#bbc sherlock

[noodles-and-tea]

Hello there…

#love me a man covered in blood #me and John 🤝🤝🤝🤝 #my art #sherlock holmes #sherlock #bbc sherlock

[justanobsessedpan]

The secret, tender, quiet moments

My first, but May 11th from @calaisreno 's prompts

Be well Bubbles <3

@totallysilvergirl @helloliriels @dontfuckmylifewtf @sussexinchelsea @loki-lock @topsyturvy-turtely @matixsstuff @ohlooktheresabee @boredsushi @ohmrshudsontookmyskull @nathan-no @astudyin221b @oetkb12 @psychosociogentleman @darkkitty1208 @zira-and-crowley @beesholmes @mydogwatson @liv-olive-oliver @tiverrr @peanitbear @sunshineinyourmind @a-victorian-girl @with-a-ghost-mr-holmes

(Any changes to the taglist, just tell me!)

#sherlock #bbc sherlock #johnlock #johnlock fanart #purplecurls #<3 #my art #mayprompts2024

[weeesi]

Secret - May Prompts (11)

“You absolute nob. Shove over.”

“But your pillow smells better.” Guilty as sin, Sherlock scoots back onto his side of the bed and squints between John’s legs. “You want another go?”

“Always, ‘cept the last go ended like four minutes ago and I’m not eighteen anymore. Here,” he drops the wet flannel onto Sherlock’s belly and swats away interested fingers with his other hand. “Oi, you’re getting me started again.”

Sherlock wipes and drops the flannel carelessly to the floor. “Doubt it. You’re positively ancient.”

John laughs. “I’ve only got two years on you.”

 “Mm, closer to three.”

“Two and a half then.”

“If you want to be precise about it.”

“That’s not very precise, Sherlock.”

“Shut up and kiss me, old man.”

He does. 

They doze on and off all afternoon. Sherlock steals John’s pillow and John traces patterns on the creamy skin of Sherlock’s thigh and they rest, heartbeat-quiet and summer-warm, together in their bed. 

Sherlock sighs and pulls John’s arm round his waist. “I can see it now. Front page of all the papers.”

“How do you mean?” John folds their fingers together. 

“‘Sherlock Holmes. Consulting Dectective, Reichenbach Hero, Little Spoon.’”

“Oh, so it’s still a secret, is it.”

“Yes, it’s still a secret. Promise you won’t tell anyone.”

“Swear to God.” John seals it with a kiss.

+

Thank you to @calaisreno for the fun prompt series!

Tags in replies (let me know if you'd like a tag or would like yours removed)! Thanks for reading! <3

#mayprompts2024 #johnlock #ficlet #johnlock ficlet #bbc sherlock

[helloliriels]

There was once was an almighty git

Who watson decided would fit,

Inside his poor heart;

(Although that wasn't smart)

He knew that he'd likely break it.

@johnlocky @chinike @rhasima @calaisreno @strawberrywinter4 @bs2sjh @weeesi @safedistancefrombeingsmart @wizama @theofficialinternetloner @khorazir @fluffbyday-smutbynight @totallysilvergirl @kettykika78 @dragonnan @sgam76 @raina-at @jrow @lisbeth-kk @a-victorian-girl @topsyturvy-turtely @justanobsessedpan @sarahthecoat @7-percent @whatnext2020 @bluebellofbakerstreet @ghostofnuggetspast @gregorovitch-adler @ninasnakie

#johnlock #bbc sherlock #john watson #fitting in #may is for limericks

[bs2sjh]

May 11 - Secret

Thanks for all the wonderful comments, threats, tears and bills for counselling. For those just finding these for the first time, this is a May-long multi-part fic, so there are a whole 10 days of micro-fics to read as well as this! All the other parts can be found here!

Some of you might have noticed the pattern that we're alternating between John and Sherlock. Some of you might also have noticed that they're not travelling in the same direction time-wise. All will be revealed, I hope, at some point before May 31st.

Anyway, enjoy some more angst and unhappiness. And happy Saturday!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

As the door banged shut, announcing Lestrade's departure, Sherlock considered the conversation they had started the evening with. Surely, his closest friend couldn't fail to spot what all the other people in his life knew full well to be the case. It wasn't as if he was keeping it a secret. 

He's lonely. 

For two years, he's lived in the house left to him by his oldest friend all by himself. There is no noise coming from downstairs anymore, no interruptions of tea and chatter. He goes to bed in the oppressive silence and wakes up to the same. And it's killing him. 

Then there are the memories—ghosts of a past self, of laughter and life and fun, of mysteries and excitement. It isn't like that now. John rarely helps with cases anymore. Celebratory takeaway and crap TV are long gone. It's good when John and Rose visit, but they always leave again. The silence swallowing him. 

