Fanfic writer on AO3 (thelazyecrivain) // French and English // A dumb and tired 19-year-old person // Write when I can and have the motivation (which is rare) // I write a lot of Sherlock and am thinking of writing about Marvel, Good Omens or Doctor Who (or even a crossover)
After meeting Sherlock, John did not expect to form such a strong friendship -or more...- in such a short time. Unfortunately, John finishes his studies in a few months and then leaves for the army and Sherlock uses drugs to forget.
Sequel to Royalty by tzarobin
Happy Birthday Sherlock ! by thelazyecrivain / 1,597 words (rated G)
Last year, Sherlock got a simple mug, but one he loves. This year he got the best present.
Series
Johnlock fluff (english version) by thelazyecrivain (rated G)
Just a set of fluff on our dear Johnlock.
Pridelocked 2021 (english version) by thelazyecrivain / (rated T)
My participation to the Pridelocked Challenge organised by @ohlooktheresabee
Fluffbruary 2023
My participation to the Fluffbruary Challenge by @fluffbruary
(I'm doing the translation myself, my english isn't perfect, please be indulgent and tell me if you see any mistakes.)
French
Merci Mycroft de thelazyecrivain / 4,707 mots (rated M)
Mycroft décide d'agir car Sherlock et John sont stupides.
Listen before I go de thelazyecrivain / 1,159 mots (rated T) (TW : mention de suicide)
Au bout de deux ans, John ne supporte pas l'absence de Sherlock. Il n'y a qu'une seule façon de le rejoindre.
L'ange de Baker Street de thelazyecrivain / 7,872 mots (rated G)
Sherlock entend du bruit dans la chambre de John et devine qu'il fait un de ses nombreux cauchemars mais quand il arrête son violon, pensant que son médecin s'était calmé, les gémissements continuaient. Il décide d'aller le voir mais il va tomber sur quelque chose incroyable.
Noël chez les Holmes de thelazyecrivain / 8,584 mots (rated G)
John et Rosie sont invité au Noël chez les parents de Sherlock et Mycroft.
Comme dans un rêve de thelazyecrivain (rated G)
Après avoir rencontré Sherlock, John ne s'attendait pas à formé une si forte amitié -ou plus...- en très peu de temps. Malheureusement, John finit ses études dans quelques mois pour ensuite partir à l'armée et Sherlock se drogue pour oublier.
Suite de Royalty de tzarobin
Joyeux Anniversaire Sherlock ! de thelazyecrivain / 1,629 mots (rated G)
L'année dernière, Sherlock a eu un simple mug mais qu'il adore. Cette année, il a eu le meilleur cadeau.
Séries
Johnlock fluff de thelazyecrivain (rated G)
Juste un ensemble de fluff sur notre cher Johnlock.
Pridelocked 2021 de thelazyecrivain (rated T)
Ma participation au Pridelocked Challenge organisé par @ohlooktheresabee
Sherlock tried whispering from the chair opposite.
John ignored him
. ... or didn't hear?
.
"John!"
He tried a bit louder this time. Narrowed eyes trained on the kitchen. Clearly displeased.
John's newspaper rustled as he turned a page, acknowledging life. But Sherlock noticed he did not lower it!
.
There was a curse from the kitchen and a grunt. The sounds of a jar lid popping and then toast. Then a shuffling of feet.
"John?" Sherlock tried again, sounding petulant this time.
John glared over the paper at Sherlock and minutely shook his head 'NO'.
.
Sherlock huffed and twisted in his seat. Pouting.
.
***
.
"John?" Sherlock tried again as John rose to get some tea.
"Cup?" John asked, smiling in his infuriating manner ...
"Please?" Sherlock's eyes begged as he reached for John.
John sidestepped away, gathering up their plates. His eyes followed Sherlock's towards their guest sitting on the sofa, before coming back with a round, "no tea, then?"
Sherlock glowered.
.
***
.
"John!"
Sherlock had managed to pin John to the wall in their hallway ... a slight mewl escaping his lips as John ducked beneath his arm and slipped out.
"When may I kick the neckbeard out!" He hissed.
John peeked around the corner at their guest watching telly and gave Sherlock a cheeky smirk. "Solved the case yet?" He teased. Knowing perfectly well, Sherlock had not.
He had not even thought about the case!
He had thought about John!
All day!
.
"How am I supposed to sleep like this?" Sherlock hissed.
.
John stepped closer. "What? You have your room, and I have mine?" He said now, adding loudly enough to be heard in the other room, "... upstairs ... like always? Anyways, I'm off. Early shift tomorrow." He winked.
His smile would have fooled the Queen mother with its feigned ignorance ... and utter and complete innocence ...
Sherlock growled.
.
***
.
"John!"
The morning light was proof that the sun had not yet fully managed to emerge from its own slumber, before Sherlock was bursting into John's bedroom and jumping on the bed.
John rolled over to make way for the human sized octopus. All arms and legs and h a n d s ... and John had to stiffle a giggle while being subjected to it, all the while listening for any sound downstairs?
"Shhh!!!" He chid, reminding, "OUR guest!"
.
Sherlock rolled closer and slipped his fingers beneath the covers in search of h e a t.
"Gone," he stated blandly. Clearly distracted by what he was finding infinitely more interesting ... namely ... John's lack of underpants.
.
"Hey now!" John barely contained a laugh while being invaded under the covers by a wriggling and de-robing Sherlock.
