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topsyturvy-turtely · 2 months

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scarred from within

a/n: turtely is hurting so obviously one of my bois needs to hurt too.

a/n2.0: i am sorry.

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laying in bed. tears streaming down his cheekbones, into his ears. he hated that feeling of salt drops coming out of him and finding their way back into his body. as if they wanted to crawl back inside. as if his feelings wanted to bury themselves somewhere deep inside, where they couldn't be accessed anymore.

he hated that feeling, but he let it happen. he couldn't bring himself to care enough about his stupid tears in his poor ears to wipe them away.

feeling another tear breaking its way outside, just to hide in his hair again, sherlock thought of him. of all the sweet niceties. of appreciating words, of soft touches. the words never saying enough, the touches never lasting long enough.

his chest hurt and he thought it was ridiculous. heartache? because of an emotion? what a not-at-all-sociopathic thing to have.

and yet. here he was. aching with heartbreak.

hating mary for marrying the love of his life. hating the love of his life for having a different love of his life. love of your life - what does that even mean? sherlock sighed. he knew exactly what it meant to him: that he wanted to do everything with john. he wanted to solve crimes, and run through half of london, knowing he was right behind him. he wanted to talk with john - he always managed to bring the too many, too big, too fast thoughts into some kind of order with his simplicity. but it meant so much more to him than that. it meant that the thought of john was the only thing that kept him alive during his time in serbia. one whiplash - his imaginary john running towards him. second whiplash - john yelling his name. a third whiplash - a hand on his cheek. a fourth - imaginary john telling him to hold on. a fifth - telling him to be strong. a sixth - so he can come home to him. a seventh whiplash - so he can fix him. john would fix him, when he got home. he'd mend his wounded skin, his broken ego, his weakened mind.

that is what he believed in.

he never thought john would hit him too. he never realised his life scrambled the second he stepped over that rooftop. into the nothingness. and fell. he never realised that the mat underneath would not actually save him.

his heart had cracked back then. when he was laying on the concrete - blood all over his face, stinging his eyes, sticking in his hair - but it was john's voice, so weak, so hurt that cracked that thing in his chest. back then he thought "it is for the best. i am doing this for you. i'll come back for you and we'll be okay."

but it wasn't for the best. he had come back for john. and they were not okay.

and for the first time in his life sherlock realised what people meant when they said their heart was broken. there was no way it could ever heal from this.

sherlock felt this with such devastating certainty, it pricked new tears from his eyes. and it felt like those tears were sandpaper, scraping traces of sorrow into his face.

he almost laughed- it sounded and felt like a sob. ironic: he once thought his back was scarred, broken his skin apart, but he was still whole inside, because of john. now he felt broken from within... and his face... was scarred by tears. because of john.

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a/n: i'll write this with capital letters some time and upload it on ao3. rn this felt like it needed to be written without them.

tag list! (tell me if you wanna be added or removed please 💚) @justanobsessedpan @helloliriels @catlock-holmes @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 @jawnn-watson @whatnext2020 @escapingthereality @missdeliadili @kettykika78 @musingsofmyown @7-percent @speedymoviesbyscience @astudyin221b @francj15 @ladylindaaa @we-r-loonies @mxster-jocale @sherlockcorner @noahspector @our-stars-graveside @jobooksncoffee @baker-street-blog @macgyvershe @myladylyssa @battledress @a-victorian-girl @dreamerofthemeadow @oetkb12 @ohnoesnotagain @mutedsilence @jawnscoffee @raenchaosandcozyadashofmurder @lisbeth-kk @quickslvxrr @compact-and-beautiful

#writing is a coping mechanism #it's fine i'm fine #turtely writes #heartbreak #sherlock!whump #johnlock #bbc sherlock #sherlock #john watson #sherlock holmes #angst

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inevitably-johnlocked · 4 months

Note

Hey! I’m relatively new to this fandom, and I was wondering if you have any fic recs for when Sherlock and/or John gets in danger and almost dies and they realise they like each other? Thanks ;)

Hey Lovely!

Welcome to the fandom!!! I hope you're enjoying your time here!!

Nothing specific IMMEDIATELY comes to mind but I can assure youu these lists will probably have something you will enjoy!

Arguments Lead to Confessions

Arguments Lead to Confessions Pt 2.

John Realizes How Important Sherlock is To Him

Whump With Vengeful / Worried / Panicking Partner

Protective Sherlock

Protective Johnlock

If anyone has something specific to add, please do!!

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #help steph find fics #whump confession fics #protective johnlock

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raina-at · 11 months

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Family

John slowly opens his eyes. The room is quiet. The lights are dim, and the television over his bed is showing cartoons on mute. The blanket is uncomfortable and it smells of antiseptics and human misery.

He hates hospitals. Well, on this side of the bed at least.

