Sherlock has got all john's attention

another unilock headcanon

John is a hot blond athlete slash medical student. He’s effortlessly smart (in that annoying way where he passes all his classes without studying), he’s fit, he has friends, and a date every weekend if he wants one. He’s 💪👌 a little bit like 💯 ✋ that student athlete meme 🕶️🏉.

Sherlock isn’t a loner in this unilock verse. He’s got good friends, he goes to a liberal school, and he gets plenty of male attention. They may not all be to his taste, but he doesn’t lack for offers. Not with that hair, the smarts, the intelligence, and those tight jeans 🔥🌈🔥 .

John fell for hard for him, on day one of orientation. The only problem? John’s a cocky sod who’s used to getting anyone he wants. He spends the next two years doing everything in his power to catch the man’s attention. And that makes him just another bloke in line, hoping for a shot with Sherlock Holmes.

Then one day, not for the first time, John cheekily asks Sherlock for a kiss. Sherlock is half annoyed by Watson and half impressed by his determination. He rolls his eyes, and says he couldn’t handle it even if Sherlock wanted to kiss John, which he doesn’t (at this point he’s stretching the truth. Sherlock is not completely indifferent to Watson’s charms). Watson cockily tells him that he can handle anything Sherlock would dish out, so Sherlock drags him into a hard, intense kiss that leaves John’s chest heaving as Sherlock pulls away, dragging John’s lower lip between his teeth as he does.

John is left frozen like 😳 and Sherlock just flounces away with a smirk. Because that was quite a good kiss. He thinks he might just let Watson catch him. If he works for it, that is.

Got Her (Sherlock x Reader)

Title: Got Her

Pairing: Sherlock x reader
Author: @whatthehellisacastiel (Kat)
Words: 1,843
Warnings: Not much. Some cussing and kidnapping.

Author’s note: I had a lot to think about for this one. I made a plan and this story is going to be in 2 parts, maybe three.

Request: Could i get a request for sherlock x reader, where she is kidnapped by Moriarty and Sherlock and her brother (john) have to solve clues to find her? Thank you x
- anonymous

Summary: You were John’s little sister and managed to find yourself into his and Sherlock Holmes’ mess of a life. What happens when a criminal mastermind kidnaps you? Will the detective you’ve fallen for and your brother save you in time?


Truth be told that Sherlock never expected to have a single friend, nevertheless two. Two Watsons, both equally insufferable but both his best friends. He’s met John in a lab after an acquaintance of his mentioned to John that Sherlock was looking for a flatmate. Fast forward a few months later you arrived at Baker Street after settling in London yourself to see your older brother. You met Sherlock first and much to everyone’s surprise, the two of you got along nicely. Somehow, you had become a daily part of their daily lives. When you weren’t working, you were either at Baker Street or out helping your brother and Sherlock with a case. Sherlock refrained from thinking back to a time when he didn’t have either you or John by his side, for once in his life he was content with everything going on around him.

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When the deerstalker made his first appearance in ASIB I just thought of it as a reminiscence to canon Sherlock Holmes. After all, this hat has become the most famous trademark for the great detective worldwide for more than hundred years. Somehow the deerstalker and Holmes are almost inseperable. Therefore it’s no great surprise that this hat shows up in Sherlock BBC as well. What I wonder now - after having written about the Deer and the Skull - is this:  Could the deerstalker be of more importance for the story than just a reference to victorian Holmes? Because:

‘The deerstalker is traditionally a rural outdoorsman’s cap. It is not an appropriate headgear for the properly dressed urban Gentleman. The fashion-conscious Holmes would be loath to commit such a sartorial faux pas.'  (X)

That’s about canon Sherlock Holmes. Nowadays - in the 21st century - wearing a deerstalker in London would look even more strange I assume. And I’m not talking here about fans who wear it in honor of Sherlock. That’s something quite different. No, I mean wearing it as a hat … just a hat.

The more I think about that 'silly hat’ the more it appears to be a massive anomaly in this modern Sherlock Holmes adaptation.

