#hurt sherlock

[paulineholmes02]

Hi!🩷 I just finished a sketch I'd been working on for a few days and wanted to share it with you since I'm fairly pleased with how it came out! It's a drawing I made for the story I wrote.😊

❗️Neither the picture, nor the story itself, are intended to be insulting or shaming; I simply wanted to explore Sherlock's personality in various scenarios, and as Sherlock is rarely portrayed as chubby, I was interested how it would work.

Once John got rid of the unnecessary item of clothing, he settled into a better position to kiss the neck of his way too-dressed companion. He began with the sensitive area just below the earlobe, asking if he could return the favour and help him get rid of all the top layers he was wearing.

Sherlock flung his head back and let out a breathless "Y-yes, please…."

John nearly ripped it off him, but he restrained himself. Not that Sherlock's closet was lacking in clothing; it hadn't been in a long time. Ever since he'd shared his complete story with John, he'd come to terms with his physique and accepted the fact that he'd be wearing larger sizes for some time to come.

He didn't want to frighten Sherlock.

With his smooth gestures, he implied that Sherlock was the one holding the knife. That he was in control of the situation and didn't have to be concerned about John doing something he'd find unpleasant or inappropriate.

Then, button by button, he opened the white shirt, revealing Sherlock's smooth, hairless skin, caressing each exposed inch of flesh with his fingertips and subsequently with his mouth.

"So gorgeous…" John whispered between the soft kisses.

Sherlock was nearly vibrating with pleasure, and when John stroked a particularly tender spot that he wasn't even aware he possessed, he let out a deep moan and dug his nails into the tanned, warm flesh of John's back.

Eventually, after a few minutes of struggling with the slipping, tiny buttons, John finally unbuttoned Sherlock's shirt. For now, he left it tucked in the sides of his jeans, slightly opened and began to attend to what it hid below. He wanted to scrutinise every inch of that white torso, which had endured so much abuse and ridicule. He needed to fix it, to show him love and compassion, to cherish every curve, fold, and scar. Sherlock deserved such treatment.

Haunted by the Past by PaulineHolmes02

AO3:

Wattpad:

@jawnscoffee @totallysilvergirl @calaisreno @topsyturvy-turtely @silentauroriamthereal @tjlcarchives @a-victorian-girl @theofficialinternetloner @suejeffries @helloliriels @221beloved @aiwa-sensei

[cupidford]

A Doctor in the House by KittenKin

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

Johnlock Love Letters #2305

[contact-guy]

CHRISTMAS EVE, 1890 - part 2 - part 1 here! One more part to come. I am not liable for any injuries that may occur if you choose to play this Victorian Christmas parlor game at home (but please let me know how it goes if you do)

(this is the Watson's Sketchbook series!)

[i-dont-talk-for-days-on-end]

I have this vision of Holmes getting sick or injured while out investigating, idk, anything that puts him into a vulnerable position really. But he will politely but very sternly prohibit anyone from fussing, or helping or touching him, insisting they GET WATSON, and that's his last word on it. And when Watson finally arrives, Holmes all but melts into his care, and Lestrade realises a) oh Mr Holmes was really not feeling great and b) those two have something really special going on

[makkis-meanderings]

I grew up being gaslit and queerbaited by media, now you're trying to tell me that I shouldn't be filtering AO3 by >10,000 words, angst, hurt/comfort, canon divergence, pining??

what do you want from me fr??

[abstractfrog]

My comic for The Retired Colourman! I love this scene between Mariana and Sherlock sm

[foolishforyou]

I think one of my favourite things about John Watson is he's so deceptively complicated and contradictory.

He's a doctor, he's a soldier, he'd kill for you, he'd heal for you, he's the best of men, he's the worst of men, he's so brave, he's such a coward, he's just a bloke, he's like no one you've ever seen, he's got trust issues, he'd trust you in a heartbeat, he's got everything, he's lost so much, he's so violent, he's so gentle, he doesn't know how to care, he doesn't know how to stop, he just wants an ordinary life, he'll run headfirst into fire just to feel the burn

He's a healer, he's a killer, he's a lover, he's a fighter, he's an adrenaline addict, he's a brother, he's a friend, he's a husband, he's a dad, he's a sidekick, he's a narrator, he's a headcase, he's John fucking Watson and he is not an open book.