There’s something heavy and warm lying on one half of his body. He looks down and sees Rosie, fast asleep, her head on John’s shoulder. Apparently, she took a bit of a break from colouring on his leg cast and fell asleep.

It’s impossible to tell what time it is, but he guesses it must be rather late.

The door opens and a nurse comes in. She smiles when she sees him awake. He nods at Rosie and motions her to be quiet and she nods.

“Everything all right?” the nurse asks quietly.

John nods. “So far so good.”

“With a bit of luck, you'll be out of here by the end of the week,” she says, adjusting his pillow. “Your husband should be back in a second, he just stepped out to take a phone call.” She smiles at Rosie’s sleeping form. “Couldn’t get either of them to leave. You have a lovely family.”

“Thank you,” John says, returning her smile, not bothering to correct her about the assumption she made about Sherlock. It’s easier this way, no arguments about visiting hours. Also, he’s used to it. So many people think they’re lovers, and he’s long since stopped even trying to explain that they’re not, because honestly, it doesn’t make any difference.

“Looks like the little one might be out for the night. I’ll bring in a cot for her later, we can settle you both more comfortably.”

“Thank you,” John repeats.

The door opens again, and Sherlock walks in.

“Hey,” John greets him with a weak smile.

Sherlock looks tired, but he returns John’s smile. “Hey yourself.”

The nurse excuses herself, muttering about seeing to the cot.

Sherlock sits down next to John’s bed and scrutinises him with narrowed eyes and what John calls his ‘deduction face’. “You still feel like shit, don’t you?”

“I was hit by a car not 48 hours ago, what do you think?” John asks, but he keeps his tone gentle because Sherlock looks exhausted and worried. “It’s not that bad, though. Could have been worse.”

“Three broken ribs, a broken leg and a light concussion, that’s not trivial, John.”

John holds out his hand and Sherlock takes it, clasps John’s fingers between both of his hands, moving closer to the bed.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” John says, gently, quietly, careful not to wake Rosie.

“Hardly your fault,” Sherlock mutters, looking down at their joined hands with a murderous expression. “That stupid driver. He’s lucky you weren’t hurt any worse, or I would have murdered him with my bare hands. Or maybe I would have just broken all his bones but let him live a life of misery and-”

“Calm down, love, you’re going to wake the Gremlin,” John soothes, squeezing Sherlock’s hand tightly.

Sherlock grumbles something inaudible, but he subsides with the threats.

Silence falls, and John watches Sherlock watch him. There’s obviously something on Sherlock’s mind, but John knows from experience that it’s better to let Sherlock work things out in his own time.

“They didn’t let me see you,” Sherlock finally says, quietly. His eyes drop to John’s hand still entwined with his. “I had to tell them we’re married, otherwise they would’ve made me leave.”

“But you’re next of kin on all of my records,” John answers, frowning in confusion.

“There was a problem with the Internet, they couldn’t access your records.”

“I’m sorry, that must have been stressful,” John says, squeezing Sherlock’s hand. “I remember when they wouldn’t let me see you after you were shot.” He shudders a bit at the memory. “It was horrible. I didn’t know whether you were dead or alive for hours. I had to wait for Mycroft before they’d tell me anything.”

Sherlock looks down at their joined hands again, obviously lost in thought. “I was so scared,” he mutters, almost inaudibly.

“You held it together like a hero for Rosie, though,” John says with a fond smile, remembering Sherlock and Rosie just before he was wheeled into surgery, Rosie holding on to Sherlock’s hand in a death grip, Sherlock white as a sheet but outwardly composed, explaining calmly to Rosie that John would be just fine.

“I was sick in the bathroom when Mrs Hudson came to take her home,” Sherlock mutters, still addressing their entwined hands.

John smiles fondly. “I won’t tell her if you don’t.”

“John-” Sherlock looks up from their joined hands. “This is going to sound incredibly stupid-”

“We should get married,” John says, interrupting Sherlock.

Sherlock looks gobsmacked, and John congratulates himself silently for managing to surprise Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock blinks a few times in the way he has when his mind palace crashes, so John decides to take over the talking out loud part of the conversation. “I’ve thought about it before, but it never seemed urgent. But you know what I thought yesterday, when I saw you standing there? If anything happens to me, they’ll send Rosie to live with my sister, and we can’t let that happen.”

“But-” Sherlock blinks again. “But we’re not-”

“Sleeping together?”

Sherlock nods and actually blushes a bit. “I don’t-”

“You don’t want that, and I understand. I don’t, either. I know you don’t like sex, and I’m not interested in a sexual relationship with you,” John says gently. “But you’re everything else to me. You’re my friend, my confidante, my rock, my partner, my co-parent. My family. We live together, we work together, we’re raising a child together. You know how often I get asked if I have a partner? I never hesitate to say yes because that’s what you are.”

“You said romantic entanglements would complete me,” Sherlock says, his voice hoarse with emotions, his eyes wide and uncertain.

