The struggle is real

Fanfic: has fluff

Me: That’s cute and all but where is the smut

Fanfic: has smut

Me: That’s hot and all but where is the fluff

Fanfic: has fluff + smut

Me: But where is the angst

Fanfic: has fluff + smut + angst

Me: Yes this is perfect-

Fanfic: last updated in 2005

reminder that it is canon that sherlock was using a rum bottle for an experiment and went through the thought process of ‘oh no, if john somehow came into contact with/ingested this it would hurt him :( and since I can’t even stand the thought of that or the idea of something bad happening to John, specifically on my account, and since there is even the SLIGHTEST possibility that john might see this and for some reason - by accident or otherwise - come into contact with/ingest this in any way shape or form, I must put a LARGE sticky note taped to the glass just to make sure he doesn’t. just to be safe. better safe john then sorry.’

the posh boy problem

Posh boy left his mug on the papers again. It will leave a rim on the sports section.

John goes over to the living room table. Then he stops in his tracks. It’s happened again, hasn’t it? More and more often he finds himself giving Sherlock silly petnames in his head. He was never a friend of those, can hardly explain why he is doing it now – in his own thoughts – but something about it calms and provokes him at the same time. He picks up the half-emptied mug of cold tea and thinks this over on his walk to the kitchen sink.

He likes Sherlock. He knows this, has known this for literally ages. That he likes him, and that he likes him in a way that Sherlock most definitely won’t find appealing. Sexually. There, he said it. In his head, of course, never out loud. But Sherlock, with his many frustrating qualities, of which many where outrageously attractive to John, is practically forcing him to feel provoked. Those feelings then lead to … petnames, apparently. He’s had stranger coping mechanisms before.

In his head greets him with hey, handsome in the morning, those wonderful mornings where Sherlock has actually slept and still looks all soft and not quite awake. He calls him genius when he is being too clever again and doesn’t notice, calls him pretty man and silly git and sweetheart when he’s feeling like it, and, of course, posh boy. He doesn’t even know what it is about that one in particular, but he finds that to be the worst. For his sexual frustration, that is. Every time it comes up in his head, which is more and more often, it fuels his imagination vividly. So much that it has even made it to his bedroom and he has dreams, half-asleep, half-awake, about teaching posh boy a lesson, getting posh boy a little dirty, treating posh boy a little rough. These are all terrible thoughts. Because they will stay just as imaginary and sexually frustrating. Posh boy won’t love him back, after all.

One morning Sherlock sits in front of his microscope on the kitchen table. He hasn’t moved for at least two hours. Nothing unusual. In fact, it was how they spend most of their Sundays now. John doesn’t really date anymore, and even if he did, he would not trade these days for anything. They have fallen into this pattern a while ago, the pattern of staying in on lazy Sundays, waking up later and waiting for the other to have breakfast together. Now Sherlock occupies himself with some experiment on maggots and fingers (John doesn’t even ask) and John is sitting in his chair. He is reading a novel about an incredibly clever and cunning explorer who kind of reminds him of Sherlock (he can’t help it, as much as he would like to). Being absorbed in the book, he is confused at first when Sherlock calls him from the kitchen.

“John?”

“Hmh?”

With Sherlock this is either going to be of highest importance or an absurdly unnecessary request.

“Care to pass me my phone?”

John sighs loudly. The latter. Thought so.

“Where is your phone?”

“Breast pocket.”

With his eyes rolling at the ceiling John puts a bookmark in his book, places it on the table next to him and gets off his chair. Walking into the kitchen, he murmurs under his breath.

“I see posh boy’s being a lazy butthead again…”

He takes the phone out of Sherlock’s breast pocket and holds it out for him. But instead of taking it and paying no more attention to him, Sherlock is suddenly staring at him like his face was on fire. John frowns at him. Sherlock, in turn, raises one brow.

“Posh?”

John’s eyes widen in shock and his heart jumps once in his chest and then stops, he thinks, just stops, and he wants to melt and become one with the floorboards. This is bad.

“I’m not posh,” Sherlock complains.

He must notice how John is only blushing more deeply. How? How did he say that out loud without noticing? How the bloody hell could he?

John clears his throat and decides to go along with it. There is no more turning back from here on anyway.

