I'm writing a Johnlock ff from John point of view. It's focused on his side and I'm trying to get a better representation of him post-war so it is an insight-ff.
It will represent/talk about mental health, disabilities, homophobia, a clearer view of Sherlock's addiction etc etc.
Is anyone interested? I thought of posting it on ao3 when it will be finished or at leats when I'll have something.
It's a slice of life + angst.
Tell me what should I put in it or what would you like to read in a Johnlock ff.
Ok so ages ago i read this johnlock actor au fanfic. I think its pretty popular bc it was the number one most kudoed ff in ao3 but anyway so sherlock was an oscar winning actor an john is a sitcom actor and they became the leading actor of a gay film and at first sherlock was wary abt it bc he thought john was a bad actor but then he oppened up and they dated. And then it leaked out to the public and on the premier night they went official(?) i’m not sure my memory is blurry
I tried looking for this fic but i cant seem to find it on my bookmarked so i’m not sure where it went or if maybe the author deleted it. If anyone know which fic i’m talking abt pls tell me ;;______;;
I am extremely late to post it on here, but studies, luv. But yes, for the past two weeks I've been actively participating in Sherlockinktober by @sherlockinktober and I have spent hours on coming up with ideas for each plot. So I'll post all of them here, never mind the fact that I probably won't finish them all by the end of the month.
"You could have put on that coat of yours before you stormed out like that, you know? It's freezing outside..." the man hummed, giving his best friend a look of disapproval. There he was, cancelling his Friday night plans again because his devil of a flatmate caught a cold.
"You could have gone out with Sarah. I don't need a babysitter, you know?" the brunette barked back, though his voice was too hoarse for him to sound as intimidating as he usually would. His dark curls fell into his eyes as he rolled to the other side of the bed.
"Shocking as it may seem, I don't care about that date too much."
"I know. Her name isn't Sarah. That was the last one. Yet you didn't even bother to correct me."
John stared at the man's back for a moment, before snorting quietly, a little, cheeky smile growing on his face.
The kettle started getting louder, causing the detective to groan loudly, hiding his face in a pillow.
The blonde found his way to the kitchen, setting two cups on the counter. The sounds of pure agony and exhaustion coming from the living area made him jump up, though, and John soon hurried back to his friend's side.
"John" the raspy baritone was heard from under a dozen of blankets. "I'm cold. Why am I cold? It's warm in here, but I'm freezing."
"That's how a cold works, Sherlock. Come here" he sighed quietly, setting the mug away and moving over to the couch. He helped Sherlock sit up and wrapped him up in only one of the blankets, putting the rest under his head and on his feet. He tucked him in slowly and carefully. He then handed him his hot drink and grabbed a tissue to wipe the sweat off the detective's forehead. "Drink the tea. I put some honey in it, it should ease it all a bit..."
Sherlock looked up lazily, his eyes hooded as his gaze followed John's movements. Every single gesture. Not too glorious, but still extraordinarily pleasant for their viewers.
He took a sip. And then another one. John couldn't help but notice the colours slowly coming back to his friend's face.
"Thank you" said the detective, incredible honesty in his words.
"It's alright" answered the doctor, the two sharing a warm smile from behind their cups.
'I'm not the man you thought I was,' John continues, addressing the Mary still alive in his head. 'I'm not that guy, I never could be. But that's the point. That's the whole point. Who you thought I was is the man who I want to be.'
There's a pause, and then something happens to break my heart into a million pieces.
He takes his left hand to his eyes and emits a sob, his head bowed, shoulders shaking.
It seems as if my heart is screaming, telling me to go hold him. And I do. I lay my drink on the table and stand, slowly walking towards him.
His sobs literally pierce through me as I reach to put my right hand onto his left shoulder.
For a second I pause, certain I'm going to hear, 'Don't you dare,' or, 'You made a vow,' in a cracked and broken voice.
But I don't. Oh, how I'm overjoyed that I'm not rejected, that I'm accepted.
My hand travels upwards, cradling his neck. My left hand rests on his elbow, gently pulling him closer.
'It's okay,' I whisper softly, as his forehead eases onto my chest.
He inhales and then mutters, 'It's not okay.'
My lips brush over his hair. 'No. But it is what it is.'
We stay in that one position for hours. John's cries continue but eventually subside. His tears have soaked through my shirt but right now I couldn't care less.
He sniffs, and his arms slowly move to hold my waist and his cheek comes lay on my chest. When his tears have dried, he lifts his head and looks at me.
'You know why I did it?' he asks, his voice just above a whisper. 'You know why I cheated?'
