Million by AtlinMerrick (G)
It was yesterday John and Sherlock met, just yesterday.
Taste by A_Candle_For_Sherlock (G)
John slowly becoming a bit more queer in how he looks...being with Sherlock lets him embrace dressing and acting how he wants to.
Outside Definition by Itsallfine (T)
Sherlock has been called many things. Freak. Psychopath. Sociopath. But John knows him for real: Not just a great man, but a good one, too.
Tag by Kryptaria (G)
John is forever the soldier, always presenting a neat, composed facade to the world. Only Sherlock gets to see the real John underneath.
This Kiss by suitesamba (T)
Stag Night - back at 221B - in a world where Mrs. Hudson doesn't interrupt the guessing game with the client.
The Case of the Clever Conundrum by ChrisCalledMeSweetie (T)
It takes a well-crafted riddle to push Sherlock and John past "Will they or won't they?" to "Oh God, yes!"
Thanks to @chocolamousse for suggesting the fic by @atlinmerrick. If you have a fun fic under 1k you’d like me to include, please drop me a line. Self-recs are encouraged!
For the 25th anniversary of the Stonewall Riots in 1994, flag creator Gilbert Baker was commissioned to make the world’s largest flag. The flag took months of planning and work done by teams of volunteers. The flag utilized the basic six colors of the rainbow and measured thirty feet wide by a mile long.
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 couldn’t 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 couldn’t quite understand why John was staring at him like that.
John needed only two steps before he was standing in front of him.
“Damn it, Sherlock…” he muttered, his voice rough with relief and anger all at once. “I was worried. Don’t ever do that again. Call me. At least tell me where you are.”
Sherlock only blinked, still half lost in thought, as though he was only now beginning to grasp what his absence had done.
“John, I—”
“I love you, you idiot,” John said more quietly, gruff, almost reproachful.
Then he cupped Sherlock’s 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.
Not sure why it's a new trend among fic readers to assume if the fic has not been posted within the week it's inappropriate to comment on it, like the fic has to be hot out of the oven to give feedback for.
I got a comment on a fic that is less than a year old and it was mostly an apology for being a comment on an "old fic" and how late they were in commenting.
Just comment on the fic. Doesn't matter how old it is.
If you are so inclined, comment. It doesn’t matter if it’s a brand new or an old fic. I assure you, the author will be just as happy getting appreciation for a story they’ve almost forgot about.
Happy Friday everyone! Hope you are all ready for another weekend of some fantastic reads added to my MFL list this week! Hope you enjoy!! :D
RECENT MFLs
Love at First Pride by topsyturvy_turtely (T, 892 w., 1 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting AU / Age: Mid 20s || Pride Parades, Bisexual John, Genderqueer Sherlock, Gay Sherlock, Love at First Sight, POV Third Person John, Meet-Cute, Romantic Fluff, Alcohol/Weed) – John just recently discovered he is bi. So this is his first Pride Parade. And then this tall, attractive man catches his eye and he promptly falls in love.
In The Ether by LipstickDaddy (E, 3,111 w., 1 Ch. || Major Character Death, Post S2 Alternate Canon, POV John, Dead Sherlock, Sherlock's Ghost, Grief/Mourning, John Whump, Top Sherlock, Blow Job, Foreplay, Anal, Angst, Tragedy, Ambiguous/Open Ending) – John is visited by Sherlock’s ghost. They don’t talk much.
How John Watson Became a Baroness Series by waketosleep (T, 3,395 w. across 2 works || Alternate Universe || Sibling Rivalry, Inheritance, Humour, Marriage of Convenience) – A series of unfortunate events (for everyone except Mycroft Holmes).
Chez 1895 by Lock_John_Silver (M, 11,625 w., 6 Ch. || Restauranteurs AU || Established Johnlock, POV Alternating, Crack, Chef Sherlock, Chef John, Secret Relationship, BAMF John, Smut, Bickering, Jealous Sherlock, Wine/Drinks, Food, Cooking, Massage, Coming Out) – Mycroft Holmes has just had a meeting with the manager of Chez 1895, Gregory Lestrade, and he needs to cool down lest he combust from pure arousal. A trip to one of the Holmes empire's Swiss restaurants will ensure that his impeccable calm is restored.
Bits and Pieces and Drabbles by AtlinMerrick (E, 25,514 w., 48 Ch. || Sexual Content, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Stand-Alone Chapters, 221B Ficlets, Drabbles, Hurt/Comfort) – Sherlock and John in wee little dribs and drabs. Short bits of fiction, prompt fills for friends, or just little stories that don't want to grow up to be big stories. (All chapters stand alone.)
It is extremely disturbing. He can’t 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 they’re 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 – the mania he hasn’t felt in years – has made a dramatic appearance, making his skin crawl uncomfortably.
