#angsty johnlock

[little-watson]

Maybe I'll go back to destroying my health again instead of letting you destroy my head.

[simplyclockwork]

"Every fucking day, I wish you're mine - every single goddamned day." I really just want a Sherlock who been pining after John for years and now he’s angrily confronting John about his feelings and I want to be SAD and I want there to be LONGING and LONELINESS and YEARNING (is that too specific? just do whatever you want you’re amazing)

Dang heck, I made angst, whoops

@dreamingunderafigtree

Also thank you!!!

—–

The day Sherlock snapped started like any other. Waking up to a cold bed in a gloomy room, with the faint sounds of John puttering around the kitchen, he felt like sinking back under the blanket. Letting the day pass by, endless and excruciating, to avoid looking at John’s oblivious face.

Something clattered against the sink, followed by John’s surprised curse, and Sherlock sighed. Hauling himself out of bed, he wrapped a robe around his tall frame and walked out into the hall.

“John?” He called, meandering through to the kitchen. John stood over the sink, hunched in a strange position, one hand cradling the other. Sherlock leaned around John’s curved back, peering to his cupped hands.

Blood trickled from a deep cut on John’s palm, pooling in his other hand and dripping down the side. A knife lay in the sink, serrated edge turned red.

Sherlock grabbed a handful of paper towels and reached out to press it to the cut. John continued to stare at the wound, a small frown creasing his brow. 

“John?” Sherlock repeated, waiting for John to look at him. 

“I need stitches.” John’s voice was strange, inflectionless, and Sherlock studied his face.

Clearing his throat, he lifted the paper towel and looked underneath. “I can do it,” he offered, watching fresh blood well up in the cut. 

John looked up, surprised. “You know how?”

Sherlock nodded, applying pressure to the cut again to staunch the flow. “Of course, John. I have many skills, as you know.” 

“All right.”

Seated at the table, John’s hand on his knee, Sherlock cleaned, applied freezing, and began closing the wound with small, precise stitches. John watched in silence, eyes following the needle as it rose and fell.

Once the cut was closed up, Sherlock set aside the equipment, John’s hand cradled in his own. They sat that way as the minutes stretched out until John began to shift in his chair.

“Er, thanks,” he said, moving to pull his hand away. Sherlock shifted his grip, fingers locking around John’s wrist and holding him in place. John frowned at him. “Sherlock?”

Looking down at John’s hand, Sherlock traced the curves of John’s palm with a fingertip. John fell silent, and Sherlock could feel his eyes on his bent head. 

“I’ve thought about this for a long time,” Sherlock spoke in a soft voice, barely above a whisper. When he didn’t elaborate, John shifted in his seat. 

“About what?” He asked, evident confusion in the question.

Sherlock’s fingers drifted along the delicate veins of John’s wrist.

“Holding your hand,” he murmured, eyes locked on the pale blue flow of blood under John’s skin. “I always wondered what it would feel like. Your fingers between mine, palms pressed together. Sometimes I imagined we might do it while walking somewhere. Maybe at a crime scene.” His shoulders rose and fell in a slight shrug. 

When he raised his head, John was staring, and Sherlock felt his own empty longing rise between them. John’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. He cleared his throat and tried again, fingers twitching reflexively in Sherlock’s grip.

“Sherlock, I… I don’t…” his words trailed off, and he looked at the floor, face tense. “I don’t know what to say.”

Sherlock released John’s hand, all but throwing it away from him and into John’s lap as he stood. “Don’t worry about it,” he snapped, arms stiff at his sides as he turned away. 

He heard John rise behind him, chair scraping against the floor. “Sherlock…” His tentative fingers brushed the back of Sherlock’s neck. Sherlock hunched his shoulders against the contact. 

“Forget it, John.” He rejected the effort at bridge-building by stepping away, but John moved with him, calling his name again.

“Sherlock?”

Something snapped in Sherlock, and he spun on John with anger in his eyes, a bitter taste in his mouth. 

“Don’t ‘Sherlock’ me!” He snarled, advancing on John until he was backed against the sink. “You are the most oblivious, frustrating, obtuse man I have ever known.” His hands gripped the counter on either side of John, trapping him between his arms. “Every fucking day, I wish you’re mine—every single goddamn day.” 

John stared at him, eyes wide and shocked. Sherlock met his gaze, unwavering until John’s silence began to drive something sharp and burning under his skin.

