Holmes calling Watson John will always make me soft, no matter the adaptation :')

Calm

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6

Sherlock had finally stopped shivering. His consciousness was starting to melt away in the warmth of his sleeping bag. He wrenched himself back awake. Thrust a hand out and started pulling the zip downwards.

I can't rest. What a waste this has been. The alarms have to be put out. We need to start analysing the traces we found. There is over 500,000 square kilometres to be covered here. We can't be caught unawares. Why was I such a fool to listen to John. There is no room for weakness here. Those fools don't know what their doing. That equipment is sensitive. They'll have set it up all wrong. What--

"What exactly are you doing?"

John had pulled back the flap on the tent, the Velcro making a loud noise. Sherlock had half emerged from the sleeping bag. He had one of the thick thermopulls up over his head and was just trying to get it down and over.

It was a vulnerable moment. John took advantage.

"Sherlock." John entered the tent, pulling off his boots and parka quickly. "You're not moving from here." He gave Sherlock a gentle shove backward. With no balance since his arms were inside the thick woolen garment, Sherlock fell back onto his bedroll.

"There is no time to waste--" Sherlock's head popped out of the neck hole. He struggled to get his arms through as well.

John sat down on his own bedroll, next to Sherlock. He took hold of the soft folds of the pullover, and assisted Sherlock in getting straighted out. Then he put his hands on Sherlock's shoulders.

"Listen," he said, quietly.

Sherlock stilled. He heard his own breath, roughened with effort. He heard the quiet puff of breath from John's nose. He heard the quiet hum of talk from the camp around them. The regular beep of the sensors. The whirr of fanblades as the hand-windmills did their job to charge batteries and power motors for the equipment the team brought with them.

Beyond this tiny bubble of human activity, Sherlock heard the call of seabirds. The shush of wind on the harsh, frozen water. The creak of the ice itself, groaning as the massive blocks of ice pressed against one another.

Sherlock calmed beneath John's hands.

"That's right. All is well. The helicraft are fully charged, I've made sure of it. We can make a quick exit if needed, and it's just a short hop to Nuuk."

Sherlock began fighting to sit up once more. "They won't get the sensors right. I have to--"

John shifted until he was laying on top of Sherlock. John's legs encircled him, trapping his legs in the sleeping bag.

"You have to trust your team. These are good people Mycroft chose. Hell, most of them, you trained."

"But--" Sherlock made another effort to rise, but it was half-hearted. He was being distracted by the warm, comforting pressure of John's body.

"But, nothing. You've been up for three days straight getting us here. And now you've nearly died from hypothermia. You're going to catch pneumonia if you're not careful. You are going to rest here if I have to make you." John shifted his hands to hold Sherlock's wrists. he clamped them down on the floor beside Sherlock's head.

Sherlock stopped resisting. Silence fell between them. John's face was close to his now. His eyes dipped lower. Sherlock felt his heart beat faster. John's face came close--

The shimmering ripple of the proximity alarm began. First one, then another, then all in a sharp atonal disharmony. The sound echoed out over the broken water, the snow-shaped dips and hollows of the land.

"Incoming!!!"

Stupid monsters...worst timing. XD Thanks for the prompts @calaisreno

@lisbeth-kk @meetinginsamarra @totallysilvergirl @raina-at

Those hands can do a lot of things.

And the size of your hands is like pterosaurs wings compared to that of Dr. Watson's.

Hush Little Baby

for @calaisreno's May prompts: Eavesdropping

Rosie wailed on the baby monitor, her cry a crack that split the night in twain, startling John and Sherlock from their quiet evening, resting after a case.

John started to get up, but Sherlock waved him away. "I'll go, I think it's my turn, anyway," he lied. John was exhausted; he wanted to give him a break.

"Thanks," John yawned, shaking his head. "Think I'll probably head to bed myself in a bit. I'm knackered," he looked at Sherlock. "Aren't you?"

Sherlock hummed noncomittally. "I'll probably be up for a while yet," he shrugged. "I have a sudden yen to reorganize my notes on the tensile strengths of various leathers."