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Why did Sherlock call Molly "John"?

This post came out longer than I had expected. Sorry.

Cumberbabeusa commented on my previous post: “So why in the hell did he call her John? I did not care for that part of the scene at all.”

These are my thoughts:

 The scene ends with Sherlock dashing out of the crime scene and calling Molly “John”. What happened here?

Well, Sherlock has called her  “John” before. He gets oblivious when he is working… But this is different.

During the fake crime scene Sherlock was clearly freaking out. So much that he literally had to run away from the room. The voice in his head was growing too loud. It was all too much.

I think he simply got carried away with the audible hallucination and started talking to John in his head. John is a friend who also provides comfort and guidance in times of need. Specially on things having to do with social interactions.

Sherlock didn’t simply misname Molly this time. He actually answered to the voice in his head. The man was f-r-e-a-k-i-n-g out.

But why was this so? That is the interesting question. What on earth could have possibly made Sherlock so distressed?

And the answer is: (drums) Molly!!!…   being with her, enjoying her company, and knowing she is now off limits.

It is  simply too much.

Lestrade’s presence in the scene made Sherlock feel on the spot. Not that Lestrade did anything to  make him feel this way (he was being his usual adorable self). But his presence triggered Sherlock’s own feelings of inadequacy (Lestrade did question why Molly was tagging along and Sherlock felt put on a hot spot).

Sherlock found in Lestrade a clear reminder, first, of how Molly is perfectly capable of attracting other males’ attention (we all saw Lestrade gaping at her in the Christmas party), and, second, of how little  Sherlock thinks of himself.

Sherlock has got the emotional skills of a small boy and his experience with women is… well… ZERO! So he’s freaking out when he has to face the fact that he has feelings for Molly, but she has finally moved on.

So has his best friend.

Both Molly and John have now got romantic partners. Unlike himself, who is alone. He is scared and hurt.

Even devoted Molly outgrew her crush on him. To his eyes, this proves that he *is* unlovable, after all. A freak. Meant to be forever alone. And why would Molly have ever wanted to be with someone like him, anyway?! She really didn’t (Sherlock is a bit of an asshole not being able to realize Molly is still attracted to him). So Sherlock freaks out in a “Poor little, me. Boo-hoo” fit.

However (and this is important), as soon as they leave the supposed crime scene things get better. They are on their own again and Sherlock gets his shit together. Of course, he’s put a sting on Molly (having called her John), but he is perfectly unaware of it.

Pay attention to the fact that he didn’t ditch Molly right there on the spot, like he has often done with John. He stuck with her. He wanted to spend as much time as he could with her. So they carried on and went to visit the next client, train-boy.

When they arrive to the train-boy apartment we see them in a very cheerful mood. Sherlock has got his shit together. No Lestrade around to make him think those stressing thoughts. Just Molly and a non-threatening stranger. Sweet Molly.

 He will just enjoy being near her… as long as he can.

Defining Molly

I wrote this during Sherlolly Appreciation week… just felt like sharing here.  (also I’m putting off curling my mother’s hair… don’t ask.)  Enjoy. Hugs. 


The doctor paused reading the newspaper long enough to give his full attention to the board genius sitting across from him. “Yes, Sherlock.”

“What is Molly to me?”

What? “What?” John asked.

“Molly, Molly Hooper. What is she… to me? You’re my best friend, blogger, assistant. Mrs. Hudson is my housekeeper…”

“No, no she isn’t,” John interrupted.

“Yet she continues to keep my house,” Sherlock said, as he opened his arms gesturing around the flat. “She’s also something akin to a second mother. Garrison is also a friend, I suppose, and a colleague. Mycroft,” he sneered,  rolling his eyes. “is the big brother that I never really wanted. But Molly, what is she? Where does she fit?”

John finally decided that Sherlock was actually a bit curious about the pathologist’s place in his life. So he thought he’d start with the obvious answer. “Well, you call her your pathologist, so there you go.”

