had taken, you just told everyone you were keeping your end of the deal.  

Bucky knocked on your door and stuck his head in. “Mornin’, Y/N. I’m gonna start some laundry and make us some coffee and then I’ll be back, okay?” You could tell he was worried by the tone of his voice, but he did a good job of hiding it. You didn’t say anything back to it and he didn’t expect you to.  

Bucky came in a little later with some towels in his hand and a coffee in the other. “I know you’re not feeling real good today, so I was thinking I could wash your hair for you? You can just bend over the tub and I’ll do all the work. I’ve even been watching some videos on how to braid and then you won’t have to worry it matting up either.” He set the coffee down on the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed next to you.  

By this point you were already crying into the pillow because how could the people in your life love you this much when you had nothing to offer them anymore?

“I love you so much,” you cried, and Bucky’s heart broke at the sound, “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry and I love you.”

He brushed the hair away from your face. His hands were warm, and it made you feel human again. “You don’t have to be sorry. I love you and I will take care of you for however long you need me to. God knows you would-- and have, done the same for me. So, let me wash your hair for you and I can tell you all about how Lestrade constantly shits on Anderson now as an eternal tribute.”  

You smiled and although it wasn’t full of life, he was just as happy to see it. You ended up just getting a shower and Bucky rushed next door to get you a sandwich in hopes that you’d eat for him, too.  

As you were brushing your hair out, you heard multiple voices. You heard Bucky, and he sounded… shocked? And then there was John and then just as you were about to reach for the door you heard it. You would know that baritone voice anywhere. Barging out of the bathroom and almost tripping over your own two feet, you came to a full stop.

“Sherlock?”  

There he stood in the middle of the room with John a few feet behind him, and Bucky with his back to you, seemingly always ready to protect you. It looked like him and it sounded like him, and hell, it even smelled like him. You couldn’t believe it.

“Y/N.” He went to make a step towards you but seemed to have think better of it. It was better if he assessed your reaction to seeing him first. It had been so long since he had last seen you and while he silently fought the raw want he had to hold you, he knew you were seeing red.

“I don’t even—I can’t-- can’t even comprehend this. Where do I start? Where the fuck have you been? You were dead, Sherlock! I watched you…” You squeezed your eyes shut, steeling yourself the best you could. You weren’t going to cry. You had too much to say. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw John and Bucky slip through the front door. You were sure that was their best bet.

Sherlock said nothing as you went off because there was really nothing for him to say. He understood why you were so mad with him, even if he wasn’t generally self-aware when it came to his own feelings, he wasn’t that daft. He had come prepared for this and he was going to make it right.

“No, you know what? Don’t say anything. I don’t even want to hear it. I have been fucking rotting in this flat while everyone else was able to move on with their lives. I was here, because I couldn’t live without you. My world stopped. I do nothing, Sherlock, nothing but sit and lay in your bed and cry into your old shirts!” You were yelling now, hands running through your hair as you tried to make sense of it all. Somewhere in the back of your mind you made a mental note to thank Bucky for making you get up and shower this morning.

“I quit my job, Sherlock. Mycroft has been paying to keep me alive and Mrs. Hudson and Bucky take turns to make sure I’m still breathing every other hour because they’re scared that if I’m left alone for too long, I won’t be. And poor John, I see him and start fucking bawling because then all I see is you. I stopped caring about everything, and everyone else, because the only person I cared about looked me in the eyes and walked off a fucking building!”

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, but you quickly cut him off.  

“Seriously, don’t speak. You don’t get to just waltz in with John after all this time—you know what? There’s the million-dollar question. Was I the only one who didn’t know you were alive? Because so help me God, Sherlock, I’m this close to losing it.”

He didn’t know whether or not he should actually speak, but he took the cue after he started to physically feel the heat from the deathly glare you were giving him. You quite literally looked deranged but that didn’t stop him from taking a step towards you. He always seemed to chase danger, and you were no exception.

“No… you weren’t the only one. John only just found out a few weeks ago, and only a few select people knew the whole time.” Sherlock was careful with his words. He knew he was walking on thin ice.

You didn’t say anything to that, and Sherlock found that even scarier than when you were yelling.

“Hah, select people, huh? I like that one. So, where were you staying? Were you in London this whole time? Shit, you could’ve been downstairs for all I know. I guess I wouldn’t be a select person to know that, though, would I?”

Sherlock grimaced. Things were going worse than he imagined, and he already figured it would be pretty bad. That was an understatement. “I had to jump around often for everyone’s safety, but I stayed in London for the most part. I stayed with Molly when I could.”

You laughed in his face at that, and you clamped your hand over your mouth, turning your back on him lest you start laughing again. He watched you with furrowed brows and you knew he wanted to speak but you couldn’t do it right now.  You took a few steps towards the kitchen window and looked out at the bustling London streets beneath you. For months your world stopped, and it seemed so real when in reality nothing stopped at all.  

“Great, great. That’s so great. Splendid, really.” You murmured to yourself and perched your free hand on your hip. Drumming your fingers against your lips, you began again.  

“Bucky had to glue the windows down because he thought I was going to jump, and you were staying with Molly.” The tone of your voice was venomous and if looks could kill, Sherlock Holmes would be dead for real this time.

Sherlock winced. “Y/N, please, let me—” You cut him off, speaking louder this time. Your face was void of emotion, but your eyes betrayed you as the tears started to fall freely and your voice cracked under the weight of everything that was being said.

“Bucky had to glue the windows down because I thought I was going to jump, and you were staying with Molly! Damn you, Sherlock Holmes! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” You grasped at the kitchen counter to steady yourself as you gasped for air between the sobs that you couldn’t contain anymore. Your heart ached so badly that you actually clutched your chest, afraid that it was going to break through your ribcage and abandon ship. You could barely register Sherlock coming up behind you through your tears and as he willed you to face him, you noticed that his eyes were brimmed red and glossy. Even sad, Sherlock looked as beautiful as a doll.

“I always come when you call, why didn’t you come for me?” You cried, fisting your hands in his shirt so tightly that you thought heard buttons pop. Your head was swimming and you had never felt more betrayed in your life. How could Sherlock turn to anyone but you? Had you not made it clear that you would do anything for him?  

“I called for you every single night, Sherlock! Begged for you, mourned you, I—” The tears wouldn’t stop flowing and your voice was starting to crack from its sudden and harsh overuse.

It was then that Sherlock wedged himself so close to you that you didn’t even have the space to move your head and look up at him. A pair of strong arms wrapped around your back and you were being squeezed so hard to him that you thought you’d either die from a heart attack or suffocation. And even now at the hands of Sherlock, neither seemed that bad. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He whispered against your forehead again and again as if he was repeating a chant he had been practicing for some time.

“I love you so much and you didn’t even call! Why didn’t you call?” Your words were lost to the both of you now, spoken into his shirt and distorted by your sobs. Sherlock held you as you cried and tried to contain your shaking body against his as you let out months of sadness and pain and despair. You were so overwhelmed that you couldn’t think straight.  

“I know, I know you do, and that’s why I couldn’t call. I couldn’t call for you.” He held onto you as he spoke like you would disappear. Sherlock had decided before he even stepped foot into the flat that he would not lose you again. In his time away from you, he was subjected to feelings he could only describe as both love and heartbreak in equal measure. Being apart from you had left him feeling a void that nothing could fill, but it was his love for you that he relied on to keep you safe and away from him.  

Sherlock pulled back from you and while it was only by a few inches, you suddenly felt worlds away. You go to pull him back to you when he gathers your hands in his and leaves a trail of ghostly kisses along the spread of your knuckles.  

“I have never begged for mercy in my life…” He murmurs, eyes never leaving yours. He was determined; that much you could tell. Your eyes widened as he lowered himself to one knee, and then two. “Until now. I have hurt you in ways that are beyond comprehensible. Please, grant me the mercy I do not deserve to explain myself. I am willing to bare myself before you if you’ll have me.”

You were in shock at the sight of Sherlock on his knees before you. You had heard him apologize maybe twice in your time of knowing him and here he was, begging for you to hear him out. All you could do is nod.

You expected him to stand up again, but he sat in place and looked up at you with so much love in his eyes that felt all the anger you were harboring dissipate under his gaze. He took a deep breath and prepared himself. If you were ever going to forgive him, he knew that he would have to be honest. And he knew that if he was going to be honest, he would have to admit the feelings he had for you and hope that he could express them in a way that you could understand.

“There were constantly people watching you, and John, and pretty much everyone else who held any value in my life,” he explained, rubbing his thumbs over your fingers as he spoke absentmindedly, “they knew you would be suffering, they counted on that. And if you weren’t, they’d know something was going on. Your suffering had to be real, or else it wouldn’t have been believable. I didn’t want to keep you in the dark. But I had no choice. When I faked my death, I had some help. I stayed with Molly here and there because she already knew, and my relationship with her is is…different for ours.” He paused.  

You were hanging on every word he said. You could tell he was being sincere, and even though you were upset, you understood. If leaving Sherlock meant protecting him, you would do it too.  

He cleared his throat and started again. “Molly was a safer option. They would have expected less of a reaction from her. And if things were to go wrong…” Trailing off, Sherlock squeezed your hands. You knew what he was trying to say, and you didn’t dare breathe. “You were not someone I could lose. It couldn’t have been you. So yes, I stayed with Molly, but I worked constantly to make it so that I could come home to you.”

You couldn’t take it anymore. “Sherlock,” you whimpered, pulling him to his feet by his collar and back to you where he belonged. He followed suit quickly like he was reading your mind.  

For what seemed like the first time today, you were truly taking him in. He was just as beautiful as he was the day he left you. You reached up to brush away a stray curl from his eyes and smiled at the way he seemed to try and follow your touch.  

There were so many things that you couldn’t be sure of, but this is something you’d always know to be true. You loved Sherlock, terribly, terribly, so. If loving him was the only purpose you ever found in this lifetime, you would be sure not to fail him.

You were lost in other when the sound of footsteps climbing up the stairs drew your attention. Sherlock followed your gaze as you watched John enter the flat from the living room.

“Is everyone okay up here? There was a lot of yelling and then it got pretty quiet…” As he rounded the corner to the kitchen, he stopped in his tracks at the sight of you braced against the counter with a small amount of space between you and Sherlock that he must’ve recently graced you with because you could barely move before. His hands rested on your hips and your hands had found solace on his shoulders. John looked like a deer caught in headlights before he covered his eyes with his hands and made to walk back out, determined not to ruin the moment that all of London was waiting on.

“Fuck, I’m sorry! Don’t mind me, pretend I was never here!” He called out as he dashed back down the stairs so quickly you thought he had fallen and you were sure you heard him say to someone, “I told you so!”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the whole situation and when you looked back at Sherlock, you realized he was already looking at you. Even after everything today, you still caught yourself feeling nervous under his heavy gaze.  

“So, it’s okay when you stare but not when I do?” You teased, hoping that he couldn’t see the blush you could surely feel. Sherlock squinted his eyes at your comment as if he didn’t understand what you meant but gave you a devilish smile all the same.  

“I’m sorry.” He wasn’t. “But you are confirming that you do stare at me, right?”  

You were torn between smacking the smirk off his face or kissing it, whatever compelled you the most and right now it was a tie. Rolling your eyes, you brought your hands down to his arms and gave them a squeeze. Not even realizing you were thinking out loud, you whispered something about having déjà vu. This caught Sherlock’s attention, and he moved tiniest bit closer to you. “Déjà vu? How so?”

Cursing yourself under your breath, you laughed and dipped your head down between the two of you, laughing at how ridiculous all of this was. “Jeez, it’s been years now. I had the most realistic dream that’s stuck with me all this time.”

Sherlock tsked at you and moved to bring your head back up so that he could properly see your face. He cupped your cheeks and in the most familiar way and just like in the dream, you were breathless.  

“Go on,” he urged, voice like velvet, “tell me what happened in your dream.”

You all but melted under his gaze. Sherlock, in any form, would always have this effect on you it seemed. His thumb brushed along your lower lip as his own parted. Physically he was with you, but mentally he was far away committing this memory to only a place he could see.

“Use your words. I’m paying raft attention, aren’t I?” Once again you thanked Mrs. Hudson and her choice in countertops because if it was any less sturdy you were sure you would collapse and bring him down with you. On second thought—

Any coherent thought was lost to you when Sherlock nosed your cheek, and you couldn’t help the gasp that left your lips or the words after.

“I told you I loved you, Sherlock. That’s what happened in the dream.” Your words were spoken so quickly in the effort to chase after his lips but he held you still, waiting and wanting in front of him.  

You whined like a child. None of anything that happened today was fair to you, but one kiss and you would forgive all of London for keeping your detective’s secret.

“Well, I guess the only proper response to that is for me to tell you that I’ve loved you for ages, my dear girl.” He smiled against your skin and you thought that this was it. You had officially lost your last marble, and this was the delirium finally setting in. You welcomed the insanity happily.

“Say it again, please. I need to hear you say it again.” You begged, everything hitting you at all at once.

“I love you,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours. “I love you, and it’s only ever been you. It couldn’t be anyone else but you. You…didn’t you know that?” His eyebrows rose up and you stopped him in his tracks. That was Sherlock for “are you dumb?”

It was then that you decided you were done with talking before he had the chance to say anything smart. You pulled him down to you so quickly that you missed the shock that flashed in his eyes when your lips finally met. After years of yearning and pining for the man in front of you, you finally had him right where you wanted him. There were so many things you wanted to say to him, but no words would express how you truly felt about him and lucky for you, Sherlock was more of a hands-on learner.  

When you finally broke apart, you got to admire the man of your every hour in all his glory. The mussed hair and kiss swollen lips really added to his already suave look and you couldn’t help but smile like an idiot. “You’re handsome. So handsome, seriously, it should really be a crime. I can finally tell you that without any shame.”

He returned your smile tenfold, and you thought if you could make his eyes crinkle like that just one more time in your life that it would be a life well lived. He acted as if he was mulling your statement over, rolling his bottom lip between teeth. “You could’ve mentioned it before. It might’ve helped me make my deductions much sooner.”

