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ren-therose · 4 years ago

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It Was Always You

Dr. John Watson X F!Reader (3.9k words)

Summary: You walk into 221B, knowing full well that Sherlock, a colleague of yours, isn’t there; however, his flatmate John is. In his own jealousy and anger at Sherlock, a misunderstanding occurs, and you attempt to resolve it.

Warnings: angst, fluff, jealousy, smut 18+, thigh riding, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), this mans sexy hands ( dont @ me)

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Mrs. Hudson was kind enough to let me into 221 Baker Street, knowing that no one else would ever answer the door except her. When she opened it, she was taken aback to see me standing there, still in my work clothes with an envelope in hand.

“Oh hello dear! I thought you were Sherlock. That man always seems to lose the keys to the flat. I have had to make so many copies for him. Just the other day, I caught him trying to slip his hand through the mail slot and, oh! Anyway, that’s probably not why you are here- you must be here to see Sherlock! If you’re looking for him, he isn’t here love, but you might be able to find him-”

I cut her off, grabbing her hands and pulling her in to give her a tight hug, landing a peck on her cheek as I pulled away. I loved the boys landlady, but Mrs. Hudson had a way of going on incredibly long and irrelevant tangents. She made the best biscuits in all of London though.

“No Mrs. Hudson, I’m not here to see Sherlock....I...I-I’m actually here to see John,” I said sheepishly, looking down at the envelope in my hands. I shook my head, trying not to get caught up in my own stress, and stretched the envelope out to her. “Mrs. Hudson, before I go up, I have a present for you. Two tickets to the opera, and a handsome man waiting for you there. I know he is the one that has been bringing you those gorgeous roses,” I said, looking behind her to see the vase on the entry table. Her eyes widened as she shifts slightly, stealing a glance at the flowers, as if she was checking to see if they were still there. She turned, taking the envelope and pulled out the tickets to the Royal Opera House, only to immediately shove them back in. She tried to push the envelope into my hands again, but I declined, making a surrendering gesture and backing away. We quarreled for a few moments, pivoting around the tiny entry until I finally made it up a few of the steps, asserting my dominance to show the unwillingness I held.

“Ms. Y/N, you are quite the meddler,” she said with a shake of her head, opening the envelope once more. “...what time does the show start....my goodness! I have to change now!” Mrs. Hudson exclaims. Lucky for her, my plan was already in motion.

“You have 15 minutes until the private car will come to pick you up, ma’am, but you always look lovely,” I reply with a wink.

“Wear red!” I call back to her, as I climb the stairs to the second floor, hearing her coo as she made her way back into her flat.

The door of 221B was unlatched, and I didn’t think John would mind the intrusion. He too would probably just assume it was Sherlock waltzing in. I opened the door to see the doctor, sitting in his usual spot, typing away on a new blog post. He had today's morning paper next to him, as though he needed to cite another source about his own adventure with the famous Mr. Holmes. He didn’t look up, but instead called out, “I thought you weren’t coming back tonight. Something to do with some new case? Or was it perhaps Mycroft? I can’t keep track of you anymore, though I’m sure you care little for my location and/or well-being if it doesn’t affect a case��. He was clearly in a mood, but it was my fault Sherlock was out. He may be a genius, but he didn’t seem to realize that Molly and I had played him. He would be busy playing with cadavers all evening.

I took off my coat and hung it on the rack by the door, as well as my scarf. My work clothes were not usually something I would wear around their flat, but I had come straight from the university where I teach and research human behavior, attitude and persuasion. The button up blouse and navy blue skirt were a staple to my wardrobe of simplistic outfits. The only bits character I would add to my looks were my shoes. Today, I had settled on well-loved, leather loafers with a good sized heel that matched my tweed coat. I kicked off the shoes and walked behind him into the kitchen, looking for something to defrost the chill I had caught from walking across town. Or maybe it was the nerves.

“You better not be placing any more human remains in our fridge Sherlock. I’m tired of the disembodied heads, an-and, and, singular eyeballs! It’s like they are staring into my soul...” his words trailed off. “Y/N?” he asked with a hint of fear, as well as amusement. He knew it was me, but it was hard to tell from the outfit and position I was in. I could very well be a murderer, client, or complete stranger, rummaging through his fridge. But it was me. I was bent over in the fridge, looking for cream, and I hadn’t noticed him stand and turn back towards the kitchen. As my arse stuck out from the behind the door of the fridge, I called back to him. “Do you want a drink? I feel like a tea,” I exclaimed, standing up right to look at him with bottle of creamer in hand. I could see him relax as he looked me over, checking to make sure I wasn’t in any distress. My hair was in a French-twist of sorts, but by this time of day, it usually fell around my face and would lose its form, becoming a messy blob. I brushed the hair out of my face, giving him a smile as I set the creamer down on the meth-lab of a kitchen island. I often acted manic around them, trying to control my own obsessions and addictions, but they both looked out for me. John enjoyed caring for people, especially Sherlock and I.

He shook his head, complete with his mental examination of me. “I didn’t know you were coming over. You know that Sherlock isn’t-”

I pounded my fist on the counter, not hard enough to be angry, but enough to show my irritation. “Why does everyone think I have come to see Sherlock? Even Mrs. Hudson had assumed!” I exclaimed, walking across the kitchen. Huffily, I grabbed the kettle and began to fill it with tap water, leaning over the sink as I lifted my heels, back and forth, shifting my weight.

“Well,” he began, rubbing the back of his neck, looking off to the side. “The two of you work closely together, I just assumed that you would want to pick his brain about some new theory you’re trying to publish,” he murmured.

“Jesus John, you make it sound so salacious,” I laugh, reaching up to get the mugs. “What do you think we are doing at my office, or when we are gone?” I had to go on my tip toes, especially since I had taken off my heels. As I reached, I didn’t notice that John had been looking over my stocking covered legs, taking in the tone of my calves as I struggled to grasp a mug.

“Here, let me help you Y/N,” John said, rushing over to help grab the cups. I had already grabbed them, but his hands wrapped around mine, supporting the mugs and me. He was so close, my chest mere inches from his, the drinkware between us. He looked down between us, then back at me, a look in his eyes that gave my stomach butterflies.

Before I could get ahead of myself, I stepped back to put the mugs on the island next to us. “John, Sherlock is merely a colleague with an annoyingly witty brain that can help me with my publication. I can’t stand the bastard most of the time,” I say, pouring an ungodly amount of sugar into my cup.

“Well, that makes two of us. I just thought you fancied him, especially since you come over and help take care of the place quite a bit.”

It was true. Anytime I came over to ask them about the latest case and the actions of the killer, I found myself tidying up, doing dishes, and even making meals. But it wasn’t for Sherlock.

“No John, that’s not why I help out,” I say tentatively. My body was facing the many bottles and beakers on the counter in the center of the kitchen, while he stood next to me, leaning his side against the counter, still looking down at me. Taking a deep breath, I turn to face him. “John, it’s because I-”

Before I could finish, we hear the familiar owl-like call from Mrs. Hudson to vocalize her entrance. “Hoo Hoo! Y/N, thank you again for these tickets. However will I repay you?” the woman asks as she wraps her arms around me for a hug.

“Oh Mrs. Hudson, consider it an early gift!” I say, squeezing her back.

“There is no holiday coming up,” John says inquisitively.

“Sometimes, there isn’t a reason, John,” I say with a little edge to my voice. “Give my best to your handsome admirer!”

“I will love, I will. See you later tonight!” she chirped as she walked out.

“Or not,” I mumble with a small snicker.

“Heard that!” She calls out behind her. For an older woman, her hearing can be remarkable. I laugh, and John emits a slight chuckle as well. We look to each other once more, smiling with content, though I can see John’s brain trying to solve the question of why I gave her the tickets. But before he could interrogate me, the kettle begins to whistle.

“Tea’s ready. Earl Grey or Black Tea?” I ask, quickly moving past him to the tin.

“I know you know what I like,” he says, arms crossed as he watches me pick out the bags.

“I just thought I’d give you an option,” I say, bringing the bags back and dropping them in the mugs. “But I know not to ask about the sugar,” I say with a wink, a sense of my more relaxed self peeking through. I turn to grab the kettle, but John has already done so. I am standing in front of the mugs, when he comes up behind me, pouring the water from around. He is close to me, but not touching. His other hand is just barely ghosting over mine, hanging by my side.

“I’m so sorry, I could move,” I manage to say, stepping off to the side.

“No, no, you’re no bother,” he softly says. I can smell the aftershave on his skin, a smell I had often found so comforting. This new proximity, however, allowed me to better isolate the smell of pine, a hint of mint, and a spice I couldn’t name.

I stirred our drinks, pulling the teabags out now that they had steeped. Adding a dash of cream to mine, I hold it the cup up, signaling a toast.

“To knowing one another.”

“To knowing one another,” he responds.

We clink our cups, taking a sip, not breaking eye contact. I lower my mug, breaking the stare, as I look down at the light brown color of the tea. John clears his throat, moving slightly closer as he looks down at the contents of his own drink.

“Umm..should we, maybe, er, sit?” I say, sounding as though I hadn’t just barged in there several minutes before like I owned the place.

“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea,” he replies.

I was the first to move, coming around to his chair and sitting in the warm seat.

“Yeah, no, get up that’s my spot,” he says, shaking his head as he comes to stand in front of me.

“Sherlock isn’t here, why can’t you sit in his seat?” I ask, pulling my legs up into the cushion, tucking them under my bum.

“I can, but I was in the middle of writing something,” he says, hesitantly sitting down in his friends leather chair.

“I’ll proof it before you continue,” I say, picking up his laptop to put in my lap. He sighs across from me, clearly annoyed. I toss the paper at him. “Here, do the word puzzle or something. Sherlock can’t bother us “ordinary” people about it if we solve it without him around,” I say, scrolling to the beginning of his post.

He picks up the pencil next to the chair, searching the pages for the crossword. As I begin reading, I can’t help but look up to steal glances at the doctor across from me, a man who is constantly overshadowed by the genius he solves crimes with. Sherlock had once told me that while he solves crimes, Watson saves lives. I wonder if he will need to save that for a speech one day, but for now, it reminds me of what an incredible man John is. He has saved my life on many occasions, probably not even knowing, though if he did, probably never taking the credit.