[valhallassoundbox]

ok tumblr. hi again. drops this and bolts off

[tremendously-crazy]

So many sherlock holmes fanfic writers put sherlock in the most traumatic situations. Like ok, here's a fic where he's been brutally attacked by criminals. Here's a fic where he's deathly ill. Here's a fic where he's plagued by the nightmares of his past. I think it's just a universal thing that people like to see the main character suffer.

[edosianorchids901]

With a Bang

@sherlocktember2024 prompt - "new year"

“But sir, it’s almost dinner time!” Mrs. Hudson protested. “And I’ve got a nice goose in the oven.”

“Another goose already? Dear me.” Holmes was admittedly fond of goose, but he would be expected to eat an actual meal if Mrs. Hudson had made something special to celebrate New Years. “It is not myself who is to blame for our absconding from dinner. The responsibility rests with Watson, who is insisting on this absurd concept of an evening ramble about London.”

Holmes returned to selecting which scarf to wear, and smiled as Mrs. Hudson turned a betrayed look on Watson. “Doctor! I have enough trouble getting Mr. Holmes to eat without you encouraging him to skip meals. Why didn’t you take him for a walk earlier?”

“He refused to go anywhere earlier!” Watson, already bundled up, was waiting in the doorway. “I should have preferred to take him for a walk after lunch, but he was preoccupied with changing his violin strings.”

“I am not a dog who must be taken for walks,” Holmes called, selecting his usual thick black scarf. He would need it on such a frozen evening. “I for one am perfectly happy to remain inside and enjoy Mrs. Hudson’s goose.”

“You haven’t been out of these rooms in days, old man.” Apparently not cowed by Mrs. Hudson’s look of admonishment, Watson brought Holmes’ coat into the bedroom and helped him into it. “Not since you solved that last case.”

“I have been taking a holiday. It is the time of year for it.”

“You have been sulking because there have not been any more interesting murders involving body parts turning up at Christmas parties.”

“That would be somewhat of a novelty if there were, as we are now past Christmas and there are no more Christmas parties at present.”

Although he could not deny that such an incident would have brightened these past days. There had been no interesting crime whatsoever, as if all London had decided to indulge in a little peace on Earth. It was indescribably dull.

“Well, I insist that you take at least a short walk,” Watson said with all his customary stubbornness. “Your health has not been at its best for some time—”

“Which is why you propose to freeze me to death?”

“—and it’s important that you get some exercise.” Gently, Watson took his arm. “And I will be better for it too. Neither of us are young anymore.”

Holmes sighed, capitulating, and gave Mrs. Hudson an apologetic look. “Very well, Watson. Mrs. Hudson, we shall only be enduring the boredom of a walk for some little time. You attend to your goose.”

She still did not look at all approving. “Very well, sir. And I suppose you’ll be wanting some hot drinks once you return, to warm up.”

Watson perked up. “A hot chocolate would be most agreeable, Mrs. Hudson.”

Holmes rolled his eyes. Watson’s enthusiasm for food and drink never failed to amaze him.

They went downstairs, and outside. The glow of the lamplight was certainly warm, but nothing else was. Indeed, it was a miserably cold night, with howling wind blasting between buildings.

“That’s a bit bracing,” Watson said in a voice that made it plain he was startled by the cold, but attempting to conceal his reaction. No doubt he did not wish Holmes to quite reasonably retreat from this absurd walk. “What a clear night, Holmes.”

“Yes, clearly too cold for a walk.” Shivering, Holmes hunched his shoulders and watched the rapidly scuttling passersby. “This is a horrible idea, Watson!”

“It is not my fault you refused to leave earlier.”

“I was thoroughly occupied. Changing violin strings is a delicate operation, and one that cannot be interrupted for something as commonplace as a walk.” Holmes flashed a quick smile at Watson’s unimpressed expression. “And then it was of course necessary that I should play for the remainder of the afternoon in order to test the new—”

Someone moved towards them out of the crowd, a subtle motion that nevertheless caught Holmes’ attention. He twisted towards it, and was greeted by a gun leveled at his head.

“Holmes!”

Holmes was indeed not as young as he’d once been, but he could still move quickly, especially if Watson was in danger. He lashed out with his cane, slamming it against the gunman’s forearm.

The explosive noise of the gun so near his head left his ears ringing, and pain seared along his cheek, but his head was still intact. He blinked away tears of pain and readied his cane for another attack.