“You… are, actually. Just look at you, you with your… cheekbones. Your… perfectly tailored suits, your annoying British accent and deep voice-”

“We all have British accents.”

“I know!” John is enormously embarrassed, and he feels that if he doesn’t take a long walk right now, he will punch something to calm his inner unsettlement. “I need air.”

But Sherlock isn’t finished. “If anything, you are the posh one, John.”

“Hah! How so, Sherlock Holmes? Have you looked at yourself?”

“Have you looked around this flat in the past years? There are piles of magazines in the corners of every room, there is a Cluedo board pinned to the wall by me, I leave my things wherever I please, the kitchen is a mess of syringes and human body parts – an organised and well structured mess if you know where to look, but not the point right now – and I am currently examining maggots. In contrast to this you, John Watson, are a doctor, you wear your chequered shirts buttoned up to your chin, you’ve lived a clean life not suffering from a drug addiction, have had girlfriends and relationships and altogether live as part of the middle-class society in Central London. You wish for a wife and children and probably a German Shepard and a house in the suburbs, or at least that’s what you think you want, so tell me, John: How am I the posh one?”

John has a hard time finding a response to this that doesn’t only consist of loose vowels. It takes him a good minute, but Sherlock is oddly patient with him.

“First of all,” he manages then, “ I don’t think I want a wife and children, thank you very much. And maybe… maybe I’m not that serious when I call you things like that.”

“So why do you?”

“What?” John’s heart began beating faster once more. He’s so tense.

“Why do you call me a posh… boy?”

Oh fuck, hearing those two words spoken out loud and together and out of Sherlock’s mouth, for God’s sake!

“I- I don’t. Why- why should I even tell you? You read my mind all the time, can I not be allowed to keep this one thing to myself for once?!”

Sherlock narrows his eyes and observes him from head to toe. Oh please no. “No, that’s not it.”

“Alright, you know what? It’s you. Okay? It’s your fault! You just make me so angry all the time. No, don’t- don’t look at me like that.”

Sherlock’s eyes have gone wide and very blue. He looks genuinely hurt by this. Scared even. Scared at what John would say next, what this would mean for them. John feels and shares his pain, and he hates himself for every word he has ever said that would make Sherlock look like this. He is vulnerable and human, after all. Even if he tries to convince everyone around him that he isn’t, John has to stop falling for Sherlock’s own defence mechanism.

“I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just… what you said. There’s no wife and there is no house in the suburbs for me, Sherlock. I just can’t see it. But I see this.” He means Baker Street, means 221B, means … Sherlock. “This life. With you.”

Sherlock’s eyes are still so very blue. He wants to lose himself in them.

“And that makes you angry?” Sherlock asks.

“What? No. I’m just. Forget it.”

John finally has the courage to turn around and go, or maybe he lacks the courage to face him and stay, but either way he walks back into the sitting room, prepared to put on his jacket and leave the house for at least two hours. Sherlock jumps up and follows him.

“John! Wait. We never say what we want to say.”

John swirls around, his mouth a thin line of held back emotions. He stands close to the door. Ready to flee. “And what do you wanna say?”

Sherlock takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. When he opens them again, there is courage in the one and fear in the other.

“Me too.”

“Sorry?”

“Me too. I see this, too. Us. This life we share.”

John bites the insides of his mouth because his whole skin feels hot with disbelief and wonder and hope, oh god, so much hope that he doesn’t let himself own.

“What?” he asks instead, going for a weak smile, “You don’t see yourself with a wife and children?”

Sherlock huffs a laugh. “No. Weirdly I don’t.”

They smile at each other.

“So ‘posh boy’,” Sherlock says after a while, “is actually about…?”

“Me being an ungrateful moron? Me never saying what I should say before it’s too late? Me trying to get my anger at all of this under control? Yes. Yes, I suppose it is.”

Sherlock looks down at the spot between his feet. He’s thinking. But not as he usually is, not fast and calculating and mechanical. He’s thinking about the right thing to do. The things he has always wanted to do, but never thought it to be right or appropriate or good for them.

“I can wait for you to figure this out.”

“Wait for me?”

“As long as you need, John. We both agreed, didn’t we? Both of us don’t plan on leaving or getting married and reproduce anytime soon, so.”