John laughed.

Sherlock left him to attend Rosie, in her crib in John's room. "Now, little Watson," Sherlock tutted, picking her up with a slight groan –he'd definitely pulled something while they ran after a suspect earlier tonight– and cradled her against his chest. "What's all this I hear?" he cooed, bouncing her gently in his arms around the room. "Did you have a frightening dream?" he asked, knowing full well that she wouldn't be able to properly dream for another few months yet– he'd read up on the various stages of development, and had to promise John that there would be no manipulation or experiments to either speed up or slow down these milestones. The memory of that conversation made him smirk.

Rosie began to fuss in his arms and he assessed the situation– she needed changing. Sherlock lay her down on the changing table, distracting her with his soft, low voice. "Shall I tell you a story, little Watson?" he asked, not needing an answer. "This is the story of your father, and how he did a very special thing for me."

Before I knew your father, I was a very different person. I was unhappy, and I did lots of things that I shouldn't have. I hurt myself a lot, but it didn't matter to me at the time. I was bored, and lonely. Then, one day, I met your father while solving a puzzle. I thought he was the most handsome man in the whole world, and I wanted him to be my friend. Friends are important, little Watson. I hope you grow up to have lots of friends, more friends than I ever had.

We got to know each other, and we solved puzzles together for a long time. Your father didn't know how I really felt about him, how much I enjoyed being his friend, how much I loved him, too. I kept it a secret as best as I could. One day, I had to leave London, and I couldn't take your father with me. If I did, we could have both been in trouble. If there would be trouble, I thought it was best if it were only me that got hurt. And I did, I got hurt a lot while I was gone, but it was okay, because I remembered how much I loved your father, and it helped me be strong. You're going to be strong like him, I know you are.

The time came for me to be able to come back to London. I was so excited to see your father that I did a stupid thing and surprised him in a bad way. I was so excited to tell him how much I missed him, and tell him the truth about how I felt about him. He was so mad at me, he punched me right on the nose. But I couldn't be mad at him, even if it hurt. He'd met your mother, and it turned out that he loved her. And even though I was so sad that your father didn't love me, I couldn't be too upset, because soon, you were growing in your mother's belly. And I'm so, so glad you're here, little Watson.

Lots of good and bad things happened between your father and I while you were growing in your mother's belly, and when you were born, we had a big, big fight. I thought he never wanted to see me again, and I was so sad. I was so sad, I almost made myself go to heaven. But one day, we decided that we had been fighting for too long, and that we did still want to be friends. Isn't that good? You should always try to solve your problems by talking about them.

Even though it had been a long time, I still loved your father very much. I still do, but I don't think he loves me the same way Iove him. There are lots of different kinds of love, little Watson. There's love between parents, there's love you have with friends, and there's love that parents have for their children. I love you more than anything. I didn't know if your father would let me. But when he did, I was so glad.

That's the special thing your father did for me, little Watson. He let me be a part of watching you grow up, and I'm so excited to see how you do. You look so much like your father. But that's not the only reason I love you. It's one of a million reasons.

There, you're all clean and dressed in fresh clothes for bedtime. Doesn't that feel better? I know. Come on, little Watson, should we go say good night to your father? Alright, there's a good girl. Come on.

John wiped his eyes quickly, and took several deep breaths so that Sherlock wouldn't tell he'd been crying because of what he'd heard over the monitor.

But he knew that he'd see right through him.

Maybe tonight is the night I'll tell him, he thought.

Laugh - May Prompts 13

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10

11 - 12

The hot tub was really the last straw, Sherlock decided.

Tapping into geothermal energy from deep underground, and channeling the warm, mineral rich waters of natural hot springs, Moriarty's baroque lair in the still-frozen north was a luxurious hideaway.

"You must relax, Doctor Holmes." Moriarty rubbed Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock felt unsure of how he could possibly unwind further. His body was succumbing to a deep lassitude induced by the heat, the wine, the fascinating discussion, and the possibilities glimmering with the world-altering information shared by his host, Professor Moriarty.

