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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
First stop, Bologna.
Can John recreate the magic of his reunion with Sherlock there six years ago?
Then a train trip north into the Dolomites.
Excerpt:
"When they leave Padua Rosie catches sight of massive mountains, and can think and talk of nothing else.
John marvels with her and uses his phone to identify what theyâre seeing, as the scenery grows more dramatic and enchanting. As they pass towering crags and intricately terraced vineyards, watchtowers and castles and churches, even Rosie falls silent."
Years after an odd, gruesome, and highly publicised breakdown ruined his career, a disgraced candymaker has abruptly reopened his factory. His motives are shrouded in mystery, something that only serves to inflame the curious public. To celebrate his triumphant return, he launches a contest: five golden tickets hidden at random in chocolate bars distributed throughout London. The lucky recipients of those tickets are promised an experience they will never forget.
And so, on one cold morning in January, five winners gather to claim their prize. John Watson is among them.
_____
Chapter 1 is now posted!
Here it is at last, the not-so-cracky crackfic that has been haunting me for the majority of the last decade. It should end up being around 10 chapters judging by my outline, but that may change.
âSeems a bit dodgy,â said John, pausing the video. âHereâs two blokes whoâre meant to be friends, and oneâve âem throttles the other over a ring heâs just fished up, because he wants it for a birthday present? I mean, youâre the detective, but it doesnât seem like a motive for murder.â
Theyâd neither of them actually ever watched The Lord of the Rings â Sherlock lacking interest in most fiction, John repeatedly remarking heâd seen enough of battles, ta very much â but when Greg found out, heâd insisted on lending them his disc set. (âUsed to watch it with the kids every Christmas, your turn.â) Grudgingly, John had to admit the story had caught him. The third time Sherlock deduced a plot twist, heâd had to declare a moratorium, and now, several evenings in, his flatmate â
Well. Something more now. It was funny: first you were friends and infuriated each other regularly; then you were forced to admit it was something more, and you lived in a continuous state of shock, amazement and friction burns; then you were even better friends and went back to infuriating each other. Â
âYouâd be surprised,â said Sherlock. âI remember a case where classmates fell out over a scholarship, and decades back a murder plot was traced to rivalry involving the cheerleading squad. Of course, that was in the States.â
He picked up the remote, but didnât restart.
âJohn, my own birthday is coming up. Didnât the older hobbit in the first film give gifts at his birthday, instead of expecting them?â
âRight, yeah?â
Sherlock huffed a breath and squared his shoulders.
âJohn. I have been giving this some thought, and I believe I see my way. Things are different between us now, and ââ
Abruptly he rose from the sofa and strode back towards his â their, now â bedroom. Sounds of rummaging ensued.
âSherlock, would you mind a footnote? A narrator voice or somethingââ
John was about to follow when Sherlock emerged, cradling something in one hand.
âThis,â he said, âwas my grandfatherâs. My grandmother Vernet passed it on to me, once she judged I was old enough to understand what an heirloom was. âYou should have it, mon precieuxâ â thatâs what she used to call me. And Mycroft. Who absolutely hated it, and used to say he was too old to be hugged.â Sherlock extended a gold band with milgrain edging. âIt was his wedding ring. You see the thought process.â
âSherlock. Are you asking ââ
âTry it on.â
âOuch. A little tight.â
âWe can have it sized. And an identical one made for me. I solved a case for a jeweler last year, not even a Three. Will you take it?â
âSherlock, bloody hell. Yes.â
âI do. Not consider myself too old to be hugged,â said Sherlock. âJohn Watson, mon precieux,â he added a minute or two later.
âNo throttling,â John said against his shoulder. âUnless you leave a spleen in the fridge again.â
âNoted. Ought we to finish the film?â
âTomorrow,â John said.
Read on AO3
Written for the fic collection Happy Birthday Pat (Precieux) on AO3, . Check out the other fics in the collection!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/?
Fandom: Sherlock (TV)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Mary Morstan, Mrs. Hudson (Sherlock Holmes)
Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Timeline alteration, Fix It, Aftermath of Torture, Confrontations, Reconciliation
Summary:Â Story diverges at Empty Hearse. Silverâs prompt for FTH asked for a story where Sherlock tells John what he did when he was âawayâ dismantling Moriartyâs network. As per Silverâs suggestions, Sherlock brutally tells him, not just in âellipses and generalitiesâ but the terrible truth. This begins as a confrontation that leads to âconversation and allows for healing that didnât happen.â Along the way they solve a case and acknowledge their hearts.