Sherlock isn't a loner. Ever since his time away, working to single-handedly bring down Moriarty, he's needed company. He might not talk for days on end, but he needs life around him so that he can feel tethered to reality, to know that his sacrifice was worth it, that everyone was saved. 

To know he's home and safe. 

But home is no longer 221b. 

For @calaisreno's May Prompt Challenge.

#sherlock holmes #john watson #sherlock #221b baker street #johnlock #bbc sherlock #benedict cumberbatch #sherlock bbc #may prompt challenge 2024 #221b ficlet #may prompts 2024 #writing prompt #fic prompt #ao3 #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #angst #a03 fanfic #sherlock fandom #fanfic #sad times #sorry not sorry

[strawberrywinter4]

May 11 | Prompt: Secret

It’s no secret. Well, okay, maybe to most it’s a secret. But to John, it isn’t. 

It’s no secret Sherlock likes the name love. Or darling. Or really, any other pet name John gives him when intimate. 

John has always been fond of pet names. In previous relationships, he’s used it casually and his girlfriends seemed to be keen on it. Sherlock, however, has a reaction John would have never guessed.

John discovers it when they first get together. Days after their confession, they’re practically inseparable. After a long and tiring case, Sherlock is just about to lay on John’s chest like he always does on afternoons like this when John says, “Actually, love, you mind handing me my book that’s on my chair?”

And Sherlock stops dead in his tracks. Dead. John wonders if he’s okay, if he’s even capable of breathing. He stares at John, his cheeks flushing crimson. Once he regains his mental stability, he nods and goes to the other end of the room to get John’s book. John’s still eyeing him with concern when Sherlock comes back to hand him the hardcover. 

“You alright?” John asks. 

Sherlock nods curtly. “Yes, fine. Why wouldn’t I be fine? Do I not look it?”

John huffs a laugh. “No, you look…fine. Just…” John nods his head in a gesture. “Come lay down,” he suggests, not liking Sherlock so far away. 

Sherlock seems to calm at the request and he practically pounces atop John, nuzzling his face into the blogger’s neck with a long sigh. John holds a grin as he props the book on Sherlock’s back, pretending to read. But in truth, he’s thinking of Sherlock’s reaction, silently pleased with his new discovery. 

He decides to experiment. While Sherlock is sitting on one of the high chairs at the kitchen table, inspecting whatever form of scientific specimen he’s interested in at the moment through his microscope, John comes toward him and soothes a hand down his back. Sherlock doesn’t have an outward reaction, but John can sense the shiver that crawls through him. 

“I really am quite busy, John,” Sherlock says, not looking up.

“Mm, sorry, darling. Missed you, is all.”

And that’s when Sherlock freezes. Everything goes still. Usually, Sherlock would respond with a scolding statement to not be so sentimental and that they’d just gone out for lunch at Angelos. But he doesn’t say anything, only peers up and looks John in the eye. John grins, squeezing the back of his neck fondly. 

“But I won’t disturb you,” John says, and he catches the look of disappointment in Sherlock’s eyes. “Was gonna go down to Tescos anyway.”

Sherlock nods dumbly. 

John pecks a kiss to the limp detective’s lips, then heads off with a winning smile. That’s interesting. 

The third time is the final conclusion. Though, it isn’t as fun. Frankly, John has been careful with this use of pet names, just in case he finds a time when Sherlock truly doesn’t like it. But this situation proves the point that any time is a good time. 

Sherlock has just had an outburst in front of all members of Lestrade’s group. Anderson ticked him off by saying something idiotic, as always, but it was during the brink of a case. A case that Sherlock can’t wrap his head around and is losing himself quickly to. Sherlock stormed off to the break room, ignoring the stares. Lestrade gave John a nod to follow him and after sending a deadly glare to Anderson, John did. 

John finds him pacing, hands on his hips, and muttering to himself. When Sherlock sees John, he waves a hand. 

“Go away, I don’t want to talk,” Sherlock sneers. 

“You don’t have to,” John says. “I’m just here to check on you.”

“This is stupid,” Sherlock hisses, continuing to pace. “Anderson always knows how to open his mouth and say something that’s equivalent to a meaningless pit. He doesn’t know what he’s blabbering about, and I can–will, I will solve this case.”

“Sherlock–”

“It’s ridiculous how brainless he can be, and he acts like he is capable of making valid points when he only knows how to spit out jabs. He acts like he can solve a case when he’s proved his idiocy numerous times.”

“Sherlock.”

