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A Week Without John"Morning Sherlock." John said as he entered the kitchen in his robe and opened the fridge.
Arms wrapped around John's waist as Sherlock's chin rested on his shoulder. John froze, hand half wrapped around the milk.
"Good morning." Sherlock smiled.
Sherlock's hand was wrapped around the belt that held John's robe closed. He pulled it slightly till the knot was threatening to fall apart, revealing John's body underneath.
"May I, John?" Sherlock asked biting John's ear.
John moaned and giggled, closing his eyes. Sherlock pulled the string a little more, almost having it fall apart.
Did Sherlock know?
The knot broke and the robe fell open, revealing John's body and boxers. As the cold breeze hit his skin, he gasped.
"Sherlock... Is this because I'm... ohhhh..." Sherlock bit John's neck then stopped.
"You're what?" Sherlock asked slowly.
John sighed, upset that he interrupted what could have been a great time, and closed the fridge door. He turned towards Sherlock.
"Sherlock... Read th
221B Baker Street"Sherlock..." John moaned, his head feeling like it was about to explode.
John lay in his bed, a cold sweat running down his face. He had no idea what was wrong, but he knew all he wanted was death... That, and Sherlock.
"Sherlock." John called in a weak, raspy, moaning voice. "Please..."
The door to his room opened and Sherlock froze as he saw his lover, sweating, crying from pain, his skin a ghostly pale, almost transparent, and his eyes were sunken into his skull. Sherlock has never seen John so... Depressed... Upset... Helpless. Sherlock walked over, carefully, to John's bed and sat down next to him. Sherlock took the back of his head and placed it against John's forehead. He was burning up.
"Sherlock..." John moaned in pain.
"I'm here, John, I'm here." Sherlock had no idea what to do. Was John okay? Was he going to be okay?
"Sherlock... do something... For me..."
Sherlock took John's hand. "What? Anything my love."
"Listen to me... Sherlock... Kill me..."
He sat there, shocked. Jo
Morning LipsGood morning you." John said cheerfully as he walked out of the kitchen to see Sherlock slumped in his armchair, his feet dangling over the edge and his head propped up on his hand.
"Hummm?" Sherlock asked, raising his head just enough to look at John. "Oh, Good morn-"
John came up to him and kissed him on the cheek. Sherlock, shocked, sat up a little more and watched as John went over and sat down in the chair across from Sherlock. John smiled, noticing he was staring.
"You okay?" John asked beaming.
"You just..." Sherlock began, then stopped mid-sentence and touched his cheek with his fingertips, smiling. "Yeah." He said. "Yeah. Perfectly fine."
John smiled and started to unfold the newspaper. Sherlock stood, walked over to John, placed his hand on his shoulder and bent down, kissing him on the cheek back. John took a deep breath of contentment as Sherlock pulled his lips away and went into the kitchen.
-Oh Sherlock...- John thought, smiling and touching his cheek. -Today, your cheek
Watson LockedJohn looked so cute. So peaceful as he slept, his arms crossed over his stomach, his mouth opened just slightly ajar, his breathing deep and gentle, one in a while swallowing and taking a deep, long breath. Sherlock never knew someone could look so at peace. He almost had second thoughts of waking the peaceful solider. But yet, he needed him... Needed to hear him speak, needed to have him hold him, needed to have John's warm lips brush his forehead with a kiss.
Slowly, Sherlock entered the room.
"John?" He asked softly, still unsure about waking him. "John?" He asked a little louder.
He knew John was a heavy sleeper... But still. He walked over and sat down on the edge of John's bed. As he breathed, he smelled John. Just the light smell in the atmosphere that reminded Sherlock of vanilla and tangerines. He adored that intoxicating smell that was, and always will be, John Watson. -His- John Watson.
He brushed John's soft cheek with his finger and smiled. John's eyes slowly fluttered ope
Looks StunningWith John still in the hospital, it was tediously boring and quiet in the flat. It was back to the way it was before John walked into Sherlocks life, and Sherlock hated it. Sherlock never noticed how much he needed John to be with him. He knew that he couldn't live without him, but he never really knew how much it would hurt. Sherlock paced the flat, looking for something to do. Nothing.