“You don’t like waiting,” John points out, but he is already incredibly relieved and impressed by Sherlock’s words.

“No, I don’t. But I like you.”

John doesn’t flee to take an hour-long walk that day. He would never trade a lazy Sunday with Sherlock Holmes, after all. Sherlock continues with his experiment, and John reads. Later they watch telly together and Sherlock yells at the incompetent game show host on BBC One. He said he could wait till John figures this out, whatever this is. But maybe they both don’t have to wait that long. Maybe, just maybe, posh boy could actually love him back.

…to be continued…

@just–elope

IMAGINE YOUR OTP

Person A: Baby are you my homework?

Person A: CUZ I WOULD LIKE TO SLAM YOU ON THE TABLE AND DO YOU ALL NIGHT LONG ;)))))))

Person B: 

Person B:

Person B:

Person B: I don’t know if I’m aroused or concerned about your grades

Persan A: ;)))))))




(Bonus - Person B: please demonstrate…) 

Love Conquers All (On Sherlock Season 4)

I’m currently re-watching Season 4, simply just to indulge myself, and mainly because I personally loved it. I thought I was done expressing everything I have to say about the matter in this post, but there has been an unending sh*t-storm still looming over S4 that has gone beyond what I had expected. Not to mention that things I’ve seen on Twitter earlier regarding the so-called Norbury movement.

I am not dismissing the fact that this season had its flaws, but there’s a significant meaning to it all that some people are dismissing because they’ve been blinded by their own illusions that I would want to highlight. For someone who had cried over and mulled over these episodes more than the past 3 seasons, this season gave my love for existentialism a baseline that tugged at the heart – the very reason why I wanted to talk about it.

Originally posted by esterlocked

Just a brief explanation, existentialism is the belief that life has no meaning in general. To quote Moriarty, “Staying alive… So boring, isn’t it? It’s just… staying.” However, what I like about it is the idea that society or any other factor is not responsible for giving life it’s meaning – it is solely up to the individual to discover it on their own.

With that said, I think this is why this season resonated with me so much, and I find the chaos in some parts of the fandom frustrating, especially to the point that the writers are being attacked for this. So as usual, I have to say something about it. Because instead of writing articles for work, I’m thinking about Sherlock.

Anyway, I’m just gonna go ahead with my point.


The Six Thatchers : Horrors Of The Past

This may be my least favourite among the three, but the message of this episode is clearly simple: we all have horrors that will come and haunt us in the future – and how we face it all comes down to the path we choose. 

We live hundreds, and even thousands of roles throughout our lives. And we all have our past; things that we regret, hate, cringe at, miss, still believe in, etc. But whatever that past might be, what I got from TST is that you can never run from your past as it catches up to you, but it is one facet of your life does not completely define you.

Originally posted by akajustmerry

Death has been played with through the past seasons that it seemed all too mundane to us now, in terms of the context of the show. But S4 is here to correct this notion in Mary’s persona. With Mary saying that Mary Watson was the only life worth living, it showed that we get to choose which part of our lives we live out the most.

Same with John and his ‘cheating’. To be fair, I’m pissed at the fact that this was completely out of character. But when the series culminated, I understood why they have to do it. We saw what we wanted to see in these characters as they were presented to us – John was supposedly honourable, kind, and courageous, but what is this? Who is this new John? 

This is where I head to my next point. 


The Lying Detective : Being Alive And Human

This episode made me cry buckets, to be honest. And it is because this is all about changing what you know about these characters and seeing them all in a different light. 

Here we see a Sherlock not led by the mind but the heart, a John who was weak against temptation, a cheater, someone who looked jealous from having the spotlight all on the detective – it showed that no one is ultimately good and that someone’s facade is not who they entirely are. It shows that everyone has their ups and downs because that’s what humanity is about. It illustrated that everyone was capable of being angry, desperate, conceited, weak, lonely, alone, etc. It highlighted how these characters are broken – especially Sherlock – and how redemption can mean so much more to a person. 

We all have our flaws, our downfalls, our agonies; but who are we really, at our most vulnerable? And who are the people willing to believe in us even if we’ve shown them our true, and sometimes, faded colours?

Originally posted by halloawhatisthis

“Taking your own life. Interesting expression, taking it from who? Once it’s over, it’s not you who’ll miss it. Your own death is something that happens to everyone else. Your life is not your own, keep your hands off it.”

