#sherlock whump

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hi! I hope you are having/have had a great day

I would like to request your services for finding a BBC Sherlock fic. In it, at 221b, Sherlock gets very sick with like a cold or the flu. So much so that, in Sherlock's pov, he is speaking in English, but John hears another language entirely and he doesn't understand what Sherlock is saying. And Sherlock is convinced he is speaking in English. John calls Mycroft in for help

I would really appreciate it if I could be pointed in the right direction

Thanks in advance!

Hey Nonny!

OOOOOHHH I'm annoyed because I feel like I've read this one, or at least recced it before, but it's escaping me.

Anyone able to help us out??

#steph replies #johnlock fic reqs #help steph find fics #sick fics #sherlock whump #whump fics #sick sherlock fics

[ceruleanmindpalace]

Inktober No. 2: Cornered

Prompt from the @whumptober prompt list.

Sherlock wearing Watson's nightshirt in my story 'The Chemist'

Digital Art, this time using the 'charcoal' brushes.

I am flattered if you reblog but don't post my art on other sites/social media or use in any way without my written permission.

#Sherlock #benedict cumberbatch #whumptober #inktober 2022 #whump #sherlock whump #sherlock holmes #sherlock fanart #autistic sherlock

[ohwhataniight]

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)

[cupidford]

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

[i-dont-talk-for-days-on-end]

@febuwhump Day 15: Self-Sacrifice

You can now find my contributions to FebuWhump on Ao3!

When they take him away, he can still hear John’s exclamation, “Christ, Sherlock!” more a groan than anything else.

He feels numb and strangely calm for just having shot a man in cold blood. Maybe this is just the final proof that Sherlock has never been a good person. Maybe he has just deleted his feelings.

Sherlock has killed people before. When he was away on his mission to take down Moriarty’s network, he has laid traps, handed criminals down to their just as criminal enemies, injured people in self-defence and left them behind. But he has never before looked at someone for two minutes and decided he’d have to kill them, then pulled the trigger without hesitation.

He knows he can’t get out of this. He doesn’t deserve it. He has rid the world of a dangerous and cruel man, but Sherlock is a murderer now, a dangerous and cruel man himself.

He will never forget the look on John’s face. John has shot a man for him years ago and it was the beginning of the best time of Sherlock’s life, no matter how macabre that sounds. That it should end with Sherlock repeating the action is ironic, and it would make for a great stylistic device for John’s blog.

Sherlock aches to go back to that day.

Mycroft will manage matters, of course. He won’t let Sherlock go to prison for murder and high treason. He will find another, much more humane method to kill Sherlock, and Sherlock will accept it willingly. His time has run out. He has always known this day would come, and he has long suspected it would be for the sake of John Watson. He was granted reprieve when he came back to London not even a year ago. Maybe he hasn’t used his time well, but what had there been left to do?

Death had been close on his heels for years now. Sherlock would be outrun soon.

#febuwhump #febuwhumpday15 #febuwhump2023 #sherlock bbc #sherlock holmes #my writing #ficlet #whump #sherlock whump #his las vow #hlv

[iwanderalot]

i love this fandom

#bbc sherlock #sherlock incorrect quotes #sherlock fanfic #sherlock holmes #sherlock and mycroft #i am sherlocked #sherlock fanart #sherlock imagine #sherlock whump #benedict cucumber #cumberbitches #cumbercollective #benedict timothy carlton cumberbatch #cumberbatchedit #im sad lmao #humor #fandom

[astudyinsoulmates]

how badly it would have hurt: for sherlock to have imagined, a thousand times, that he was back in the warmth and comfort of 221B, with john right across from his chair. in a damp space between buildings during the dead of night with the constant shadow of death looming over every breath he took, he’d escape into his mind for a few seconds of peace. try so desperately to remind himself what all this was for, of what will be waiting when he came home. it was his only saving grace: the thought of home, and of john, and of what awaits his return— only to have reality come crashing down as the hands, those that he’d hallucinated tending to his wounds with sweet touches after a particular rough-up he got somewhere in romania, came to grab with such force as to bring him down onto the restaurant floors.

#sherlock whump #bbc sherlock #johnlock #tjlc #midnight thoughts

[speculaasenjoyer]

whumptober 2023 – day 1 (drugging)

God, he missed being high.

But not this kind of high.

Not when it wasn’t self-administered.

