#johnlock oneshot

[topsyturvy-turtely]

Let Me Fix You (Johnlock OS)

for the one and only @safedistancefrombeingsmart <3

“Fuck! I mean- shite! Oh, bloody hell!” John watched as that asshole run away, clutching the knife wound he had left on him. “Jesus Christ. I hate you.”

“John! Why are you- Did you get hurt?”, Sherlock came running towards him.

“No, I am cursing because it is fucking funny. Of course, I am hurt, you bloody-“, John bit his tongue. “He barely missed my scar.”, he added, more quietly.

There was actual concern shining in Sherlock’s eyes. “How bad is it? Let me loo-“

“I am fine!”, John turned his body away in a quick movement. It hurt. He gritted his teeth and pushed air out through them. It made a funny noise, almost like a whistle. “Let’s just get home.” John already walked back out on the brighter lit main street.

“Don’t you think we should call a doctor-“

“I am a fucking doctor!”

“But John-“

“I am goddamn fine fucking enough, okay. Now just do your-”, John let go of his wound to wave vaguely with his good arm in the air. “Thing and get us a bloody cab.” John talked- yelled too loudly, too aggressively. But he didn’t care right now. He was pretty sure he wasn’t even cut that badly. But he was pissed as hell and the asshole stabbing him got away and there was no one else around to yell at. So his flatmate would just have to endure it. John had gone through worse with him.

When Sherlock stared a bit too long at him, John grunted. Immediately Sherlock moved to get them a cab.

(keep reading = link to ao3 and funfacts)

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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

title: Let Me Fix You

fandom: Sherlock (TV)

words: 1,932

summary: John gets injured during a case. He is pissed as hell. And determined he will stitch himself up. It's not his fault he forgot that Sherlock actually cares about him.

additional tags:

Whump, John Whump, John Watson Whump, POV Third Person, Hurt John Watson, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, and takes care of him, Angry John Watson, Worried Sherlock, Angst, okay probably not actually angst lol, Hurt/Comfort, maybe?, bro idk, doctors are the worst patients, John is a living example for that, Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, I take no responsibility for medical accuarcy, You Have Been Warned, DO NOT COPY TO ANOTHER SITE OR APP, Light Dom/sub, Dom/sub Undertones

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tagging list (tell me if you wanna be added or removed💚) @catlock-holmes @justanobsessedpan @helloliriels @fluffbyday-smutbynight @inevitably-johnlocked @hisfavouritejumper @rhasima @forfucksakejohn @ohlooktheresabee @turbulenttrouble @so-youre-unattached-like-me @totallysilvergirl @peanitbear @train-mossman @loki-lock @smulderscobie @timberva @grace-in-the-wilderness @chinike @pansherlock @the-smol-bean-libby-blog @jawnn-watson @whatnext2020 @escapingthereality @missdeliadili @kettykika78 @7-percent @speedymoviesbyscience @astudyin221b @francj15 @captaincrucnh @ladylindaaa @we-r-loonies @mxster-jocale @sherlockcorner @noahspector @our-stars-graveside @jobooksncoffee @baker-street-blog @quickslvxr @macgyvershe @myladylyssa @johnlock2708 @battledress @a-victorian-girl @dreamerofthemeadow @oetkb12 @ohnoesnotagain @mutedsilence @muddboi

[hellobitches990]

" A message will not arrive"

One shot :- holmes x watson

Sherlock Holmes has been in hiding for months.

His fake death allowed him to disappear into the shadows and out of reach of his worst enemies

"Jim Moriarty"

But it also meant that he was separated from the one person who was always there for him,

his dear doctor and partner, Dr. John Watson.

As days turn into weeks and weeks into months,

Holmes finds himself increasingly overwhelmed by his loneliness and longing for his friend and his first and only love.

He longed for Watson's warm, comfortable company

Where he understood him from a mere look, and his unique intelligence,

And his unwavering loyalty.

He missed their conversations and adventures together.

one evening, As he sat alone in his lair,

Holmes decided to drop his guard and send a letter to Watson.

He knew it was risky, but he couldn't bear the thought of never communicating with a fellow of his age again.

Or even explain things to him

In the letter, he poured out all his heart's content,

Tell him how much he loved him and how much he misses him now, and how much he regrets the pain he caused him.

How he longs to see him

And embrace him in his arms again.

