#it’s watson if people forgot about it

[fallen-gabrielle]

Everyone else:

OMG!! SHINRAN ARE TALKING TO EACH OTHER A LOT! THEY’RE SO FREAKING CUTE!!!

KIDNICHI IN CANON GUYS!!

HAKUBA IS BACK!! IT’S BEEN 17 YEARS 😭😭😭

Me:

Hey, it’s the guy from the golden eye chapters! Only mentioned but I like MK mentions…

Also, Hakuba is still a loser for wearing a Sherlock Holmes cosplay on a crime scene

[spooksicl-e]

small comic for a thing i’m very deviously constructing with a friend (nemesis)

[verloonati]

I have a hard time believing in happy ending's story because ace mcShane would never betray one of her best friends for a man who sucks. She would however betray one of her best friends for a woman who sucks.

[sweetshire]

So, @silv-paru sent Sherlock Holmes for the character opinion bingo. thanks a bunch for this (and for your patience. my god, i’m answering this a week late. typical me behaviour). you’re a darling :D

Did you know, i used to tell these stories to my friends? they delighted in them AND i got a chance to sort of ramble on and on abt him and watson. it was a win-win, really. ah, those were the days! now i haven’t reblogged much of him this month at all. i miss him. I MISS HIM.

Onto the bingo: well. he’s The quintessence of gender™ to me. and i relate to him so so much. fav character of all time fr. i want to carry him in my pocket at all times & study him. like. do i want to BE him OR am i IN LOVE with him, ykwim? pssh who knows? certainly not me. uh-huh ‘a beast unleashed’ -does this refer to me or him? you choose. oh re: canon, i’m ignoring the part where holmes dies (or y’know, is dead for 3 years). that’s too angsty.

[stitches-and-icecream]

Didn’t watch the Super Bowl, but your family did?

They’ve probably unknowingly been exposed to (and have possibly eaten) Evangelical bait. 

Extremely wealthy right-wing Christians have funded a campaign in an attempt to combat the church’s deep, growing unpopularity among the U.S. populace - church attendance is down and they’re freaking the fuck out. 

The ads have been around, maybe you’ve seen one, but Super Bowl has pushed them into the spotlight. If you missed it, a lot of people just saw a general vibe of “Yeah, let’s not kill all the gays! Poor people deserve to have food and clothes probably!”* and quietly nodded along.

The way the foundation works is to encourage positive feelings, then prey upon them by offering a service to direct people towards Christian spiritual centers. Any of them. Including some perhaps unfortunate options.

For emphasis, don’t give them any money (they’ve already got plenty). The campaign primarily targets culturally Christian agnostics and other spiritual fence-sitters who are hurting for a sense of community, especially right now. Watch out for your vulnerable! 

*ive seen like maybe a cumulative 30 seconds of clipped ads so i dont actually really know how the ads are but this seems like the low bar theyre trying to pass here

[thewritingmagician2022]

Terms of Endearment - Brothers and Dateables

Lucifer: My love, my dear

Lucifer tends to use the more traditional pet names for his partner when he does use them, which isn’t very often. He will call you my love or my dear when he’s particularly pleased or feeling sentimental, and he’s also known to use them when you’re upset. 

Mammon: My human, my baby/babe

Mammon regularly uses nicknames for his partner that begin with my like my human or my babe/baby. He really just like anything that sounds possessive because it shows everyone how you belong to him. They’re not super sappy names though because he has his tough reputation to live up to. 

Levi: Henry, true friend, normie

Levi uses a lot nicknames because there’s something super embarrassing and vulnerable about using your actual name. He uses casual nicknames, almost joking ones, like normie or Henry. He likes hearing you laugh when he uses them but he blushes like crazy if you ever use on one him. 

Satan: Kitten, darling, Watson

Satan is all about the romantic nicknames; typically he will use something like darling or kitten, especially when he is in a good mood. However, he will sometimes use Watson when he is in one of his chaotic or fun moods. Watson may be his favorite honestly because it just shows how great of a team you are. 

Asmo: Hun, darling, beautiful/gorgeous, sweetie, anything goes.

We all that Asmo uses nonstop pet names. It’s second nature to him to call you anything cute that he can think of: hun, sweetie, darling, gorgeous. He’ll even make up random little nonsense names like ‘my sugar free cupcake’ because he loves to see how far he can take it before you call him out on how ridiculous he’s being. 

Beel: Honey, sweetheart

Beel is a very simple guy. He’s not going to use flowery nicknames or use them all the time.Typically, he’s going to use your name or maybe a shortened version of it, but if you catch him in a particularly soft mood or if he’s trying to comfort you, he might call you honey or sweetheart. 

Belphie: Idiot, princess/prince

Belphie, like Beel, doesn’t use nicknames a lot but he does it more than his twin. Belphie will call you idiot like a term of endearment and then call you princess/prince and make it sound like an insult. Honestly, he just enjoys riling you up. If he’s actually trying to be nice, he will call you his dream. 

Diavolo: My queen/king, actual name

Diavolo looooves nicknames. He didn’t grow up with them or any friends to use them on so he tries out all different kinds with you at first, figuring out what you both liked best. He loves to call you dearest (since you’re the person he cares about most) and once you’re in a serious relationship, he likes to call you his king/queen. Once in a while he’ll throw out something like “pookie” because he heard someone else say it and it always leads to a good laugh. 

Barbatos: My lady, actual name

Barbatos follows a strict set of rules and has perfect manners which means he’s not known for using nicknames. He thinks even using someone’s first name can be incredibly intimate based on his station but, deep down, Barbatos is incredibly soft, especially for MC. When they are alone, he’ll regularly call them ‘love’ or ‘my heart’. He uses these because he claims you are the person who brought love into the heart he forgot he had. 

Solomon: My better half, something based on an inside joke

Solomon enjoys using nicknames but almost all of them are a joke. He typically uses embarrassing moments or inside jokes to come up with them and they change out regularly. It wouldn’t be weird for him to call you something like ‘spilled milk’ or ‘my croissant’. But, during serious moments or when he’s introducing you to someone, Solomon likes to call you his better half because that’s exactly what he thinks you are. 

Simeon: lamb/little lamb, sunshine

Simeon goes 50/50 with pet names. Like Barbatos and Beel, he most enjoys using them in private but he’s certainly not ashamed to use them in front of people if he thinks the moment calls for it. He most commonly calls you lamb or little lamb and it’s always said so fondly that it makes up for any condenscion you might feel. He will also call you sunshine because he claims you not only light up the Devildom but also his life. 

[evanpetersgfhihi]

୨⎯ 𝓫𝓵𝓸𝓰 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓻𝓸𝓭𝓾𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷⎯୧

♡ about me ♡

౨ৎ you can call me elodie (she/her) ^^

౨ৎ 15 yrs old

౨ৎ deer disguised as an insane teenage girl

౨ৎ infp and aquarius

౨ৎ hopeless romantic

౨ৎ married to evan peters, cillian murphy, kurt cobain, tim burton, emma watson, taissa farmiga, mia goth, winona ryder, helena bonham carter, elizabeth grant and brittany murphy

౨ৎ hobbies: reading, writing, girlblogging, listening to music and true crime pods, watching movies and shows, baking and yapping with my very few but lovely friends

౨ৎ books: the bell jar, the virgin suicides, my year of rest and relaxation, christiane f, the seven husbands of evelyn hugo, the picture of dorian gray, the silent patient, the secret history, tributes of panem, harry potter, enola holmes, truly devious, the little prince and literally anything by kafka, rick riordan and holly jackson

౨ৎ movies: girl interrupted, black swan, thirteen, american psycho, perks of being a wallflower, jennifers body, pearl, buffalo 66, coraline, dead poets society, léon: the professional, the menu, the craft, my girl, i believe in unicorns, ten things i hate about you and literally anything by sofia coppola, tim burton, david fincher, greta gerwig, wes anderson and studio ghibli

౨ৎ shows: ahs (favs are murder house, coven and asylum), skins, gilmore girls, bojack horseman, stranger things, asoue, obx, heartstopper and ianowt

౨ৎ music: lana, mitski, nirvana, hole, mazzy star, fiona apple, ethel cain, deftones, radiohead, the smiths, fleetwood mac, tv girl, marina, tyler the creator, queen, david bowie, arctic monkeys, the nbhd, ayesha erotica, solya, bambi baker and a lot more

౨ৎ other things i love: art, poetry, cats, deers, swans, iced coffee, dr pepper, trees, old parks, cemeteries, coquette, grunge, y2k, lego flowers, spotify, tumblr and pinterest

♡ about my blog ♡

i'll post relatable girl stuff, my interests, fashion inspo, moodboards, random thoughts and whatever i feel like ^^ everythings mine unless i say otherwise

dms are always open if you wanna talk or be friends <3 i love meeting new people ^^ if you wanna be moots just tell me in my question box! you can also ask anything there, i love answering to these ^^

dni: racists, homophobes, transphobes, fascists, pedos, nsfw blogs, probably forgot some but yeah im a minor and liberal so i think you get the idea of what i don't tolerate

healthy and pro recovery ed and sh blogs without triggering imagery and stuff are totally ok but if you romanticise this shit, (re)post thin$po or scars and dont want to get better pls pls dni or i will report you bc im trying to improve my mental health and that stuff is not helping at all

♡ other socials ♡

other blog (dark coquette aesthetic)

other blog (dark green and gloomy aesthetic)

yap blog (for yapping, reblogging and answering questions)

spotify (it's kinda messy im sorry)

pinterest (i post more whispers there)

⁠♡ ok i hope i did this right byeee angelss ⁠♡

[barcalover86]

Mi culpa- Pablo Gavi (a)

Summary: You and Gavi had a huge fight right before his game, and he tells you that he doesn't want you to make it to the game and you get into a car accident.