It was all blurry and messy – not only his thoughts, he bitterly realised. His vision was blurry and messy. His aching head was definitely blurry and messy. And his clothes were simply messy. Not to mention his throbbing forearm where crimson blood was dribbling slowly from, staining his once finely pressed shirt. He winced in pain as he flexed the muscles in his arm to see how bad the situation was.

It was really bad.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had missed a vein so badly. It was probably in his early twenties. But this… this wasn’t him. Couldn’t be. It was someone else. Someone drugged him.

As the fog in his brain began to lift, his thoughts became more and more organised. And that’s when fear kicked in: he had no idea where he was. Or why he was there. But most certainly, he couldn’t remember shooting up in the first place. Why did he do it? Maybe he had a fight with John again. Or worse; with his brother. God, when he finds out. He doesn’t have to find out, he reminded himself. All he had to do was get home, take a shower, and possibly clean up the ugly wound on his forearm before it got infected if it hadn’t already. But where was home? Where was he?

The questions darted into his head like bullets shot from a machine gun. They hurt. He looked around. He was leaning on a dirty waste bin in a trash-filled alley, probably behind a Chinese restaurant, judging by the sweet smell of rotting chicken, honey, and soy sauce. The sudden flood of information and the smell had their effect; he folded in half, retching. Nothing came up. Which was noteworthy. So, he hadn’t eaten or been home for some time. Not good. Not good at all.

Rubbing his mouth, he checked if he had his phone on him. He didn’t. Exasperated, he kicked the bin, which would have resulted in him crying out loud in pain because 1) he was barefoot, and 2) the bin was made of metal, but he was still coming down from whatever was administered to him, granting him a delightful bliss of temporary insensitivity. He glared at the reddening pinkie of his right foot while thinking. Where were his bloody shoes? Why would someone take his shoes and socks? Was he robbed? He checked his wallet now – surprisingly, he still had it in the back pocket of his slacks. Not a penny was missing.

Now, where was he? Yes, deducing. Before he could leave the scene and get on with his day, he had to gather as much information as possible to reconstruct the events that led him to that utterly inelegant place. Firstly, he was looking for a syringe or something indicating that the drugging happened there. No luck. His shoes? Nope. His phone? Same. A shiver ran over him. He couldn’t find his jacket or his beloved Belstaff either. Luckily, he had a couple of them ready to wear at Baker Street, but it always saddened him when he had to say goodbye to a coat. It was the third he had lost. And the first he couldn’t remember what happened to it.

Just when he reached the loud and busy main road, it started to rain. Great. It wasn’t the merciful or gracious kind of rain though; it was ruthless and… heavy. And very cold. It made him feel very cold at least. He cleared the dampened strings of hair out of his eyes. He was closer to home than he’d thought. It took him not more than fifteen minutes to enter the flat with the spare keys he secretly kept under his neighbour’s doormat. In the doorway, he shook himself like a wet dog and tried to unclog his ears from the nasty little raindrops that found their way inside them.

He barged into the living room and immediately started to unpeel the uncomfortably wet clothes that were clinging to his skin. Leaving the clothes on the floor as they were, he marched to the bathroom. Usually, a hot shower solved 99% of his problems. But that 1% was standing right in front of him. He hadn’t expected anybody to be at home at this time of the night let alone be awake. And looking at him. At his naked and bruised and shivering body.

“Good evening to you too, Sherlock”, John said as he turned on the light. Shit.

“He–hello, J’hn”, he tried to reply, but the drugs were still in effect, and even if they weren’t, the pure shock would have been sufficient for him to be tongue-tied.

“You’re joking, aren’t you?” the sandy-blonde-haired man scoffed. But before the detective could have answered, he continued. “Are you… are you high right now? What the hell did you do?”

“It’s not what it looks like, I promise,” Sherlock said with arms defensively stretched out in front of himself, revealing the big and nasty wound on his right forearm.

“Oh, God.” A change in his tone. “What happened?”

He dropped his arms and crossed them in front of himself. All he wanted to do was to collapse on the floor, lie on his side, and disappear.

“I–I don’t r’lly… I don’t know. I don’t know, John. I don’t…” he mumbled. Soon after he fell to his knees.

“Shh, Sherlock, it’s okay.” John quickly stepped to the sofa, grabbed a blanket, and covered the now uncontrollably shaking man. “I’m sorry I raised my voice. I’ve been worried sick for the last three days. You just… left. Without your phone, which is never a good sign in your case. And then you come back like this…” he sat down before the crying-trembling Sherlock Holmes and rested his hand on his thigh. John didn’t need to be a doctor to see how awful his friend looked. And he started to believe that Sherlock had told him the truth when he said he didn’t know what happened. However, he was indeed high.