When he finished writing the letter,

Holmes was suddenly overwhelmed with a feeling of despair...

He knew his enemies were still there,

and that his return would endanger Watson again.

He couldn't bear the thought of putting his partner in danger, not after everything he'd already been through.

With a heavy heart and trembling hands,

Holmes tore up the letter, ripping his heart out with it

And he threw it aside.

He buried his face in his palms and wept.

Tears flowed from his eyes until it soaked his shirt

He cried - for the first time in his life - until he felt his lungs running out of air

The idea that he might never see him again hurt him

The pain in his heart was a constant reminder of the love he had lost, and the tears were a testament to his grief and the pain of his separation from Watson.

Hours later, as he lay in his bed,

Holmes knew he had made the right decision,

But that brought him little relief.

He always loved Watson,

and always misses him, always feeling the pain of their separation.

But he also knew that his love for Watson would keep him going strong, even in the darkest of times,

And he knows that one day, somehow,

They will reunite again.

He swore then that he would never allow any creature to separate him from Watson's side again

♡

[average-pillow-user]

Here's a vague one shot where I project onto Sherlock heavily because of my caffeine addiction. Tw: for eating disorder mentions and also I know nothing about med school so any inaccuracies are totally my fault.

John, a pre-med student, who was well acquainted with caffeine as a stimulant, never thought he'd see the chemical abused in such a way. Presently he was watching as his flatmate, a rather eccentric chemistry major, crack open his sixth energy drink of the night.

"Haven't you had enough?" John asked after a moment of stunned silence stole his voice. Sure he used coffee flagrantly when his work got to be too much. But even he hadn't been this excessive.

Sherlock turned to him, eye bags prominent, collarbones jutting out of the very worn navy blue t-shirt hanging loosely on his body. John couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Sherlock eat something come to think of it. Immediately he kicked into Doctor mode, even though he wasn't technically a doctor yet. Was Sherlock plagued by an eating disorder? Was his body so thin naturally? Surely not.

"Don't you have a cadaver to study?" Sherlock quipped. He sipped from the energy drink, eyebrows quirked expectantly.

John rounded the table, trying to covertly take more of Sherlock in. His eyes were half lidded, cheeks hollow and jawline sharper than ever. He looked half dead there, sitting at his microscope with his back slumped. "We do more than study corpses Sherlock," He said.

"Where else are you going to get a willing study object."

John smiled a little, "The living make excellent 'study-objects' as you so crudely put it."

Without looking up from his microscope Sherlock shit back, "Are you studying me right now, John?"

John was a little taken aback, he knew his flatmate had heightened senses to some degree, which he assumed was a side effect of the autism Sherlock had mentioned in passing. That didn't prepare him to make up excuses for staring though.

"You look sick. When's the last time you slept?"

Sherlock shrugged, "Over what duration of time?"

John's eyebrows furrowed, "I don't like that answer."

"It wasn't an answer, it was a question John, do try and keep up," Sherlock muttered. John noticed briefly how his shoulders sagged a little bit more, how even though he was chugging his drink every few seconds, he was getting more and more lethargic.

"When's the last time you slept for eight hours?"

"Six years ago. It was a dreary Monday night. Mother had offered to take me clothes shopping in the morning," Sherlock explained, emptying the rest of the drink into his mouth and reaching for another one.

John slapped his hand away gently, "You really have had enough."

Sherlock met his eyes for the first time that night. And it was a glare that John was sure kill him if it had a knife. "I'm not tired."

"Yes you are, your breathing is incredibly slow, even though you've had nearly 1500 milligrams of caffeine. You're barely sitting up, and you keep almost falling asleep. We're going to bed." Before Sherlock could object, John had picked him up from under his arms and got him into a standing position.

"We?"

"Yes we, you're not stable enough to get up the stairs to your room even with my help. So we're going to sleep in my room," John said, watching rather smugly as Sherlock's face flushed.

John suspected that Sherlock would have protested more if he wasn't so tired. But getting the chem student into the soft linen bed was the hard part. After divesting himself of his shirt, John lay on his back furthest from Sherlock's already sleeping form. Sherlock had fallen asleep instantly upon falling onto the navy blue bed.

John slept well that night and he suspected Sherlock did too, because they ended up both sleeping through their alarms and being late for their classes.