I saw this on tik tok, so credits to whoever had this idea first. Enjoy!!

2nd Masterlist

"He said he would be here, mama."

"Y/n, sweetheart, it's been 2h. He is clearly not coming anymore."

"I'll call him again"

"You've already called him multiple times. He won't answer. It's ok, you can go to his game."

"But he said he would be here! Maybe something happened to him."

You started to panick at the thought of losing Gavi. You've been together for a long time, and you just couldn't imagine your life without this boy by your side.

He promised you that he would come to your family lunch. Everyone was there waiting for him. Your cousins, parents, uncles, grandparents.. everyone.

You texted him constantly, hoping for at least an answer, but he wouldn't pick up his phone. He never did that, and you were now on the edge of crying in front of your family.

You were so embarrassed when people would ask you about where he is. You at first tried to say that he is only at some training or the traffic is wild now.

It had come to a time when no more excuses could be make.

"Don't you want to eat something?"

"No, papa."

"He is for sure, alright. Maybe he couldn't make it, but forgot to tell you."

"No, he wouldn't do this."

You sighed before apologising to everyone about Gavi and telling them that you are going to his house to see what's the problem.

When you arrived there you saw Gavi preparing to go to the game. When you saw him alive and all save, anger started to feel in all your body.

"Qué te pasa?" (What is wrong with you!?)

When he heard your voice, he smiled, but right after he saw your face, it faded away.

"Qué-?"

"No me digas que no sabes de lo que hablo" (Don't tell me you don't know what i'm talking about)

"No, realmente no lo hago."

After you realised that he forgot about this lunch, you felt like you could kill someone right there. He promised to you and knew how important it was for you.

"No puedo creerlo" you said it more to yourself. How could he forget?

"Por favor, dime de qué estás hablando." (Please tell me what you are talking about.) he said it with a shaky voice.

"Te olvidaste de mi almuerzo familiar!! ¡Me prometiste que estarías allí y sabías lo importante que era para mí!" (You forgot my family lunch!! You promised me that you would be there and you knew how important it was to me!)

When he remembered about the lunch, he stopped doing whatever he was and tried to come to you to apologise, but you just walked out of his embrace.

"Te he llamado varias veces durante horas, Pablo! Por jodidas horas! No tienes idea de lo avergonzado que me sentí allí de pie, esperándote mientras todos preguntaban 'dónde está tu novio!?' Pues yo tampoco lo sé!" (I have called you several times for hours, Pablo! For fucking hours! You have no idea how embarrassed I felt standing there, waiting for you while everyone was asking 'where's your boyfriend!?' Well, I don't know either!)

"Y/n-"

"Y lo peor es que pense que te habia pasado algo! Estaba entrando en pánico porque te perdí y tú estás... aquí!? Haciendo.. nada!? (And the worst thing is that I thought something had happened to you! I was panicking because I lost you and you're…here!? Doing. Nothing!?)

"Lo siento mucho. Lo olvidé por completo, pero por favor tienes que entenderme también. Tengo un juego difícil esta noche y mi mente estaba en eso. Lo siento mucho" (I am sorry. I completely forgot, but please, you have to understand me too. I have a tough game tonight, and my mind was only on it. I'm really, really sorry.)

He was sad and you tried to understand him, but just couldn't. It was something that is hard to forget.

"Deberías haberme dicho esto antes de prometerme que estarías allí." (You should have told me this before you promised me you'd be there.)

He rolled his eyes. He was in no mood for a fight now, and he really had to go to the stadium.

"Entiendo, es mi culpa, pero por favor, olvidémoslo. Tengo un juego para asistir-" (I understand, it's my fault, but please, let's forget about it. I have a game to attend-)

"Solo te importa ese juego!" you said it, now really angry. You were about to cry, but tried to keep as calm as possible.

"Bueno, por supuesto. ¡Ahora mismo es más importante!" (Now it's more important)

"Qué?" you said it shocked. You really had enough of this.

"Como has oído, sí. Tengo que concentrarme en ello." (As you heard, yes. I have to concentrate on it.)

"Entonces el juego es mas importante que yo?"

"Ahora sí"

You felt like you could throw yourself from a bridge now.

You nodded your head and were about to leave before saying the last thing he ever heard from you.

"Entonces no quiero arruinar tu noche." (Then I won't ruin your night.).

He rolled his eyes once again.

"Estás siendo tan dramático. Realmente espero que no llegues al estadio. No soporto tu estado de ánimo esta noche." (You are being so dramatic. I really hope you don't make it to the stadium. I can't stand your mood tonight.)

When you heard him say that, you smiled sadly. You never thought that you two would become like this. You still wanted to come to his match. You knew that he didn't mean it and that your support was really important for him.

Pablo felt horrible after you left. He never shouted at you, and doing that made him devastated. He tried to forget about your fight. He had a match to win tonight.

You went back to your house without saying anything more. Your parents asked you if you talked to your boyfriend. At that moment, you didn't even know if you were together anymore. All this was so confusing and you needed to clear your mind for a bit.

You threw yourself on the bed and slept for some good minutes.

When it was only 30 minutes before the game would begin, you changed (still wearing his jersey) and went to your car to drive yourself to the stadium.

You still hadn't eaten anything and you were starting to be a bit dizzy.

It was already night outside, and the traffic was absolutely full. When you were right next to the stadium, someone bumped hard into you, making pieces of your car to be thrown away. You only saw white, and you fainted.

While the game had started, sirens of ambulance started to be heard everywhere. People were confused and curious, the game being forgotten.

After the first half ended, Xavi went directly at Gavi, shouting his name.

"Gavi!!! Gavi!! Ven aquí!"

"Qué pasa?"

"Tu chica está en el hospital... en coma. Ve con ella ahora mismo. Tienes que estar allí con-" (your girl is in the hospital in a coma. You have to go there, be with-)

"Qué!? No- por favor, Xavi, no-"

"Lo siento mucho"

"No, no"

Right now, Gavi started to cry. It was his fault and only his. He had to take you here himself. Now he lost you forever.

He hurried up to the hospital you were at, leaving the game behind. He ran like he never had.

When he arrived, he asked everyone about you. Every nurse that was around was asked about your condition by Gavi. He was really panicked and when he saw your family standing there, he cried harder.

He started to say that it's all his fault and that you two fought. He couldn't lose you knowing that the last thing you talked was something bad.

Your family tried to console him, knowing how a good boy he is. Nothing was working. He wanted to see you, he had to see you.

He stayed there all night on that chair. He didn't sleep at all, wanting to be the first one that knew about your condition. He prayed all the time, hoping for you to wake up.

He just couldn't live without you.

He cried like he never had. Days had passed, and Gavi was still there at the hospital. He saw you only for some seconds, and it was enough for him to make him cry harder.

Your parents and his would bring chlotes to him and food. He just didn't want to leave that seat.

His eyes were all red and puffy while your mother was hugging him close to her heart. She would tell him nice stuff in his ear, trying to calm him down a bit.

He knew that if you would die, he wouldn't be able to forgive himself for it.

Everyone was praying for you because everyone loved you. You were a sweet person, someone who went through hell in this life, but every time, you chose to be a kind-hearted girl. You were the one that was there for everyone, the friend that you wouldn't get bored with.

Every person would want a friend like you, and every boy would love a girlfriend as you.

"Gavi!!! Gavi!!!! Everyone is cheering for this incredible boy! Spain, champions of the world!! All this because of this talent of Pablo Gavi!!"

"You did it, amor! Congratulations!!!!!"

"Mis chicas..." he said while taking your daughter from your hands and kissing your lips.

