#Johnlock ficlets
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Reunion
Prompt: Together
Old friends, reunited.
Molly had always known that Greg wasn’t the kind of man who retired and had hobbies. Sitting around the house all day would drive him mad, and it did for a few weeks. When he told her he’d been offered a job consulting for the Met, she encouraged him to take it. It meant odd hours and missed dinners, but he was happier that way.
Consulting Detective.
She frequently thought of another consulting detective, one who’d left on a secret mission eighteen years ago and never returned. Something had happened, she suspected, something connected to the mysterious death of Charles Augustus Magnussen, the media mogul. Sherlock was involved, somehow, but the details never came out, and within a week he was gone.
She’d asked John about it, but he just shook his head. His wife had left him by then, suddenly and without explanation. She was pregnant, expecting a little girl, and they’d seemed happy about it.
Gone, he told Molly. The baby wasn’t his. Mary wasn’t what he’d thought. He didn’t know anything about Sherlock, but his look told her what he believed. He wouldn’t be coming back this time.
It was disorienting, as if reality were unravelling, revealing another, very different reality beneath.
Greg was the one stable thing during that time. He could make no sense of Sherlock’s sudden disappearance, either, and when John left too, he seemed as surprised as Molly.
“I never understood it,” he told her. “Those two. They loved each other. Never understood what went wrong.”
She’d replied that when Sherlock returned after faking his death, they never really worked it out. Rubbish at talking, those two.
She and Greg talked. A death could be mourned. It was a different kind of grief when people simply left and you didn’t hear from them again.
That was when they’d started seeing one another, having coffee, and then dinner, and eventually moving in together. The wedding was a small affair, just Greg’s kids and a few close friends. After a few years, Molly gave up working at the morgue and began teaching. A few years later, Greg retired, then started working as a consultant. They had a nice life, she often thought.
The restaurant where she’s meeting him is a new one in their neighbourhood. Da Vinci, it’s called. An Italian bistro. They’ve been meaning to try it since it opened, and tonight they have a reservation.
Arriving a bit early, she takes a seat in the waiting area after letting the hostess know she’s still waiting for her husband, and takes out her phone to check for messages.
15 minutes, he texts.
Tucking her phone away, she notices that someone else is waiting. She glances at him and startles as if she’s seen a ghost.
He’s standing, a tall, thin man with dark hair sprinkled with grey. Not the luxuriant curls he used to wear; it’s cropped closer now. He’s wearing a black pullover and light wool trousers, no jewel-coloured shirt or dashing coat. The face is older, but the eyes have not changed. The colour of water, she’d always thought. Nobody, not even his brother, has eyes like that.
Those pale eyes are fixed on his phone, and he’s smiling. Glancing up, he clearly recognises her. An odd look crosses his features, as if he is not sure what such a moment calls for.
“Molly Hooper,” he says.
“Sherlock.”
All those years ago, before he left, he needed her help and told her his plan. Those two years were very different for her, her grief mostly for the people who believed him dead— Mrs Hudson, Greg, and especially John. John had never really recovered from the shock of it. When Sherlock returned, he resented Molly because she’d been taken into Sherlock’s confidence, and he had not. And Sherlock, who’d insisted on the secrecy mostly for John’s sake, had gone about his grand return all wrong. He never really got back on the right foot with John, who soon married a woman he’d just met. Sometimes Molly thought he’d done it to spite Sherlock, or at least to keep a safe distance from him. He never fully trusted Sherlock after that. But the love was still there. She could see the pain in his eyes when Sherlock left again.
Rising from her seat, she goes to him.
What do you say after eighteen years?
“When did you get back?”
“Just a few weeks ago.” He gives her a tentative smile. “I’m officially retired.”
How old is he? He’s about her age, so maybe mid-fifties. She supposes that undercover agents don’t have long careers. Though he’s still good-looking, she can see that the years have worn him down. A weariness hangs on him, so different from the manic man who swooped into her morgue and demanded body parts.
“You’re not retired,” he says. “You’re teaching in the pathology programme at Barts. And you’re married. Obviously.”
She laughs. “Can you deduce anything about my husband?”
He cocks his head and narrows his eyes. “Mrs Lestrade. You have a daughter, fourteen. She picked out your earrings.”
“Greg is on his way. He’ll be so happy to see you. Would you join us for dinner?”
“I’m expecting someone as well.”
That’s when she notices the ring. “You’re married.”
“Only just.” He suppresses a grin, glances at his phone again. “Says he’s running a bit late.”
Like everyone who knew Sherlock, she’s suspected that he’s gay. When she realised this, it made it easier to accept his lack of interest in her. An odd man, one who avoided sentiment; but clearly in love with his flatmate.
She might ask about John. But John has been gone for years, too, and she doesn’t know anyone who hears from him, not even Mike Stamford, who told her that he’d joined Doctors Without Borders. That was years ago.
“It’s so good to see you,” she repeats, unable to think of anything else to say.
“You as well.” He nods at the door. “Looks like your husband has arrived.”
Greg has caught sight of them and is standing, a look of stunned amazement on his face. He gives a short laugh and strides across the waiting area. “Sherlock Holmes,” he says, throwing his arms around his old friend. “In the flesh, once again.”
“Not quite as sensationally as the last time,” Sherlock says. “I’m old news now. More accurately, no news at all.”
“We never heard anything,” Greg says, stepping towards Molly and planting a kiss on her cheek. “All I could get out of your brother was that you were working for the government. The only way I knew anything at all was from talking with John—“
Molly cringes and Greg seems to realise he’s said the wrong thing.
“Mycroft believed it was critical to keep it all confidential,” Sherlock says. “In those days I’d been so much in the news, he was attempting to keep me out of the spotlight.”
“But you were on a mission, weren’t you?”
Molly takes Greg’s arm. “Won’t you sit with us, Sherlock? I’m sure you don’t want to be discussing this here.”
Sherlock speaks to the hostess while Greg and Molly are led to a table for four. Following them, he takes his seat, asks for a glass of wine, and fiddles with his napkin.
“Tell us about your husband,” Molly says. “Where did you meet?”
His eyes twinkle. “In Kazakhstan. We were on a flight from Beijing that had engine trouble, had to set down in the middle of nowhere. From there, we were bussed to a small hotel, where he and I ended up being roommates for the night.”
“Love at first sight?” she asks.
He pauses, his lips twitching in a smile. “I felt as if I already knew him. We wasted no time in getting married.”
Molly tries to imagine the Sherlock she knew marrying a man on an impulse. Or marrying anyone. He’d proposed to a woman once, but that was for a case. He wasn’t like that, when she knew him.
“Where’s he from?” Greg asks. “What kind of work does he do?”
“Geneva is his home base, but he’s now relocated to London. He’s… a doctor.”
“You seem really happy,” Molly says. “I’m so glad.”
“I am happy.” Sherlock looks a bit surprised by this. “He’s everything I could ever want.”
They fall silent, sipping their wine and looking at the menu.