[urlexaprohoe]

My Atlantis - Part 1

Sherlock takes his tasks as the best man pretty seriously. So he (drunkenly) teaches John how the perfect wedding kiss has to be like.

Warnings: Swearing

Part 2

1458 words

This part is set during the events told by Sherlock in the episode “The Sign Of Three”

“Let me go! Do you even know who I am? I’m Sherlock Holmes, I am smarter than you and your two coworkers combined!” 

John sat on the stairs in front of the club and put his face in his hands, both because of nausea and because he didn’t want to see his friend beaten up by security. They wouldn’t let them in, no wonder, they were totally wasted. Sherlock had the perfect idea of getting John drunk to test his limits for the upcoming wedding. The wedding had been the only thing on his mind in the past few weeks, it nearly took up all space in his mind palace. 

Finally, Sherlock decided to drop down next to his friend, looking at him with a slight grin. “That’s not gonna work.” John waved off and got up. “It doesn’t matter, let’s keep going. I don’t want these guys changing their minds in terms of beating you up.” Sherlock joined in his step. “They wouldn’t beat me up, they would risk losing their jobs since I’m drunk enough to fall in a deadly way.” John grinned a little bit. “Or maybe they just don’t want to waste their time with you any longer than they have to.” 

The doctor watched Sherlock nearly running through the streets, a bit ahead of him. He was checking out every single detail, searching for something interesting to show John. Sherlock turned into even more of a know-it-all when he was drunk, but John found it pretty amusing. He loved watching his friend interact with other people, it always fascinated him how Sherlock never realized how annoying other people found him. Sometimes, he felt bad for him. John was Sherlock’s only real friend, aside from Mycroft and Greg. And Mrs. Hudson, of course. 

He wondered if Sherlock could keep on like usual when he would be away more often now. John had to admit, that he almost felt a little insulted when he noticed that Sherlock seemingly had no problem with going on without John always by his side. But he knew that his friend was pretty good at acting and he didn’t want Sherlock doing some stupid things that would get him in trouble again, or worse, killed…again. 

“Let’s sit down over here.” Sherlock suddenly stopped in the middle of his step and turned around, pointing at a bench on the side of the street. “The sky looks exceptionally great tonight, we should grasp it.” John raised an eyebrow at his friend’s unusual wording, but he agreed to sit down either way. 

It didn’t take long for Sherlock to interrupt the “grasping” with another dialogue with himself. John had no chance to respond since Sherlock always seemed to answer himself faster than John could. The only unusual thing was that he started to giggle in the middle of his sentences every now and then. John had to admit that he found it pretty cute. Sherlock turned into a teenager when he was drunk, interesting. “Do you feel ready for your wedding day?” John looked over at his friend. “Well, can one really feel ready for a day like that?” “Well-” “Aside from you.” John laughed. A few seconds of uncomfortable silence followed. 

“What about the kiss?” Sherlock grinned. “What do you mean?” Their eyes met. 

“Well, you have to kiss Mary in front of all these people. Nobody would want the kiss to be imperfect in any way. Too long, too short, too intense…” John rolled his eyes. “I have no idea what you mean.” 

“Yeah, I thought so. That’s why I’m gonna show you.” “What do you-” Before John could finish his sentence, their lips connected and he felt the adrenaline rushing through his body. He felt like riding the fastest rollercoaster known to mankind. A few moments later, Sherlock slowly pulled away. 

“This was the perfect length. Do you know what I mean?” John sat there with an open mouth, staring at his friend in disbelief before grabbing his cheeks. He didn’t think twice before kissing him once again, pressing his lips against Sherlock’s this time. His friend made no effort to pull away. The both of them remained like this for the next few minutes. There he was. Making out with his best man. 

Shit, Mary. The wedding. He should stop, he was engaged. And being drunk wasn’t an excuse for the feeling between his legs. But nothing seemed to matter right now. The only thing on his mind was Sherlock. This perfect man, the most fascinating human being John had ever seen. And he was kissing him, pulling him closer by the second, his hands all over his body. John started to notice the people staring at them while walking by and he slowly pulled away, not really wanting to destroy this moment. He felt his cheeks heating up and struggled to maintain eye contact with his friend. Sherlock, for the first time in forever, said nothing. He just seemed to stare into John’s soul with no expression on his face whatsoever. Suddenly, he started to laugh and John nervously joined in. “I didn’t know that you needed this much practice!” “What? Why? Was I that bad?” Sherlock laughed even more and shook his head. The tension seemed to loosen a little bit. 