"Te amo.." he said, and you smiled.

"Te amo, y/n".

He said while holding your hand on the hospital bed.

"Despertar... por favor" (wake up.. please)

[jolieblack]

Jolie’s notes on

The Lion’s Mane (Sherlock & co podcast)

Oh, this case made me so happy. 🦁🪼⛴️

Sweet domesticity in Baker Street, then a client ringing the bell bringing a dramatic case… This is another ACD story with quite striking hidden horror. You don’t really think much about the state of the body when you read it, but when you really start thinking about it, it is horrific. And off they go, our heroes, to solve another mystery and right another wrong.

Heroes with a pension plan, of course. Because of course Mariana would have set that up for them all. I love how this show keeps finding modern ways of showing how well Mrs Hudson cares for those two crazy boys.

Heroes who drink tea with marshmallows, too. Sherlock being a big petulant child about those cracked me up.

Loved Maud‘s early reference to tentacles, too. 🦑

Archie being able to sense when people are sad. 🥹

The non-consensual bathroom sharing made me laugh, too, but can people PLEASE just stop making fun of men who sit down to wee? Housewives and cleaning staff all over the world would be so much happier if all men just did.

"It‘s a trolley stuck in a wall." 😂 Trust Jonk to turn absolutely everything into a rant against the rich. 😝

And then they’re off.

Loved this modern version of "Holmes and Watson get on another train for a case", and John waxing poetic about the countryside by night. I have looked out of the window of a night train at the starry sky in the not too distant past myself, so this scene struck a particular chord. But I‘d just love to see more of this reflective, quiet John. He hides him too well usually.

And talking of beautiful, evocative mental images, the moment when Fjara rises out of the sea mist gave me absolute goosebumps. A sight that makes even Sherlock Holmes go "oh my word" must be a sight indeed. And all that with just voices and music. Amazing work.

I also loved how the mythical aspect kinda crept in slowly but unstoppably, and I spent the longest time wondering why Maud had mentioned none of it. In retrospect, of course there was zero reason why she would have. I kinda forgot that Sherlock Holmes stories love playing with our fears of the supernatural, only to supply a completely natural explanation in the end. But that’s quite an achievement in itself! Well played, Joel.

I’m quite happy with the solution as such, too. The original story has always been a little fantastical, that the waters of the British Channel should contain one single organism who could inflict such damage on a human being. But the combination of Lion’s Mane burns, chemical burns, previous fistfight with probably head trauma and quite possibly also a touch of the Martini effect together could totally do it. I’m glad Ian Murdoch survived, btw, I thought he was going to be the third corpse.

I also really appreciated the Lion/Liona throwback to Rache/Rachel in Study in Pink (which seems to confirm to me that we have seen Study in Pink already and it won’t come back).

And the accents! I loooooved the accents. I think they’re a major part of the reason why I listened to this case three or four times before I even managed to pause the flow to take these notes.

Jonk was really taking cringe to a whole new level in his interactions with the locals, though. This is really a part of Watson’s character that they entirely made up for this adaptation and while Paul plays it to perfection, it never sits quite right with me. I’m glad John was his kind and sensitive self with Maud though.

Sherlock wading in rock pools with his trousers rolled up is a mental image that will stay with me for a long while. Check out this lovely art by @noodles-and-tea

"Sexy murderous sea demons?" - "Very, very unlikely." 😂

"We‘re cutting the engine *and* the conversation." & "You are not a priority." 😂

Poor John, nobody wants to hold his hand…

THE JELLYFISH

There’s a reason why the scene with the submarine submersible has inspired a lot of fantastic fanart. I’ll just let these speak for themselves:

Behold the Lion’s Mane by @starfruitsomething

Lion’s Mane by @abstractfrog

The Lion’s Mane Part 3 by @sealbug

The Lion’s Mane by @reibub

Lion’s Mane Comic by @abstractfrog

I’m so glad they went and found Fitzi McPherson in the end, too. I didn’t expect that and it was a lovely touch.

I may also be a tiny bit obsessed with Sherlock competently handling boats. Very happy to see this several times in this story.

All in all, pure enjoyment this time around. Story, atmosphere, humour, acting, straight As all around for the entire team. More, please!

[eyeballmarshmallowtea]

BBC Sherlock

Hi, I'm Sophie. This post will be a rant. You have been warned.

BBC Sherlock last aired in 2017, with Series 4 Episode 3, The Final Problem. I am still waiting for Series 5. I first discovered this show when my amazing English teacher showed us A Study In Pink before the christmas holidays. I went home, watched the next epsiode, and promptly forgot that Sherlock existed. Until a couple of days before the summer holidays, when we were shown The Hounds of Baskerville. We only got to watch half the episode, and me and a friend finished it and watched half of the Great Game in Science and French class. (It was the end of the year, there was practically no work). And then I left for music tour. We spent 30+ hours on a coach over 5 days. 28 hours of that (I checked) was spent on BBC iPlayer. That's the whole of Sherlock twice. I finished it and then rewatched with a friend, and from then I became obsessed. I got a group together of 4 people, old and new fans, and we chat about Sherlock the entire time and it is amazing. My parents used to watch it so I convinced them that my sister was old enough to watch A Study In Pink. (She was only allowed to watch that one, she is now on Series 4. I regret nothing). My dad found the DVDs in the free book pickup at our local station, so I watched the original pilot episode and it was amazing. I also read and write fanfiction, which leads me onto the next point. And it is a long point.

Johnlock.

Although the series ended 7 years ago, I still hold out hope. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson belong together and always have, and before I finished the show I truly believed it would become canon. I was heartbroken and I genuinely felt let down. As so many of fans were at the time of the show's release, I am an LGBTQ+ teenager, and representation in my favourite show would be more than just a stupid headcannon coming true, it would have meant the world to me and so many others. This show has made me laugh and cry but sometimes I think about what could have happened and I wonder what could have been different.

However, regardless of this, I truly believe that this show is an incredible feat of acting, writing, filming, production and it will come back. Even yesterday (I say yesterday, it's 00:16 currently), the producer said there might be a movie or a new series. There is always hope, and Sherlock will return, because it has to. The 'ending' cannot be the ending, because it is not the ending. It is the temporary ending, and the true one will be here someday, even if it takes another 7 years.

And even if not, then there will be more adaptions, and someday someone will tell the true story of Sherlock.

And whether you ship Johnlock, or are a fan of Sherlock, this show is incredible. And honestly, if there is another series, I don't even care what it is about as long as it just happens.

In conclusion, this show has genuinely been life changing. It has changed my perception of things, given me friendships, made me less bored, given me something to do and something to talk about, and I am endlessly grateful for the show.

So when it does return, I will be waiting for it, and when the first announcement comes, I know my reaction will be pure joy, and probably make me look very stupid in public.

I'm now crying. I need to sleep.

Thank you for reading

-Sophie

[meandhisjohn]

News from a crazy mind...

Sherlock, mental health and the support from a fandom.

When Sherlock becomes what the doctor ordered....

100 days lie between those moments.

100 days since I wanted to die.

100 days since I emailed Dignitas.

100 days full of struggle and hope.

100 days later I made it out of hell again.

A handful of people who showed me unconditional love during the hardest setback of my disorder career.

I will love them till the day I die.

And once again the Sherlock world saved my soul before I destroyed it myself.

A fandom full of kindness and support and a detective and a doctor who saved me in more ways than they can ever imagine.

Had a doctors appointment on Friday and I have one hell of a doctor.

Not as good as John Watson but highly supportive of anything that increases my strength.

We talked about a little miracle.

A miracle that sounds so incredibly stupid but it is such a huge thing.

For the past five years I have to take besides my regular medication in mornings and in the evenings a little extra cocktail of meds in the afternoon to keep my extreme nervousness in check.

I'm nervous and tense 24/7 and it takes a toll on my body sometimes.

It makes it very hard to sleep and to find a way to sit still.

So the extra meds are necessary..

Ten days ago I started to listen to Podfics and quickly discovered a new way to enjoy the Sherlock universe.

I'm 43 years old and retired since I was 39 because my body couldn't take the stress anymore.

I have some free times during the day and I made it a habit for the past ten days to listen to Podfics in the afternoon and again at night.

And suddenly I could sleep and, and here comes the miracle..

I forgot to take my afternoon meds.

Even more my body relaxed in a way I haven't experienced in decades.

My body was obviously as surprised as I am because since a few days I have to drink a coffee in the afternoon, otherwise I would fall asleep.

I can only drink coffee without caffeine which tastes awful but otherwise my nervousness goes through the roof and I shake like a leaf.

But now instead of taking an extra dose of anxiety relief pills I take a real good old black coffee full of caffeine after listening to Podfics.