“I will solve this,” Sherlock repeats, voice cracking. “I’ve already planned out the potential coordinates of where the perpetrator may be, and I want to see the look on Anderson’s face when I–”

“Love.” John doesn’t know when he stepped forward to get into Sherlock’s line of touch, but he does and he cups the detective’s face to calm him. Sherlock stops his rant and clicks his mouth shut, staring at John with wide eyes. “Take deep breaths. Follow my breathing, hm?”

Sherlock does, and John sees his chest moving up and down in slower movements.

“Just focus on me,” John whispers, bringing Sherlock close and rubbing his thumbs across his cheekbones. “Don’t waste your time on him when you have me here.” John sighs, running a finger over Sherlock’s bottom lip. Sherlock’s eyes turn glassy. “You are the most brilliant man I know,” he continues. “You’re right. Everything Anderson says is absolute bullshit. So, I don’t want you worrying about whatever he says, do you hear me? You are intelligent and smarter than everyone in this building combined and you will solve this case with a leveled head.”

Sherlock’s jaw juts, and he releases a shaky breath through his nose. “But what if I don’t? What if–”

“None of that,” John interrupts. “Sherlock, you will solve this. And I will help you and make sure you eat and rest, because my god, you’ve been all over the place for the past week and I’ve had enough of it. We’re going home and I’m taking you to bed.” John leans up to kiss him softly, not giving a damn if the break room door is open. This is necessary. When John pulls away, their breaths intertwine. “I don’t like seeing you so overstimulated, darling. And you know I leave you to your work, but this has gone too far. I won’t let it get this far again, I promise.”

“John–”

“No,” John says softly. “Let me take care of you.”

Sherlock seems hesitant, but John can see it in his eyes that he wants it, he wants to be taken care of because, for some bizarre reason, no one has done it properly before. That’s going to stop. 

“Alright,” Sherlock whispers. 

“Okay,” John agrees. He takes his hand. “Let’s go out the back.”

Once they’re home, John does as he says. He makes sure Sherlock changes into pajamas and he cuddles up to John in bed. Even if John knows he won’t sleep properly (he simply can’t when a case is going on), he at least holds Sherlock tight, allowing him to slip in and out of consciousness.

 It’s not a secret any longer that Sherlock likes the names. Not just the names but the caring part, too. He likes this new feeling of adoration that John gives, the odd sensation of feeling relaxed in his lover’s arms as he’s stressing about every little thing in the world. And John is more than happy to provide strong embraces and reassuring kisses and occasional pet names when needed if it means that Sherlock can finally get the full experience of what it’s like to be loved. 

Prompt by @calaisreno !!

Tags: @a-victorian-girl @whatnext2020 @totallysilvergirl @ninasnakie @thegildedbee @whodwantmeasaflatmate @jawnn-watson @blogstandbygo @lisbeth-kk @holmesianlove @7-percent @itsonlytext @chinike @peanitbear @helloliriels @keirgreeneyes @dw91165 @jolieblack @cortina @kettykika78 @johnlockbbc

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Those eyes...yeah, see? They're in love. It's no secret!

#johnlock #sherlock #bbc sherlock #johnlock fanfiction #writerscommunity #ao3 writer #sherlock fandom #ao3 #john watson #sherlock and john #sherlock bbc #sherlock x john #sherlock holmes #pet names #john watson is fine #dr john watson

[dragonnan]

May Prompts 2024

May 10: "Choice"

What had that busybody old neighbor of hers called this? May December romance; that was it – with Martha decidedly in the winter category, grey tips and all. Oh, it certainly wasn’t anything actually romantic. At her age! And not with one, who’d scarcely looked out of short pants, the first time Martha had spotted him outside the club with that awful Jefferies person. She’d seen far too many, like him, given her husband’s line of business. She had nearly sighed and looked past this one, as well, except...

It was those eyes that had done it. Not stirring her to passion, goodness no. But that way he'd looked through her skin, all young and ancient, and saw the self she'd hidden under bright scarves and foundation; thick enough to hide the darkest bruise.

William, he'd called himself. Too skinny. That had been her first thought followed by “too young”... to be on his own and sleeping rough and buying drugs from those terrible dealers, who hadn't even the decency to offer clean needles, much less clean product. She'd, quite quickly, made the choice that he couldn't stay there and had arranged to provide a room above the club. It wasn't very quiet, sadly, but it was clean, off the street, and relatively safe. Little chance of harassment, from dangerous types, with David and Brass standing watch outside the doors below.

And maybe... maybe it was that posh voice... reminding her so much of the home that she hadn't seen in sixteen years.