Written for @totallysilvergirlâ for Fandom Trumps Hate 2025. Thank you for the wonderful prompt.
Beta by AnvergersReader (@givemesherbert on Tumblr). Thanks so much for the incredible job.
Also inspired by 26 pieces by Lanning
@jobooksncoffee, @brokenlibrarygirl, @chriscalledmesweetie, @shelleysprometheus, @inevitably-johnlocked, @a-different-equation,  @88thparallel, @thebluehare,  @itsneverjustheartdisease,  @thegirlfromthesouth, @the-seven-fandom-solution, @may-shepard, @jbaillier,  @yorkiepug, @brokenlibrarygirl,  @fangirlsays, @missdeliadili, @helloliriels, @cynical21, @givemesherbet-blog-blog @totallysilvergirlâ
I meant to start posting this before Halloween but OH WELL
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
A bitter Paris winter. A city of bones beneath the streets. And a series of deaths too deliberate to dismiss.
What begins as a quiet holiday for Holmes and Watson soon draws them into the labyrinth of the Paris catacombs, where the line between faith and madness collapses. Candles burn low beside the dead, prayers echo without priests, and the living are not as innocent as they appear. As the investigation deepens, both men must confront a darkness that reason cannot wholly banish.
My Birthday Shenanigans Storybook is a gift for my dear friend, PatPrecieux, whose birthday is coming up again on November 1.
Those of you who post on AO3 will know Pat as a comment-leaver extraordinaire, as well as a brilliant writer herself. @notjustamumj is hoping to get as many of us as possible to write poetry and/or fic under 500 words as gifts for Pat this year. Please join in if you can, and reblog to spread the word.
@friday411 @ghostofnuggetspast   @peanitbear   @helloliriels @meetinginsamarra @lisbeth-kk  @sillygirlsmindpalace @totallysilvergirl   @calaisreno @jobooksncoffee  @bakingsherlycakes  @kettykika78  @stellacartography @sgam76 @mydogwatson @sherlockjohnblog @elwinglyre @loves-to-read-fanfic @dragonnan @naefelldaurk @a-victorian-girl @221beloved @johnlockficclub @holmesianlove @imnova @copperplatebeech @kittenmadnessandtea @chinike @readingwithgwen @keirgreeneyes @sarahthecoat @lijahlover @daisyfairy1
Wherever festivity leads,
John takes care of all Sherlockâs needs.
So if Sherlock is starving,
Well, then, pumpkin carving
Will end with some roast pumpkin seeds.
You can find my Johnlock Flufftober Limericks for each of the @flufftober prompts on AO3.
Tags under the cut. Thanks for reblogging!
@friday411 @ghostofnuggetspast   @peanitbear   @helloliriels @meetinginsamarra @lisbeth-kk  @sillygirlsmindpalace @totallysilvergirl   @calaisreno @jobooksncoffee  @bakingsherlycakes  @kettykika78  @stellacartography @sgam76 @mydogwatson @sherlockjohnblog @elwinglyre @loves-to-read-fanfic @dragonnan @naefelldaurk @a-victorian-girl @221beloved @johnlockficclub @holmesianlove @imnova @copperplatebeech @kittenmadnessandtea @chinike @readingwithgwen @keirgreeneyes @sarahthecoat @lijahlover
When John woke the next morning, it was to Sherlock watching him, propped up on his elbow, as if waiting for John to wake up.
âMorning?â John greeted and yawned heartily.
âHello,â Sherlock murmured back, his voice â even darker and rough from sleep â sending a pleasant shiver down Johnâs back.
âAnything on today?â John asked, rolling onto his side to face Sherlock, a suggestive grin forming on his lips.
Sherlock returned his grin and leaned in to nibble at Johnâs jaw, working his way up to nip at his earlobe.
âHmm,â John hummed, stretching leisurely. âI like the direction this is going.â
He could feel Sherlock smile against his skin, before he abruptly pulled back and sat up. âWell, Lestrade has texted. Case. Come on.â
With that he swung his legs over the edge and got to his feet, vanishing into the loo with a wink.