And that sounds incredibly ridiculous but for me it is a miracle because for the first time in over 15 years I feel calm and not because of a chemical reaction but because of a human reaction.

I know @totallysilvergirl had no idea what would happen by telling me about Podfics but I will never forget it!

Back to my incredible doctor who saw the change from a person who was determined to end this endless circle of depression and anxiety to a person who smiles again.

Now he ordered a six months try of daily Podfics ( no joke) to see if my blood levels improves and accordingly my medication can be reduced.

He knows that in the past three years my disorder was always better during my Sherlock highs so he is actually happy about the new development.

Long story short ( too late I know)

Do whatever feels right for you!

Invent your own therapy!

Do what makes you happy no matter how unconventional it might be.

Because you matter!!!!

I attach you my new and exciting Podfic collection for you.

Maybe you will find something you like.

Of course everything is available in Reading form as well.

Be happy in your own, weird, wonderful way.

@keirgreeneyes @discordantwords @a-victorian-girl @bewitched-bullet @lisbeth-kk @whatnext2020 @inevitably-johnlocked @barachiki @babaybo @jobooksncoffee @rey-jake-therapist @missdeliadili @helloliriels @podfixx @johnlocky @johnlockpodficclub @johnlockficclub @peanitbear @strawberrywinter4 @chocolate1elise @kettykika78

[sandcobangevent]

Missing you comes in waves (and tonight I'm drowning)

by @jonk-md and @glitterymumfriend

“Wait – wait, no, shit-” John scrambled for his phone, almost dropping it in his rush to activate the screen. Staring back at him was confirmation that it was 11:56am on Friday, 18th September.

His dad’s birthday was 17th September.

He’d forgotten his dad’s birthday.

He couldn’t believe it. He forgot. He forgot.

Distantly, he could hear Mariana calling his name, feel Sherlock’s hand on his shoulder. But he couldn’t do anything but stare at his phone screen until it went dark again, guilt pooling in the pit of his stomach.

He felt his lips moving, was vaguely aware of himself telling them he needed to call his mum. They might have said something in response, but John walked away in a daze, absently dialling Carol Watson’s phone number.

-

“Don’t be silly, Johnny love! It’s alright, I know how busy you are with that charming detective of yours.”

“I just- I’m really sorry, mum.”

“Nonsense! I was fine – I had a grand old time at the bingo with the girls, they kept me company. Speaking of, would you believe that Annie’s youngest has gotten herself engaged? Annie wouldn’t stop going off on one about the ring not being the right cut of diamond but frankly if that’s her only complaint it must have been a stunner, you know what she’s like-”

John hummed non-committally, shuffling things around his desk as he listened to his mum fill him in on all the gossip. Usually he’d have cut her off, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it this time.

He already felt like he’d failed her, once again.

After a while, she trailed off, wrapping up the tale of how Mr Prescott’s dog had gone for the milkman again. “You still there, love?”

“Yeah, yeah I- sorry. I’m still here. That sounds lovely, mum.”

She was silent for a moment, before he heard her sigh. “John, lovely, it’s OK. It’s been over 20 years since he passed on. You don’t need to check in on your old mum every year, I promise. I miss him – I always will – but I stopped grieving for him before you flew out to Afghanistan that first time. Was too busy worrying over you instead!” she joked. Her voice sounded a little wobbly, and John felt even worse.

He forced a chuckle in response, reaching out to idly run his fingers over the top of the framed photos on his desk.

“Don’t go fretting about it like you always do. I know how much you get stuck in that head of yours – don’t do it now. Go talk to Sherlock and Mariana, head out for a pint or something and enjoy your day.”

“Alright, mum. Take care.”

“You too, Johnny – love you!”

“Love you too.”

The line disconnected, and John dropped his phone on the desk with a sigh, slumping into the chair and placing his head in his hands. He did his best to focus on what his mum had said – that she was OK, that he shouldn’t worry himself – but he couldn’t shake the shame.

The feeling that he’d failed her. Failed both of them.

John Watson didn’t leave his room for some time.

-

He knew the others were concerned about him, but he couldn’t bring himself to talk about it. How did he admit to his two best friends that he’d completely forgotten his dead dad’s birthday, all because he was selfishly occupied with the podcast? That he’d not had the wherewithal to message his mum, even once, on the day?

That on top of all of the guilt and shame, he still missed his dad even after 25 years?

It was as if he’d plunged into an ice-cold lake the moment he’d seen the date. Like he’d been wandering along the surface, blissfully unaware until the once-solid floor had given way to murky water. He could make out the light from the surface above him, but everything felt distant and fuzzy, thoughts overruled by the fight-or-flight panic over an inability to breathe.

He doubted they’d be harsh with him – they were both far too good people to kick someone whilst they were down. But a small part of him, one that was surprised whenever people chose to stay, chose him, was too scared of risking it.

He played it off as tiredness, though he was fairly sure neither of them were convinced. But they were, as previously stated, good people, and didn’t push him on it. Instead they fussed from a distance, placing a cup of tea on the coffee table next to him without asking, or putting an old match re-run on in the background as they got on with their individual activities in the evening.

Hell, Sherlock had even complimented him about his idea of luring the murderers to 221B again.

As much as the quiet affection from the others warmed him, however, it was underpinned by a swell of guilt each time. That voice in the back of his mind told him that he didn’t deserve the care and attention. He’d been an awful son to both of his parents, and was wallowing in self-pity and keeping the truth of it a secret like a coward.

He tried to contest it – his mum had said herself that she was fine, and that he shouldn’t beat himself up over it. But every time he tried to remember that – to cling to it as if it were a rope – the self-loathing twined around his legs even further, pulling him deeper to the point where he was starting to lose sight of the surface.

He was almost relieved when he made it to bedtime and was able to hide away in his room again without being questioned. Perhaps he just needed a night to process things, and he’d be a bit more level-headed on how to resolve it all when he woke up?

He should have known it wouldn’t be that simple.

-

He was at his early 10th birthday again, and his dad was in goal. He aimed, kicked, and watched in excitement as the ball just skimmed past his dad into goal. He’d scored!

But when he turned his attention to his dad again to brag about it, something was wrong. His dad’s mouth was moving, but he… couldn’t hear it.

He couldn’t hear his dad’s voice.

What did it sound like again? Was his voice on the higher end of the register like his, or deeper like Sherlock’s? Was there an accent?

He couldn’t hear his dad’s voice.

His appearance was the next to go. Between one blink and the next, he couldn’t remember the colour of his dad’s eyes any more. His features started blurring, fading away one by one. His hair, the shirt he’d been wearing, how tall he’d been.

Panicked, John reached out, flinging himself forwards to grasp at the figure that had replaced his father between the goalposts. It was too late, however – as his hand went to make contact, it passed through as if cutting through smoke, the edges of it curling up and away from him.

The form of Harry Watson dissipated.

He was gone, and John had no memory to cling to.

A distant sobbing noise caught his attention, and he wheeled around to see his mother. Not as she’d been back then – how she’d looked when he’d last seen her. He tried to go to her, but she took a step back, her bloodshot eyes meeting his as she scowled at him.

“How could you?!” she screamed at him, cheeks soaked by tears and hands clenched to her chest, “How could you forget him? How could you leave me?”

“Mum-”

She didn’t hear him. Instead, she turned and stalked away, out of the garden and into the distance. He tried to follow her, but he couldn’t move his legs. He tried to call after her, but when he opened his mouth no sound escaped.

Like his father, Carol Watson faded away.

Like his mother, John Watson was abandoned.

He was alone.

-

He didn’t come to awareness with a yell, the way he often did with night terrors.

Instead, John woke quietly, tears streaming down his face onto the pillow and chest aching with loss.

Once he realised it had been a dream, he climbed out of bed, turning on the desk lamp and reaching for the photo of his dad. He stared at it, taking in every minute detail as the memory – his actual memory – flooded back again. His dad’s eyes were hazel, like his. He’d been wearing his Star Wars t-shirt and shorts on the day, and his voice when he’d praised John for his penalty skills had been warm and slightly nasal.

Overwhelmed by the sheer relief that he still remembered, John’s body shook as he began to sob. He hugged the photo frame to his chest, biting his lip in an attempt to be quiet so as not to disturb Sherlock the next room over.

He felt like he was still drowning in that ice-water lake, still trying to claw his way to the surface but unable to. The same trapped feeling from his nightmare bled into his waking mind, leaving him powerless to do anything but cry as his thoughts spiralled.

He’d remembered this time, but what if he woke up another night and didn’t? He didn’t have any videos of his dad – his mum had never been able to afford a video camera when he was younger, all they had were disposable camera photos.