“Ah, here he is!” Sherlock’s face lights up in a way Molly has never seen. He’s standing, looking towards the door, impatiently rubbing his hands on his trousers, as if he can hardly restrain himself from running across the room. He waves.
Molly and Greg turn to see what kind of man could put that look on the face of Sherlock Holmes.
A short man in a trim suit, greying hair and beard, glasses. As he catches sight of Sherlock, he grins and opens his arms. They meet halfway in an embrace.
John Watson.
“Blimey.” Greg shakes his head. “Another ghost returns.”
@lisbeth-kk @meetinginsamarra @raina-at @bertytravelsfar @momma2boys @jrow @helloliriels @the-reading-lemon @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @elwinglyre @mydogwatson @thetimemoves @jobooksncoffee @lhrinchelsea @peanitbear @gregorovitchworld @7-percent @shiplocks-of-love @khorazir @gaylilsherlock @catlock-holmes @the-reading-lemon @a-victorian-girl @discordantwords
1506 words / Flash Fiction
Note: This is a sequel to The Tarmac, a fic I wrote 3 years ago.
Thank you all, readers and writers, for participating in this prompt fest! And thank you to @notjustamumj for starting us off, inspiring us with her prompts. It's been fun to wake up to lovely, fluffy, angsty little stories each day, but this is our last prompt. We'll have to do this again! Thank you 💕 and keep writing!
If any of you writers have posted your daily stories for these prompts in a collection or series on AO3, please share a link to them. Mine can be found here: Trifles Two.
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Fluffbruary with turtely
Day 14
[day 13] [day 15]
prompts: idea | teach | fruit by @fluffbruary <3
fandom: BBC Sherlock
will be uploaded to "That Stuff Called Fluff" on Ao3!
A/N: please excuse my lateness! yesterday was AWFUL. i literally could. not. but here is day 14 now and it's pretty darn fluffy imho. a bit of a different format: it is not over after the second row of hearts!
♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡
"... and it was always like you were right there in front of me, so close but always out of reach. You are like- the forbidden fruit! And god forbid me to eat it. But damnit! I want it. You understand what I am saying? You're the apple and I am Adam."
"Eve."
"Sorry, what?"
"Eve eats the apple. Not Adam."
"I DON'T CARE! I'm your Eve, then! What I'm trying to say is that not even god himself will keep me from loving and wanting you!"
"Well, for fuck's sake, John! HAVE ME THEN. I don't see a god around to stop you?"
"Unless, you're gonna stop me."
"Did- did you seriously just-"
"Yeah. I did."
♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡
"Teach me"
"Teach you what?"
"I wanna love you. In all the right ways. but I don't know how to. I don't know what you want to hear, what kind of gift you'd want, how to touch you, what you want me to do."
"You're overthinking this."
"Am I? Am I really? I wanna do this right. I'm not doing this half-heartedly. It's all or nothing - preferably everything by the way - but I just don't know how. I need you to teach me."
"Oh, You dumbass."
"Wha- why would you-"
"I don't need to teach you."
"What do you mea-"
"I don't need to, because your heart already taught you how to love me."
♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡
"Do you have any idea?"
"A bit more context please?"
"Do you have any idea how much I love you? How much I cherish, adore, worship and desire you? How badly I want to put you on a throne and fall to your knees, granting you every wish?"
"Never knew you could be this metaphorical."
"Irrelevant. Answer my question. Do you have any idea?"
"Yeah. Yes, of course."
"How? How could you possibly know?"
"Because I feel the exact same way, Sherlock."
♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡
A/N: *happily eats self-made fluff (it looks like cotton candy in my mind)* feedback is amazing! thanks for reading you sweet turtles! 🐢💚
tag list! (tell me if you wanna be added or removed💚) @justanobsessedpan @helloliriels @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 @pansherlock @the-smol-bean-libby-blog @jawnn-watson @whatnext2020 @escapingthereality @missdeliadili @kettykika78 @musingsofmyown @7-percent @speedymoviesbyscience @astudyin221b @francj15 @almosttinycowboy @ladylindaaa @we-r-loonies @mxster-jocale @sherlockcorner @noahspector @our-stars-graveside @jobooksncoffee @baker-street-blog @psychosociogentleman @quickslvxr @macgyvershe @myladylyssa @johnlock2708 @battledress @a-victorian-girl @dreamerofthemeadow @oetkb12 @ohnoesnotagain
#turtely writes#fluffbruary#fluffbruary 2023#fluffbruary with turtely#day 14#happy about reblogs 🥰#johnlock#johnlock ficlets#dialogues#johnlock dialogues#they are so gay for each other it's ridiculous#but we love it#and support them#i'm gonna be so perky and tag this with#THEM#because i really like this#hehehe#bbc sherlock#sherlock#john watson#sherlock holmes
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Hello! I've been enjoying participating in the September Prompts Challenge quite a bit. :)
It's just that the latest fic I posted doesn't belong to Johnlock Or Sherlock. It's a Breaking Bad fic, actually. Since I don't know many people in that fandom, could you give the link to that post a signal boost? It would be helpful.
Here's the link: Devotion.
Thank you so much. ❤😊
Hey Lovely!
AH! Fantastic! Thank you for the link!
Everyone go give this a read! Here's another Author participating in the prompts challenge! :)
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“Sherlock?”
“Hmmm”
“You asleep yet?”
“Obviously not, or I wouldn’t be talking.”
“You weren’t talking until now, just humming.”
“Well, I’m awake now. What’s the matter?”
“Your phone hasn’t made that noise yet.”
“What noise?”
“You know. That text alert noise it makes whenever you get a text from ... her.”
“I changed it.”
“You did?“
“Yes.”
“When? I thought it wasn’t possible.”
“It turned out to be possible.”
“Right. So ... she hasn’t texted you yet?”
“Why would she text me?”
“Because it’s your birthday. Midnight has just passed.”
“Oh. Will there be cake later?”
“Happy birthday, Sherlock. And yes, of course there will be cake. It’s obligatory, after all.”
“Indeed it is. And John?”
“Yeah?”
“Stop being jealous. After all, I’m here with you now, and you’re the only person I want in my bed – or have ever wanted. Even if I might get a text from The Woman later, and even if I text her back occasionally.”
“Sorry, Sherlock. I love you, too.”
“Obviously.”
“When, it wasn’t obvious to either of us for a good while.”
“Yes, because we were idiots.”
“Even you?”
“As much as I hate to admit it, yes, even I.”
For Sherlock’s birthday, and also for this month’s @sherlockchallenge : Envelope
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'When all is lost, your face I see ...
... Do you, still then, remember me?'
Remember Me by helloliriels (GIF art made to accompany ficlet)
Based on this actual knitted soldier found in UK for Remembrance Day, Syston, Liecestershire. (I've moved it to London .... shhhh!)
