#s3 fix-it

[letmetemptyou19]

is it too late for me to write a post-S2 fixit fic where we pretend the events of S3 never happened? be honest

[kazhan-draws]

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

tares above my kingdom come

Day 3: First (encounter with the Upside Down)

For @mungroveweek

FANDOM: Stranger Things RELATIONSHIP: Billy Hargrove/Eddie Munson RATING: M CW: Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Shadow Monster | Mind Flayer Possessing Billy Hargrove, Possession, Minor Injuries, Vomiting

SUMMARY: Eddie is walking to his favorite diner to get the burger he so desperately craves after the van decided to crap out on him, again, when he notices a familiar car parked in front of Brimborn Steel Works.

WORDS:   6759 CHAPTERS: 1/2

[helloliriels]

PAYPHONE II

Let's try this again ... I'm at a payphone:

'Trying to Come Home ..."

Post-TRF (Post-The Landmark/Cafe Rejection/Punch)

>>>>>>>>>>>> ☎️ <<<<<<<<<<<<

“Sherlock, why are you calling me?”

         “John, please - I -”

“Go home, Sherlock!”

         “I TRIED to go home, John!”

“ What? What happened?! ”

         “I was attacked! I couldn’t go home!”

“WHAT?! Who was it? Did you see them?”

         “Yes, John - I could easily identify my attacker if I saw him again.”

“Good! Remember every detail. I’ll be right there! Wait … where are you? Baker Street?"

         “I’m at a payphone, John. Just down the way.”

“They stole your mobile?”

There was silence on the other end. Some shuffling. It had John worried …

“Oi! You okay? Did you already call Lestrade? The police?”

         “No, John - I just … need you! Please hurry!”

“Git! Hanging up now! I’m halfway there! DO NOT try to enter again without me! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!”

         “I won’t John, I can’t. I’ll wait right here. I promise.”

“Good! Stay put.”

>>> ☎️ <<<

John jumped out of the cab not five minutes later.

                                       “Sherlock?! I’m here!”

He halted his feet at the sight that greeted him.

Sherlock was slumped inside the public call box, body pressed into the corner in a tight ball. His Bellstaff coat collar turned up. His head buried deep in his knees … and as John came around to the door … he realised that the shoulders were quivering, shaking with an uneven swell. Like waves breaking on a rocky shore …

                             Sherlock was … crying ?

John had never seen him like this before … 

“Sherlock?” He approached with a growing concern that all was much worse … than Sherlock had let on, over the phone … ?

         All of his own fears and doubts - uncorked anger - had fled! - as soon as he’d leapt back into the cab to race to Baker Street! Leaving Mary waiting behind on the curb … John had ignored everything with one word … Sherlock needed him!

                 … and it only just now struck him.

John knelt down to the ground as he opened the door. Meeting Sherlock where he was. Reaching his hand out to get the detective’s attention? 

Sherlock did not move … but at John’s gentle placement of warmth on his own frozen hands … he somehow shook further. Crying harder … Retreating in on himself. 

The sky rumbled and a downpour of rain began … 

         So John slipped inside the call box next to Sherlock, shutting the door and wrapping his arms around the curled up form of his detective, pulling him close. 

         He let the silence descend. 

         Besides the pitter patter of raindrops outside, 

         and the muffled breaths and sobs of Sherlock inside … 

         All John could hear were the sounds of his own breathing in … and out … and the racing pattern of his heart as it tried to force its way out to hug and to hold Sherlock closer … 

He rested his head atop the soft silky curls. Wishing he could find a way to be closer yet.

They sat there for a while. Sherlock silently releasing all of the human emotions that had at last come unbottled. A disobedient genie’s fee for granting such desperate pleas … 

         John was here.

                        Sherlock was alive.

They had both been granted their midnight wishes. But at what cost?

John’s heart could not bear it much longer … 

Feeling Sherlock’s breath heave and shudder … as the cries calmed … and the pulse returned to something akin to normal … John eased Sherlock to sitting upright. Brushing his curls away to check him for cuts and bruises. 

He only found those,

         that he was ashamed to realise … 

                    He himself had caused, earlier.

(continued below the cut ...) ☎️

         Punching Sherlock … Pushing him to the ground at the restaurant. Attempting to choke the life out of him! Now that he was alive, and living, and LAUGHING in the face of a man who had grieved for him for two years!!

         He winced at the pain, as if it was his own face cut and bloodied and bruised … 

He must have broken Sherlock’s nose. 

Made it stream with hot blood. Red and angry. Unforgiving.

A desecration to the unbreakable bonds he once thought they had … 

Like he had to prove it to Sherlock , just to believe it himself.

He looked at Sherlock now.

         Sniffling. Wiping at his eyes, his tender nose … and ultimately, relaxing his weight back into John’s waiting arms … giving in. And allowing them this closeness.

         His eyes seemed to close of their own volition … an involuntary act of absolute security.

         Still trusting … ? 

         Still calling JOHN first in time of need?