You slapped him on the shoulder but then worked on smoothing his shirt out while he watched you with a gentle fondness that he reserved just for you. You still had so many questions that you wanted answered but you knew those could wait. Something had been generous enough to answer your most asked prayer and you weren’t about to be ungrateful for even a second.  

Placing one last (for now) kiss on his cheek, you led him to the door to the flat and swung it open. “Hey, has Mrs. Hudson seen you—”

As if on perfect cue, Mrs. Hudson shrieks so loudly that any bad memory you have of her yelling is now a good one.

“Sherlock!”

[rockislandadultreads]

Cozy Holloween Mysteries

Halloween Murder by Shelley Freydont

Former dancer Lindy Haggerty has to give the performance of a lifetime as the director of a small-town Halloween carnival that's turning into a real dance of death.

Death of a Neighborhood Witch by Laura Levine

When her faithful feline Prozac unwittingly scares to death a parakeet belonging to the neighborhood's resident curmudgeon, Jaine finds herself knee-deep in toil and trouble. The cantankerous Hollywood has-been once played the part of Cryptessa Muldoon, television's fourth most famous monster mom. Now a bitter, paranoid old dame, Cryptessa spends her days making enemies with everyone on the street, and accidental bird killer Jaine is no exception. So when the ornery D-lister is murdered with her own Do Not Tresspass sign on Halloween night, the neighborhood fills with relief--and possible culprits. With a killer on the loose, Jaine hardly has time to fall under the spell of her yummy new neighbor, Peter. As the prime suspect, she summons her sleuthing skills to clear her name and soon discovers that everyone has a few skeletons in their closets--and movtives for murder are endless. Could it have been Cryptessa's next door neighbors, the barracuda husband and wife realtors whose landscaping Cryptessa bulldozed? Or the seemingly sweet old lady whose beloved dog was the object of Cryptessa's wrath? Or perhaps the crotchety actress was done in by her own nephew in a desperate attempt to get his hands on her money? As the masks come off, Jaine's search for sweet justice turns up more questions than answers. And just when she thought nothing could be scarier than her run-in with a tortuous Tummy Tamer, she closes in on the killer and learns the true meaning of grave danger...

Haunted Hibiscus by Laura Childs

It is the week before Halloween and Theodosia Browning, proprietor of the Indigo Tea Shop, and her tea sommelier, Drayton, are ghosting through the dusk of a cool Charleston evening on their way to the old Bouchard Mansion. Known as the Gray Ghost, this dilapidated place was recently bequeathed to the Heritage Society, and tonight heralds the grand opening of their literary and historical themed haunted house. Though Timothy Neville, the patriarch of the Heritage Society, is not thrilled with the fund-raising idea, it is the perfect venue for his grandniece, Willow French, to sign copies of her new book, Carolina Crimes & Creepers. But amid a parade of characters dressed as Edgar Allan Poe, Lady Macbeth, and the Headless Horseman, Willow's body is suddenly tossed from the third-floor tower room and left to dangle at the end of a rope. Police come screaming in and Theodosia's boyfriend, Detective Pete Riley, is sent to Willow's apartment to investigate. But minutes later, he is shot and wounded by a shadowy intruder. Timothy begs Theodosia to investigate, and shaken by Riley's assault, she readily agrees. Now, she questions members of the Heritage Society and a man who claims the mansion is rightfully his, as well as Willow's book publisher and her fiance, all while hosting a Sherlock Holmes tea and catering several others. But the Gray Ghost holds many secrets, as do several other key suspects, while this murder mystery plays out on the eve of Halloween.

Candy Corn Murder by Leslie Meier

Halloween is coming to Tinker’s Cove, Maine, and local reporter Lucy Stone is covering the town’s annual Giant Pumpkin Fest for the Pennysaver. There’s the pumpkin-boat regatta, the children’s Halloween party, the pumpkin weigh-in…even a contest where home-built catapults hurl pumpkins at an old Dodge! But not everything goes quite as planned…Lucy’s getting very annoyed that her husband Bill and his friend Evan have been working seemingly nonstop on their potentially prize-winning pumpkin catapult. But when the day of the big contest arrives, Evan is nowhere to be found…until a catapulted pumpkin busts open the trunk of the Dodge. Amid the pumpkin gore is a very deceased Evan, bashed in the head and placed in the trunk by someone long before the contest started. Bill is on the hook for the Halloween homicide—he was the last one to see Evan—so Lucy knows she’s got some serious sleuthing to do. The crime’s trail seems to always circle back to Country Cousins, the town’s once-quaint general store that’s now become a big Internet player. Though the store’s founder, Old Sam Miller, is long gone, his son Tom and grandson Trey now run the hugely successful company. But whispered rumors say things aren’t going well, and Lucy finds that this case may have something to do with an unsolved, decades-old Miller family mystery… With each new lead pointing her in a different direction, Lucy sees that time is quickly running out. If she wants to spook the real killer, she’ll have to step into an old ghost story…

[thetaoofbetty]

Oh I don’t think any of them will be a big stars, sadly. It’s like a “CW curse” for me: they made too many shows that was super popular at the moment and casts was everywhere, but when the show is over — they all barely shows up on the screens. I think Blake is the only one who “made it” and it was mostly because major fashion contracts like Chanel and marriage with Reynolds (it played well for them both). It’s sad, cause I loved many people from the Gossip Girl and Vampire Diaries, but they seems all forgotten and none of them did something huge from then

michelle williams would like a word, ha. katie holmes has also worked quite a bit and shouldn’t be known for marrying tom cruise but, you know, she bought the ticket to that ride so it is what it is. kristen bell often gets overlooked because veronica mars only did 3 seasons (we don’t talk about the 4th season in this house) before it got canceled but girl is successful af. claire danes is known for her other works more now that she was ever known for my so-called life, same with jared leto, tbh. 

keri russell did felicity but is known for movies, that popular tv show she did, and theater (burn this). 

joshua jackson was famous before dawson’s creek (if you don’t know you’re too young and we’re going to need to have a mighty ducks movie marathon) and he had a successful tv series sometime after, i think (fringe??). david boreanz has been on tv nonstop for like, 20ish years, i’m tired just thinking about it. he went from buffy to angel to bones to something else (i saw a promo but it’s slipped my mind).

alison hannigan did my stepmother is an alien before buffy and if you’re not watching that iconic movie, what are you even doing with your life? also, we don’t talk about how i met your mother but she did that after buffy as well as those cringe american pie movies. 

the first teen show cast i’ve seen all sort of flop after their show’s run has been one tree hill, tbh. these newer shows, they’re just...well. they have a bloated cast and they’re entertaining in their way but a lot of them develop loyal fans, not consistent storytelling that showcases the actors on the show. i think riverdale will probably always make “weird teen shows that we loved anyway” and “where are they now?” lists but i do think that some of them have the talent and drive to make it out if they work for it. teen shows in the last decade have done their actors no favors, tho. 

[ephemeral-writings]

Everything I Need // 05

oh sehun x reader

genre: angst, fluff

word count: 4.4k

Everything I Need // oh sehun teaches you a thing or two about life. but falling for the boy who lived across from you was not what you had anticipated.  

A/N– Hope you guys are doing well, staying safe and healthy. Please feel free to talk to me if you need a place to displace any anxiety you might have. Also, thank you to anyone that’s still reading this otl i’m sorry for the turtle--snail pace updates, but truly, thank you if you’re still showing interest in this story💓 Please leave me your thoughts!!! Enjoy reading!! 

Also, happy birthday to the love of my life, oh sehun; you’ve been my muse since day one and you’ll be my muse until the end. 

Part 01 / Part 02 / Part 03 / Part 04 / Part 05

//////

Somehow the dinners with Sehun became a common part of your routine. You would come home from your shift some nights, and Sehun, as if he had memorized your schedule, would knock on your door just minutes after you had returned, asking you if you had eaten yet. Before you knew it, a month had flown by, and then another half. 

A friendship, dare you say, was beginning to bloom between you and Sehun; however, whatever feelings you had reserved for the man was left unexplored. 

Sehun proved to be a man full of surprises, a new layer of his personality unveiling itself with every time you met up. One minute he’d be a gentleman, grilling meats and plating them on your plate before his own, or swapping dishes with you if you expressed even a mild dislike to the food you decidedly ordered. But next, he’d be teasing you nonstop about your small quirks like your tendency to neatly clean up after a meal-- you called it server tendency-- or how you might have a more serious case of RBF than he does. That argument was still up for debate.

Sehun, from the moments you’re allowed to ponder the man, was nothing you’d expected. His quiet nature that you once thought was from a place of cockiness and judgment turned out to be him being quite the shy and soft-spoken man. His actions, however, were what struck you the most surprised. Like when he’d randomly press his palm to your lower back whenever he ushers you back into your apartment at the end of the night, as if his body had naturally adapted to being close to you; or when he’d stare so intently into your eyes while you’re talking, towering over you easily with his stature, that you feel like he’s looking right into the depths of your soul-- the theatrics of it all was disconcerting. For the most part, despite all the chords he struck somewhat unconsciously, you were set in favor of his presence. 

The end of November was creeping in, and so was the cold weather. You realized that once you began layering a long-sleeve underneath your work shirt, and Chanyeol’s music was becoming a new definition of cozy. 

“So,” Chanyeol started. “My friend hooked me up with a gig this weekend. I’m thinking about inviting my partner. Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions?” He listed off as you’re both closing for the night. You’re closing out the register while Chanyeol stacked the chairs and swept the floor. 

“Give me a sec. You know better than to talk to me while I’m counting, Yeol,” you grumbled, finishing off your till five minutes later. “Okay, what’s up?” 

“I’m looking at this opportunity to show off my music a little, ya know? Plus, she’s also been more responsive, less edgy. Do you think she’ll agree to go?” 

“It doesn’t hurt to ask.” You offered. “Where’s this again?” 

“A pretty popular club among the kids at uni actually, called Love Shot,” he said. “You heard of it?” 

You racked through your head at the familiar name, and you finally realize that it was the club that Sehun worked at. 

“Yeah,” you said, nonchalantly before adding, “Went there for a party once.” 

Chanyeol stopped sweeping all together and looked at you as if you had five heads growing out of your neck. “Wait, you went to a party? At a club?” He half asked, half accused, and you almost got offended by his tone of voice, when he added, “And I wasn’t invited?” 

You reddened at the realization at how pathetic you must look to other people when you’ve quite successfully hermit yourself from social events, to the point that even Chanyeol finds it unbelievable. “Whatever, Yeol, that isn’t important right now. We’re talking about you.” 

“Nu-uh, this changes things. I wasn’t gonna pressure you to come because I know how you are,” you frown deeply at that, to which Chanyeol only points a knowing brow at you. “But, now you have to come, Y/N. You could wing-man me!” He exclaimed as if it was the most ingenious idea he had ever manifested. 

“First of all, I don’t know the first thing about wingmanning, you don’t want me to wingman-- or is it wingwoman? you, dude.” You quickly objected to the idea flat out. You could just see it now, you trying to hype Chanyeol and inadvertently making him look stupid instead(not that he doesn’t play part in that himself alone), and by the end of it, you’ll probably make a fool of yourself by trying to rectify what was never there to begin with. 

“Please, Y/N,” he begged. “I want you there when I perform some of my new stuff.”

Chanyeol tried persuading you to go watch him perform at Love Shot for the remainder of the night until you finally relented. You don’t really even know why you’re so hesitant on going, but thinking about the night of Jongdae’s birthday makes your stomach churn anxiously. 

“Shit, it’s raining,” Chanyeol said when you’ve both clocked out. He nudged you with an elbow, saying, “Let’s go, I’ll drive you home.” 

Chanyeol drove a Jeep, one that you find very difficult to get in and out of, but you suppose a free ride home was better than getting caught in the rain. 

“You wanna come up? I could make something for us to eat?” You offered when nearing your apartment. 

“Sure,” Chanyeol shrugged, claiming anything was better than cereal for dinner. He parked his Jeep in the allotted spot for your unit and cut the engine while you’re pulling your hood over your head for the oncoming rain. “Wanna race?” 

“You could run, but you’ll slip and end up hurting yourself.” You chortled, imagining his lumber worth of limbs flailing in the air. Chanyeol ends up half walking, half jogging, heeding your warning as an afterthought than anything else. 

While you’re searching for your keys in your purse, footsteps coming up the stairs and voices belonging to young men echoes through the hall. It was Sehun, and he had friends with him--one of which you’ve met before in passing when he had dropped by Sehun’s place while you were also over(for only 5 minutes as you had to use his printer because yours had jammed). 

“Oh, it’s you again,” the guy aforementioned spoke, greeting you brightly afterwards. You returned the greeting, ever as awkward, shooting a less stiff one to Sehun as well while he returned a thoughtful look that had your cheeks warming. 

“Hi, I’m Baekhyun,” he said, thrusting a hand forward for Chanyeol to take.

“Park Chanyeol,” he replied, voice booming loudly, though not unkindly. 

The other man seemed familiar, and you realized after a closer look, it was the other bartender you saw the night of Jongdae’s birthday; he introduces himself as Kim Jongin. 

“Did you just get off?” It was Sehun who asked the question that was directed towards you. You nodded, characteristically shy from the attention of both Sehun and his friends. 

Something suddenly clicked in Chanyeol’s head then-- you distinctly recognize the spark that flashes across his pupils-- and you think absolutely nothing good could come from whatever he has working in his head. 

“We just got off; we work together. And you are?” Chanyeol questioned, tone nosy and maybe a tad bit menacing, but maybe it was because you knew him better. Sehun, having gone quieter than usual, simply tells him his name with no further insertion that would’ve qualmed Chanyeol’s brewing curiosity. 

“What a coincidence, these two work together, too,” Baekhyun said, gesturing towards Sehun and Jongin, and because Chanyeol felt like conjuring his inner Holmes, he inquired the said place in which the two--

“Awe fuck,” you thought, brain finally catching up with Chanyeol’s, and with the help of Baekhyun, Chanyeol’s formless scheme began taking shape. 

“No shit,” Chanyeol said, stretching out the first word as he turns to you with a sadistic almost-grin. You glared at him, attempting not to wear the anxiety on your face that could possibly, wordlessly confirm his suspicions that might or might not have already gone too far into his head. Chanyeol doesn’t mind your silent pleas to shut up. 