“John, this might be your best entry yet,” I exclaim. Though I felt he was too humble in his writing, he did a wonderful job of painting a picture for the reader and giving us a map inside the detectives thought process.

“No no, it was all Sherlock. He is always the one who solves it,” he says without looking up.

I set the laptop down beside me, pulling my legs down to be crossed over one another at the ankles.

“John, you don’t think very highly of yourself and...well.... it breaks my heart. Truly. Sherlock can’t do these things without you,” I say, looking at the newspaper that hides his face.

“Well, it isn’t without your help around here that I don’t kill him. You’re my saving grace, Y/N,” he says softly. My breathing hitches in my throat. Now was as good a time as any. He still hasn’t moved the paper, as if afraid to see me reaction. Quietly, I slip from the chair to my knees. I move towards him and my place a hand on the top of his leg. He lowers the paper, looking into my bright eyes. As he sets the paper down beside him, John sits up a bit more, leaning in to me. I straighten up, bringing my face closer to his. My hand goes to his cheek, rubbing it softly with my thumb.

“John, it’s always been you,” I whisper.

I slide my hand to the nape of his neck, drawing him. He leans down with parted lips, grabbing my face with both of his hands and kisses me.

Years of knowing the two men, and all I could think of was this moment, the one I never knew if I could have. Our lips fit like puzzle pieces, one on top of the other, allowing for us to feel the buzz of our connection as it lingered on. My other hand had gone to his sweater and was now gripping it, the only thing left grounding me to the earth. As we pulled away, our eyes met, as they had so many times, and the look that we saw finally had a name: desire.

I pulled him back in again, this time with more passion and the need to truly feel that he was mine. His hands had moved from my face down to my waist, and pulled me up onto his lap. My skirt rode up so that I could straddle him, and I prayed it wouldn’t rip (but if it did, i wouldn’t feel too bad).The feeling of his grip around my torso brought back the butterflies, as we gave sharp, open mouthed kisses, our bodies closer than they had ever been. His mouth started to trail from my mine, down to my jaw, under to my neck, causes little hiccup-like gasps to escape me. My hands were on his neck and in his hair, scratching softly to encourage this. As he came down to my collarbone, he stopped abruptly and pulled back to look at me.

“Is something wrong?” I asked, worry clouding my face. I start to get off of him when his arms pull me back, holding me in his lap.

“No no, it’s just...we are in Sherlock's chair,” he says awkwardly.

“Do you think I care whose chair it is John? Besides it’s a bit better for sitting on you and I don’t think I want to get off you anytime soon,” I say smuggly, dragging my hands down to his chest.

“Oh you like sitting in my lap,” he responds, looking quite proud of himself. In response, I rolled my hips against him, feeling him grow underneath me. I bite my lip as I lean to whisper “feels like you do too”. I lick the shell of his ear, exhaling softly.

A low groan comes from his throat and he places his hands on my waist, giving them a pull that causes my body to roll against him once more. I shiver, dropping my head back as I do so. I don’t think either of us have done something like this since we were quite young, but the friction of it, matched with our tension we had stored for years felt so good.

As he continued to roll my hips against his, I leaned back down to kiss him, this time, allowing for him to search my mouth. My hands went to his sweater as I peeled it off of him. I then started unbuttoning his shirt, dragging my nails as I did so. This caused him to buck up into me and I let out a yelp, grinding down against him.

“Here,” he said, lifting me from his lap to his knee. “I want you to ride it for me, could you love?”

How could I say no? Immediately, I rocked against him, feeling myself grow wetter. My skirt was still up around my waist, but as he undid my blouse, He could see that I had a matching set of lingerie underneath. He smirked with a low growl, wrapping his arm around me again, letting my blouse hang freely as he pulled my chest to his mouth. He left love bites on the tops of my chest, suckling and licking as he pulled my bra away from my nipples. They were already perked up from the way I was still grinding onto his knee, but the moment his mouth latched onto my right nipple, I couldn’t help but pull at his hair. He moaned against my breast, causing a vibration that ripped through my body.

“John, I’m so close, please help me,” I gasp, rocking myself in a rhythm I could barely keep. He removes his mouth from my chest, and I drop my forehead to his, as he moves his hands to take control of my waist once more. He tenses his thigh underneath me, creating a new pressure against my clit. I cry out, wrapping my arms tighter around his neck.

“Right there John, please don’t stop,” I choke, trying to breathe a little deeper for fear I might hyperventilate.

He plants a kiss on my lips, pulling my lip away from between his teeth. My legs begin to shake as my orgasm takes my body, releasing my fluids onto his thigh as he continues to roll my hips through it. I can barely sit up, as he lays me down to rest against his chest, drawing on my back with his finger.

“That was so good, Y/N, you did so good for me,” he whispers. I smile, kissing his neck. His eyes flutter closed as I continue to kiss and suck at his neck. As I swing my leg off of him so that I am once again between his legs, I slowly start kissing down to his chest, licking up, and then continuing to kiss back down.

“Jesus, love, you’re gonna be the death of me he says, a hand on his forehead as he looks down to see me biting at his pelvic bone, while my hands creep up his thighs to his belt. I can feel his hard on against my boner, and I feel bad for neglecting it during my ride, but I know how to make it up to him. Once I undid his pants, I started shimming them down him. Pulling his swollen cock out from his trousers, I can already see the beads of precum seeping from his slit. I involuntarily lick my lips, before I give his cock a slow stroke.

John groans above me, his head rolled back and to the side, looking at me with a smile. I smile back, maintaining eye contact as I lean down to plant a kiss on the tip of his dick. His mouth parts lightly as his breathing becomes more shallow, waiting to see what I will do next. I kiss my way down his shaft, all the way to his balls, holding them in one hand while I continued to slowly pump his member in my other. I sucked at them for a moment, releasing them with a pop, causing him to buck up into my hand. I open my mouth and let my tongue drag all the way up the underside of his cock, until I reach the top. I wrap my lips around him, slowly pushing my head down as far as I could take him. His hand goes for my hair, which at this point had fallen out of my usual work-do, so that he could see my face.

“Oh...you know what you’re doing. Keep going love,” he groans out, desperate for more.

I begin to bob my head up and down, taking the rest of shaft in my hand. I use my tongue as well to swipe of his dick as I messily blow the doctor above me. It was no surprise to learn that he had jerked off to this very thought many times, but to actually have it happen was a dream come true for him. As I continue to work his cock, the wetness of my vagina continues to throb at the thought that he could be inside me. I can feel him getting closer as his moans become more strained and grip on my hair tightens.

“Oh, oh, Y/N, you’re gonna have to stop love, I wanna be inside you when I finish,” he says, looking down on me, signaling our next move. I look up at him as I go down as far as I can, gagging on his dick while little tears prick at the corner of my eyes. He pulls me off of him by my hair, leaning down to kiss me sloppily. I had never seen the army doctor so disheveled before, but I loved this different side of him. I stood up to straddle him once more, and as I sat, he took his fingers and ran them through my slit. I hissed at the action, not wanting his fingers when I was ready for his cock. But he took the cum and slickness from my first orgasm and rubbed it onto his cock, preparing me for it. As I sat up, he held his tip to my entrance, looking into my eyes for the green light. I slid down onto him, my mouth gaping open with a sharp inhale as he filled me.

“Jesus Christ...” was all he could say, as I sat with him inside me, both of us half dressed in his living room.

I rolled my hips as I had when I first sat on him, shivering at the girth of his member. I found a rhythm to pace myself with, causing us to pant and groan in unison. As I bounced on him, he brushed my hair behind my ears, cupping my face while I braced myself with my hands on his chest.

He slid down a little shifting the angle of him inside me, causing him to hit my g-spot.

“Jesus, John, that’s it, right there,” I cry, rolling my hips against him. His hands move to wrap around my waist once more, as he takes control, pounding up into me. I shouted, leaning forward with one hand on the back of the chair, the other supporting his neck. Although my mouth was on his, all I could do was moan into him as he relentless hit spot that needed him most.

“Touch yourself,” he demanded. It was a voice he used when he needed to be taken seriously and I wasn’t about to go against him. I snaked my hand between us and made tight circles are my clit, rolling against him and my hand.

“John, please, I can’t, I’m gonna cu-”

He cut me off by sitting up a bit more and replacing my hand with his. I shouted as I gripped his shoulders, riding his cock as the tension broke. I began to pulse around him as I cried out his name over and over. My orgasm ripped through me, and before I could stop myself, I was squirting on top of Dr. John Watson.

He groaned out, “Y/n, Y/n, oh my god, good girl,” as he bucked up into me, coating my walls with his cum.

We rode out our high, forehead to forehead, trying to catch our breaths as our eyes remained close. After a few moments passed, we opened our eyes, looking to see if what we had done was a mistake. But there was no trace of regret in either of our faces.

“I’m yours, Dr. Watson,” I say, taking his face in my hand. He leans into me, then turning to kiss the inside of my hand. “I was always yours”.

Still inside me, we look around. Nothing had changed, except for maybe our relationship status.

“Do you think he will know?” I ask.

“There is not a doubt in my mind,” John replies.

“But do you think he will know we did it in his chair?” I laugh.

“Not if we clean it well enough,” he says, leaning in to rub his nose against mine.

We get up and begin cleaning, though it was hard to bend over, as my knees buckled nearly every time. By the time we had cleaned the room and ourselves up, it was nearly one in the morning. I moved my clothes into Johns room so that Sherlock wouldn’t notice if I slipped out the next morning. All the dishes had been dried and put away so that there was no trace of a guest.

As John and I lay in bed together, waiting for Sherlock to come home, John leans over and asks cautiously, “is this why you gave Mrs. Hudson those opera tickets?”

I freeze for a moment, knowing that I had been caught.

“I just needed her to not interrupt when I told you how I felt. I didn’t know it would lead to...well, this,” I giggle.

He laughs, pulling me towards him to kiss my forehead. “God, I love you.”

He freezes against my forehead, realizing it was the first time we had ever even said the word love to one another, even as friends.

I pull him down by the chin, to kiss him softly on the lips. “I love you too”.

---

A few hours after we had fallen asleep, we were awoken to the bedroom door being swung open and slammed against the wall.