“Do you see this bow on the ground? I am almost sure that it comes from…” Sherlock’s words drifted in and out of John’s mind. He couldn’t concentrate on his surroundings anymore, the man was still stuck in the recent situation. “...and that’s why the bow is the last memory from a date gone wrong.” Sherlock stopped his walk with the end of his story. They both stood in front of Sherlock’s flat now and one exchange of looks confirmed that both of them needed some rest now. Sherlock made some space for John to walk in and as soon as he did, he felt a force pushing him to the wall. His friend stood a few inches in front of him, pinning him against the wall in between his legs. John could feel the both of them trembling as Sherlock pressed his upper body against him. “What are you doing…” John only mumbled since Mrs. Hudson was asleep and he most certainly didn’t want the poor woman to wake up to…this. 

Honestly, he didn’t want to know what he did,  he wanted to know why he didn’t do it sooner. Alcohol seemed to turn people into different versions of themselves, especially Sherlock. John had never seen him laugh this much. And there it was again, this grin on his face right before he connected their lips to a passionate kiss once again. John’s heart threatened to explode if this was gonna go on any longer. He had never felt this much adrenaline, excitement and confusion, all at once. But even though he was drowing in ecstasy, the rush had a bitter taste to it. Sherlock most certainly wasn’t himself right now, he was completely wasted. And for a second, John wished that his friend would be sober. But he didn’t pull back and they were making out once again, in the stairway of what once was both their home. So many memories were made in this house and if John would have a choice to change something, he wouldn’t. Every single second that he had spent with Sherlock in the last few years was absolutely beautiful, no matter how exhausting it could get. He would never admit it, but Mary couldn’t keep up with the man in his arms. She was smart, beautiful and a great girlfriend, but nevertheless, sometimes John would lay awake at night, thinking about his consulting detective. The strange man with the even stranger habits that he grew to love so much that he risked his marriage right now. 

And god, he did risk his marriage. 

A chuckle pulled the both of them out of their moment back into reality. John glanced to the side and looked into the warm face of Mrs. Hudson. She was smiling while putting her hands together as if she had been waiting for this moment for years. “Mrs. Hudson, I’m so sorry for waking you up. We were just…” She shut him up with a little wave. “No need to apologize, John. It is nice to see you again.” Sherlock didn’t waste any more time on this uncomfortable moment, he grabbed his friend’s hand and pulled him upstairs. As he was stumbling up the stairway, John looked back at his old housekeeper once again. She winked. 

“See you soon, John. I’m looking forward to the wedding!”

[shroomyngroovy]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Sherlock (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson Summary:

Sherlock gets a text from John asking if he could come over at 1:32 in the morning after weeks of near-silence following Sherlock's return from being not-so-dead.

[all-or-nothing-baby]

1. 2. 3.

Sherlock (TV), John Watson/Sherlock Holmes, Teen, 501 words, Sherlock POV, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock Thinks His Love For John is Unrequited , Sherlock Has Low Self-esteem (believe it or not), Mention of Implied Misuse of Drugs.

.

He does almost whatever I ask of him, John. Nobody could ever say the man is disloyal and be believed. No.

And behind his unwavering compliance is always one of three reasons.

The first:

He is compelled to. The thrill of the chase, The Game, runs as pure in his veins as it does in my own (which is one hundred times stronger than any drug combination I could expertly concoct and use to chase the proverbial dragon). The bond, which this dual desire for me to win and for him to help others has created, is undeniable and inescapable. He simply cannot walk away now.

The second:

Is the fact that he pities me. No other friends, you see. He actually sees the fact as a weakness! The idiot doesn't realise he is all I will ever require.

The third:

The third is (and I admittedly—embarrassingly—can only suspect) that he... cares. About me. On some level, I assume. But I don't—can't—know for sure. And, ugh. I absolutely despise not knowing.

Oh, and just to clarify,  when I say he does almost whatever I ask of him, it is because whenever I implore him to stay, he stays only for reasons one through three.

Not because he wants to run his healing fingers through my curls or trace a thumb pad down the bow of my lips, like I sometimes ask him to when he's fallen asleep in his chair.