As the silent(and painful, for you) interaction between you and Chanyeol transpired, the three male stared, perplexed by the whole ordeal; one man in particular being more bothered by it than the rest. 

Sehun hadn’t expected you to talk about him to your friends or anything(even though he does to his’), but he’d be lying if the revelation didn’t strike him as surprising, or made him a tad bit upset. 

“Is something wrong?” Baekhyun eventually asked with a wry smile, breaking the tension between you and Chanyeol . 

Chanyeol promptly turned to them, slapping on his wide and creepy smile as he explained, “Y/N gets moody when she’s hungry, and she’s supposed to be making us food right about now.” They laughed hesitantly, not quite sure what to make of Chanyeol’s statement, until Sehun spoke up. 

“Don’t let us keep you, then.” Sehun nodded curtly, and without further ado, marched into his apartment with Baekhyun and Jongin following. Once they were out of sight, Chanyeol steered you into your own unit, muttering, “Guess I’m staying a little later than planned.” 

-

The week goes by bizarrely quick, what with Chanyeol’s constant tormenting through work and text. After that night, according to him, Sehun was your secret boyfriend whom you’ve been hiding, which was absolutely ridiculous, and you never failed to reject the notion every single time it was brought up. 

Thu 15:21 delivered 

‘Stop. Tagging. Me. In’

15:22 delivered

‘Relationship memes.’

Yeol Thu 15:24 received 

‘im being supportive’

‘its ur first relationship after all’

Chanyeol sent with the stupid face emoji blowing in a tissue attached to his message.

Thu 15:25 delivered

‘im blocking u’

In a blink of an eye, the weekend was at your doorstep. You spent over half an hour agonizing over what to wear, fumbled with your scant collection of makeup only to end up with a few strokes here and there to brighten your dull complexion and to open up your eyes from the evident lack of sleep, and in the end, you looked...decent. 

Suddenly, your phone dinged from across the room where it was charging. Chanyeol was reminding you that he was going on at 9pm, and also telling you how nervous he was because he just saw Eun walk in. 

20:24 delivered 

‘go say hi to her!!’

Yeol 20:25 received

‘GOING’

‘pray i don’t choke’

You grinned, sending him all the luck in the universe so that he doesn’t make a fool of himself. He’s worried about nothing, you thought, for Chanyeol was a kind, thoughtful, and humble guy, not that you’d ever tell him that yourself. Likewise, you’d like to think that he saw the good in you, despite it being so difficult for those qualities to reflect in your eyes, and it was why your friendship was so easy. 

As you’re walking out, your phone dinged again. It wasn’t from Chanyeol, but Sehun instead. 

Sehun 20:34 received

‘Hey, did I just see your friend at loveshot?’

‘Chanyeol? I think’

20:34 delivered

‘yeah, he said he’s performing there tonight’

You debated adding the fact that you were heading there right then, when suddenly, you contemplated your state of emotions, whether you were excited or anxious to see Sehun again, at Loveshot no less. It was certainly out of your comfort zone, hence the anxiety that bubbled away in your stomach, but Sehun was familiar now and Chanyeol’s a close friend, so it shouldn’t be that terrible. Right? 

Sehun didn’t reply immediately, to which you assumed was due to the fact that he was presently on duty. You arrived shortly after, seeing a decent sized queue outside of the club. You were about to shoot a text to Chanyeol to let him know you’d arrived when two messages came in at the same time. 

Yeol 20:52 received

‘U here yet?’

Sehun 20:52 received

‘does that mean i’ll see you tonight?’

Ignoring the latter message that short circuited your mind for a second, you responded to Chanyeol’s, and not two minutes later, he emerged from the club’s entrance, peeking around the crowd for your small stature. 

“Y/N!” He beckoned you over, whispered something to the bouncer’s ear, and you’re both walking back into the lively albeit dim space before you knew it. Chanyeol’s looking the best you had ever seen him; dressed to the nines in his dark denim over white graphic hoodie, paired with ripped, black jeans and chains draped along his right thigh, you think that this Eun girl would be a fool if she couldn’t see his efforts to impress her when Chanyeol lives in essentially five different hoodies. 

“I’m actually shocked that you made it, was sort of expecting you to flake last minute,” Chanyeol said, giving your outfit a subtle once-over and grinning when you rolled your eyes at him. You’re wearing a tight-fitting tank top, one that has lace edging the bust and cropped to your midriff, and to cover up from the cold, you wore a cropped black puffer jacket. Your bottom’s a pair of black high waisted jeans, the slightly flared at the ankles making you look longer than you really are especially with your ankle boots. 

“But then again, your secret boyfriend is working tonight, so maybe you’re really here for him, who knows,” he smirked with mirth swimming in his eyes. At that, you remembered Sehun’s message, its implications bringing warmth to your cheeks.

You shoved the tall idiot with an elbow, though it does little to affect him. He’s cackling to himself stupidly all the way until you both reach the bar, a destination you hadn’t noticed you were even heading towards, not with how Chanyeol’s dumb teasing had distracted you, making your cheeks flushed and heart race for nothing. Subtly, you scanned the vicinity for Sehun but spotted him nowhere in sight.

It was Jongin instead that took notice of you first. “Hey, it’s you again,” he said, voice throaty and silvery at the same time. The tone could easily be menacing had it not been for the kindness floating in his orbs or the disarming half-smile he gives you, as if he knew something that you didn’t. 

You managed a polite smile in response before Chanyeol abruptly pushed on your shoulders, forcefully planting you on one of the chairs, directly in front of the bar.

“I’m gonna head up now,” he tells you. “Get yourself comfortable before I introduce you to Eun later, cool?” 

Letting go of your petty bickering for a moment, you gave his forearms a placatory squeeze while wishing him good luck and off he went. 

“Can I grab you something to drink?” Jongin asked when Chanyeol was out of sight. You told him the same thing you told Sehun last time, giving him the freedom to choose for you. 

“Sehun’s slacking off somewhere,” Jongin said suddenly, distracting you from watching Chanyeol as he introduced himself. You clapped along with the crowd, though your brain had separated itself and you could only respond to Jongin with a questioning look. What made him think you were looking for Sehun? 

“Oh,” he exclaimed, staring over your right shoulder. “Speaking of the devil.” 

Sehun ignored the other boy all together, only looking at you as he spoke. “Hey, you never answered my text.” You turned to face him, his expression at first hard then gradually dissolving into something softer the longer he stared at you; he was in his uniform again, minus the velvet bow tie and plaid vest that you assume was specially worn for Jongdae’s birthday event. Even with just the striped button down, a few buttons undone from the top, he managed to garner more looks than you could’ve imagine. His arm goes to prop himself on the countertop as he leaned closer to you since his height was towering over you and glaringly so. You caught a whiff of his scent as you breathed in, attempting to calm your nerves, but laced with the familiar seaside breeze came the all too familiar acrid smell of cigarettes. It was nowhere near the stench that clung to your father’s breath, clothes, and skin, but the effect was there nonetheless.

“Y/N?” Sehun had repeated your name twice before you realized where you were, who he was, and how far you were from the past. His hand had barely grazed your arm when you snapped out of it, unknowingly with a recoil under his touch, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by both Sehun and Jongin. The former leaned in even closer, and asked in a hushed tone, “You okay?” 

Not trusting your voice, you only nodded while giving him a weak smile. “I - need to use the restroom, excuse me.” You tried to ignore Sehun’s imploring gaze on you as you got up and walked towards the direction of where the restrooms were.

“Get it together, Y/N,” you muttered under your breath as you stared at your reflection in the mirror. You willed your mind to focus on something-- anything-- that was presently in front of you, needed to get a grip on reality. It felt like your brain was being dissected, that your eyes were so distanced and while out of one window you saw your reflection, pale and panic stricken, you also saw your childhood home. You saw your father sitting in his chair with a lit cigarette between his fingers, and his face looking so far gone that he doesn’t even notice you standing right in front of him.  

“Well, well,” a voice started, echoing so suddenly on the tiles of the restroom that the image of your father dissipates all together at once. “It looks like my night just got a whole lot more interesting.” 

You turned your head, finally grasping onto something real, however unfortunate it was to be no one other than Liah. You groaned internally, from the dull pain in your head or from the prospect of the upcoming headache that the girl will cause? Take a wild guess. 

“Wow, didn’t know my existence had such an influence on you. I’m flattered,” you said, face blank as ever. 

Liah clucked her tongue, looking annoyed which was no surprise to you. “Don’t be a smartass, Y/N, no one likes a smart,” she drawled. This time you outwardly rolled your eyes, turning to the mirror again as you prepare to tie up your hair. It was getting uncomfortable with how heated your skin got after your little episode. 

“But I suppose it’s an upgrade from being a coward, hmm?” She mocked sympathy as if you keeping quiet to her belittling all those years ago wasn’t a result of how miserable she made your life. 

You’re trying hard not to lose your cool because the last thing you wanted was to stir something up that frankly shouldn’t be touched. But the word coward pulsates in your ears, clinging adamantly to your memory as it digs and digs for all the names your father has called you, worser than coward. Liah doesn’t mean shit to you, not anymore, you told yourself. 

You’ve washed your hand after successfully tying up your hair; it’s messy and unruly but you tell yourself it’s a damn look, especially as you turned, once again, to stare at Liah directly in the eye, and said, “Smartass or coward, I’d rather be those than someone who feeds off of other’s weaknesses.” 

If you’d bothered to stay and watch Liah’s reaction, you would’ve seen the utter hatred within her eyes as she tried to stare you into the submission she once did. 

You headed back to the bar, thankfully unscathed, but the unwelcome trip down memory lane mired your thoughts as you tried to recomposed yourself. 

Jongin was the one who caught your approaching figure first. He nudged Sehun who was polishing a glass by his side before taking a few steps away to tend to some patrons, leaving you and Sehun alone. Well, alone as alone could be when you’re standing in the middle of a packed club. 

You plopped back on the same chair from earlier, making as little eye contact as possible with the man. 

“You’re flushed,” Sehun bluntly noted. He stopped what he was doing to really look at you. With your hair up, there’s no hiding the rosy hue painting your cheeks and ears. You’d feel too hot with it down, so you bear Sehun’s scrutiny for the moment. 

“Because it’s getting hot in here,” you said in a ‘duh’ tone. “Are you making my drink again?” 

Sehun squinted at you before deciding to drop questioning your suspicious behavior. “Do you want sex-” 

“You don’t have to say the name, y’know,” you tell him quickly, a little panicked and fully blushing. Sehun outrightly smirked and somewhere between the music playing, you imagined Jongin’s laughter. 

“Your friend’s growing a fanclub up there,” he said, starting on the drink. 

You spun in your seat to see that Chanyeol indeed has some girls fawning over him. A few more tenacious ones slid, not-so-discreetly, crumpled up napkins with what you assume to have scribbled phone numbers on them. You gave credit that Chanyeol politely declined all advances on the spot; with a boyish grin and shake of his head, no one could get mad at that. It made him appear professional, but you also didn’t miss the way he would glance at a certain someone every time it happened. 

You snort while muttering, “Way to be subtle.” 

“What was that?” Sehun voiced. 

Turning your body back around to face him again, you said, “Nothing. Just that there’s gonna be some hearts broken, is all.” 

You don’t notice the way Sehun’s grip on the tumbler becomes tighter from your words. 

Sehun, for the most part, kept you company for the night. Jongin jumped in every once in a while, and you found him to be quite the clumsy yet the most suavest guy you’d ever met. He reminded you of another tall ogre and that in itself was something that allowed you to release your inhibitions for the night. 

“Alright, alright,” you slurred, “What do you call a bear with no teeth?” 

Jongin squinted at you, seemingly deep in thought, and opened his mouth to answer but someone else had beaten him to it.  

“A gummy bear! Why’re you going around telling my jokes?” Chanyeol blurted. He took advantage of the slouched over position you were in to give you a noogie. 

“Ugh, get your crummy hands off of me,” you groaned in protest, not bothering to lift your head to glare at the man. Instead your eyes settled the girl standing next to Chanyeol. “Oh? You must be Eun.”

“And you must be Y/N,” the girl smiled, and you could’ve sworn you heard Chanyeol’s heart beat right out of his chest. She offered you her hand, and before grabbing it, you suppressed the tickle in your bloodstream. You looked more sober in that split second than you probably felt.  

“Jeez, how much did she have to drink?” Yeol asked the two tenders. 

“Not too much,” Jongin supplied. “We cut her off after she started reciting psych theories to us,” he continued, to which you sing-songed replied with, “The more you know.” 

It made Eun giggle so that’s all that mattered. She easily slid into the seat next to you, and left Chanyeol towering over behind you two. Seeing as you were getting acquainted, he excused himself to go talk “business” with the owner. 

“Don’t go trying to make yourself sound cooler than you really are, Yeol,” you reprimanded, earning a half-smirk-half-shy-grin from Eun. Jongin offered to show Chanyeol the way to the owner’s office, leaving Sehun to tend once more. You whined for another cocktail, but the man remained steady in his stance to cut you off for the night. Eun doesn’t drink, so he offers her, and yourself, some club soda instead.

Eun was surprisingly easy to talk to; her voice seemed to lull you in like a siren and you think-- it’s no wonder Chanyeol was so taken by her. You have half a mind to straightforwardly tell her, “you know--  Chanyeol’s like-- ready to bust the fattest uwu for you, right?” but then that didn’t seem quite the way to go. You snort like an idiot, stopping Eun mid-sentence. Sehun and Eun exchanged looks. 

“You okay there, darling?” It was Eun who asked you while Sehun simultaneously mumbled, “Maybe we should’ve stopped at the first drink.” 

You repeatedly tell them “no, no no it’s not that,” but “I was just thinking about how good you and Chanyeol would be - together.” 

There was a pregnant silence after that, and you realized that wow, that was a big Not-a-Good-Wingwoman thing to say. Eun looked thoroughly blindsided, and if you could see clearly enough, you would’ve seen the quirk in her lips by your honest words. You let out an indignant sound from your throat, ready to apologize for your stupidity, when Eun suddenly let out an awkward but hearty laughter. Sehun had appeared amused whereas you looked like a fish out of its bowl. 