“On my chair, John?!”

~~~~~~~~~~~

If you can’t tell, Martin Freeman rules my life and I have a deep and passionate love for him. I hope you enjoyed and look out for more of this because I am on a ROLL! xoxo

#dr. watson #dr. watson x reader #dr. watson smut #dr. watson fluff #smut #angst #jealousy #sherlock bbc #thigh riding

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thebeethathums · 6 years ago

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Home - 1

Pairing: John Watson x HolmesTwin!Reader

Warnings: The reader in this fic is a TWIN to Sherlock Holmes and as such shares some physical features to him. Please read at your own discretion with this in mind.

A/N: Bolded text indicates John’s Blog Posts

221B Baker St.

Home.

You wondered if your brother, Sherlock, would be surprised to see you or if he would have anticipated your return. You hoped he’d be surprised as you adjusted the duffle over your shoulder. You rummaged around in the pocket of your military issue camouflage pants for the set of keys you always carried.

You hadn’t bothered to change when the plane had landed, instead opting to go straight home in uniform, pulling off your jacket to reveal the white tank top underneath so you could enjoy the cool London air.

Quickly unlocking the door, you forced yourself to take the stairs slowly and with the utmost stealth even though you were itching to bound up them excitedly. You carefully skipped the squeaky step, holding your dog tags so they wouldn’t clink together as you did, and came to a stop in front of the door. You caressed the knob lightly with a slight smile- Home.

It was unlocked you noted, meaning he was home or that Mrs. Hudson was cleaning, but the latter was unlikely as you had seen her own flat was locked. He had to be home. You took a deep breath and swung the door open calling, “Guess what, Sherly, I’m home!”

The flat was quiet and you assumed he was in another part of it so you dropped your bag to take stock of the damage he’d manage to do while you were gone. Leaning to peer into the kitchen you smirked at the fact that it was a mess, as usual, and then hopped up on the couch to trace the bullet holes on the wall, his aim was getting sloppy.

John stumbled in to find you standing on his couch and wondered briefly if he should grab some sort of weapon… that is until he noticed that your arm was in a sling.

You heard a noise behind you and were too ecstatic to realize it wasn’t Sherlock, as you normally would have, “Please at least pretend to be surprised to see me, Sherlock. I know it’s not in your nature but still.”

You spun and frowned when you found someone you didn’t know and not Sherlock like you’d expected, “Oh sorry. Hello, you must be the flatmate… and I’m awkwardly standing on your couch.” You looked down at it for a second as John just gaped at you.

You stepped down carefully, a little embarrassed to have been caught standing on the furniture, and examined him with intelligent eyes and a tilted head in a way that reminded him so much of Sherlock he wanted to slap you.

You raised an eyebrow slightly, “ Army Doctor. Afganistan… possibly Iraq. Medically discharged. Not recently as you’ve been here for a while. Impressive considering Sherlock’s tendencies. Seems he finds you useful. I’m inclined to agree. He needs more friends…”

You paused for a moment, brows furrowing, “Your eyes… they are incredibly sad. Not over something recent but rather a deeper hurt that sticks with you even as time passes. The loss of someone close. It intensified as I began, I remind you of them…”

You had a sudden realization and a hand went to your mouth, as you murmured, “No. No, I’m wrong. That can’t be.”

You turned from him to think, closing your eyes to put together every detail and John realized you didn’t know.

Whoever you were, you didn’t know that Sherlock Holmes was dead.

You took a sharp breath, “No. This is all some elaborate and cruel prank to get back at me for enlisting. It has to be.”

John took a step forward, unsure of what to do, when the door swung open and Mycroft stepped in. He took one look at you and let out a sad sigh, “I was hoping to get here before you. I asked you to let me pick you up when your plane landed.”

“How long?” you asked softly.

“6 months.”

You spun to him, your voice raising a few decibels, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You would have become reckless, (F/n). I did not want you to lose focus and jeopardize your life or the lives of others.”

“I missed the funeral. I could have at least been here for that on temporary leave. You were supposed to tell me if anything happened. You were supposed to keep an eye on him.”

“(F/n) I-“

“Get out.” You yelled and then spun and went into John’s room, slamming the door behind you, only to open it again, grumbling “Right. Flatmate. Not my room anymore.” As you went into Sherlock’s room and slammed that door as well.

John looked from the closed door to Mycroft and Mycroft let out a heavy sigh, “That went better than I expected.”

John cocked an eyebrow, “Better…? What did you expect then?”

“I rather expected to her to hit me.”

John nodded, “Right… Now, what exactly is going on?”

“Ah… I take it she didn’t introduce herself then. You have just made the acquaintance of the third and youngest Holmes, (F/n). I expect you to keep an eye on her.”

John blinked a few times in shock, “Youngest Holmes… so she’s your sister. That explains before when- Wait a minute. What’d you mean keep an eye on her?”

Mycroft was already partially out the door, “She’s not leaving anytime soon and as I value my well being, I am not going make any attempt to remove her. It would seem you’ve acquired a new flatmate, Dr. Watson.”

John didn’t have time to protest as Mycroft swiftly left, so he turned and looked at the door you’d slammed just minutes ago and sighed, he was still grieving himself. The last thing he needed was a grieving Holmes that he barely knew.

The New Flatmate

It would seem Sherlock has a few surprises for me even from the grave as today I emerged from my room to find a young woman standing on my couch. Apparently, he had a sister he never told me about. I know right? Who saw that coming? I should be angry I guess but, seeing as he didn’t exactly tell me about Mycroft at first either, I suppose I should have expected it. The Holmes family is quite interesting, to say the least.

She didn’t know.

That Sherlock is dead.

Mycroft claims he didn’t tell her because she would have lost focus in the field. Oh, that’s right- I forgot to mention that she’s military of some sort, at least that’s what I would assume from the uniform and dog tags. After a short row and multiple door slams, Mycroft appointed me to take care of her for the time being. Can you believe that? As if I don’t have enough on my mind already. That man thinks he can do whatever he wants and I hate to say it but he very likely can. The odd thing is he seemed afraid of her, which I find worrisome.

She has currently shut herself in Sherlock’s room and I doubt she plans on coming out anytime soon. As annoying as the whole situation is, I can’t help but feel bad for her. Coming home from all that to such terrible news can’t be easy. If I had come home to the news Harry had died in that fashion, I would have… well, I don’t know but it probably wouldn’t have been good. Is it awful that I’m actually hoping she’ll be as fascinating as he was? They were related after all and she certainly doesn’t lack for intelligence. I could really use some adventure in my life again.

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ithinkthereforiamfandom · 6 years ago

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Sicfic for you Dear one!

For Kelly. @anotherwellkeptsecret Here’s a little something for you Dear one, hope you like it.

@underestimatemethatwillbefun, @pri1982, @morgendaemmerung89, @riorothbates. Thanks for the reblogs 😁

“Sherlock I need to go to the hospital, just for a few days. It’s probably nothing to worry about.” John sounded calm and soothing so something was definitely wrong. Sherlock felt his chest flash hot with panic, he had noticed John take Rosie downstairs but it was date night so that was normal! But John in hospital was not normal...

“So it’s Not just a bit of a stomach thing, the pain you’ve been trying to hide and your extended bathroom visits.” John waited patiently while the wheels turned in Sherlock’s mind because they didn’t just turn, they spun and oscillated into every conceivable pattern. “It’s a bowel obstruction But it might be a growth, potentially malignant. So you’ll book yourself in until they know which and it’s resolved"

Sherlock finished speaking and sagged against John’s sturdy frame. John had held his partner while he spoke, that beautiful voice rendered lifeless by stress and worry. “Yes, it’s more than likely just an obstruction and I’ll be home in a few days.” Sherlock’s response was to pull John to the couch and wrap his partner up, in arms that clung too tightly and legs he couldn’t quite feel.

“Lock, Lock. I’ll be fine. Okay?” John held on and wondered if Sherlock realised he was shaking, the pace maker kicked a bit but it reminded Sherlock to be careful so he slowly calmed himself. “John, what do we tell Rosie?” “The truth, her Daddy is a bit sick so he’ll be at the hospital for a few days and she is to be good for you and Mrs Hudson"

Sherlock nodded into John’s silvered hair, just a few days… He'll be good too, for John. Date night became an evening on the couch with a take-aways until they collected a sleepy Rosie from Mrs Hudson… John had briefed Mrs Hudson on his probable condition and she’d agreed to keep an eye on 221B for a while.

…

Check in had been tedious, the tests had been boring, and the results had been predictable… He was turning into Sherlock! John sat in bed and breathed around his nasogastric tube, the thing really annoyed him so he pretended to sleep most of the day to avoid upsetting the nurses with his foul mood. Sherlock and Rosie had been in during the afternoon visiting hours and John had nearly died of embarrassment as Sherlock had apparently expanded on their careful explanation of that morning with his usual exhausting attention to details.

His daughter had learned the words: colon, rectum, and faeces. The nurses were Endlessly amused by the solemn “Daddy can’t poop, his faeces are stuck" and Sherlock had been defiantly ignorant of the word Inappropriate but shockingly aware of John’s supposedly insufficient amount of blankets, John’s criminally non-fluffed pillows, what type of steroids did they have him on, what dosage? Did he have the button for his pain meds…

It went on through visiting hours and eventually John took pity on the beleaguered nurses, kissed his daughter and sent them home. A quick sms gently scolded Sherlock and instructed him to send the nurses flowers as an apology. John was careful about tell him off as he knew it was just anxiety and Sherlock’s general need to look after him.

…

Sherlock was running a search from the cab so by the time they got to Baker street he had a long list of foods that Might be indicated in causing John's bowl obstruction but the information was mostly simple generalised tips to avoid too much fibre and suggestions for eating habits like chewing! Still if it might be hazardous it had to go so once Rosie was asleep he went though the kitchen and was stunned by the amount of potentially dangerous food! Like celery, which John ate as a snack and they even fed to Rosie, all of the hazardous goods were bagged for disposal. Mrs Hudson's kitchen was next and her food stocks were even worse but she had found him at it when he dropped some boxes of high fibre cereals and even her herbal soothers didn’t save him from being told off.

He was setting up meal plans, having constructed a few diet options, when he noticed the sky had lightened and Rosie was calling for him. A lost nights worth of sleep was nothing if it spared John from this again. After a carefully made breakfast of porridge with mashed fruits Rosie went to day care for a few hours with instructions to chew her snacks thoroughly and Sherlock got on with his day trying to distract himself from the absence of John in the flat.

He had the morning visiting time with John to himself and they discussed his meal plans which John found touching but quietly hilarious. “You nutter, I love you. We'll restock when I get out and the nurses love their flowers by the way. Very appropriate, yellow roses, good choice.” Sherlock hadn’t told John that he had arranged for the florist to deliver a bouquet of the now John-approved roses every day for a week. He hoped the gift would endear John to them, though he seemed to do that quite well all by himself, the little flirt. “I’m glad you approve. I’ve left Rosie in day care to keep up her routines so you’ll see her this afternoon.”

“Speaking of her routines, I know she'll want to kip down in our bed with me gone, try not to let her do it too much. She needs to learn that she’s going to be okay sleeping alone.” Sherlock said nothing and just nodded quietly, they had already moved Rosie’s bedding downstairs to John’s side of the bed, agreeing to bunk down till John got home… He would have to remind her not to say anything though the Fond/Exasperated/Resigned smile on John’s face told him that his face had already betrayed him so he decided not to bother in the end. “I’m not spoiling her, I’m not… Well maybe just a little” “No shit Sherlock” John chuckled as pale cheeks reddened. They both knew he spoiled Rosie and they both knew that he always would.

“We’ve avoided the need for surgery so I’ll be home soon, I miss you too Sherlock.” Slow kisses ended their visit. Sherlock would bring Rosie around for the evening and once John’s bowel function returned he would have his partner back.

…

The few days John had been stuck in the hospital hadn’t been fun but he'd had worse. The staff from Sherlock’s pace maker escapade had all been in to visit and congratulated him on their getting together. Mike had stopped by and they had had a long conversation as John helped him mark a few assignments. “I can’t thank you enough Mike, the introduction, I think you saved us both" Mike’s jovial face had glowed at the praise but he grew pensive. “A few times I thought I’d killed you both, when he left and then he got shot… and Mary, I never knew what happened there, I mean I know she died… sorry John.” “It’s fine Mike, a lot happened with Mary and it was tough for a while but I’ve got Rosie, and I’ve got Sherlock, thank you… I should have stuck with your first recommendation. He’s perfect. He's mad of course and it’s perfect.” Mike was still smiling when they had packed up the papers. “Thanks for your help John. Home tonight then?”

…

John was glad to be home but after the third dinner of soup and bread Rosie was gripeing and John was a bit fed up, even his coffee had been packed up as Sherlock had read it caused inflammation. He booted a fussing Sherlock from the kitchen and set about roasting veggies and preparing a salad to go with the chicken he had admittedly picked up from a deli on his way home.

“I’m fine Love and I’ll stay fine. We don’t need to change absolutely everything.” “You were in hospital John, that’s not fine" John kissed pursed lips and grinned as Mrs Hudson arrived to collect Rosie. “Date night at last" Sherlock had pulled him onto the couch again. “Yes it is and I’m perfectly okay Lovely. I promise"

Sherlock wrapped John up again, in arms that clung too tightly and legs that now clung tightly too. John was well again but Sherlock had missed him for a week so he was not letting go this Watson until it was time to collect his other Watson and that was that.

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ao3porcelainstorm · 4 years ago

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poison ivy & stinging nettles 11

On Ao3

Pairing: Sherlock/OFC

Rated: M

Warnings: eventual violence, torture, swears, adult themes (no explicit smut)

Chapter 10 - Chapter 12

Chapter 11- Water