“’m sorry. So, so sorry.”

“It’s alright, now rest. Just rest. Here you go, mate,” the doctor helped the tall figure lie down and put the Union Jack pillow under his wet-haired head.

“But–”

“We’ll discuss it in the morning, but now you should just sleep it off, okay? Good night, Sherlock.”

A big yawn, and Sherlock Holmes was finally asleep. It wasn’t a peaceful sleep, and his dreams were black and foggy, but everything could wait until morning. Everything.

#ailesswhumptober2023 #whumptober 2023 #sherlock whump #tw drugging #bbc sherlock #ficlet #whump #sherlock angst #angst

[consult-sherlockholmes]

Hi Sherlock!

What are you up to today? Anything fun? Any cadavers?

No fun, just boredom, dread and misery. @consultjohnwatson says I have to stay at home, rest and best just stay in bed because he is convinced that I have a 'fever' and 'caught a cold'. He is just overreacting once again, I'm fine. Except the fact that I am dreadfully horribly bored.

#i hate everything and everyone #sherlock roleplay #roleplay #johnlock roleplay #rp #sherlock rp #johnlock rp #sick sherlock #sherlock answers #sherlock answering asks #sickfic #sherlock whump

[gladnxofxgallifrey]

So, I did not get a chance to do Inktober because of setting up a haunted house, so I think I am going to go through November, finishing as much as them backwards as I can. So here is the '31' with the Whumptober Prompt "You can Rest Now." Since they are going to be mostly Sherlock, I'll post them here.

#sherlock #Sherlock BBC #sherlock whump #whumptober2022 #inktober2022

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hi there supersonic person! I see in your off line lists you have some new caretaker/doctor John. I’d love to see those please. Thank you.

Hi Lovely!!

AHHHH I DO I DO I DOOOOOO! Here are the fics I've got for ya on that new list! Feel free to add more friends!

DOCTOR / CARETAKER JOHN Pt. 5

See also:

Doctor / Caretaker John

Doctor / Caretaker John Pt. 2

Doctor / Caretaker John Pt. 3

Doctor / Caretaker John Pt. 4

Sherlock is Sick/Hurt (Sherlock Whump)

Sherlock Whump Pt. 2

Sherlock In An Accident

My Unfortunately Average Sized Cranium by Haelia (K+, 996 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Headache, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Past Drug Use, Doctor John) – In which Sherlock has a migraine. ALMOST Johnlock. Not quite.

Mizzle by MrsNoggin (K, 1,233 w., 1 Ch || Friendship, Fluff, Platonic Johnlock, Humour, Slice of Life) – John can't decide if it's raining or not. Sherlock doesn't understand.

You're a Doctor, Fix me by edken (K+, 8,792 w., 2 Ch. || Humour, Romance, Sick Sherlock) – Sherlock doesn't do anything halfway, and that includes getting sick. John nurses a very sick flatmate back to health using cuddles, forehead kisses, and a massage. Humor, and fluff promised as always, but also some character analysis because who doesn't love that?

The Slow Dance and Death of a Carbon Copy by batslikepastel (T, 15,576 w., 8 Ch. || Angst with Happy Ending, Mutual Pining, Mental Health Issues, Mary is Not Nice, Idiots in Love, Eventual Fluff, Developing Relationship, Alcoholism, Love Confessions, BAMF John, First Kiss) – He hasn’t talked to Sherlock outside the bedroom since that first night. Today, though, when Sherlock painstakingly makes John’s favourite breakfast- eggs Benedict- he smiles delightedly and kisses his cheek. “Thanks, Mary.” The first sign of delusion.

Division by MrsNoggin (E, 19,542 w., 11 Ch. || Coffee Shop AU || First Kiss/Time, Fluff, Barista Sherlock, Clingy Sherlock, POV John, John’s Limp, Bed Sharing, Fluff, Sleepy Cuddles, Sensuality, Touching, Virgin Sherlock, Insecure John) – John likes mysteries. And every morning he dips into the local independent coffee bar with his newspaper and ponders another... one Sherlock Holmes.