"Gone where?" He clarified, pointedly ... pressing a finger to Sherlock's gorgeous lips as he tried to come closer ...
"Don't know. Don't care." Sherlock tossed his own underpants across the room and lifted himself up as if ready to pounce.
"Case?" John asked. His own eyes getting a rather pleasant eyeful of what was to come ...
"Solved it while you were being boringly heterosexual." Sherlock locked eyes and John felt a delicious shiver run down his spine.
"Bloody brilliant!" He praised.
"F*cking fantastic!" He cooed.
"Absolutely-"
Sherlock was on him in a heartbeat. Stealing kisses and generally mussing up John's hair as he lavished him with attention.
"Didn't get to all the compliments I had stored up yet?!" John bemoaned. Fully moaning the next second when Sherlock found the right position to really make his blogger happy!
.
"You'll be the death of me yet!" John gasped. Heart beating to the sounds of their shared exhalations.
"Good," Sherlock grunted, "then we'll be uninterrupted on our eternal sex holiday."
"Eternal ... ?" John was laughing. A difficult feat considering how ... occupied he was. "Wait! Is heaven ...?"
"Home. Of course."
"Of course," John grinned into Sherlock's shoulder, where he pressed delicate kisses. "221b. Silly me."
.
For @notjustamumj prompt: home. thx for the tag! @raina-at @calaisreno @lisbeth-kk tagging @fluffbyday-smutbynight to share these shenanigans (I blame u!)
Let me know anytime you want tagged or removed! @whatnext2020 @johnlocky @safedistancefrombeingsmart @gaylilsherlock @topsyturvy-turtely @margueritesomebodyoranother @amyreadsandstresses @thelazyecrivain2 @missdeliadili @peanitbear @musingsofmyown @superhollykat @ninasnakie @blogstandbygo @bertytravelsfar @kettykika78 @khorazir @discordantwords @gregorovitchworld @7-percent
18. Cat // a 221B Johnlock Ficlet for @fluffbruary 2022
“What the f…?”
The short hallway from the kitchen to the bedroom has been turned into an obstacle course of various plastic objects - bottles, cups, knick-knacks - placed wall-to-wall, at regular intervals.
On the other side, Sherlock sits cross-legged, Biscuit in his lap.
The cat, none the wiser, purrs happily.
“Are you experimenting with the cat, again?”
“John! Stay there. I’m testing his intelligence.”
“Sherlock… he got his head stuck in a paper cup, the other day.”
“Happens to the best of us.”
With a sigh, John complies. Sherlock releases the cat. The first four steps or so go well - Biscuit’s paws landing gracefully in the empty spaces between objects. Then, a tall shampoo bottle tips over, Biscuit gets spooked, everything topples down in a domino effect. The cat jumps and bolts. It’s madness.
Luckily, John is there to catch him. “It’s ok, it’s ok,” he reassures him, scratching him behind his ears. “You know, I’ve read somewhere that ginger cats are a bit… on the slower side.”
Sherlock looks at Biscuit, now pacified in John’s arms. He’s trying to catch his own tail.
“Oh. That must be why I like him, then… he reminds me of you.”
“Oi!”
“Just kidding.” Sherlock plants a gentle kiss on Biscuit’s forehead, then one on John’s. “Love you just as you are, my bumbling boys.”
Here's the backstory for Biscuit the cat :)
[tags under the cut; let me know if you'd like to be added/removed]
prompts: ice | beautiful | night by @fluffbruary <3
fandom: BBC Sherlock
will be uploaded to "That Stuff Called Fluff" on Ao3!
A/N: mainly inspired by the absolute amazing, lovely, kind, sweet, beautiful, lovely, heartwarming [insert all other positive adjectives to describe a person here] @justanobsessedpan - AN ABSOLUTE MUST FOLLOW BLOG!!! Arie drew this amazing art about a year ago and i was IMMEDIATELY inspired to write something based on it. i did NOT forget it... i'm just slow. thank you, bestie, for letting me use your art this way! here is the perfect perfect drawing (tap for better quality):
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"Ah, fudge!", John said, facepalming. They had just walked back into the changing room after their ice-hockey training.
"What's up?", Mike asked.
"Forgot my helmet at the rink. I'll be right back!"
John rushed out, grabbed his helmet from the bench right next to the ice, straightened up and-
dropped the helmet. It bounced a few times on the ice. It made loud thuds.
"Watson! You alright?", a voice from somewhere on John's left hand side yelled.
"Yeah, Greg, just forgot my...", John's eyes were fixed on the boy on the ice rink. It was a figure skater. A really beautiful figure skater. "Um..." His skating was... beautiful. His face was beautiful. In fact everything about him was beautiful. "My uh..."
The skater finished a flawless pirouette, in a half sitting position, his leg stretched out. How is that even- Wait- why did he stop- oh my god. Is he coming- what- wait that's-
"Your helmet?", the figure skater asked with a kind smirk on his lips. A kind smirk?! What the hell is a kind smirk?!
"Sorry- what?", John asked, after his brain finally registered that the figure skater had said something.
"You forgot your helmet?"
"I- uh... Yeah- I-", John let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. He half recognized Greg smirking at him, bemused.
"Do you wanna go-", a side glance at his friend proved his suspicion. He didn't care. "On a..." Damn, this guy has gorgeous eyes. John gulped. "Date? With me?" Where did that question come from?
The boy raised his eyebrows. "Is that it?"
"Is that what?", John countered.
"We only just met. And we're gonna go on a date."