~~~

Everyone useful always dies. It’s like the universe keeps changing things in a personal challenge to Sherlock Holmes.

Then we dragged along for the ride.

For once, it would be nice to catch a bad guy, have him confess, clear up any confusion, and move on with our lives.

~~~

“What?”

Amelia gaped at Mycroft, unsure if her exhausted brain had heard him correctly.

“There was a transfer issue,” he repeated, looking none too thrilled about it. “Someone sabotaged the police car. While they tried to resolve the issue, Maxwell Brenner was shot by a sniper across the street.”

“So, he’s dead?” she asked bluntly, her expression dropping as the words left her.

“Very much so,” Mycroft nodded curtly.

Amelia looked to Sherlock, a loss at what to say.

What did this mean for the case?

Did they catch who did it?

“You didn’t catch the shooter,” Sherlock guessed, and when his brother didn’t reply, he sighed. “This certainly complicates things.”

“We still have enough evidence to shut down research and development at Chemco. The Board will be held accountable, but I’m not sure if my colleagues in the States will be able to do much.”

“Probably slap a fee on them,” Amelia sighed.

“Unless, of course, we are able to locate your mother?” he tried and Amelia just shrugged. She hadn’t heard from the woman in over a month now, going on two.

If she didn’t know any better, she’d guess that her mother had beaten Max to the grave.

James Moriarty seemed to be efficient like that.

“We have to presume Lydia Brenner is out of the picture,” Sherlock cut in. “Have you found any leads on Moriarty?”

“Nothing,” Mycroft replied. “He’s disappeared. Though, while I’m not a betting man, I’d put money on the fact he was behind Brenner’s untimely death.”

“Which one?” Amelia scoffed bitterly. “He seems determined to wipe out my lineage.”

“As soon as he makes a sound, we will know,” he assured the pair before his phone started ringing. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get in contact with your cousin.”

“I’m not convinced he has that many eyes,” Amelia murmured to Sherlock once Mycroft was out of earshot.

“He doesn’t,” he agreed quietly. “He doesn’t want you to panic and run away. He’s going to need your testimony for any legal actions against Chemco.”

“Ah yes, because running did so much for me last time,” she mumbled sarcastically, looking over her shoulder into John’s room.

“He knows that as well,” Sherlock replied. “He’s being careful. Clearly, things are not going well in Her Majesty’s Government’s Chemco Pharmaceuticals case.”

Amelia leaned against the hall wall, releasing a long pent up sigh and closing her eyes. Ruthie would probably want to have a funeral and invite the extended family. Do it properly.

They’d need a better story to tell everyone, no point spitting on his grave. He had more than paid for his sins as far as Amelia was concerned.

Peeking at Sherlock, she frowned. John would be in no shape to attend a memorial service this week, besides, it would be bad taste to bring the guy her felon uncle shot.

There was no way she could handle going alone, though Ruthie would definitely need her support as she buried her father. Even with the bad blood, he was family and he’d been a doting parent the vast majority of her life.

Ruthie called Amelia in tears almost immediately after speaking with Mycroft. After calming her down, she asked some basic questions, hoping to assist her cousin in whatever manner she needed.

It was Max’s wishes he is buried next to his wife at the Brenner family estate in Essex; Sirenshore.

The large manor had been in the family for generations, originally having been built for the first Brenner that found success in merchant goods and trading in the early 16th century. Max had been living there since the death of the first Maxwell Brenner, Amelia, and Ruth’s grandfather.

“Mostly contraband,” Sherlock supplied after Amelia explained the circumstances to John with a groan. She was sitting on the edge of his hospital bed, with Sherlock in a chair pulled up next to them.

“So you’re rich-rich,” John translated.

“I’m comfortable,” she answered quickly.

“My family is comfortable, your family has a yacht,” Sherlock added.

“Did you rent or own the apartment in Brooklyn?” John asked, sitting up, he is gaze narrowed at Amelia suspiciously.

“I mean, my mom owned the building,” she explained sheepishly, twisting a nervous strand of auburn hair between her fingers. “But I did purchase the penthouse from her.”

“Penthouse,” John repeated. “You live in a basement, but own a penthouse in Brooklyn, New York.”

“I sold it,” she protested. “I gave the money to a handful of after school programs and two large food pantries in Harlem and the Bronx.”

“And how much was that?”

“Do I really need to go over my finances with you, John Hamish Watson? When I told you we can go to Tesco without you arguing over expired clippings, I wasn’t lying.”

“Humour me,” he replied dryly.

“Just under two million,” she mumbled, looking toward the ground. “She initially sold me the property for very cheap. It was well below the market rate. And I got a steal with the present market and the realtor was a family friend…”

“American dollars?” John clarified. “Two million, dollars?”

“Brooklyn is in the United States, John,” she answered.

“Don’t ‘John’ me,” he held up a finger. “How much did your mother make last year?”

“I think you’ve broken him,” Sherlock commented. “John, this has never been a secret.”

“Honestly, why do you think I've been covering your portion of the rent?” she blinked at him, missing over her shoulder Sherlock’s suddenly panicked expression.

“You’ve what?”

“I took over your portion of the rent,” she shrugged. “It made more sense and was far less expensive overall compared to most decent places in London. Besides, you both were doing so much for me. I cover Sherlock’s too.”

“Sherlock?”

“I told you not to tell him,” the detective hissed under his breath.

“What are you talking about? He had to have known, I told you to stop collecting the rent,” she frowned, looking at him quizzically. “Unless you... haven’t... been...? Oh, Sherlock.”

“Where is it then?” John snapped. “That isn’t an inconsiderable amount of money, Sherlock.”

“I invested it in a high yield savings-investment account,” Sherlock confessed. “I was going to give you the information at Christmas.”

“You can’t just do stuff like that without asking people!” he glared between Amelia and Sherlock.

“Why are you glaring at me? I think it was more than fair for the work you’ve done for this case and the friendship you’ve provided,” Amelia huffed. “I wouldn’t let my brother pay rent if I could more than afford it.”

“The accounts nearly doubled,” Sherlock added, throwing on a smile at the irritated doctor. “Happy Christmas.”

“You two-,” he groaned, falling back against his pillows with a groan. “I don’t know how you don’t see it.”

“It was a transactional situation,” Amelia continued, clapping her hands together. “If it bothers you, you’re welcome to go back to paying rent.”

“I have been!”

“That’s between you two,” she stood up, pointing between the men. “I’m the bigger person here, and I’m going to get hot cocoa for myself as a reward for my good deeds. Do either of you need anything?”

“I’ll take some chips,” Sherlock piped up.

“That was more rhetorical, but John? You do look a little pale,” she frowned sympathetically.

“A sandwich or something would be nice,” he admitted quietly.

“Roast beef?”

“If they have it,” he smiled after her as she left.

“Why aren’t you mad at her anymore?”

“Because she wasn’t stealing my money,” John returned his glare to Sherlock. “Four months.”

“Here,” Sherlock handed him his mobile, a large number on the screen.

“What’s this?”

“The account balance,” he answered, arching a brow.

“Oh,” John's eyes widened. “That’s a lot more than four months of rent.”

“Believe it or not, I’m quite proficient at understanding the stock market,” Sherlock took the device back and pocketed it. “I’ve helped Amelia with some financial decisions as well.”

“I still can’t believe you knew about this,” John sighed.

“Wait until you see what she bought you for Christmas,” Sherlock snickered.

“Isn’t it a bit strange? She could have gotten a much nicer place, hired a security detail, but settled with us,” John mused, snorting under his breath. He leaned back in his pillows, staring up at the ceiling.

“Not at all,” Sherlock shook his head. “She trusts us. Haven’t you noticed how jumpy she gets outside of Baker Street? Of course, if one of us is with her, she’s ok, but the further we go...”

“That explains Canterbury,” John hummed, nodding to himself. “Of course.”

“She knows Mycroft and his men are swarming the halls, so she offers to get food,” Sherlock added. “And the cafeteria is only one floor down.”

“She doesn’t think she needs to buy our affection, does she?” John voiced, looking to Sherlock in concern.

“No,” he crossed his arms, leaning back. “That generosity and affection just happen naturally, I think. She’d be knitting us scarves and making biscuits otherwise.”

“Shame so many people want to kill her,” John joked dryly.

“Wouldn’t be the first time someone kind was killed by petty vengeance.”

“Well, not on our watch,” John cleared his throat determinedly.