At once, the assassin dropped his gun and drew a long knife. Holmes blocked the rapid slash, although not as accurately as he would have liked. Pain sliced across the back of his fingers.

He shifted his stance, tracking the blade as it swung back up. And then, quite suddenly, the blade swung in entirely a different direction, flinging off wildly down the street as Watson tackled the assassin.

“Watson!” Throwing his cane to his other hand, Holmes bent and snatched up the gun. “Stand aside, my good man. It’s all right.”

Watson, instead of standing aside, delivered a series of quick, somewhat excessively violent punches to the assassin’s face. He did not seem to hear the admonition.

Although he was out of breath and unsteady enough to have need of his cane, Holmes hooked it across his gun arm and gently touched Watson’s shoulder. “Watson. John.”

Watson startled and froze, one hand on the assassin’s chest holding him down, other arm cocked back for the next punch. He looked up at Holmes with wild eyes. “Holmes—”

“All right, Watson. You have done an excellent job incapacitating him.” Holmes flashed a reassuring smile and patted Watson on the shoulder again. “Well done. As he appears to be unconscious, you may stop beating him now.”

Watson looked down at the man with some little confusion, then shoved back to his feet. He was trembling, and looked almost on the verge of tears. “Holmes, he just tried to kill you.”

“He did, yes. You were quite right that we should go for a walk! Most invigorating.”

“Assassination attempts are not invigorating. You could have been killed.” Hand shaking, Watson wiped his eyes. Then he glanced across Holmes and stiffened. “You’re bleeding. Do you have any other wounds?”

Hot blood ran down Holmes’ cheek, rapidly cooling as it soaked into his scarf. His slashed hand dripped blood to the pavement. He quickly indicated the two wounds. “Only what you see. I’m all right, Watson.”

“Mr. Holmes! Mr. Holmes! Dr. Watson!” Gasping, Mrs. Hudson ran outside. She glanced between them and the downed assassin. “Oh dear, oh dear, what’s happened?”

“It’s all right, Mrs. Hudson.” Holmes turned his reassuring smile to her. “Nothing to signify. Just the first assassination attempt of the new year.”

“Oh, sir, you’re bleeding!”

“So I have been told.” Suppressing a wince, he passed the gun to Watson, then took the gunman’s original position and extended one hand. He adjusted it, swinging to the side to account for his own blow, and then followed the trajectory of the shot to the bullet hole. “Dear me, he’s shot our door! My apologies, Mrs. Hudson.”

“Holmes, we must get you inside.” Watson waved down the constable who was running up, apparently having heard the gunshot. “That wound on your cheek will need stitches.”

“Then you now agree with my earlier assertion that talking a walk tonight is a horrible idea?”

Watson gave him an exasperated look, then sighed and nodded. “Yes, all right. I will agree if it means you will allow me to treat you.”

“Excellent.” Dizzy, Holmes leaned on his cane and tried to catch his breath while Watson spoke with the constable. The wind still shrieked between the buildings, relentless. “Even without assassination attempts, it really is a horrible night to be outside. Mrs. Hudson, would you be so good as to make the doctor’s requested hot chocolate?”

Although she still looked quite distressed, she bustled inside. Soon, he and Watson followed.

Holmes eyed the stairs, displeased at the need to ascend. This was no longer as easy as it had once been, his body worn down by a lifetime of hard use. But he proceeded without hesitation, not giving Watson any chance to worry.

Watson was worrying enough. He escorted Holmes to the settee, retrieved his doctor’s bag, and quickly tied a pressure bandage around Holmes’ bleeding hand. Then he sat as well, holding a linen compress to the cheek wound.

Holmes winced, then put on another calm smile. “Well, well, Watson. We certainly are starting the new year with a bang, are we not?”

“Holmes…” Watson drew a long breath and let it out slowly. “You do not need to make light of nearly being murdered.”

“Nonsense. If I wasted time being upset on every occasion that someone attempted to murder me, I should never have time to get anything done.”

“You will not be able to get anything done if you are shot in the head. Or poisoned. Or thrown to your death.” Expression tense, Watson merely gazed at him for a moment. “I am tired of nearly losing you, Sherlock.”

“It is a mere little scratch, my dear fellow.” Closing his eyes, Holmes leaned into the hand against his cheek. “I fear that the occasional violent incident is merely a fact of life in my line of work.”