John gaped after him. Had Sherlock just teased him?
He groaned and turned onto his belly, rolling over to Sherlockâs side and burying his face in the still warm pillow, inhaling deeply. Why was it that people in love developed some sort of weird obsession with the scent of their object of affection? Or was that just John with Sherlock? Had he sniffed the stuff of his girlfriends? He couldnât remember. And frankly, he didnât even want to.
âJohn!â Sherlockâs voice came from the loo, and John grumbled as he sat up in the bed, rubbing his face.
---
âSo, where are we going?â John asked approximately half an hour later in the cab.
âBrixton, close to Brockwell Park.â
John frowned. He wasnât particularly accustomed with that part of London. But before he could ask about that, Sherlock went on.
âBody found in a back alley, should be simple enough to solve. Lestrade couldâve done it himself, but apparently heâs got too many cases at the moment, so he asked me to do this one for him.â
Sherlock leaned closer to John, almost touching his lips to his ear. âHeâs all but begged me to do it, John,â he murmured, putting emphasis on the âbegging.â
John swallowed and pulled back a bit to look at Sherlock, who was smirking at him, that wicked glint in his eyes.
Christ, John thought, shivering slightly at the electric pulse that ran down his spine at that voice. What had got into Sherlock today?
And as if his suggestive voice wasnât enough, Sherlock placed a hand on Johnâs knee, drawing small circles with his thumb. John had to take in deep, deliberate breaths. Not now, he had to tell himself, and not here in this cab, on the way to a crime scene.
John was close to thanking a God he didnât believe in as the cab finally came to halt in a relatively empty street. Sherlock left John to pay the cabbie in order to find Lestrade, and once John had caught up, Sherlock was already insulting Andersonâs intelligence. It was almost reassuring, to see this side of Sherlock, his ânormalâ going out behaviour. Almost.
âAlright, Sherlock,â John intervened, placing a hand on his shoulder blade. âGreg, could you give us what youâve got so far and show us the crime scene?â
Greg nodded, giving John a relieved and grateful look. Just as Greg turned to lead the way, Sherlock shot him a heated look, as if John had done something incredible that justified pushing him against a wall and snogging him senseless. John swallowed thickly and motioned for Sherlock to follow Greg. If things went on like this, John would get so aroused that heâd come in his pants at some point. Christ, anything but that. He wasnât a bloody hormonal teenager â even if Sherlock sometimes made him feel this way.
---
The case had been relatively straight forward â just as Sherlock had predicted â which hadnât made it less gruesome, though. The man had been stabbed in the side, the knife nowhere to be found, a pool of dried blood around the dead body.
With the ripped and cut open pockets of the manâs coat, Sherlock had been able to discern that the victim had been a drug dealer, and after a look at the manâs shoes and wallet, heâd given Greg a detailed description of where and how to look for the culprits, most likely two men in their twenties.
Greg had nodded, shaken his head at some points and raised his eyebrows at others, but had made notes diligently and thanked Sherlock afterwards.
âWell, this was quite quick indeed,â John stated as Sherlock ushered him into a relatively narrow alley to shorten their way back to the main street. Of course Sherlock had a map of this part of London in his head as well.
âPlain sailing,â Sherlock waved it off.
âNot for me,â John retorted. âAnd not for Greg and his team, either, you genius.â
Sherlock slowed and turned towards John, that glint back in his eyes.
âWill I get a reward once we are home?â He crowded closer into John. âYou could press me up against the door, trap me with your body and kiss me until my knees go weak.â
John gasped and reached out to ball a fist around the heavy wool of Sherlockâs coat. Sherlock moved slowly, guiding John backwards until he was almost pressed against the wall, his long fingers closing gently around Johnâs wrists.
âYou could peel these clothes off me, or rip them off. Plain skin, exposed only for you.â
John was breathing heavily now, the heady scent of Sherlock mixing with the images he was creating in Johnâs head.
âYou could turn me around and bend me over the kitchen table, or the desk. Or, you could take me right there, against the door. Youâre strong. You could lift me up and lower me down onto your cock. You could take me right there, with my feet digging into your back and my arms around your neck.â
John groaned softly, tipping his head forward and leaning his forehead against Sherlockâs chest.