The first time Martha had seen William cast aside that child-like aura had been after another one of Frank’s rages. He’d held a tissue against her split cheek and told her not to worry – that he’d take care of things. Far from soothing her his statement had frightened her. She knew Frank was involved in a good deal of terrible business. She also knew that he’d been married once before and that his previous spouse had died. Martha was a smart woman and hadn’t needed to be led to water to know there were bodies beneath the surface.

So, when Sherlock had gone out that evening – and remained out all night – Martha had been terrified.

However, when he’d returned, the following morning, several Miami police had been with him. It would be weeks before she’d gotten the entire story from him – enough time for the investigation to complete and to assure that she truly hadn’t known anything.

By the end of the trial, Frank had been extradited to Texas, where he would face the death penalty. Martha had divorced him and she had sold off the business and all of Frank’s assets.

It was William's testimony which had ensured the death penalty at the trial held months later – a period of time in which Martha had gone though tremendous life changes. In addition to selling the club, she she had also sold their massive home, and had purchased a smaller beach house in Ponte Vedra. William had gone with her to assist her in her move. She had invited him to stay on for a while, as her first boarder. Well, she hadn't felt right about leaving him on his own. He'd seemed the type to get into trouble without someone to look out for him.

The day they’d moved in, William had given her a small wrapped package. “A housewarming gift”, he’d said. Inside had been a necklace. It was gold, with a delicate, fleur de le pendant, and tiny amethyst stones.

“Oh, William, it’s lovely!”

“I nicked it from Frank’s safe the night they arrested him.” he’d said – then chuckled when she’d scoffed and slapped his arm.

When had things changed between them? Martha supposed the better question would be if they had ever changed – truly – or had always been that way from the start. First impressions aside there had been no great sea change; no sudden transition from barely acquaintances to motherly guardian. Her life with Frank had never allowed for even the concept of children. The conversation, in their early days of marriage, had been clipped short and final. But now, with William... It should have felt odd – thinking of him like a child when he was, at least technically, a grown man. But there was no shaking the affection she felt for the boy. They would sit for hours, at the beach, as the waves rolled up the sand and the sky went deep blue to hazy pink and orange. His long, skinny, fingers would gather beneath his chin and he would seem to be seeing nothing at all while she would page though a book or simply watch the people go by.

In the evenings she often enjoyed cooking – though she wasn’t his maid and insisted on his participation if he wanted to eat. And, oh, what a precious, awkward creature, he’d been. Once, she'd been preparing dinner, spaghetti, when he'd leaned over her shoulder with that endless, cat-like, curiosity of his. She'd batted him away with her fingers and he'd dodged backward – only to trip over one of the kitchen chairs and land on the linoleum in a tangle. He’d spent the rest of the evening locked away in the spare bedroom; obviously embarrassed. It hadn’t been until the following morning when, sheepishly, he’d emerged in time to help with breakfast.

Ah, but it couldn't have gone on forever and, far too soon, it was time for him to move on.

One evening, some months on, she'd been washing their few dishes from dinner. While rinsing soap suds from the plates, William had glided, silently, into the room. Without a word, he’d taken up station at her side to dry. It had only required minutes to wash up; after which they had simply remained there, watching the neighbor’s children playing outside her kitchen window. Finally he'd said, in a voice so small and sad, “I don’t want to go home.”

Martha had hugged him and he had clung to her, tightly, without saying anything more.

A week later he had been gone. She'd insisted he keep her contact information. He'd assured her it wouldn't be “deleted” though she'd stopped trying to understand his odd word choices long ago.

She'd watched him board his plane; bag filled with his favorite pastries, she'd insisted on preparing for him, while feeling so much like a mum sending her only child off to college.

She would not see him again for nearly a decade.

One morning, out of the blue, she'd received a call from a man introducing himself as “Sherlock Holmes' brother”. The reason behind her silence had been quickly deduced by him (as if she'd need anything more than that little eccentricity to confirm this man as family). In a stiff voice, he'd followed with, “you know him as William.”

He was needing a place to stay. This “Mycroft” would, of course, cover the majority of the cost.

Martha had told him he could very well keep his money. She would not allow another man to have a single quid to hold over her head.

And, of course, he could rent from her.

Of course he could.

She couldn't wait to see him.

When the movers had brought Will- Sherlock’s things to the flat, she had been delighted to discover he wouldn’t be moving in alone.

She had a good feeling about it. A very good feeling indeed.

She knew – had known from the first, really – that the best choice she had ever made was to take in that young, frightened boy, all those years ago.

With fresh excitement, that had not caught her so keenly in a decade, Martha grabbed her hoover and headed up the seventeen steps to the flat above. It was time to get ready, after all.

