Hi I'm Dee (she/her). I am a married black CISHet woman in Ohio. Lots of Heated Rivalry, BBC Sherlock/Johnlock, Benedict Cumberbatch, Martin Freeman, Hozier, Sussex Squad, Prog Rock, Good Omens and Our Flag Means Death. Also, odds & ends of science, arts, culture and fun. My M/M side blog: @deenaughty.
I wonder if that is our Martin he is talking about here. Location (London) fits and Sean Teale is also an actor. And Martin used to be into Squash... so.... maybe?
It's probably not Martin, but found this by accident and it made me think...
It is extremely disturbing. He canāt recall the last time he lost himself in here. In his own Mind Palace, no less. How did this happen? And where is the exit sign? The one reading: 221B Baker Street.
He finds many signs on his walk through the corridors but theyāre all wrong. They are pointing at the rooms, the nooks, the cabinets, the books, the floorboards; in short, everything. But not the exit to his physical home.
Sherlock is rarely frightened. Not anymore. Not since John moved into his flat. The feeling of fear courses through his body now, though. His claustrophobia ā the mania he hasnāt felt in years ā has made a dramatic appearance, making his skin crawl uncomfortably.
āI need to find the exit,ā he mutters to himself over and over, like a mantra.
Sherlock almost weeps with relief when Mind Palace John magically appears in the hallway outside the library.
āJohn,ā he whispers reverently.
āFancy meeting you here,ā John quips, mirth visible in all his features.
Sherlock wants to kiss him but thatās not allowed. John is his friend, nothing else. He is as heterosexual as Sherlock is homosexual. Not a great match, that.
When Sherlock decides to ask John for the way out, John has vanished. The space he recently occupied still radiates a warm glow.
***
Sherlock wonders how long heās been trapped. He canāt even recall why he entered in the first place. Was it to search for something, or was it to escape his own living room? He never leaves - at least unnecessarily - to his Mind Palace if John is present, but perhaps he went out on a date again. If Sherlock isn't playing the violin or performing an experiment to stave off the tedium of John's absence, he tends to walk through this place for a while. The fact that he canāt remember the reason for coming here, is unsettling.
Mycroft has of course taught him everything about the comings and goings, but Sherlock canāt remember if he ever mentioned how to escape his own head if he got stuck. Most likely, it didnāt occur to his brother that it was an option. Mycroft has always had better control of his emotions than Sherlock. He will obviously deny this to his dying day, but inside his mind he can afford to be gracious.
āAre you still here? Iām waiting for you, you know. Thereās tea and biscuits.ā
John has returned, but he disappears faster than Sherlock can respond.
***
At the end of the corridor is a green sign, which Sherlock supposes is the one heās been searching for, but when he walks toward it, the sign transforms into a painting.Ā
The Reichenbach Falls.
It had been a gift fromā¦ a client? Or was it some politician? An insignificant detail at this point, obviously.Ā
The painting gives him the shills; an expression John would use. It is ominous and if he concentrates, he can hear the sound of the grand waterfall.
āJohn? Where are you?ā
Why hasnāt he thought of calling out for the man earlier?
Sherlock contemplates that he might be drugged. Perhaps he isnāt ā
āYou called,ā John says calmly, suddenly standing beside him.
āI did. Thank you for coming. Iā¦ I canātā¦ā
Sherlock is slightly embarrassed to admit that heās adrift in his own head.Ā
āLost, are you?ā
āYes,ā Sherlock whispers.
To his horror, he feels a burning sensation in his eyes.
A warm hand slides into his, and the words ācome onā are uttered.Ā
Is John holding his hand?Ā
Sherlock looks down and sees that they are indeed holding hands. However, this is Mind Palace John, a fictional version of his friend, not the real one.
āHere we are,ā John says softly.
They stand before a door which opens a crack. Scents of tea, gingernuts, leather, books, and dust invade Sherlockās nostrils. Thereās also the unmistakable and unique smell that belongs to the man whoās sitting in his chair sipping tea from his RAMC mug ā John. The real John. His John.
***
āYouāre back,ā John says with evident relief and warmth.
Sherlock blinks and nods; his voice seems to be out of order at the moment.
āCome sit. Thereās tea and your favourite biscuits,ā John coaxes.
Sherlock stands from the sofa and walks over to his chair.
āDid you finish cataloguing?ā John asks.
The look on his face is different somehow. More open, fond, andā¦ something else Sherlock is unable to deduce.
Tea first, then āĀ
āYou donāt remember, do you?ā
Johnās voice is sad all of a sudden.
āWhat?ā
āWhy you retreated to your Mind Palace,ā John explains.
His voice is still āĀ
āOh!ā
Images of John cupping his face, kissing him softly on the lips, telling Sherlock that heā¦ loves him.
āOh,ā he repeats.
āRight,ā John sighs, āthat didnāt go according to plan, I see.ā
āJohn.ā
His words elude him, and John seems unable to decipher what Sherlock is trying to convey.Ā
Action, Holmes.
He steps closer to Johnās chair, pries the mug out of his hands, and curls up in Johnās lap, mirroring the army doctorās ministrations from earlier.