No, it's only because he's exhausted…

Or when I'm restless and the, frankly, ridiculous patches aren't enough, when I can't sleep and sit silently on the end of his bed, watching his chest rise and fall, and ask—no, implore—him to "Please, John, never leave me."

No, it's only because it is deep in the bowels of the night when others are dreaming only unconsciously.

Or when I tell him that I want him, that I need him, when he's about to leave for another predictable date, those times I ask him to "Stay?" and he denies me with a resolute "Piss off, Sherlock," unquestionably presuming I require him only for a case when actually my only want is for him to be mine, be my lover, even though the thought completely terrifies me; my only need being for him to love me the way in which I love him—unconditionally and absolutely—even though he believes me to be ill-equipped to manage such a human feat. No, it's only because, although he craves the company of somebody other than me, he knows how unbearable my behavior will be upon his return if he does leave me, therefore only gets halfway down the staircase before stomping back up to the flat to acquiesce.

He doesn't stay for any of these reasons which I keep hidden from him, too cowardly and pathetic to admit to; too utterly fearful of rejection.

No, it's only ever because of one of those offensive and hateful little numbers that I wish my wretched eyes never had to look upon again.

1.

2.

3.

[hdjsieheh-blog]

Let’s bake cookies sherly!

Parentlock

"Can sherly help?" she asked, looking up at her father with wide eyes, "pretty please" she begged, tears began to form in her eyes as john hesitated to say yes. He already had to deal with his daughter, making sure she wouldn't burn herself, or make to much of a mess, did he really want to look after his boyfriend as well, who most likely was more hazardous then the seven year old. "Pleeeeeaaaaase" she begged, forcing tears to fall from her eyes.

"Fine, fine, you wait here, while I get sherlock"

John sighed as he walked out of the kitchen and into his and Sherlock's shared room. The small room was filled with clutter, most because of Sherlock's experiments and other things he defined as necessary. The detective himself was sat in the middle of the catastrophe they called a bedroom, legs spread out across the bed, back pressed against the head rest as he flipped carelessly through one of his many books, boredom written across his features. "Hey sherlock " john greeted taking a seat at the edge of their unmade bed.

The raven haired man looked up from his book, raising an eyebrow as if to ask why john was disturbing him. The doctor sighed, "me and Rosie are going to bake cookies" he began slowly, waiting a second to see if sherlock would interrupt, but when the detective said nothing he continued. "And it would mean a lot to her if you would come and join us"

The detective put his book down, eyed glancing over his boyfriend as he thought, "may I just watch" sherlock asked. If it had been anyone else saying those words, John would have argued, would have told them to not be lazy and make the young girl happy, but sherlock? His brilliant sherlock, coming and sitting with them, spending time together, as a family. Spending time together that didn't involve hunting down the most recent serial killer, or having a quick tea as they waited for the kidnapper to make an appearance, just sitting together, smiling, being a regular family. Sherlock just watching was all john needed.

"Yes, that would be perfect" the detective stood up and followed his boyfriend back into the kitchen, where to johns relief Rosie was still sat cheering in glee as sherlock took his seat at the kitchen island.

After putting her blonde hair up, and helping her jump from the island, the father and daughter began their cookie batter. Smiling as john would bump hips with Rosie, laughing as the small girl attempted to do it back, he would brush a speck of flour onto her nose then bend down to let her do the same to him and together they threw a handful of flour at the watching detective, who screamed in protest. It was the family moments that john never wanted to forget, the ones he wanted to freeze time and never leave. Half way though even flour covered sherlock came to join, helping the blonde girl fill a measuring cup with chocolate chips.

"Let's add MORE!" Rosie explained once she had poured the chocolate into the mixing bowl. She held the cup back out waiting for sherlock to fill it once again, "pleeeeeaaaaaaase sherly"

"Rosie" the detective began in his explaining voice, though he spoke much softer to her, you could still hear the 'I'm much more clever then you' tone that always was in his words. "If we add more chocolate chips they will no longer be chocolate chip cookies, but chocolate cookies" he explained, "then there's the fact that the cookie wouldn't even hold together due to not having enough dough, if you wanted chocolate cookies so much that is what you should have found s recipe for"

Rosie scrunched her face in annoyance, crossing her arms as she glared at the tall man, "I want to tell you a secret" she finally declared. Both men frowned slightly but never less sherlock crouched down to allow the short girl to wh diaper in his ear. "I want more chocolate chips!" She screamed once her lips were almost brushing against the detectives ear lobe.