William was coming home.

Comment on AO3

#sherlock #fanfic #mayprompts2024 #bbc sherlock

[raina-at]

Secret

Bakers, again, and a very direct sequel to this ficlet from last year. It doesn't stand alone quite as well, but keep in mind that in this universe, John was working in an inner-city A+E during the worst of the pandemic, and I think the rest is self-explanatory. (It's also maybe a bit of hubris to explain the premise of this ficlet with a reference to another ficlet, and not the original story, but I'm sort of assuming if you know me it's probably for these two dorks, so here we are ;-))

-------------------

One of the things Sherlock loves most about John is that he’s the least sneaky person Sherlock knows. Every time John tries to keep a secret from Sherlock, he’s so transparent about it he might as well be wearing a neon sign. 

The thing is, the absolute foundation of their relationship is trust. When Sherlock asked John for more, John took a gigantic leap of faith for Sherlock. John trusted Sherlock not to break his heart, and he trusted Sherlock to stay clean.

In return, Sherlock trusts John unconditionally. He can’t imagine John hurting him. It just wouldn’t happen. He trusted John every time he came home late from the hospital, and he trusted him every time he lost his temper and went out for a walk to cool off. He knows, for a stone cold fact, that John would never hurt him, never betray him. The one time Mycroft offered to have John surveilled, Sherlock laughed in his face and told his brother to grow the fuck up. Mycroft was noticeably taken aback by this, and asked how Sherlock could be so sure. 

Sherlock still remembers this day, because he finally realised that in this one area of life, he knows so much more than his formerly all-knowing big brother. He looked long and hard at Mycroft and said, “That’s what trust is.”

Mycroft never mentioned the subject again. 

So. Sherlock trusts John absolutely. That’s why Sherlock never tries to find out what secrets John is keeping, because they mostly turn out to be surprises for Sherlock. And Sherlock might be a certified arsehole—at least if you believe his YouTube comment section—but he’s not going to ruin the joy John takes in surprising him by calling him on the bad sneaking around. 

All that having been said, this time, Sherlock is a tiny bit worried. Mostly because John seems to be. John is being incredibly obvious again, clicking away tabs and hiding things under pillows when Sherlock enters the room, having quiet phone conversations he takes to other rooms, even skiving off work one day, to apparently—judging from the dirt on his shoes and the rain on his jacket— traipsing around the countryside somewhere. Normally all this sneaking around would be accompanied by sly grins and sparkling eyes, but this time, he catches John looking at him worriedly. John’s also having trouble sleeping, and when he’s very tired he rubs his hand over the leg that bothers him every time he’s stressed.

Conclusion: Whatever John is doing, he’s worried about Sherlock’s reaction when he finds out. 

Sherlock debates whether he should say something, but in the end he decides against it. Whatever John is up to, he’s apparently working his way up to telling Sherlock, and Sherlock will just have to be patient.

Not his best discipline, it has to be said. But since he can’t imagine anything he wouldn’t do for John if asked, and he can’t imagine John asking something of him he wouldn’t be willing to give, he says nothing, and waits.

Thankfully, John doesn’t keep him waiting for long.

It’s about a month after the whole sneaky business started. It’s Saturday and sunny outside when John asks, trying and failing to be casual, “Any plans for the day?”

Sherlock looks up from the accounts spreadsheets he was pretending to peruse and gives John a look over the rim of the glasses he reluctantly wears now. “Are you finally ready?” he asks, knowing John will understand.

John rubs a hand over his thigh, a classic nervous tell. “I think so. Yes.”

“Show me,” Sherlock says. “Show me now.”

*-*

The house is beautiful. 

Sherlock stands outside in the generous garden and breathes in the smell of green and rain and the ocean.

The house is a quaint brick cottage, with a generous sitting room and library downstairs, and two bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs. It’s situated a five minutes’ walk from the train station. Trains go to London every half hour, transit takes forty-five minutes to Waterloo. The village is small but thriving. The sea is an easy five-minute walk away.

It’s idyllic. Peaceful.

And it has a tiny, dark, pokey kitchen. The oven is small and barely usable. There’s no room for his equipment, for his ingredients. 

“Hey,” John’s arms come around him from behind. 

Sherlock leans back into him and says nothing. He doesn’t want to disappoint John, but he can’t live here.

“Want to see the barn?” John asks, and there’s a great deal of amusement in his voice.

Before Sherlock can answer, John takes his hand and drags him to the barn. He opens the door and presents the inside to Sherlock with a knowing grin. 

Sherlock gapes as he steps inside. The entire barn has been transformed into a professional kitchen. Ovens, walk-in fridge, gleaming work surfaces. Large windows let in a lot of natural light. Wooden countertops, lovely light fittings. 