“That was six years ago, and I’ve learned a lot since then. You taught me a lot. Love is complicated, I get that now. And I love you. Not conventionally, but since when do we do anything the conventional way?”

Sherlock smiles slightly, but says nothing, so John continues, “I was always looking for someone who’d stick with me, someone to spend my life with. Well, you’re it for me, Sherlock, and if that’s a problem for you, you’d better tell me right now, because otherwise, you’re stuck with me for good.”

“Not a problem,” Sherlock says, and there’s an expression on his face John has never seen before. Soft and gentle and hopeful. “You’re it for me as well.” He pauses. “And - I love you too. In case that was in any way unclear.”

John smiles, overcome with relief. “So that’s a yes, then? To the whole marriage, adopt the Gremlin, stay with me forever thing?”

“Yes,” Sherlock says, brushing a soft kiss over their joined hands. “That’s a yes.”

I think I never wrote Ace Sherlock/heterosexual John before, but there's a first time for everything. Fluff of the tooth-rotting variety here, sorry for the sappiness two days in a row.

Thanks for keeping us going with the challenges, @calaisreno!

Tagging a few people again: @keirgreeneyes @helloliriels @jrow @meetinginsamarra @catlock-holmes @khorazir @lisbeth-kk @thetimemoves @topsyturvy-turtely @fluffbyday-smutbynight @7-percent @the-reading-lemon and anyone else who wants to play!

#johnlock #bbc sherlock #my fic #johnlock fic #may prompts #family #tooth rotting fluff #ace Sherlock #heterosexual John #queerplatonic relationship #parentlock #slight John whump

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ohwhataniight · 1 month

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The Good that won't Come Out - a trans!Sherlock fic - Part 1

So I started this WIP and have absolutely no patience about sharing it after it is completed. Please forgive my English, it is not my first language. For @gaylilsherlock who suggested the wound dressing trope. To be continued.

___________________________

"Girls, behave. Please."

I didn't think much of the way I'd just referred to a sulking Sherlock and an exasperated Lestrade, both of whom were leaning dangerously over the table in the Scotland Yard office, looking ready to punch each other in the face any minute now. Sherlock was being his usual self, showing off deductions that were only possible for me to follow, given that I live with him and, throughout the past couple of years, have become able to decode his tumultuous trains of thought. I assumed that the patience of my friend and colleague had run out and that he needed some quiet time in order to think this baffling case through, given that he raised the lapels of his coat and announced that he was heading home.

Anyway, I have a date tonight, so I don't really mind letting the case of the poisoned fashion designer go. I am more than fine with the turn of events, actually. I shoot Greg an apologetic look when Sherlock isn't looking and start buttoning my own jacket. I turn to Sherlock. “I won't be back till late. Go home, get some Thai, don't do anything reckless without me.”

He doesn't grace me with an answer to that, of course. “Give Vicky my warmest regards,” he says sarcastically instead, without really meeting my gaze. I decide to ignore his moods – I know better than provoking him when he's way too deep in a case he can't solve yet. I watch him turn around and leave the room with the tail of his impossibly long coat swishing dramatically behind him. I sigh, and follow suit to head to my date, for which I am already late.

It would have been fine if it only happened once, but apparently this is how John speaks, and for some reason it took my by surprise. Again. I should have seen this coming - this is how he really sees me, isn’t it? At least subconsciously - even subconsciously is bad enough. Why doesn’t he ever observe? I blame myself for letting my guard down. Of course, Captain John Watson, the epitome of traditional British masculinity and unchecked heterosexism would resort to such terms of endearment. And now here I am, recalling the words of my dearest brother: “You have let yourself be conquered by sentiment once again, Sherlock. You are entrusting a well-intentioned but vastly ignorant man with secrets you have been hiding ever so industriously throughout your life. I am observing you in sheer terror as you succumb to your miscalculations. How are you planning to proceed after John Watson discovers that you have so... diligently concealed the truth from him, after he reacts?”

Concealed. Truth. I snort. John knows the truth. He knows what he needs to know, he knows as much as he can stomach.

“He’ll have to know, at some point, being your doctor and all.”

“Oh shut up,” I hiss at mind palace-Mycroft, brushing away his rigid figure from my head with a wave of my hand. “John cannot know. He will never see me the same way again if he finds out.”

The night is chilly, my breath materializes before me in the form of smoke: dense, and woefully lacking of tar. I walk into the first corner shop and buy a pack, only to notice that my hands are shaking as I try to light the first cigarette, standing on the side of the pavement, shifting my weight from one foot to another. Pathetic. Look at you. Mycroft is right.

No. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep guessing, and hiding, and pretending it’s all fine.

He accepts and admires the man he thinks you are. Just one misstep and you blow up an entire life you’ve built for yourself, a life you’ve fought so hard for. John learns, and everything goes

fucking

boom.