Uncle Rudy w/Baby Sherlock, Mummy Holmes with Kindergarten Lock, Teenlock w/Mycroft, Sherlock alone, The Soldier (John) carrying Sherlock home to 221b. (wanted to do a few more of the in-between years, but stuck with just adding Uncle Rudy, like it had been their routine for years)
@chinike @rhasima @johnlocky @whatnext2020 @iwlyanmw @mrb488 @fluffbyday-smutbynight @totallysilvergirl @7-percent @sarahthecoat @kettykika78 @khorazir @musingsofmyown @mutedsilence @cmorris-art @safedistancefrombeingsmart @chriscalledmesweetie @discordantwords @john-smiths-jawline @gregorovitchworld @lisbeth-kk @dontfuckmylifewtf @so-youre-unattached-like-me @colourfulwatson @pocketwatchofmycroft @aquilea-of-the-lonely-mountain @loki-lock @missdeliadili @sgam76 @peanitbear @morgendaemmerung89 @zira-and-crowley @teamkidman @meetinginsamarra @keirgreeneyes @impalaparkedat221b @topsyturvy-turtely @a-victorian-girl @thegirlfromthesouth @insistentbass @arwamachine @solarmama @amyreadsandstresses @glows-n-the-dark @masterofhounds @inevitably-johnlocked @kittenmadnessandtea @raina-at @anyway-kindness @purplevatican
#remembrance day#bbc sherlock#johnlock#helloliriels#liriels art#john watson#remember me#accompanying ficlet#knitted soldier#London#nov 11th#weekend
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Unleash
Fandom: Sherlock (TV)
Rated: Mature
Tags: BAMF John Watson, Protective John Watson, Doctor John Watson, John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, Dark Themes, Case Fic, Sherlock Holmes Whump, Hurt Sherlock Holmes, Drugs, Drugging, John Watson to the Rescue, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, First Kiss, Kissing, Rough Kissing
Sherlock touches John’s arm briefly and John’s attention goes back to him instantly. His hand grips Sherlock’s form, bringing him impossibly closer. John presses their heads together, his voice coming to a whisper. “Everything will be okay, darling. I promise. Just hang in there for me. Stay awake.” Darling was on instinct. Really, it’s the only thing that grounds John. Sherlock’s anguished eyes meet John again, though it seems like he’s struggling to do just that.
Read here on ao3.
Tags: @a-victorian-girl @jolieblack @whatnext2020 @helloliriels @colourfulwatson @totallysilvergirl @ninasnakie @thegildedbee @whodwantmeasaflatmate @with-a-ghost-mr-holmes @sherlocknjohn221b @jawnn-watson @blogstandbygo @lisbeth-kk @holmesianlove @7-percent @itsonlytext @chinike @peanitbear @mary-johnlocked @bakerstreetbe @curlyjohnlock @keirgreeneyes @ceceliajupe @ghostofnuggetspast @dw91165 @demonboycrowley
(Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged or wouldn’t like to be tagged.)
Omg, I finally finished it! Thanks to all who encouraged me with BAMF John. It meant so much🥰
#johnlock#sherlock#bbc sherlock#johnlock fanfiction#writerscommunity#ao3 writer#ao3#sherlock fandom#john watson#BAMF John Watson#protective john watson#eventual Johnlock#Eventual Sherlock/John#johnlock hug#johnlock ficlet#sherlock bbc#sherlock tv#sherlock fan fic#sherlock fanfiction#sherlock and john#sherlock x john#sherlockbbc#sherlock fanfic#sherlock holmes#john watson is fine#johnlock fanfic#ao3 fanfic#writumblr#writers on ao3#pic from pinterest
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But It's a Ten, John!
“Don’t you dare respond to that text.”
“It’s Lestrade.”
“It could be the queen for all I care. Don’t respond.”
“It might be a case.”
“It could be a hundred cases. Don’t even look at your phone.”
“It’s a locked room triple homicide!”
“I told you not to look. Put the phone down.”
“But it’s a ten, John!”
“I don’t care if it’s an eleven. Drop the phone.”
“The scale only goes up to ten.”
“Sherlock, I am not going to ask you again. Drop the phone or I’m pulling out.”
“Fine. But this fuck had better be a ten.”
The OTW invited folks to create drabbles incorporating the number 10 on February 15th to celebrate the 10th annual International Fanworks Day. I spent 10 minutes on this little tidbit for you. It’s inspired by a scene from The Only One in the World, I Invented the Job by @apliddell.
I’m tagging some folks who might be interested. Please let me know if you’d like me to tag or untag you.
@mydogwatson @totallysilvergirl @bluebellofbakerstreet @sarahthecoat @helloliriels @daisyfairy1 @imnova @kittenmadnessandtea @marta-bee @whodwantmeasaflatmate @iwantthatbelstaffanditsoccupant @jobooksncoffee @peanitbear @bakingsherlycakes @missdeliadilisblog @kettykika78 @stellacartography @shelleysprometheus @iamjustreading @chinike @sgam76 @loves-to-read-fanfic @inevitably-johnlocked @johnlockismyreligion @calaisreno @with-a-ghost-mr-holmes @macgyvershe
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December moments
Prompts used in this chapter: seasonal illness - the Case of the Frozen Corpse - midnight - jolly
What’s worse than an ill doctor, you wonder? I’ll tell you. It’s an ill consulting detective.
December 15
“I’m dying, John” Sherlock rasps with a hoarse voice.
“No, you’re not,” John says and places a cold cloth on Sherlock’s hot forehead.
The great detective is rarely ill, but when he is, his dramatic personae comes forth with full force. He’s got John’s full sympathy, because John hates being ill himself, and he sucks at being a patient. Where John gets grumpy and aggressive, Sherlock whines and gets clingy as a child with separation anxiety. It can be endearing but also utterly taxing. As long as Sherlock’s fever is this high, John’s reluctant to leave him by himself, and has asked Mycroft to get one of his minions to do some shopping. Mrs. Hudson is also under the weather, so John’s included her shopping list too when he texted the older Holmes brother.
***
When John comes back from checking on their landlady, who doesn’t need a doctor’s attention thank you very much, Sherlock’s dozed off on the sofa. John sighs relieved, finally getting some time to himself. He takes a quick shower and starts to write down their last case on the blog, which he calls The Case of the Frozen Corpse, fully knowing that Sherlock will disapprove.
It never ceases to amaze John how vast Sherlock’s knowledge about obscure establishments and businesses within London is. It had only taken him a glance at the missing man’s correspondence to realise where he was. The butchery hadn’t been mentioned per se; only the word Baron, which evidently was enough for the great detective.
Close to Baron’s Court was a butchery with a large freezer. After a thorough search, that made all the involved cold to the bone, they’d found the corpse of the missing man.
Brilliant, as always, John concludes and posts the entry.
He startles when he hears his name being called. It’s almost midnight and John’s ready for bed and is grateful that he doesn’t have to rouse Sherlock from his sleep.
“How are you feeling, love?” John asks and kneels in front of the sofa.
“Still dying, I’m afraid,” Sherlock mutters, but his temperature is more to John’s liking now.
He’ll probably be fine after a couple of days with enough sleep and rest.
“Let’s get you to bed, and if you’re a jolly good boy I might read my last blog entry as a bedtime story to you,” John promises.