“The house belongs to the owner of the local bakery,” John says from behind him, watching with a fond smile as Sherlock runs his fingers over the gleaming surfaces, the shelves, the ovens. “She used the barn as a kitchen, since the bakery is so small. It’s pretty much just a storefront. If you want to, we can look at it later. It’s also for sale.”

Sherlock looks up from inspecting the oven. “Is it now.”

John swallows, looking nervous again. “Mike runs a primary care centre in Brighton. They have an opening. I could commute from London, of course, no problem, but I thought, maybe…” he trails off.

Sherlock looks around the kitchen. A purchase of this size would mean selling 221B as well as the bakery. He bought out Amit’s daughters when he died, so the property is his to do with as he pleases. It’s doable. Easily. It’s also a huge step he’s not in the least considered before.

But then his brain fully catches up to the implications of what John is saying. “You’re quitting,” he whispers. “You’re quitting the hospital.”

John looks down, a bit embarrassed, and shrugs. “Seemed like the thing to do.” He looks up at Sherlock again, who’s staring at him in shock. “You said I could do what I wanted, remember? Well, this is what I want. If you want it too, that is. I know it’s a lot to ask. Not trying to force you into—”

“Shut the fuck up right this second,” Sherlock breathes, then walks over and pulls John into a searing kiss. “Do you know,” Sherlock mutters between increasingly frantic kisses, “what I would do to get you out of that fucking hospital?”

John lets himself be kissed for a few moments, then draws back. “But your bakery—”

“I’m the bakery. I can bake anywhere. You know that the channel makes more money than the bakery does, anyway. I could close up today and be financially better off.”

“But you love it,” John whispers, running his thumb tenderly over Sherlock’s cheekbone. “This isn’t an either or, you know. I’m quitting either way. We can stay in London and I can commute.”

“And run yourself into the ground like you’ve done the last three years?” Sherlock shakes his head.  “I don’t think so.”

“It’s a lot to ask,” John says quietly. 

“Listen to me,” Sherlock says, taking John’s face in his hands to ensure John is looking at him. He needs to make John see that this is the very definition of a no-brainer, and in fact one of the easiest decisions of Sherlock's life. “I love the bakery. And I love London, and 221B, but I love you so much more, it’s not even remotely a fair comparison. You’ve always supported me. I think now it’s my turn.  Will you let me do this for you? Please?”

“Well,” John says softly, giving him a small smile. “If you insist.”

“I do,” Sherlock says, kissing John’s forehead gently. “Also, you found me a house with the most beautiful kitchen in the world, and if you think for one second that you’re getting out of this now, then you’re certifiably insane.”

John laughs and sags into Sherlock, obviously relieved. “I haven’t even gotten around to showing you the beehives,” he murmurs into Sherlock’s shirt.

Sherlock smiles into John’s hair. “When do we move in?”

-------

Tags under the cut as always, please let me know if you want to be tagged or untagged. Also, I hope it's not bothering anyone that I'm doing so many ficlets where you kind of need prior knowledge of some of my work. I'm always trying to make them as stand-alone-y as possible.

@dapetty @calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @jrow @peanitbear @jolieblack @meetinginsamarra @helloliriels @keirgreeneyes @lisbeth-kk @friday411 @givemesherbet-blog-blog @salmonsown @weeesi @thalialunacy @thegildedbee

#johnlock #bbc sherlock #my fic #mayprompts2024 #may prompts 2024 #bakers with benefits #secret

[lisbeth-kk]

May Prompts (13) Laugh

The Luckiest Girl in the World (chapter 13)

Summary: Rosie gets a surprising gift from her parents. Later, she surprises her Papa by proposing an interesting experiment.

Thirteen Years Old

I’d wanted one for a long time, but for some reason I’d given up hope, so you can imagine my surprise, when I opened the box Papa handed me.

“But it’s not my birthday yet,” I protested more out of courtesy than actual refusal.

“You need it now, and your birthday is months away. Think of it as a gift in advance if you must,” Papa said impatiently.

That should’ve given it away, but I was so taken aback, and my brain cells probably weren’t at their brightest. The box was heavy and by the look in Papa’s eyes, it was clear that this wasn’t just a tiny thing, but something grand and important.

“Open it before Papa combusts,” Dad suggested with amusement.

Papa huffed and urged me to unwrap the damn box.

“Sweetheart, are you alright?” Dad asked when I’d peered into the now open box.

I had become mute, and apparently also adopted Papa’s way of reacting when something unexpected and sentimental was bestowed upon him - rapid blinking.

