#johnlock ficlet

[the-bedheaded-league]

Holmes doesn't always stay in Watson's bed all night because of his insomnia, so Watson always treasures the mornings that he gets to wake up with Holmes still in his arms. It's on one of these mornings that Watson is broken out of his lovesick reverie by a knock on the door.

He gets up quickly, checking in the mirror to make sure that he's somewhat presentable, grabs his dressing gown from the chair, and opens the door. He only opens it a crack, so that whoever's outside can't see the bed where Holmes is still dozing.

Mrs. Hudson glances up and down at him. There's a small quirk to her mouth, but then it's gone in a moment.

"Good morning, Mrs. Hudson," Watson says. "Is everything alright?"

"Oh, quite alright," Mrs. Hudson replies. "I've just received a telegram from Mr. Lestrade saying to expect him here in an hour or two."

"Well, it's good of him to warn ahead," Watson sighs. "I'll, er... I'll let Holmes know, and make sure he's awake. Don't trouble yourself rousing him."

"Mmhm." Mrs. Hudson gives him a meaningful look that he can't at all parse, and then turns to leave. He closes the door and returns to perch on the bed, where Holmes is gazing up at him from the pillows with a smirk.

"And what exactly do you find so funny?" Watson asks.

"Well, if Mrs. Hudson didn't know about us already," Holmes muses, "she definitely knows now."

"And how would she? I look completely presentable, and I made sure that she could not see you from the door."

"Because, my darling doctor," Holmes laughs, drawing Watson in for a kiss, "you just answered the door of my bedroom."

[shirleycarlton]

Fluffbruary johnlock ficlet

Fluffbruary day 6

“I think we might have a cat in the flat,” Sherlock said flatly.

That would certainly explain the jumbled papers and the poo on the floor, John thought.

“Oh god.”

He was exhausted enough as it was after a trying journey home following a case up north, without having to deal with a feline intruder messing them about.

“Meow.”

John almost had to giggle at how fast Sherlock turned his head in the direction of the sound.

They both took a few steps through the kitchen to see.

And there, in the darkened hallway leading towards Sherlock’s bedroom, two pale green eyes were hovering a foot above the floor.

Sherlock slowly reached out his arm and switched on the hallway light, to reveal an entirely black cat sitting there, curiously looking them up and down, as if to determine if they were worthy of invading its territory.

As soon as it had made up its mind, however, it meowed once more, loudly, and came towards them, purring and bumping its head against Sherlock’s leg.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” John said, and dragged a hand over his face. He took in a long breath and slowly let it out again. “I feel dizzy.”

“Would you like some tea?” Sherlock said, overly friendly, without taking his eyes off the creature.

John sensed that Sherlock meant something else entirely, like “Let’s have a conversation about how to name this cat and which brands of food we’ll buy it.”

“You’re in love, aren’t you? And not just with me.”

Slowly, a goofy smile appeared on Sherlock’s face, apparently directed at the cat. “Excellent observation.” Then, looking back towards John, he added, “Don’t worry, I’m still in love with you also.”

Thanks for reading!

The prompts were: tea / dizzy / observation

Read all my @fluffbruary ficlets under the fluffbruary tag on my tumblr

(Of course they will probably be displayed in reverse order LOL. Please do start at the beginning if you want to read them all, as they follow each other chronologically! I hadn’t planned it like that, but it just sort of… happened.)

[copperplatebeech]

Precious - rated G, 500 words

“Seems a bit dodgy,” said John, pausing the video. “Here’s two blokes who’re meant to be friends, and one’ve ’em throttles the other over a ring he’s just fished up, because he wants it for a birthday present? I mean, you’re the detective, but it doesn’t seem like a motive for murder.”

They’d neither of them actually ever watched The Lord of the Rings – Sherlock lacking interest in most fiction, John repeatedly remarking he’d seen enough of battles, ta very much – but when Greg found out, he’d insisted on lending them his disc set. (“Used to watch it with the kids every Christmas, your turn.”) Grudgingly, John had to admit the story had caught him. The third time Sherlock deduced a plot twist, he’d had to declare a moratorium, and now, several evenings in, his flatmate –

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.  

“You’d be surprised,” said Sherlock. “I 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.”

He picked up the remote, but didn’t restart.

“John, my own birthday is coming up. Didn’t the older hobbit in the first film give gifts at his birthday, instead of expecting them?”

“Right, yeah?”

Sherlock huffed a breath and squared his shoulders.

“John. I have been giving this some thought, and I believe I see my way. Things are different between us now, and –”

Abruptly he rose from the sofa and strode back towards his – their, now – bedroom. Sounds of rummaging ensued.

“Sherlock, would you mind a footnote? A narrator voice or something–”

John was about to follow when Sherlock emerged, cradling something in one hand.

“This,” he said, “was my grandfather’s. My grandmother Vernet passed it on to me, once she judged I was old enough to understand what an heirloom was. ‘You should have it, mon precieux’ – that’s what she used to call me. And Mycroft. Who absolutely hated it, and used to say he was too old to be hugged.” Sherlock extended a gold band with milgrain edging. “It was his wedding ring. You see the thought process.”