“You enjoy it a little too much.” But Watson’s voice was no longer so burdened, and he patted Holmes on the arm. “You reacted very quickly.”

“As did you. We are not so old, hmm?”

“No, I suppose not.”

It was difficult to remain still for long enough for Watson to stop the bleeding, and even more irritating to need to remain still even longer in order to be stitched up. At least the stitches meant that Watson gave him a small dose of morphine, and Holmes sank into the familiar haze that he still sometimes missed.

He roused himself somewhat as Watson was bandaging his hand, though. “Ah, Watson. Here is Mrs. Hudson with dinner and your hot chocolate. How is the goose, my dear?”

“Ready for you two to have dinner. I’ll set everything out for you.” She proceeded to do so, then came over and patted Holmes on the shoulder. “I think I’m going to treat myself to a brandy.”

“An excellent idea, Mrs. Hudson,” Watson said as he secured the bandage. “I think we all ought to have one.”

“I quite agree.” Holmes gave a brisk nod, then winced at the throbbing in his cheek. That would be most distracting. “Would you care to join us for dinner? I see little point in you eating alone downstairs.”

“Oh! I’d be glad of the company.” With a teary smile, she patted Holmes on the shoulder once more. “Thank you, Mr. Holmes.”

He flashed a quick smile in response. Watson waited until she was out of the room, then said, “Why do I suspect that invitation is primarily because you want to be sure she is not downstairs alone in case of further violence?”

“It is better to be cautious.” With Watson’s help, Holmes rose. He winced, sore everywhere. Watson had eased him out of his bloody scarf and coat earlier, and so he merely had to pull on his dressing gown before turning to the next matter. “Are you all right, Watson?”

“I… I feel a little guilty.” A shiver rippled through Watson. “Had I not insisted on the walk…”

“Now now, I will not hear such nonsense. An assassin would not have been deterred by our skipping a walk. Far better to be done with the attempt now, so we might enjoy ourselves.” Gently, Holmes drew Watson into an embrace. “It’s all right.”

Watson gave another long, shaky breath and relaxed in his arms. For a time, they merely held each other, and took comfort in the closeness.

Once comfort turned to overstimulation, Holmes drew back and twitched a smile at his friend. “There is one small matter I must attend to before we dine.”

Watson glanced at Mrs. Hudson, who had just come back with brandy. “We’re supposed to be sitting down to eat.”

“I shall, presently.” Holmes snatched up a blank piece of paper and went to the mantelpiece. He took down the old paper and waved it. “Last year’s assassination attempts, a grand total of three. It is time to start the tally for the new year!”

“Oh, sir!” Mrs. Hudson cried.

“Holmes, that is grotesque.”

“Well, well. One must find entertainment and stimulation where one can, and it so happens that I quite enjoy tallying things.” Holmes quickly labeled the new paper with the year and what was being tracked, and then added the first tally mark.

He set the tally of assassination attempts in a prominent place on the mantel, touched a finger to his lips, and merely admired his work for a moment. Then, smiling at the mildly appalled and yet fond looks on Watson and Mrs. Hudson’s faces, he joined them at the table.

Many men had tried to kill him, and yet here he was. Still working, enjoying time with his friends, and celebrating a new year at Baker Street.

[dogboywilson]

when the beer starts tasting like having parental instincts towards john watson

[alsziarts]

Missed a bunch of promts, oops my bad.

Day 7: Angst (bit of post Reichenbach for ya 🫶🏻)

[deancaslvr]

What I love about fanfiction is that it has endless possibilities and creative freedom, like even though it can be just endless stories about two characters/ a ship every story is different and written in a different expression even if the general plotline is the same.

it isn’t the characters that make fanfic beautiful, it’s the countless amount of writers and them spilling a piece of themselves into there work

it’s truly wonderful.

[thinwhitedoc]

SHERLOCK | Martin Freeman as John Watson

[aloe-plant-yippee]

this was literally sherlock like half way thru the ep, it was so funny john being like put your hands up and sherlock was just “no <3”

[sygneth]

Holmes College Adventures Masterpost Chapter 2: part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6 - part 7 - part 8 AO3

you could make a career out of this

Pros of going to the country: - I can lie in the forest moss for hours - inner peace - inspiration for drawing them in the country Cons of going to the country: - having only my old broken tablet so drawing is painful (didn't stop me though)