And his mum – he knew she’d put on a brave face often enough when he was a kid, both when his dad had been deployed and after he’d passed. She’d been inconsolable when the news first reached them – the neighbours had come over to look after them both once they’d heard Harry Watson had died – but she’d fought to keep herself together for him in the weeks, months that followed.

What if she had been putting that mask back on again to protect his feelings when she’d told him she was OK? He was torn between the urge to take the next train to Swindon to see her and the worry that if he did so, his fear that she was actually suffering would be confirmed.

He felt exhausted, and curled back up on the bed with the photo frame still gripped tight. The murky depths of his emotions dragged him under, and he fell asleep feeling like he’d never be warm again.

-

His lack of proper sleep was impossible to hide that next morning, and the concern from the others was even more palpable. John could barely make himself respond to anything, unable to even try and muster up a laugh as Archie rolled off the sofa whilst asleep.

Eventually, Mariana couldn’t take it any longer.

“OK, that’s it – what’s going on, John? You called your mum yesterday - is she OK?”

John swallowed, equally relieved and anxious that the topic was coming up. He took a steadying breath before responding, trying to twitch his lips into a facsimile of a smile.

“Yeah, she’s fine,” he replied, “Talked my ear off about Tockenham’s hot goss , as usual.”

“Oh yeah? Any more news on Charlie’s mysterious beau?”

“Nah, they’ve kept pretty tight-lipped on- wait, hang on, how do you know about that?”

“We catch up pretty often, John. She asks me to give her updates on what you’re up to, given you won’t tell her any details yourself.” Mariana replied, smirking at him.

Usually, he’d sputter indignantly at the comment, but the mention of his usual avoidance made him feel even worse.

Mariana noticed, and her smirk disappeared quickly, replaced with a greater look of concern. She stepped forwards, leaning against the kitchen table he was sitting at and placing a hand against his arm. “Seriously, come on. What’s wrong?”

He sighed again, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling in order to avoid her gaze. “It’s stupid. It’s just… Thursday was dad’s birthday. And I was so distracted getting the episode uploaded, I didn’t realise the date. I forgot my dad’s birthday, Mariana.”

“Oh, John…” she bent forwards, pulling him into a hug.

“I’m so sorry.” she murmured against his temple, and John squeezed his eyes closed to avoid crying again. He pressed his head against her shoulder, taking deep breaths in order to try and calm himself.

“I usually call mum on the day, check in on her. Even when I was on my tours, I did my best to secure a video call on the day, or at least send an email.” he explained, absently processing the shuffling noise from the doorway indicating that Sherlock had just arrived in the kitchen, “Every year – and when I was home with her, I’d buy her some flowers or chocolate or something. But I didn’t this year. I didn’t think to, because I didn’t remember.”

“Was she disappointed? Is that why you’re feeling upset?” Mariana asked, letting go to lean against the table again and face him. He looked away, unable to meet her eyes.

“She says she’s OK, but-”

“But you don’t really believe her. Or, at least, your anxiety is telling you she’s lying.” Sherlock’s voice chimed in, finishing the thought. The detective circled around, taking the chair across the table from him, piercing eyes studying him intently.

Unable to speak through the lump in his throat, John nodded.

“Oh John, I’m sure she’s alright. It’s been over twenty years, right? And if you’re still feeling awful, maybe you could do something belated?” Mariana suggested, rubbing his arm soothingly.

Above his head, where the surface of the lake glittered faintly, a shape formed.

A life ring.

John reached for it, finding it to be just out of reach. But it was there .

“Do something…?” he rasped, turning to look at Mariana. She nodded, and the ring bobbed a little closer.

“You mentioned flowers – you know, I saw an advert the other day for a company that sends same-day delivery bouquets. You order one, and they’ll send the request to a local florist who can deliver them to the address you provide.”

This time, his fingertips brushed against the edge. Feeling slightly renewed, John kicked at the knot of doubts around his ankles, trying to free himself.

“She’s always loved dahlias,” he murmured, “do you think there’s a chance they’d have those?”

“They do generally bloom in Autumn,” Sherlock pointed out, “and whilst they have multiple meanings assigned to them within the language of flowers, one of those is ‘inner strength’. Sounds like a fitting choice.”

Something sliced through the vines around him, and his next kick brought him closer to the surface. And, as he searched on his phone and found an offer for a bouquet of mixed dahlias available for delivery in Wiltshire, his hand made contact with the ring and clung to it.

-

“Oh they’re absolutely gorgeous , sweetheart! Judy from across the road looked jealous as anything when that cute delivery lad came by with all these flowers for me! Bet she’ll be grumbling away at the next bake sale.”

“I’m glad you like them, mum.” he replied, breathing slightly easier at the happiness in her voice.

“I’d love anything from you, love, you could get me a £2 bouquet from Tesco and I’d be thrilled. But they really are beautiful.” she took a breath, before adding, “I’ve placed them in your dad’s favourite vase, on the kitchen table. Brightening up the room, as always. Oh! Speaking of brightening up, you’ll never guess...”

John listened to his mum chat away, somehow able to find even more things to talk to him about only one day later. Soon enough though, she said her goodbyes, explaining how she was meeting up with some of the book club for a couple of drinks.

“You tell Mariana and your Sherlock that I say hi, won’t you?”

“He’s not- I- alright, mum. Will do, I’m sure they say hi back. In fact, you know Mariana does, since apparently you two chat now!”

“Oh don’t worry too much, lovey, I’m keeping all the embarrassing childhood stories to a minimum! Toodles, love you!”

“Love you too- wait, what do you mean childhood- aaand she hung up.” he sighed in frustration, but aside from the concern that Mariana knew stories he’d wanted to keep buried he felt far more at ease than the last time he’d ended a call with his mum.

He wasn’t completely recovered yet – he was out of the lake, but the ice-water was still clinging to him, keeping him chilled. He was out of danger, though, and from the noises coming through the door to his room he suspected he’d be feeling even closer to normal by the end of the evening. Mariana had called an emergency movie night after his flower order had been placed, and had promptly ran out the door to gather supplies. He hadn’t seen her since – had spent most of the morning and early afternoon taking Archie for a long walk around the park – but he’d heard her shuffling around 221A as he’d climbed the stairs past her door.

Plugging his phone in to charge, he left to join the others in the living room.

He walked out to see bowls of popcorn on the table, pillows and cushions clearly raided from bedrooms scattered across the sofa and armchair, and the TV on, paused on-

“Is that Back To The Future ?”

“Yeah, seemed like a good choice for an impromptu film night.” Mariana confirmed, flopping into the armchair – her usual viewing spot – and tilting her head towards the sofa.

Sherlock had settled into his normal half of the sofa at the same time, and met John’s eyes from across the room. “You mentioned, once, that your father enjoyed the trilogy. That he’d watched them back-to-back a few times.”

John swallowed, taking a steadying breath at the rush of emotion that hit him. “Y-yeah, he-” he cleared his throat, working his jaw for a moment before carrying on, “he really loved sci-fi movies. Apparently he dreamed about getting a DeLorean for years after the movie came out. Mum says when I was born he’d argued the cause for me to be called Marty – Martin, legally, of course – but she shot that down pretty quickly.”

“Good thing, too – imagine being Martin “Marty” Watson!” Mariana teased, “You’d have been stuck with some stupid nickname like, I don’t know… Martian? MegaWats?”

“Hey! I’d have rocked the nickname MegaWats! Could have been known for my electric personality, eh?” he replied, grinning as he dodged the cushion Mariana flung at him whilst booing.

Sherlock sent them both an unimpressed look, but there was a barely-contained sparkle of humour in his eyes. The sight of it alone helped to ease some of the permafrost chill – he could feel his fingers again, and used them to retrieve the cushion from where it had landed.

The next moment, it hit Mariana with a satisfying ‘ thump ’. She squawked in mock-outrage, but before she could send it back Sherlock cleared his throat.

“Perhaps we can get on with watching the film now that we’re all gathered?”

Chuckling again, John settled onto the sofa and grabbed one of the bowls of popcorn. After some shuffling around, everyone was settled and Mariana hit ‘play’.

Mariana mentioned that she’d seen the movie once, years ago, but that she hadn’t really paid attention to the plot of it before. Sherlock appeared to be caught somewhere between bafflement and outrage at the storyline.

Now and again, John found himself pointing out something about the movie that reminded him of his dad – like how his childhood dog had been called ‘Einstein’ after the Doc’s dog. That had caused Mariana to demand to see photos of ‘Einstein Watson’, which John promised to find when he next went back to Tockenham.

Between those moments, however, John zoned out of the movie, having seen it so many times he didn’t need to focus on it. Instead, he switched between watching the screen and watching the other two.