Oh, shit. He hadn't been thinking. He had just spoken. Come on, Watson. Get a grip! Confidence! Confidence is everything! "Problem?", John asked, feeling himself grin (hopefully convincingly).
The skater bandied looks with Greg, bemused as well as amused. He shifted his weight on one hip, then looked John up and down. "We don't know a thing about each other. I don't know where we're meeting. I don't even know your name."
Oh, right. Awkwardly John fumbled with his helmet, stuck it under his left arm, so he could extend his right, "John Watson. Speedy's. Tomorrow night at six P.M.?"
The boy shook his hand, with a suspicious eye. "Sherlock. And fine. But only because you're cute when you're flustered."
"Why- I am not-"
"See? Cute. See you tomorrow.", and Sherlock glided off the ice. There was a certain swing in his hips that made John drop his eyes...
"What. on earth. was that?", Greg asked with a disbelieving chuckle.
"That, Greg", John sucked in a breath. "Was me realizing, there's no way in hell I am straight." John said, still staring at the door through which the beautiful figure skater had left.
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A/N: this was so fun to write! i love reusing/ scrambling up quotes from the show :P hope you liked this too! again please follow justanobsessedpan, promise you won't regret it! (feedback as always very welcome!)
tag list! (tell me if you wanna be added or removed💚) @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 @musingsofmyown @7-percent @speedymoviesbyscience @astudyin221b @francj15 @almosttinycowboy @ladylindaaa @we-r-loonies @mxster-jocale @sherlockcorner @noahspector @our-stars-graveside @jobooksncoffee @baker-street-blog @psychosociogentleman @quickslvxr @macgyvershe @myladylyssa @johnlock2708 @battledress @a-victorian-girl @dreamerofthemeadow @oetkb12 @ohnoesnotagain @mutedsilence
will be uploaded to "That Stuff Called Fluff" on Ao3!
A/N: this is more hurt/comfort than fluff i hope that's okay. entirely inspired by this post. also: this is long! be prepared!
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John Watson, the flight attendant on the aircraft from LHR, United Kingdom to PAR, France, noticed the nervous passenger at first glance. Sweat damping curly dark brown hair, fingers twitching, eyes already looking for emergency exit signs.
John greeted him with a friendly smile and directed him down the aisle where he could find his seat.
As soon as the passenger sat in his seat (21D), his legs started bouncing. John memorized the seat number just in case.
And the case was as soon as they had taken off. The passenger's face had turned extremely pale and his breathing became faster and faster. His knuckles turning white, because he gripped the seatrests so tightly.
John couldn't take it anymore. He walked over to the man. "Good morning, sir. May I ask if this is your first time flying?", he questioned.
The man barely gave him a look, stared straight ahead and shook his head tightly. "Don't like planes much. Please don't lecture me how 'the risk of dying in a car crash is far higher than in a flight crash', I know that." The passenger grumbled through his teeth. "People just seem to neglect the fact that IN CASE you crash with an aero plane, you fall from the sky, approximately from around 33.000 to 42.000 feet. The impact this would cause to a human body is-"
"Alright. You seem pretty damn smart for having half a panic attack there.", John said, something about the man letting him drop the mask of politeness he usually wore as a steward.
"It's called aviatophobia."
John smiled. "They say calling the fear by its name takes away its scariness."
"I wouldn't necessarily agree." The passenger argued, his legs still bouncing and his eyes still haunted.
John bandied looks with Sarah, his co-worker, who gave him a thumbs up. So John crossed his legs and let himself glide to the floor. He held out his hand. "Haven't introduced myself yet, have I? John Watson. What's your name, if I may ask?"
"Sherlock Holmes.", the man replied, taking John's hand in his own. Finally he looked, no - studied - John's person. The anxious passenger had an incredible face. Unique. Eyes changing colors every time he laid them on another object of interest. High cheekbones. Lips, perfectly shaped. It was an angular face, not fitting into any beauty standards and yet remarkably gorgeous. Briefly John wondered what those lips would taste like, but he quickly pushed this thought away. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Holmes."
The passenger still held his hand in his and looked intensely into his eyes. "Sherlock will do."
John nodded, "Alright, Sherlock." The flight attendant liked how that name on the one hand rolled off his tongue but on the other hand had a hard ending. In some way, it suited the man in front of him. "What are you doing in Paris, at this time of year?", It was the middle of the winter, but the snow seemed to refuse to agree with that and stayed in the comfort of the clouds.
"Sightseeing.", Sherlock simply replied, and looked away.
John scoffed, "Yeah, right", he said.
The passenger's head whipped around. "Why are you laughing?"
"A bloke like you sightseeing? You are wearing too expensive of a suit for that. And why would you take the plane if you clearly have a fear of flying? The train connects pretty conveniently nowadays. It doesn't make sense. It has to be something urgent."
Sherlock's intense eyes glared at him again, and John felt a bit hot. This guy had some effect on him... if he wasn't in this situation of him being a flight attendant trying to prevent a passenger from panicking, and they were in a pub or something... John would probably even take his chances.
"Not as stupid as I thought you'd be.", the other man stated.
John laughed at the directness of his conversational partner. "Well, I'd hope they wouldn't give a doctor's degree to complete idiots."
Sherlock cocked his head slightly, the initial anxiousness obviously slowly fading. "What does a man with a doctor degree do on board of an airplane?"
"Oh, it's a long story..."
"Elaborate. I insist."