It’s clearly too painful to roll his eyes, but Sherlock manages a sound John chooses to interpret as yes, John…
Read it on AO3
@totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @calaisreno @a-victorian-girl @phoenix27884 @helloliriels @safedistancefrombeingsmart @gregorovitchworld @topsyturvy-turtely @sabsi221b @peanitbear @raina-at
#christmas ficlet prompts#sherlock fandom#sherlock#john watson#johnlock#sherlock fanfic#bbc sherlock#ao3 fanfic#december moments#respite in december
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Ball in Your Court
Brisk footsteps come up the stairs. The door to 221B opens and John steps inside, a decisive air about him.
Sherlock puts the book back on the shelf in front of him – it isn’t the one he was looking for anyway – and partly turns around to face his flatmate.
John seems to square his shoulders. Without taking off his coat, he starts speaking. “Sherlock, I’ve decided to just say it. I love you. Always have, always will. So there.” He nods, as a weight almost visibly falls off his shoulders. “The ball is in your court now. Do with this information what you will. You may either kiss me, shag me or ignore me, pretend I never said this. You can also say to my face it’s not reciprocated. At least then it’s clear.”
A beat of silence.
The smallest traces of shock, regret and shame briefly ripple across John’s face.
“John,” Sherlock says, breath catching, as he faintly raises his right hand in the direction of the kitchen. “Meet my parents.”
Wide-eyed they sit on either side of the kitchen table, clutching their cups of tea. The next instant, they’re getting up and gathering their things, all nervous smiles. “We’re just going to go for a stroll around the block. We’ll… we’ll come back later,” Sherlock’s mother says with a friendly nod, voice pitched high. “Yes, yes,” is all his father can say.
Before John can blink more than three times, they are gone.
John cringes, his shoulders sag. “Oh god. I’ve embarrassed you… in front of your parents.” He runs a hand over his face and starts turning away. “This was… a huge mistake.”
Sherlock stops John and grabs him by the shoulders with both hands. He takes a deep breath. Looking at him intently, he says, “John. You know where I got my deduction skills? From my mother.” His voice starts sounding wobbly now. “Do you know what she just said, minutes before you entered?” Sherlock swallowed. “She deduced that I was heartbroken, madly in love with my flatmate who I was convinced could never love me back. She just finished her last sentence when you opened the living room door.”
John’s mouth falls slightly open.
Sherlock whispers, “She’s never wrong.”
With many thanks to @otter-von-bismarck for the quick beta!
Also tagging some other people who might enjoy this: @totallysilvergirl @blogstandbygo @mama-orion @chained-to-the-mirror @shiplocks-of-love
I haven’t written anything in ages, so finally posting a tiny ficlet makes me disproportionally happy and proud, LOL.
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Lost and Found
Prompt: Redecorating
The sofa has reached the end of its natural life.
Sherlock has resisted replacing it, despite the cushions leaking some substance that makes him sneeze and several springs poking into his back when he’s trying to find his Mind Palace.
“Do you have one in there?” John asks.
Sherlock is baffled, then narrows his eyes. “Do I have a sofa in my Mind Palace?”
John shrugs and gives him a cheeky grin. “Well, I’ve never visited, so I wouldn’t know. For all I know, it’s more posh than the King’s digs.”
“I don’t want a new sofa,” Sherlock gripes. “I want the old one fixed.”
“Nobody does that kind of work anymore,” John explains. Again. This conversation seems to be running on a loop. “It’s too far gone. In any case, we’ll need to carry it out back to the skip.”
Sherlock sits in his chair, pulling his knees up to his chin. He needs to sulk for a few minutes before he’ll help.
“I’ll take the cushions down first,” John says, ignoring the sulk. “We’ll wrangle the frame down after.”
Removing one of the cushions, he tosses it aside. It’s Sherlock’s favourite cushion, the one where John’s bum always rests on movie nights, with Sherlock’s head in his lap.
It’s hard to watch, like seeing an old friend taken apart. Well, Sherlock doesn’t have friends, only one, who is currently disassembling his favourite sofa as if it were merely furniture.
“Hey, I found money!” John holds up a coin. It’s an old one-pound coin with Queen Elizabeth’s profile. He pockets it.
“That might be mine,” Sherlock says.
John smirks. “You never have money in your pockets. Not even a penny. Oh, here’s a penny!”
He tosses it at Sherlock, who catches it. It’s brown, with a man’s profile. “Who is this?”
“Probably George VI.” John comes over and studies it. “1949. Might be worth a pound.”
Sherlock tucks the coin in his pocket and listens to John muttering as he runs a hand into the framework.
“I wonder how old this sofa is. What’s this? An old sock.”
“I am not currently missing any socks from my index,” Sherlock says. “It must be yours.”
“Mine, then. The dryer eats them. Not sure how it ended up here.”
“It’s a wormhole. Sofas are full of things no one can identify. Artefacts from other dimensions.”
“Hm, I think you’re right. Remember when we got the new microwave, after you blew up the last one with that experiment? We didn’t get the smell out for weeks. And we promptly lost the manual for the new one. Here is it.” He tosses it on the table.
Sherlock sits up, pointing at the next item John’s fished out of the depths. “What’s that?”
“A key. No idea what door it’s for.”
Sherlock comes over, takes it out of his hand. “I think it’s the key to my old flat. I couldn’t find it when I terminated my lease, and they said it didn’t matter, they’d be changing the locks anyway.” He sits on the floor, turning it over in his fingers.
John sits on the remaining cushion. “Where did you live before here?”
“Montague Street. Dreadful flat.”
“You never saw where I was living before, did you?”
“I did.” His face flushes.
“How did you— oh, God, you picked the lock, didn’t you? While you were off looking for pink suitcases, you broke into my bedsit.”
“Evidence, John. If one is going to share rooms with a person, it’s best to know all you can.”
“And what did my room tell you?”
“That you needed to live with me.” He smiles. “Is that the remote for the telly?”
John giggles. “I hid it last week when you were getting ready to watch that documentary about the serial killers again.”
“I was bored! If I can’t have a serial killer of my own, I might be permitted to vicariously enjoy some.”
“You’re mad, you know. Here’s a note: Do not bin the eyeballs.”
“That’s your doing, John Watson. You binned them and said you never got my note. The evidence is in your hand.”
“Hm. Maybe. Wait— what are my dog tags doing here?”
“I may have… borrowed them. When you went to Edinburgh for that pointless conference.”
“That was a year ago. You borrowed them?”
“I missed you. I couldn’t sleep without you, so I slept out here, on the sofa.”
John leans towards him, kisses his forehead. “You’re adorable, do you know that?”
“So you often remind me.”
John kisses him again, this time on the lips. “There’s a lot of history in this old sofa.”
“There is. But I think I will adjust to the new one.”
“Will you?”
Sherlock smiles and points. “Oh, look! What’s that?”
“What? I don’t see anything else.”
Sherlock kisses him. “It’s my heart. Lost it the day you moved in.”