“Thank you, for saying that,” she smiled, making you beam in relief. You knew then that there was more to Eun than you realized. Her eyes glimmered with hope, or maybe it was apprehension, at the prospect of Chanyeol’s affection. 

Right then, Chanyeol’s voice boomed, “Alright, ladies,” startling both you and Eun. “Deal’s been sealed. You’re looking at a regular DJ of Loveshot,” he boasted, and as if you had planned it, you both rolled your eyes followed by the mandatory kudos, even by Sehun himself. 

“You girls ready to go?” Chanyeol asked. 

At the same time that Eun replied yes, you chimed, “I’m gonna stick around for a bit.” Chanyeol sent you a doubtful look, to which you fail-winked back at him while Eun wasn’t looking; he smiled, grateful at first, but then it morphed into something mischievous when he detected the man behind the bar watchful gaze on you. 

“Right then,” he echoed, then stared at Sehun when he asked, “Do you mind taking her home?”

Sehun, who had really only glanced at Chanyeol when he spoke to him, returned his eyes on you, and asked, “Do you mind waiting a bit?” 

How he manages to sound so soft and gentle yet all the same impassive in his speech unnerved you. You found yourself shaking your head, agreeing with him and whatever was to come. 

[againstallelse]

The Confessionals of John H. Watson: First Draft

Hello all. Now that the month from hell is being pushed behind me (Don’t ask), I’m back to writing and I bring you The Confessionals of John H. Watson. Written by John after The Reichenbach Fall, it focuses on the question that everyone has asked in one way or another. What is John Watson’s relationship to Sherlock Holmes?

This is a first draft that I do plan on continuing. I’d love any feedback anyone has. A beta reader (or a collection of them) would be very appreciated.

Why I’ve chosen to write this now I’m not entirely sure. It feels far too little, far too late. Just like everything else seems to always be.

This will never even see the light of day. Maybe someday, long after I’m dead, someone will research into the great Sherlock Holmes’ legacy and find it. But my expectations are low. Even though it’s what everyone always wanted to read. The blog post everyone was practically begging for.

I have received one question above all others over the course of the past few years of my life. It’s one I’ve avoided addressing because in all honesty, I still do not have a simple answer.

“What is your relationship to Sherlock Holmes?”

And in a sum of words, I genuinely don’t know.

I have never had a real answer to this question. I got it from the very first day I met Sherlock, seemingly from everywhere. At that point, there was no suitable answer. A stranger? A new friend? An interest? I didn’t know. And I was too afraid to ask him what I was to him.

To me, he was like a light in the darkness. Everything had felt so dull, so painful, so dark. I was entirely alone in the world. I trudged forward every day because I wasn’t sure what else I could do. But then he came. He was enematic. Charismatic. Bright.

He lit up my entire life all at once, thrusting me into a whole new world where I finally felt like I belonged.

He was strange and finicky. A total prat. Early on, I couldn’t tell if he cared if I lived or died. I couldn’t tell if I cared if I lived or died. As long as I didn’t have to return to the darkness, I didn’t care. I felt so empty for so long. I did everything I could to keep things steady between us. Stable.

I couldn’t jeopardize losing the only good thing in my life.

I had known I had an interest in Sherlock from day one. I would have rather ended it all then admit it to a soul. But I knew it was quite obvious to anyone who bothered to throw us a second glance.

However, I didn’t realize how bad I had it for Sherlock until we had been living together for a while. I knew he was gorgeous. I knew that my heart beat faster when he was close enough to touch.

One morning I came downstairs to find him shirtless in our kitchen and found he had made tea for us both, I was overcome with something unfamiliar. I sat beside him as he read and drank his tea, ignoring me for more interesting things.

I stared at him. I studied the curves of his face. His bare chest. His lips as they curled around the edge of his mug. The most dangerous realization settled in my heart.

I wanted to be here, with him, forever. I wanted to be with Sherlock for the rest of my life. I couldn’t imagine spending my mornings with anyone else. I wanted to wake up beside him in the morning and have him be the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes.

I choked a bit and laughed it off, trying to seem casual. His eyes peered up from his book to look at me and I shook my head. He crooked his brows and before going back to his reading.

I got more serious with Sarah, my girlfriend, after that incident. I wasn’t sure what Sherlock’s sexual preference was, but I was fairly certain that it didn’t include me. Or possibly any human being. Which didn’t phase me that much.

Did I want to be sexually involved with Sherlock Holmes? Admittedly, yes. I did. He was on my mind far more often then he should have been, in scenarios he shouldn’t have been involved in. Especially when I was shagging my girlfriend.

But I didn’t mind it if Sherlock never had an interest in me. As long as I got to stay by his side for the rest of my life. That was always the priority. Anything that might scare him away had to be kept at a minimum. So I was careful about staring at him. I avoided touching him in any way at all. I knew he’d see through me and connect the dots if I indulged myself too much, so I was careful.

I still think he might have known.

Sarah figured it out. We went on a trip together, alone, since she kept asking. The whole time I was checking my phone, calling and checking in on Sherlock, talking about him nonstop. One night on our trip she found me up late, scrolling through Sherlock’s boring blog.

She asked, “Do you really love me?”

I put my computer down. She caught me off guard. “Why are you asking that?”

“Because… you don’t look at me the same way you look at Sherlock. I’m not blind John. You could be enjoying your holiday in bed with me. But you’re not. You’re thinking about him.”

Her words burned into my brain. She was right. My god, she was right. She was so kind, letting me keep my privacy. We parted amicably when the trip was over and she wished me the best of luck with Sherlock. She never told a soul, even though the papers would have paid her enough to retire a year down the line if she had.

Why couldn’t I have just loved her?

My life continued with Sherlock. Our cases were interesting, he was vibrant. He had his days, but overall we were very happy those months. That summer was likely the happiest of my life, traveling around with Sherlock, chasing after criminals in the warm summer evenings.

Sometimes I wonder if he had any concept of how romantic that summer was. Sometimes I wonder if it was the best summer of his life too.

Then she came.

The woman.

Everything changed when she came into our lives. She excited Sherlock. In ways I didn’t. Mentally. And seemingly physically, I think. It was such a shock to see Sherlock attracted to anyone in any way. Especially a woman.

It frustrated me. It hurt. After everything we went through, it seemed momentarily like she would come between us and break us apart. It was a whirlwind, one day it was he and I against the world. The next he was composing music for her.

I ran through three girlfriends in three months, trying to distract myself. Trying to distance myself from Sherlock, steal my heart so when I lost him to a dangerous dominatrix it wouldn’t hurt so badly. It didn’t work even remotely. All three of them saw right through me in record time.

When Irene pretended to die, some part of my selfish self was relieved. Maybe things could return to normal. But Sherlock’s reaction… he was totally devastated. It was heartbreaking to watch. He was quiet, reclusive even. His mourning wasn’t loud and external like most people. It probably would have been invisible to most people.

But I wasn’t most people. I was his blogger, his roommate, his best friend. His family. And I saw the way his shoulders hunched and how sad his eyes were in the reflection of the window glass.

When she returned, expecting my help, I had wanted to throw her out the window. She hurt the man who my world revolved around and wanted my help? But then she saw right through me. No matter how I denied that I wasn’t gay, she saw me.

She could see me. She could see my real feelings, probably better than anyone else ever did. I felt raw. Naked. Exposed.

Even once she was really dead, Sherlock and I never truly went back to normal. He looked at me differently. I never identified the look in his eyes our final year together. Sadness? Fear? Pity? He hid his emotions well, very well. But I could still see that hint of something there that felt cold. And it broke me.

I felt like he knew. Maybe she had told him my true feelings. Maybe he pitied me? Maybe he couldn’t see me the same, knowing I had feelings for him? Maybe he was afraid that I couldn’t truly be his friend without my feelings getting in the way?

I’ve driven myself insane with the maybes. I’ve gone over it again and again. It still keeps me up at night. What did those looks mean? I will never know, now.

When everything happened with Moriarty, it shook me to my core. Not the cases, not the insanity of the man who was chasing Sherlock, but how hard Sherlock pushed me to believe he was a liar in the end. I could not, would not ever believe that. I still do not believe that.

Sherlock was magnificent. He was brilliant. And beautiful. He came into my life and hijacked it entirely and it was the best thing to ever happen to me. None of my past experiences nor my future ones will ever compare to the part of my life I shared with him.

I could never have written this down with him still alive. If I had ever acknowledged this much, even to myself in private, he would have known and it would have broken us. But now he’s gone. And I’m left with this.

If I ever had a soulmate on this earth, it was him. I knew on some level from the night we met. More than how alluring he was both mentally and physically, something drew me to him. Something I doubt I will ever feel with another human being. With him, I felt complete in a way I never had before.

And never will again.

God, I can’t continue writing this. What’s my relationship to Sherlock Holmes? I don’t know what I was to him. But he was my soulmate. And now he’s dead.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hi Steph! How you’re doing? First of all, I wanna say that I love your lists. So, I was wondering, do you have some long Johnlock fics? Like, with a bunch of chapters and all that. Thank you!

Hey Nonny!! 

I absolutely do! And you know what?? I’m gonna be selfish: No one has ever EVER asked me for my shorter long fics, so I’m going to take this opportunity to finally release this list, because it’s been sitting in my drafts for YEARS lol. BUT you can check the list below for the links to all my longer-fics lists! Happy reading!!

NOVELLA LENGTH FICS: 20-25K

See also:

Novella Length Fics: 25 to 50K (Aug. 2019)

Novel Length Fics: 50 to 100K (Nov. 2018)

Novel Length Fics: 50 to 100K Pt 2 (May 2020)

Novel Length Fics: 100K+ w. (May 2019)

Novel Length Fics: 100K+ w. Pt 2 (Aug 2020)

Through the Clouds by Mazarin221b (E, 20,004 w., 6 Ch. || Retirement, Home Improvement, First Time, Romance) – Sherlock takes a remarkably early retirement at 47, and convinces John that a change of pace would do them both good. They buy an old cottage on the South Downs, and exchange their nonstop life in Baker Street for quiet contemplation, bee studies, and book writing. They might go completely insane, but sometimes it takes stepping outside of the life you're living to find the life you want. Part 1 of Through The Clouds

A Life Well-Lived by Kate_Lear (E, 20,121 w., 1 Ch. || Original Male Character, Sherlock Woos John, Jealous Sherlock, Reluctant Bi-John, Past Abuse, Insecure John, Reassuring / Caring Sherlock, Protective Sherlock, Understanding Sherlock) – John got scared off men by an abusive past relationship. Sherlock has to try and woo him while not scaring him off with protective possessive rage.

The White Lotuses by SilentAuror (E, 20,340 w., 1 Ch. || Slow Burn, Domestic, Romance) – One day John realises that he just isn't where he belongs, which is back at Baker Street with Sherlock. So he goes back and Sherlock, in his own way, courts him. Romance.

Out of the Woods by SilentAuror (E, 20,471 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Romance, Slow Burn, Flirting, Drunk Sex, Practical Jokes, POV Sherlock, Bottomlock, Possessive John, Pining Sherlock, Frustrated Wanking, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, First Kiss/Time, Virgin Sherlock, Love Confessions, Soft Sherlock, Dancing, Bum Appreciation, Hanging out with the Yard) – Sherlock is fairly certain that John has taken to flirting with him of late, but can't be entirely certain of it. At least, not until a case takes them into a forest, along with Lestrade's team and something happens that will change everything about their lives...

You're On the Air by prettysailorsoldier (M, 20,616 w., 1 Ch. || Unilock, Matchmaking, Radio, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Sherlock POV, Pining Sherlock, Flirting, Bisexual John) – The Consulting Detective and The Woman dominate the airwaves of their university radio station, doling out advice on everything from meeting the parents to sexual positions. When their ratings start to dip before the holidays, however, manager Mike thinks it's time for some fresh blood, and who better to fill in the gaps than rugby captain--and notorious flirt--John Watson? Part 1 of 25 Days of Johnlock

whiskies neat by Ellipsical (E, 20,660 w., 15 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting, POV Second Person Sherlock, Slow Burn, One Night Stand, Rimming, Blow Jobs, Anal, Soldier John, Crying, Emotional Lovemaking, Switchlock) – Home and hearth and whiskies neat, or, alternatively, Sherlock Holmes falls in love.

Achieving the Together-Coloured Instant by teahigh (E, 20,776 w., 1 Ch. || Est. Rel, PTSD, Codependency, Fluff & Angst, H/C, Smut, Demisexual Sherlock, Experiments) – John wonders if this is how it’s going to be: A life speaking in code, because they’re both too stupid to figure out how to say, “I love you.”

Winter's Delights by Kate_Lear (E, 21,173 w., 1 Ch. || Holmes Family, Christmas, Fake Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Bed Sharing, Domestics) – Sherlock takes John home for Christmas to meet the extended Holmes family. Part 1 of Winter's Delights

Once More, With Feeling by cellard00rs (T, 21,178 w., 7 Ch. || John’s Family, Fake Relationship, Romance, Fluff, Humour) – To put off his meddlesome, matchmaking mother, John convinces Sherlock to play the role of his significant other. Unparalleled awkwardness ensues.

Love Is by SilentAuror (E, 21,508 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, UST / URT, Post HLV, Romance) – At Mrs Hudson's urging, Sherlock finally decides to tell John how he feels about him. Part 1 of Love Is

echoes through time by chellefic (E, 21,619 w. || First Time, Romance, ACD & BBC, Epistolary) – Mummy sends a trunk from the Holmes cottage in Sussex to 221B. Its contents alter the way John and Sherlock see themselves and one another.

The Real Meaning of Idioms by feverishsea (T, 21,691 w., 1 Ch. || Texting, Humour, Post S2) - After two weeks away, John finally texts Sherlock. He doesn’t expect Sherlock to respond. He doesn’t expect Sherlock to keep texting him. And he really doesn’t expect things to spiral out of control so rapidly.

5 Times John Got the Girl (and lost her) and 1 Time John Got the Guy (and kept him) by LiviKate (M, 21,695 w., 6 Ch. || 5 and Ones, Kissing, Oblivious / Awkward Sherlock, BAMF / Sexy / Stud John, Embarassed John, John’s Scar, Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Sherlock) – John has always had good luck with the ladies. He's charming, friendly and funny, not to mention great in bed. However, his usual skill with the opposite sex is constantly being thwarted by Sherlock and his outbursts. How will John ever get a leg over when Sherlock is always cockblocking him?