I have been letting someone in so dangerously close to the core of my being, and yet I still have to live life hanging from the threads of how he sees me, how he reads me, like a pitifully open book yet still stumbling between the lines, faltering when I become too visible, immuring me behind performances and words.

John Watson is failing you.

And how could he not?

(freak)

I shake my head, exasperated. I take in a deep drag of smoke and watch it crystallize in slow motion. The lights of the city that normally surround me with clarity now become blurry and melt around me, pool on my feet like fireflies in a swamp. Smoking doesn’t help. Nothing is helping. My ribs are constricting around what feels like a hole in my chest, pulling me down with the familiar weight that used to press around me like Symplegades before.

What if John Watson had met me before? Maybe then he could have returned my feelings. Maybe he could have loved me if I weren’t who I am.

After all, John Watson is not, will never be gay. And I will never be what he likes.

These thoughts make breathing a strenuous activity. I wish I could ever only inhale nicotine. Not oxygen, especially when it becomes so sparse, not his hot, sweet breath that confiscates mine every time he turns his head as he’s leaning over me to stare at the computer screen, not the odd whiff of salty sweat, not his light musk of earth that is damp that is sturdy -

And then, suddenly, bliss: a distraction. A man in a suede jacket who is up to no good, judging from the long fingernail on his left pinky and the obviously borrowed briefcase that contains information of life and death on his ex wife. I don’t need to intervene, I’m not Clark freaking Kent (see, John? I have some mundane references) but I need something to keep my mind and body occupied other than these dreaded musings on truth and identity and John Watson’s scent, ever present in my nostrils. So I follow him. And he notices. And he quickens his step. And I chase him. In an alley. Good, this is good. Keep that adrenaline pumping. He climbs over some railings. I follow suit. My heart is racing with the rapture of something remotely interesting, finally. My physical deftness has never betrayed me before, until it does. I feel the sharp stab of metal on my ribcage as the railing scratches my side, ripping my shirt underneath my coat, and I feel the warmth of blood spiling from a long scratch on my skin that climbs up to my chest like a vine of poison ivy.

(well, this is unfortunate)

#sherlock holmes #john watson #johnlock #bbc sherlock #johnlock fanfiction #fanfiction #johnlock fic #sherlock #sickfic #Sherlock whump #trans Sherlock #translock #trans!sherlock #trans man Sherlock Holmes #coming out fic #queer #trans #tw: misgendering #(sort of)

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gregorovitch-adler · 1 year

Text

Burnt

His entire body was on fire. Fortunately, some good samaritan had dragged him out of the bonfire. As if God Himself was testing John's faith; taking him to the brink of death and dragging him back.

With half-open eyes, he tried to make sense of his mostly blurred surroundings. John felt the samaritan's hand faintly patting on his cheek and screaming his name. But wait, what was this? The samaritan had shown up in a long, black overcoat; with his black, curly hair falling over his forehead; with no protective gear? This saint had dived straight into the fire without giving a damn about himself.

Sherlock. Of course it was him. He saw a faint figure of Mary too, before the whole world around him blurred and went black.

***

When John opened his eyes, he found himself covered in linen sheets. He tried to touch the fabric of whatever he was wearing. Something loose and thin. Then He looked around himself and gathered that he was in hospital.

His head was throbbing with pain. As if someone had forcefully inserted a hundred nails into his skull and was shaking his head mercilessly.

When he tried to move his face muscles, John felt a bit of swelling around his temple and cheek. There was some swelling on his forehead, too. He tried to touch his face with his left hand and realised that the skin of his face had been charred. His lips were so chapped, they were almost glued together.

His right hand was connected to an IV bag through a syringe and tube. To take care of his dehydrated state, perhaps.

Sherlock was sitting on a chair next to John's bed, hands steepled beneath his chin, and seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

In front of John, there stood a set of bottle-green portable curtains.

Too tired to move, John just turned a head a little in Sherlock's direction. It was as though his head was made of a ton of bricks. "Sherlock." His voice was just above a whisper.

Sherlock was disturbed from his state of trance. He didn't seemed to mind, though. He just got up from his chair and moved it closer to John's bed. Sherlock leaned in, looking concerned. "How are you feeling?"

John thought of a reply. "Smoked."

Sherlock chuckled. "Thought I'd lost you."

"What happened to me? What did the doctors say?"

"Second degree burns, and they suspect a mild concussion. You'll be taken out of here for a CT scan as soon as this IV bag is empty."

John nodded and looked away for a moment. "And what about you?"

Sherlock held out his right palm. It was swollen and red. "The doctor gave me a gel to apply and some pills to consume."

John gulped down his throat, trying to make sense of everything.

Sherlock somehow showed up on time to save his life, and he was the one who went straight into the fire with little protection, enduring first degree burns as a consequence. And John could still remember the way Sherlock was shouting his name.

"Where's Mary?" asked John, frowning.