How To Unfold a Heart by elwinglyre (E, 25,477 w., 7 Ch. || Post S4 Fix It, BAMF John, Mentioned Eurus, POV First Person Sherlock, Case Fic, Fluff, Slow Burn Topping from the Bottom, 3 Yr Old Rosie, Introspection, Sexual Fantasies, John Worship, Ogling, Hand Holding, Kidnapping, Domesticity, Sherlock Whump, First Kiss/Time, Doctor John, Caring John, Soft Sherlock, Sensuality, Touching, Crying, Love Confessions, Anxious Sherlock, Rimming, Toplock, Fingering, Bossy Bottom John) – To Sherlock’s dismay, John’s return to Baker Street with Rosie is only temporary. Sherlock’s daily visits to Regent Park with John and Rosie illuminate his lost childhood memories and missed opportunities. But with each trip to the park, Sherlock also feels a growing sense of hope. That is until the past horrors return unexpectedly in a cryptic note folded in the shape of a heart. To decipher the message, Sherlock must uncover the nature of the hearts around him, including his own.

Lucifer's Gardens by ampersand_ch (E, 32,679 w., 12 Ch. || GERMAN VERSION|| Romance, Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Murder, Poison / Drugging, Mystery, John Undercover, Academic Club, Therapy, Rituals, Jungian Archetypes, Doctors & Physicians, Grief/Mourning, Esotericism, Hospitals, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, John Falls In Love With Another Man, Jealous Sherlock, Crying, Doctor John, Hand Holding, First Kiss/Time, Mysticism, Hugging, Touching) – John goes undercover for an investigation as a favour to Lestrade in a village in Suffolk. The events surrounding the case awaken deep-seated fears in Sherlock. While John begins to come to a realisation of what he needs in Lucifer's Gardens, Sherlock tries to find a way to reach John – in more ways than one.

The Hollow Woman by ScopesMonkey (M, 51,335 w., 22 Ch. || Post-TRF, Major Character Death, Mystery, Romance, Friendship, Family, Angst, Crime, Reunion, First Kiss / Time, Nightmares, Doctor John, Jealous Sherlock, Jealous John, BAMF John, Angry John, Dub-Con, Rough Sex, Bottomlock, Possessive John, Villain Mary, Open Ending) – Forced to return to London sooner than expected, Sherlock falls into a case too close to home. Part 1 of the Hollowverse series

Lunar Landscapes by J_Baillier (M, 57,046 w., 21 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || S3/TAB Fix-It, Slow Burn Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Confessions, Drugs, Pain, Medical, Injury, Sherlock Whump, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Romance, Secrets, Tragedy, Trauma, BAMF John, Doctor!John, Drug Addict Sherlock, Injured Sherlock, Grieving John, Idiots In Love,  Protective John, POV John Watson, PTSD Sherlock, Sherlock is a Mess, Medical Realism) – An accident forces John to face the fact that Sherlock's downward spiral had started long before his flight to exile even left the tarmac.

Gold Rush by ShirleyCarlton (E, 71,783 w., 17 Ch. || Post S3 / No Mary, Friends to Lovers, Mentions of Past Sexual Abuse, First Kiss, Case Fic, Slow Burn, Alternating POV, Switchlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Marriage Proposal, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Abduction, Anxious/Insecure Sherlock, Miscommunication, Emotional Lovemaking) – John has divorced Mary and pops round to 221B one evening to find Sherlock in the middle of a case. As Sherlock tries to find the identity of a young woman’s stalker, John realises he can no longer deny his feelings for Sherlock – which then, to their befuddlement, turn out to be mutual. Shy kisses and tentative embraces ensue. But will Sherlock be able to cast off a shadow from his past that he thinks might prevent John from wanting to stay?

Swallow the Night by ArwaMachine (E, 87,873 w., 15 Ch. || TSo3/Stag Night Fix It, TAB/S4 Divergence, Toplock, Mutual Pining, PWP, Drunk / Public Sex, Anal Fingering/Sex, Alcohol-Induced Amnesia, Everyone Knows Except Them, Emotional Love Confession, Demisexual Sherlock, Internalized Homophobia [John], Parentlock with Rosie, First Kiss, Drug Relapse, Infidelity, Texting, Masturbation, Oblivious John, Emotional Love Making, Angst with Happy Ending, Dreams and Nightmares) – “Do you know how long,” John panted, his cheek scraping against the wall, looking back at Sherlock through half-closed eyes, “I’ve wanted this?” Sherlock pressed himself against John’s back, biting at John’s ear. “Not nearly as long as I have,” he whispered.