         And John realised what an idiot he was!

"There was no one at Baker Street, was there?"

Sherlock's head shook against his chest, a hushed whisper escaping. "Even Mrs. Hudson was out. I couldn't … " his breath hitched, the hiccups of crying hard, "couldn't go in … alone … "

John shushed him, holding him close.

Roving through the catalogue of times they had been there for each other. Defended each other. Protected. Saved. 

John hummed.

            A soft,

            pained whimper against the head buried in his chest.

He pulled Sherlock upright. Taking his face in his hands … he met Sherlock’s hollowed eyes. Eyes now opening wide, as he let Sherlock in … to see … to explore all of the halls of pain and loneliness and regret that he himself had wandered for two long y e a r s … 

         Wishing

                 And wanting

                             Just to see this … face again? H I S  f a c e. Again. One more time … 

         He wanted to see it whole.

         Healthy.

         Radiant.

         Beautiful.

         About to pour out a stream of endless deductions.

         Brilliant and breathtaking.

         Terrifying and powerful and arrogant!

And here he had broken it?

He himself had desecrated the very temple he had meant to worship at?

He found himself fumbling to touch and to kiss and to patch back up every point where he had harmed, hurt, and maimed. Hands shaking as his lips pressed to Sherlock’s sharp cheekbones. His forehead. Each eyebrow requiring twenty kisses in penance … and still it would not be enough!

Sherlock was saying his name, like a prayer, over and over … 

         As his hands cradled Sherlock’s jaw and touched his slender neck this time with care … wishing he could erase the bruises made there by sucking on and creating another … ?

         His thumb brushed against the bump of his Adam’s apple, his fingers curled around the elvish ears tucked within his dark curls … And his forehead pressed into Sherlock’s. Making one more silent plea.

The genius.

The machine.

The marvel.

         Was also a man.

And he had come home!

        He had come BACK from the DEAD … 

For John. 

“I don’t deserve you,” John said, pulling away and taking his hands off of the broken man before him. Fumbling desperately for a way to apologise - to say whatever words were capable of reclaiming the venom spat in pain and anger before?

         Could anything repair damage that thorough??

Would Sherlock ever cease to flinch from a sharp movement of his hand after tonight? Would he have to look into that pain again and again? If they stayed together … If they moved back in? To 221b?

“You’re home,” John exhaled the words. Feeling their weight. Their reality. At last. 

“I can’t be home!” Sherlock said, eyebrows furled as he looked at a confused John.  Pressing up onto the balls of his feet and raising John with him, to standing. “I can’t be home … as long as you’re not here with me!”

Sherlock reached into his coat pocket … 

         And pulled out his mobile.

                 Taking John’s hand in his, he placed the device securely in his palm.

                        Then he closed the hand around it.

“This is my heart, John.

You gave me yours once, and I abused it. I broke it … and for that, I will never forgive myself.”

He stepped into John’s space, tilting his head up and looking deeply into his eyes. Scanning them for any sign of receptivity to the words he was saying, though he could not seem to stop them now … like the tears of earlier … “I know I cannot replace it, but I can hold it? I can cherish it? I can give you mine in return … ?” Sherlock sighed, daring to reach up and touch a tendril of golden hair that had fallen across John’s forehead. “ Shout at it ! Call it a madman all you like … John? … You will still be the only one I want to call?” 

His fingers trailed down John’s cheek, following the gentle curve of his jawline. Eyes catching on John’s silent lips … 

They parted, as John was catching up to the words Sherlock was saying.

“I'm your home ... ?” he said in awe.

“Always have been …” Sherlock replied, “221b is a box I kept, to hold you near me.”

John looked down at his shoes, a small huff of a laugh escaping, "makes me sound a bit like a dog."

"Reliable? Trusting. Faithful. Forgiving. Companionable. Protective … ?" Sherlock hummed in agreement, tilting his head to look at John as if examining him . "All excellent traits."

"The best of us," John agreed, imagining a small red terrier he had as a kid …

"Sounds like the man I love." He raised John’s eyes to him again, and stooped down to kiss him.

John gave in, enjoying the feeling of Sherlock’s lips on his. Not the only place he wanted to feel those lips if he was honest … but he still pressed himself away … Turning to leave the phonebooth. “The man you love just beat you, Sherlock. He broke your nose! He doesn’t deserve to be described as anything but a monster!” He huffed and pinched his nose. Hating himself for what he was doing, but knowing Sherlock deserved better!

Better than him … 

Sherlock ignored his protests and drew him back into the phonebooth. Kissing the protests off of his lips and holding his face so that John could not turn away.

“I broke you first,” Sherlock said.

That did it.

John broke.

Covering his face with his hand and sinking into Sherlock’s shoulder, as he drew him near. Letting him cry it all out.

Both of them a mess. 

A wreck of paradise.

         Finally washed up on each other's shores …

“Let’s go home, Sherlock?” John asked, again. Taking Sherlock’s hands and kissing his long, slender fingers. 