“Sherlock. Are you asking –”

“Try it on.”

“Ouch. A little tight.”

“We 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?”

“Sherlock, bloody hell. Yes.”

“I do. Not consider myself too old to be hugged,” said Sherlock. “John Watson, mon precieux,” he added a minute or two later.

“No throttling,” John said against his shoulder. “Unless you leave a spleen in the fridge again.”

“Noted. Ought we to finish the film?”

“Tomorrow,” John said.

Read on AO3

Written for the fic collection Happy Birthday Pat (Precieux) on AO3, . Check out the other fics in the collection!

Tagging past readers in the replies as usual!

[totallysilvergirl]

100-word game (a drabble): Minimalist

(art by @dragonnan)

Ch. 69 from Solace and Joy.

Summary: A lasting marriage begins with gleeful subtractions. (This little plot thread continues for a few chapters)

*

Is this an engagement? As in, we’re engaged?

Do you not want to be?

I thought we could skip the engagement and just get married.

Proper wedding? Elopement? Or fifteen minutes at the registry office?

Registry office, obviously.

Perfect. No posh suits—no weeping family members—

No one in attendance at all.

Right. No flowers, photographer, gifts—

No appalling music—

No best man’s speech!

No best man!

You’re enjoying this as much as I am, aren’t you.

Of course. We can get right to the sex holiday without a wedding.

What about rings?

Rings?

Wedding rings.

Wedding rings?

Sherlock? Sherlock??

*

I'm enjoying the drabbles floating down the tumblr brook, and thanks to those who tagged me on this game. I trotted out this old one because @dragonnan's art needs to be seen RTFN and I've taken so long writing a fic inspired by it, that I wanted to make up for that.

Tagging @copperplatebeech @naefelldaurk @sgam76 @mydogwatson @mazaherstuff @ninasnakie @topsyturvy-turtely and everyone who has the drabble gene 🧬

@copperplatebeech @naefelldaurk @dragonnan @lisbeth-kk @sgam76 @kettykika78 @binx72 @butterflygrl62 @dw91165 @izhunny @helloliriels @starrla89 @wizama @jobooksncoffee @johnyouareamazingyouarefantastic @discordantwords @ghostofnuggetspast @notjustamumj @friday411 @calaisreno @mydogwatson @redmondcollege @daziechane @chinike @ninasnakie @whatnext2020 @lololollywrites @chocolamousse @kittenmadnessandtea @lolcari @chriscalledmesweetie @7-percent @jbaillier @keirgreeneyes @missdeliadili @meetinginsamarra @khorazir @13monkton @safedistancefrombeingsmart @thalialunacy @221beloved @johnlockismyreligion @imnova @notjustamumj @a-victorian-girl @onesmallfamily @snowfilly1 @readingwithgwen @izhunny

[topsyturvy-turtely]

Fluffbruary with turtely

fluffinity edition. 14-11-2024

(i wrote this yesterday i swear!)

prompts: cuddle - happy - spell

special thanks to @totallysilvergirl @lisbeth-kk and @fluffbruary for reminding me to write 😩🙈

i am sitting here in the armchair. my cold feet covered by the body heat of redbeard, our dog. his - sherlock's - head lays on my chest. arms wrung around me. i feel his deep breaths through my jumper, on my skin. even after all this years, it tingles.

the fingers of my left hand are raking through his slowly thinning, grey but oh so luscious curls. my other hand - on his belly. it had grown a bit. he isn't quite as skinny as he used to be. you can barely see it. but i love the feeling of that tum underneath my palm.

the dying embers are shining weakly into the living room. putting everything in a spellbinding light. always loved that. love it now even more it seems. i smile about that thought.

sometimes i still can't comprehend how i got so lucky. how i found this man. how he died for me and then came back for me. how he raised my daughter with me.

rosie - she will be here. only a few weeks until christmas now. we'll be having dinner. she will give both of us terrible christmas sweaters. i'm looking forward to that look on sherlock's face after i convinced him to wear it. absolutely completely miserable but then those odd, gorgeous features breaking a smile.

and i will be as besotted as i have been since the beginning.

i press my lips to his forehead, close my eyes, breathe in his scent.

being old and happy. what a beautiful thing that is.

read "that stuff called fluff" (fluffbruary ficlets) on ao3!