These two people, who had known him less than a year and yet felt closer to him than any friends he’d made in the past. Who had listened to his worries and had put in the effort to try and support him. Who had remembered his dad’s favourite movie after one conversation, and had gone to the effort of setting up a movie night to watch it with him in the hopes he’d feel better.

And he did – he’d felt the tension leaving him as the movie progressed, breathing coming easier as he listened to Mariana laughing at the Doc’s antics, or Sherlock’s outrage at the idea a car would vanish into another point in time at just 88mph. A glowing warmth forming at his core, pressing outwards and chasing the chill he’d been trapped with since he’d first spotted the date on his phone.

As the movie came to its conclusion, with the DeLorean vanishing into the sky as the credits started to roll, Mariana sat up and stretched, yawning as she tiredly rubbed at her eyes with one hand.

“Right, I think I’ll leave you boys to it. Have a good night’s sleep, whenever you both eventually go.”

“Good night, Mariana – and thank you, again, for everything.”

She stepped over, ruffling his hair before bending down to press a light kiss to his forehead. “Of course, John. You’re one of my best friends, I wouldn’t leave you to suffer alone. I’m just glad you got around to telling us what was going on.”

“Yeah – sorry for worrying you. Have a good night!”

“You too. Night, Sherlock!”

“Mm, good night Mrs Hudson.”

The other two rolled their eyes at each other, before Mariana let herself out of the door. John heard her descend the steps, before the familiar sound of her flat’s door closing.

He knew he needed to call it a night – he hadn’t had all that much sleep the night before – but he couldn’t make himself get up.

“You’re avoiding going to bed. You’re still upset by something.”

John flinched, turning to face Sherlock. The other was studying him, looking concerned.

“I… what?”

Sherlock nodded towards his hands, drawing John’s attention to how he was picking at his nails. A nervous habit of his, and one that the consulting detective was well aware of.

He shrugged self-consciously. “It’s stupid, Sherlock. Don’t worry, I’ll get over it.”

“If it’s causing you enough upset to block you from going to bed when you’re clearly exhausted, it’s not ‘stupid’. What is it?” his gaze was zeroed on his face, now, kaleidoscopic eyes taking in every detail as if he was studying an elaborate painting.

Knowing it was futile trying to lie to him, he closed his eyes, trying to figure out how to explain.

“I just… worry, Sherlock. What if this is just the first sign that I’m starting to forget him? He’s my dad, he was the love of mum’s life, what if I start to forget more than just his birthday? What if I forget his face, or the sound of his voice, or all the other details I’ve tried so hard to keep hold of?”

A lightbulb seemed to go off in Sherlock’s head. “You had a nightmare last night. Not night terrors, not memories of the war or the bomb. It was about your father, about forgetting him.”

John sighed, shoulders slumping. “Yeah, mate. I, uh… I dreamt that I forgot him, that everything I had stored in my head disappeared. As I said, it was stupid.”

“Yes, it was.”

John’s head shot up to stare at Sherlock, hurt by the comment. Sherlock met his gaze, however, and continued. “It was stupid, because it’s not something that would ever happen. Nightmares often are nonsensical – a culmination of negative images your psyche produces as it sorts through everything you’ve taken in. This one is no different.”

“How can you be so sure, though? I already forgot his birthday, who knows what will slip my mind next time?”

Sherlock’s gaze flickered over him, eyebrows drawn together in thought. After a moment, he seemed to reach the internal conclusion he was working towards, because he nodded slightly before meeting his eyes again.

“It’s not possible, because there are various behaviours and interests of yours that display the ways in which you remember your father. Would you like me to prove it?”

John’s heart skipped a beat, cautious hope forming. He trusted Sherlock, knew the detective never said something he did not mean. Not to him.

“Please.”

Sherlock nodded again, before looking away. His eyes flickered around the room, before focusing in on the muted TV, displaying an old re-run of Match of the Day.

“Your chosen support of Swindon Town is one indicator.” He began, eyes looking towards the screen but somewhat distant. John had seen this behaviour multiple times before when Sherlock had been processing things internally, figuring out how to vocalise his thoughts. He watched quietly, taking in how the light from the screen highlighted his features. After a pause, Sherlock found his words and continued.

“Whilst I don’t know a great deal in the way of sports teams, I know tat people will generally select their favourites for three key reasons. Either it’s their home town’s team, a team that is especially successful, or the individual grew up in a household where that team were already being supported.

“Your support of Swindon Town FC is a combination of the first and third reasons. From what I gather of the league tables – and your various outbursts of frustration – it is safe to rule out that Swindon’s team could be considered ‘successful’.”

“Oi!” John protested, jokingly. Sherlock glanced at him, flashing a boyish grin before continuing.

“So, focusing on those two reasons. Swindon is geographically the closest town with a larger, more well-known team, true, but Bristol isn’t too far away and both of their teams appear to be doing rather better in the league. So that would indicate the need for another reason.

“That other reason was something I noted when we visited your childhood home a few months ago. Amongst the various trinkets and wall decorations in the living room was a signed Swindon Town FC shirt, dated from 1985. Four years before you were born, and not something you brought with you to London, so not yours. No other visible team memorabilia around the house outside of your old room, so not Carol��s. Ergo, it belonged to your father. He was a Swindon Town supporter and, because of that, you grew up to be one, too.”

“What else?” John asked, “Supporting a football team doesn’t really seem that solid, if I’m honest.”

“Your music tastes,” Sherlock replied, shifting sideways on the sofa to face John more directly. John shuffled to match him.

“What about them?”

“In a similar vein to sports teams, many children will develop a fondness for music they heard growing up. Your taste is very eclectic – despite your tendency to sing that waterfall song whenever you’re brushing your teeth after a good day – but there’s a clear preference for the genres of rock and pop, often older tunes rather than the ones playing in the charts now.

“On days where the topic of parents arises – be that Mrs Hudson speaking to her father back in Spain, or a case that focuses on a parent-child relationship – you have a tendency to listen to certain artists and songs more often.

“Another observation I made in the home, past the football shirt, was the shelf of CDs above the sofa. Mostly bands and artists from an older time, based on the designs on the spines that I could see. A few names I recognised from the playlists you’ve shown me before. The CDs themselves haven’t moved in some time – the spines facing the room were clear, as was the shelf they’re on, but the tops of them were coated in a layer of dust. They’re in an awkward position, being above the sofa. When dusting, your mother runs the cloth along the shelf and the section she can easily reach, but does not make the extra effort to reach higher to dust the top.

“The CDs aren’t hers – they are your father’s collection. And on those days when you play certain tracks more often, those songs are from artists that appear on that shelf. You are thinking of Harry Watson, and listen to songs that remind you of him as a way to feel closer to him.”

They had drifted closer together without John realising. John took a shaky breath at the wash of emotions brought on by how much Sherlock had observed of him without him even realising. However, he still wasn’t convinced.

“A lot of people listen to the music they grew up with, though. That doesn’t necessarily make it about me remembering my dad.”

“A fair counterpoint – well-reasoned, well done Watson.” the detective replied, offering him another smile. “In that case, I’ll move on to something more specific. How about the way you hold cutlery?”

“What?”

“When using a knife and fork, you hold the knife in your left hand and the fork in your right. If it were only a fork you were using, it could be excused away, as it could be if you were left-handed or ambidextrous. But you aren’t – you’re right-handed.”

Sherlock reached across, taking John’s left hand between his own. One wrapped across the ends of his fingers, whilst the other took his wrist in a gentle grip, just below the tan-line from where his watch usually sat.

They’d held hands before, but this felt different – more tender, more intimate somehow. Sherlock’s fingers were cool, but points of heat emanated from every point of contact between them. He swallowed nervously, turning his attention back to Sherlock, whose eyes were still focused on his wrist.

“You wear your watch on your left wrist, and favour picking things up with your right hand – your dominant one. Carol is the same, from what I have seen of her, and appliances around your childhood home were in positions favoured by right-handed people. The handle of the kettle pointing to the right, for example. So, why do you hold cutlery with the technique often used by left-handed people? Because you grew up mimicking someone who was left-handed: Harry Watson.”

“How can you tell?” John asked, hushed. Sherlock’s thumb swept gently over the tan-line, and John’s breath hitched.

“In photos of your father, I could see a watch on his right wrist,” the detective explained, his thumb continuing to brush over the pulse of John’s wrist. “There was also a particular photo of him holding a rifle – a training session based on his uniform and the surroundings – which had his left pointer finger held against the trigger.

“Harry Watson was left-handed, and you learnt to copy him in the way you held cutlery, despite being right-handed like your mother. You still do it today. It’s a habit you share with him. One you aren’t doing consciously, meaning it’s written into your subconscious – something that’s very unlikely to change.”