"Professor, tell me more about this organic power generation you're working on. How is it physically possible for living matter to hold or host fusion reactions?"

"You witness it in your work routinely. Do move over, Doctor Holmes, so I can reach your back properly. Your neck is a mass of knots, how can you live this way. There, yes. What were you asking, Doctor--may I call you Sherlock? It seems so formal, given the surroundings."

Sherlock pulled in a deep breath of fresh, oxygen-laden air. Many tall, leafy plants surrounded the natural rock outcropping that made the hot springs pool they lay within. Most were of varieties Sherlock had never seen before. Long, sharp rich green blades; rough, interwoven sienna stems.

He recognized a half dozen species of palms, banana plants, tropical berries and flowers from reading he had done on biological specimens more common before the Triple Collapse: the polar ice loss and the catastrophic flooding of the majority of major cities in the world, the rise of Leviathan their magnetic pull to power plants and the subsequent destruction of the world's power grid, and the inevitable dissolution of the world's financial markets and trade pathways with these bulwarks of 20th century commerce devastated.

He leaned over to smell a lovely flower. It seemed just fine that Moriarty was pulling him closer as he rubbed the front of Sherlock's shoulders now. Touched his is collar bone, arms.

"Surely. Far too form--I mean. You may call me Sherlock. But I want to hear more about org-ic. Organic fusion. You said."

"Easy there, Sherlock." Moriarty savoured the syllables.

Moriarty was boney and thin, Sherlock found as he lay against him. Not muscular and solid, like his John. Though he never got to touch John like this. No, not nearly enough hugs. But hadn't there been something pleasant that happened? Something like a very nice hug indeed. Involving a kiss.

Sherlock touched his lips, remembering.

"Well, you know that the Leviathan consume power - nuclear, electric, coal, petroleum. And they shed radiation wherever they roam. Oh, yes there, my dear, you can rest your head. Well, if they, living, take in and pour out enormous amounts of energy, why shouldn't we be able to tame that power? My Children are the key--"

"Unhand him!"

Two figures were standing near the hot tub. They were fully clothed, still wearing bulky coats, dusted with snow evaporating into the humid warmth of the conservatory enclosure. Each bore a weapon and a grim expression on their face.

"I don't think Doctor Holmes wishes to leave. He came here of his own free will." Moriarty gloated, putting his arms familiarly around Sherlock's shoulders and chest.

"John, Lieutenant. Won't you join us?" Sherlock gestured. His arm was blocked slightly by Moriarty's arms. Sherlock wriggled his shoulders, frowned.

"And, that's enough of that." John pulled Sherlock out of the tub. The warm, mineral rich water sheeted off of Sherlock's naked body.

"Sir." Narbon pointed his weapon at Moriarty. "I would be most pleased if you would raise your hands. Now."

Moriarty laughed. He rose, also completely naked. "I am sorry to disappoint you, but I don't think I will comply."

Moriarty flipped a com switch nearby him, and shouted "Guards!" Watson pulled Holmes from the tub. Narbon shot the Organic LED array above them, causing sparks and plunging the room into darkness. The rescuers and their skyclad charge scrambled towards the bulkhead to the outer surface they had identified on their way into the conservatory.

"He's going to freeze!" Narbon shouted as he tugged at the wheel on the hatch.

"Not if I can help it," Watson gritted out as he unzipped his coat and began putting a boiler suit he had found in a gardening shed onto Sherlock's drooping form. "What did he give you?"

"It was a lovely wine." Sherlock hooked his arms around John's neck. "And you're lovely, too." He started kissing John's ear.

"I can hear you smirking, Narbon. Sherlock, yes. Later. Now, put your foot into this boot."

Omg this is so fun! Sorry for the drugged nonconsensual yuckiness folks. Moriarty, blerg. But our heroes get to interrupt, too!

Thanks so much @calaisreno for your fantastic prompts! Can't believe we're almost half way through May already!