The Summer Boy by khorazir (T, 94,706 w., 6 Ch. || Post S3/Post TAB/Alternate S4, Friends to Lovers, Asexual Sherlock, POV Sherlock, Flashbacks, Bullying, 1980′s Kid Sherlock, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Inexperienced Sherlock, Grief/Mourning, Pining Sherlock, Case Fic, Sherlock’s Past, Awkward Conversations, Anxious Sherlock) – About half a year after the fateful events at Appledore, Sherlock and John embark on a private case in Sussex. For Sherlock, it’s a journey into his past, bringing up memories both happy and sad that he has locked away for almost thirty years. For John, it means coming to terms with the present – and a potential future with Sherlock. Part 1 of the The Summer Boy series

The Lost Special: Family Matters (As Do Relationships) by ShirleyCarlton (M, 144,688 w., 40 Ch. || S4 Fix It Fic / Meta Fic, Unreliable Narrator, John’s Mind Bungalow, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Demisexual Sherlock, Holmes Family, John Whump, Gay Mycroft, Misunderstandings, Drug Addiction, Parenting, TFP is a Nightmare, Virgin Sherlock, Slow Burn, Minor Character Death, Switchlock, John’s Past, Sherlock’s Past, Eurus, Love Confessions) –Sherrinford is not really the name of some high security prison. That was just a figment of John’s frantic coma dream. And Eurus is not actually Sherlock’s sister. That’s just something random she said to John before shooting him. Sherlock and John were never actually estranged. That was just their act to cover up what really happened to Mary – or Rosamund Moran, as her real name has turned out to be. Sherlock does have a secret sibling, though, and his name is Sherrinford. After finally eliminating Moran – though in a rather dramatically different way than they had envisioned – and exposing the truth about Eurus, John encourages Sherlock to delve into his past and to find out whether the reasons to keep Sherrinford away from Sherlock were the right ones, and to discover what really happened in 1981. Along the way, Sherlock and John gradually, finally, stop keeping each other at a distance, and eventually become a proper family of their own.

Fallen Series by Belladonna_Q, mamishka (T, 222,094 w. across 3 works || Winglock || Angel!John, Angels & Demons, Faes, Christianity, Changelings) – In a world where myth, mystery, and the supernatural flourish beneath the veneer of modern civilization, Sherlock is a master of magic as well as science and deduction. But there are some things that he cannot see, riddles he cannot unravel, even when they walk right beside him in the form of one John Watson…

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #doctor john #caretaker john #sherlock whump #my fic recs

[ceruleanmindpalace]

@sgam76 and I did a collaboration. She did some wonderful writing, I made the art. The story can be found on AO3.

I am flattered if you reblog, but do NOT post my art on other sites/social media or use in any other way without my written permission.

#Sherlock #autistic sherlock #fic rec #benedict cumberbatch #john watson #sherlock holmes #whump #sherlock whump #sherlock bbc #check out sgam76's amazing stories

[whackmewithwhump]

I would apologize to anyone else who uses Omegle to do Sherlock rps for reusing variations of the same whump prompts over and over for years but then again, they’re still using Omegle for Sherlock rps in 2022, we all know what we’re signing up for

#omegle #Omegle rp #sherlock sickfic #sherlock #sherlock rp #sherlock whump #johnlock whump #johnlock roleplay

[cupidford]

Whatever Remains, However Improbable by LittleFluffyClouds

Sherlock’s decision to engage a suspected murderer by himself goes badly, leaving him confined to Baker Street to recover. (Johnlock and Mystrade)

Missing Johnlock Love Letters #2288

#jl3 #johnlockloveletters #johnlock #love letters #love letter #Whatever Remains However Improbable #LittleFluffyClouds #Case Fic #<25k #developing relationship #sickfic #sick fic #friends to lovers #first kiss #POV Alternating #alternating POV #Sherlock whump #Sherlock!whump #hurt sherlock

[i-dont-talk-for-days-on-end]

@febuwhump Day 11: Fever

You can now find my contributions to FebuWhump on Ao3!

Sherlock couldn’t remember the sofa in the living room being so uncomfortable. Half-awake, he tried to shift to find a position that would ease the dull ache in his bones and found lifting his arms was oddly exhausting. What had happened? He blinked and opened his eyes, only to squeeze them shut again when light seemed to pierce right into his brain. Sherlock groaned faintly, instantly whishing to fall asleep again.

God, he must have been poisoned. It was the only possible explanation.

“You awake?”

John. That was good. He probably wouldn’t let Sherlock die.