The two man continued talking like this. Sherlock in his seat, John on the floor, their hands intertwined. Sherlock occasionally gripping John's hand tighter when turbulences occurred, John casually explaining how it came to those. Sherlock seemed to know most of it already, but apparently John's voice seemed to calm him down. After a while, John had to walk through with a cart to offer beverages to all passengers. When he was done, John had hoped Sherlock would have kept the calm from their conversation, but apparently the fear had come to the surface again.
John didn't think for long; He grabbed two cups of coffee and headed back to his problem child, who was his favorite passenger at the same time. Together they drank their coffees, Sherlock holding on to John for dear life and they shared more about their life, anecdotes and thoughts. John felt bad about it, but he was almost glad Sherlock suffered from aviatophobia, because otherwise, he probably would never have gotten to exchange words with the fascinating man.
When three hours and 45 minutes have passed, they finally landed. Reluctantly, John had to take a seat away from Sherlock and the other passengers to stay safe. He kept clenching his fist, when suddenly a voice caught his attention. "He'll be alright. Stop worrying." It was Sarah.
"I know. But I am... worried.", John said, embarrassed about already feeling attached to the almost-stranger.
"You know what I think you should do?", Sarah asked. John opened his mouth but was interrupted, "Give him your number. And don't give me your 'But I am not gay' bullshit, either. We both know that's not quite true. Trust me. I know that look on your face. Give. him. your. number. Or I will.", She casually said but John knew she was right.
For a minute he sat there in awkward silence but finally his heart won over his head and he frantically searched for a piece of paper and pen.
Before the seat belt sign turned off, John used the opportunity to slip Sherlock his little note. He already walked away when he turned around and saw Sherlock's confusion in his face. The man pointed at himself and mouthed 'Me?'
John nodded enthusiastically and mouthed, 'Yes, of course. You.' back. To make sure there was no doubt he made fist, stuck his pinky and thumb out and shook his hand close to his ear, 'Call me'.
When everyone had left the plane, John's phone dinged.
John? SH
Attendant. JW
Did you seriously think I addressed anyone other but you with my note? JW
Funny. SH
Needed to be sure. SH
Well, be assured then ;) JW
Call me. Hopefully we'll get to know each other in a more comfortable atmosphere. JW
Wouldn't want to miss it. SH
Good. Me neither. JW
Call you later? SH
Oh, god. Yes. JW
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A/N: endings are hard :( feedback is so so precious to me! please don't hesitate to give constructive criticism or anything else, as a matter of fact. love you! thanks for reading! *throws badly cut out paper hearts at you*
“Yes,” Sherlock said. He watched his bees struggling to keep their formation over the hive, fighting the force of the wind against their tiny bodies.
“Look at those clouds scudding along.”
“Scudding? Such a poet you are, John.”
“Scudding’s a real word.”
“I know, but more a word for stories, not for two old men in their garden, talking about the weather.”
John shrugged and was quiet for a few moments. Sherlock listened to the wind pushing threw the grass, then John said softly, “My life with you is a story.”
“John?”
“The best story,” John said. He wasn’t looking at Sherlock, but at the cottage, the hives, the grasses, the trees, the wind. “A story better than I could have imagined.”
Sherlock reached over and took John’s hand; only then did John look at him. “A love story?”
“A detective story. A story of friends. And, yes, a love story, in the end.”
John squeezed his hand, his smile breaking out like the sun behind a cloud. He stood, and pulled at Sherlock’s hand. “Come on, fellow protagonist, let’s go in before the wind blows us away. We’ll see if we can accompany our story with some tea and those scones you made.”
“Tea and scones and love. You’re right. That is a very good story.”
“The best.”
And that brings Fluffbruary to an end. I've had a wonderful time, I'm grateful for all your comments and likes and tags, and I've enjoyed reading other's beautiful fluffy fics. Thank you all!
Day twenty-height of @fluffbruary, using the prompt "wind"
Is it the last day of fluffbruary already? It goes so fast 😢
There is only tomorrow for the bonus
Read on AO3
French version
----
The wind blows over London, causing coats and jackets to fly up, scarves to be pulled up to the nose. Dead leaves waltz with papers left on the pavement by passers-by, creating tornadoes in the alleys.
Sherlock has his scarf firmly tied around his neck, his coat buttoned up, his hands buried in his pockets. Beside him, John had also closed his jacket and kept his hands in his pockets. When he glanced at Sherlock, he smiled as he saw his hair completely undone, the many minutes spent each morning straightening his curls completely erased. Understanding where John's hilarity is coming from, Sherlock grimaces and ruffles John's hair himself, too short to actually be messed up by the wind. This only makes John laugh even harder.
"You'll find it's not as hilarious to have my hair." Says Sherlock, vexed.
"Are you going to sulk?" John smiled. Sherlock grunted. "You don't complain when I'm the one messing up your hair."
"Because I'm the one asking for it." Sherlock retorted, "I know we're going to bed afterwards, so I won't need to comb my hair again. And you know how much I love it when you massage my head." Said Sherlock with a smile.
"Oh, but I wasn't talking about those times." Whispers John, a speck of mischief in his eyes, a sneer on his lips.
Sherlock gasped heavily as John found a tender spot on his neck.
"John." sighed Sherlock. He tries to arch his neck to give his doctor more room, but it doesn't seem to be enough as he slides a hand down his neck to grab a handful of curls and pull. Sherlock moaned, and felt John smile against his skin.