~~~

“The funeral is this Sunday,” Amelia looked to the calendar on her cell phone. “That means I’ve got to get to Canterbury by tomorrow night, help organize things on Saturday, and Sunday is the big day.”

She plopped backward on the sofa, pulling her blankets over her head.

Despite the excellent job Mycroft’s men had done in cleaning up her apartment, she still felt uneasy sleeping alone in the distant space. She barely slept as it was since John’s accident, but over the last few days she’d set up a small spot on the worn sofa.

Usually, if she was asleep, Sherlock was up tinkering around, and vice versa.

It was oddly comforting knowing that if someone were to burst through the front door of Baker Street, he would be right there.

“Are we staying the night after the funeral?”

“We?” Amelia pulled the blanket off her face, looking up at him curiously. “I cannot ask you to attend the funeral of the man who nearly killed your best friend.”

“I would have gone anyway,” he shrugged casually. “Which tie should I wear? I have a tasteful burgundy one that Mrs. Hudson gave me for Christmas last year that I haven’t an opportunity to wear.”

Amelia ducked under the blanket again, smiling to herself like an idiot.

“You look best in the short-sleeved black dress,” he continued musing. “If you wear a charcoal sweater with that, perhaps the gunmetal grey tie instead.”

As miserable as this event was bound to be, perhaps it wasn’t going to be that terrible.

Chapter 12

#sherlock #sherlock holmes #sherlock bbc #sherlock/OFC #sherlock/oc #sherlock/reader #reader #original female character #sherlock original female character #john watson #watson #fanfiction #sherlock fanfiction #sherlock fanfic #OFC #OC

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sunken-standard · 8 years ago

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#22, 28, 29 & 32

22: Areyou more likely to be the person who starts reading a 100k slow burnfic at midnight or the person who starts writing a drabble at 4 a.m.?

Both? Or, most accurately, startswriting a drabble at 4AM and wakes up three weeks later to find it’sturned into half of a 100k slow burn and there’s no end in sight.

29: 20s AUor 50s AU?

Oh maaaaan, interwar period decadenceor post-war era rebuilding/ boom. I see Sherlock more naturally inthe 20s and Molly in the 50s. I’ll go with 20s because of theclothes. Downton Abbey the whole cast (but Molly is emphatically notthe goddamn maid, she’s Lady Edith all the way).

32: meetcute or meet ugly?

Meet ugly, all the way. o0katiekins0oand I were talking about a great first meeting the other day, whichI’ll say no more about because it might get written and I don’t wantto spoil it, but it was all the gore and it would be fabulous. Soyeah, meet ugly for sure.

(yes the numbers areout of order, there’s a reason)28: stuckin an elevator AU or camping gone bad AU?

I just answered this one, so I guess Ishould do the other half for balance, right?

As soon as Sherlock pulled the hiredcar into the B&B’s parking lot she knew something was wrong. Theambulance and police cordon were a dead giveaway. Sherlock was outof the car before Molly got her seatbelt unclipped.

He bounded over to her as soon as shegot to the police tape. "Surprise double murder and a missingfamily heirloom! This is shaping up to be the best holiday ever! Find us another hotel, can’t stay in the crime scene,“ he said,looking put out by that rather than the fact that they didn’tcurrently have a place to sleep. Then he disappeared again.

"Come with me to Wales, he said. You’re always complaining you never go anywhere on holiday and I’vealready booked two rooms, it would be a shame to let it go to waste,he said. I need an assistant, he said,” Molly groused, pullingher suitcase from the boot.

“I can hear you,”Sherlock said, looking at the diagram for the tent.

“Good, you were supposed to.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure? You were a Girl Guide.”

“We made soup and had sing-songsin care homes. There was no camping.”

“We’re lucky we’re not sleeping inthe car. Height of the tourist season, apparently. Height of themidges season, for that matter,” he muttered, swishing his handin front of his face.

“We’re lucky they havetents for hire in the campground office and that this one doesn’tsmell like sick or wee, according to the charming lad that couldn’tbe arsed to put his phone down while I made all the arrangements,”she said, batting away the ever-present cloud of midges.

“Would you rather be nursing allthree Watsons through the Black Death right now?”

“Point taken. Give me those,”she said, holding out her hand for the instructions sheet.

“Are you serious?” Mollyasked the ceiling of the tent. Another drop of water hit herforehead in reply.

“Told you you put the tarpaulin onwrong,” Sherlock said without looking up from his phone.

Molly closed her eyes and gritted herteeth before sliding the balled up jumper she’d been using for apillow one foot to the right. She wiggled herself into anuncomfortable position next to Sherlock, making sure her bonyshoulder dug into his arm. There was a lump under her back that wasprobably just a clump of grass but felt like a tennis ball.

“Oh, come on,” shesaid when she felt another drop hit the floor of the tent and splashher arm.

Sherlock heaved a dramatic sigh andshifted himself over farther to his right so she could move out ofthe splash zone.

“Do you think it would be warmerin the car?” Molly asked. At least her teeth weren’tchattering. Yet.

“We’d get soaked through before weever made it. I’d rather be relatively dry and cold than wet andcold.”

“We fled the Plague only to die ofhypothermia. Sounds like a cautionary tale of some kind.”

Sherlock made a little noise in histhroat. "Is this the point where one of us suggests sharingbody heat as a viable alternative to a grim and prolonged death?“

"And you say you never watchtelly.”

“Not intentionally. It justhappens sometimes.”

“Uh huh,” she said. "Well,there’s no way it can be any more uncomfortable than sleeping onrocks half in a puddle, so, I mean…“

"Yes, right,” Sherlock said,nodding to himself in the dark.

“Well then,” Molly said,waiting another few moments before rolling over and slipping an armaround Sherlock’s waist.

He rolled onto his side and there was abit of shuffling of limbs until Sherlock went stock still.

“Sorry,” he said. "That’sah, just a reaction to the—"

“Stop talking,” Molly saidloudly, settling herself fully against him, unwanted erection bedamned. She’d have all the feelings in the world about it later.

“Yes, right,” Sherlock said,cowed. Then, after a beat, “At least they’ll release the scenetomorrow and we’ll have our ro—dear God your hands are likeice.”

“Cold hands, warm hea—gah!” Sherlock’s hands had found their way under her jumper.

“Only fair,” he said.

Molly scowled at him, even if hecouldn’t see her in the dark.

“I suppose this would be moreawkward if it were John or Mary,” Molly offered when neither ofthem were able to relax enough to actually sleep.

“John would have packed a blanket,at least. And he gives off heat like a furnace. I think it’s allthe anger. Mary would have taken the car and driven back to thestation. Without me in it. Neither of them would have brought sparegloves or a UV torch, though,” he said, giving the top of herbum what was probably meant to be a reassuring little pat before herealized what he was doing.

She chose not to comment on it. "Thetorch did come in handy, didn’t it? At least we know no one wasmurdered or shagged inside the tent. But the night’s still young.“

"Wh—”

“Oh God, murder! It was a murderjoke! I haven’t murdered you yet. Just murder! I’m going to shutuh—”

She didn’t get the chance to finish hersentence; Sherlock did it for her. With his mouth. On hers.

Later, she had the thought that shehoped the next people to use the tent didn’t bring their own UVtorch.

#anonymous #ask meme #sunken's secret stash

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tadomodoka4-blog · 6 years ago

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Thank you so much!!!! AH!

from I am to see to it that I do not lose you. https://ift.tt/2UFYKU0 via IFTTT

ithinkthereforiamfandom: Sicfic for you Dear one! For Kelly. @anotherwellkeptsecret Here’s a little...

Sicfic for you Dear one!

For Kelly. @anotherwellkeptsecret Here’s a little something for you Dear one, hope you like it.

@underestimatemethatwillbefun, @pri1982, @morgendaemmerung89, @riorothbates. Thanks for the reblogs 😁

Sherlock nodded into John’s silvered hair, just a few days… He’ll be good too, for John. Date night became an evening on the couch with a take-aways until they collected a sleepy Rosie from Mrs Hudson… John had briefed Mrs Hudson on his probable condition and she’d agreed to keep an eye on 221B for a while.

…

Sherlock was running a search from the cab so by the time they got to Baker street he had a long list of foods that Might be indicated in causing John’s bowl obstruction but the information was mostly simple generalised tips to avoid too much fibre and suggestions for eating habits like chewing! Still if it might be hazardous it had to go so once Rosie was asleep he went though the kitchen and was stunned by the amount of potentially dangerous food! Like celery, which John ate as a snack and they even fed to Rosie, all of the hazardous goods were bagged for disposal. Mrs Hudson’s kitchen was next and her food stocks were even worse but she had found him at it when he dropped some boxes of high fibre cereals and even her herbal soothers didn’t save him from being told off.

He had the morning visiting time with John to himself and they discussed his meal plans which John found touching but quietly hilarious. “You nutter, I love you. We’ll restock when I get out and the nurses love their flowers by the way. Very appropriate, yellow roses, good choice.” Sherlock hadn’t told John that he had arranged for the florist to deliver a bouquet of the now John-approved roses every day for a week. He hoped the gift would endear John to them, though he seemed to do that quite well all by himself, the little flirt. “I’m glad you approve. I’ve left Rosie in day care to keep up her routines so you’ll see her this afternoon.”