@lisbeth-kk @meetinginsamarra @raina-at @gregorovitch-adler

This is perfect. :))

He thought when he'd opened the door,

That this was a game, nothing more;

But when he saw John ...

(Not the bombs he had on);

It shook his belief to the core.

@calaisreno may prompt: OPEN

His Favourite Jumper

Sherlock can be careless, but he always tries to make things right.

1627 words / Prompt: Eavesdropping

“What’s this?” Mrs Hudson frowns at what he’s showing her. “John’s jumper?”

“John’s favourite jumper. I need to fix it.”

She takes it in her hands and assesses the damage. It’s a nice jumper, all worsted, cabled up the front, the sleeves set in with steeks. Certainly hand knit by someone who knew what she was doing. She assumes it’s a she; there aren’t many men she knows with the patience to knit.

“What did you do to it?”

“The flat was chilly, so I was wearing it. Borrowed it. John wasn’t home. I was doing an experiment and spilled acid on it. I’ll need matching yarn, I assume. And knitting needles.”

The holes are extensive, she notes, and even a good darner would find it hard to repair such extensive damage. Still frowning, she looks up at him. “Do you know how to knit?”

“Well, no. But knitting is just interlocking loops. How hard can it be?”

She stifles a snort. The poor boy is distressed, but determined to fix what he’s ruined. No one should despise a novice effort, but…

“Sherlock, love, these are a lot of holes, and matching the colour and type of the wool is a bit harder than you might think. Even if you could find a match, even you could darn them all, it’s not going to be like new. He’ll be able to tell.”

His face falls a bit. “But he can’t know I’ve ruined it. And he’ll notice it’s gone.”

“You might buy him a new one.”

“This one was hand-made by his grandmother. It won’t be the same.”

 Nothing is the same, she wants to say. Sometimes we have to let go of things. 

But he’s looking at her so hopefully, and it’s a shame to crush that kind of hope. It’s obvious what’s happening. He’s been in love with John since they moved in together. Sherlock can be careless, but that’s because he’s heedless in his enthusiasm. This isn’t the first jumper he’s ruined, and that’s surely part of his worry. John does have a temper. 

“Just tell him. He’ll forgive you.”

“He’s always forgiving me, and I just keep ruining things. Please, Mrs Hudson. Won’t you show me how?”

Now his eyes shine with tears that threaten to fall.

She gives him a darning lesson. 

John notices the jumper is missing. She sees him going through the laundry, looking for it, and then through the bins. 

When he asks, she plays the innocent, asking him when he last wore it, whether he might have taken it off and left it somewhere. He shakes his head.

She’s watching an old movie late one night when Sherlock brings his work down to her. 

“It looks awful,” he says, slumping on her sofa. “I can’t give it to him like this.”

“I think you’re underestimating him, love. He’s not going to leave because you ruined his jumper.”

“This is not the only thing I’ve ruined,” Sherlock replies. “I broke his mug, I lost his charging cord, and I accidentally set his book on fire. It was only a paperback, but still. He must think I’m trying to drive him out.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

Sherlock’s face is pleading. “Please, Mrs Hudson. You must show me how to knit.”

“Knitting a jumper takes time.”

“How long, would you estimate?”

Wow this was so sweet. 🥺

Fluffbruary in May (music - breathe - soap)

You din't think I'd forgotten about the Extended Edition of Fluffbruary, because of the May Prompts, did you?

I've Been Waiting for You

Summary: Two women had great influence over John as a boy. One taught him to love all kinds of music. The other predicted a life altering meeting decades later.

@fluffbruary @totallysilvergirl @calaisreno @keirgreeneyes @phoenix27884

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May Prompts (14) Eavesdropping

The Luckiest Girl in the World (chapter 14)

Summary: When Rosie wakes, the pain tells her that this day will be horrible to endure. She's forgotten that she has a caregiver waiting for her downstairs to ease that pain.