Sherlock cleared his throat. "She was here in the ER for a while, with me. She's gone home, now. She said that she was exhausted and needed some rest. She had asked me to keep her updated about you."

"How is she, otherwise?"

Sherlock opened his mouth for a moment but then he pursed his lips. "She's fine," he said, after a moment. "She wasn't that close to the bonfire. But she said that whatever she had witnessed was a nightmare and that she needed to leave."

John nodded. So, Mary, his girlfriend, was at a safe distance from the fire. Meanwhile Sherlock had risked his life for him that night.

Not that John blamed Mary for thinking about her own safety. Any sane person in her place would've done the same. John was just trying to take it all in.

Sherlock, the same man whom John had punched- three times no less, that too at a public place- was still in the hospital, sitting beside his bed and enduring first degree burns himself; meanwhile Mary had gone home when she saw fit.

This didn't make much sense. John was comparatively stable, now. Why didn't Sherlock leave, or at least go out of the ER for some time to take a break?

John looked over at the IV bag. It was still half-full. The rate of drops was quite slow.

John recalled the night he had strangled Sherlock and winced.

"What is it, John? You okay?" asked Sherlock.

John came out of his thoughts and looked at Sherlock with his brows furrowed. "Why did you fake your death again?"

Sherlock gaped at John with his eyes narrowed. "John, now is not the time-"

"It can take half an hour or more for this bag to be empty. We both have nothing else to do. May as well talk."

"I tried to, that night," said Sherlock, looking away with a neutral face. "Last time I remember, my nose was bleeding. Figured you weren't quite interested in talking," he said dryly.

John's nose was flared and his lips must forming a thin line. "Well, last time I remember, someone had made me grieve pointlessly for two bloody years."

"I didn't do that willingly. Moriarty had compelled me to do that," said Sherlock in a raised volume.

"Couldn't you have let me in on your plan? Many other people as known about your suicide being fake. Why not me?"

Sherlock closed his eyes and sighed in exasperation. "Would you just listen to what happened from my side? Without your annoying interruptions?"

"That's not-"

"Listen to me John. Otherwise we're not talking about this thing again."

John bit his lower lip and stared ahead at the curtains. He clenched his jaw and nodded.

"I had asked you to go to Baker Street, when someone told you that Mrs Hudson was shot, over the phone. You rushed to 221, Baker Street, only to find Mrs Hudson perfectly alright. I had to go to the roof top at of that hospital, alone, in the meantime."

John turned to look at Sherlock, abruptly. "Hang on. So, you knew that the phone call was fake?"

Sherlock pursed his lips and nodded.

"And you still let me go?" John asked, feeling hurt.

"I had wanted to go with you, up there. Moriarty must have ordered his minions to plant that hoax phone call to push you away from me. What was I to do? I had no choice but to go ahead with whatever he was doing to get the knack of his motive." Sherlock compressed his lips. "Sorry about that, too."

"Continue," said John with a nod.

"When I was there, facing him finally, I thought it was probably for the best that you had gone. He was playing mind games even during those final moments. He told me that there was no keycode. It was all a lie.

"I was trying hard to find a way out of all this, so that I wouldn't have to have to fake my death, or worse yet, die for real."

"Then he asked me jump off the roof, telling me that he had planted three snipers on you, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade. All three of you would die if I didn't jump.

"He revealed that those snipers could only be called off at his signal. And then he shot himself in the mouth, later on, blowing his brains out." Sherlock paused for breath.

John gasped softly. He wanted to reach out for Sherlock's hand to hold.

"If I'd not jumped from the roof to go ahead with Mycroft's plan, that was to fake my death in front of those snipers, they would've killed you.

"You had figured that the phone call was fake and were back at the pavement across the road from that hospital," said Sherlock and bit his bottom lip.

"My staged suicide had to look convincing to everyone, including you, John. I did what I had to. I'm sorry for hurting you like this."

John's heart sank and his brows were furrowed. "It's not the staged suicide itself that made me angry. Your timing was shitty, showing up at the restaurant in a waiter's disguise, just when I was about to propose to Mary. And you laughed at my moustache, on top of everything."

Sherlock looked down at his lap. "Sorry again."

"You don't have to keep apologising. What happened next? Where did you go?"

"Many parts of the world, trying to dismantle Moriarty's network. Most of my days were spent in Eastern Europe. Serbia, mainly."

"Why?"

Sherlock screwed his eyes shut. "You don't want to know."

John's lips were parted. "Yes, I do. Please, tell me what happened there."

Sherlock swallowed. "I'd been abducted and those people had trapped me in a small dungeon. I was confined within those four walls, chained and handcuffed."

"Jesus! What else?" John's eyes were pricking with tears around the corner.

"They used to whip me frequently, on my back. Sometimes they would use a knife, with or without burning flames, as they pleased. Starved me to death. Didn't let me sleep for days altogether."