“Speaking of her routines, I know she’ll want to kip down in our bed with me gone, try not to let her do it too much. She needs to learn that she’s going to be okay sleeping alone.” Sherlock said nothing and just nodded quietly, they had already moved Rosie’s bedding downstairs to John’s side of the bed, agreeing to bunk down till John got home… He would have to remind her not to say anything though the Fond/Exasperated/Resigned smile on John’s face told him that his face had already betrayed him so he decided not to bother in the end. “I’m not spoiling her, I’m not… Well maybe just a little” “No shit Sherlock” John chuckled as pale cheeks reddened. They both knew he spoiled Rosie and they both knew that he always would.

…

The few days John had been stuck in the hospital hadn’t been fun but he’d had worse. The staff from Sherlock’s pace maker escapade had all been in to visit and congratulated him on their getting together. Mike had stopped by and they had had a long conversation as John helped him mark a few assignments. “I can’t thank you enough Mike, the introduction, I think you saved us both" Mike’s jovial face had glowed at the praise but he grew pensive. “A few times I thought I’d killed you both, when he left and then he got shot… and Mary, I never knew what happened there, I mean I know she died… sorry John.” “It’s fine Mike, a lot happened with Mary and it was tough for a while but I’ve got Rosie, and I’ve got Sherlock, thank you… I should have stuck with your first recommendation. He’s perfect. He’s mad of course and it’s perfect.” Mike was still smiling when they had packed up the papers. “Thanks for your help John. Home tonight then?”

…

#IFTTT #I am to see to it that I do not lose you.

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mandysimo13 · 8 years ago

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Chapter 7 - Where is My Gallant Knight

Chapter 7 is up, guys, gals, and non-binary pals! This one is a doozie and a long one so I hope you folks enjoy! I’m just so giddy after writing this I can’t stand it! - Also on AO3 (X)

It was no surprise to John that he woke up with an armful of Sherlock. His chest fluttered with fondness but tightened immediately with guilt. He had been so close to taking advantage of his charge and John felt himself frown as he looked down on the sleeping man. It didn’t matter that Sherlock was a grown man, fully capable of making his own decisions. He came into Sherlock’s life because of a job. A job he was well on the way to finishing. That job did not include seducing Sherlock before dropping him off at his doorstep.

But that didn’t stop him from wanting it desperately.

Sherlock shifted in John’s arms, clearly still asleep, and a new wave of guilt invaded John as he watched Sherlock dream. Knowing he should give the man some privacy, John started to slide backwards and out of the bed but Sherlock’s arms tightened around his torso, preventing his escape. He whined softly in protest and John settled down into the mattress again for fear of waking him. Wanting to soothe him, John brushed the hair back from Sherlock’s face, noting the frown lines creasing his brow. Clearly, whatever his dream was, it was not a pleasant one. Sherlock whimpered once more and burrowed his face into John’s neck.

“Shh,” John cooed softly, stroking the man’s hair as Sherlock’s dream further distressed him. “I’m here.”

“Juuh,” Sherlock’s drowsy voice huffed into his neck. “Nnnno.”

John’s eyes widened. Was Sherlock dreaming of him? “Juh” could be the beginning of any number of words, not just his name. It could be coincidence.

John weighed the pros and cons of waking him. On one hand, he was probably going to be hungover and needed all the rest he could get. By the way the sun glinted in the window, they already lost a good head start of the day anyway and a couple more hours wouldn’t make much of a difference at this rate. But what if he was scared in his dream, his mind countered. You could comfort him while he was awake. Then he thought of how they needed to find Greg and resupply for the next leg of their journey.

All thought ceased, however, as he felt Sherlock’s lips press meaningfully into his neck. John stilled as if frozen. The skin on his neck tingled where Sherlock’s lips ghosted over him just above the collar of his shirt. It was apparent that whatever dream Sherlock had been having turned from a nightmare into something else entirely and John was both loathed to end it and wanted it to keep going. Sherlock’s fingers clutched the fabric tightly on John’s chest and the unmistakable feel of warm, hard flesh through two layers of fabric pressed into his stomach. Sherlock’s hips twitched minutely and then the decision to wake Sherlock was taken out of his hands.

Sherlock gasped awake. He went from warm and pliant to marblesque in the span of a second and loathed to feel the exchange from asleep to awake. From unconscious desire to waking regret.

Maybe he hadn’t been dreaming of me , John thought sadly.

Silence enveloped them and stretched out in unbearably long minutes until John broke it. “Good dream, I take it,” he teased, hoping Sherlock found the prod humorous.

Sherlock cleared his throat but refused to move his face from the security of John’s neck. “It was enjoyable, yes.”

“Dare I ask what it was about?”

Rather than answer, Sherlock scrambled over John to stalk towards the door to make an escape. John sat up, mouth open to stop Sherlock’s retreat but he was spared the need. Hand outstretched to turn the knob, Sherlock suddenly realized his state of dress and realized that, unless he wanted to scandalize the scullery maids, he would need to put clothes on. Greg’s nightshirt, while comfortable, was not at all suitable for public appearances.

John watched him as he snatched up his discarded clothes. He quickly jammed his legs into the trousers before whipping off Greg’s shirt and tossing it in John’s direction. It landed on the bed just as Sherlock brought the hem of his shirt over his head and settled it over his stomach. Another quick dart of his arms brought him his boots and he strode out the door barefoot and quite disheveled.

Once the door closed, John flopped back down onto the mattress and with a deep groan he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

“Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck,” John cursed to the empty room.

He kicked off the covers and quickly dressed himself. He took the extra time to do up his boots and shrug on his doublet and grab Sherlock’s as well before leaving their room. He sighed, knowing they would need to rent for another night. They still needed to resupply and he was sure it was nearing midday. No sense at riding off at this point, John scowled internally.

John made his way down the stairs and into the common room to find Greg happily munching away on food. Sherlock was nowhere to be found.

When Greg caught sight of John he waved him over and then waved over his girl from the night before. “Penny, this is my friend and employer, Sir John Watson.”

John made a bow and said, “how do you do, miss?”

“You’re The Sir John?! From the stories?!”

John nodded, uncharacteristically shy. Sherlock bolting had left him more vulnerable than usual and he felt his ears warm in embarrassment. “That I am. At your service.”

Penny perched herself in Greg’s lap and gave him a sultry look. “Should’a been at your service last night.”

“Oi! Weren’t hearing any complaints from you last night, missy,” Greg complained.

“Ooh, of course not,” Penny soothed, kissing him full on the lips.

“As touching as this is,” John gestured between the two, “have you see Sherlock?”

“Yeah,” Lestrade jabbed a thumb towards the door. “Saw him bolt outta here barefoot without his jacket. What’d you do?”

“Why does everything have to be my fault,” John asked rhetorically, dropping into the chair opposite Greg and put his head in his hands.

“Penny, dear,” Greg said, “would you mind getting Sir John a plate?”

“Of course.”

When she was gone Greg addressed John. “Look, I’m not blind. Something’s going on between you two, just admit it.”

“Nothing to admit,” John answered honestly. “We haven’t done anything.”

“Except wake up in each other’s arms every morning. And bicker like an old married couple. And tell each other stories of your childhood, even if I know you’re not telling him everything. Not to mention ignoring all else but yourselves this entire time.”

John frowned. “I didn’t mean to ignore you,” John said, chastised.

“I won’t say it doesn’t smart sometimes. But I get it. That’s part of the squire game, John. I’m used to being scenery.”

“You’re more than scenery, Greg.”

“We’re not talking about me here, John. We’re talking about you and Sherlock and this... thing you two have.”

“Which is nothing,” John said firmly.

“So sure of that are you?” John nodded and Greg sighed. Penny returned with John’s plate and made herself scarce, knowing she was not welcome in the conversation. “Think about it. Do you really think that he’d still be here, letting you wrap your tentacly arms around him every night if he didn’t feel something, too?”

“He’s the one with the tentacle arms,” John decreed. “I never initiate the cuddling.”

“And yet there you are, every morning, happily snoring into his ear and he lets you. I love you, John, but the only time you and I ever cuddled was for warmth when we were adventuring in the unforgiving north in winter. And that was more out of survival than desire to hold you close.” Then he speared a bit of sausage and grinned at him before taking a bite. “Not that you weren’t a pleasure to spoon with, mind.”

John snorted a laugh despite himself. “Prick.” He stabbed into his own sausage and hummed in pleasure at having something in his stomach.

“In all seriousness. You should think about this before you go dismissing the signs, mate.”

“I have thought about this. You were there. He punched me and shouted that I was unwelcome to touch him. And while we’ve been friendly so far on this trip that doesn’t mean he wants me for anything. We don’t know if his magic has recharged itself, he could just be waiting until it is to go running off again. He hasn’t expressed interest in me, or “us”, while being awake. Some people like to cuddle and will do it to a troll while asleep. Means nothing.”

Greg just shrugged and didn’t press the point. They ate quietly for a few moments before he pointed at Sherlock’s forgotten doublet on the back of John’s chair. “Why’d you bring that?”

John cast a glance at it and shrugged. “Thought he’d stick around long enough for me to give it to him. He walked off without it and I felt bad, him running out half dressed.” Greg nodded and they finished their meal in peace.

After they ate they called for Millie and told her they’d be using the room for one more night. Not much later, the two made their way to the shops to stock up supplies for the next leg of their journey. Half bushel of apples, few wheels of cheese, loaves of hardened bread, more dried meat, and John pushed for a precious measure of salt for cooking. Next they paid their dues at the well and got all the water they could carry. Ladened with supplies, John and Lestrade crashed into their room to find Sherlock soaking in a steaming tub.

Tags under the cut Continued on AO3 (X)

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#where is my gallant knight #fic #my fic #shameless promotion #writing #my writing #johnlock #sherlock #au #ao3

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inevitably-johnlocked · 6 years ago

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Any new bottom!lock? Preferably short please!

Hi Nonny!

I’ve got lots of Bottomlock! I’ve been sorting them for awhile when someone asked me for Toplock stuff, so here’s what I’ve sorted so far! As per usual, all my shorter fics are at the top, so you can go down the list until you reach a word count you don’t want to read anymore XD

Enjoy!