Slowly, he walked into the kitchen, then towards his bedroom. John's door was slightly opened, unclosed from the rush of the ambulance getting him out of the flat, and Sherlock close behind in a cab. He paused, staring at the door and slowly pushed it open. He gently pushed the door closed behind him and walked into the room fully. Standing next to John's bed, he took a deep breath. That rush of John, vanilla and tangerines. Sherlock laid down on his bed, John's smell surrounding him, then, he took the bed sheet and wrapped himself in it, over his head. He inhaled deeply, breathing John in. Breat
ViolinJohn sat on the couch, looking as though bothered at something. Something not being the case, he was ferrous. He had always tried to get Sherlock to see what he meant. Every "brilliant" he muttered, every "bloody, that's fantastic" he whispered in his breath, every gaze he shot him; they all meant something more then just a job-well-done.
Sherlock always seemed like a hard person to reach, going off on his own path, doing things his way, being the lazy ass he was. But John never would have guessed that Sherlock could be so... -blind-! The great Sherlock freaking Holmes, blind.
Blind to feelings, adornment, caring and sometimes even loving actions. John sometimes made it so painfully obvious that he was sure Sherlock was going to blow up and yell at him any moment now.
"John..?" John snapped his attention to the tall figure towering over him on his perch on the couch.
"Y-yes?" John shook his head back to Sherlock.
"Can I play something for you? I need opinions." Sherlock said, retreatin
The Note: Gone
"Hey you." John said weakly, walking out to the living room and slumping down into the seat across from Sherlock.
"How are you feeling?" Sherlock asked, a little out of it, his fingers pressed together and raised to his lips.
"Not great... But well enough. Yourself?" John asked, closing his eyes and willing away the pain that pounded dully in the back of his skull.
"Like your lying to me." Sherlock said simply, lowering his hands and sitting up, looking deadly into John's eyes.
"Huh?" John asked dully, opening his eyes and staring at Sherlock quizzically.
"You're rubbing your temples, indicating a pain in your head; you're eyes are shut, more then likely to black out the light, again, headache looking likely; plus your body is tense. Headache, John?" Sherlock asked, even though John knew he already knew the answer.
"Yes..." Joan moaned, rubbing his temples. John sat back in his chair and closed his eyes again.
Suddenly, John's lips were covered. He opened his eyes sli
The Note: Done
"Where are you taking me, Moriarty?!" John yelled as they weaved through the traffic.
Sirens screamed behind them and Moriarty just ticked his tongue in disappointment.
"Silly police want to play. Sad." He shook his head. He picked up the radio in the cab and pressed the button. "Ohh boys~ Someone wants to play~." He said in a sing-song voice. "Eliminate them."
"No!" John shouted as one by one, shots were heard and the police cars crashed into each other.
They turned a corner almost on two wheels and the pile-up was out of sight. John turned back to Moriarty in anger.
"WHERE ARE YOU TAKING ME?!" He shouted, his heart pounding.
He was at the mercy of a psychopath.
"Oh, Johnny~" Moriarty sang. "Johnny~ Johnny~ Johnny~ Where else but as far away from your beloved Sherlock as possible? You did the hard part for me, made him mad at you. What did you do anyway? I applaud you, he seemed steamed!"
"I-I don't know..." John said through clenched teeth, leaning back in his seat slightly.
Glass Arm"Sherlock?!" John called, entering the flat, just getting home from the clinic.
He took a few steps into the flat, then almost passed out from the smell, radiating from the kitchen. He grabbed the wall for support and covered his nose with his jacket.
"Sherlock!!!" John shouted through his jacket, the stench overpowering.
"Mhmm?" Sherlock answered, barely audible though the flat was silent.
John stumbled into the kitchen, leaving his jacket over his nose and sliding his hand along the wall, just in case. Sherlock sat on a stool, examining what looked like blood in a pipet. He swished the red liquid around, then gave it a long hard star, then looked up at John. John looked at Sherlock, then around the kitchen, which seemed to be a new place to hold all sorts of bodies and body parts. Arms, legs, skulls, heads, eye balls in jars; you name it. The smell of death wafted through the whole flat, and John felt sick to his stomach from the old, too familiar smell from the war.
"What in the hel
SH: Cuddling Can't Be Simple
Cuddling Can't Be Simple
(BBC's) Sherlock/John semi-fluff
"What do you want?"
John's brow furrowed, forming well-worn wrinkles as he settled heavily against his too-thin friend. The first time he'd heard Sherlock utter this specific question had been three weeks ago, just after John had finally given in to the soft smirks, the messy dark curls and absentminded touches. Oh, and stupidly adorable clumsy flirting. On both their ends.