Brief Conversations with the Woman by May_Shepard (E, 21,906 w., 20 Ch. || Pining, Love Fairy Irene, Filler Fic, UST/URT, Drug Use, Clueless Sherlock, Relationship Advice, Angst w/ Happy Ending) – Sherlock has a puzzle to solve, and his name is John Watson.

When to Let Go by KendylGirl (M, 22,109 w., 8 Ch. || Friends to Lovers, Reverse Reichenbach, Sacrifice, Forgiveness, Angst, Love, Implied Drug Use) – What if it were John who had to die to thwart Moriarty's plans? John's supposed death shatters Sherlock, and when he returns, it will challenge the pair to forge a path of forgiveness, to peace, and to find a way back to each other. Part 1 of When to Let Go

A Shipless Ocean by myswordfishmind (M, 22,135 w. 4 Ch. || Post-TRF, John has a Kid) – Ten years after the fall Sherlock goes back to London to find that John no longer lives there. Instead, he resides in a seaside town, a widower, and the father of a seven year old son. Now, Sherlock must struggle with the fact that there may no longer be a place for him in this new world.

Ghost Stories by SwissMiss (M, 22,256 w., 1 Ch. || Pining, Holmes Family, Christmas, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Bed Sharing, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, First Time) – Sherlock's parents think he and John are a couple. They might be onto something.

The One With the Proposal by kim47 (E, 22,375 w., 3 Ch. || Fluff, Romance, Marriage Proposal) – Proposing shouldn't be this difficult.

Sonatina in G Minor by SilentAuror (E, 22,574 w., 1 Ch. || Case Fic, POV Sherlock, Angst, UST, Sherlock’s Violin, Post-S3, Romance) – John has come back to Baker Street, but Sherlock doesn't understand the strange tension between them, even after he begins teaching John to play the violin at John's request.

Dear John by wendymarlowe (E, 23,031 w., 64 Ch. || Post-TRF, Online Dating, Pining, Epistolary, Cybersex, Long Distance Romance) – With Sherlock dead, John eventually (under duress) makes a profile on an online dating site. And falls into a long-distance relationship with an enigmatic partner who reminds him of Sherlock in all the right ways. (Hint: it turns out to be Sherlock.) Part 1 of Dear John

Knotted by naughtyspirit (E, 23,166 w., 4 Ch. || UST/URT, Cuddling, Sharing Body Heat, Confessions, Kissing, Mastrubation, Frustration, BAMF!John) – John has to cancel a date because of Sherlock's case, which leads them to be tied up in a basement from which they have to escape. They get wet, get tied up close and John has to step up and save them. Because he's pretty. And hot. And just a little bit of a BAMF.

You Can Imagine the Christmas Dinners by ardenteurophile (T, 23,584 w., 9 Ch. || Pre-Slash, Drama, Fluff & Angst, Humour, Romance) – Sherlock takes John along for Christmas dinner with Mycroft and Mummy (And "Anthea", too). Over the course of the evening, John realises that everyone in the room - apart from him - seems to think that he and Sherlock are a couple. Part 2 of Xmas Dinners Verse

Once Upon a Beast Becoming by antietamfalls (T, 24,042 w., 6 Ch. || Beauty and the Beast AU || Magical Realism, Folklore, Celtic Mythology) – An act of pride, a druid’s curse, an enchanted leaf; Sherlock’s torment has lasted an age. Hope arrives in the form of one John Watson, a man uniquely suited to break the spell. But with a single night to win his affections, Sherlock finds his carefully laid plans disrupted by a monstrous killer whose sights are set on the only thing he has left to lose: John.

The Kepler Problem by kinklock (E, 24,270 w., 1 Ch. || Sci-Fi AU, Alien Sherlock, Space Repairman John, Alien Biology, Horny John) – Working in uncharted space exploration was not as exciting as John had hoped, especially when it turned out to be mostly bot maintenance on uninhabited planets. However, the mystery of the repeated, unexplained malfunctions on planet BAK 2212 might turn out to be exactly the kind of adventure he'd been craving.

Maintaining A Personal Life by Gingerhermit (E, 24,284 w., 6 Ch. || Alternating POV’s, Bisexuality, BAMF!John, Jealous Sherlock, Romance / Drama, Sort-of Case Fic, Peril & Angst, Love Confessions, Toplock, Soft Idiots in Love, Post S3) – Sherlock and John discover some interesting revelations about each other’s sexuality, which lead them both to question the assumptions they've made about one another for years. In the midst of their mutual discoveries, a dangerous psychopath looms on the side-lines who threatens to destroy their new beginning.

The Sexual Awakening of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson by suitesamba (M, 24,579 w., 10 Ch. || Post-TRF, Case Fic, H/C, First Kiss/Time) – Sherlock owes Mycroft a favor. Mycroft calls in that favor by offering Sherlock's consulting services in a charity auction. Sherlock and John soon find themselves at the country manor of Mrs. Ives-Patton Smarmington III - not very coincidentally a long-time friend of Sherlock's mother - where they are reluctant participants in her Murder Mystery Weekend. It's a play within a play for Sherlock and John, and their roles for the weekend event bleed over into their real lives, waking the sleeping dragons within.

Tomorrow's Song by agirlsname (M, 24,645 w., 5 Ch. || Post-TRF, POV Sherlock, Angst with a Happy Ending, Virgin / Repressed Sherlock, Love Confessions, Slow Burn, Pining, Jealous Sherlock) – How can he think a relationship with me would be a good idea? I am the sort of person to take a break from my life and when I come back after two years, I expect to find it exactly as I left it. In reality I find it shattered to pieces. (I actually equate you with my life. When did I start doing that?)

State of Flux by Atiki (E, 24,655 w., 4 Ch. || Sherlock POV, Slow Burn, First Kiss/Time, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Cuddles and Snuggles, Awkwardness, Insecure/Virgin Sherlock, Romance) – John’s marriage is over and he is finally back home (i.e. at Baker Street, where he belongs). Sherlock is awfully insecure and John is awfully hesitant, and they're both awkward idiots, of course, but they figure it out. Many First Times happen.

[swissmissficrecs]

Hi! I really really love works like Through the Clouds and The Sea in a Chasm and Horse and Carriage where one of the boys proposes marriage or retirement together and the other struggles with what that means about their "friendship". Do you have any other fics you can rec me along that vein? I'd also love fics where Sherlock marries them without telling John!

Reply: I love these too! First of all, here are some relatedlists:

Fakerelationship

Couplestherapy

Gettingtogether late in life

And here are the ones you mentioned in case anyone else would liketo look them up:

Horse andCarriage by flawedamythyst (60K, Teen, Johnlock)Sherlockproposes. John thinks the whole idea is ludicrous.

Through theClouds by mazarin221b (20K, Explicit, Johnlock)Sherlock takesa remarkably early retirement at 47, and convinces John that a changeof pace would do them both good. They buy an old cottage on the SouthDowns, and exchange their nonstop life in Baker Street for quietcontemplation, bee studies, and book writing.They might go completelyinsane, but sometimes it takes stepping outside of the life you’reliving to find the life you want.

The Sea in aChasm [orphaned] (17K, Teen, Johnlock and John/OFC)WhenSherlock decides to retire to Sussex, John decides to find out who heis without Sherlock.

Now I know I have read a couple of fics where Sherlock (or Mycroft) secretly procured a marriage license for them for medical or case-related purposes without John’s knowledge, but unfortunately I am not able to find them right now so if anyone else knows one please let us know! I can give you a bunch of others, though, in which thoughts of marriage lead to angst and re-examination of the relationship:

This is a very close second (and one of my all-time favorite fics)in which Sherlock pretends to be married to John without John’sknowledge:

The Good Morrowseries by greywash (213K, Explicit, Johnlock)My post-S2series where everyone has a lot of feels about everything andplausibility isstretched unto breaking. Also: fucking.

In this one, Sherlock thinks John is going to propose but hedoesn’t, leading to relationship re-evaluation:

Stood in History by philalethia (18K, Explicit, Johnlock)He discovered the ring in John’s sock drawer. It all went a bit downhill from there.

In these, one or the other of them thinks about proposing for areally long time:

a good old-fashioned happy ending by darcylindbergh (32K, Explicit, Johnlock)And Sherlock stands there, in the middle of a Christmas market as John hums along to Silent Night, John’s hand warm in his with fingertips a little gritty from the cinnamon-sugar doused churros they’d shared, and thinks, oh, that’s–that’s an idea, isn’t it?*For Christmas this year, Sherlock wants to get John something special: something every fairytale deserves.

The One With the Proposal by kim47 (22K, Explicit, Johnlock)Proposing shouldn’t be this difficult.Written for this prompt at the kink meme: Remember that episode of Friends where Chandler is going to propose to Monica and how he pretends that he doesn’t care about marriage so she’ll be really surprised? How about a version of it with Sherlock and John with Sherlock being the one that wants to propose but pretends that he has no desire for it?

About Sleep and Coffee and the Existence of Fate by Atiki (17K, Explicit, Johnlock)Naturally, John was startled when suddenly the ultimate solution occurred to him: Marriage. This was, of course, a bit of a fundamental problem rather than an actual solution. One didn’t simply use the words “Sherlock” and “marriage” within the same sentence. Not even in a hypothetical context. (Five times John kind of wanted to propose to Sherlock, and one time he didn’t have to.)

In these, both of them angst a whole lot over getting married:

Sketchy Part 2 by serpentynka (158K, Explicit, Johnlock and Mycroft/OMC)What (and who) will be left when nobody cares about your Work?   A slow-burn fic with cases, places, mistaken identities, unfair choices, essential changes, violent feels, blatant lies, fearless portraiture, family secrets, high-risk bespoke gifts, durable friendships, bedtime stories, foreign travel and tongues, sickness (and health), and the significance of things which are slow to unfurl – but cannot be ignored. Oh, and…porn. (A continuation of plot arcs from Part 1 of Sketchy) When the world’s only consulting detective starts dreaming of bowing out, his dearest person in the world is more than willing to go with him.  It would seem that all that’s left to do is choose a date and leave London.  The machinations that be are never quite what they seem.

God Help Me, I Do by PlainJane (90K, Explicit, Johnlock and Mollstrade)A consulting detective, two doctors, a forensic pathologist, a DI, a senior citizen, a recovering alcoholic and the British government walk into a register office…John and Sherlock have resolved to be together as much more than just colleagues or friends, but how will their relationship change between the proposal and the wedding? Follow along as they learn about themselves and about each other. How will they share their news with those closest to them? How will John adjust to the reality of being in a relationship with a man instead of a woman? How will they both find time and space for personal and professional lives? And how will Sherlock cope with the intensity of true love? Cases, chuckles, angst and lots of good loving on the journey to one very unconventional wedding day.

Set in Stone by SilentAuror (39K, Explicit, Johnlock)Sherlock and John are back from Ravine Valley and planning their wedding. However, as they move past the trial of the human traffickers, Sherlock can't help but wonder if he's imagining that John is becoming a little distant. Surely he isn't getting cold feet about the wedding...

This has a similar premise to Horse and Carriage:

The Important Bit by Solshine (10K, G, Johnlock)Just where exactly is the line between “to love” and “to be in love”? What difference is required between “flatmate” and “husband”? (Besides the rings, obviously.) No, the important bit is that they have each other. Thirty years, give or take, in an atypical marriage. Basically a long bit of platonic domestic fluff.

And finally these in which they get engaged/married for a case(with John’s knowledge) and it becomes serious:

Thanks to the Barbarians by queen_jadis (10K, Explicit, Johnlock)John and Sherlock get married for a case, which both of them find hilarious - until they realise that they can’t get a divorce. The offensive piece of paper has more effect on their relationship than John thinks it has any right to do.

A Case of Identity by jkay1980 (91K, Teen, Johnlock)John and Sherlock have succeeded in rebuilding their friendship after Sherlock’s fake suicide, but an unusual case puts their relationship to the test. They pretend to be engaged and attend a marriage counseling workshop. Under the pretext of the case, Sherlock turns out to be a master of seduction, and John finally learns he might like Sherlock more than he thought. Slowly, John discovers that he loves Sherlock not only in a friendly, brotherly way, but both men have to fight their own demons before they can think of taking their relationship to a new level… 

Till Death Do Us Part by prettysailorsoldier (15K, Mature, Johnlock)When Sherlock links a recent spree of murder-suicides to a psychologist who specializes in marriage counseling, there’s really only one thing to do: Go undercover as a couple in hopes of drawing the killer out. Faking a relationship seems easy enough, but things take a turn when their real issues start to creep into the sessions, and, all the while, a killer is watching, waiting in the shadows for their chance to strike.

Abstinence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder by distantstarlight (96K, Explicit, Johnlock)For his entire life Sherlock Holmes has had complete mastery over his transport. He drives it harder than he should, is careless with it, and makes it bend to his will. His transport has always done it’s duty but lately Sherlock’s transport has been making some demands. 

A Silver Sixpence by _doodle (16K, NC-17, Johnlock)John, we need to get married. 

Mountebank by Odamaki (26K, Mature, Johnlock)“I am calm,” John snaps, leaning on the door to glare out at the dark streets around them. Sherlock’s not said where they’re going; all he knows is they came off the ring road to the west of London and have vanished somewhere into the depths of Berkshire. All he knows is that he’s been trussed up in a suit that wasn’t hired from anywhere and if brought new would edge up into the triple figure margins. “Be calmer,” Sherlock advises, with a trace of irony. “We’re going to a party.”

The Newlywed Game: Johnlock Edition by patternofdefiance (9K, Explicit, Johnlock)What it says on the tin: John and Sherlock pretend to be married in order to be contestants in a Newlywed Game.Of course it’s for a case.Of course it doesn’t stay that way.