This is a plea. That shutting down and ending your life is and should never be the answer. This is one of the most beautiful pieces of dialogue I have ever heard, and it’s a very upfront message about warranting a value on your own life. And for people to threaten the writers of the show that they are the ones who caused the lives that are put in the line or the self-harm that will happen due to their distaste for TFP is devastating to me.

And yes, there have been people tweeting Mark and BBC that they are and will be responsible for these lives, which is just unfair.


The Final Problem : On Love And Redemption

I’ve seen people questioning why Benedict said ‘love conquers all’ in one interview before the season aired. There has also been statements that this season will be ‘groundbreaking’, which others failed to see why, leading to the claims that the showrunners are queerbaiting.

Now, every single show, every single actor, not just in Sherlock, but basically everywhere, is being put in the microscope because they need to identify with something, and that they need to represent a cause — which I get! I advocate for this! But, just when the world is being careful about mixing up their characters or when they are inserting a gay character just because now, society is demanding them to, Sherlock had already presented that years before (note that some TV shows only became more open to having gay characters around late 2014, early 2015-ish onwards because people are becoming more vocal about it as inspired by those bold enough to make a first move, e.g. Glee). 

Here, we have an openly gay character (which is still another topic of debate but I stand by it when I say Irene used the term gay loosely), had openly gay actors play brilliant and unstereotypical roles, and for God’s sake, Mark Gatiss is a gay man who is behind this brilliant show, and  that’s the very reason they passed it off as normal. They didn’t do it in a way that we always have to be reminded that the character is gay, that there has to be a sex scene just to prove that they’re gay… it’s just there – again, as one facet of the characters. Sex, as something that has been explicitly expressed in the show, isn’t the only thing that defines a character or their relationships with someone else, and I appreciated that. They had a story to tell – the story of these characters as a whole and not just one side of them. 

And personally, I did see why they made their claims as indicated by my chosen title. When this season ended, Sherlock who claimed to have never been attuned to his emotions, had his eyes open and had embraced that he was also human, flawed, and is capable to love IN ALL FORMS. 

Originally posted by fangirlhani

He learned to value his life because of what happened to Mary, he had admitted that he also succumbs to his impulses with Irene Adler (texting or beyond that, depends on what you want to believe), he fully realised that he would never ever want to hurt and make Molly feel like she’s being used by him because she’s his friend, he was able to extend a more human side of himself to John more than he did before, he finally understood and accepted Mycroft’s intentions and actions which I think mended their relationship significantly (this one hits me to the core so much), and lastly, he discovered that if he was left in the air in isolation, he might have ended up like Eurus, which is why he never wanted to make her feel alone again. 

To me, it is groundbreaking because it left that cliche of someone running off into the sunset in the end and it’s all butterflies and rainbows. They wrapped it up with the characters still broken, but living through it day by day because someone chose to love, accept, and help them heal despite their flaws. 

It is what it is, they keep on saying, because that’s how life is. It can be unbearable and it can most certainly be shit, but in the end, whether you ship Johnlock, Adlock, Sherlolly, Sheriarty, Mollstrade, Mystrade, etc., if we all let love – self-love, romantic love, familial love, platonic love – all kinds of love in our lives, it will help us conquer all, within and beyond this show. 

PT.14

PT.1| PT.2| PT.3| PT.4| PT.5| PT.6| PT.7| PT.8| PT.9| PT.10| PT.11| PT.12| PT.13

When John kissed Sherlock goodbye, he immediately missed him. He took the taxi to his job and couldn’t stop thinking about him the whole ride. He looked so perfect wrapped in his housecoat, holding Rosie, kissing his cheek and wishing him a good day at work. It was all so domestic. He looked at the clock, one minute passed, he looked again. Three minutes passed. Clinics are never slow, it’s that some days people seem perfectly healthy, and then others, the whole of London is trying to get themselves examined. Today was one of the days where he was going to see more paperwork than patients, save for the moms who insisted that there was something wrong with their kid, or the usual patient that searched their symptoms online and are convinced they’re dying. Other than that, there was hours of him thinking about Sherlock and Rosie, wondering what the two were doing. Teletubbies was probably over now, he knew how much Sherlock hated that show. He smiled just thinking about the man’s face.