Considering the compromising situation they'd been in when Sherlock had asked, he hadn't given the question much thought.
But now he'd kept asking, days and weeks after their flurry of shouts and giggles and confessions. It hadn't taken him terribly long to see the pattern; any time he invaded Sherlock's personal space, The Question was uttered. But why? Any attempts to call Sherlock out on the odd inquiry was met with curious, stupefied eyes and a circular conversation that ended with Sherlock deducing John was the one being obtuse.
Sweets Chapter Two - JohnlockThe game is afoot
John had been attracted to his flat mate for quite a while now. He caught himself staring at Sherlock way too often, but until now there had always been the possibility that he was simply attracted to the other man's looks. That he wouldn't like Sherlock touching him - not that he had ever really considered that this could happen, but still. What he felt now was far from dislike. It felt so good, Sherlocks mouth pressed on his, their tongues moving against each other. Another small moan escaped him and he blushed slightly in embarrassment. His hands had moved to Sherlocks dark curls, pulling slightly on them. God, what was he doing?
Without any prior warning Sherlock pulled away from John, breathing heavily and a smirk plastered on his slightly swollen lips.
"You are brilliant, John!" Sherlock exclaimed, his hands still lingering on John's face, which wore a confused expression. "You were right; my brain just needed some sugar in order to work properly again.
Sweets Chapter Four - JohnlockChapter Four - How to fool your opponent
Sherlock didn't have to wait long, as London was a center for criminal activity and the police needed his help far too often. Scotland Yard sent him case files home, so that he could look into them and solve the case for them as soon as possible.
Sherlock lay on the couch, deep in thoughts, but they were not about the case. He had solved it almost instantly, it had been an far too easy, boring case. Sherlock thought about his next move. Should he just wait, until John would get the sweets on his own? Should he put on an act, so that he wouldn't have to wait too long, until John would think that the case was difficult for Sherlock? No, he would wait, even if he wasn't the most patient person. It was highly probable that John would look through it if Sherlock put on an act. John did most of the time. Waiting would be the best solution. His hands moved up to his chin, resting on his chest. This was so boring. A small smile played on Sherloc
Sleepy John - Johnlock ...ishJohn rubbed his tired eyes. He hadn't slept for two... Three days? He couldn't remember. He shoved the thought from his mind, knowing they only made him sleepier. He sipped his second cup of coffee, though the caffeine didn't help much at this point.
Sherlock stared at John as he worked, noticing his exhaustion in the multiple yawns and his occasionally nodding off. He frowned in slight confusion. It's only been two and a half days since John has slept. That wasn't long at all. Sherlock didn't feel exhausted until at least a week. But then again, Sherlock wasn't like most people. It only took a third cup of coffee for Sherlock to realize that John needed sleep to function.
"When did you last have a decent sleep?" The question slips out before he can take it back. He knows exactly how long it's been since John slept last. 60 hours.
It takes John a moment to realize a question had been asked and another moment to process it. He answers with a slight shrug, "Two, three days?" Instead of a
snowwhite and the doctor (sequel, Johnlock)About two to three hours were passed by but John was still not there. Sherlock sat in his chair, thinking about what had happened. What did John say?
"I have had a crush on you since we met and all you can do is fool me? It's no surprise no one likes you!"
Sherlock sighed and shook his head. His flatmate, John Watson, the guy who claimed everyday that he wasn't gay, had a crush on him? That couldn't be. But then he remembered the kiss. John had been the one who kissed Sherlock, not the other way. Whatever, Sherlock thought. He was sure, that John would come back soon. If not, he probably would stay at Sarah's, because every time when they had a dispute, the doctor ran to Sarah. That meant, that Sherlock hadn't to worry about John, but he still did.
The detective sighed again, rose from his chair and looked out of the window. Dark clouds were hiding the starry sky and Sherlock knew there would be a snowstorm soon. Of course John would be back before the storm, except he would sta
Sweets Chapter Three - JohnlockChapter Three - A game willing to play
A week passed without one of them talking about what happened. Sherlock was surprised that John wanted him to admit defeat. He had expected that John would want to talk about their kiss. That he would be mat at Sherlock for kissing him. That he would just buy him the patches, but not that John would strike back. Sherlock had of course noticed right away what John wanted to do, but he didn't mind, no. Quite the opposite was the case.