“Hmmm, no. I thought so as well. But that doesn’t work. It’s… no… there’s something I’m missing.”

John perked up. Could it be? Is it possible? He had to approach this carefully, like a trying to pet a wild animal. Slow steps, as not to spook the beast.

“Well, Molly’s a colleague, like Greg, by the way his name is Greg.”

“Yes, we do work well together. She’s rather more observant than you, John. You could learn from her. The other day she caught… oh, never mind you wouldn’t understand even if I explained it.”

“Oi! I’m not an idiot you know!”

“Yes but you’re no chemist.” Sherlock thought for a moment. “No, colleague is worst than pathologist.”

John huffed, his patience wearing thin. “Well she’s you friend, I assume. Although you treat her worse than me sometimes, if that’s possible.”

Sherlock jerked his head to John. “That’s not true. I’ve made a concerted effort to be kind to Molly since my return.”

John thought for a moment. It was true, he had been nicer, especially since she had slapped the shit out of the detective. “Okay, then there you have it. Molly’s your friend. Case closed.” John picked up his paper with a knowing smile on his face.

“Although…” Sherlock started.

“Although what?” John asked.

Sherlock was staring into the distance once again.

“What?” John asked again.

“Well, that doesn’t seem to fit either.  Though I can’t really decide why.”

Oh, perhaps because you’re a bloody moron, John thought. “Alright, let’s break this down shall we?” John put his paper down once again. “Molly’s a colleague, your pathologist, your friend.” John tapped his chin and pretended to think for a moment. “Oh, I know. She did help you fake you suicide then concealed it from the rest of us for two years. Maybe that’s it. That kind of trust is not something to be taken lightly.”

Sherlock’s face lit up. “Right. You’re right. That must be it!” He jumped up and paced the room, once twice, then a third time.

John watched, always fascinated by the way his best friend processed information.

Sherlock turned suddenly facing John. “No,” he said a bit defeated. “That’s not it. You’re useless.”

“Sorry mate. If you don’t know what’s going on in that giant brain of yours, how am I supposed to figure it out?” Oh, but I think I know exactly what’s going on… you great git!

“Wait, perhaps if I knew what I was to her… what she considers me?” Sherlock smiled victoriously.

“Oh, that’s easy,” John said.

“Really? What am I?”

“You’re the arrogant asshat, that orders her to make coffee even though she’s more highly educated than you. You’re also the berk that’s always made her feel like she’s not at all attractive, and shouldn’t even bother trying to have any romantic relationships. And you’re the guy that jeopardizes her job almost everyday. In short you’re the bane of her existence, an absolute dick Sherlock.”

“Really? That’s…that’s how Molly sees me?” Sherlock asked sounding completely defeated this time.

“No, actually. Molly loves you. She loves you despite all of that awful shit. She always has.” John picked up his paper. He feigned reading for a moment but glanced up to see Sherlock’s buffering face. This was going to take a while.

John finished the paper then got up and made a fresh cup of tea. Sherlock was still processing everything. Sitting down with a heavy sigh, John finally got Sherlock’s attention.

“So, to Molly I’m…”

“Yeees.” John nodded.

“Hmm.” Sherlock went back to looking pensive, hands steepled under his chin.

John sighed again. “Any ideas Sherlock?”


John shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Any of those involve confessing you’re undying affection to Molly Hooper. She won’t wait forever you know?”

Sherlock slowly removed his hands and looked at the doctor. “Even though I’m an asshat?”

“She doesn’t seem to mind.”

“That would be breaking several long held personal rules John, you know I can’t do that.”

“Of course, you’d never break rules.”

“What about my work?” he argued.

“What is Molly, Sherlock? She is your work, you idiot! You trust her, you care for her, clearly you find her pleasant to look at. You’ve never commented on anyone else’s appearance as much as you have her’s. I may not be the world’s only consulting detective, but even I know what that means. Molly wouldn’t try to change you Sherlock. She’s the most patient person I know. She’s kind and intelligent and generally wonderful… So?”