BOTTOMLOCK (2019)

See also: Toplock / Bottomlock

Tied by beejohnlocked (E, 1,029 w. || PWP, Bottomlock, Bondage) – Sherlock ties John up and rides him.

Public by beejohnlocked (E, 1,703 w. || Bottomlock, Butt Plugs, Public Sex, Anal, Slight Rimming) – Sherlock cannot wait. John doesn’t mind.

Let the Sun Fade Out by nothingislittle (E, 2,711 w. || Fluff & Smut, Praise Kink, PWP, Obsessed Sherlock, Bottomlock, Heart-Tearing Love) – “He could warm the sun itself, Sherlock thinks, could heat their flat with just his presence, could brighten the room with one dazzling smile or just the sparkling in his eyes. John is everything, he’s beautiful and he shines, he’s everything.”

Straight Shooter by nefariosity (E, 3,249 w. || Est. Rel., Light Dom/Sub, Military Kink, PWP) – Sherlock has a military kink. John indulges him.

Bathroom Accessories by Evenlodes_Friend (E, 3,324 w. || Sex Toys, Butt Plug, First Kiss / Time, Romance, Horny Sherlock, John’s Patience Wears Thin, Humour, Bottomlock) – John discovers that Sherlock has been playing with some very adult toys in the bath.

In Nomine by Atiki (E, 3,517 w. || Est. Rel., PWP, Anal, Domesticity, Love Confessions, Sherlock Loves John, Overwhelmed Sherlock) – “Alright?” John asks gently, planting a kiss on Sherlock’s left collar bone, smoothing a hand down his chest and belly until it rests in the soft trail of hair below his belly button. John’s smile is all soft and warm. His hand feels tender and solid and real. A soldier’s hand. A surgeon’s hand. A lover’s hand. Oh. “John”, Sherlock gasps. And that’s where it begins. Written for a prompt on the Kink Meme: The only word Sherlock says during sex is “John”.

Spoils of War by sweetcupncakes (E, 3,563 w. || Bottomlock, Military Kink, Comeplay, Anal) – John brushes his thumb over the gun’s slide, over the rear sight. Sherlock’s mouth feels too wet. He could lick John’s fingers, suck on them, bite down softly on that callus that is a direct result of John’s frequent need to handle the gun at all. Sherlock could do that, John might like it, really. Sherlock has been told his mouth is absolutely lovely.

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

Rumpled by WhimsicalEthnographies (E, 3,601 w. || Est. Rel., Insecure Sherlock, Fluff, PWP, Proposal, Bottomlock) – Then, halfway through a documentary on river otters that neither of them was paying attention to–how could John, with a gangly, limp consulting detective practically purring in his lap?–Sherlock suddenly bolted upright, looked at John with a perplexed expression and a crinkle above his nose, and blurted, “Marry me.” Part 4 of Longitudinal Cohort

Happy anniversary by Salambo06 (E, 3,772 w. || Est. Rel., Vulnerable Sherlock, Wedding Anniversary, Anal, Texting, Lingerie) – John inhaled deeply, feeling his cock pulse under the silk gown, and he let his eyes travel on the lean body in front of him. Sherlock was kneeling on the bed, their bed, and the picture had been taken so John could perfectly see his bare chest and pelvis. But what mattered most, what made John harden rather quickly, was the pair of panties Sherlock was wearing in the picture. Black, string over each hip and laces that outlined Sherlock’s erect cock barely hidden under the soft underwear.

Well Begun Is Half Done by Avice (E, 3,897 w. || Virgin Sherlock, First Time, Anal/Oral, Seduction, John in Charge, Pining Sherlock, John’s Penis, Bottomlock) – Sherlock is putting together an elaborate plan of seducing John. John grows tired of waiting and takes matters into his own hands.

Lingerie by Sexxica (E, 4,135 w. || Valentine’s Day, Lingerie / Women’s Underwear, Mildly Public Masturbation, Picture Texting / Sexting, Bottomlock, Body Worship, Anal Sex / Fingering, Rimming, Orgasm Delay / Denial, Est. Rel.) – It’s Valentines Day and Sherlock is taking John to Angelo’s for dinner. Sherlock also happens to be wearing a garter belt, stockings and a rather small pair of women’s underwear under his clothes. There’s no dessert at Angelo’s because John needs to get Sherlock home just as quickly as he can before they both lose their minds entirely.

Keep Each Other Company by orithea (E, 4,600 w. || Est. Rel., Threesome, Self-cest, Time Traveller Sherlock) – One Sherlock is demanding enough. Two of them are impossible to resist. Part 3 of The Time Traveller’s Flatmate

The Prize We Sought Is Won by deathfrisbees (E, 4,610 w. || First Time, Mild D/S, Oral, Military Kink, Bottomlock) – Sherlock’s in love, or in lust, or both – unfortunately, the object of his affections is not only his completely oblivious flatmate, but said flatmate would probably run screaming into the hills should he find out. John’s been invited to a wedding – unfortunately, the groom used to serve under him back in Afghanistan, and requests that John wear a uniform he’s honestly not sure he fits into. Unfortunately for both flatmates, Sherlock’s got a military kink the size of Kandahar and John wants to know if he actually can fit into this uniform or if his eyes are deceiving him. It goes from there.

Butterfly, Pinned Under Glass by billiethepoet (E, 4,648 w. || Possessive Sherlock, Jealousy, Barebacking, BAMF!John) – It started as a desire to keep John safe and whole, and ended up as just desire.

a violent flash of purple by hudders-and-hiddles (E, 4,749 w. || Sex Toys, Friends to Lovers, PWP, Love Confessions, Porn With Feelings) – When Sherlock accidentally drops his towel, he ends up revealing a whole lot more than he’d intended.

Linger by queenoftrivia (E, 4,908 w. || Lingerielock, Fluff and Smut, BJ / HJ, Bottomlock, Dirty Talk) – Sherlock decides to surprise John after a somewhat stressful day at work.

Strings by EstherShapiro (E, 5,267 w. || Virgin Sherlock, First Time, Massage, Friends to Lovers, Fingering, Anal, PWP) – Sherlock wakes his doctor up. Was this weird? John was sitting on his bed, late at night, rubbing his hands over another man’s body? That was supposed to be weird, right? Then again, this wasn’t just some man, it was Sherlock. They were so used to each other that John didn’t even think to question it. It wasn’t weird.

Midnight Plowboy by weeesi (E, 5,399 w. || Est. Rel., Fake Vintage Gay Erotica, Anal, PWP, Roleplay) – “Does it feel like I’m sure?” John whispers into Sherlock’s ear. Sherlock swallows again.

Times Two by WhimsicalEthnographies (E, 5,595 w. || Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Victorian John, Modern John, Sherlock has a Good Imagination, PWP, Bottomlock, Spitroasting) – “But you’re not that John…” “Of course I am,” John’s lips and mustache brush against Sherlock’s mouth as he talks. “All us Johns are that John, now. That John is in every room in your Palace.” He leans in for another messy kiss, tongue swirling all around the inside of Sherlock’s mouth. “In fact,” he moves to suck on the sensitive skin underneath Sherlock’s ear. “I think I hear him coming right now.”

Excerpts from Purgatory by reapersun, what_alchemy (E, 5,829 w. || Post-TRF, Doctor John, Reunion Fic, Rough Sex, Angry Sex, Bottomlock, Fic with Pics) – John serves community service in homeless shelters for chinning the superintendent. Unbeknownst to him, the Homeless Network has his back.

Survival Strategies for the Domesticated British Butthole by Atiki (E, 6,183 w. || Crack, Rimming, Anal Sex, Iced Lolly, Hair Removal, Depilation) – In which there’s a rimming disaster, Sherlock depilates his butt, everything goes very, very wrong and groceries are mistreated. This fic contains hair removal creme in a butthole, ice lollies in a butthole and John Watson’s penis in a butthole. You have been warned.

Talk by illwick (E, 6,364 w. || Dirty Talk, John’s Giant Junk, PWP, Light BDSM, Size Kink, Oral / Anal, Rough Sex, Dirty Talk, Established Rel.) – Sherlock was never much for dirty talk… until an unexpected visit yields unexpected results. Part 20 of Unwind

Inside by magikspell (E, 6,757 w. || Loss of Virginity, Anal / Rimming, Fluff, Humour, Awkwardness, Shy Sherlock, Bottomlock) – “Being inside someone. Feeling someone inside you.”

Abatement by WhimsicalEthnographies (E, 6,816 w. || Est. Rel., Retirementlock, Fluff, Sherlock’s Self Esteem, Grumpy Sherlock, Idiots in Love, PWP, Fluff and Smut, Bottomlock) – “What’s wrong with you? You love the cottage,” John glances over to the passenger seat, then quickly turns his eyes back to the road. Driving was still not his forte, but considering Sherlock still couldn’t properly bend and lift his new knee enough to press and release the clutch, he had to make do. Not that Sherlock hadn’t tried to argue his way into the driver’s seat. “I love the cottage for a week or two, John. Don’t be deliberately obstuse,” Sherlock grumbles, sinking further in his seat. Well, as best he can with a four-week-old knee replacement. “And that’s all we’re going for, love,” John says out loud. But what he’s thinking is, shit. He knows.

The space between by Salambo06 (E, 6,830 w. || PWP, Friends to Lovers, Masturbation, Virgin Sherlock, First Time, Miscommunications, Bottom Sherlock, Mutual Pining, Sexual Fantasy) – “It’s for a case,” Sherlock says as soon as John looks down at his computer. John remains silent for a long moment, eyes moving from the screen to Sherlock, before saying, “You don’t have to explain.” His voice is low, too low, and Sherlock looks at the computer, putting the video on pause. “Lestrade asked me-, no, forced me to find out who’s threatening a famous porn star, and the suspect is among his co-stars, so I only need to watch out for any signs from his partners, anything that might show they’re the one sending those threats and I can move to something else.” “Right.”

A Kiss and a Cuddle should be Sufficient by Evenlodes_Friend (E, 6,853 w. || Gay Sex Club, Fake Relationship, PWP, Orgies, Rimming, BJ’s, Violence, Case Fic, Voyeurism) – Going undercover, Sherlock and John pursue a vicious killer to a gay group sex party. Not unexpectedly, things get a little out of hand. Set after Baskerville, but before the Fall.

