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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,

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. Perfect

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

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 a

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

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 h

2 years, 11 months, and 26 days Chapter 3John entered his flat, and his depression instantly returned. He sighed and walked into the kitchen to brew some tea that he wouldn't end up drinking. As he was filling the kettle with tap water, there was a crash from the direction of Sherlock's room. John dropped the kettle and dashed towards the noise. He stopped when he saw the dark figure sitting calmly on the bed. The man had curly hair, a very blue scarf, and a black woolen trench coat. His grey eyes bore right through John's soul, and his beautifully high cheekbones stood out against his ivory skin.

"Sherlock," John breathed, and that is when he lost it. John Watson, the soldier, the

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

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 ey

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

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.

Sh

2 years, 11 months, and 26 days Chapter 1John Hamish Watson was sitting in his favorite chair. Sherlock's chair. He had a cup of tea at his side and the telly was muttering some nonsense, but John wasn't paying attention to any of it. He was staring at a skull over the mantel. He couldn't bring himself to throw it away, no matter how creepy it was. John couldn't bear to throw away any of Sherlock's things. It had been 2 years, 11 months, and 26 days since Sherlock had jumped off the roof, 2 years, 11 months, and 26 days since John had died inside. He had not shed a tear, neither had he cried, nor moaned. It was as if the man had simply turned to stone and crumbled. John didn't leave

three years after reichenbach fall (4)After a while we were lying on the sofa, Sherlock on top, hugging each other and just enjoying the silence. I held my eyes closed and was about to fall asleep, only Sherlock's gently kisses kept me awake. I couldn't say how long we were snuggling and kissing, but it must have been a while, because the sun set, as Sherlock rose from the sofa, after he kissed me once again.

"I'm going to make some tea... or coffee. What do you prefer?", he asked, softly stroking my cheek.
"Tea...", I answered whispering, with a small smile on my lips. "But... no sugar, Sherlock..."
"All right, John. No sugar." Sherlock nodded. "Is it because I'm sugar enough

never stop waitingJohn got out of his bed, put on his clothes and walked sleepy to the kitchen. He sat down, yawned and mumbled, "Morning, Sherlock..." Then he grabbed for the teapot – maybe Sherlock has put again a hand or a eye in it, but he didn't care – and wanted to fill his cup.
Now he noticed, that the teapot was empty and he rose his head to ask Sherlock, why he didn't make tea this morning. But the chair across from him was as empty as the teapot. There was no Sherlock. There won't be a Sherlock anymore. Because Sherlock was dead.
John sighed and blinked the tears away. Since one week, every morning the same. Every morning again he believe

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, t

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The Glass Skull: Part 12John sat alone at the table for only a minute, before abruptly standing and throwing his napkin off his lap. He ran to the front of the restaurant and burst out the door.

"Sherlock!" John called, seeing Sherlock getting into a cab and heading off. It wasn't going in the direction of 221B. Where was he..?

John couldn't start to wonder, his feet taking off at a run underneath him. He watched the cab turn a corner ahead, and quickly dodged into an alley way he knew would cut him to that cab.

Scenes of running through the streets of London, desperately trying to keep up with Sherlock flashed through his mind. He remembered every turn, wh

The Glass Skull: Part 11Sherlock opened the cab door after paying the cabbie and unfolded himself from the seat. He stood, one hand on the door, and one hand out stretched for John to take his arm. With a swift movement and a glance, John got out of the car, ignored Sherlock's arm, and started to the doors of the restaurant. Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes, closing the cab's door and starting after John.

Sherlock gave the waiter manning the podium up front the name in which their reservation was under, and they were lead to a table under a vast window of light shades of color. Blues and greens reflected onto the table as Sherlock pulled out John's chair for him

The Glass Skull: Part 10Sherlock arrived at John's parent's house exactly an hour later. He knocked on the door and smiled when John opened it.

"Hey," He said, folding John quickly into a hug.

John didn't return it, he just stood there until Sherlock slowly backed off.

"I'm still mad at you," John warned, pointing a finger in Sherlock's face, than bending down behind him only to shove a heavy box into Sherlock's chest. "Just because I'm moving back in doesn't mean I forgive you! You have a lot of ground to cover before we get that far."

Sherlock nodded sadly, shifting the box's weight slightly. "I'm sorry..." he whispered, before he turned and went to load the b

Yesterday I DiedThat was the day I died. That bloody night the gun fired and he hit the ground, lifeless and motionless. I remember falling to my knees, the world slowing down. I felt like I was just shot. I wished I was the one shot, the one dead on the ground.

My hand slid up his body, tracing the rushing river of blood. I ripped his shirt open, letting it flow around his body and hug at his sides. His coat surrounded him like a river of ink and his scarf seemed to be choking his thin neck.

I removed the scarf, letting it flow over his shoulders. Quickly, I ran my hands over the skin. It was hard to see much in the dusk light, but I couldn't find the bul

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Cheating

by *Black-Rose-117, Jun 11, 2012, 7:54:18 AM
Literature / Prose / Fiction / Romance / Teen / Short Stories

"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 without even hanging up. He just sat there, in his chair.

Four more days.