Sherlock jumped up and started putting on his coat. “I’m shocked that you, of all people, missed the biggest selling point John,” he said grabbing his scarf.


“You forgot about all the sex!” Sherlock said just before he dashed down the stairs.

“Finally!” John said, as he settled in and drank the rest of his tea.

They’d been having more nights in. Slow month for murder and John had long since stopped dating.  And they were sitting side by side on the sofa, sharing some sweet and sour chicken with crap telly on low in the background. They’d not really been paying attention to that, just each other because it’s been a while since they’d done this.

And John looks up and smiles at first,looking away quick because Sherlock has a bit of sauce that has dipped down the corner of his mouth to his chin. When John turns back, it’s still there and he grins wider.

Sherlock asks what John was smirking at, and John motions to the mess so Sherlock darts his tongue out to lick at it and take care of it but can’t reach it all.

And Sherlock asks if he got it all, but John motions not quite by reaching for a napkin and dabbing away the excess and their faces are really close and John whispers ‘there that does it'and their lips are centimetres apart and no one knows who leans in first, maybe they both do but dinner is long forgotten - a mess on the floor as their plates had slipped off their laps and for once, once, John couldn’t care because this was so much better.

The Price: Part 2

“W-what? Sherlock. Sherlock, are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“Come now, John, I asked you to name your price and now that I know it you’re giving me one night to try to convince you to move back in. I thought that was fairly obvious.”

“Well, er, yes. Yes. But I’m not sure you fully understand what I was saying in the cab…”

“I’m the world’s only consulting detective, I think I figured it out.”

“Did you now?”

“I have all night to prove it.”

And with that Sherlock unlocked the front door to 221b. Before he rushed up the stairs he planted a soft, lingering kiss to John’s forehead. John closed his eyes, suddenly overcome by the gentle caress. Sherlock’s hand sought out John’s and he laced their fingers together. He guided John up the stairs and into the sitting room. He pulled John over to his old chair and urged him to sit down. Sherlock’s eyes remained fixed as he brought John’s hand up close to his mouth, slowly turning it over and planting a kiss to the inside of John’s wrist. With a shuddering breath, John let go and sat down. Sherlock waltzed over to the kitchen, swaying with confidence in every step.

“I’ll make tea. I’ve even got those shortbread biscuits you love so much.”

“You have biscuits? Really? Since when?”

“Since I went to the shops yesterday.”

“You…. did the shopping?”

“I do quite a few things that would surprise you, Doctor Watson.”

John swallowed nervously. He was sure Sherlock was implying something more serious with his tone, but he didn’t want to jump to conclusions. His chest was about to burst from the few moments of affection and he felt dizzy thinking about what Sherlock had planned for the evening. John didn’t want to tip his hand any more than he already had. He didn’t want Sherlock to know how desperate he was for human contact, to be held and reassured. He didn’t want to scare Sherlock off. He knew his price was too steep and after the night was over he’d go back to his basement flat even more heartbroken than when he first moved in.

“John? Did you hear me? You weren’t answering. Is this what it’s like when I’m in my mind palace? Must be aggravating…”

“Sorry, I was lost in thought. What did you say?”

“I asked if you’ve seen the newest Bond film. I was thinking we’d watch it later tonight - you know I haven’t seen it. I’ll give it my full attention this time.”

“Your FULL attention? Sherlock, you’ve got to be joking, you never give any movie your full attention.”

“Well, no promises, but I’ll give it the old college try.”

“That’s good enough for me.”

Sherlock brought over the tea and biscuits. He began setting up the chessboard between the two chairs and urged John to play with him. John has always been very good at chess and has beaten Sherlock on occasion. Technically, it’s not difficult to beat Sherlock at chess; all one has to do is throw in a couple of uncalculated moves and Sherlock will fail to deduce the reasoning and overestimate the intent. He always wants things to be clever but John knows he can win after throwing Sherlock off his scent. Easy peasy.