814 words, Flash Fiction
@lisbeth-kk @meetinginsamarra @raina-at @bertytravelsfar @momma2boys @jrow @helloliriels @the-reading-lemon @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @elwinglyre @mydogwatson @thetimemoves @jobooksncoffee @lhrinchelsea @peanitbear @gregorovitchworld @7-percent @shiplocks-of-love @khorazir @gaylilsherlock @catlock-holmes @the-reading-lemon @inevitably-johnlocked @discordantwords
Thank you for reading/reblogging!
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turtely's OTP challenge
now on Ao3! (tumblr link)
read the (slightly improved) part 6 here:
summary: Just two flatmates making fun of each other. Well, maybe-more-than-flatmates.
General Audience, 850 Words. Developing Relationship, Friends to Lovers, AU - College/University, Fluff and Humor, and they were roommates:D
the amazing, perfect, talented @justanobsessedpan was kind enough to draw this beautiful fanart for this ficlet, when i first published this on tumblr! please give her likes and reblogs <3
tag list! (tell me if you wanna be added or removed please 💚) @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
#turtely writes#turtely's otp challenge#johnlock#uni!lock#fluff#johnlock fluff#bbc sherlock#sherlock#john watson#sherlock holmes#johnlock ficlet
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“I can’t believe it – even though I should. It’s bloody Christmas Eve, and we’ve been captured. Again. Locked up. Again. Sitting somewhere in the fucking cold freezing our arses off. Again.”
“Okay, yes, I concede you have a point, John. But what exactly are you complaining about?”
“Sherlock, I swear to you—”
“No, I mean it. We’re unhurt – apart from the cold, perhaps. We’re together. And do look on the bright side, John. We’re not even tied up this time. Things are definitely looking up, I’d say.”
“‘Looking up’? Seriously? Are you kidding me?”
“Well, chances are that we will be rescued in an hour or two. And until then, we can try to get comfortable. Share body heat, that kind of thing.”
“Very funny, Sherlock.”
“You know, John, I begin to suspect that you actually miss the ‘being-tied-up-part’ of what seems to have become somewhat of a Christmas tradition.”
“Shut up. And come here.”
For this month’s @sherlockchallenge : Cold
And because it’s a tradition, too, this is my 2023 Sherlock Christmas card. If you’d like to receive one (in exchange for a charitable donation), drop me a note. More information about the card and a look at the motifs (and ficlets) from previous years can be found here:
#sherlock#sherlock fanart#johnlock#christmas card#christmas cards#sherlockchallenge#drawing#ink#john watson#charity#ficlet#watercolour
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"Do you think The Doctor exists?"
Sherlock asked John.
The question came out of nowhere as he was hanging a stocking up by the fire.
There were three, side-by-side. One for John, one for little Rosie, and one for Sherlock.
It took a moment for John's brain to catch up to what Sherlock was asking?
"Sorry ...? The doctor?" John asked, tilting his head as if trying to recall what they had been discussing previously? "What doctor?"
His hand hovered over the tree as it held a snowflake ornament, midway to hanging it on its waiting branch.
"You know ...?" Sherlock shrugged, "The Doctor." He waved his arms to indicate all of the Christmas decorations. "The one who shows up while you are sleeping and delivers christmas toys?"
John's eyes went wide.
"You don't mean ... are you ... ? Are you talking about Santa somehow?"
"No, John," Sherlock Holmes rolled his eyes, leaving all but the word 'idiot' out. "Everyone and their dog knows Santa Claus isn't real! He could never make deliveries on a global scale with just a sleigh and handful of reindeer?!"
"No," John chuckled to himself, "course not. Silly me!"
"He doesn't even have a time machine," Sherlock muttered, sounding a little affronted.
Then he was stepping back to admire his handiwork on the mantle before picking up a strand of garland from the box of decorations, and lifting out a packet of fairy lights.
"Hang on a mo-"
John carefully hung up the ornament - mind still reeling with thoughts - as he made sure he would not drop and shatter anything, before climbing down the stepladder to face Sherlock more directly.
Once he was on firm ground, he came over and turned Sherlock around.
Sherlock froze. Staring down at the closeness of John, at the warmth of his hands touching him ... blinking both at it, and then up at John's now glittering eyes.
"You mean to tell me ...? John asked, voice tinkling with mirth, "...that you grew up ...? With tales of Doctor Who delivering your Christmas presents??!"
John was barely containing his enthusiasm.
"Doctor who?" Sherlock asked, confused.
"Oh my God," John was now laughing with his eyes also, "Oh ... my. God! The Doctor?! The timelord with two hearts ... ! The one who travels in a big blue box? That Doctor??"
Sherlock shuffled his feet uncomfortably, and wouldn't meet John's eyes.
"That ... is ... " Sherlock huffed, "isn't that ... how it goes?" He looked around as if he had somehow gotten it all wrong??
Was John making fun of him?
It had certainly made more sense than a giant bearded old elf in red wool sneaking down non-existent chimneys! Or at least he and Mycroft thought so ...
John had stopped laughing. He stepped forward and looked up earnestly as Sherlock, "Will I ever cease to be amazed by how your brain works?" He asked, genuinely amazed.
Sherlock's eyes went wide as John stepped closer and ... his hand brushed the curls away from Sherlock's forehead.
Then he pulled Sherlock in for a kiss.
Now Sherlock's eyes were glittering, looking as if he'd opened every Christmas present early.
"Just know, if I find you kissing any other Doctor on Christmas eve ..." John warned, playfully, "I will be taking back all of your Christmas presents!"
Sherlock grinned, "Doctor who?" he mocked in return, stooping to pull John close again, "I only kiss this one."
John laughed as Sherlock enthusiastically smothered him in kisses. Only pulling away when they heard Rosie coo from the other room.
"Oh, I know what we're watching tonight!" John laughed.
Sherlock pulled John back and placed John's hand over his own heart. "John ...?" he asked, in serious reply to John's teasing, "are you sure you don't have two hearts?"
Just then, Rosie walked in, dragging her floppy bunny behind her ...
"Maybe ... even three?" Sherlock corrected.
John smiled ... knowing his own heart had just melted.
@johnlocky @chinike @rhasima @fluffbyday-smutbynight @lisbeth-kk @gregorovitchworld @john-smiths-jawline @topsyturvy-turtely @chriscalledmesweetie @calaisreno @khorazir @missdeliadili @masterofhounds @whatnext2020 @safedistancefrombeingsmart @bewitched-bullet @kettykika78 @discordantwords @bertytravelsfar @inevitably-johnlocked @red-pen-revolution @sabsi221b @sakshisahu @solarmama @janetm74 @a-victorian-girl @blogstandbygo @purplevatican @totallysilvergirl @7-percent @sarahthecoat @inevitably-johnlocked @raina-at @jobooksncoffee @dontfuckmylifewtf @iwlyanmw @saki101 @sgam76 @kabubsmagga @keirgreeneyes @meetinginsamarra @loki-lock @a-different-equation @mrb488 @youcouldcallmegus @amyreadsandstresses @inatshej @dragonnan @tiverrr
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i saw your post about prompts!
and ooo maybe something related to sherlock's growing/settling relationship with rosie as she grows into a teen and john realising that she's much more alike mary than she thinks when she gets upset that she can't remember much about her mother. the men help her see that.
