#johnlockangstnet

[watsonsanatomy]

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

forgive me I don’t remember who wanted to be reminded of this fic :/

@bbcjohnlock @bbcbluebell @fortheloveofjawn @loveinthemindpalace @love-in-mind-palace @silentauroriamthereal @hushwatson-blog 

[castlesbyrs]

John Watson is definitely in danger.

[castlesbyrs]

-Antoine de Saint-Exúpery (x)

[watsonsanatomy]

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

Finally I’ve updated this fic! Enjoy! :)

Summary: After the Lying Detective, Sherlock ends up in a coma. When will he wake up?

@bbcbluebell @221bsweetheart @kissmywatson  @darkfuckwatson  @currently-in-my-mind-palace  @bisexualwvtson  @love-in-mind-palace  @loveinthemindpalace  @acumberlockedgirl  @besina @fortheloveofjawn @waitedforgarridebs  @my-johnlocked-life @drwatson

@flowrcrownjohn @apismel1fera  @ggaypilot  @isthereanyothernames 

@wtsnhlms   @thanangst  @savedbyholmes  @addignisherlock  @winxhelina

[watsonsanatomy]

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

Summery: After the Lying Detective, Sherlock ends up in a coma. When will he wake up?

@constantlyfreemaned @fortheloveofjawn @johnnlocked @hushwatson

@bbcbluebell @221bsweetheart @kissmywatson @darkfuckwatson  @currently-in-my-mind-palace  @love-in-mind-palace  @loveinthemindpalace  @bisexualwvtson   @acumberlockedgirl  @besina @my-johnlocked-life @waitedforgarridebs  @drwatson @flowrcrownjohn  @apismel1fera   @ggaypilot  @isthereanyothernames  @wtsnhlms  @thanangst  @savedbyholmes  @winxhelina    @addignisherlock

[watsonsanatomy]

How do you all continue writing fics? I'm struggling with updating and wanting to continue it with all the angst I normally do but I'm having trouble. Any suggestions? :/

[watsonsanatomy]

Wishin’ and Hopin’

Prologue pt.1 - I will post this to ao3 if people want more. More has been written ;) let me know if you want to be tagged

John barged into the hospital room to see Culverton Smith leaning over Sherlock, who was frightening still. “What the hell are you doing?” John demanded as he hurried forward. One look of Sherlock’s still body told him just enough to reprimand Smith and drag him away, tossing him carelessly at the guard. “Arrest him,” John insisted as he hurried closer to Sherlock. Sherlock’s face was lax, his chest unmoving, and the area around his mouth becoming a faded blue. “Jesus,” John gasped as he instantly straightened up, tilted Sherlock’s head back, and pressed his mouth against his. He blew air into Sherlock’s mouth, watched his chest rise and fall, and repeated his actions several times. He compressed his chest to pump the blood in his veins, and went on tiredly as Lestrade apprehended Culverton, as nurses surrounded Sherlock and tried to pry John’s trying hands and mouth from his best friend.

John’s vision swayed as they finally pulled him away enough to tend to Sherlock themselves. John watched in horrifying slow motion as a nurse placed a tube down Sherlock’s throat, then ushered John out of the room before he could fully catch his breath. A few hours later, Mycroft showed up, and stayed in the room with the doctors, before finally opening the door and silently allowing John back in. John walked around the large bed and observed Sherlock’s state. Sherlock was reclined at a slight angle with a tube in his mouth, taped to the side of his cheek, and hooked up to a ventilator. Mycroft stood in the corner, his posture stiff, and his expression grave. John looked at him, raised an eyebrow, urging him to just say it, whatever it was going to be. John knew he wasn’t ready, and would never be. “The doctors are not sure how long he was unconscious for, without oxygen,” Mycroft began. “They’re not sure yet about his brain function, and will be running an EEG and an MRI in the morning.” John’s jaw and fists clenched and he looked back at Sherlock. Sherlock looked pale, thinner than usual, but alive, as if he was just sleeping. It almost looked like his eyes were even moving beneath his lids, but John knew it was just his own eyes playing tricks on him. He cleared his throat, and spoke. “Will he wake up?” John could hear Mycroft shuffle in the slightest way possible, shifting his weight off his umbrella and preparing himself to leave the tension filled room. John took his hesitation as the answer, but Mycroft spoke anyway. “They’re not sure, yet. They’ll run tests—.” “And you haven’t urged for the tests as fast as possible?” John countered as he turned around to face him. “You’re willing to wait till morning?” Mycroft met his eye without hesitation. “It’s the earliest I could manage.” John scoffed and turned back towards Sherlock. He wanted to scream at him to wake up, he wanted to cry, thinking maybe that will catch Sherlock’s attention, or something. He wanted his noise back, his presence, and him sleeping like this, like he was perfectly alive was making this entire situation seem like a bad dream, or a joke. John found he couldn’t quite breathe, so he turned on his heal and left the room without another word.

[castlesbyrs]

intimacy.