Sherlock understood immediately, his cheeks blushing. "You're a naughty boy, Doctor Watson."
"I know." John said proudly. Sherlock can only laugh.
(tell me if you wish to be tagged !) @topsyturvy-turtely @missdeliadili @mxster-jocale @helloliriels
Day twenty-seven of @fluffbruary, using the prompt "photograph"
Read on AO3
French version
----
"This is when Sherlock received his first microscope. He was so happy that he forgot about the other presents. We couldn't take his microscope away from him for a week." Mummy Holmes smiles at the memory.
John looks at little Sherlock, his hair a mess, his microscope in his hands, his eyes wide with surprise. He looks adorable in his well-tailored clothes, simple straight trousers, shirt and sleeveless jumper.
"Oh, and that day we found him asleep with his dog, Redbeard." She directs his gaze to another photo. "They played all day and decided to take their nap under the oldest tree. It was his favourite tree because he could climb the branches which were strong."
Redbeard is curled up in a ball, Sherlock lying on his stomach. A pirate hat hangs in the corner of the picture, a wooden sword around Sherlock's waist. His jumper is damaged, leaves stuck between the wool threads but also in his crazy curls. John can't help but pull out his phone and take a picture.
"Our little Sherlock has given us a run for our money."
John laughs. "And it's still going on."
"But we love him too much." She says lovingly, looking at Sherlock sitting at the table with his father in the next room.
"Oh yes we do." John says, following her gaze.
Sherlock seems to feel his mother and John's gaze on him as he turns to them. Seeing them with a photo album, he grimaces, but stands up anyway. "Is it really necessary to bother John with the photos?"
"Absolutely, it's very crucial." Said John seriously, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
Sherlock rolled his eyes but accepted John's invitation to sit next to him.
"Remember when you made a boat out of the books in the library?" Mummy Holmes asks, showing John the photo taken that day. The boat is very well represented, two tufts of hair sticking out of the pile of books, brown curls and red curls.
"I remember the scolding that followed as these were books that have been in our family for generations. I always said it's dangerous to leave them so easily accessible." Sherlock growled.
John asked him to be nicer by placing a hand on his thigh. Mummy Holmes forgot his remark with a wave of her hand.
"Since you left the house, I don't have many pictures of Mycroft and you." She said pleadingly, wanting to make her point. "How about we take one now?"
Sherlock sighed, but wanting to please his mother-in-law, John agreed sharply. She asked them to stay on the couch and move closer together. Despite his protests, Sherlock did so, resting his arm on the backrest around John's shoulders. The latter put his hand back on his thigh, and pinched it when Sherlock refused to smile.
"You don't have to agree with everything my mother says. I know you want to be liked by my family, but you don't have to do much. As long as you support me enough to want to be my partner, that's enough." Sherlock murmurs.
"I know you love your parents, despite what you let on. I wouldn't want to look bad to people you care about very much."
"They adore you, John. No one can resist your charm, of course they like you very much."
John turned to Sherlock to fall into his serious gaze.
"Unless you don't hurt me." Sherlock grinned. "No one can guarantee your safety, not me, not Mycroft."
John smiled, "I'll be careful then."
At that moment, a camera sound echoes around the room. Sherlock and John came out of their bubble, having completely forgotten about the photograph.
Mummy Holmes showed them the picture, a proud smile on her lips. They look at each other, their bodies leaning towards each other, John smiling at a serious but loving looking Sherlock.
"You two are so adorable. I'll print it out and put it in the photo album." She says as she leaves.
Sherlock's father comes into the room, giving the couple a sorry look. "She'll show the picture to everyone."
"Stop telling them nonsense." Screams Mummy Holmes from the other room. This makes the three men laugh.
(tell me if you wish to be tagged !) @topsyturvy-turtely @missdeliadili @mxster-jocale
Day twenty-six of @fluffbruary, using the prompt "Ice"
Read on AO3
French version
----
"That's a ridiculous idea, John."
Rather than take offence, John laughs and continues to pull him along.
"You'll see, it'll be fun. It's been years since I've done it."
"I don't see how sliding around on ice with blades hanging from uncomfortable shoes is fun." Sherlock growled.
John rolls his eyes at the skies, but no matter what Sherlock may say, he'll never sink his excitement. Sherlock can't help but compare him to a child.
Sherlock grunted as John paid and they put on the ice skates. He grunted as they stepped onto the ice. But soon his complaints stopped when, as he put the first foot down, the skate went off and his body did not follow. He barely caught himself on the railing beside him.
John is beside him, helping him to his feet. "I understand better why you were complaining. You don't know how to do it." John teased gently.
Sherlock feels like he's going to make him pay for the minutes of grumbling and complaining he's had to endure since John announced where they were going. "I've never had the need to do that before."
"It's not every day I get to say this but, I'll teach you." Laughs John.
John stands perfectly on his own two feet, Sherlock wondering by what sorcery he manages to do so.
John tries to teach him, one arm around his waist, the other on his arm. Sherlock tries to copy his movements, his legs shaking. He curses the idiot who created such a sport. He can't keep himself steady and if John lets go, he falls straight down.
Fortunately for him, he learns quickly, and about ten minutes later he can take more than two steps without falling. John dropped him around the waist, simply holding him on his arm. Sherlock panicked but tried to move forward anyway, and succeeded.
