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Sherlock + sunglasses
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Sherlock: I need you to stay calm, okay?
John: Yeah, I’m just gonna stay angry. I find that it relaxes me.
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Martin Freeman in Vodafone’s “A Christmas Love Story” - Part 4 — source | thanks | download 6 parts HD video
Self-para | | | v; how to steal a heart
“Dad?”
“Just a minute -- the doctor will be right with you...”
After typing the last four words, using only his index fingers, John looked up from his laptop.
His adult son Hamish was standing in the kitchen, warming his hands on a coffee cup. He was in the same clothes he’d worn when he’d visited the day before, his hair a tousled mess and his eyes dark from lack of sleep.
Clearly not the time for dad jokes.
“When did you get here? I didn’t hear you coming...”
Hamish didn’t answer, seemingly lost in thought already. John sat up properly in his chair, putting his laptop away on the coffee table and making room for his son on the couch.
“Did you stay over?”
“What? Yes — I mean, no, I just never left.”
Raising an eyebrow, he nodded his head towards the seat next to him. “Okay, spit it out. What’s happening?”
Rolling his eyes, Hamish eventually dropped himself into the pile of cushions, setting off a cloud of dust into the air. John waved at it, somewhat embarrassed but not bothering to apologise.
“I -- err... I had a discussion with the students at my last guest lecture, they were asking about things regarding codes of ethics and such. And obviously all the answers I gave them were by the book, but it made me wonder -- if someone you knew had done something bad — someone you cared about. Would you have turned them in?”
As John was about to answer, he was quickly interrupted.
“— And before you say anything, let’s pretend Pa doesn’t exist.”
His brows furrowed in suspicion, but he thought about the question nonetheless. “I’m going to assume this isn’t about you...”
“It’s not.”
“And you’re not wearing a wire and Greg is having a bloody laugh on the other end.”
“Dad!”
“Well, of course I would! And you should know the answer to that question!” John exclaimed, before he was suddenly hit by the realisation of just how much of a hypocrite he was being. Shifting a little in his seat, he glared at the laptop where he’d written down countless of pages detailing the encounters he and his husband had had with police over the years, not all of which had been entirely on the lawfully side of things. “I mean -- I guess it would depend on the situation.”
“Right.”
Pausing again, John gave his son a long, stern look.
“I believe in loyalty, but not to the point where it would jeopardise the safety of my family. Or, that it would go against my own moral compass.” He turned to reach for his teacup from the coffee table. “Does that answer your question?”
“I guess so...”
“Good.”
There was a long silence, as they both sat with those words, the air weighed down with the gravity of them. It was broken, to John’s relief, when Hamish finally said: “I’m being safe. Just so you know.”
“Good.”
They both nodded, and John smiled, reaching out to firmly squeeze Hamish’s shoulder.
“Now go home and have some sleep, you look like death.”
“Hah -- thanks...”
“And tell Alex I said hi.”
“... I will.”
ask-john-the-army-doctor reblogged
Something happened today.
ask-john-the-army-doctor reblogged
ask-john-the-army-doctor reblogged
Martin Freeman as Everett Ross in the Black Panther teaser trailer (source)
//empty drafts!
WOoh!
Here’s my current tracker, so please feel free to let me know if anything needs to be dropped/added! I might very well have missed something, I’ve not been great at organising things on here lately...!
- Jon x
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Two of Us Riding Nowhere || Sherlock and John || teen!john
“Sorry, sorry, got held up.” Sherlock’s apology was already halfway out of his mouth as he opened the door to the old car and slipped inside. He carried nothing but a cassette in his hand and an unlit cigarette in his mouth. “Mycroft was awake. Had to figure out a way to sneak past him.” In a family of geniuses, it was easier to avoid confrontation and be stopped then, than to be caught afterwards and see what had happened at that point.
Without asking, he popped the cassette into the car’s stereo. They knew each other well enough by now– Sherlock wasn’t afraid to be his brash self. Besides, the music wasn’t anything to be afraid of. It was the mix John had made for him before. He’s So Fine by The Chiffons curled out sweetly from the speakers– the song Sherlock had last stopped at on the tape from the previous play of it. Which, incidentally, had been just that afternoon, but he wasn’t going to tell John that.
“Trust me,” he chuckled. “I wouldn’t stand you up if I had a choice about it. Probably not even if I didn’t.” Buckling in, he turned his head to look at the other boy, electric blue eyes sparkling and lips curled up in a mischievous smile. “Are we good to go?”
“It’s fine, Sherlock,” John chuckled, “I was only joking.” As soon as Sherlock joined him in the car, his nerves seemed to melt away. In fact, there was something about the other’s presence that always seemed to do that. Whenever the two of them were together, nothing else seemed to really matter. “Oh, really?” He asked, raising his brows. He knew far too well how observant Mycroft was. “What did you do?”
Starting the car, he smiled to himself when he saw Sherlock pulled out the cassette, turning up the sound as soon as the song started playing. “All good to go,” he said with a wink, slowly pulling out of the driveway while internally begging the car not to make too much noise.