John's eyes were welling up. He blinked furiously and swallowed. "Sherlock," he whispered. "I strangled you and your back had hit the floor that night, and your wounds were still fresh? I even punched you, three times, no less, in that condition. It's good that I'm here, I guess. Burnt. I had it coming."

"Don't say that-"

"But it's true!" John exclaimed and closed his eyes tightly as tears were streaming down his cheeks. "I'm so sorry, Sherlock. I didn't have the first idea. I seriously apologise for hurting you after what you'd already been through," he said kept sobbing for a while, aggravating his headache even more. He stifled his sobs with his hand and tried to cover his face. "Could- could you please forgive me?"

Sherlock grabbed John's hand and held it tightly in his own. "Of course, I can. I already have. I didn't even think about it in that way. You did not have the full picture of the situation. You didn't know," he said and interlocked their fingers. "I told you, now was not the time."

John kept crying softly for some time. He had been in love with Sherlock, when they were still living together. John hadn't dared to say anything, for the sake of maintaining their friendship.

John still felt the same way about Sherlock, even more so after everything he had learnt about him, just now.

John had been in a relationship with Mary so that he could create an illusion of being alive. Because to him, Sherlock really was dead at that time. He had liked Mary but the love he had felt for Sherlock was something else. So far beyond. He really was an idiot for physically hurting Sherlock like this.

At the back of his mind, John couldn't help but feel actually good about his proposal being interrupted, that night. He'll have to explain himself to Mary, of course. Break it off with her, probably. But that discussion could wait.

John wiped his tears from his eyes and hissed in pain because of a burning sensation. He stopped crying and turned to look at Sherlock. "I'm really sorry."

Sherlock was still holding his hand. He gave it a squeeze. "It's fine. I mean it," he said, holding John's gaze in his own.

John couldn't take his eyes off Sherlock. Something about the way Sherlock was looking at him... he had never seen that emotion in Sherlock's eyes before. What was it?

That's when it hit him: could it be love? It seemed to make sense, given the physical and mental torture Sherlock must have been through for two years, for John's safety.

And after he was abducted and pushed inside the bonfire, Sherlock had saved his life, yet again, while Mary was standing far away. First degree burns were no joke. The way Sherlock was screaming his name; the panic in his eyes at that time.

"Why was I kidnapped, Sherlock?" John needed to know. "I thought those people were after you. Why did they kidnap me, then?"

Sherlock broke the gaze and looked away, freeing his hand from John's. "Uh... I don't know. Good question. Speaking of which, I need to go through the graphs and posters that I'd made for this case, at home. I'll get back to it, once we're out of here."

Sherlock's mere hesitation and the way he had abruptly changed the topic looked like a confirmation, in itself.

It was love.

"How long have you been sitting here?" asked John.

"As soon as we were allowed to visit you in this ER," said Sherlock and shrugged. "The doctor had asked us to wait outside for about an hour. He then asked us to visit you. You were still unconscious, probably sleeping, when we got here. For two hours, probably."

"Go out and eat something. I'll be alright."

"Don't be an idiot," Sherlock said, bending over to grab his phone from the table beside John's bed.

John came to the conclusion that Sherlock's actions made little sense if they were not out of love for him. John tore his gaze off Sherlock's face and looked away with a small smile.

"Thanks for telling me everything," said John.

Sherlock nodded, without looking up from his phone.

"My turn to be honest," said John and took a deep breath. Sherlock looked at him with curiosity. Time to just spit it out. "I love you." It had come out in a whisper.

Sherlock gaped at John with his eyebrows raised. "Aren't you engaged?"

"No. Not technically. I was planning to end things with her, anyway. Apparently, I'm unable to stop feeling for you the way I do. Continuing this relationship is not exactly fair."

Sherlock reached out to hold John's hand again but hesitated. John was the one to interlock their fingers this time.

"Why did you go out with her, at all? I thought you had moved on when I decided to visit you in that restaurant."

John shook his head and squeezed Sherlock's hand. "I didn't. I was with her because I was trying to move on. You were dead and so I thought it was time I did. I failed, obviously."

Sherlock leaned in quite close. John could feel Sherlock's breath on his lips. "What if I told you to stop trying to move on?"

John smiled again. "I already have."

Their faces came even closer and they pressed their lips together. John grabbed the collar of Sherlock's shirt as they kissed again. They shared a few more kisses and then Sherlock kissed John's forehead as he sat back.

"I love you too, John." That same emotion was back in his eyes.

John couldn't stop grinning. The transportation staff will be here, anytime soon, to take him out of here for a CT scan. He closed his eyes and was still smiling, feeling quite relieved, after what had felt like ages since the time Sherlock had supposedly died. "I'll break it off with Mary, as soon as I'm out of here."

"I know," said Sherlock, squeezing his shoulder.

Knowing what the future held for him and Sherlock, John felt like he could truly take some rest.