(if you could show some love to this i would greatly appreciate it as i am in a massive writer's block and seeing people reblogging etc. might actually motivate me to write. thank you ✨) (i sound desperate, but- well, i am. ngl)

☕︎☕︎☕︎

tag list! (tell me if you wanna be added or removed please 💚) @justanobsessedpan @helloliriels @fluffbyday-smutbynight @inevitably-johnlocked @hisfavouritejumper @rhasima @forfucksakejohn @ohlooktheresabee @turbulenttrouble @so-youre-unattached-like-me @peanitbear @train-mossman @loki-lock @smulderscobie @timberva @grace-in-the-wilderness @chinike @jawnn-watson @whatnext2020 @escapingthereality @missdeliadili @kettykika78 @7-percent @speedymoviesbyscience @astudyin221b @francj15 @we-r-loonies @mxster-jocale @sherlockcorner @noahspector @our-stars-graveside @jobooksncoffee @baker-street-blog @macgyvershe @myladylyssa @battledress @a-victorian-girl @dreamerofthemeadow @oetkb12 @ohnoesnotagain @mutedsilence @jawnscoffee @raenchaosandcozyadashofmurder @quickslvxrr @compact-and-beautiful @kabubsmagga @sunshineinyourmind @booksoversleep @startrekker2011 @justjayisfine0

[sonics-atelier]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐑𝐞𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠

For @johnlockweek2025 Day 8 : Healing + Canon Divergence

Summary: Sherlock Holmes heroically fakes his death, dismantles a criminal empire, and expects everything to return to normal—because emotional consequences are clearly for other people. John Watson, meanwhile, was under the impression that when someone dies, they stay dead, but apparently, Sherlock missed that memo.

WC: 3.1 K. Read On AO3.

[sakshi-s-blog]

Gift for @a-victorian-girl . I couldn't get this plot idea from my head! So I spent 4 hours as soon as I got home from college & here it is. I hope you like it. 😃

Fic Title:

"Still Black, Still You"

Summary:

Sherlock secretly dyes his greying hair for John. John finds out—and loves him, black curls or not. Fluffy, sweet love.

Fic glimpse:

It started with the curls.

They were as much a part of Sherlock Holmes as the violin or the coat. Dark, stormy, untameable things that matched his mind—brilliant, intense, a little wild. John used to tease him about them, back in their thirties. Called him "the shaggy genius" once, to Sherlock’s eternal smugness. And now, in their fifties, John still watched those curls with something like wonder. Because they were still dark. Still sharp. Still the same.

And that was strange.

Because John Watson, in contrast, had gone fully grey by fifty-three. Not silver or salt-and-pepper—just honest, stark grey. The kind that said, "Yes, I’ve been through a war. Yes, I’ve aged. Yes, I’m still standing." Sherlock didn’t tease him about it. In fact, Sherlock barely said a word about John’s hair at all, aside from a soft look now and then. A hand in it when they curled up together on colder nights. No mockery. Just quiet fondness.

But Sherlock? Sherlock remained dark-haired. And John wasn’t suspicious, not really. Genetics, maybe. Or stress expressing itself differently. Or sheer stubbornness refusing to let Sherlock change.

Until one Tuesday morning, when John found the receipt.

He’d been clearing the table—Sherlock had made one of his messes again, writing theories in the jam stains on the back of a Tesco receipt—and as he gathered the scraps, one of them stood out. A receipt from some boutique cosmetic place in Marylebone. Regular visits. Black hair dye. One bottle per week. Cash paid. Same day, every time.

John stared at it for a long minute, trying to reconcile it.

Sherlock Holmes. Dying his hair.

Every week.

In secret.

The thought landed heavy, and somehow very small and very large at once.

Sherlock was hiding the grey.

John sat back in his chair, clutching the slip of paper like it was an unsolved clue.

Not because Sherlock was vain. No, Sherlock couldn’t care less what the world thought of him. But… maybe he cared what JOHN thought. Maybe he was keeping his curls dark because—

Read more at AO3. Just 928 words.

[weeesi]

Pride - May Prompts (31)

Huge thanks to @calaisreno for organising this brilliant community event! It's been a wonderful month full of laughter and tears and just about the most fun I've had in a long time. Thank you, everyone!

+

John weaves through the crowd, a sweating bottle of water in each hand. The day is bright and cloudless and absolutely boiling. He swipes the back of his wrist over the sheen on his brow and spots the top of Sherlock’s head, half-hidden behind a couple stood together across the street. 

That looks like…oh my god—

He hurries over. He wasn’t in bomb disposal, but across the years he’s gained plenty of practice of a similar sort. 

Sherlock’s face inhabits an expression completely new. It’s remarkable. 

And that’s not the least of it.

Mycroft is wearing a vest. 

And shorts.

“Alright, mate?” Lestrade greets John amiably. “This one could use a look-over,” he adds with a wink in Sherlock’s direction. “Might need to restart his heart.”

Mycroft is as pink and pinched as a summer prawn with a smear of suncream on his nose. “Hello, John. We were just—chatting.”

John grins. “You’ve short-circuited him.” He holds out a bottle for Sherlock, then cracks the seal on his own. “Nice togs. First time at Pride, you two?”

“Why are you here?” Sherlock pipes up, eyes narrowed in suspicion at his eternal foe.

“Isn’t it obvious, little brother?”

“Spying on us?”

“Hardly.”

“…Sentiment.”

“The word you’re looking for,” Mycroft lifts his chin, confident as John has ever seen him, “is love.”

+

If you like what you see (lol), come say hello on ao3! These little ficlets are included in Calais' May Prompts collection. I have around 250K more words of johnlock too. I'd love to see you there :D

Thank you to @calaisreno for the fun prompt series! Tags in replies. Thanks for reading! <3