Fourteen Years Old

Two months before my fifteenth birthday, I woke and just knew this would be a shitty day. My period had turned up during the night without any pre-warning. Like a tiger sneaking up on its prey. The pain was like sharp claws digging into my abdomen. I curled around myself before I realised that the evidence probably was visible on my pyjama bottoms and the sheets.

“Fuck!” I exclaimed and slammed the door on my way downstairs to wash myself in the bathroom and soak my clothes and sheets to avoid permanent stains.

My parents had learned to leave me alone on mornings like these, but I could always rely on breakfast being ready for me when I emerged from the bathroom. 

Dad probably had to eavesdrop to the sounds I made to time it correctly. Papa, on the other hand, seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to me and Dad and how long it took us to shower, walk from the tube station, do the grocery shopping, or returning from a visit at Nana’s.

If Dad was home, there would be grilled cheese sandwiches and tea. This Monday, Dad had an early shift, so it was Papa who treated me with French toast and my favourite smoothie. He’d also procured a glass of water and paracetamol.

“That bad?” Papa inquired and scanned my face.

It almost brought me to tears this care and thoughtfulness. His low and soft voice did the rest. I didn’t hesitate for a second when he opened his arms but went willingly and clung to him while he stroked my back. We stood in silence before I went to blow my nose.

“Thank you,” I murmured and seated myself at the table.

“Of course, Bee,” Papa said. “Do you need a note for gymnastics?”

“No, it’s fine. We’re going to the gym today. Lifting weights and such. We’re free to do whichever exercises we want, so I’ll just choose those that aren’t too straining and painful,” I told him with a grimace.

For a moment he looked kind of fragile and lost. He didn’t cope very well when one of his Watsons was in pain or ill.

“I’ll be fine, Papa,” I assured him after I’d eaten and swallowed the painkiller.

“I don’t like seeing you like this, my heart,” he whispered.

“I know, Papa. It’s a natural thing though, and I’m lucky to have you and Dad to care for me,” I retorted and gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

After I’d put on my yellow Converses, I reminded Papa that I wouldn’t be home until late.

“Babysitting at Pinkerton’s,” I elaborated when he looked puzzled.

“Is that a good idea today, Bee?” Papa asked, his voice concerned.

“Well, these babies have to be paid, you know,” I said and pointed at my shoes.

“Bee! I told you, there’s no rush to pay us back. In fact, let’s say they’re fully paid as of…”

“Sherlock Holmes! A Watson never cheats,” I tutted.

“Watson-Holmes,” he muttered under his breath.

“I heard that,” I laughed, gave him another hug before I ascended the stairs to the front door. The pain from an hour earlier was just a fading memory. For now.

Also available on AO3

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @helloliriels @raina-at

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Love how you've characterised Rosie. ❤

The Deep / 221B

Words: 221 / Prompt: Nightmare

John’s never been afraid of heights. He’s jumped out of airplanes, climbed mountains, stared down into a cataract. Seeing Sherlock fall traumatised him. He avoids Barts, but doesn’t fear elevators or airplanes.

His worst nightmares have always been about drowning. It’s something he can’t explain.

He knows how to swim, how to stay afloat, treading water. But the dreams that wake him, screaming, always find him in black water, cold bottomless depths.  

As a child he loved the beach, would run through the surf, chasing his sister. They waded, sand squishing between their toes, looking for crabs and jellyfish. 

But he shuddered to pass a water tower, imagining himself in the dark tank where he couldn’t find a foothold or even know which way was up. He would swim, finding no surface, until his lungs ached. 

Now, in his dreams, it’s always Sherlock sinking below a dark, glassy surface, and John who dives in after him, his heart frozen with terror when he can’t find him.  Sherlock is lost to him, sinking to the bottom, already dead. 

He wakes, thrashing like a drowning man, gasping and weeping and inconsolable.

“John.” 

His lungs still heaving, he stills, lies panting in the sheets, now cold with his sweat. 

“John, wake up. You were having a nightmare.”

He gropes, feeling for a warm body. 

--

Tagging in the replies!

Phew! That was intense. Good that there was a warm body for John.