It was then that John left him completely alone, no longer holding him. Sherlock petrified and stopped dead in his tracks. John had moved ahead of him and was waiting for him like a parent urging a child to come towards him to take its first steps. Sherlock tries one foot forward, moves forward, and starts again with the other foot. His movements are shaky, but as he moves forward he becomes more confident, until he reaches John's arms. Sherlock's ego swells as John smiles proudly and compliments him.
They continue skating, John taunting him a few times by skating backwards. Sherlock manages to hold on without John's help, but his doctor stays close to him, their hands entwined between them. There were falls, Sherlock falling more than John, and the detective was happy to wear his coat, protecting his buttocks from the cold while John wore the marks of his falls on his trousers.
As the hours ticked by, people left, leaving them almost alone when an employee warned them that the rink was closing. They did a few more laps before leaving the rink. Soon they found their shoes, walking becoming strange after several hours of skating.
As they left the building, Sherlock chastely kissed him in thanks. He will never admit out loud that he enjoyed it. But John understands and smiles at him.
(tell me if you wish to be tagged !) @topsyturvy-turtely @missdeliadili @mxster-jocale
Day twenty-five of @fluffbruary, using the prompt "breathe"
Read on AO3
French version
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Breathing is boring. That's what he told John after his meeting with Mycroft on their first day together, when he was wearing his three nicotine patches to help him concentrate. The fact that his body has needs to live and to allow him to do what he loves more than anything else, solve puzzles, bothers him to no end. He has to stop what he is doing to eat or stop in an investigation to sleep. Breathing is even more annoying, his body always moving. His belly inflating and deflating, all in an endless circle.
But when he glanced at John, sitting next to him on the sofa, watching his chest inflate as he breathed, he thought to himself that it wasn't as unpleasant as he thought. He likes to rest his head on his stomach, to be rocked by the movement. It's definite proof that his doctor is alive.
The next time he starts to complain that breathing is boring, he remembers the evenings lying on John's chest, fingers playing with his curls, his quiet breathing slowing as he falls into morpheus' arms. He remembers the nights chasing a suspect through the streets of London, their laboured breathing, trying to catch their breath by the time Lestrade arrived. He remembers the shared laughter inside Baker Street, or over a dead body, a laugh that takes your breath away and makes it hard to breathe. It's painful, but it's a good pain. He remembers their shared kisses, not giving their bodies time to catch their breath and a steady rhythm of breathing before they threw themselves on each other's lips. He remembers their passionate nights, John taking his breath away with a precise gesture or a well-calculated thrust, until he sees the stars.
When he looks at John, he wants to keep breathing with him as long as possible.
(tell me if you wish to be tagged !) @topsyturvy-turtely @missdeliadili @mxster-jocale
prompts: scrap | snack | ballet by @fluffbruary <3
fandom: BBC Sherlock
will be uploaded to "That Stuff Called Fluff" on Ao3!
A/N: this takes place after my fluffbruary entry for day 7! i guess it can be read without it but i don't necessarily recommend it (i like day 7 xD) (also i am so sorry for being a day late. what how is it that late already-)
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John tried to quietly convince himself that, No, he wasn't walking outside and passing the rugby field in the wild hope that he'd meet Sherlock Holmes - the ballet dancer in the rain - again. He was simply... errr taking a stroll. Yes, that was it. He definitely didn't have the urge to watch him dance again, or you know... talk to him or in general just be with him. And he for sure - 100% - did NOT have a crush on the boy. You wanna know why? Because John Hamish Watson, the cool kid, the popular kid, is as straight as it gets.
"Are you looking for someone?", a girl's voice interrupted his train of thought. He turned around and saw Sally, from bio. "Yes, actually I am. Do you by chance know where Sherlock is?"
"Sherlock? Who would be called like that? Never heard of him. Ask that freaky dancer over there.", Sally nodded in the general direction of the field behind the playground. "He's always lurching around. A bit creepy if you ask me."
Immediately John felt overly protective for the 'freaky dancer' - no doubt being Sherlock, whom John had watched dancing not too long ago... John looked her hard in the eyes. "I didn't ask.", he said, turned around and left.
Soon, he found the boy dancing in the grass. 'Why is he dancing outside anyways?', John wondered. When Sherlock ended his ballet dance in an elegant stance and his hand forming a circle in front of his waist, John was suddenly unsure what to do with himself. A little lost he stood there, and watched Sherlock walk over to him. But then the dancer smiled at him and just like that John's tentativeness faded into something else - tranquillity with a hint of excitement maybe?
"You were watching me.", Sherlock simply observed.
"No! I was... just wandering by, you know..."
Sherlock arched an eyebrow. "In the hopes to see me."
John let out a breath. "Yes, alright. Maybe I was. I was wondering if you'd like to get a... snack... together?"
Internally John cringed at himself. Who asks if they can have a 'snack together'? Jesus, how awkward could you be?
Sherlock seemed amused. "A snack?"
Panicking, John looked past Sherlock. "Yeah. I don't know. I wouldn't mind if we were digging through scrap, as long as we would do it together, to be honest."
He saw Sherlock's emotionless facial expression and suddenly felt embarrassed. Oh, god. Did he seriously just say that? "You know what, I'll leave you alone, sorry to be a bother.", John said, turned around and walked away when he suddenly felt Sherlock's hand above the crook of his arm. There was a pull and John found himself staring into the most beautiful eyes he's ever seen.
"You're not a bother.", Sherlock said, hand still firmly on John. They were incredibly close, for not knowing each other well yet. "I'd very much like to have a... snack with you.", Sherlock added and gosh, those breathtaking eyes looked so intensely into his, John had to gulp.