“I need to find the exit,” 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.
“John,” he whispers reverently.
“Fancy meeting you here,” John quips, mirth visible in all his features.
Sherlock wants to kiss him but that’s 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 he’s been trapped. He can’t 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 can’t remember the reason for coming here, is unsettling.
Mycroft has of course taught him everything about the comings and goings, but Sherlock can’t remember if he ever mentioned how to escape his own head if he got stuck. Most likely, it didn’t 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.
“Are you still here? I’m waiting for you, you know. There’s tea and biscuits.”
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 he’s been searching for, but when he walks toward it, the sign transforms into a painting.
The Reichenbach Falls.
It had been a gift from… a client? Or was it some politician? An insignificant detail at this point, obviously.
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.
“John? Where are you?”
Why hasn’t he thought of calling out for the man earlier?
Sherlock contemplates that he might be drugged. Perhaps he isn’t –
“You called,” John says calmly, suddenly standing beside him.
“I did. Thank you for coming. I… I can’t…”
Sherlock is slightly embarrassed to admit that he’s adrift in his own head.
“Lost, are you?”
“Yes,” Sherlock whispers.
To his horror, he feels a burning sensation in his eyes.
A warm hand slides into his, and the words “come on” are uttered.
Is John holding his hand?
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.
“Here we are,” John says softly.
They stand before a door which opens a crack. Scents of tea, gingernuts, leather, books, and dust invade Sherlock’s nostrils. There’s also the unmistakable and unique smell that belongs to the man who’s sitting in his chair sipping tea from his RAMC mug – John. The real John. His John.
***
“You’re back,” John says with evident relief and warmth.
Sherlock blinks and nods; his voice seems to be out of order at the moment.
“Come sit. There’s tea and your favourite biscuits,” John coaxes.
Sherlock stands from the sofa and walks over to his chair.
“Did you finish cataloguing?” John asks.
The look on his face is different somehow. More open, fond, and… something else Sherlock is unable to deduce.
Tea first, then –
“You don’t remember, do you?”
John’s voice is sad all of a sudden.
“What?”
“Why you retreated to your Mind Palace,” John explains.
His voice is still –
“Oh!”
Images of John cupping his face, kissing him softly on the lips, telling Sherlock that he… loves him.
“Oh,” he repeats.
“Right,” John sighs, “that didn’t go according to plan, I see.”
“John.”
His words elude him, and John seems unable to decipher what Sherlock is trying to convey.
Action, Holmes.
He steps closer to John’s chair, pries the mug out of his hands, and curls up in John’s lap, mirroring the army doctor’s ministrations from earlier.
“I love you too,” Sherlock whispers after glorious minutes of kissing.
“Thank God! I thought I’d scared you away,” John exclaims, so relieved it nearly breaks Sherlock’s heart.
“Never!” Sherlock says emphatically.
“What took you so long, then?”
“I couldn’t find the correct sign, but then I called out for you. The other you, and he led me back.”
“Clever guy that one.”
“Most definitely no idiot.”
“High praise, love.”
Sherlock hides his blushing face in the crook of John’s neck and wonders if he will ever get used to being called ‘love’.
He doesn’t say it out loud, but apparently John knows him too well.
“I will repeat it until you believe it, but I will never stop,” John assures him, and that is the best answer Sherlock has ever got in his life.
✨ It's Thursday and that means it's time t- no. Wait.
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[#FFF 359 The Wrong Sign]
This prompt was sent in by the one and only @cocoamoonmalfoy, thank you so much! You read the sign, but something went wrong! Now you're stuck at the other end of the galaxy, accidentally went into the wrong room or slightly misinterpreted the situation... Oops? Whether it's time to get your eyes checked or the fates were faulty, we want to know! So go and type and tell your story!
Captain John Watson stumbles into an arrangement with Major James Sholto. In a warzone, it can’t mean anything.
There are rules.
John learns them.
He becomes exemplary.
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. I’m underwater, aching to breathe, but I’ll die if I do; but it isn’t cold enough, I’m not wet, where the hell I hurt all over and something’s wrong, it’s dark where is Sherlock
If I’m not under water, I can breathe; I open my lips a hair and no water floods in, so I take a careful breath and it’s 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 can’t see anything. Where the hell am I, and where is Sherlock? There—a second complete thought, even if it’s just the ragged scraps from before stringing together into sense, that’s 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 panting—but nothing else, not close by. I can’t breathe through my nose at all. I try to shift to generate some sound, get some idea at least of what kind of surface I’m near or on. Take stock: everything hurts but I can’t tell from what, I can’t gather any sensory data to extrapolate anything from. (Sherlock would say, deduce. I’m not Sherlock. He’d know what to do to get some clarity here; I’m 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 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.