“Fine,” I whispered and finally looked up at my expectant and slightly worried parents.

I placed the box with utmost care on the table and fell into Dad’s waiting arms.

“You liked it then?” he inquired.

“Of course!” I exclaimed. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

I kissed his cheek and turned to Papa. His arms embraced me hard.

“Thank you, Papa. I should’ve realised, but I got distracted,” I murmured against his chest.

“You’re welcome, Bee. I’m glad you liked it. You’ll need it the next couple of weeks with that science project of yours, and after that…well, I’m sure we can find some use for it.”

The gift was of course my very own microscope. A professional one like Papa’s. I’d tried his numerous times but having my own meant that I didn’t have to wait for Papa to finish using his. The things I missed were a Bunsen burner, flasks, beakers, tongs and so on, but I gathered that I would be allowed to borrow what I needed under supervision. I was already equipped with safety goggles, gloves and a thick apron. 

Papa had a whole lab set up down in 221C, which he used for his fouler smelling and toxic experiments. I knew I wasn’t allowed down there when one of them was ongoing, but hopefully I could persuade him to let me in if I was cunning enough.

***

In the weeks following my science project, I collected the items I wanted us to examine together. I had no idea if Papa already had studied this and made a spreadsheet like he usually did with things concerning the residents in 221 Baker Street. Truth be told, it was likely that he had, but I decided it was worth a try.

“I have a request,” I said after breakfast a rainy Saturday morning.

It would peak Papa’s interest if I used more adult language, instead of just blurting out: I want to do this and that.

“Pray tell.”

I had to try hard to keep my poker face intact when Papa’s eyes beamed at me from across the kitchen table.

“I know I’m not normally allowed downstairs, but I’ve noticed that there’s no ongoing experiments at the moment.”

I waited for Papa to respond, but he just narrowed his eyes and waved his hand, indicating that I should continue.

“Could we perform an experiment together?”

Dad cleared his throat.

“Nothing dangerous,” I hurried to assure him. “Just…come up to my room and see for yourselves.”

My courage was about to evaporate, but I straightened my shoulders and soldiered on. I added a please for good measure, and we all went upstairs.

I had placed everything on my desk. Zip bags with hair samples, threads from our clothes and fingernails, (alright, the latter was a bit disgusting, but at least it wasn’t toenails). In the petri dishes, I had collected our different shower gels, shampoos, conditioners and hair products. Sadly, Nana used hair spray, so there would be a gap in my spreadsheet.

“What do you think?” I asked expectantly. “We can compare…”

“Rosamund Watson-Holmes, you are brilliant!” Papa exclaimed, quite elated, laughing like a big child at this wonderful prospect.

“I guess, Christmas came early this year,” Dad added dryly. “Have fun, you mad scientists.”

He still shook his head fondly and I could hear him laugh quietly as Papa and I made our way down to 221C for a weekend of lab work.

Also available on AO3

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

Other tags in the replies

#may prompts 2024 #may 13: laugh #sherlock fandom #rosie watson #sherlock #john watson #bbc sherlock #johnlock #sherlock fanfic #ao3 fanfic

[economic-around-employee-again]

#humans are space australians #dank memes #permanent slave #mobius #writer #taz #bbc sherlock #edvin ryding #kat von d #anais nin #french bulldog #painted toes #red velvet #black fashion

[justanobsessedpan]

Family

Ok it's so late because it just took so long, man! 2nd of mine and 12th of @calaisreno 's May prompts. (also why did literally no one tell me the date I put on the last one is of October 11th??? What kinda sick brain-disconnection-prophecy is that supposed to be)

Stay well cuties <3

@totallysilvergirl @helloliriels @dontfuckmylifewtf @sussexinchelsea @loki-lock @topsyturvy-turtely @matixsstuff @ohlooktheresabee @boredsushi @ohmrshudsontookmyskull @nathan-no @astudyin221b @oetkb12 @psychosociogentleman @darkkitty1208 @zira-and-crowley @beesholmes @mydogwatson @liv-olive-oliver @tiverrr @peanitbear @sunshineinyourmind @a-victorian-girl @with-a-ghost-mr-holmes

(Any changes to the taglist, just tell me!)

#i hope we all collectively refuse to acknowledge that every single one of them has unproportionately short legs #like i know and i low key hate it but once you draw one too short pair of legs you just cannot lower the ground for another longer pair of #legs #(hit the character limit oops) #sherlock #johnlock #bbc sherlock #johnlock fanart #purplecurls #my art #<3 #mayprompts2024 #well still technically 2 hrs till midnight in my time zone *shrugs*

[weeesi]

Family - May Prompts (12)

I don’t want this, Sherlock thinks. I cannot want this.