I stiffen, and he must have noticed because his arms slowly move to hold my shoulders. 'I did it because I wasn't happy. Mary didn't make me happy anymore. She's an assassin, and she shot you. She shot you, Sherlock. You almost died. You did die.
'I swear I thought I was never going to get to see you alive again, never get to speak to you, to hear your voice, to work with you, to-'
He takes a deep breath, and his eyes water again. I look at him, my expression forlorn. 'John,' I rasped. 'Shhhh. I'm right here. I'm fine.' I pause, wondering if it's the right time to tell him. Of course it is, you moron. Otherwise you never will. 'And I... I... I love you.'
He looks up at me, his mouth hanging open. 'You... what?'
I smile at him softly. 'I love you, John. I always have.'
I see the ghosting of a smile on his lips and I knew I had got it right. 'You do?' he repeated disbelievingly.
'Yes,' I replied patiently. 'I love you.'
And then there's not an inch of space between us. His hand weaves into the hairs at the back of my head. His other arm snakes around the back of my shoulders. My arms hold his waist and pull him in closer as my eyes drift shut. His lips move in sync with mine and the connection that sparks is instant, like the moment our lips touched, the final piece of the puzzle had been put in place and we were completed. I smile into the kiss and I feel him doing the same.
It feels like an eternity has passed before we part, though my eyes stay closed a lot longer than that, keeping me sealed in that moment.
'Sherlock?' John's voice brings me back to reality, makes me open my eyes so that the first thing I see is his beaming face.
'Yes?' I reply.
'I love you too.'
I pull him into a hug again and mumble, 'I know,' only to be met with a chuckle.
It's not long before we hear footsteps come up the stairs and my grin widens.
A call of, 'Daddy!' rings up into the flat and John pulls himself from my arms, smiling.
Molly walks into the flat, cradling Rosie on her hip. Rosie struggles to be put down and when she is, crawls straight into John's waiting arms.
I watch them interact, a smile glued to my face. John looks up at me, matching my smile.
'Hi, Papa!' comes an exclamation from next to him and I am taken aback. I look at John, slightly nervous. John gives me the slightest nod.
I crouch in front of Rosie, the smile never having left my face. 'Hey, Rosie,' I say softly.
She holds her arms out in the universal baby signal for 'pick me up' so I take her from John and set her on my lap.
One arm holds her in place to make sure she doesn't fall and Rosie takes my other hand in her grasp.
I marvel at how sweet she is, how innocent, how unknowing of the world around her she is.
And it's then that I notice the overwhelming love bursting from my chest. Love for Rosie, love for her father, love for my family. They are my family. And I'll love them forever.
John and Rosie have lived in my flat for four months now. We've renovated the whole place to make it baby-proof, painted the upstairs bedroom to make it Rosie's. John's moved downstairs with me.
And I don't think I'll ever be happier: watching Rosie grow, watching our relationship grow has been the best thing that could ever happen to me.
I sit in my chair, Rosie playing with her toys at my feet. My eyes are half glued to my phone screen, half to the bundle of joy sitting in front of me.
John comes into the living room and upon seeing him I smile. I make a quick decision and motion for him to crouch where he is and look down to Rosie. It's time for our daughter to learn now to walk.
'Rosie, darling, you and I are going to walk to Daddy, okay?' I tell her, unable to stop the grin.
She looks up at me, a puzzled expression lining her features. 'To Daddy?' she asks slowly, pointing to John, who beams at her.
'Yes, sweetheart, to Daddy. Come on.'
She pulls herself up and stands with her hands on my knees.
I turn her around and stand up, her tiny hands wrapped around my index fingers.
'Go on, sweetheart, walk to Daddy. You can do it.'
John holds his arms out. 'Come on, Rosie. Come to me.'
I look down at her, seeing her balance on the balls of her feet. I know she's trying. I know she can do it.
And just like that, her left foot moves forward just an inch. I look up at John, to see him bursting with pride.
Slowly but surely, we make literal baby steps over to John. I let her go when she gets there and John scoops her up into a hug.
'Hey! You did it, Rosie!' he praises her, the smile never ending.
She laughs, and the sound is like music to my ears. 'Shall we walk back to Papa now, Rosie?' John asks her, standing up.
'To Papa!' she repeats happily. My heart soars just watching her.
She concentrates extra hard, her hands clinging onto John's fingers as tightly as possible. It's takes them two minutes twenty four seconds to reach me and when they do, it's a wonder that I haven't melted into a puddle.
I stand up and clutch onto her hand as I smile at John. We look down simultaneously at our daughter and I know we're thinking the same thing.
