That moment when Moriarty licks the dust that is mostly Sherlock’s skin and insinuates he wants the taste of fresh skin instead. In which he also says “doesn’t taste the same”, like he HAD in fact tasted the fresh skin before. That very glorious moment you realize, with extreme pleasure and equal part disappointment, that this is all playing out in Shelock’s head.
Bonus: (gif4) Sherlock inhaling deep with an almost unnoticeable gasp, like he was feeling that tongue on his skin. Could’ve even felt it at a subconscious level and probably there had been an actual physical reaction to all of this. ‘Cause this was one hell of a wet dream.
Deleted shot from TFP of Sherlock after he smashes the coffin. He’s a real mess here when compared to the actual shot they included afterward. Though he was visibly shaking in that one as well. Makes me wonder exactly how long he sat there when John finally thought it was safe to get him to talk again. And if this is not enough proof of how much Molly means to Sherlock, I don’t know what does. Hats off to Benedict’s performance.
I say, Watson,’ he whispered, ‘would you be afraid to sleep in the same room as a lunatic, a man with softening of the brain, an idiot whose mind has lost its grip?’
‘Not in the least,’ I answered in astonishment.
‘Ah, that’s lucky,’ he said, and not another word would he utter that night.
On February 1st John wakes up to find that Sherlock’s half of the bed is empty, and on his pillow is a single lavender rose. He smiles softly, picks it up, and presses his nose into the petals.
The following day John finds two of the same flower, their stems cut quite short, waiting for him in his favorite mug when he goes to make tea. He doesn’t ask Sherlock about it yet, and Sherlock acts as if nothing is different.
On February 3rd there are three lavender roses waiting for John. One is resting in his left shoe; another is tucked inside his jacket pocket; the third he finds on the doorknob when he’s on his way out. He puts them on his desk at work and thinks about texting Sherlock for an explanation. But he doesn’t. Not yet.
Four roses find their way onto the mantlepiece.
Five are found nestled in John’s chair late in the evening on February 5th.
Six are discovered the following morning, wrapped neatly together with ribbon, in the refrigerator. Still, neither of them say a word.
It isn’t until the 7th of February–when John finds seven lavender roses, cut from their stems, floating in a bowl of water on the kitchen table–that John’s curiosity gets the better of him. He’s not much for computers, but he knows how to use google at least. The results make his head feel light.
Eight roses decorate the sitting room in various spots.
Nine are placed into various beakers and tubes.
Ten litter the surface of the sofa all day on February 10th. They avoid sitting there all day, but neither of them mentions it.
On February 11th there are eleven roses lining the doorframe of Baker Street.
The 12th brings a bouquet to John’s office where he switches them out for the three that have begun to wilt but that he was unwilling to remove.
Thirteen roses hang from the ceiling of their bedroom the following day. John isn’t quite sure how Sherlock managed that without waking him, but he lays there for almost half an hour, just watching them sway back and forth.
John comes home from work on the 14th of February and finds lavender rose petals scattered up and down the seventeen steps of 221B. If he had to guess he would say there were enough petals for fourteen roses. His chest constricts, and he takes the steps slowly, a small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.
He expects to find Sherlock waiting for him, but when he reaches the top he finds the door to the sitting room closed, a note taped to it. Sherlock’s untidy scrawl reads, You know where to find me.
And John does. He’s back down the stairs and out the door in seconds, and for once it seems he’s got Sherlock’s luck on his side as a taxi rolls to a stop when he flings out his hand.
The lab at St. Bart’s hasn’t changed much since the day they met, and it’s a bit like walking into the past when John pushes the door open to find Sherlock waiting for him in the same exact spot he had been when John had first seen him. Only this time John isn’t limping. And this time Sherlock is holding a single lavender rose instead of a pipette, and his gaze is soft and warm as it settles on John.
“Knew you’d get it,” he says, his eyes crinkling with his smile.
John walks toward him, taking his time even though his heart is pounding. It’s ridiculous, he thinks, because they’ve been together for months now. “I’m smarter than I look,” he says, unable to keep from smiling in return. He stops about a foot away, nodding toward the rose in Sherlock’s hand. “Isn’t that cheating?”
Sherlock shakes his head. “You see, but you do not observe,” he says, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He steps closer, holding the flower up between them. “There were only thirteen on the steps. This is number fourteen.”
John steps closer and reaches out to touch the petals, letting his hand slip down until his fingers ghost over Sherlock’s. “I looked it up, you know. Lavender rose.”
“I know,” Sherlock says, his smile widening. “On the seventh. I was surprised you held out for so long.”
John can’t help laughing. “I’m not even going to ask how you knew.”
He plucks the rose from Sherlock’s fingers and sets it gingerly on the counter beside them, removing the delicate barrier between them so that he can step into Sherlock’s space and draw him down for a soft, slow kiss. Sherlock’s hands cup his face, his thumbs stroking along the sharp edges of his jaw, and John clings to fistfuls of Sherlock’s shirt at his waist.
When he pulls away it’s only enough so that he can speak, and his lips brush Sherlock’s with every word. “Love at first sight,” he whispers, and he frees one hand to touch the petals of the lavender rose beside them. “And you always said I was the romantic.”