Like Mother, Like Daughter
Fandom: Sherlock (TV)
Relationship: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson & Rosie Watson
Rating: General Audience
Tags: Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Post Season/Series 04, Father-Daughter Relationship, Rosie is a teenager, Teen attitude, Parentlock, Post Mary Morstan, Angst, Fluff
Thank you so, so much for this prompt, anon! I’m so sorry I didn’t get to it sooner and you were one of my first people to send in prompts. I hope this is to your liking❤️❤️
*•*•*•*
Something’s different about Rosie today, John can tell.
Maybe it’s the unsaid sense of a father or maybe it’s because the teen has displayed a frown since the moment she woke up.
John remembers wishing Rosie a good day at school when he dropped her off, students hurrying to get to their first class.
Rosie, however, only stared at the ground, ignoring John. Her blue eyes were blank, her jaw tense.
John blinked, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Hey.”
Rosie’s eyelashes fluttered as she turned to John. “Yeah?”
“You alright?”
She shrugged, and John was only happy it wasn’t an eye roll as well, a pair of gestures that the teen had acquired as the years went on. “M’fine, Dad,” she dismissed, carrying her bag and leaving John’s side before John could say anything else.
“Her menstrual cycle, maybe?” Sherlock had suggested back at 221B when John voiced his concerns. “Did she seem irate?”
“No,” John had said. “Well—god, I don’t even know. Maybe? Just… down, I guess.”
Sherlock came up behind John and soothed a loose hair on the doctor’s head. “Ask her when she gets home, then.”
John snorted. “You know how to deal with her best. You ask her.”
“John,” Sherlock said, sending him a pointed look. “Talk to her.”
The conversation replays in John’s head as he and Rosie walk home, their steps in sync.
Rosie has just turned 14, and her attitude certainly shows it. John finds that his daughter has obtained his obvious anger issues. That can cause some arguments to take place, as much as John wishes it didn’t. Or maybe it’s because she’s around the snarky detective, catching on to his sass.
John sighs through his nose. He hopes not.
Before they enter the flat, John stops her, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Rosie, wait.”
Rosie stops, turning to him with a stiff shrug. “Yeah?”
John turns his head. “You sure you’re alright, darling?”
Rosie’s still for too long, her eyes never leaving John’s. “I told you, I’m fine,” she says.
“Right, well, you say that, but you don’t seem like it.”
Rosie scoffs. “Well, I don’t know what you want me to do about it. This is how I act.”
John grits his teeth. “Not usually. Usually you don’t give me an attitude.”
“I’m not giving you an attitude. I’m talking.”
John laughs humorlessly. “Rosie, this isn’t talking. This is starting an argument.”
This time, Rosie rolls her eyes. “God, I can’t get anything through with you!”
And to John’s great surprise, she barges through the door and practically stomps up the stars. John waits for another moment and soon, he registers a door slamming.
John sighs in frustration and heads up to 221B as well in a much calmer fashion. Once he steps into the living room to the flat, Sherlock turns to him where he’s conducting an experiment on the kitchen counter.
“Not good, then?” the detective asks with a quirk of a brow.
John runs a hand over his face. “No. No, not good.”
“She doesn’t like when you’re snarky back,” Sherlock murmurs, flicking a glass tube with his fingers to allow more water flow.
“I wasn’t- look, she has to learn how to dial down that attitude,” John says, leaning on the frame of the entrance to the kitchen. “I swear, it’s almost like arguing with you.”
“No. It’s like arguing with you,” Sherlock corrects. “Or Mary. Really, I can see both of you in her quite clearly.”
John grits his teeth at the comment. He looks up at the bedroom, the shut door displaying unwelcomeness. John steps forward. “Maybe I should-”
“Don’t,” Sherlock says, his eyes still on the tube. “Give her time. Allow her to cool off.”
John clenches his jaw, then nods curtly. “Yeah. Right, erm-”
In a swift movement, Sherlock turns on the stool, taking John’s sides and bringing him closer so that he’s able to stand between his legs. John releases a quiet sigh of relief at the feel of Sherlock’s hands at his sides, soothing him.
“In the research I’ve done, teenagers are prone to get angry easier,” Sherlock says.
“You’ve done research?”
“Shut up. What I’m saying is, just… be patient with her, I suppose. If you two keep bickering back and forth, it will be to no end.”
John stares at Sherlock, unable to take his eyes off this wonderful, brilliant man in front of him. “I love you,” John breathes.
Sherlock grins. “I know.”
___
Two hours pass, maybe three. John is jittering in his chair, and Sherlock is browsing his (John’s) computer leisurely for a case.
John nods, making a decision. “Right. I’m gonna go talk to her.” He stands and Sherlock’s deep voice catches him.
“Calmly,” Sherlock warns, not looking up from the screen.
John opens his mouth to say something, then decides to simply settle for a nod.
Two steps at a time, he heads up the stairs. For a while, he just stands there, fist hesitantly nearing the wooden door.
He takes a deep breath, then knocks.
Nothing.
He knocks again.
John can hear an annoyed breath from the other end of the room. Soon, Rosie opens the door, her eyes expectant. “Yes?” she asks.
John gestures into the room. “May I come in, your majesty?”
Rosie fights a grin, but quickly hides it as she steps aside. “If you want.”
John comes in and briefly admires Rosie’s room. The design has changed over the years. It used to be John’s old room and it was quite bland, but as Rosie’s gotten older, John has encouraged her to decorate it how she pleases. Now there are a few posters of celebrities (that Sherlock rolls his eyes at) and John catches that there’s even a poster of James Bond.
John’s heart swells. He made sure to introduce Rosie to the Bond films at an early age and, together, they’ve made it a tradition to have a movie night at least once a year to binge watch the films. At first, Sherlock refused to partake in it. But when Rosie gave him her big blue eyes, silently pleading that he join them, Sherlock sighed in defeat, taking a seat next to them on the sofa.
John sucks in a breath, breaking his thoughts. He turns to Rosie, his eyes now filling with concern. “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong now?”
Rosie looks down, fiddling her fingers. “Nothing’s wrong.”
“Rosie,” John says gently. “Come on. You don’t have to lie about this.”
Rosie stares at him, then seems to make a decision. She goes across the room, opening a drawer and pulling out a deck of photographs.
John doesn’t have to see them to know what they are.
“I didn’t mean to snoop,” Rosie claims nervously, stepping forward as she looks down at the pictures of her mother on her wedding day. “But… I mean- I saw the photo album in the corner of your room and- and I couldn’t help but look… keep them. I promise I’ll put them all back, but I just wanted to look, and-”
“Rosie,” John says. He sighs, putting a hand on her shoulder. “It’s alright, darling. It- I knew you’d be curious someday.”
Rosie released a trembling breath. John’s heart breaks. “Why don’t we talk about Mum?” she asks.
John bites down hard on his inner cheek. “You know it’s a sensitive subject. You know how she died.”