"Fine. Good.", John replied and nodded. "Uh. Let's go then, shall we?"
Walking beside Sherlock once again, John Watson wasn't so certain if he for sure - 100% - did NOT have a crush on the boy anymore... He decided it did not matter as long as they spent time together. And if his hand accidentally brushed Sherlock's once or twice, it honestly wasn't the worst feeling either...
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A/N: teenlock 🥰 feedback is brownies dressed up in words :)
Day twenty-four of @fluffbruary, using the prompt "art"
This is a sequel to His artwork written for the first day of fluffbruary!
Read on AO3
French Version
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John enters the shop and is greeted by soft music, paintings of all styles hanging and posed everywhere. Two young people were talking behind the counter, stopping their conversation when they noticed him. The young woman stepped aside to let the young man do his work.
"Hello, how can I help you?"
"John Watson, I had made an appointment."
The young man searched his notebook in front of him before he came across his name and the time he had booked.
"It's for a portrait."
It wasn't a question but John nodded.
"It'll be with Nell." He explains, pointing to the person he was just talking to. Nell held out her hand and John shook it.
"Hello, John. May I call you John?" Nell asked. She knows how to put people at ease, her easy smile and casual posture. Used to professional relationships, John struggled to answer her question but managed to return her friendly smile and answer. "Very good, John. I'm Nell, I'll be the artist who does your portrait." She said before accompanying him to a room at the back. The room is large, paintings but also decorations everywhere, the white floor mottled with paint, a blank canvas placed on an easel, and a seat in the middle of the room. "Before we begin, I would like to point out that I use the pronouns they and them. I would ask you to respect it. And what are yours?"
John looked at her, blinking, completely lost. The young wom- person? understood his lack of understanding.
"Do you use she/her, he/him, they/them, or some other pronouns?"
John understood. "He. I use he/him." It's not every day he gets asked this kind of thing. John feels old in front of these young people and their new things. He's probably only ten years older than they are, but it feels so big now.
Nell smiles, "Great. I have a few more questions for you before we start." John wonders what their questions are, and they smile as they see the panic on his face. "Nothing incomprehensible, I promise." They laughed. "I just want to know why you want to do this portrait, in what context. If as a gift, to whom and why. If you have an idea of what you want to do, if you have a particular request. Something I absolutely must put in the painting. Tell me and I'll tell you if I can make it happen."
"Oh, um. It's for an anniversary. I've been with my... boyfriend for two years." He hesitated. It seemed so childish to say boyfriend. "My partner." They nodded. "We met in a museum, and I've been telling him ever since that he's my work of art." He said, blushing. Nell smiled tenderly. "So for our one year anniversary he gave me a painting of his. Our two-year anniversary is in a fortnight and I'd like to do the same."
"That's lovely, it's rare to get a gift like that."
John shrugs. "He kind of made it clear to me that's what he wanted."
"John Watson, you are the most beautiful piece of art."
"As I understand it, I have to have my portrait done for next year."
"I hoped so."
John smiled at the memory.
"Do you have an idea, a wish for your portrait?" Nell asks, cutting him off in his reverie.
"Not really. I don't know much about art, I trust you."
Iel nods, then runs their eyes over the various settings, a look of concentration on their face. "Here's what I propose. A single background, no scenery. Just you on the painting. I'd like it to look like it was a spur of the moment shot, no posing. Nothing superficial."
John found it hard to imagine. He doesn't have a visual memory. Fortunately, Nell knows how to help him understand. They pull him to the middle of the room, in front of the easel, and sit him on a stool. They put him in profile, turning his face to the blank canvas and asking him to look away, not at a fixed point. He tries to follow their instructions and this seems to convince Nell as they nod, satisfied, and take out their phone to take a picture.
They showed him the picture and in the picture he looked serene, looking at something in the distance. It looks natural. John agreed wholeheartedly.
They set him up properly, told him to keep his coat on so that it would look like the picture was taken outside, and also to make his face stand out more easily with the dark colour of the clothing. Nell even had the idea of setting up a light above him to give a shiny effect on his blond hair.
"For the style of the painting, you asked for something realistic. What I'm proposing is that we keep this style, but that we can still see that it's a painting, that the brushstrokes look soft to the eye, almost smooth." Nell explains while showing him another painting in the same style.
John agrees, trusting them completely with this kind of choice. They are the professionals, not him. Nell told him that if he needed a break, to eat or drink, or if he started to cramp, he should not hesitate to ask, and they started to paint.
They talked from time to time, the other man - named Marvis - sometimes coming to see them, bringing things to Nell or John, talking to the doctor to distract him and make the time pass more quickly. He told them about his meeting with Sherlock, and they both gave an "awwww" in unison when he told them about the gift he had received the year before, showing a picture of the painting. He put it as a wallpaper, saving him the trouble of carrying the painting with him always
After five hours of painting, John is finally able to move, Nell promising to finish the details within a week and that it will be ready for their anniversary. John thanks them warmly and goes home, eager to give it to Sherlock.
***
"Sherlock?" Calls John as he walks into the flat. He's just spent eight hours nursing colds and coughs and all he wants is to spend the evening with his detective and celebrate their two years together.
"In the kitchen!"
John smiles, smelling the good aroma coming from the kitchen. He walks in to find the table set like a five-star restaurant, Sherlock at the stove with an apron around his waist, protecting his aubergine shirt. John's favourite.