They played the game in silence, sipping tea. Halfway through Sherlock reached for John’s hand under the table and held it loosely as they played. John’s mind raced and caused him to lose the game. He couldn’t help but think Sherlock had that outcome planned the whole time.

“I’ve been composing again, John, to help me think. It’s a new piece inspired by the outcome of the Morris Grey case. Somber, haunting, cold. Would you like to hear it?”

“I would love to hear it, Sherlock.”

Sherlock smiled wide as he picked up his violin. John’s heart weighed heavy in his chest as he watched Sherlock close his eyes and get swept away in the music. It was at this moment John felt tears sting the back of his eyes. He swallowed over the lump in his throat, thinking about how much he loved him and how hurt he’d be if Sherlock didn’t fully reciprocate by the end of the night.

The song ended and John whistled. Sherlock bowed enthusiastically. Sherlock wrapped his arm around John on the sofa and placed his free hand over John’s in his lap, slowly stroking his thumb over the back of John’s hand. Halfway through, Sherlock’s phone lit up. Lestrade had inquires about another case.

“Oi, your phone is buzzing like crazy, you should check it. Lestrade might need you.”



“I’ll miss this scene. He can wait til morning.”

“You’re choosing a James Bond film over a case?”

“No, I’m choosing an evening with you over a case.”

John couldn’t believe his ears. Moments later tears streamed down his face, illuminated by the glow of the television.

“John, you’re crying! Was it something I did? Did I do it wrong?”

“No, you didn’t. Come here.”

John couldn’t stop himself from grabbing a handful of Sherlock’s hair and pulling him into a kiss. Sherlock was eager to reciprocate but remained collected, appreciative. After a minute John’s smile broke the kiss and Sherlock was grinning back. They dissolved into giggles, purely happy for the first time in years. After calming down, Sherlock broke the silence.

“Come now, off to bed.”

Sherlock stood, pulling John by the hand to his bedroom. They both stripped off all but their pants and climbed into bed. Sherlock nestled into the crook of John’s neck, enjoying the peppering of kisses John planted on the top of his head. In a few short minutes they were both asleep, finally happy together. Sherlock was certain John would never leave.

But the morning came and Sherlock woke up alone. He reached across the bed only to find empty sheets. Sherlock darted into a sitting position and scanned the room. John’s clothes were gone and his side of the bed was cold - he’d left at least an hour ago. There was no note, no text. Sherlock panicked and ran out of his bedroom, hoping John was somewhere in the flat. But John was nowhere to be found. “I couldn’t convince him to stay, I told him he could leave in the morning,” Sherlock thought. “The price really was too high.” Sherlock’s eyes welled as he laid back down on his bed and pulled his knees to his chest.

“Sherlock? Oi, Sherlock, wake up, it’s nearly noon. Have you… have you been crying?”

John shook Sherlock awake and noticed the red circles around his eyes. Sherlock had cried himself back to sleep after finding John had rejected him.

“Leave me alone, John. You made your choice, go ahead and leave. I tried my best, I really tried. Looks like I miscalculated yet again. Your price was too rich for my blood. I’m sorry I couldn’t make you happy. I’m sorry I couldn’t make you stay.”

“Sherlock, don’t say that. Don’t talk like that. Last night was the greatest night of my life. I want you to hold my hand and kiss my forehead every day. I want you to make me tea and snog me on the sofa every day. I want to fall asleep in your arms every night. Damn it, Sherlock, You make me so bloody happy. How can you not see that?”

“You left. I woke up alone. You left me alone. That was our deal. I told you if you were unhappy you could leave in the morning. And you left.”

“Jesus. Sherlock. I left for a couple of hours to pack some suitcases. I came right back as soon as i could. There’s no place I’d rather be.”

“You… you mean that? There’s no place you’d rather be than here at Baker Street?”

“There’s no place I’d rather be than by your side, every minute of every day.”


“Yes, Sherlock?”

“Come back to bed.”

“But it’s noon. Hardly a good time to nap.”

“I’m glad to hear you say so because I do not intend for us to nap. I had my mind set on something else entirely.”