“But that doesn’t mean we can’t talk about her,” Rosie counters, her voice cracking.
John squeezes her shoulder, then leads them both to sit on the bed. “I know,” he says. “I know and I’m… so sorry. I just- there’s so much about your mother that- that’s not… I just don’t want you to see her in a bad light.”
“Then… at least tell me if- if I’m like her,” Rosie pleads.
“Oh, darling, of course you are,” John reassures. “You’re a spitting image of her.”
“Could you just- tell me about her? Tell me what she’s like?”
“Well, she was-”
“I want Sherlock to be here,” Rosie interrupts, her eyes desperate.
John pauses. He quickly recovers and nods. “Yeah… yeah, ‘course.”
Just then, Sherlock opens the door. He sniffs and John frowns. “You summoned me,” Sherlock says as he shuts the door behind him.
“Sherlock, how many times do I have to remind you not to listen in on conversations?” John says with gritted teeth as Rose laughs.
“You can hardly blame me, John,” Sherlock defends as he sits on the other side of Rosie.
“I can and I most certainly will.”
Sherlock’s eyes focus on Rosie. “What would you like to know?”
Rosie looks down as she thinks. “It’s selfish.”
“Bee,” Sherlock says in the soft voice he only reserves for Rosie and John. “Nothing you can say is selfish. You have every right to know. I was wondering when you’d bring the topic up.”
Rosie sighs. “Anything, really. I want… I want to know if I’m like her at all or- just anything.”
John can’t help but give a small smile. “You have her stubbornness,” he says. “I think that’s the main thing. I swear, sometimes you talk just like her.”
“You have her energy,” Sherlock continues, and John wants to kiss the man for being such a wonderful sport. He knows Sherlock still feels inexplicable guilt, even as they’ve progressed their relationship into a couple. He knows Sherlock has a difficult time talking about the subject, but the fact that he talks about it like it’s the easiest thing in the world when someone brings Mary up… John loves him. “She was quite the lively woman.”
“You’re clever,” John says, his voice now a whisper. “She was intelligent, could always see through a lie and had a lense of reality.”
Rosie looks like she’s on the verge of tears. Sherlock rubs her back. “What is it?” the detective asks.
“No, no, it’s just…” She lets out a long breath. “Everyone at school always talks about their mothers. And- And that made me more upset that I couldn’t relate to them.” A small smile forms on Rosie’s lips. “I’m glad I can… that I can learn about Mum. And just knowing that I’m somewhat like her-” Rosie sniffles, smiling through her tears. “It makes me so happy.”
John pulls Rosie in for a tight hug, striving not to shed tears himself. He kisses her blonde curls. “You’re a lot more like her than you think. She’ll always be a part of you and I want you to never forget that.”
Sherlock seems hesitant on joining in on the affection, but Rosie huffs and pulls him in by his arm sleeve. “‘Lock, get in here.”
Sherlock chuckles at the nickname and joins in, wrapping his long arms around the both of them.
They stay like that for a while, just the three of them.
*•*•*•*
Tags: @a-victorian-girl @whatnext2020 @totallysilvergirl @ninasnakie @thegildedbee @whodwantmeasaflatmate @with-a-ghost-mr-holmes @sherlocknjohn221b @jawnn-watson @blogstandbygo @lisbeth-kk @holmesianlove @7-percent @itsonlytext @chinike @peanitbear @mary-johnlocked @bakerstreetbe @curlyjohnlock @helloliriels @keirgreeneyes @ceceliajupe @ghostofnuggetspast @dw91165 @jolieblack
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Green
John sips at his tea, breathing deeply. The air smells of earth and the sea, salty and fresh.
It rained yesterday, but today the sun is out and it’s warm. The grass is lush and green in the summer sun, the birds are singing, the neighbour’s bees are humming in the garden.
They've only been here two days, and John feels - renewed. Settled. Calm.
He turns his eyes from the lush greenery of the Sussex landscape to Sherlock, who's baking... something. He can't tell from here, but judging by the number of bowls, implements and ingredients, he guesses it's something complicated. Right now, Sherlock is either whisking egg whites or whipping cream, it's difficult to say. He looks absorbed and yet abstracted, fully concentrated on the task at hand yet miles away.
John wonders what he's thinking. Why he brought them here.
John needed a break, no doubt about it.
He thought nothing could be worse than the war, but then he worked in a London A+E during the worst of a global pandemic. Of course he’s ten years older than he was when he was in Afghanistan, but it’s something deeper than that. The last two years have taken something from him, something he didn't even know he still had. It’s like a well inside him has dried up.
He looks out the kitchen window, past Sherlock, towards the sea.
It's beautiful here. Quiet. Sedate.
Boring, he hears Sherlock’s voice in his head whisper.
They arrived on Sunday. Took a walk through the village. Went to the beach. Napped. Had savoury pie for dinner. John fell asleep at nine, the sound of the sea lulling him into a deep, dreamless rest.
It rained all day yesterday. They spent the day quietly indoors. Read books, watched some telly. John baked scones, the first time in a long time. It felt a bit like coming home.
They had slow, lovely, calm, dreamy sex in front of the fireplace. Also the first time in a long time.
After, they lay on the sofa, his head pillowed on Sherlock's chest, and John didn't have the words for a truth that’s slowly become clear to him, that has been sitting on his chest for a while now.
He still doesn't have the words. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever have them.
The click of the oven door and the whirring of an egg timer being set tells him that Sherlock's contraption is in the oven.
He looks up from his tea. "What are you making? Smells amazing."
Sherlock shrugs, leaning against the counter. There's flour on his cheek. "A three-layered Neapolitan pie.”
John walks over into the kitchen and wipes the flour from Sherlock’s cheek. “Show me?”
*-*
They spend hours in the kitchen, baking, tasting, having tea while the fillings set in the fridge. They don’t talk much, except for simple requests for implements or ingredients.
Finally, the pie is done and the last layer is setting in the fridge, and John is whipping up a quick and easy pasta dish for dinner. He feels more relaxed than he’s been in weeks. Months. Possibly years.
“It’s okay, you know,” Sherlock says after a good half hour of silence, during which John sliced and fried onions, tomatoes and courgettes, tossed a salad and started cooking the water.
“What’s okay?” John asks, adding another teaspoon of salt to the pasta water.
“You don’t want to go back. And I’m telling you it’s fine.”
John freezes. His entire world whites out a bit on the edges. He can’t really breathe anymore, doesn’t remember how it works.
Then Sherlock’s hands are on his shoulders, massaging the cramping muscles between his shoulder blades. Sherlock’s other hand comes to rest on his belly. “Breathe, John.”
John breathes, concentrates on breathing into Sherlock’s hand on his belly, on the warmth of him, the reassuring strength at his back.
“How did you know?” he finally asks, little more than a whisper.
“I live with you, remember?” Sherlock says, sounding just a tiny bit amused, but then turns serious again. “Do you think after twelve years together, I can’t tell when you’re unhappy? Do you think I don’t know what the last two years have cost you? I was there every time you came home after eighteen hour shifts, every time one of your patients died, every time one of your colleagues died. I was there when you got sick, and I know how afraid you were, even though you did your best not to show me.”