Sherlock’s fingers squeezed around his own, and John squeezed back, before using his other hand to adjust their grip so that their palms were touching. He placed his free hand on top of Sherlock’s, their conjoined hands a source of heat that warmed him through.

“Then of course, there’s the photo on your desk.” the detective continued. His voice sounded slightly unsteady, and a light flush had started to form across his cheeks. John stared, entranced.

“You are a sentimental man, and have a few important photos in your room. But specifically, it’s the one of you and your father I want to bring up.

“It’s faded, the colour desaturated in parts but otherwise undamaged. Sunlight damage. Photographs can start to fade when exposed to sunlight, due to UV rays. Given the age of the photo and the state that it’s in – plus the fact that it’s current position on your desk avoids any sunlight reaching it – I can deduce it’s been out on display near-constantly since it was first developed.

“Your room in the house was covered in posters and photos, but only a few have made it to London with you. One is of your mother and people that I believe are your grandparents, based on similarities in features. One is the photo you have of us, Mrs Hudson and Archie from a few months ago. And the third is you and your father.”

Squeezing his hand again, Sherlock continued. “It’s a treasured photo, and one you clearly rely on. You think of your father often, and care deeply about the visual reminder. This leads me on to my final deduction.”

“Which is?” John breathed.

“You are not adept at remembering dates. In fact, you keep nearly every date that’s important to you on your calendar. Friends’ birthdays, anniversaries, special events. You have nearly all of them written down – to help you remember them. But not your parents’ birthdays.

“This is because they are so important to you that you have managed to remember them, unprompted, every single year. You said it yourself: this was the very first time you forgot your father’s birthday.”

Sherlock’s eyes locked with his, gaze intense and earnest. John felt like he was unable to breathe again, but this time the feeling didn’t scare him.

He was with Sherlock: he could never be truly scared of anything so long as he was there.

“Do you understand the importance of that?” Sherlock continued, “That fact, alongside all the others, combine to provide only one possible answer. You care deeply about your parents, especially your father, and his memory is so completely entwined with your day-to-day life that you will never be able to truly forget him.

“Mistakes happen, John, you’re human. But you resolved it as soon as you realised. A bad son would have stopped caring years ago, wouldn’t be so hung up on this that he suffered nightmares from it. You love them so much that you have continued to remember, even during some of the most stressful times of your life. You have faced so much pain, so many events that would make a weaker man crumble, and you have continued to think of your parents, remember them, and care .

“You’re a good son, John. You are a good man, and Harry Watson would be proud of you.”

Eyes stinging, John let go of Sherlock’s hands to pull him into a hug, ensuring to wrap his arms around the other’s upper back. He pressed his face against Sherlock’s neck, taking deep breaths to avoid crying. He felt Sherlock’s arms twine around him in return, pulling him closer.

With that final confirmation, all of the remaining despair left him, melting away under the blazing heat of Sherlock’s conviction. John doubted he’d ever feel cold again, so long as he was close to the man shining like the sun in his arms.

He pulled back after a while, but was reluctant to move away. Instead he studied his friend’s face. They were so close, he could feel the other’s breath against his cheek, could pick out the multitude of colours in his eyes.

“Sherlock…” he began, biting at his lip anxiously. Sherlock’s eyes flickered down, zoning in on his mouth, and he watched the detective swallow.

“ John. ”

Without thinking about it, one of John’s hands rose to gently cup his face. Sherlock’s breath stuttered, his eyes closing as he pressed into the touch. It was John’s turn to swallow, his thumb absently smoothing against the other’s cheekbone.

The signs were all there, but he had to be certain that he wasn’t reading into things.

Truthfully, John felt as though he and Sherlock had been circling around each other over the past few months. He’d become aware of it after he’d been shot by Abe Slaney, in the following weeks where Sherlock had hovered and fussed in his own way.

He noticed how they’d both hold onto each other perhaps a little longer than necessary, how they’d had more quiet, gentle conversations away from the recording on his microphone, how sometimes he’d stare at Sherlock only to realise he was staring back.

The emotional rollercoaster that had been seeing Carrie again had left him scared – scared that Carrie’s words would bring his myriad flaws to the surface and Sherlock would observe them and decide he wasn’t worth it.

However, Sherlock hadn’t seemed to pay it any mind. If anything, the lingering touches and quiet stares had increased, to the point where a day without coming into contact left John feeling unsettled.

Bringing himself back to the moment, John took a breath, and released it shakily.

He had to be certain, and for that he had to be brave.

“Sherlock,” he began again, pausing as the other’s eyes fluttered open again to meet his, “I want to be clear, you can say no. If you aren’t interested, or- or anything, say no and I won’t bring it up again.”

Sherlock’s brow furrowed slightly, eyes darting across his face. After a moment, he blinked, eyes widening slightly in realisation. “Are you-”

Be brave, John.

“Can I… can I kiss you?” he asked, voice wobbling.

He watched, awed, as the other’s cheeks flushed red. As his pupils dilated, and he licked his lips before replying.

“ Please .”

The second that word had left Sherlock’s mouth, John closed the gap between them. His other hand rose up, joining the first in cradling the other’s face as if he were made of crystal. Sherlock kissed him back almost immediately, one hand curling against the nape of his neck as the other was placed between his shoulders.

John Watson had enjoyed his fair share of kisses in the past, but none of them held a candle to his first time kissing Sherlock Holmes.

After an indeterminate amount of time, John pulled away, pressing light kisses to Sherlock’s cheeks, his nose, his temple, before returning to his lips again. Sherlock hummed into the kiss, the hand at his nape pushing up to card through his hair whilst the other hand pulled the doctor closer to him.

Eventually needing to breathe, John pulled back again only to press his forehead against Sherlock’s, awed by the dazed expression on the other’s face. His hands slid down from his jaw to his shoulders, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into Sherlock’s collarbone.

“Was that- was that OK?” he found himself asking, a twist of nervousness in his gut despite everything.

Sherlock brushed their lips together again briefly in response, before rubbing his cheek against John’s in a way that absently reminded the doctor of a cat nuzzling. It was oddly endearing – something that John thought often about the consulting detective.

Opening his mouth to tell the detective as much, he was interrupted by a jaw-cracking yawn. He felt Sherlock chuckling quietly at him and grumbled amicably.

“Alright, alright, it’s not that funny.”

“It rather is, I’m afraid. But it’s understandable, you’re already running on fewer hours sleep than your body is used to, and emotional stress can be exhausting.” Sherlock replied, pressing another gentle kiss against his temple before moving back. John missed the warmth almost immediately.

“But I don’t wanna go to bed, I’ve been wanting to kiss you for months!” he whined, too tired to be embarrassed by his own honesty. Another pretty flush formed over Sherlock’s face, and his expression flickered from surprise to amusement.

“I’ve wanted the same. But I promise you can kiss me again in the morning.”

John blinked, waking up a little at the implication. They hadn’t explicitly defined anything, but did that mean…?

“What about the day after? Do you promise I can kiss you then, too?”

Sherlock gave him a look that was so tender, so full of warmth and affection that he was worried he’d start crying again.

“I promise,” he vowed, quiet but emphatic, “tomorrow, the day after… as many days as you want.”

Well, in for a penny…

“All of them. I want all of them, if that’s what you want too.”

Another kiss, lingering.

“Nothing would make me happier, John.”

__________

Check it out on AO3 too!

[jawnscoffee]

Sherlock's Wedding Speech

ok so this is a very random onehsot i've head in my head for AGES and it rained today and that means: perfect day to stay inside and write :D

the title says everything (even though i have NO idea if sherlock would actually say sth like this but i just love his best man speech way too much). hope you like it!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ladies and gentlemen, family, friends, and...uhm... others. 

When I stood here for the first time, I was babbling something about telegrams that John received, which, in case you forgot, are still not actually telegrams; we just call them telegrams. I still haven't figured out why, by the way. I guess I'll just have to be content with the fact that it's a wedding tradition.  

When I stood here for the first time, I thought telegrams were stupid because I didn't know what it was like to receive telegrams myself. I didn't understand why people would congratulate you on something like a wedding or on finding somebody you want to spend the rest of your life with. I thought it was stupid since a wedding is nobody else's business anyway, and after all, it is very rare that you actually do end up spending the rest of your life with the particular person you married that day.  I didn't understand because I didn't know back then what it felt like to have found someone you knew you would love for the rest of your life and even longer still, no matter what. I didn't understand because I didn't know what it felt like to be loved by this particular person just as much in return. 

When John Watson asked me to marry him, I suddenly did.  

John Watson. My friend, John Watson. My...love. 