Truth was, Sherlock didn't want the patches anymore; he wanted to kiss his good doctor again. It had felt so good. It had felt like nothing he had felt before. He had kissed a few people, back in his college days, but he had always felt disgusted by their saliva mingling with his own.
John was different, his exception. Sherlock had found himself touching John whenever he could without being too obvious. John had been more observant than he usually was, catching Sherlock staring at him out of the corner of his e
Sweets Chapter Five - JohnlockChapter Five - Let's call it a tie
Sherlock gasped in surprise at John's unexpected reaction. The consulting detective knew that John had liked, no had found the kiss arousing. Not only because of the delicious noises he had made, but also because of his dilated pupils. John slid his tongue over Sherlock's teeth, trying to get the candy back. Sherlock moved his hand from John's cheek to his shoulder in order to steady himself, his knees threatening to give out under him. His heart raced at a rapid speed and he couldn't think clearly anymore, partly because of the lack of oxygen and partly because of his proximity to John.
The other mans tongue skimmed over his and Sherlock gasped, opening his mouth further. John pulled away slowly, leaving Sherlock panting and gasping for breath. A satisfied smirk appeared on Johns wet lips. Sherlock hadn't noticed in the passion of their kiss, that his doctor had taken his candy back.
"Let's call it a tie" Sherlock nodded weakly bef
Sweets Chapter One - JohnlockChapter One - A replacement for the nicotine patches
The case Sherlock was working on was far from being solved. Although he should have enough information to do so there was no progress. Sherlock couldn't think of the right conclusion that fitted all the facts. All possibilities he thought of left something that didn't fit the facts. So Sherlock's mood wasn't the best and John had gone out to buy something sweet to eat.
Sherlock noticed that he was out of nicotine patches, which was pretty bad in his current state, but he was too lazy to text John about this problem. He decided that he would wait until the doctor would come back and then ask him to buy him some.
An hour had passed when he heard John coming upstairs, and he bent his head a little when the door opened so that he could look at John.
"John could you get me some nicotine patches?" he saw John's mouth twitch. Maybe he should have texted him after all, but his mobile was in his coat. It never crossed his mind to go a
Sherlock Holmes - An Adventure in Elementary“Office worker.”
Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes, seven and fourteen respectively, took turns describing the lesser people on the street to each other. The weather was dreary that morning, and the brothers’ feet smacked loudly against the wet pavement. Off in the distance, through the fog that had rolled in, a tall building stood out among the various homes lining the streets. This building was the school.
When they reached the school, the boys could see the mass of children, previously obscured by the fog, which had been converging outside of the doors to the elementary. Some were in tears, clinging to their parents’ pant legs, while others jumped excitedly and babbled to the others. Giving the woman who he could already tell was the teacher a disapproving look, Sherlock asked “How can she be a teacher after tha
Cheating"I'm so bored!" Sherlock sighed and slumped into his armchair.
John has been gone for three days now and Sherlock hasn't even got a text from him. Should he text him? Would calling him be out of the question? Was he over thinking this?
Sherlock pulled out his cell phone and dialed John's number, placing it to his ear. It rang three times, and then John's voice picked up.
"Sherlock? Hi!" He was giggling.
"Oh, John! You're soooooo strong!" Some woman's voice purred faintly.
"Oh stop!" John giggled again, away from the phone.
"John?" Sherlock asked, his heart racing from anger and hurt.
John laughed a little. "Emmmm Sherlock I Emmmmhmhm I have to go Emmmm!" Then, the line went dead.
A thousand thoughts raced through Sherlock's head as he sat there, his phone ringing with that long continuous beep that sounded when a call has been dropped. What was John doing? Was he drunk? High? No, his words weren't at all slurred. Was he cheating?
Sherlock dropped his phone witho
Genghis Whenever we were bad my mother used to take us to the mall to see Genghis Kahn. They kept him in a dusty diorama of a Mongolian steppe, all tall grass and yurts. He sat on a throne of bone (well, plastic shaped like bone), scowling in incomprehension at the American kids who flocked around him like startled lemmings. My mother would usually push us toward him, saying things like “Tell him what you did to your father’s stamp collection.” Genghis would give a grunt, spit a wad of phlegm onto the tall grass, and give us a wizened, wrinkled grimace, as if he had to go to the bathroom.
He terrified me.
My brother couldn’t get enough of him.
When my brother got caught in my mother’s evening dress, my mother grabbed us both and dragged us to Genghis. It was a slow day, and we were the only kids crowding him. “Tell him what you did,” my mother hissed a
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