He missed him so much.

Maybe he could call them right now, his boss wouldn’t care, and it wasn’t like there were patients lining up to see him today. Was Sherlock’s phone even on? Was Rosie snapping pictures on it again by accident? He made one of those his lockscreen when Sherlock wasn’t looking. The picture showed Rosie’s wide eyes from the flash, and Sherlock moving to take the phone away. He was adorable.

His phone was vibrating and it was just the person he wanted to call. He heard Rosie screaming in the background. Sherlock must have been holding her.

“Sherlock, hey.”

“John, when was the last time Rosie…went?”

John’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Well, she’s a bit cranky right now and her diaper’s been lacking a bit of…solid matter….”

John’s eyes widened and he said, “Oh. She’s not shitting.”

He laughed at Sherlock’s exasperation. “You put it so eloquently John. Yes, Rosie hasn’t shat.”

“Um, there should be a bit of castor oil in the bathroom. Give her a bit and see if that works.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Give her tummy a little massage, and feed her some mashed banana or something. But be patient, love, don’t need her exploding.”

“Yes, okay.” He sounded distracted, John heard some rustling and Sherlock trying to shush the baby. John pressed his phone to his ear with his shoulder as he resumed the paperwork. “She alright?”

“I think she’s having a bit of tummy pain. We’re in the bathroom now, I’ve just given her a sip of the oil. She didn’t eat much this morning.”

“Aw, poor thing.”

“Are you referring to me or the baby?” Sherlock deadpanned. John snorted. “Obviously the one who’s in pain, Sherlock.”

“I appreciate the sentiment then.” Sherlock laughed a bit and John heard some rustling.

“I think she wants to hear your voice. Let me just quiet her down for a second. Are you busy right now?”

“Never too busy for you, love.”

Sherlock didn’t respond, but John could hear him blush through the phone. He waited a bit before he heard Sherlock singing to the baby.

“You’re my honeybunch sugarplum, pumpy-umpy-umpkin, you’re my sweetie pie. You’re my cuppycake gumdrop snoogums boogums you’re…”

“The apple of my eye…” John finished. His cheeks were tinted red as he listened to Sherlock’s soft voice sooth the crying baby. Sherlock chuckled and kept singing, and John joined in with him, not caring how he looked to his boss or anyone that walked past his office. He knew this nursery song, and he missed the opportunity to sing with Sherlock last time.

In unison, the men sang, “And I love you so and I want you to know that I’ll always be right here, and I love to sing sweet songs to you because you are so dear…”

Rosie was silent now but he could hear her soft noises through the phone. John was sitting in his office grinning like an idiot. One day he’s just going to sing to Sherlock, with Sherlock, he didn’t know. He just wanted to hear the man sing again. Sherlock was talking to Rosie now, “Are we better now?”

John’s heart melted as he listened to the two, well, mainly Sherlock.

“I think she’s okay now, I’m sorry if I bothered you.”

“It’s fine, Sherlock. It’s all fine.”

John had a guess they were both smiling into the phone now. Sherlock coughed and said, “I’ll see you when you come back.”

“Mhm, sure will. Takeaway tonight? I was going to stop at the shops but Rosie’s not well…”

“Well the oil is not going to work for a few hours, and she seems calm now. I can try to get a bit of the shopping done if you would like. But still, order takeaway tonight.”

“You’re bossy.”

Another laugh. “Goodbye, John.”

“I love you, Sherlock.” It came out, but he’s been dying to say it again. Any chance he gets.

“I love you too, John.” He hung up and sank back in his chair.

“What a lucky, lucky man I am.” He sighed.

 ——–

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six months

ooh, that’s clever. is it clever? why is it clever?

Irene: I won’t even last six months. [ASiB]

Mycroft: an undercover assignment that would prove fatal to you in, I think, about six months. [HLV]

Wasn’t there also some meta written on it being six months since Sherlock was back when John and Mary got married? 

this better not mean that we have to wait six months for TLS.

  • <p> <b>Random person:</b> Can you stop shipping everything??<p/><b>Me:</b> Well, I'm stuck on my small boat in this ocean with many ships around but I can't get on any one of them because they may all drown any moment<p/><b>Random person:</b> Why did I even ask...<p/></p>