When John first broached the subject of getting married, I was confused—even more so when he asked me to be his best man.  I confess that at first, once again, I didn't realise he was asking me. It took me a little longer to understand what he was saying than when he asked me to be his best man and why he, all of a sudden, knelt down in front of me. I couldn't express just a scrap of emotion, which, understandably, unsettled John a bit.  Looking back at it, I think the reason why I couldn't do it was because, just as I didn't expect to be anybody's best man or best friend, I didn't expect anybody to ever kneel down for me. Or, well, propose to me, as I later understood.  

For a very long time, I thought that a wedding was nothing short of a celebration of all that is false, specious, irrational, and sentimental in this ailing and morally compromised world. I considered a wedding to be nothing but honouring the death watch beetle that is the doom of our society and, in time, one feels certain, our entire species. I, unfortunately, stated both of these fairly openly, if anyone has trouble remembering.  

When John knelt down in front of me and asked me to be his husband, though, this mindset died just like my false belief about telegrams, and I finally started to understand. 

John Watson right here is not only my helpmate during my adventures, which I consider to have been ours for a long time, actually. John Watson is not only the bravest, kindest, and wisest human being I have ever had the good fortune of knowing, even though this is, by any means, the case. 

This man, whom I am lucky enough to call my husband from now on, is far more than that.  

John Watson is the person I have never even imagined meeting, since it takes a good bit of luck to meet your special someone. But I did have this luck. Because John Watson is my special someone.

He is the person I will love for the rest of my life and even longer, and he has saved me from so many misfortunes I'm unable to put into words.

He is not only my best friend and the one whom I love most in this world, but also the one who showed me what it's like to be loved in return. He showed me that receiving felicitating telegrams is actually not a stupid thing at all, because sometimes even I cannot believe how lucky I am to have found my very own kind of forever.

He showed me that weddings are not a death watch beetle that is the doom of our society, but rather a promise that I am more than willing to make.  

This time, I cannot congratulate you on your choice of companion, John. I'm still an utterly ridiculous man, redeemed only by the warmth and constancy of your friendship and...love. But, nevertheless, I will happily thank everyone who congratulates me. 

When I say I love this man and will love him until all eternity, it is the truest promise of which I'm capable.

I won't say that I love John more than anybody has ever loved anyone before, since you cannot and should not compare one love to another. However, when I say I love this man, I mean that I love him more than anyone will ever love him and has ever loved him before, and that I have a lifetime ahead to prove that.  

With the bright rings on our ring fingers, I've made an even brighter promise I will never forget to try to fulfil. 

John, when you knelt down, you made me, and this is something I can say for certain, the happiest man on earth.  I wish I could describe it more in detail, but I simply love you more than words can say.  

With the rings on our fingers, you stole the very last piece of my heart, and I'm not afraid to call myself a heartless man any more. 

I don't need legal papers to say that I'm yours and you're mine, because I already am and will always be yours. But if this is the way to celebrate the luck I've got, I'll be more than happy to raise my glass to the man who is not only my love but also my husband from this day on.  

I love you, John Watson, more than everything I've ever loved before. Thank you for making me the happiest I've ever been.    

tagging: @topsyturvy-turtely @a-victorian-girl @lisbeth-kk @peanitbear @just-a-fixed-point-in-time @dw91165 @writingloud @7-percent @blogstandbygoy @johnlockifconvenient @kat987 @mary-johnlocked @meohmycroft @consultingtribble @paulineholmes02 @jameshavinganxiety @lastsociopaths @catlock-holmes @jobooksncoffee (hope that's okay! tbh still don't get when and what people you're supposed to tag...)

[charlesoberonn]

Regarding Sherlock Holmes:

We can discuss wether the BBC Show was good or bad forever (I agree with HBomberguy though) but I think the biggest tragedies of said shows existence is the fact that now there is this popculture assumption that a Sherlock Holmes has to be this cold and uncaring asshole that belittles everyone and especially Watson who in turn has to be a dumbass.

And like, no! In the original material Holmes and Watson were kind and funny and excited about cases, Holmes especially, (though as you noted, Watson was 200% an enabler with 0 regrets) and they would happily help the less fortunate or bend and break the law when the law was wrong! And as an oldschool fan, it breaks my heart that so many either forgot this or never learned this in the first place!

Yes, Holmes is an autistic weirdo, BUT he is a kind, friendly autistic weirdo, and with his best friend they solve mysteries and help people!

For modern adaptations, Elementary is a lot more in keeping with the spirit of the original stories despite all of its changes (like moving the setting to America and genderswapping some of the characters, namely Watson).

[fairy-writes]

Hello, can I asked for some headcanon of Mycroft Holmes having a crush on Y/n as the little sister of Moriarty Family, please? 🥺🥺🥺🥺

CRUSHES ARE FOR ORDINARY PEOPLE

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Moriarty the Patriot

Pairing(s): Mycroft Holmes x Female!Moriarty!Reader

Genre(s)/Tag(s): FLUFF, Crushes

Notes: I did change it to the Moriarty’s older sister instead of younger because Mycroft is in his 30s while they’re all in their 20s, lol

__________________________________________________________________________

Admittedly, the moment Mycroft realizes he has a crush—and on Albert James Moriarty’s older sister, no less—he panics. 

Him? Have a silly little childish crush on you? Preposterous!

Crushes are for ordinary people. And he is definitely not ordinary.

So he does what any reasonable man would do and buries his feelings. 

You were also his secretary, so it would be a conflict of interest anyway.

Therefore, burying his feelings and hoping they would go away would be the logical option.

At least… until Sherlock finds out.

The teasing was relentless.

Somehow, that information got to Watson. 

And in turn, somehow, that information gets to Albert. 

Albert confronts him about said information one day when no one else is in Mycroft’s office.

“What do you intend to do about it?” He asks his superior, who looks up from his paperwork. 

It would take an idiot to realize what he’s talking about. 

“Absolutely nothing. It’s a conflict of interest and completely inappropriate for the workplace.” Mycroft replies, and Albert nods once, a stern look in his eyes. 

“Good.” He says, clicks his heels together, and leaves with a salute. 

His feelings get harder to ignore the more you show up to his office to work. 

He admires your cleanliness and the dresses you wore (you were always dressed immaculately, which he definitely liked). 

He admires your hard-working attitude and how you smile at him whenever you see him. 

It makes his heart flutter and his feelings that much more difficult to ignore. 

Surprisingly, you approach him one day with a request that blows his expectations out of the water. 

“Would you like to go to dinner with me?” You ask, and he drops his pen in shock. 

The object of his affection asking him to such an intimate affair? 

He’s only human after all. It’s only fair that he would be in shock even if he wasn’t an ordinary person. 

Initially, he declines. 

It was a conflict of interest, and while you knew that, it didn’t stop you from asking again. 

“I don’t give a rat’s ass that it’s improper. I like you and would like to take you out for dinner if you’ll have me.” You say determinedly, and he gapes at your vulgar words.

He forgot that you always spoke your mind and said exactly what you felt. Even if it was against societal expectations of women. 

This, admittedly, makes you embarrassed. 

“Sorry. That was rude of me… I’ll go and—”

“Wait!” He stands behind his desk and rounds it to stand before you. 

He’s a good deal taller. You have to look up to meet his dark eyes. 

But he doesn’t mind. 

In fact, he finds it endearing.

And shockingly (maybe not), he finds himself accepting your invitation. 

His heart stutters at the blinding smile that you direct at him. 

It’s beautiful. 

And the rest is history. 

[dickwheelie]

this is something i should probably just nut up and write a fic about but im thinking about watson moving out of baker street to go live with mary and just. with how fucking messy and chaotic their rooms are i can't imagine he's able to actually find all of his stuff to take with him. like in his bedroom everything gets emptied out but in the living room, and even in holmes' bedroom, he probably winds up leaving a bunch of odds and ends behind because they're buried underneath a pile of papers, or they wound up on the wrong shelf, or watson just plain forgot something was his and not holmes'. and i bet he ends up accidentally taking some stuff that belongs to holmes--there are probably a bunch of books they've swapped back and forth so many times they can't remember who bought them originally. and like the model ship watson built that ended up in holmes' bedroom at some point, there's probably a bunch of stuff like that. they've lived together for like a decade at that point so their belongings are all mixed up with each other, it's just impossible to fully extricate watson's presence from 221b. idk. something about a place being lived in and loved by the people who have lived there. something about 221b being a metaphor for their relationship, platonic or romantic or however you wanna slice it, about the two of them coexisting so closely you can't fully separate them anymore. i imagine that one day when they both actually, finally move out for real this time to go live in sussex together and clear out the place from top to bottom there's still an echo there, of the clutter and mess of them living next to and on top of each other for over two decades. they leave a shape behind.