John comes up behind Sherlock, wrapping his arms around his waist and resting his head against his shoulder.
"Did you have a good day?"
John mumbled a reply, letting himself be rocked by the movements of his shoulder. Sherlock turned in his arms to face him.
"I was looking forward to going home." He said as he slid between Sherlock's legs to press himself against him. They were almost the same size this way. "But I didn't expect to find this," he gestured to the table and the small plates Sherlock had lovingly prepared, "and to see you in an apron. I think it suits you very well. It hugs your waist." He said suggestively, sliding his hands against the fabric to support his words.
Sherlock smiles, "Should I keep it?" Sherlock teases. He knows John likes his shirt
" Certainly not, we can't see your shirt!" He slides his hands down his back, finding the knot and removing it. He keeps his eyes in Sherlock's, biting his bottom lip to stop himself from smiling. He can see Sherlock's eyes shining with mischief, letting him.
No sooner does the knot come undone than Sherlock removes the apron and tosses it haphazardly behind John. John laughed as lips cut him off. John tightened his grip behind his back, hands encircling his face. Slowly they kissed and when John wanted to deepen the kiss, Sherlock pulled away. John wanted to wipe the grin from his lips.
"Later." Sherlock promised with a wink before pulling away from him. "You have to taste what I've done. I didn't spend three hours cooking for it to end up in tupperware at the bottom of the fridge."
John shook his head, unable to stop his smile from forming. He settled down and together they enjoyed the food.
It was after dessert that John stopped Sherlock with a hand on his arm when he wanted to start clearing away.
"I have a surprise for you."
(continue after the cut)
Sherlock said nothing and watched him go off to his old room to get the gift. He widens his eyes when he comes back down with it, John having no doubt that he's already deduced what he's getting him. It's pretty obvious, and John isn't even disappointed that he's figured it out before he's even unwrapped it.
"Did you really do it?" Sherlock breathes. He stands up, walking over to him.
John nods his head. "It took me a while to find an artist with a style I liked."
Sherlock says nothing and begins to unpack it without further ado. Two weeks after posing for Nell, John came to pick it up and didn't hide his amazement at the work the artist had added after their meeting. Sherlock shared this wonderment when he saw the painting.
John is depicted as they had discussed with Nell, a black background, all in a realistic style while showing that it is a painting. Exactly as they had concluded.
Sherlock stares at it for about thirty seconds, before balancing the painting against a chair and thanking John appropriately.
"It's beautiful." He sighs between kisses. "You're beautiful."
John can feel his cheeks turning pink. He slowly pulls him towards the bedroom and Sherlock gets the message.
"The table..."
"Tomorrow." John growled.
Sherlock didn't need to be told again and pushed John convincingly towards the bedroom when he abruptly cut off their kiss. It took John a while to regain his composure and he wanted to grab Sherlock to keep him against him as he left.
Sherlock took the painting, and brought it with him to the room. John understood what he wanted to do. He watched him set up the painting next to his own with a tender smile. When it was finished, Sherlock returned to his side, his arms around his waist, his head resting on his shoulder.
"What are we doing next year?" John asks, trying to keep control of his body as Sherlock begins to kiss him on the neck.
"We could do a painting of the two of us." Says Sherlock in the crook of his ear, making John shudder. "Or..."
Sherlock didn't finish his sentence, and John, curious as to what he meant, turned in his arms, attacking his neck in turn. "Or?"
"What do you say we get out your military uniform again?"
John steps away from him, seeing that Sherlock is serious. He flashes his most seductive smile. "It'll be your wedding present."
"We should get married soon, then. I can't wait to get my present."
John laughed and regained possession of his lips, both falling onto the bed as Sherlock hit the bed
"In return, I want a painting of you only with your dressing gown. Nothing else."
"Deal."
(tell me if you wish to be tagged !) @topsyturvy-turtely @missdeliadili @mxster-jocale
will be uploaded to "That Stuff Called Fluff" on Ao3!
[picture from my camera roll 😎]
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The evening had turned into night and the night was about to turn into dawn. Adrenaline from the case had kept the two men up, but now it was serotonin.
"That was... bloody fantastic!", John exclaimed with a wide smile.
"It was.", Sherlock smiled back at him.
They had decided to walk for a while and were now crossing the Millennium Bridge. When Sherlock peeked over the edge, an idea came to him.
"We should throw stones in the Thames.", he said with a sparkle in his eyes.
"Throw... stones... You mean skipping stones?", John laughed at him.
"Yes, that. Come on!" And without a second thought Sherlock grabbed his hand and they ran down to the shore.
With expertise deduction skills Sherlock picked the best skipping stones, whereas John grabbed them at (almost) random. They threw the stones and challenged each other until the dawn was turning into sunrise.
"Sherlock! Look!", John held out a rock. It was black but a big piece was missing, so you could see the inside. It was the color of white marble, but it had a swirl of orange, red, and blue in it.
Sherlock was confused. "A rock. What's so special about it?"
"It is gorgeous, that is!", John let it glide into his pocket.
"Are you keeping it?", Sherlock asked, still with his eyebrows furrowed.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"One: it is special. Two: it is beautiful. Three: it reminds me of you.", John explained and winked.
Thirty years later, John still kept the stone in their room and Sherlock the memory, not only in his mind palace but also in his heart.
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A/N: based on a true experience by turtely 🙃 but i was a dumbass and didn't take the rock with me 😭 i am ridiculously upset about it :((