āI love you too,ā Sherlock whispers after glorious minutes of kissing.
āThank God! I thought Iād scared you away,ā John exclaims, so relieved it nearly breaks Sherlockās heart.
āNever!ā Sherlock says emphatically.
āWhat took you so long, then?ā
āI couldnāt find the correct sign, but then I called out for you. The other you, and he led me back.ā
āClever guy that one.ā
āMost definitely no idiot.ā
āHigh praise, love.ā
Sherlock hides his blushing face in the crook of Johnās neck and wonders if he will ever get used to being called āloveā.Ā
He doesnāt say it out loud, but apparently John knows him too well.
āI will repeat it until you believe it, but I willĀ neverĀ stop,ā John assures him, and that is the best answer Sherlock has ever got in his life.
Inspired by the fabulous @dragonnan's Blood and Romance (included by permission)
*
Too old for this: my first half-thought as I flail and thrash my way back to consciousness. Iām underwater, aching to breathe, but Iāll die if I do; but it isnāt cold enough, Iām not wet, where the hell I hurt all over and somethingās wrong, itās dark where is Sherlock
If Iām not under water, I can breathe; I open my lips a hair and no water floods in, so I take a careful breath and itās air. Not sweet, God no, tastes like mould and sewage, but definitely air, and shakily I suck it in.
I blink and try to focus but canāt see anything. Where the hell am I, and where is Sherlock? Thereāa second complete thought, even if itās just the ragged scraps from before stringing together into sense, thatās got to be a good sign.
Okay. Okay. Stop, where am I. Listen.
In a silence so loud, a darkness so complete, I can hear my racing heartbeat even over my ragged pantingābut nothing else, not close by. I canāt breathe through my nose at all. I try to shift to generate some sound, get some idea at least of what kind of surface Iām near or on. Take stock: everything hurts but I canāt tell from what, I canāt gather any sensory data to extrapolate anything from. (Sherlock would say, deduce. Iām not Sherlock. Heād know what to do to get some clarity here; Iām just starting to panic.)
finish reading on AO3
*
A Thousand Words: A picture's proverbially worth a thousand words and often inspires them, though the words may be many more or many fewer, as the Muse decides. Each chapter is a one-shot, inspired (so far) by @kettykika78, @justanobsessedpan, @stephdrawsjohnlock, @bluebellofbakerstreet, @petite-madame, and now dragonnan: more to come.
Thank you to all the artists who do fanworks: you are a Ā constant inspiration. And to the betas (@copperplatebeech for this ficlet) you are a godsend. And to the readers: we wouldn't be posting our stories without you.
Thanks for reblogging! Let me know whether to tag or untag you.
The fire crackles softly and casts warm light across the carpet. Outside, the cold presses heavily against the windows. Inside, everything is calm, almost still. Sherlock sits close beside John, a glass of red wine resting loosely in his hand. In front of them are cheese and grapes, barely touched.
Sherlock talks the way he always does when a case is still echoing inside him. His eyes shine, his voice grows faster, more alive. He speaks of false leads, of a detail everyone else missed. He laughs quietly and calls it ridiculously simple. John only smiles and listens. He knows that tone. He knows how much effort this case truly cost Sherlock, even if Sherlock would never admit it.
No call, no message, no hint of where he was. John had run through every possibility, contacted Molly, called Lestrade, even in the early morning hours still hoping to find some trace of him. But there was nothing. Only that growing, dull fear in his chest he couldnāt reason away.
When Sherlock finally appeared in the doorway of 221B, he looked as if the case had spat him out. Pale, exhausted, dark shadows under his eyes, and that faintly confused expression, as if he couldnāt quite understand why John was staring at him like that.
John needed only two steps before he was standing in front of him.
āDamn it, Sherlockā¦ā he muttered, his voice rough with relief and anger all at once. āI was worried. Donāt ever do that again. Call me. At least tell me where you are.ā
Sherlock only blinked, still half lost in thought, as though he was only now beginning to grasp what his absence had done.
āJohn, Iāā
āI love you, you idiot,ā John said more quietly, gruff, almost reproachful.
Then he cupped Sherlockās face, pulled him down toward him, and kissed him. Not hesitant, but firm, as if he needed to make sure Sherlock was truly here, warm, alive, back with him.
it really is crazy how much the love hudson has for shane comes through in his performance. he loves shane and he understands shane and he brings that out in his acting. the reason hudson makes such a good shane is because he is a phenomenal actor, yes, but also because he loves him. it's really incredible to see
For all of us, a solemn reminder: with great power, comes great responsibilityā¦to look hot af in your supersuit. Whether it's an evening in danger or the fate of the world in the balance, let's see July out with a bang!
Important dates
July posting opens: Sunday 19th July
July posting closes: Saturday 1st August
Important info
AO3 collection
Frequently Asked Questions
Have other questions? Send us a DM.
Love,
The mods x
Words and Pictures @dmellieon - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
discoholicmusic
andulkaphoto
vaporwave
jacobvanloon
blakekathryn
kaledo-art