Right?

The whole thing is too complicated, too nebulous. He can’t see the end of it, or grasp the elegant thread that he could confidently follow to the obvious solution.

He’s used to dealing in hard, cold, irrefutable facts. Something either happened or it didn’t. It exists or it doesn’t. It is or it isn’t.

Not this soppy mush of I was wrong about what I wanted and I never thought I would want this and I cannot stop thinking about knowing what I want.

Most of all: what if I make a mess of things.

He reaches for his phone.

Considers googling ‘how to ask someone who might already be your family to become your family formally just to be sure’ but that’s too much effort, so instead he types out and sends the text.

The press of his thumb feels like jumping off a rooftop.

Being aloof, being alone - that’s part and parcel of him now, after all this time, and he cannot in good faith put that aside.

Well. Fuck good faith.

Consider the facts:

Living without them is impossible. That’s the whole of it.

Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.

His phone lights up with John’s reply.

+

Thank you to @calaisreno for the fun prompt series! Tags in the replies. Thanks for reading! 🩵

#mayprompts2024 #johnlock #ficlet #johnlock ficlet #bbc Sherlock

[helloliriels]

Some secrets he thought buried deep ...

Like how he's still trying to keep,

His heart moving on;

But the feeling's so strong,

It keeps waking him up in his sleep.

@johnlocky @fluffbyday-smutbynight @chinike @rhasima @jrow @calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @raina-at @khorazir @keirgreeneyes @lisbeth-kk @chriscalledmesweetie @kittenmadnessandtea @missdeliadili @masterofhounds @purplevatican @whatnext2020 @thegildedbee @safedistancefrombeingsmart @loki-lock @sarahthecoat @bluebellofbakerstreet @weeesi @solarmama-plantsareneat @momma2boys @gaylilsherlock @copperplatebeech @sakshisahu @bs2sjh @meetinginsamarra @dontfuckmylifewtf @marta-bee @wizama @ninasnakie @impalaparkedat221b @dapetty @notjustamumj @thalialunacy @naefelldaurk @sgam76 @janetm74 @friday411 @a-victorian-girl @topsyturvy-turtely @theofficialinternetloner @iwlyanmw @kabubsmagga

#bbc sherlock #johnlock #the empty hearse #john watson #may is for limericks #breathlessly dreaming of your bestie again? #teh #hlv

[bs2sjh]

May 12 - Family

This chapter was written on the train. It's a long time since I've done any writing on a train. But it does mean the GIF will have to be added later, as the train WiFi is awful.😂 Anyway, here we are. Today's instalment of sadness.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

John scrubbed at the blood on his knuckles roughly, partly to clean the minor cuts, partly because the sting helped him to justify the angry response to Sherlock's latest betrayal. To think that a few hours ago, he planned on asking Sherlock if he and Rosie could move back to Baker Street. To become a very modern family. There was no one he could imagine raising his daughter with other than Sherlock. He'd done so from across town for close to seven years. It was time to all be under one roof. 

But no. Sherlock had other plans. He had started acting on those plans without talking them through with him. And now John was angry—partly at Sherlock, mostly at himself for thinking that Sherlock might have changed. He could have sworn Sherlock was different, less self-centred. More willing to consider being part of a family unit. But tonight's episode showed that certainly wasn't the case. 

John was glad that he'd not hit Sherlock. He'd promised himself that he would never lay hands on Sherlock in anger again after that last time in the morgue. But the flinch, the fear in Sherlock's eyes when John had thumped the wall beside him instead. To know that his friend was scared of him. Maybe everything that happened tonight was actually for the best. 

The whole fic can be read here. Part of @calaisreno's May Prompt Challenge.

#sherlock holmes #john watson #sherlock #221b baker street #johnlock #bbc sherlock #sherlock bbc #may prompt challenge 2024 #may prompts 2024 #fic prompt #writing promt #angst #ao3 writer #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #221b ficlet

[ineffablecpp]

Situations:

A. having had a bomb tied to your body and almost died

B. escaping after you attacked the police and became your friend's hostage

Reaction:

"Shit, now ppl will talk and think I'm gay"

SERIOUSLY JOHN WATSON DOES THAT SOUND REASONABLE TO YOU

#johnlock bbc #bbc sherlock #johnlock #sherlock #bbc sherlock holmes

[joyyystick]

will forever be thinking about that scene where john and sherlock were sitting in buckingham palace and sherlock was WEARING NOTHING BUT A DAMN SHEET. SITTING THERE LIKE A COMMON WHORE.

#bbc sherlock #sherlock holmes #john watson #johnlock