Turning away, robe billowing around his tense body, Sherlock stalked out of the kitchen and into his bedroom. The door slammed behind him, leaving him safe in his sanctuary as he turned the lock. He dropped onto the bed and glared at the ceiling, his chest tight. 

A soft knock against the door made him scowl as it was followed by a quiet voice. 

“Sherlock?”

Sherlock closed his eyes, tangling his fingers in the sheets. He didn’t answer.

“Sherlock, can I come in?” The knob rattled, and John made a low, frustrated noise. “Come on, Sherlock. Open the door.”

Sherlock turned his face into the pillow and didn’t answer. 

[holmezyan]

I've just read blueberry pancakes and honey at Baker Street and so far so good...anxious.

[watsonisme]

It’s not very noticeable at first; the signs that you’ve fallen in love with your ex-flat mate.

He had been subconsciously pining for John for years now and had never realized it until the worst possible moment.

The Wedding.

Sherlock had been holding his glass of champagne, flashed a fake smile, and then, it happened.  His fingers instantly became weak and almost slippery; all of a sudden, he couldn’t keep his tight grip on the glass anymore, and his fingers slowly began to release it. Sherlock’s face was still plastered with the forced grin, and it took an excessively long time to respond and understand exactly what was happening.

I don’t want John to get married.

The camera flashed.  Sherlock felt like it was mocking him.

I want to be the one to marry John.

The glass collided with the floor and shattered into tiny shards, the liquid spilling out and painting the floor a sickly yellow color.

I’m in love with John.

might add more and post this on ao3 later i don’t really know lol but enjoy this angsty pining-sherlock-love realization ficlet by me

[multi-fandom-parasite]

Pining & Jealous Sherlock and oblivious John is my fav combination for all johnlock fanfics ever

Or Pining & posessive Sherlock and oblivious John

So John is going on 24/7 like "Bro I'm not gay" and like "Sherly you're my best friend" and Sherlock's like no we're more than bffs but doesn't say it out loud thus creating angst and then Sherly losing his shit and going like JOHN LOOK AT ME

That's my fanfic right there

[holmesianpose]

Close up

[noswordsforlittledragons]

Never Another Trilogy

Series: Never Another Trilogy

Title: Never Another

Pairing: John Watson/ Sherlock Holmes

Tags and Warnings: Sherlock is an ass, break-up, angst, heartbroken John

Summary:

When Sherlock misses their anniversary, misses his last chance, John decides its time to go.

Excerpt:

Traffic is slow, will be home soon—SH John let out a sobbing laugh and responded with shaky fingers. Doesn’t matter—JW Have you finally realized the insignificance of such celebrations?—SH

Title: Never Another Lover, Always Another Chance

Pairing: John Watson/Sherlock Holmes

Tags and Warnings: prescription pill abuse (brief), make-up, Sherlock still doesn't know what he's doing, possibly dysfunctional relationship

Summary:

Sherlock ins't doing so well after John leaves. It seems big brother is going to have to step in for him. Sequel to Never Another.

Excerpt:

Swallowing the sleeping pills dry, Sherlock dropped his clothes carelessly on the floor, reaching dazedly for his pajama bottoms and the tattered army shirt that had been in the dirty clothes pile when John had left. The detective pulled the shirt on; ignoring the smell of stale sweat that lingered around the armpits of the shirt he inhaled deeply at the neckline. Since it had never been washed it still smelled strongly of the doctor, even after a month of the dark haired man wearing it.

Title: Never Another Dance Partner

Pairing: John Watson/Sherlock Holmes

Tags and Warnings: fluff

Summary:

The last piece of the Never Another Trilogy (didn't even know that was going to happen, it was only supposed to be a one-shot). For those of us who want a concrete happy ending.

John and Sherlock dance in the sitting room and Sherlock realizes the importance of dancing with John.

Excerpt:

Walking back over to the boombox John presses a button down and then turns to Sherlock and gives him the look. The one that says that Sherlock will do what John wants and he will do it now (that was one of John’s rules, if he gave Sherlock that look it was because John wanted them to do something, together, and Sherlock owed it to him to “get his head out of his arse and let me be romantic”.)

[yourlosswouldbreakmyheart]

I've read Alone On The Waters, but what are some other angsty Johnlock fanfictions?