#the john watson jumper

[topsyturvy-turtely]

turtely's OTP challenge

now on ao3! (tumblr link)

read part 17 here: (prompt: washing something)

summary:

"I don't get it!", a very grumpy John Watson stomped through the flat. Almost aggressively searching for the one jumper.

Out of a sudden spur, John marched into Sherlock's room without knocking. Sherlock looked at him, startled. With John's jumper in his hands.

"Is that... my jumper?" John asked surprised.

Sherlock - looking caught - stared up at John. Looked at the jumper in his hands... looked at John again. "It... might be?"

Gen, 1.068 words, Getting Together, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, John Watson is Perfect

☝︎john watson looking for his favorite jumper be like (lmao i feel so unhinged for adding this gif to that fic , especially since he is fucking wearing it 🤣)

tags under the cut ✨

tag list! (tell me if you wanna be added or removed please 💚) @justanobsessedpan @helloliriels @catlock-holmes @fluffbyday-smutbynight @inevitably-johnlocked @hisfavouritejumper @rhasima @forfucksakejohn @ohlooktheresabee @turbulenttrouble @so-youre-unattached-like-me @totallysilvergirl @peanitbear @train-mossman @loki-lock @smulderscobie @timberva @grace-in-the-wilderness @chinike @jawnn-watson @whatnext2020 @escapingthereality @missdeliadili @kettykika78 @musingsofmyown @7-percent @speedymoviesbyscience @astudyin221b @francj15 @ladylindaaa @we-r-loonies @mxster-jocale @sherlockcorner @noahspector @our-stars-graveside @jobooksncoffee @baker-street-blog @macgyvershe @myladylyssa @battledress @a-victorian-girl @dreamerofthemeadow @oetkb12 @ohnoesnotagain @mutedsilence @jawnscoffee @raenchaosandcozyadashofmurder @lisbeth-kk @quickslvxrr @compact-and-beautiful @kabubsmagga @sunshineinyourmind

[ghostofnuggetspast]

"Ugly Christmas Jumper Contest"

(to the tune of "We Three Kings of Orient Are")

"DEEP, deep in the heart of London, children, under the cover of night, there came together dozens of dark figures to a place of brooding and swilling. A 'pub', they say in whispered curses when they think no-one can hear. The figures' murky, nefarious purpose was revealed in the dim light within. A crowd of gibbering watchers lined the walls with their nasty, foaming libations in hand. They were waiting for a spectacle. They were waiting for a crucifixion. Each poor soul thereafter who entered the 'pub' walked with intention as though stepping through thick shame to a place of execution. They stood on the dais, open to the cat-calls of the public, wearing their badges of dishonor with what pride they could muster. Until finally, the Adversary Donovan called the rabble to still their hateful laughter to begin the ritual .... " "Oh, for fuck's sake Sherlock, it was just an ugly jumper contest. You are such a drama queen," John laughed, and he poked the side of the wet cat that was Sherlock. "You had fun! I know you did. You got to see Mycroft ...." Sherlock burst out, "SNORT! Haha, very well, John. Yes, that was worth the whole evening of torture and scratchy wool. Mycroft will owe me soooo many favors for not releasing these pictures. I can't wait to show him." "One more thing you learned from Irene," John thought and shook his head fondly.

(Solemnly, solo violin)

1. Ugly Christmas jumper contest: Choose which one you think is the best! Is it Gerry's, plastic cherries bobbled all o'er his chest?

Chorus: O-oh! Jumpers made with utmost care By a festive, sleepy bear? Or a speeding grandma needing Extra light with loving flair?

2. Sherlock's wearing one with a scowl. It looks like a bright lit-up towel. Shapeless draping, odd landscaping -- Sporting some kind of fowl. (Chorus)

3. Then there is the jumper on John! Each guy in the birth scene's a prawn. Underwater, baby otter Swims in the seaweed lawn. (Chorus)

4. Mrs. Hudson is not immune. Her red top with rhinestones is strewn. They spell "JOLLY" and then "HOLLY" With tinsel gilt festoon. (Chorus)

5. Mycroft's proudly shaking his tum, Wearing coins that drape to his bum! Sequins, patching, gold yarn thatching Someone has spiked his rum. *coughgregcough*

Last Chorus: O-oh! Everyone is good and drunk. Every jumper was pure junk! But there's cheering, more than jeering, This whole contest's a slam-dunk!