Sherlock took John’s tight little fists and kissed each knuckle. Smiling brighter than the sun. “I already am home, now ,” he said. And kissed John again. This time, home met him halfway.

>>>☎️<<<

(series to be continued ... )

tagging @johnlocky @chinike @rhasima @ohlooktheresabee @fluffbyday-smutbynight @totallysilvergirl @iamjustreading @masterofhounds @2smach @ephemeraljimin @eplapourdissant @luciengenic @chriscalledmesweetie @missdeliadili @johnlockismyreligion @amyreadsandstresses @forfucksakejohn @justanobsessedpan @gaylilsherlock @peanitbear @safedistancefrombeingsmart @whatnext2020 @i-call-me-clarence @peageetibbs @thegirlfromthesouth @janetm74 @sgam76 @jawnn-watson @samtheskald @topsyturvy-turtely @hasenkind687 @summerfly-lesbian @shelleysprometheus @7-percent @glows-n-the-dark @daisyfairy1 @morgendaemmerung89 @booksboozentoys @justnerdystuffs @simplyclockwork @arwamachine @kettykika78 @khorazir @raina-at @timberva @purplevatican @myopicmeerkat @myriath @fawnhickory @mutedsilence

[jobooksncoffee]

Following The (Silver) Fox

Chapter 11

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29272215/chapters/71883543

Sherlock and Greg settle into their new relationship, working through insecurities, a bit of awkwardness and work. John brings Mary back home, under strict supervision from the English Government. John and Sherlock continue working cases. In fact, the three men continue to be friends. Sherlock decides John needs a refresher lesson on body chemistry, and Greg invites Sherlock to his older son’s graduation in Edinburgh. Lovey Dovey chapter!Tagging: @johnlocklover221 , @loveismyrevolution , @elwinglyre , @chinike , @cortinita , @fellshish , @benlock , @missdeliadili , @iamjustreading , @loves-to-read-fanfic , @nathan-no , @totallysilvergirl , @sussexbeeinchelsea , @writingfanficsfan

[imnova]

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

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Mary Morstan/John Watson, (unloving) Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson Additional Tags: Angst with a Happy Ending, Yoga, s3 fix-it, John gets cold feet, and thank god, Declarations Of Love

Series: Part 33 of Sherlock challenges - Tumblr

Summary:

Learning always helps. When a quite miserable Sherlock was forced to learn yoga for a case, the last thing he expected was for it to accidentally lead to complete happiness someday.

I promise, I was planning a pwp for @hiatustory‘s challenge. Somehow I ended writing a clean, angsty s3 fix-it. I don’t know how it happened. Apologies, but i hope you’ll like it all the same. As always, you can read it on fanfiction.net too if you prefer, here.   And all my thanks to @chrwythyn for being my awesome alpha, beta, and let’s just add the whole Greek alphabet here. You’re awesome, love! Hugs xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

[monikakrasnorada]

Approximately 3000 years ago, a lovely person (@damntective) made this fic cover for my first foray into the Sherlock fic-writing world. It is still a WIP, and at times a mess to try to fumble through, but I am proud of many parts of it. I’m proud of the way I think I captured John and Sherlock’s voice as in-character as I imagine them to be. I’m proud that I didn’t shy away from Sherlock’s drug use, and just how devastating and under-stated it has been in the show- much to Sherlock’s detriment. I’m proud that I focussed on just how out of control Sherlock is, and how his ‘reaction’ to Moriarty’s return should have been dealt with, and how it should have effected him. I’m proud that I didn’t shy away from the damage his time away must have caused psychologically and that his ‘bouncing back’ as shown in the show wasn’t in his best interest. “There are demons beneath, and Sherlock’s have been waiting a very long time.”

I am currently editing the last couple of chapters and am certain over the next month, this behemoth that has lain dormant and untouched for so long, will be completed. Finally.  

His Last Vow

[88thparallel]

Look at Sherlock practically radiating joy that he’s marrying his beloved John ❤️ 

(I’M NOT IN DENIAL SHUT UP)

[jobooksncoffee]

Following The (Silver) Fox

Chapter 2

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29272215/chapters/72011913

As the preparations for John and Mary’s wedding start, Sherlock is beginning to see the value of Greg’s friendship. There is someone to call when he can’t (or prefers not to) call John, someone to go over the tedious details of the endless nerves, and fittings and venue searching. Also there is someone with whom he can take his mind off everything. Maybe enjoy some Classical music with. Someone who wants to be with him, just because they enjoy each other’s company. The situation is—nice. Useful even. Wednesdays will be post days.

Tagging, @johnlocklover221 , @loveismyrevolution , @elwinglyre , @chinike , @annecumberbatch , @fellshish , @iamjustreading , @missdeliadili , @loves-to-read-fanfic, @shelleysprometheus , @totallysilvergirl , @onesmallfamily , @peanitbear , @reveling-in-mayhem , @sherlockwatson-holmesblog , @thenightwolf732