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love the part in a scandal in bohemia where watson is like i feel so bad that i'm in front of a pretty lady's house about to trick her but it's not as bad as i'd feel if i disappointed holmes so oh well then he throws a smoke bomb or whatever and yells fire

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co-parenting<33

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Doodles :P

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Sherlock and Rosie:)

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save me sexy british army doctor save me

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i put as many options as i could think of (also i numbered the options so that you can put a number in the tags instead of typing your answer out uwu)

please reblog to reach more of our former comrades ✨

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you think you just invented the dynamic? you exist in the johnlock of all in which you live and what came before you..

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Someone needs to draw child Sherlock using puppy eyes on a financially struggling head-of-household teen Mycroft to buy him his favourite (but expensive) pasta sauce.

Or like a bee plushie...or anything bee themed tbh, I think he would've been desperate for sensory friendly clothing and ear defenders as well when he researched items to help with sensory issues!!

And yes I said financially struggling cause it's my headcanon that Mycroft was alone in taking care of the Holmes estate after their parents death and struggled immensely to maintain their lifestyle that their parents afforded until he set the world record of fastest 'government worker to government' speedrun of all time and basically went from upper middle class to insane posh class. Sherlock was too young to really remember the difference...except when he tasted that pasta sauce tho.

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I now have a hc that Sherlock just sends John relevant songs instead of properly verbalising his feelings

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From AL Shifa Hospital earlier: The little boy is screaming:

"I'm scared, I swear I'm scared I wanna go...."

This is too much for a child to experience.

His screams would never leave my mind, ever.

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I'm never gonna dance again - Part 3

I can't stop writing this story and I'm not even proofreading properly before posting (I'm sure it's obvious). Thank you so much for your likes and reblogs, I hope you like this <3

Part 1, Part 2

Songs:

Cry to Me, Solomon Burke

Photo source

I'm never gonna dance again

Guilty feet have got no rhythm

Though it's easy to pretend

I know you're not a fool

“I have an international reputation.” Sherlock slurs, raising his head, his back still pressed against John’s sides as they’re lying down on the stairs. “Do you have an international reputation?”

“No, I don’t have an international reputation.” John responds, squeezing his eyes tightly together and seeing black dots. His head is spinning, the room is spinning even though he can’t see it, and his stomach churns. He can smell Sherlock’s cologne mixed with a hint of leather and tobbaco. When did Sherlock sneak outside for a smoke? They’d been together all night. John blames his negligence, but he doesn’t blame himself for his choices. Never. Sherlock decided things would pan out that way when he made crystal clear that he was married to his work, when he left him, all alone, for two excruciating years.

Mrs. Hudson finds them like that, scolds them for being back so early on his freaking stag night. Oh, yes. The stag night. The wedding. John is getting married in the morning and all he can think about is Sherlock’s body pressed against his own as the corners of the steps dig into their spines.

Sherlock makes an attempt to stand up and suddenly there is nothing against John’s side. The air hovering between them pisses him off, he wants to close the gap, to pull Sherlock close and lie back down, shut their eyes and let the universe swirl them in its vast vacuum of stars and nothingness.

Fuck.

Never without your love

I should've known better than to cheat a friend (should've known better, yeah)

And waste the chance that I'd been given

So I'm never gonna dance again

The way I danced with you, oh

John is sitting on his chair, Sherlock’s leg bent between his own, his grip tight on Sherlock’s knee. His head is still spinning, standing upright has become a struggle, and he has to keep himself from getting nauseous, staring into Sherlock’s silver eyes that are glassy with stupor. They’ve been trying to figure out the names taped on their foreheads for a while, without much success.

“I’m you, aren’t I?” Sherlock asks eventually.

“No, you idiot, you’re you.”

Sherlock takes a few seconds to register the information, then goes pale. “John, my trusted doctor, you have to help me. I’m losing my power to deduce.”

John pokes him on the chest with his index finger. “Sod off, you’re just drunk.”

“I am, amn’t I?” Sherlock slurs, and John doesn’t even have the energy and focus to laugh at his friend’s faltering grammar. “I failed to deduce myself!” he carries on in a frantic voice.

John groans and presses the heel of his hands against his eyes, losing his balance and falling over, kneeling on the floor between Sherlock’s bent legs. “Don’t be too harsh on yourself. No one can deduce you sometimes, not even yourself,” he opens his eyes, staring at Sherlock’s form that’s swaying in front of him, so dangerously close that he can feel the intoxication on the man’s breath. Without completely realizing what he’s doing, his right hand comes to rest on the left side of Sherlock’s chest, his fingers sprawled out against the expensive fabric. “No one can deduce your heart, Sherlock,” he blurts out, lost in the alcoholic haze of his mind. He feels his own pulse thrumming in his veins, his head throbbing with excitement and sheer terror. They’ve gotten too close. If John does not contain himself it’s going to be too late, too soon.