@helloliriels @friday411 @totallysilvergirl @calaisreno @naefelldaurk

[consult-sherlockholmes]

What is your favorite jumper of John's? Or if you hate them all what clothing do you think he looks best in?

My favourite jumper of John's would be this one:

However, I do prefer him in other outfits, something more formal like a well-fitted suit or a uniform.

[johnhwatsonblog]

Yeah, the oatmeal sweater is too informal for the ceremony. But you can wear it at the reception and you don't have to worry getting it stained.

What do you mean, I “don’t have to worry getting it stained”? Anon, I always worry about my favourite jumper getting stained.

[goldenkoos]

MARTIN FREEMAN in Breeders: 4x01, Noël

[a-victorian-girl]

Looking at this photo with such poor lighting quality @consult-sherlockholmes took of John's jumper, I wanna start a new trivia:

There are no winners or losers, just for fun! (@consultjohnwatson , no help from you is allowed!)

[meandhisjohn]

Don't be fooled by the jumpers.

[topsyturvy-turtely]

out of context but JOHN IN HIS CHRISTMAS JUMPER>>>>>>

[consult-sherlockholmes]

SHERLOCK! Leave that jumper where you found it. NOW.

But John told me to wear it. So I am allowed.

[johnhwatsonblog]

Awwwww Mummy is making Christmas jumpers for all of you!

Who’s this? How d’you know?

[chriscalledmesweetie]

Feel-Good Fluff

In case anyone needs this, for reasons:

If You Give Sherlock a Biscuit

If You Give John a Jumper

John is NOT the Little Red Hen

The Three Holmes-Watsons Gruff

Midnight Becomes You

The Story

Biscuits

Do You Want to Know a Secret?

Every Song Reminds Me of You

Wizard of Paws

Goodnight Sherlock, Goodnight John

[mouse-of-mischief]

They say that people usually take on a little niche interest, or subtle personality trait, or similar quirks to their comfort characters that they grew up reading/watching.... Well, thank you, John Hamish Watson for giving me a life-long obsession with knitted jumpers, and a stubborn tendency to "hunt and peck" when I write!

[consult-sherlockholmes]

What's wrong with John scenting his jumper? Didn't you steal it just to do the same? Also, yes it is summer, so why do YOU need his jumper anyway?

Nothing wrong with it, I was merely surprised that John would do that. Scenting something is actually a valid technique for deductions.

I needed it for an experiment. And for a case.

[221beeeeeee]

Angsty post-Show Johnlock one shot🔎🫶🏻

Tldr- john moves back to Baker street with Rosie. Life returns to “normal”. Sherlock puts himself in danger as per usual, pissing off a grieving Watson. John angrily kisses him. Uhuh what are we?

John moves back into Baker Street without a word. There’s no dramatic declaration, no discussion, no moment of decision. It just happens. One night, he falls asleep on the sofa after a case, too exhausted to make it back to his own flat. Then it’s two nights. Then his old room is mysteriously clear of dust, the sheets changed, his things tucked neatly into place as if they’d never left. His mug appears next to Sherlock’s in the mornings. Rosie’s toys end up in the corners of the sitting room, as much a part of 221B as the skull on the mantle or the bullet holes in the wall.

Sherlock never asks. Then again, he never had to.

Instead, he adjusts. He makes sure the fridge is stocked with milk. He folds John’s jumpers over the armrest instead of letting them pile on the floor. He learns how to hold Rosie without making it look like a conscious decision.

Neither of them acknowledges the shift, but it settles between them, something unspoken and solid.

John tells himself he’s just getting used to things again. That’s all. That’s why he watches Sherlock too long when he’s thinking. Why his eyes trace the way Sherlock’s fingers move, the way his mouth tightens in concentration. Why he catches himself cataloguing the small, unconscious ways Sherlock has changed since the fall.

Sherlock pretends not to notice. He’s good at pretending. At ignoring the way John leans against the kitchen counter in the mornings, sipping his tea, watching him like he’s measuring something. He doesn’t let his voice falter when John stands too close, doesn’t allow himself to react when John’s hand lingers just a second longer than it should.

Nothing changes. But everything changes.

Then comes the case.

Sherlock is reckless. He always is. But this time is different.