âOr you could lead me to your chair. Imagine you sitting there, looking down to see me kneeling between your spread legs.â
Sherlock ran his thumb over Johnâs cheekbone, down his jaw. âI could ride you,â he whispered, âIn your chair.â
And that was about everything John could take. He gripped Sherlock by the lapels of his coat and shoved him back against the wall, pressing himself up against his front and pulling him down to crush their lips together. The kiss was hungry from the start, open mouthed and wet and hot, and John groaned as he pushed his tongue past Sherlockâs lips. They licked and sucked and nibbled and pulled, and it took John some time to notice that he was grinding against Sherlock.
âHome!â he gasped, pulling together all his strength to weekly push at Sherlock. âNow! Iâm not going to take you in that back alley.â
Sherlock stepped back, making it look graceful and almost effortless, but John could see his own longing reflected in those usually bright eyes, now dark and hooded with lust.
âChrist, Sherlock, get us a cab.â
Sherlock did as he was told, his hand never letting go of Johnâs wrist.
âOr,â he murmured into Johnâs ear once they were seated in the cab. âOr, I could slip my hand just a bit further up your thigh. I could palm you right here.â
John shook his head, biting his lip in order to keep silent.
âBut it wouldnât be enough. Not for you, not for me. I would pull down that zip, and slip my fingers in. Imagine warm skin enveloping you there, soft touches at first, pulling, strokingâŠâ
âChrist, Sherlock,â John gasped. âYou canât do this!â
He reached down to rearrange himself, his jeans more than just uncomfortable now, and Sherlock let out a gasp himself at that.
John longed to kiss him, to reach out and touch him, anywhere, everywhere, just feel him in some way. But he knew that theyâd get thrown out of the taxi if he let himself do any of that. So he bit his lip and waited, glaring resolutely out the window.
---
It was like an explosion when they finally reached Baker Street. Once they were up in their flat, theyâd practically ripped their clothes off each other, their lips never parting. It had been heated and intense, heady and all consuming. Theyâd never actually come to the part of anyone taking the other, but when theyâd reached climax, John had felt as if he was burning alive, just to be reborn in Sherlockâs arms. For long minutes afterwards, theyâd been reduced to a heavily panting tangle of limbs on the sofa.
---
âThis,â John stated after theyâd come down from their high and were lying comfortably on the sofa together, âwas amazing. Absolutely incredible.â
Sherlock only hummed. John shifted a little, revelling in the sated calmness.
âNo wonder,â he mused, âwith you riling me up the entire day.â
He paused, then gasped as realisation hit him, and he sat up to stare down at Sherlock.
âThat was your plan all along, wasnât it? To wind me up! From the moment I woke up until now.â
Sherlock pulled him back down again, and John went willingly enough, placing his head on Sherlockâs shoulder.
âWell, the plan was not to wind you up, exactly. Just to⊠whisper sweet nothings to you over the day. But yes, that was the plan. Lestradeâs timing was for once impeccable. My plan worked much better this way, and I didnât have to lure you out the flat with some excuse.â
âThat werenât nothings,â John laughed, shaking his head. âI felt like I could explode every second. God, Sherlock. These suggestions, in that voice. Do you even know what that did to me? I wanted to jump right at you every time you leaned in to whisper into my ear. I wanted to lick your neck every time you turned your head, wanted to suck your fingers every time you lifted your hands, and I wanted to pull you down and kiss you every time you looked at me. Christ, Sherlock.â
Sherlockâs breathing quickened ever so slightly, and his arms tightened a little around John.
âAnd you accuse me of riling you up,â he muttered, and John laughed.
âThis calls for a revenge, doesnât it?â
âErâŠâ Sherlock started to protest, but John was having none of it.
âOh yes. Iâm going to show you how it is to be teased all day.â He bent down to trace the shell of Sherlockâs ear with his tongue. âYou just wait and see.â
âCanât wait,â Sherlock gasped, then cupped Johnâs jaw and crushed their lips together.
---
Tell me if you want to be added or removed from the list :)
Something is lurking in the Cephalopod Research Underwater Experimentation Laboratory â something with which Sherlock and John are about to become intimately acquaintedâŠ
Please mind the tags and the archive warning.
Many thanks to the brilliant @barachikiâ for the evocative cover design. Check out the other winners of barachikiâs fanfiction cover contest here.