»»————><————««»»————><————««

Thanks for reading! Tags: @helloliriels @topsyturvy-turtely, @lisbeth-kk @totallysilvergirl, etc.

(Somewhat inspired by this post).

Prompt Rest by @notjustamumj (May 13).

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safedistancefrombeingsmart · 9 months

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SMARTIN'!

it is your time to shine!!! please send some great (not too long... under... around 10k words please) hurt/comfort fic rec? (preferably where john hurt his leg/foot...)

love

-your dumbass and broken turtely

Why do you send this to me while I am on vacation? And something so specific, and with such a limit? But ok, I'll try my best. Because I like you.

Warning- most fics are quite graphic.

Not Dying Today by Morgan_Stuart (2.659 words) The first (and only) time John saw Sherlock and Anderson work well as a team without complaint, they were performing CPR on Lestrade.

Breathe into me by Moonlessnite (2.672 words) Sherlock and John are caught in an unexpected explosion.

Death meets, and loses them both, so they can find each other.

Catastrophe Medicine by lasuen (11.061 words) Chasing after a pyromaniac bomber Sherlock and John wind up in a deserted building which explodes and leaves them trapped under the rubble, both severely injured. Some hard-core bromance ensued.

Code 221b by whitchry9 (6.528 words) (John actually injures a leg in one of the chapters) Sherlock Holmes is well known to the paramedics of London. So when John Watson comes into the picture, it seems like a fantastic solution. Someone would take care of Sherlock and prevent all those problems. Of course, they didn't think about what would happen if John was hurt. (They really should have.)

Crash by Laur (4.592 words) John is hit by a car and Sherlock reacts rather strongly. I imagine this happening some time between The Hounds of Baskerville and The Reichenbach Fall.

The Third Brother by uglycrow (4.586 words) During the legwork of a case, John is injured preventing an attack made on Sherlock; with help a ways away and John's injury too much to leave alone, he has no choice but to talk Sherlock through the necessary steps to treat him.

Moments of Peace (Amidst the Chaos) by FannishMinded (words 1.964) John heard the screech, and his eyes whipped to the side as he desperately tried to move forward, just get across, get out of the- it was too late. He was shoved, pushed, flying, he wasn’t sure of anything besides that in this second, he might die- and by something as stupid as being hit by a car. It was silent, long seconds as he bounced, he knew his arm at least had taken most of the brunt of the blow. Time sped up as he took his next breath, then he took another. His arm was splayed out, broken, left arm, always that damn side… right knee, dislocated, probably. Another breath, sound, rushing sound, wind near him, he looked over, and he screamed.

Silver Linings in Golden Tinsel by 88thParallel (CanadaHolm) (7.081 words) Sometimes, you have to lose your house to find your home.

The Shoulder by LMDrums (3.999 words) What happens when John takes an unexpected blow to the shoulder during a case?

Emergency Measures by Quietlymischievous (3.791 words) A few minutes later, after the laughter had run its course, John nudged Sherlock’s foot with his own. “Thank you for saving my life, Sherlock. Thank you for all the times you have saved my life.”

Sherlock pressed his foot back against John’s. “I’ve been told it’s the thing to do when one has a friend.”

John gains more proof his friend is definitely not a sociopath.

A Dangerous Mix by bakerstreetgirl (7.728 words) John gets injured during a case and returns to Baker Street without Sherlock to nurse his wound. Everything is fine and John had been his happy, calm self. So why does Sherlock find him with a mysterious drug running through his veins a short while later? Will John survive? For once, Sherlock is clueless, but luckily Lestrade is more competent in a crisis than Sherlock gives him credit for and Sherlock makes a decision that will affect the rest of his life.

Very Good Indeed by stillwaters01 (4.144 words) John Watson was a doctor, trained to observe details; a fact Sherlock had never been more aware of than when a drugged John’s lifesaving instructions were based on an unlabeled syringe and an unconscious murder suspect’s body:

Not many with a foot/ leg injury that fit within the 10k word limit.

So, I'll add a few which go slightly over the yord limit. ;)

You've Got A Friend by LyricalSinger (20.515 words) When John gets injured at the end of a case, Sherlock announces that he will be the one to aid John during his recovery because he is the best person to take on the job … obviously. While John has no qualms about putting his fate in the hands of his flatmate, it seems everyone else does

Repairing the Broken Things by BakerTumblings (75.216 words) "I'm calling today to notify you that there's been an accident."

The last one is in this list simply because I wanted @bakertumblings included who writes such great John whump and whump in general. Also, it is my favourite fic- and it even includes a leg injury! :D

These are just the ones from my bookmarks, there are more I have read and liked, but don't have the time to find back now. Enjoy!

#john watson #sherlock holmes #johnlock #hurt comfort #fic recs #fanfiction #john watson whump #hurt john watson

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cupidford · 1 year

Text

A Doctor in the House by KittenKin

S3 fix it. Sherlock returns, with John immediately taking care of him as his doctor. John uses index cards as a guide to speaking with him, and Sherlock in turn has questions.