John closes his eyes and lets himself lean back against Sherlock’s body, lets Sherlock’s arms come around him, lets his head fall back against Sherlock’s shoulder.
“I can’t quit,” he mutters, finally saying out loud what he’s been thinking about. “They need me. I can’t abandon my post.”
Sherlock sighs and gently turns John around so John has to look him in the eye. “John,” he says, gently, seriously, “don’t you think you’ve done enough?”
John bites down on his lips to stop himself from bursting into tears, because he will never believe that anything he does is good enough, and he knows Sherlock knows this, and disagrees. For Sherlock, John needs to do one thing: exist. That’s it. And John’s never been able to wrap his head around the simple fact that he doesn’t have to do anything to make Sherlock love him. He just does.
Sherlock seems to realise that John’s about to do or say something incredibly stupid, because he takes him by the shoulders and says, “I know that if I told you that you don’t have to be perfect to be allowed to exist, you won’t believe me anyway, so I’m going to tell you something else. Something selfish. I miss you. I want you home with me more. I can’t stand watching you like this. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”
John blanches, breath hitching in a moment of blind panic, Don’t leave don’t leave don’t ever leave.
Sherlock seems to catch his drift because his hands wander to the sides of John’s face and he presses their foreheads together. “No. Not this. I will never leave you. Ever. But I can’t be happy when you’re miserable. So please. If you can’t do it to save yourself, save me. Please.”
John makes a strangled noise, incapable of responding, but he hugs Sherlock tightly, clinging to him like he’s a lifeline. And he is. He never would have made it through the last two years without Sherlock. And he knows that it wasn’t an easy time for Sherlock as well, but he realises only now how much Sherlock worried about him, how many times Sherlock must have swallowed down his own worries and needs to avoid putting any more pressure on John.
They stand there for endless minutes, holding each other tight, while John pulls himself together.
“I heard you,” he finally mutters into Sherlock’s shirt. “I’m trying.”
“I know,” Sherlock says, lips pressed into John’s hair. “I know.”
“Let’s finish dinner before this becomes inedible,” John says, and Sherlock releases him with a laugh.
They finish preparing dinner in silence, then take their plates out into the garden, watching as the sun sets over the lovely green landscape, the sound of the sea a beautiful background music to their meal.
“What would I do instead?” John finally asks, finally puts the thought he’s been carrying around into words.
Sherlock smiles at him, and the relief in his voice is hard to miss when he answers, “Whatever you want, John. Whatever you want.”
I've always wanted to write a Bakers story that deals with John being a frontline health worker during the pandemic. I can't even imagine what hospital staff has been through these last years. Heroes, the lot of them.
This was written for @notjustamumj 's promt Green.
I'm tagging some usual suspects: @calaisreno @lisbeth-kk @meetinginsamarra @jrow @keirgreeneyes @7-percent @totallysilvergirl @peanitbear @missdeliadili @topsyturvy-turtely @the-reading-lemon @thetimemoves
I hope I didn't miss any horrible typos or anything.
#johnlock#bbc sherlock#johnlock fic#my fic#bakers with benefits#notjustamumj#green#may ficlets#microfic#pandemic#heavy stuff is alluded to in this fic#sorry I know the Bakers are usually so fluffy
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@flashfictionfridayofficial
BBC Sherlock.
It is what it is
"I cheated on Mary," said John, as his eyes welled up, and in came the monologue to a non-existent person, presumably Mary.
Sherlock followed John's gaze and stopped at an empty corner of the sitting room of their flat. Well, his flat, technically, because John wasn't here anymore.
All he could conclude was that John was not okay.
"Who you think I am, is the man I want to be," John continued.
Sherlock turned to look from the empty corner to John's face, pressing his lips together with utter heartbreak. Sherlock had always admired John's medical skills, his combat skills, his sense of authority, his sense of humour, and the list could go on forever.
Mary was not even in the picture when Sherlock began to look up to him and admire him.
Was that not enough?
The image of John punching and kicking him in the ribs flashed before him. Of course it wasn't enough, thought Sherlock and chuckled mirthlessly in his mind.
Probably because he wasn't a woman, or not human enough for John's liking.
However, anyone with half a brain would laugh at the second possibility, given the fact that he wouldn't have been sitting on this chair if he hadn't revived himself that day, after getting shot by John's own wife.
When John buried his face in his hand and burst into tears, Sherlock thought it didn't matter anymore. He got up as carefully as he could with his wounded back to approach John slowly across the room.
Sherlock felt as though he was in a lion's den, and any wrong move could prove to be fatal. Still, mustering enough courage and physical strength, he approached John and carefully placed his right arm around John's shoulder, and rested his palm on John's nape. He placed his left hand on John's other shoulder and held him gently in his arms. Surprisingly, John not only allowed himself to be hugged, but he also placed his head on Sherlock's chest. Sherlock didn't care about his shirt getting wet because of John's uncontrollable tears.
As Sherlock continued to hold John like he was the most precious thing in the world, he came to a conclusion: perhaps he was wrong to put John on sort of a pedestal for all these years. John had a plethora of qualities, but seeing him through a rose-tinted lens most of the time had been an imperfect sign. An imperfect way of viewing this man.
Ironic, for someone who was a professional detective.
John wasn't perfect; he had a dark side too. The thought was oddly comforting.
Sherlock just wished he hadn't found this out the hard way. But his love for John was far too much to waver, even after everything.
Sherlock pulled John even closer as he buried his nose in John's hair, inhaling his natural scent. Their breathing rate had become in-sync.
Sherlock reluctantly let go of John after some time. John gazed up at him with his beautiful, deep blue eyes, dampened with tears.
Sherlock decided to share his conclusions with him. "It’s not a pleasant thought, John, but I have this terrible feeling, from time to time, that we might all just be human."
John raised his eyebrows at that with a faint smile. "What, even you?"
Sherlock was not amused at this taunt. "No."
John's smile faded and he just blinked at Sherlock wordlessly.
"Even you."
A moment passed. "Cake?" asked John, all of a sudden.
"Cake." Sherlock nodded.
As he walked across the room to grab his coat to go out with John, Sherlock decided that being John's friend again was the next best thing. The other option, the unthinkable one, was completely off the table now. It never was on the table for John.
Sherlock sighed heavily and wistfully.
Probably for the best, he thought, as he and John walked out of the apartment building to have some cake for his birthday.
Tags: @a-victorian-girl , @lisbeth-kk, @helloliriels , @topsyturvy-turtely , @keirgreeneyes, @totallysilvergirl , @jamielovesjam, @peanitbear, etc.
#johnlock#bbc sherlock#john watson#sherlock holmes#sherlock x john#bittersweet#flash fiction friday#ficlet#fic writing#johnlock ficlet#the lying detective#pov: sherlock holmes#introspection#unrequited love#pining sherlock holmes#angst#platonic friendship#FFF233#imperfect sign
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