The Pretence of an Unacknowledged Truth by stickleworting (28K, Explicit, Johnlock)  He’s decided to just be himself, cliché as it sounds. The lie about being Sherlock’s mate will be difficult enough to keep up, he’s not going to think up more of a charade regarding himself on top of that.  If he uses the wrong fork at dinner, fine. If someone calls him on it, he’ll just stab them with it. Job done.First attempt at Omegaverse because a very good friend of mine likes it, and I like my friend. She asked for: alpha!John/omega!Sherlock; age difference; pretend bondmates to meet Sherlock’s family; synthesised bond scent; and bonding in Sherlock’s old bedroom. I think I’m managing to cram it all in for you, sweetpea ;) No mpreg, I’m afraid. That was a stretch too far.

[christine-moore]

Going Back to Turner. (I Don’t Think So.)

"Would you like to have lunch this Friday at the Market?"

Out of context, this seems like a perfectly ordinary question from my husband. So why did it first hit me with a brief pang of dread? 

Because "The Market" isn't a quaint little Midtown café to meet for a sandwich. It's the name of the new food court at Turner, part of a large-scale, high-budget renovation of the campus. And eating there would be my first time back at Techwood outside of the annual family Halloween party, during a regular work day like the thousands I'd had there myself.

But nearly five years (!) after leaving, was I really still nervous about visiting? Had I really not moved past it? What was wrong with me?

Alan had mentioned a few weeks ago that the menu at one of the stations that day had been especially good: a Texas buffet of chicken-fried chicken, beef brisket, jalapeno mac and cheese, and chili cheese fries. They were having that theme again on Friday, so he thought it'd be a good chance for me to come try it and see the new Market, along with all of the other changes at Turner.

I know he knew it'd be a little tough for me, even if I didn't say so, and the invitation was a thoughtful gesture for him to make. And I knew if he was there with me, that's what really mattered. So I said yes.

It was admittedly strange to be pulling up to the gate on the Visitors side, to have the security guard sternly ask for my ID. When he returned with my parking pass, he asked, "Have you been here before?"

As soon as we started walking across campus, it felt familiar, but not. Muted blue and steel gray Adirondack chairs line the front lawn. The landscaping is clean and crisp. In one shady spot, there's a brand-new hammock.

We climbed the steps up to the redesigned main courtyard, which I'd seen in progress last October but was now finished, in more than one sense of the word. The space has a shiny coat on it, like it's still fresh from the packaging. It almost feels like I imagine couples on HGTV shows feel after the makeover: Everything is beautiful and pristine, and you're afraid to actually use any of it.

The old Turner was the lived-in family room that was sort of a mess, but it was your mess. Everything was a little dated and well-worn, but you knew where your spot was, and everyone else did, too. It wasn't designed for guests--it's where you and your group could feel comfortable and just be yourselves. And with that confidence, people created sharp, original work, buoyed by the grateful disbelief that you got to come in and do this everyday.

Alan and I made our way to the Market, which feels not only like you've left Techwood, but Atlanta entirely. By design, it has the same New York/Chelsea Market vibe that Atlanta's own Ponce City Market is trying to capture. (One former coworker even referred to it as "TCM--Turner City Market.")

As with the courtyard, it was hard to believe this was the exact same amount of space that had existed previously. It was the reverse of when you go back to your old high school and realize how small everything looks. Here I thought, Was it always this big?

Then I wondered if maybe it was me who was smaller. In my peak days at Turner, I felt in charge--of my team, of my work, of my experience each day. I could glide through campus with the ease of someone who knew the layout like the back of my hand, greeted with each step by someone I knew and who knew me. It was the Cheers theme song in real life.

After lunch, Alan took me to see the redesigned 1010 building, which traditionally had been the anchor building of the campus, housing the old Station Break cafeteria and the bulk of the network floors. Now it's home to sleek conference rooms and modern meeting spaces straight from the lobby of a five-star hotel.

As we walked, I flashed back and saw ghostly images from the past overlaid on the new structures. I saw all of Cartoon Network gathered around the staircase as the former president, Betty Cohen, led us in a toast to the fact we had been the No. 2 kids network for six weeks straight. I saw the TV that had been set up to showcase what the cutting-edge new technology of HD looked like. I saw Bill Burke, former head of TBS, announcing to a gathered crowd in the lobby that the network had acquired reruns of Seinfeld--"and we'll be starting bake sales to pay for it." I clearly remember him saying those episodes would start airing in 2002 and thinking that sounded so. far. away.

Later, when TBS picked up Sex and the City, the network internally used the tagline "From Mayberry to Manhattan" to signify its evolution from old, nonstop episodes of The Andy Griffith Show to a young, buzzy show from the prestigous halo of HBO.

Today, Turner as a whole embodies the sentiment. The small-town, familial nature of the old culture was simultaneously its strongest appeal and its biggest weakness, as comfort became complacency. The new leadership was tasked with changing all that and reinvigorating the image of Turner, and in that regard, they've succeeded.

The more I've thought about my visit over the past couple of days, the more I've realized my issues are really not about Turner. To paraphrase Carrie Bradshaw, I couldn't help but wonder: Was I sad about Turner's big changes… or about my own?

The fact is, I've been feeling old lately. After everything I went through with my mom, I know rationally that "Aging is a privilege," but it doesn't change the fact that I am, indeed, aging. Because my career at Turner, from age 22 to 36, essentially defined my young adulthood, I have to confront the fact that it's not necessarily Turner I miss, but that phase of my life.

I remember back in the late '80s when I was growing into my Cubs fandom, my dad and I would evaluate each season's team. Each year, there was one player, Shawon Dunston, who I'd say "has a lot of potential." By the 4th or 5th season I said this, my dad replied, "How many years can he have potential? At some point, you have to admit he's just an average player."

For some reason, this has always stuck with me, and I recalled it again this weekend. My years at Turner and Cartoon Network represented potential, the start of a career path that could reach unlimited heights. What did it mean that my climb led to a plateau, then eventually to me jumping back down to the bottom?

Then I came back to my mantra that I am not my job. I have value and worth independent of what I did or didn't do at Turner. One of my friends on Facebook, another CN alum, pointed out that the bulk of the work we did there was ephemeral. Nobody remembers the promo he cut for the show that got canceled a year later. The clever tagline I wrote for a new series now exists only as a screenshot on my laptop. Ultimately, to paraphrase my friend, it's not the work that shapes your experience, but the experience of doing the work that shapes who you are.

I'm a big fan of the "You Made It Weird" podcast hosted by comedian Pete Holmes. While the focus is primarily on talking with fellow comedians about comedy, Holmes infuses his interviews with the big questions about life, death, religion and philosophy.

He had one episode with Deepak Chopra in which Chopra talked about the importance of presence and living in the moment, since we live in a state of constant change. Chopra talked about how our own bodies are not the same ones we had even a few days ago, as our cells are constantly dying and being regenerated. When you think back on your past, think about how right now you're physically made up of 100% new matter than you were back then.

Rather than sharing this fact to freak us out, Chopra encourages us to embrace it as proof that meaning comes in mindfulness, that only by appreciating what's currently in front of us can we find real peace. And that if your current situation doesn't bring you happiness, you can rest assured that change not only is possible, but inevitable.

So I decided this weekend to take a moment to reflect on who I am--not who I was or who I'm "supposed" to be.

           I am alive.            I am healthy.            I am Archie's mom.            I am in a kind, loving marriage.            I am part of a caring family.            I am worthy of love and happiness.            I am capable of love and happiness.            I am kind.            I am curious.            I am observant.            I am a writer.            I am only responsible for doing my best, not for being perfect.            I am someone who enjoys making people laugh.            I am welcome among the right group of people.            I am not concerned with the wrong people.            I am not always good at knowing who the wrong people are.            I am trying to have faith that people usually have good intentions.            I am focused on building positivity.            I am becoming less tolerant of negativity.            I am in control of how I respond to what I cannot control.            I am doing work I enjoy.            I am good at the work I do.            I am happy to work with the people I work with.            I am financially stable.            I am creating a home for Archie.            I am mentally healthier now than I was five years ago.            I am healthy.            I am alive.            I am here.            I am happy.

In truth, there is no "top" or "bottom" of the climb, because there is no climb. Nobody is tracking your progress, and those who are don't need to be part of your life. We're all just putting one foot in front of the other, every day. Even when it feels like you're being pushed or pulled in a direction you don't want to go, you're the one taking your own steps and reshaping your path into a place where you feel right.

As I get older, I'm increasingly happier on my own path, less tempted to look over to see if someone else's looks better. And when I'm unsure of what's ahead and turn around to go backwards, it's not a path to the past I see. It's the people who love me now--family and friends, old and new--forming a wall of support and assuring me they're the real force that will keep me safe going forward, and not the false security of nostalgia. They are solid and true. They will protect me and catch me. The past is art on the walls: comforting, inspiring, but ultimately an illusion, a curated image of something that existed at a moment in time--or may not have even existed at all.

One of the saddest ironies of losing my mom is not being able to tell her all the lessons I'm learning from processing the grief of her passing. So many of her quotes and cliches and sayings echo through my head daily, and occasionally one snaps into place as I suddenly understand exactly why she said it. I remember when she gave me this print as a gift and not getting why she thought it was so important. Now, as I look down the foggy road of what my future holds, her message is coming through loud and clear.

[holmesoverture]

In Sherlock’s Room, Part One

Here’s the first half of my Camp NaNo project! :) Part Two will be up on Tuesday, so you won’t have a long wait.

Title: In Sherlock’s Room Rating (for this half): Mostly PG, but there’s a graphic description of a murder at the end that’s at least PG-13 Total Word Count: 6431 Pairing: bi Watson/ace trans Holmes Universe: Modern AU of the original canon Summary: Holmes solves a case in his jammies.  Watson does laundry and makes ravioli.

TW for this half: flashback to a random lady being a jerk to Watson about his PTSD

Part Two Be Here

I suppose that by now I have given most people the impression that my life with Mr Sherlock Holmes is one of nonstop excitement and adventure, that our days are a blur of boat chases and midnight stake-outs and near-death experiences. These, however, are extraordinary anomalies, over-represented among my published works because I presume they are what the public most wishes to read.  In some instances, I confess I even twisted the facts to allow for a more suspenseful and satisfying conclusion.  A greater number, though I would hesitate to say most, of our days share more in common with the unusually warm Thursday in September when the postman handed me a package from a Mrs Evelyn Mulvehill, Kendal, Cumbria.

It was a children’s shoebox, though it had been appropriated for another purpose, given the way the contents shifted as I carried it upstairs to Holmes’ bedroom. After nearly ten years of sharing quarters with the most chaotic man in London, I knew to tread carefully when I entered his small room.  I managed to avoid tripping over the eclectic detritus scattered about the carpet and arrived at his bedside where he lay sprawled on his stomach, face turned to the wall, as though preemptively rejecting my attempts to rouse him.

“Package for you.”

Holmes did not awaken easily, not even at nine-thirty on a morning when the late summer sun threatened to burn holes in the curtains.  Only after I knocked on his head with the package for a full minute did he deign to rise.

“Stop shaking it,” he said.  “You’ll damage the samples.”

“Samples of what?”

“Of whatever my latest client found in her wife’s car.  Did I not tell you we have a case?”

“No. What is it about?”

“Mrs Evelyn Mulvehill is an accountant in Kendal.  Her wife Polly, to whom she has been married these last twelve years, works as a university history professor during the week and at a local museum on weekends.  They were quite happy together until a little over two months ago, when Evelyn began to suspect that her wife was driving to London every weekend to cheat on her, again. She’s hired me to find out whether or not that is true.”

“You don’t usually accept cheating spouse cases.”

“Well, I was bored, and the only other option was to accept the case from that bizarre Norwegian couple.”

“They were a perfectly nice couple.”

“In a bizarre sort of way, I suppose.”

The contents of the package were now strewn across his blanket.  They consisted of a green USB drive, several plastic bags containing various sorts of dirt, and a folded piece of paper, meticulously torn from a notebook so that none of the frills remained attached. Holmes saw me staring at it and held up the paper, tapping the clean edge.

“This is yet another manifestation of Evelyn Mulvehill’s exacting and meticulous nature.  Rather than contacting me with blind suspicions, she first checked the mileometer* before and after one of her wife’s weekend holidays and found that the number corresponded with a round trip from Kendal to London.  This is how I knew I could trust her to search Polly Mulvehill’s car without my supervision.”

“You had her conduct the investigation herself?”

“It was either that or we’d have to go all the way up to bloody Cumbria.”

“I think Cumbria sounds lovely.”

“It really does not.”  He wrinkled his nose to reinforce his disgust, then offered a gallant shrug.  “But perhaps I could tolerate it for a few days after I finish Mrs Mulvehill’s case.”

He retrieved his laptop from under his bed and straightened his pyjama top, a white T-shirt emblazoned with the bold, black words TRANS MEN ARE MEN.  It had been a gift from Mrs Hudson the Christmas after he, and we, came out to her.  I hadn’t expected him ever to wear it but, along with a fraying pair of flannel trousers and a mouse-grey robe, it quickly became his preferred sleepwear.

“I told Mrs Mulvehill that, as soon as her wife returned from her next weekend excursion, she was to photograph every inch of the car, both inside and outside, and send me samples of any dirt or debris she found on the car floor, in the boot or elsewhere.”

He unfolded the paper with a precise flick of the wrist, and then handed it to me to read aloud.

Dear Mr Holmes,

Here are the items you asked for.  I hope they are of help to you.  In addition, here are some other details I noticed but could not send you for obvious reasons:

- After at least two weekends, I thought I smelled cumin from the inside of the car.

- After this past weekend, Polly came home with some sort of rash or blister on her hand.  She said she went for a walk in a park and must have gotten it from a poisonous plant.

- I don’t remember when it was, but I once asked Polly about her weekend.  All she would say was that her hotel was close to an airport and kept her up at night.

 If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to ask.

Sincerely yours,

Evelyn Mulvehill

Holmes had plugged in the USB by the time I finished reading the letter.  On the screen were dozens of thumbnails of a leaf green car.  The number in the corner indicated there were well over two hundred photographs.  It would take Holmes some time to work his way through them all, a task for which he hardly required the assistance of a former soldier or a former doctor.  I would stay close, on the off chance he wished to ask my opinion on something, but it was clear I would need to find something else to fill my morning.