John couldn't help but laugh as his boyfriend staggered backwards in pain, hands at his ear. "Rosie" the raven haired man screamed as she gave him a childish grin. For a second john thought that sherlock was actually mad, with the sudden raise of his voice but when he grabbed the sink spray gun and drenched the small girl with one pull of the trigger, that thought had vanished.

"Sherly st-" Rosie screamed only to be cut off by another harsh spray. her giggles filling the room as she was rapidly sprayed, john begin to laugh along.

"Alright sherlock that's enough" john finally said, reaching over for the spray gun. It was fun, to watch as his boyfriend and daughter had fun, laughing and smiling together but John didn't particularly want their flat to be covered in mold nor did he want to spend the rest of their day drying the flat. "It was fu-"

John dropped quickly to the ground as the water was sprayed, where he was once stood now drenched with water. "Sherlock!" The blond said as he stood back up, pain racing through his elbow from where he had hit it against the ground.

"John" the detective replied, lowering his weapon slightly. John opened his mouth to speak, only to be welcomed with a mouth full of water.

"I" he coughed out some of the water, the laughs of his daughter filling the kitchen, "hate you"

[summeurs]

chemical imbalances and a sleeping john watson

johnlock work a case late at night, john falls asleep, sherlock’s thoughts and feelings ensue.

Lethargy was no obstacle for Sherlock Holmes. Amidst a week of drug busts and chasing a particularly elusive serial killer (his favourite), Sherlock found himself and John enjoying a rare moment of quiet in their living room. No pesky client sitting between them, no panicked running, just sitting and thinking. The fire crackled gently behind the hearth and the clock in the hallway chimed twelve.

Sherlock closed his eyes rubbed the nicotine patch on his forearm absent-mindedly, as if trying to elicit a connection between the evidence he’d found in the crime scene of the case he was currently thinking through . But no plausible link came to him. The supply of nicotine patches had been exhausted and the kettle and tea bags were too far away from the worn leather sofa for Sherlock to bother getting up. A yawn escaped the detective. Maybe lethargy proved a bigger obstacle than he had thought. Sighing, Sherlock rubbed circles into his temples. Perhaps some blunt observation from another pair of eyes would help.

“John,” he drawled. No response from his companion.

“Jawn,” he tried, a little louder. Sherlock opened his eyes to find the doctor slumped in his armchair, mouth open and eyes slid shut. A soft ‘hmmph’ tumbled from the dozing doctor as he shifted in the seat, Sherlock mused, that look far too big for its user’s curled frame.

A wave of tenderness overcame Sherlock, whose stony face relaxed all at once, gaze cast on his exhausted assistant. Sherlock wondered if all the mysteries and goose-chases he had dragged John on were more strenuous than the military doctor let on. Or perhaps it was the flickering light cast from the fireplace that cast shadows in the lines of John’s face that Sherlock had not otherwise noticed. A flurry of words whizzed and jumbled themselves around him, assistant, colleague, friend-best friend, subject of endearment- eventually all fading but two- John Watson. Sherlock extracted himself from the intricate web inside his head. John Watson was not an enigma. Sherlock could read him like an open book. So why did he spend virtually all his time in between cases thinking of him? The detective stopped himself. That wasn’t true, it was the tiredness clouding his judgement. Obviously. Sherlock didn’t do emotions- no, chemical imbalances. Specifically not those brought on by slumbering companions 3 feet away who looked like they could really use a blanket since they weren’t going to be sleeping in their own bed tonight.

Sherlock groaned. Picking a crumpled throw from the floor, he cast it over John’s hunched figure. He trusted his tiredness and whatever it was he’d been feeli-thinking to make itself scarce by daylight. His incomplete train of thought on the case-solving could be dealt with in the morning. Now, sleep beckoned him. Sherlock cast a fleeting backwards look into the living room. The lights in 221B Baker Street went out.

trying out my writing chops again hey hey. in honour of season 4 and because I have too many fandoms but always a spot in my heart for (two of many of) my Gay Dads. if you’ve read this then wow kudos to you thanks very much for reading :-)