Johnlock Love Letters #2305

#jl3 #johnlockloveletters #johnlock #loveletters #s3 fix it #hurt/comfort #love confessions #slow burn #first kiss #A Doctor in the House #KittenKin #<50k #Doctor John #Hurt Sherlock #Sherlock Whump #Sherlock!whump #johnlock fic recs

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thetimemoves · 1 year

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2022 in Review

I wrote two fics this year. I had hoped to finish more, but I can’t be too disappointed. Two fics! I wrote none for many, many years. Plus, this year was Not Great, so I will take all the wins I can get. That said, my drafts folder is bursting; I am optimistic for 2023!

Resetting the Break

When Mycroft Holmes finds himself on John Watson’s doorstep after Sherlock’s (miraculous, melodramatic) return, he wonders at himself. He doesn’t do this, groundwork.

This is Sherlock’s mess, not his (lies), but he feels inexplicably compelled to defend his blasted brother. To John Watson, of all people.

Metamorphosis

Their poolside confrontation with Moriarty casts John and Sherlock adrift and leaves them struggling to reconnect.

Enter Maya Sutherland, whose case of love and deception brings a familiar face back into their lives and shocks them into action.

- - -

What have you created this year? Tagging @discordantwords @calaisreno @educatedinyellow @helloliriels @clevermanka and any of you who’d like to share! Please tag me if you do!

#year in review #fanfic #bbc sherlock #johnlock #feelings #whump #mycroft and john #(platonic)#my fic #here's to more next year!#i have so many drafts #so many

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consult-sherlockholmes · 2 years

Note

Oh, you sound so sad ...

I am not sad. I do not feel sadness. All just sentiment, a chemical defect soon to be corrected.

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topsyturvy-turtely · 11 months

Text

Let Me Fix You (Johnlock OS)

for the one and only @safedistancefrombeingsmart <3

“Fuck! I mean- shite! Oh, bloody hell!” John watched as that asshole run away, clutching the knife wound he had left on him. “Jesus Christ. I hate you.”

“John! Why are you- Did you get hurt?”, Sherlock came running towards him.

“No, I am cursing because it is fucking funny. Of course, I am hurt, you bloody-“, John bit his tongue. “He barely missed my scar.”, he added, more quietly.

There was actual concern shining in Sherlock’s eyes. “How bad is it? Let me loo-“

“I am fine!”, John turned his body away in a quick movement. It hurt. He gritted his teeth and pushed air out through them. It made a funny noise, almost like a whistle. “Let’s just get home.” John already walked back out on the brighter lit main street.

“Don’t you think we should call a doctor-“

“I am a fucking doctor!”

“But John-“

“I am goddamn fine fucking enough, okay. Now just do your-”, John let go of his wound to wave vaguely with his good arm in the air. “Thing and get us a bloody cab.” John talked- yelled too loudly, too aggressively. But he didn’t care right now. He was pretty sure he wasn’t even cut that badly. But he was pissed as hell and the asshole stabbing him got away and there was no one else around to yell at. So his flatmate would just have to endure it. John had gone through worse with him.

When Sherlock stared a bit too long at him, John grunted. Immediately Sherlock moved to get them a cab.

(keep reading = link to ao3 and funfacts)

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title: Let Me Fix You

fandom: Sherlock (TV)

words: 1,932

summary: John gets injured during a case. He is pissed as hell. And determined he will stitch himself up. It's not his fault he forgot that Sherlock actually cares about him.

additional tags:

Whump, John Whump, John Watson Whump, POV Third Person, Hurt John Watson, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, and takes care of him, Angry John Watson, Worried Sherlock, Angst, okay probably not actually angst lol, Hurt/Comfort, maybe?, bro idk, doctors are the worst patients, John is a living example for that, Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, I take no responsibility for medical accuarcy, You Have Been Warned, DO NOT COPY TO ANOTHER SITE OR APP, Light Dom/sub, Dom/sub Undertones

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tagging list (tell me if you wanna be added or removed💚) @catlock-holmes @justanobsessedpan @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 @7-percent @speedymoviesbyscience @astudyin221b @francj15 @captaincrucnh @ladylindaaa @we-r-loonies @mxster-jocale @sherlockcorner @noahspector @our-stars-graveside @jobooksncoffee @baker-street-blog @quickslvxr @macgyvershe @myladylyssa @johnlock2708 @battledress @a-victorian-girl @dreamerofthemeadow @oetkb12 @ohnoesnotagain @mutedsilence @muddboi

#turtely writes #for smartin'#johnlock fic #let me fix you #happy about reblogs 🥰#johnlock ficlet #johnlock oneshot #johnlock #bbc sherlock #sherlock x john #sherlock #john watson #sherlock holmes #whump!john #john whump #hurt/comfort #(or sth idk)

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