It did not take me long to hit upon an idea.  Shirts and ties and socks lay strewn about the floor.  With a final glance at Holmes, confirming that he did not need me at present, I set about tidying the place, insofar as Holmes’ room could ever be tidied without knocking the man unconscious and hiring a professional cleaning service.  I may not have been able to deduce from those clothes how long each piece had lain on the floor or the marital status of the wearer or whether or not he had a tailor, but as I folded each article and neatly stacked them by type, I was met by insights of a more personal nature.

Here was the shirt he wore at the conclusion of the adventure of the erstwhile client, which culminated in Holmes dipping and kissing me in front of our self-hating client.  The kiss lasted only a few moments, but the merest thought of that encounter still brought a tingling sensation to the lips he had caressed and the skin he had embraced through the fabric of my shirt.  In the moment I was too shocked to scold him for his impropriety.  I never did get around to it.

 There was the waistcoat I cried into after one of my patients found out I had PTSD and spent the rest of the appointment shying away, afraid I’d suddenly turn violent, and advised me to remain single so I wouldn’t hurt my partner. I was a wreck from the moment I stepped through our front door, which made Holmes a wreck as well, though his distress manifested itself in loss of speech and hand-wringing rather than tears and snot.  Despite his protests that it was unnecessary, I made him promise to walk out and never look back if ever I dared raise a hand against him.

And there was the binder I had to help wrestle him out of after an after-dinner fernet became an after-dinner half-bottle of fernet.  It took twenty minutes of wrenching and wriggling to separate man from clothing, by which point we both were nearly useless with laughter.  Not long after, I took off my own shirt for reasons that probably made sense in my alcoholic haze, and, for the first and only time, we fell asleep in the same bed. I wasn’t sure why he still kept the old binder.  It never quite recovered from its traumatic experience.

 Not every article of clothing held such vivid and meaningful memories.  That should have been too trite even for my bathetic sensibilities.  Still, I found myself smiling or frowning from time to time as I went about my work, folding shirts and socks and trousers and the occasional dress and stocking, until the floor was cluttered with every sort of object except clothing.  I placed the folded laundry into his chest of drawers as Holmes gave a bark of laughter.

“What a marvellous turn of the wheel!” he cried.  “Yes, this is far superior to the case brought forth by the Norwegian couple.”

“You found something?”

He crooked a finger in my direction.  I bent over for a better view of the picture on his screen.  He had zoomed in so much that I could not discern which part of the car I was looking at, but I had a reasonably clear view of an insect, dark in colour, with wings that reminded me of clear stained glass.

“Brachyptera putata,” he announced.  “They used to be found throughout Great Britain but their population is now restricted to rivers in northern Scotland and Ukraine.”

“So either that insect has managed to stage a comeback under the nose of every entomologist in the country, or Polly Mulvehill was not in London after all.”

He sprang from the bed, toppling the laptop in his haste, and pounded into the living room loudly enough that Mrs Hudson was compelled to bang on her ceiling/our floor with a broom handle.  Holmes responded by stamping in a rhythmic pattern that very much sounded like the word SORRY in Morse code before returning, on feet as light as a cat’s, to the bedroom with an atlas, fat and worn, beneath his arm.  He jerked to a halt just inside the door, eyebrows rising at the sight of his floor.

“My clothes are missing,” he said.

“They’re not missing.  They’re in the chest where they belong.”

“But that is not where they belong.  I had them where they belong, and now you have made a mess of everything.  If you are so desperate for entertainment, you may rearrange my collection of dirt samples from the East End.  They’re meant to be organised in descending order according to the number of murders committed in each neighbourhood in the past five years, but I left my door unlocked a few days ago and Mrs Hudson got in here and alphabetised them.”

I could only shake my head as he pulled open and emptied every one of his drawers.  Before too long his room devolved to its former slovenliness.  With a sigh of satisfaction he returned to his atlas, opening it upon the paper-strewn desk crammed into the corner by the window.  Soon enough he was so lost in his private world of delicate minutiae that I may as well have been alone in the flat.

There never is any middle ground for Holmes.  Either he is entranced by a subject, consuming it all and being very nearly consumed, or he ignores it entirely.  I am fortunate enough to fall into the former category, at least on the days when no cases are forthcoming.  He is never a jealous or a possessive sort, but he spends every moment he can in my presence, listening to whatever stories I care to tell and stealing small gestures of affection when I reach a stopping point in whatever I am doing.  It is a heady thing to be so loved by so fiercely loving a man, though I know I would tire of such intense devotion were his attention not regularly diverted to his work.  As it is, I cherish all of our days together, no matter if I am its focal point or a helpful satellite.

I certainly was not of special interest to anyone on this day.  Holmes had his atlas, and I figured I might as well take a shot at his dirt collection.  It seemed perfectly sorted and logically organised to me, but it would give Holmes fits if I did not fix it according to his liking.  Where was that article on East End crime rates that gave him the idea for this ridiculous filing system?  Ah, it was taped to the lid of the box.  I was so grateful that I didn’t care to question why Holmes had placed something in so convenient a location for once.

I suppose that was unfair of me.  Holmes’ organisational methods are certainly comprehensible enough to him, and it is only his things he uses them for (even if his things do have a habit ending up in every room of both our flat and Mrs Hudson’s).  He doesn’t complain about how I arrange my things, after all.

Sorting dirt was orders of magnitude less interesting than sorting clothing, and sorting clothing is hardly an activity that people engage in for the fun of it.  Holmes may have been able to write monograph after monograph detailing the differences in each sample, but they all looked very much the same to me.  I had to depend exclusively on the elaborately inscribed labels to ensure I put each one in its proper place, and even then I had my doubts.  The fact that my thoughts kept drifting as I worked didn’t help.  We paid the rent this month, didn’t we?  Yes, I gave the money to Mrs Hudson the day before yesterday, along with the money to replace her pan and spatula, with which Holmes sautéed poisonous mushrooms for reasons he never satisfactorily explained.  Speaking of food (after a fashion), what might he want for lunch?  Well, I wanted ravioli.  He should be fine with that, so long as I didn’t put tomato sauce on it.  Did we have olive oil, or did Holmes use it all for his mushrooms?

Holmes clapped to himself, the noise accompanied by his strange bleating laugh. No happier combination of sounds existed in his world, or in mine.  He had found a solution.

“Come here, come here!” he cried, waving me over with movements fast enough to blur his hand.  He could not even wait the time it took me to cross the room to regale me with news of his discovery.

“You remember that Polly Mulvehill once complained to her wife about staying too close to an airport?  There are thirty-eight airports currently in operation throughout Scotland, but only one of them is both sufficiently close to the known habitat of the brachyptera putata and roughly the same distance from Kendal as is London.”

He pointed to a page in the atlas with a flourish.  Just above his long, limber finger was the word Aberdeen in pale, strict letters.

“That’s where Polly Mulvehill has been spending her weekends?” I asked.

“That it is.  The city of Aberdeen is home to both Aberdeen International Airport and the mouths of the River Dee and the River Don.”

“You said this bug is also found in Ukraine.  How do you know she isn’t going there?”

I spoke half in jest, but Holmes addressed the issue with as much sincerity as he would the discovery of a corpse.

“I suppose it would be possible for her to ship her car to and from Ukraine, were it not for the fact that, aside from the brachyptera putata, the bugs I examined on Mrs Mulvehill’s car are consistent with those found in the United Kingdom, not Eastern Europe.  No, Watson, she is most definitely spending her weekends in or around Aberdeen.”

“Perhaps she has a girlfriend in Aberdeen rather than London.”

“Ah, ah!”  Holmes wagged a scolding finger.  “Never theorise before the facts.  Nothing in these photographs so far hints at the existence of a girlfriend.  Making assumptions can only lead to haphazard conclusions.”

How many times had I heard a variation of that admonishment?  I like to believe I am not quite as thick as I appear in my stories, but some days I make myself wonder.

As Holmes settled back onto his bed, cross-legged with his computer in his lap, I left the room long enough to start the ravioli.  It was simple enough to make, nothing that would challenge my limited culinary skills.  Unfortunately, this meant preparing our meal didn’t take very long, and soon enough I was back in Holmes’ room, glancing about for a diversion, at loose ends yet again. As much as I usually tried to ignore the pictures that hung on his bedroom walls, they now seemed my best chance at staving off boredom a while longer.

When we first visited Baker Street prior to moving in, the walls in what became Holmes’ bedroom were a pleasing if bland shade of off-white.  I assume they are still this same colour today, but it is nearly impossible to tell, for they are almost entirely obscured by sketches and photographs of crime scenes, victims, evidence and who knows what other stomach-turning subjects.  The wall closest to his bed was the worst offender.  The entire visible surface was a patchwork of black-and-white, colour and sepia photographs of hundreds of prominent criminals from throughout world history.  Holmes had described to me the exploits of some of them.  Adam Worth and Joseph Grizzard were enduring favourites, but the great majority of the faces displayed there remained detached from any context.  On this day, one face in particular stood out to me, that of a bespectacled, bug-eyed man with a thin face and a mustache to be envied.

“Who’s this?” I asked.

Holmes’ eyes flicked up for the briefest moment.  He looked back down with a trace of a smile.  “Dr Hawley Harvey Crippen, an American snake oil salesman trapped in what was by all accounts an unhappy and abusive marriage.  In 1910 he poisoned his wife, then strangled her, skinned her, cut off her head and extremities, removed all of her organs in one long strand, carved every ounce of flesh from her bones, and buried the meaty bits in his coal cellar while disposing of the bones, head and extremities by means investigators were never able to identify.  I have a photograph of the ovariectomy scar used to identify the remains as Mrs Crippen’s on the wall behind you, if you’re interested.  Is lunch ready?  I smell ravioli.”

He ate far more enthusiastically than I, all the while searching through the remainder of the photographs sent to him by Mrs Mulvehill.  A scarlet ribbon dangled from the rearview mirror. The upholstery, while not new, was black and shiny and well cared for.  The floors were black and speckled with dirt.  To me it seemed a perfectly ordinary vehicle.  I wondered what Holmes saw.  Whatever it was, it must have been far more captivating than what little my poor senses could pick up, and after lunch I left, ensconcing myself in my own room to begin implementing the changes to my latest manuscript suggested by my editor. Holmes did not notice my departure, nor would he until either he found a new lead or I came to remind him to take his meds in an hour.

* I really hope mileometer is Brit speak for odometer.  Please list my cause of death as trying to convert auto parts from American to British English.

[tabloidtoc]

National Enquirer, February 3

Cover: Royal Family’s New Nightmare -- Meghan Markle demands $90M payout or she’ll tell all on TV 

Page 2: Bruce Springsteen’s son Sam sworn in as a New Jersey fighter 

Page 3: Lovelorn Katie Holmes wasting away 

Page 4: Amber Heard’s PDA with a new galpal have ex Johnny Depp convinced she playing to the paparazzi to rub it in his face, relapse fears for friends Kelly Osburne and Demi Lovato who are going through rough patches at the same time 

Page 5: Cameron Diaz’s complete baby makeover, Jennifer Aniston may be happy to reconnect with former hubby Brad Pitt but she’s desperate to ditch her other ex Justin Theroux 

Page 6: Troubled hunk quits Grey’s Anatomy -- Justin Chambers rebuilding life after crises, Eric Dane and Rebecca Gayheart are close to a reconciliation

Page 7: Jeopardy! producers have asked Alex Trebek who should fill his shoes after he’s gone 

Page 8: Mel Gibson is in the midst of a comeback but one of his mistresses has come forward to say Mel was a nonstop sex machine during their four-month affair, brooding Joaquin Phoenix’s early years in the notorious Children of God cult helped him embody his sinister role in Joker 

Page 9: Luke Perry’s family is accused of booting his live-in girlfriend out of their home just weeks after his sudden death 

Page 10: Hot Shots -- Gary Oldman and wife Gisele Schmidt on the set of Mank 

Page 11: Slimmed-down Jessica Simpson wants to turn her memoir into a feature film and return to the big-screen, pudgy Paul Reiser happily reunited with Helen Hunt for the Mad About You reboot but Helen has told him he better lose the gut if he wants to have a second act in life 

Page 12: Straight Shuter -- Beyonce and Jay-Z flaunted his bubbly brand Armand de Brignac during the Golden Globes infuriating the event’s official champagne sponsor Moet & Chandon, Martin Lawrence and Will Smith at the Bad Boys for Life LA premiere, the Property Brothers are at war since Jonathan Scott began dating actress Zooey Deschanel, disgraced chef Paula Deen is heading back to TV on her daughter-in-law Claudia’s scripted reality show, Hoda Kotb wants a small family wedding which means Kathie Lee Gifford won’t be a bridesmaid 

Page 13: Chip and Joanna Gaines’ fixer-upper is haunted, Anne Hathaway had another son, Larry King sells $12M home as he faces the end 

Page 14: Real Life 

Page 15: A veteran’s prosthetic legs were repossessed two days before Christmas after the VA refused to foot the bill and he’s been mired in red tape ever since 

Page 16: True Crime 

Page 17: A lawyer has come forward to claim that missing Connecticut mom Jennifer Dulos’ estranged husband Fotis Dulos may have been involved in a chilling plot to kill another woman, the law makes a grab for Jeffrey Epstein’s dirty cash 

Page 18: Disgraced sitcom star Lori Loughlin and husband Mossimo Giannulli have been stonewalling the feds by withholding discovery evidence in their college admission scandal case despite recent requests from the government, Justin Timberlake is hoping to wriggle himself out of wife Jessica Biel’s doghouse by becoming a stay-at-home dad 

Page 19: Star Trek’s Patrick Stewart has confessed that the popular sci-fi series ruined his first marriage because he spent more time working than focusing on his family 

Page 20: Cover Story -- Royals fear Prince Harry’s wife Meghan Markle will demand $90M in hush money 

Page 22: Kevin Spacey could face a new nightmare as the son of the masseur who died after suing the actor for molesting him is set to continue his father’s fight 

Page 26: How to stay safe on vacation

Page 28: Health Watch 

Page 34: The Incredible Hulk Lou Ferrigno is set to join the San Luis Obispo County Sheriff’s department in New Mexico, Burt Ward who played Robin on the ‘60s TV classic Batman was told to take pills to shrink his package 

Page 36: Kaia Gerber and Pete Davidson have called it quits on their short-lived romance and the troubled SNL star has reportedly checked into a treatment facility, the fighting between toxic exes Rob Kardashian and Blac Chyna keeps heating up, Hollywood Hookups -- Kylie Jenner and Travis Scott reunited and ready for baby no. 2, exes Gigi Hadid and Zayn Malik reunited 

Page 42: Red Carpet Stars & Stumbles -- Critics’ Choice Awards -- Kristen Bell, Zendaya, Anne Hathaway, Kate Beckinsale, Alison Brie 

Page 45: Snoop Dogg and Ice-T and wife Coco and their daughter Chanel at the Sugar Factory in Tampa 

Page 47: Odd List 

[swipestream]

New Release Roundup, 13 October 2018: Fantasy and Adventure

This week’s roundup of the newest releases in fantasy and adventure features ancient conspiracy theories, Saxon warriors, a Comanche rescue, the ultraviolent Goblin Slayer, and Haruki Murakami’s newest novel.