He made another try at opening his eyes. Something wasn’t quite right about the living room. Dark spots were dancing in front of his eyes and somehow the colours seemed to contribute to his headache. Sherlock dimly remembered that wasn’t normally the case. To top it all off, it was deathly cold in the room. He sniffled and hoped John would do something against this dreadful situation soon.

“Good morning, Sherlock.”

Sherlock groaned at John’s choice of words – there was nothing good about this morning. Couldn’t John see that Sherlock was dying? Sherlock lifted his eyes and sought his friend’s face in a wordless plea to put him out of his misery. His throat was prickling and his head was throbbing and John seemed to be generally unfazed. It was cruel.

Well, not time to wallow in self-pity. He had to find out who was responsible for this. “What happened?” Something about his voice was off. His throat was parched. Sherlock tried to swallow and discovered it was quite a painful endeavour.

“You tell me.” John sighed, apparently not pleased with Sherlock for some reason. “All I can tell is that you apparently came home in the dead of night, threw your drenched clothes on the floor and passed out on the sofa in your dressing gown.”

“Oh. Yes.” Sherlock smiled a bit when the memories came back to him. “I found the killer. Former Olympic swimmer. He got away at first when he jumped into the Thames.” He furrowed his brow. “I hunted him down a few hours later at the flat of his secret lover. He made a terrible scene.” Sherlock grinned smugly, surprised when a second later his triumph was interrupted by a series of violent sneezes.

“Well, he doesn’t seem to be the only one who took a swim yesterday,” John concluded, looking down at Sherlock with mild worry. “We will have to take your temperature. You look terrible if I’m allowed to say so.”

“You’re not”, Sherlock said indignantly. He crossed his arms in front of his chest in the effort to suppress a shiver. It didn’t really work. John noticed, of course.

„Well, maybe try not jumping into the Thames and running around dripping wet for hours next time,” he chided. “Really, don’t you have any sense of self-preservation when I’m not with you? Wasn’t Lestrade there to get some common sense into your head?”

Sherlock considered sitting up to present a worthier opponent in this discussion but decided it wasn’t worth the effort. Was it always so exhausting to argue with John?  He closed his eyes again. “I have lots of common sense,” he croaked. His throat hurt. His head hurt. Everything hurt. This was hateful.

“I doubt it,” John retorted. “You’ll be lucky if you don’t catch pneumonia.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, John,” Sherlock mumbled. Pneumonia. Of course he wouldn’t catch pneumonia. He didn’t have time for things like this …

He must have dozed off because next thing he knew there was a cool hand on his forehead and something touching his lips. “Come on, Sherlock,” he heard John say, “try to collaborate a bit. I’m trying to help you here.”

Sherlock wasn’t sure if he could be helped or if he would just silently waste away on the sofa but he opened his lips anyway and allowed John to shove a thermometer into his mouth. The truth was that he was too exhausted to put up resistance, but there was no way he would admit that in front of John.

He made the effort to open his eyes again. John was watching him closely.

“You’re definitely running a fever,” he remarked. “Are you cold? You’re shivering.”

That at least was an easy question. Sherlock nodded, choosing to respond nonverbally in order not to move the thermometer too much, and to spare his vocal cords. His throat really was sore. There was a possibility that John was right and he really had a fever.

“I will go and get your blanket. Although maybe you should consider relocating to your bed entirely.”

“Later,” Sherlock mumbled. There was no way he was getting up. He wasn’t moving. Nope.

“It’s got you pretty badly, hm?” John said compassionately.

Sherlock intended to say something scathing and eloquent to throw John off the scent, but instead he was overcome by a sudden coughing fit which wasn’t good at all for his throat and his head. “Ughh,” he said instead, “Jooohn …” Was there nothing he could do? Wasn’t he supposed to be a doctor? This needed to stop. It was unacceptable.

“Alright, alright.” John withdrew the thermometer Sherlock had all but spit out in his effort to draw breath. “Yep, almost 39, you will be staying home for a few days. I will get you your blanket and something to drink and a paracetamol, and you will rest and not even dream of running off for another case until you feel better. Is that understood?”

“Yes,” Sherlock replied weakly. What exactly gave John the idea he was about to run off? It was embarrassing, but he didn’t suppose he would get far.

“Alright.” For a second, there was a hand in his hair, smoothing back the curls that stuck to his forehead, and then John was off to get the promised supplies and Sherlock could already feel himself drifting off into sleep.

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[finleycannotdraw]

we need all types of art in fandoms

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