This time, John watches him step into danger like he has nothing to lose. Like he’s still the man he was before the fall, before Mary, before Rosie before John came back.

And John snaps.

The moment they’re safe, the moment the adrenaline crashes through him, John rounds on him.

"What the hell was that?!" His voice shakes. His hands shake. His whole body is still thrumming with the aftershock of almost losing him.

Sherlock blinks at him, expression infuriatingly blank. “I handled it.”

John laughs. It’s bitter, hollow. “Handled it? Handled it? You nearly got yourself killed, Sherlock!”

Sherlock tilts his head, unreadable as ever. “It wasn’t even”

John shoves him. Not playfully, not lightly. Just enough. Enough to make him feel it.

"You don’t get to do that.” John’s voice is hoarse now, rough with something dangerous curling at the edges. “Not anymore. Not after everything. You don’t” He cuts himself off, breathing hard, hands clenching into fists.

Sherlock doesn’t move, doesn’t react. Just watches.

Waiting.

John exhales sharply, fists still curled tight. Then, before he even thinks, before he can stop himself,

He grabs Sherlock’s coat and pulls him in.

The kiss isn’t soft. It isn’t careful. It’s furious, desperate; you absolute bastard, don’t you dare leave me.

Sherlock doesn’t react at first. Just lets it happen. His hands don’t move. His body doesn’t lean forward or away.

John pulls back first, breathless, his hand still gripping the front of Sherlock’s coat. Sherlock doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything. Just stares, wide-eyed, lips parted like he’s about to speak but can’t seem to find the words.

John’s jaw clenches. His hand twitches where it still rests against Sherlock’s chest before he abruptly lets go, shoving Sherlock back a step.

Then he turns sharply on his heel and strides toward the curb.

Sherlock doesn’t follow at first. He stands there, frozen, eyes still locked on John like he’s just had the wind knocked out of him. His hand lifts slowly, almost unconsciously, pressing to the spot where John’s mouth had been just seconds ago. His fingers curl against his skin, like he can still feel it.

John raises an arm. A cab slows, tires hissing against the wet pavement. He wrenches the door open before turning back toward Sherlock, his voice low but sharp.

"Get in the cab."

Sherlock swallows, still unmoving, still wide-eyed, still standing there like a child caught red-handed.

John’s fingers tighten around the edge of the door.

"Sherlock."

Sherlock blinks. Breathes in. Exhales. Then, finally, finally, he moves, stepping forward, lowering himself into the cab without a word.

John follows, slamming the door shut behind them. The cab pulls away, and neither of them look at each other.

The cab is silent except for the sound of John’s heavy breathing, still sharp at the edges, still rough with everything he isn’t saying. His hand rests on the seat between them, fingers curled loosely, like he hasn’t quite decided if he’s clenching a fist or letting go.

Sherlock is still. Too still. Pressed into the corner of the seat like he’s trying to disappear into it, like a child waiting to be scolded. His hands are in his lap, his coat pulled tight around him. He doesn’t fidget, doesn’t explain, doesn’t defend himself.

Then, finally, softly, hesitantly—“I’m sorry.”

John exhales through his nose, his jaw tightening, but he doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even look at Sherlock, just keeps staring ahead, his body still humming with anger, with panic, with the fear that hasn’t left him yet.

And then Sherlock moves.

Slow. Careful. His hand lifts from where it’s curled in his lap, hovering for a moment, hesitant, before he finally lets it settle, just barely, on top of John’s.

Not holding. Not gripping. Just resting.

The tips of his first two fingers brush against John’s knuckles, a ghost of a touch, featherlight and barely there.

A silent apology.

John doesn’t react. Not at first. His breathing is still too heavy, his pulse still too fast.

But he doesn’t pull away.

Sherlock stays where he is, unmoving, waiting.

Then, slowly, John shifts. His fingers flex, hesitating for just a second before his palm turns upward, meeting Sherlock’s touch. Their fingers brush, then intertwine, warm and solid between them.

Sherlock doesn’t speak. Doesn’t breathe. Just lets it happen and John squeezes his hand as a silent,”I accept your apology”

The rest of the cab ride home is silent

[janeofcakes]

John needs this jumper. It’s perfect.

Comfy Skull

Alexander McQueen Skull Knit Jumper

[elevenstork]

certfied John Watson jumpers at the mall