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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
Single: part 1Sherlock woke up groggily one morning, for once, it seemed just too early to be eight. The sun seemed to bright as he stood and opened his curtains, hissing a little as it hit his eyes. He shuffled his feet to the kitchen, seeing John, already up for once, before him.
"Morning." Sherlock yawned.
"You greeting me? That's a change." Was how John answered, not even bothering to lower the paper.
"What are you talking about now?" Sherlock asked, his brain just not waking up. What was wrong with him?
"Never mind." John still didn't lower the paper.
"You alright there?" Sherlock asked, something was off with John.
"Perfect." John answered over his paper.
Sherlock brushed off the confusion and walked over to John, placing his hand on John's shoulder, bending down, and kissing John lightly on the lips. John moaned loudly in protest as he pushed Sherlock away, falling out of his seat and landing hard on the floor, hitting his head on the seat next to him. He sat the
The Note: Together
John and Sherlock sat on opposite sides of the room, sipping tea that John had made them. It was silent in the flat, no noise. Sherlock glanced at John from his arm chair and noticed that steady hand of his was shaking.
"You alright, John?" Sherlock asked, looking at the solider and sipping his tea.
John sighed and placed his tea back in the saucer. He shook his head. "No... Sherlock I'm not. That note..."
"John..." Sherlock said sadly, placing his tea in it's saucer as well and setting it on the table.
"No, Sherlock, let me finish!!" John slammed the saucer back on the table. "You wrote me a bloody note and left, leaving me to be kidnapped by Moriarty. You broke up with me, stabbed me in the heart, and I almost got killed! -We- almost got killed! I almost lost you completely! I can't even -look- at you without felling like I'm going to die! Without you I'm..." John stopped yelling and noticed he was on his feet. He stared at the ground. "I'm... I'm nothing, Sherlock..."
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.
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
A Study in BlondJohn clenched and unclenched his fists around the plastic handle of the grocery bag in his hand. Habit; takes a taxi to the store, buys the milk, looks through the store to waste some time, checks out, and walks home, crumbling the bag handle as he goes. He doesn't know why he does it, he just does. He wrestled his hand around in his pocket as he approaches the door, labeled in bronze 221B.
As he made his way up the wooden step, he focused on the creaks of the stairs beneath his weight. As they creaked, he thought of Sherlock, and how seemingly noiseless those stairs seemed under him. John stopped, halfway up, and looked down at himself. -I should join a gym...- He sighed and continued upward. He thought after all the chasing after Sherlock, his weight would have gone down, but that was a false fantasy. -Maybe I should just not eat for a week.- He chuckled to himself, then opened the door to their flat as he reached the top of the stairs.
He was looking down at the bag as he closed the
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
Hospital'Sherlo-!' John hurried after his friend down the hospital corridor, apologizing as he passed a nurse that Sherlock had run into.
Sherlock's face was livid, but there was a hint of repressed emotion behind his eyes as he came down the hall quickly, John trailing behind him. Finally, he found the door and paused outside it, taking several swift, shallow breaths. Then, as John caught up and stood beside him, Sherlock breathed in deeply, composing himself, and opened the door.
She was sleeping. The wound on her head was exposed, surrounded by bruising and lined with stitching. And there was even more bruising on several parts of her face.
Sherlock took an unsteady breath. Then he walked quietly over to her bedside, his eyes narrowed and intent upon her face, as if attempting to will her better. It was a few moments before he sat in a chair beside her bed.
' God what have they done to you?' he whispered, his voice sounding slightly unsteady. John kept himself from look
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.
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 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 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 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.
Johnlock: Experiments in Death Part TwoSherlock wasn't the keenest person when it came to relationships. He knew nothing if kissing or sharing or even feelings. In fact, he was pretty much as far away from that stuff as possible. 'Maried to his work' was the term that he'd use so that he wouldn't feel les human then the others. He wasn't incapible of feelings, they just didn't come naturally to him. John, on the other hand, was a bundle of humanity and feelings. He knew nearly nothing of crime or how to solve a case, but he did his job well of filling the void of emotion that Sherlock's heart had endured. On occasions he could even get Sherlock to hold on to a smile for longer than a miliscent. Still, when it came right down to it, Sherlock's heart was a blackhole. That was how it had been for two years, nothing ever changed. It would only take one kiss between the two of them to set it off balance.
Sherlock healed slowly.The stitches didn't seem to fade into him as the time passed. The stiches made it difficult to wear swe
The First Breath After ComaThree years, four months, eighteen days and seven hours. That is precisely the amount of time that Sherlock has taken to return to England, to 221b Baker Street, to John. All loose ends have been tied up not neatly, because it had been harrowing, dangerous and painful. But after all this hunting, searching and waiting, finally it was done and there was nothing more keeping Sherlock from coming home.
He'd ignored Mycroft's offer to send a car to fetch him from the airport, preferring instead to take a double-decker, to feel the familiar London air on his face and in his hair, and to think. Three years should have been enough time to think for most people, but then, Sherlock was not most people. He'd pushed every single thought of what was happening in England or would happen when he'd return to instead focus all his energy and ability on the present. He'd become a murder machine digging, burrowing, further, deeper into the web of crime until he'd eliminated the last evil s
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
AerosolIt has been a day and a half since the crash, and I have found a cabin. In some ways, this is a relief. I don’t know if I could face another night on the mountain without shelter. Outside, a fire does no good: the heat simply travels upwards. However, this place also raises some difficult questions. I estimate that I’ve put eight miles between myself and the crash site. I don’t know if this will be enough. It Saving...
occurs to me that I don’t really know anything.
The survival manual recommends staying with the plane. It explains that this affords the best chance of rescue. It explains that the wreckage offers warmth and shade. It explains that seventy percent of pilots who stay are located within three days, while seventy percent of those who leave are
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