Sherlock’s hand comes to rest upon John’s own, pressing it firmly on his chest, over his heart that’s fluttering like the wings of a hummingbird. “You are my heart,” he murmurs, his eyes moving from John’s eyes to his dry lips for a split second, then back up to his eyes, breath catching on his throat.

John doesn’t register who makes the first move, but they’re kissing, ever so softly, lips pressed on lips in timid exploration, and soon it becomes urgent, vehement, lips part and they’re dancing, this time with their tongues, in a frantic rhythm full of breathless staccatos. John’s free hand comes to rest on Sherlock’s cheek and he feels the ever so faint beginnings of a day’s stubble sprouting on the detective’s skin. His hand moves back, cupping the nape of Sherlock’s neck, gently tugging on his dark curls as he takes Sherlock’s lush lower lip between his teeth. He elicits a groan and takes it as his cue to break the kiss and dig his teeth lower, into Sherlock’s long neck, his tongue tracing the sharp line of his jaw.

Sherlock hands press against John’s chest and he’s pushing him away, looking horrified as he’s trying to catch his breath. “No, John. We can’t... Mary...”

“Shh,” John silences him softly as his fingers come to trace the outline of Sherlock’s facial features ever so slowly, the pupils of his eyes moving frantically around Sherlock’s face, trying to take him all in. “I’ve waited for so long...” he mutters, closing the distance between them with another kiss. “Why, Sherlock?” he mumbles against his lips, his voice breaking. “Why? Everything could be different...”

“I know,” Sherlock breathes hoarsely, his own fingers travelling on the rougher skin of John’s face. “I’m sorry, I know...” He lets himself slide from his chair and join John on the floor, helping him shift from the uncomfortable position that must have made his knees lose feeling. They are both sitting down, their legs sprawled out, Sherlock’s knees bent around John’s waist. John’s hands travel down to Sherlock’s back, on his sides, on his hips, and land under his buttocks. With strong arms he pulls Sherlock to sit on his lap and Sherlock bends his legs, his calves folded on the floor under his thighs, the bulge on his pants pressing hard against John’s own throbbing erection. He presses their bodies together, attempting to synchronize their heartbeats but it’s all too frantic and Sherlock can’t keep up. He’s dizzy and has lost all control of his body and mind. Everything hurts, from his eyelashes to his toes. Everything is burning him from inside out.

John breaks the kiss when he tastes tears. He doesn’t know whom they belong to; they pull away, staring at each other, and they both realize they’re tasting salt. Their foreheads come to rest together, their fingers intertwine on their sides.

Suddenly, Sherlock untangles his own from John's and manages to pull himself up so that he can stand. He manages to with unexpected sobriety and he reaches for his phone, deft fingers manipulating the screen, thumb pressing Play. He extends his hand to John and helps him up, steadying him against his body as the first, notes of Cry to Me fill the room with yearning.

To be continued...

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Illustrious Client is THE Sherlock Holmes story of all time:

-Holmes and Watson visit the time honored gay cruising site of the Turkish baths. Watson utterly fails at seduction

-suave Eastern European villain whose mustache is described by Holmes as “the antennae of an insect”

-Watson says, incredibly suggestively, “I am here to be used” and Holmes tells him to go study Chinese pottery. Watson does not complain or ask questions because he has “learned the wisdom of obedience” 😳

-Holmes gets beaten up and Watson cares for him, a memorable entry in the annals of ACD being the reigning king of hurt/comfort

-“Don’t look so scared, Watson.”

-Watson is given a false persona and a solo mission and almost, ALMOST, doesn’t fuck it up

-“I was nearer [Holmes] than anyone else, and yet I was always conscious of the gap between” 💔

-Kitty Winter is the best girl in the world and should be allowed to throw vitriolic acid in the face of anyone she wants!!! British law agrees with me btw

-Watson is not living at Baker Street, but very shortly after this adventure he moves back in with Holmes, presumably because he cannot be trusted to stay out of trouble, or maybe because visiting the Turkish baths every time he wants to make a move is getting expensive

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Re reading A Study in Scarlet and thinking about thin haggard nosy John Watson and young manic showoff Sherlock Holmes

Also got very emotional about the idea that Holmes has bad hair because he doesn’t see why he should care and dislikes barbers (being touched by a stranger!) so Watson cuts it to look more distinguished so Lestrade will take him more seriously

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Resident Patient doodles (am I going to do this for every story? idk I have no job right now)...this is a weird story but instantly iconic for the 'we strolled about together' bit

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sunset/sunrise and the Victorian intimacy of a first name

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THE REIGATE SQUIRES…which by my calculations has the highest gay people per word count in the Sherlock Holmes canon. There will be a part 2 because I love too many moments in this story!!!

(Previously drew the beginning of the story here)