The Aryan Agenda (Harvey Bennett #6) – Nick Thacker

Ancient conspiracy theories. Neo-Nazis. Nonstop action.

Harvey Bennett and his CSO team receive a distress call from their friend, Sarah Lindgren:

Her father has been kidnapped. Worse, she believes his kidnapping is only the tip of the iceberg.

From Santorini to Egypt, Michigan to Athens, The Aryan Agenda is a nail-biting mystery/thriller of epic proportions!

Harvey Bennett is back in his most intense adventure yet.

Dragon Storm (Dragonwalker #5) – D. K. Holmberg

A war long thought over has returned, and this time the empire is not equipped to survive. Still, the dragons are safe, living in the heart of the forest near an ancient Deshazl settlement. Though hidden from the Damhur who would control them, Fes feels they deserve more and longs to see them fly free again.

When another attack leaves the empire weakened, Fes and a few friends search for allies. Finding those allies is key, but who can they trust? With the most recent attack, the likelihood of defeat looms close, and without help, they will certainly fail.

Worse, not all is as it seems. The war that has raged for centuries has left a far more lasting effect than any have ever known. The empire must be secured, and only then can Fes take the next step in ending the war—this time for good. But if he can’t protect the dragons, how can he defend against the Damhur?

Ghost in the Amulet (Ghost Night #3) – Jonathan Moeller

Caina Amalas was once a deadly Ghost nightfighter, a spy and agent of the Emperor of Nighmar.

For all her life, Caina has run from the memory of her cruel mother.

But her mother was merely the weakest member of a family of powerful and ruthless sorcerers.

Now Caina has the Ring of the ancient necromancer-king Rasarion Yagar, and her aunt Talmania Scorneus is hunting for her.

And to take the Ring, Talmania is willing to kill Caina and everyone close to her…

Goblin Slayer, Volume 5 – Kumo Kagyu

A young priestess has formed her first adventuring party, but almost immediately they find themselves in distress. It’s the Goblin Slayer who comes to their rescue–a man who’s dedicated his life to the extermination of all goblins, by any means necessary. And when rumors of his feats begin to circulate, there’s no telling who might come calling next…

A young noblewoman has disappeared while out on a goblin hunting quest. When Goblin Slayer and his party set out to find her, they are stunned to discover a horde of goblins have built their nest within an ancient dwarven fortress…and these ones even appear to be followers of some primitive, sadistic cult! But what troubles Goblin Slayer most of all is their leader, who is stronger and more intelligent than any goblin he’s faced before…

Grit – Ron Scwab

“Grit” McKay survived the bloodiest battles of the Civil War without incurring as much as a single scratch on his body. When money became hard to come by after the war, he began taking jobs to recover white children that had been abducted by raiding bands of Comanche.

Jessie Hamilton’s twin sister, Jennie, was taken by the Comanche when the girls were ten years old. Even though she has been separated from her sister for fourteen years—was Jennie even still alive?—Jessie still feels a powerful connection with her sister, and she is determined to find out what happened to her . . . with the help of Grit McKay.

Overflowing with breathtaking adventure, Ron Schwab’s latest Western novel has as many twists and turns as the trails Grit McKay must carefully navigate in his search for Jennie Hamilton.

Killing Commendatore – Haruki Murakami

In Killing Commendatore, a thirty-something portrait painter in Tokyo is abandoned by his wife and finds himself holed up in the mountain home of a famous artist, Tomohiko Amada. When he discovers a previously unseen painting in the attic, he unintentionally opens a circle of mysterious circumstances. To close it, he must complete a journey that involves a mysterious ringing bell, a two-foot-high physical manifestation of an Idea, a dapper businessman who lives across the valley, a precocious thirteen-year-old girl, a Nazi assassination attempt during World War II in Vienna, a pit in the woods behind the artist’s home, and an underworld haunted by Double Metaphors. A tour de force of love and loneliness, war and art—as well as a loving homage to The Great Gatsby—Killing Commendatore is a stunning work of imagination from one of our greatest writers.

A Rival From the Grave – (The Complete Tales of Jules de Grandin #4) – Seabury Quinn

Today the names of H. P. Lovecraft, Robert E. Howard, August Derleth, and Clark Ashton Smith, all regular contributors to the pulp magazine Weird Tales during the first half of the twentieth century, are recognizable even to casual readers of the bizarre and fantastic. And yet despite being more popular than them all during the golden era of genre pulp fiction, there is another author whose name and work have fallen into obscurity: Seabury Quinn.

Quinn’s short stories were featured in well more than half of Weird Tales’s original publication run. His most famous character, the supernatural French detective Dr. Jules de Grandin, investigated cases involving monsters, devil worshippers, serial killers, and spirits from beyond the grave, often set in the small town of Harrisonville, New Jersey. In de Grandin there are familiar shades of both Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes and Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot, and alongside his assistant, Dr. Samuel Trowbridge, de Grandin’s knack for solving mysteries—and his outbursts of peculiar French-isms (grand Dieu!)—captivated readers for nearly three decades.

Collected for the first time in trade editions, The Complete Tales of Jules de Grandin, edited by George Vanderburgh, presents all ninety-three published works featuring the supernatural detective. Presented in chronological order over five volumes, this is the definitive collection of an iconic pulp hero. The fourth volume, A Rival from the Grave, will include all the stories from “The Chosen of Vishnu” (1933) to “Incense of Abomination” (1938), as well as an introduction by George Vanderburgh and Robert Weinberg and a foreword by Mike Ashley.

A Sellsword’s Valor (The Seven Virtues #4) – Jacob Peppers

Belgarin’s forces have retreated, but in the city of Perennia there is no rejoicing. The air is filled with the mourning cries of survivors, and the wind that blows through the city carries the smell of freshly dug graves and death.

As the city grieves, Aaron and his companions attempt to hold together an alliance that threatens to crumble around them. While the alliance’s leaders bicker and argue, Boyce Kevlane, an ancient wizard bent on revenge, has taken Belgarin’s place as king and uses his twisted powers to create an army out of nightmare.

To stand a chance of keeping the coalition together, Aaron is forced to venture into Baresh, a city gripped by madness and terror, in search of proof of the coming danger.

To survive, Aaron will be forced to call on his friends and the growing power of his bond with a creature of myth. Yet even this may not be enough. For there are other powers in the world, darker ones, and there is no telling what secrets the shadows hold.

StoryHack Action & Adventure #3 -edited by Bryce Beattie

Proof that short fiction can still be exciting. StoryHack is a magazine focusing on action and adventure fiction in a wide variety of genres.

In this issue, you’ll read:

Claws of the Puma by Paul R. McNamee – In the rainforests of Brazil, poaching loggers and traditional rubber tree tappers are at war. Journalist Sarah Stoughton gets more than she bargained for when she is caught up in the violence, and comes face to face with the legendary man of the jungle, the Puma.

Shoot First by Jay Barnson – Flint and another agent are assigned to confiscate a dangerous cursed magical artifact from a street gang, only to find that the entire operation was a set-up by a local crime boss and an analyst from within the Order.

Inside the Demon’s Eye by JD Cowan – A young adventurer searches the Black Lands for a lifesaving treasure. He may not get the chance to find it, as he is being stalked by a malevolent force.

The Dealer’s Tale by Jon Mollison – A pregnant blackjack dealer walks a deadly line as she prepares to betray her mafia-owned boss to the feds.

…and more!

War of the Wolf (The Saxon Tales #11) – Bernard Cornwell

His blood is Saxon His heart is Viking His battleground is England

While Uhtred might have regained his family’s fortress, it seems that a peaceful life is not to be – as he is under threat from both an old enemy and a new foe. The old enemy comes from Wessex where a dynastic struggle will determine who will be the next king.  And the new foe is Sköll, a Norseman, whose ambition is to be King of Northumbria and who leads a frightening army of wolf-warriors, men who fight half-crazed in the belief that they are indeed wolves. Uhtred, believing he is cursed, must fend off one enemy while he tries to destroy the other. In this new chapter of the Saxon Tales series—a rousing adventure of courage, treachery, duty, devotion, majesty, love and battle, as seen through the eyes of a warrior straddling two worlds—Uhtred returns to fight once again for the destiny of England.

  New Release Roundup, 13 October 2018: Fantasy and Adventure published first on https://medium.com/@ReloadedPCGames

[lzteach]

#gallery-0-15 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-15 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 100%; } #gallery-0-15 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-15 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

Lindas Book Obsession Interviews Author Laura Spinella, “Ghost Gifts” and “Foretold”

  Linda:

What were your motivations, or inspirations for writing “Ghost Gifts” and “Foretold”?

Laura:


How much time have you got? Motivation was in good supply for my ghost-inspired 
 The most prominent push came from the house I live in, which is 130-years old. 
After I’d written the draft for Ghost Gifts, we learned the history of the house very much 
by accident. The house originally belonged to a woman named Anna Rathbun, who was 
an artist and writer. The discovery included astonishing circa 1900 photos of the house. 
After Anna, the house went through a period of owners that didn’t come with the happiest
vibe. We’ve lived here for 15 years now—from just about the time I took up novel 
writing. Coincidence or muse in residence? I suppose you can make a case for either, but 
I know which side I come down on. And to make certain Anna gets her due, I gave her a 
cameo appearance in Echo Moon, the third book in the trilogy.

Linda


 Are any of the characters based on anyone that you know? How did you develop the 
plot and characters?

  Laura:


For me, main characters are never based on anyone I know. Personality quirks, 
mannerisms, facial expressions—sure, those things are picked up from real life. But the 
characters themselves are pure imagination. I’m a panster, so character and plot 
development go hand-in-hand. (Just to note, this is not the best way to write a novel, but 
apparently it’s how my brain is wired) 
Foretold was a clean canvas. By that I mean I didn’t know I’d be writing a second book 
when I wrote the first. Fortunately, I left Aubrey and Levi, the main characters, at good 
jumping off point. From there I had to decide if I wanted to write another whodunit or 
delve deeper into the characters’ lives. I ended up doing both. In Foretold the reader gets 
two mysteries to solve, and third they might not see coming. Unlike Ghost Gifts, 
Foretold does end in a cliffhanger, and hopefully readers will want to find out what 
happens in book three. 
Have you ever experienced anything para-normal or unusual? Do you believe in spirits 
or ghosts?
Yes. Of course. As noted above the house and I have a good ethereal connection, but I’ve 
always believed in the possibility of those who have passed revisiting this life in some 
form. I don’t think it happens for every person. I also believe you have to be open to the 
idea. We have a light in our kitchen that is often frequented by spirits, to the point where 
the light has turned on or off when asked a direct “yes” or “no” question. Go figure.

Linda:


 What do you do for relaxation and enjoyment when you have extra time?

Laura:

To be honest, I have been writing books nonstop for three years—the Ghost Gifts trilogy 
and Unstrung. That’s not a complaint by any means. It just hasn’t left much time for 
anything else. Admittedly, it’s fine in that I’m not particularly good with free time. I 
guess that’s something I’m going to have to work on in the months to come!

Linda:

Is their anything that you would like the readers to “take away” from your stories?

Laura:


I don’t care for novels that take themselves too seriously. You can have a novel with a 
poignant and deep message, but sometimes there’s a fine line between just that and 
advancing a personal agenda. I’m not really good with other people’s agendas, which 
usually shows through the story. So while there are takeaways in a Laura Spinella novel
—second chances, self-acceptance, coming to terms—mostly I want the reader to be 
 If they read one of my books and forget their problems for a while, then I 
succeeded.

Linda:


 Is there something that you would like to share about yourself?

Laura:

Okay, I asked my BFF to answer this one, because who knows what’s even marginally 
worth sharing about one’s self. I write novels—you already know that! From Melisa 
Holmes, BFF for more than 35 years: “Laura is a Mama Bear when it comes to her kids. 
If you think those books come first… Well, they might, but she’ll drop one in a heartbeat 
if needed. She’s a talented author, exceptionally loyal friend, and if you have a bottle of 
wine, she’ll visit.”

Linda:

Can you give us a “hint” what will be in the next book?

Laura:

If you read Foretold you’ll get a good idea of what’s to come in Echo Moon. The book 
centers on a grown up Pete St John, Aubrey and Levi’s son. Pete has his own psychic 
headaches, along with a few mysteries and life hurdles he’ll need to resolve. Parts of the 
next book are historical fiction, which I’d never written before. I had a lot of fun doing 
the research and writing with authenticity about the World War I era. In the future, 
writing historical fiction wouldn’t be completely off the grid for me. In fact, it might 
make for a good paranormal—how ghosts and the spirit world were perceived a century

Linda:

What is the preferred method for readers to follow you or get in touch with you?

Laura:


Readers can get in touch via my website, lauraspinella.net and I’m always hanging 
around Facebook. I love to hear from readers, so pop on by if you have a chance.
Thank you so much, Linda—not only for the opportunity to visit your blog but also for 
your generous book support. I know so many authors who appreciate and value your 
fantastic love of reading! 



Thank you so much, Laura for your intriguing and wonderful interview .Heartfelt thanks for your generosity, insight, and spirit.

Lindas Book Obsession Interviews Author Laura Spinella Lindas Book Obsession Interviews Author Laura Spinella, “Ghost Gifts” and “Foretold” Linda: What were your motivations, or inspirations for writing "Ghost Gifts" and "Foretold”?