Caught In The Act Series by ShirleyCarlton (E, 7,009 w. across 6 stories || Est. Rel, Voyeurism, Character POV’s, Masturbation, Switchlock) – This is a series of six scenarios written from the points of view of six different people as they accidentally walk in on Sherlock and John having sex. (A couple stories in the series are Bottomlock, just check the tags :))

Beg for Mercy (Twice) by Solitary_Endeavor (E, 7,060 w. || Est. Rel., Bottomlock, Bearded John, Edging, Rough Sex, Idiots in Love, Canon Compliant) – Sherlock hasn’t left the flat in four days, the itch of impatience beneath his skin too great to allow him to suffer interaction with any human being who isn’t John. This is probably a mercy that goes both ways, as he’s driving even himself mad. Sherlock supposes there is a lesson to be learned here about having himself to blame, but of course he blames Mycroft.

Of Razors, Pipes, Red Notebooks and Rugby Jerseys, Or: Sherlock Doesn’t Like His Doctors Clean Shaven by allonsys_girl (E, 7,313 w. || Est. Rel., PWP / Porn With Feelings, John’s Beard / Beard Kink, Roleplay, Love Declarations, Banter, Rimming, Anal, Domestic Fluff / Bliss, Idiots in Love, Emotional Lovemaking, Pet Names, Obsessive Sherlock, Sherlock POV, Bottomlock, Cranky Sherlock) – John grows a beard. Sherlock really likes it. Part 1 of Consulting Husbands

I can’t pretend by Salambo06 (E, 7,692 w. || Fake Relationship, Victor Trevor, Jealous John, Miscommunications, Bed Sharing, Love Confessions, First Kiss/Time, Anal, BJs) – They had arrived more than a hour ago, and the moment they had walked inside the hotel reception, John had understood why Sherlock hadn’t wanted to come. Two men, posh suits and expensive watches on their wrists, had come to greet them with sharp remarks and badly hidden mockery, and John had seen red. Sherlock hadn’t said anything, mostly ignoring the two men entirely, and without thinking twice about it, John had slid an arm around Sherlock’s waist and introduced himself as his husband.

C. sapiens by patternofdefiance (E, 8,813 w. || Tentacles Porn, Magical Realism, Bottomlock, Anal / Tentacle Sex, Pheremones) – “A few weeks ago I would have thought you were impossible,” Sherlock begins, walking into the kitchen in his blue robe, and John – not quite catching on – wants to scoff and argue, No, actually, you are impossible, but then Sherlock continues: “But now I’d say you are improbable.” John thinks this might be flattering, if he could wrap his head around it, but he can’t – Sherlock is standing near, steaming his sun-baked-clean-sand smell, like the beach after rain, an alive smell, an other smell. It’s intoxicating, and John has been studiously avoiding it, but he can’t shift away now it’s so near. Now Sherlock’s so near. And then Sherlock ruins the probable-loveliness of his words and the definite-beauty of his presence by saying: “And by ‘improbable’ I mean ‘not yet scientifically acknowledged.’” Part 1 of Gifts from the Sea

Unwasted by patternofdefiance (E, 8,966 w. || Post-S3 / S3 Fix-It, Developing Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Angelo’s, Fluff, First Time, Anal, Cum Play, Flashbacks to ASiB, Mutual Pining, Love Confessions, Bottomlock, Cuddles, Multiple Orgasms, BJ’s, Bed Sharing) – John finds it three months after he’s moved back. He’s on the hunt for something to make for dinner, is scrounging through the cupboards, when he happens upon the graveyard of pasta boxes Sherlock still seems to create when left to his own devices. Behind seven boxes of pasta, all almost completely empty, is a dark-glassed bottle, with a paler coat of dust.It’s unopened. John’s face falls slack when he sees it, instantly recognises it, and for a long moment he just stands and looks at it.

The Newlywed Game: Johnlock Edition by patternofdefiance (E, 9,020 w. || Fake Relationship, Fake Marriage, Friends to Lovers, Humour, Romance, Smut, Case Fic, Self-Esteem Issues) – John and Sherlock pretend to be married in order to be contestants in a Newlywed Game. Of course it’s for a case. Of course it doesn’t stay that way. Part 8 of I Blame Tumblr

Praise Me by testosterone_tea (E, 11,813 w. || Sherlock POV, Bottomlock, Dev. Rel., Virgin Sherlock, First Kiss / Time, BJ’s, Anal, Praise Kink, Understanding John, Public Sex, Rimming, Hand Jobs) – In which Sherlock has an interesting physical reaction to compliments and John discovers it.

Your Eyes in Darkness Glowing by tamed_untranslatable (E, 14,686 w. || Est. Rel., Bottomlock, Hotel Sex, Case Fic, Russia, Anal, BJ’s) – Sherlock gets roped into a case in Moscow on his brother’s insistence, but finds that he can’t do it without John.

In A Changing Age by allonsys_girl (E, 15,590 w. || Victorian AU, Virgin / Demi Sherlock, First Kiss / Time, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, Mild H/C, Bottomlock) – Sherlock wakes up in the 19th century, with no idea how he got there.

A Silver Sixpence by doodle (E , 16,400 w. || LIVEJOURNAL || Fake Relationship, Fake Marriage, Case Fic, ) - John and Sherlock have to get married for a case, and learn some things about each other. I LOVE LOVE LOVE this story, though it’s on LJ.

Between Friends by SilentAuror (E, 18,036 w. || Post S3, Alternating POV, Friends to Lovers, John in Denial, Abduction, Awkward Situations / Miscommunications, Porn With Feels, Blowjobs, Pining, Unrequited, Angst With Happy Ending) – Sherlock gets abducted. As John discovers him tied up naked in an empty storage facility and comes to rescue him, Sherlock’s body has an unfortunate reaction which triggers a series of events. John is convinced that everything will be fine as long as they never discuss it. Sherlock isn’t as sure…

State of Flux by Atiki (E, 24,655 w. || S3 Fix It, Sherlock POV, Slow Burn, First Kiss/Time, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Cuddles and Snuggles, Awkwardness, Insecure/Virgin Sherlock, Romance, Humour, Masturbation, Love Declarations, Bottomlock, Brief Suicidal Ideations) – John’s marriage is over and he is finally back home (i.e. at Baker Street, where he belongs). Sherlock is awfully insecure and John is awfully hesitant, and they’re both awkward idiots, of course, but they figure it out. Many First Times happen.

An Acquired Taste by kinklock (E, 31,059 w. || Vampires AU || Vampire Sherlock, Misunderstandings, Bat!Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Humour, Magical Realism, Fluff and Angst, Blood Drinking, Holmes Family, Slow Burn) – At Montague Street when Sherlock was forced to sate his body’s needs, he was at least able to wander about the flat as much as he pleased.At Baker Street, it was mini-bags in a mini-fridge and bedroom confinement.

The Midas Touch by flawedamythyst (E, 32,231 w. || Magical Realism, John has a Magical Cock, Dub Con, Healer John) – John Watson has a medical condition that means everyone he sleeps with is instantly healed of all illness and injury. This causes complications when Sherlock breaks his arm, and even more complications when Sherlock falls in love with him. Yes, this is a story where John has a literal magic healing cock. It’s a lot less cracky than you’re probably imagining. Warning: Contains complex issues of sexual consent, although not between Sherlock and John.

A Study In Auto-Signatures, Sniper Dolphins, and Sex Holidays by cwb (E, 32,690 w. || Case Fic, Post S3, Evil Mary, Dev. Rel., Beach Holidays, Confused Sherlock, Friends to Lovers, Honeymoon, Epistolary, Bottomlock, First Kiss / Time, Fluff, Secret Agents, BAMF!John) – John and Mary go on their sex holiday, and Sherlock is grumpy and pining about it. Part 1 of HOT DOLPHIN SEX

a good old-fashioned happy ending by darcylindbergh (E, 32,731 w. || Christmas, Frottage, Comfort, Est. Rel., Fluff, Insecure Sherlock) – For Christmas this year, Sherlock wants to get John something special: something every fairytale deserves. Part 2 of things fairy tales are made of

The Real Great Perfumers by shelleysprometheus (E, 45,355 w. || Case Fic, Alternating POV, Gay Sherlock / Bi John, Canon Compliant with Divergence at TRF, Friends to Lovers, Oral / Anal, Pining, First Kiss / Time, Dev. Rel., Drugging, Body Worship, Bathing, Love Confessions, Travelling, Bottomlock, Cranky Sherlock, BJ’s, Alternating POV, Jealous John) – The case, this case. This extraordinary, fascinating, scintillating case. A house. Designed entirely by its eccentric owner, built by no less than five hundred expert tradesmen in the heart of Marrakesh. A house that had, seemingly not only driven its owner out, but also to his quite unpleasant death. And a perfumer, a chemist no less, the very thought of the secrets that house could reveal, would reveal was irresistible. Sherlock had to have this case … and it seems, he also had to have John! Part 1 of the Forethought and Fire series

Spare Change by Ermerness (E, 51,966 w. || Rich Holmeses AU || First Kiss / Time, Holmes Family, Virgin Sherlock, Anal, First Meetings, Bossy Bottom) – The Holmes family is one of the richest and most powerful in England. Sherlock spends his time flying around the world on the family’s private jet drinking a lot and shopping at expensive boutiques as a way of trying to alleviate his endless boredom. His mother decides it’s time he settles down with someone powerful, wealthy and well connected. John Watson happens to be none of those things.

A Further Sea by i_ship_an_armada & ShinySherlock (E, 125,492 w. || Historical Pirates AU || Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Doctor John / Pirate Captain Sherlock, Sailing, UST / RST, Masturbation, Action / Adventure, Mild Angst & Peril, Romance, Shaving, Molly/Janine, Bottomlock, Hand / Blow Jobs, Past Drug Use, Slow Burn, Mild Violence, Happy Ending) – Here be a tale of adventure for both body and soul, but beware if ye be not of stout heart, for this be piratelock, ya savvy? Luckless ship’s surgeon John Watson takes a chance, and finds himself eye to eye with The Ghost, the scourge of the seven seas and a definite thorn in the side of the blaggard, James Moriarty. But when John finds there’s more to this most cunning pirate than be meetin’ the eye, he has to choose… is it a pirate’s life for him?

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #lemon fics #my fic recs #Anonymous #bottomlock #fic rec sunday

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