“You know, this was one of my mum’s favourite songs,” he said as soon as they were out on the road, their houses gradually disappearing in the rear-view mirror. “She’d always hum it to herself when she was getting ready in the morning. Must have stuck, because now I do the same.” He rarely spoke of his mother. Opening up was difficult for him, especially about his family. With Sherlock, however, it just sort of... happened. Whenever he was with him, the walls he kept up for everyone else came down, one after another. Looking over at the other, he smiled softly. “Where do you wanna go? Same place as last time or somewhere new?”
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“Oh, come on. What could go wrong?” Plenty, of course, but Vernette wasn’t going to admit to that. “I have pepper spray and a taser, not to mention that Lestrade will have his men ready the second I give him the signal that I’ve got the right man.” She rolled her eyes, hands going to her hips. “I’m not going into this blind, you know. You don’t have to be that worried about me.”
“You’re joking, right?” John asked, shaking his head in disapproval. He wasn’t going to give her a list, however, knowing that she would already have taken each of them into account. “Well -- I can’t just bloody turn it off like a tap, can I,” he answered, frustrated. She wasn’t going to listen to him, was she... perhaps he’d have to go about this another way, follow her without her knowing. If he could even pull that off, now that she knew how worried he was... “Fine. What do I know. I’m sure it’ll be ‘just like Christmas’.”
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“The only thing I might miss from all that is the baking. I already hear your snoring and your music; your room is five feet from mine, and you made me a mixtape. I want to move in with you because of that. They make you who you are, you idiot.”
“Really...? Aaaw ... I’ll have to remember that for when we’re in our fifties, see if you still like my snoring then, idiot.”
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“I want to be better now…” He sniffed, an eye closing at every kiss. It was comforting, it really was, to have the man hold him tight. He was safe, he was comfortable, he was home. Even though he remembered nothing else, he knew that much was true. “A-and I don’t feel like all those things. I don’t– I don’t know what you know.”
Sometimes it was nice to be married to a doctor. Whenever he began to doubt, John would recite to him the statistics, the probabilities that he would regain his memory, all the data that went with a condition like his. And that was good. It gave Sherlock something to store away, to think upon when things got tough.
But when things became hopeless…
Sniffling, he pressed his cheek to John’s shoulder, nose to his neck, eyes clenching shut. His fingers curled in the man’s shirt so tight they had gone white. “Tell me about him. About– a-about me. Please. I want to know. Tell me stories. I need to know.”
…That was when he simply needed his husband.
“I know...” John answered softly, brushing away a lock of hair from Sherlock’s forehead. “I know... I’m sorry, love.” He too wished that things could have moved faster, of course. If it was up to him, Sherlock would have fully recovered and regained his memory the day he left the hospital. However, things just weren’t that easy, and it was heartbreaking to see his husband struggle so without being able to do anything to help.
“Well,” he began, a small smile playing on his lips as he press another gentle kiss to the top of Sherlock’s head. “When he was about three years old, you brought him along to ‘his fist case’, as you put it. I was away for the weekend, so I didn’t know, not until we spoke on the phone later that night. I was fuming at first, didn’t give you a chance to find out what you’d brought him along to, I was of course imagining the worst.” He couldn’t help but chuckle then, hugging Sherlock tight to his chest.
“It was ‘the case of the missing crayfish’. Not the sort of case you’d usually take, but as you were by yourself with a bouncing three-year-old, a trip to the aquarium didn’t seem like the worst idea. Turned out there was an octopus there that had managed to escape, crawl over to the opposite end of the room to eat crayfish, and then return to its tank before the place opened. Hamish was thrilled, kept begging us to take him back for months after that.”
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“It would probably be best, yes.” Once the car had stopped, she hurried out of it and only waited long enough for John to join before she headed into the jewelry shop. Granted, this was likely something not entirely necessary, considering the amount of people that even cared to look for small enough details such as rings, but something about it felt right. If she was going to be playing the part of a bride, she wanted to feel like one, too. It was essential to getting into the role of the woman she was about to be.
Inside, the shop was definitely on the higher end. Vernette waved away the man who stood at the door, offering his assistance on their desires, and instead walked towards the nearest case that boasted wedding necessities. The bands weren’t too difficult to find; she opted for a slightly more fancy type, a string of five diamonds on the tops of each, before canting her head to look at John.
“Well?” she asked, expectantly. There was a wide array of engagement rings next to the bands, ranging from small and simple to ones that Vernette suspected costed a small fortune. “You’re the one that would have bought the engagement ring. Which one would you choose?”
Could she have chosen one herself? Yes. But would she have then known what he might have really bought her? Not at all. So his choice it was.
“Oh -- right... yes, I suppose that’s...” John began, trailing off as they approached the display of engagement bands. It made sense, of course. Still, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that this whole situation was getting more and more odd as the night moved on. Standing in front of the case of rings, it no longer felt like shopping for props like he’d told himself it would.
Looking through the selection, John felt a little overwhelmed. There were so many different styles to chose from. Which one would he have picked for her? And then again, was that really something he should even consider? They were, after all, not going as themselves. No matter what it felt like, this was part of a costume, nothing more.
“Uhm -- well...” he began, “something simple, I imagine, but not too simple. Definitely not cheap, but not too expensive either.” His gaze landed on a ring of white gold, with a single, square diamond. “Maybe this, one?” He asked, pointing to the ring. His eyes widened slightly once he saw the price tag.
“Mycroft might not be happy once he checks his account tomorrow, but... if I were this person, then -- that’s the one I’d chose.