May Prompts (15) Nightmare

The Luckiest Girl in the World (chapter 15)

Summary: Rosie tells us about her family's sanctuary that is 221B, but also about wars over board games. In the end, it's the story about someone else who also needs a safe haven.

Fifteen Years Old

I felt oddly protective of our home from an early age, and I didn’t want it invaded by my friends. Not that I was ashamed of all the bric-a-brac, Papa’s experiments, or how different it was to other homes I’d visited. It was just...our space, a safe haven where we all could lower our guards, Papa in particular. Over the years, his fame had increased exceedingly, and his derisive façade kept journalists and fans at bay. The moment he entered 221B, he discarded said façade by hanging his coat on the peg.

Another thing to consider, were the battles that always ensued whenever one of us challenged the others to a board game. Having an outsider witnessing that…well, we’d surely be sectioned for life if that were to occur. 

(More likely, the person would be granted vicious dreams for eternity.)

But as Papa points out; there’s always something. In this context, someone.  My friend Liwia. Her parents were Polish, and moved to England two years before Liwia was born. They were Catholics, and having to adjust to a society that was more liberal toward queer people than Poland, took its time. When Liwia came out to them as a lesbian the year prior, they’d tried to pin it on her friendship with me. I was after all related to quite a few of the sort and Liwia’s parents seemed to believe the ludicrous lie that queerness was contagious.

It took them some months to get over it, but once they realised that Liwia still was her normal self, they discarded the original idea of sending her to Poland to live with her strictly religious grandparents. Neither of the Barczykowskis was prepared when said grandparents announced that they were visiting London that summer, staying for at least a fortnight. 

Dad and I were in the middle of a Scrabble war, when Papa came home. Not that we realised it at the time. We were too engrossed in arguing.

“It’s bloody unfair to use all the medical terms and diseases you can come up with to win, you know!” I exclaimed accusatory.

“Oh, come now, Rosebud,” Dad teased, looking as pleased as the cat that ate the canary.

“Don’t you dare Rosebud me,” I said through clenched teeth. 

Dad only used that pet name when we were at war over the board games, and it rubbed me up the wrong way.

“Children,” Papa chastised, barely able to suppress his glee.

“You’re home,” we said in unison.

I waited for the inevitable eyeroll and his obviously, but none came.

“We have a guest,” Papa said and waved a hand, and that’s when I saw Liwia standing by the sofa wringing her hands, a look of despair in her eyes.

I leapt to my feet and walked over to hug her tight.

“What’s wrong?” I whispered into her hair.

She explained about her grandparents, and with just one look over at Papa, receiving a nod, I turned back to assure my friend that she could stay at Baker Street for as long as she needed, if her biased grandparents started to make her life a living nightmare.

“Thank you, Mr. Holmes and Doctor Watson,” Liwia said politely.

I could literally see the relief wash over her, the tension in her shoulders dissipating and a tiny smile forming on her lips.

“Please, call us John and Sherlock,” Dad said. 

Then he turned his attention to me with a devilish grin.

“Does this mean you declare defeat, Rosebud?”

“You wish!” I snarled and left Liwia’s side to go into battle with my father.

(Before you go all bananas on me - this will continue tomorrow...)

Also available on AO3

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @raina-at @helloliriels

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Love it! Can't wait for more amazing fics from you this month. 😊

The Veiled Lodger

Fandom: Sherlock & co.

Rating: M

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson/Mariana Ametxazurra

Chapters: 1/?

Word count: (This is a WIP at the moment).

Hello! So, I'm working on a Sherlock & co fanfic (my first one ever). It features a poly between the three of them. I hope you like this one!

(I'll be a bit late in participating in the May Prompts Challenge this year because of that. :P)

Check it out! 😊

Tags: @helloliriels , @topsyturvy-turtely , @keirgreeneyes , @lisbeth-kk , @calaisreno , @jamielovesjam , @peanitbear , @gaylilsherlock

The Next Chapter is up!

I hope you enjoy it. :)

Chapter - 3 is here!

Enjoy! :))