Sherlock kisses him again, lingering for a long, sweet moment. “I thought you should know the truth. The whole of it. How long I’ve loved you.”
Something in John’s chest aches, and he spends long, drawn-out moments pressing his lips to Sherlock’s, murmuring his I love yous into his mouth, hoping that it will be enough, that Sherlock will understand that he’s been loved since the moment John saw him in this very lab so many years ago.
Later that night–after Sherlock has led them home, after John has pressed him against the sheets, after countless kisses and touches and soft, pleading words–later, they sit together in front of the fire, half-clothed, legs tangled together, and press the single lavender rose in between the pages of a heavy book. And when they’ve finished, John takes Sherlock by the hand and leads him back to bed.
One of the absolute best parts of The Final Problem for me is Mycroft Holmes. He is so deeply, deeply flawed and yet I love him more than I did before, hugely questionable life choices aside (hello, join the Sherlock and John club). I’m a sucker for Sherlock and Mycroft really loving each other and TFP did not disappoint. Mycroft’s potential death was one of my big fears about S4 and I’m so glad that didn’t come to pass. If there is a S5, I hope we see a lot more Mycroft. Until then, I eagerly await all of the new fic and meta about him.
And people have said that this one of Jim in TFP at 38:25 is also fourth-wall breaking, but I don’t consider it this because he’s talking to Mycroft; the camera is where Myc’s shoulder is:
It’s not fourth wall breaking, to me, if the character is talking to another character. Sherlock does it often enough in the series when we are “the deduction wall”, as in when we are watching from the POV of the wall or the monitor. These ones are more noticeable because these are the ACTORS – NOT THE CHARACTERS – LOOKING AT THE CAMERA.
The John one is the most blatant one, I think, because it’s ALL MARTIN, and it’s the LONGEST ONE; HE LITERALLY ACKNOWLEDGES THE CAMERA AND TAKES A SIP OF WINE:
So yeah, gang, please add others if you see them. Remember: they have to NOT be part of the “script” of sorts. Just the actors breaking character and staring at the camera.
John realises how selflessly Sherlock takes care of Rosie, and it helps him realise that Sherlock is actually a person truly and completely capable of loving. Much more than any other person he has ever known.
John and Rosie have been living back at Baker Street for two months when Rosie starts crying in the middle of the day. John is up to his elbows in soapy water at the sink, trying to clean all the dishes from the mess that was lunch, and Sherlock has been sitting at his microscope for the past hour, hardly moving, working on some experiment or another. John knows better than to attempt to ask him to help with the dishes when he’s so engrossed.
Rosie just sits in the middle of the sitting room, screaming.
John curses and, in his haste, he accidentally drops one of the sippy cups, successfully spilling water all over the floor. He sighs and leans down to pick it up, chucking it back in the sink and throwing a towel down over the spill. He’ll have to clean it up later, after he calms Rosie down. It isn’t until he’s almost got his hands completely dry, however, that he realizes Rosie has stopped yelling.
He looks over and almost drops the towel. Sherlock is standing by the window, Rosie curled up in his arms. He’s got his lips pressed against her head, and he’s murmuring quiet words that John can’t hear. Rosie hiccups and takes deep, shuddering breaths, her fists curled into Sherlock’s robe. After a few minutes, she lays her head down on his shoulder.
John doesn’t know how long he stands there staring at them, and he can’t quite pinpoint why the image of them together like that is making his chest hurt. He’s seen them play together in the past couple of months; he’s seen Sherlock play Rosie the violin; he’s seen Sherlock read to her. John’s eyes slide back to the microscope at the table where Sherlock’s abandoned slides and samples sit.
It wasn’t that he thought Sherlock was selfish enough to ignore a screaming baby in favour of his experiments. But…Sherlock had been known to tune out almost everything when he was working. He’d even tuned out the fire alarm once when Mrs. Hudson had accidentally set her stove on fire. John had had to drag him out of the flat.
But somehow, at the first sign of Rosie’s distress, Sherlock had been pulled from his work. And now, as John watches, he thinks about all of the other times Sherlock has done something like that in the past few months, smaller things that John hadn’t quite taken note of at the time. Ignoring texts from Lestrade; coming home with new nappies when John hadn’t even realized they were almost out; emerging from his mind palace when Rosie climbed up onto the sofa with him. Little things that seemed so small and yet weren’t.
John swallows hard, setting the rag aside, and that’s when Sherlock looks up at him, just the ghost of a smile gracing his features. John smiles back, and his throat feels tight because Sherlock is happy like this. He’s content with John’s child in his arms, rocking her until she’s calm, abandoning his own wants for hers.
Rosie falls asleep in Sherlock’s arms, and he takes her upstairs to put her into her crib. When he comes back down John has made up his mind, and he’s never seen Sherlock look so shocked as when John kisses him right then and there.
It’s been weeks and I’m just so struck by the fact that the whole theme of Sherlock throughout the years was…“The game is on!”. Sherlock using the distraction of his detective work as a substitute high, and honestly a way to keep himself at arms length from ‘humans’ and any emotional and/or romantic relationships of course.
And then there’s THE FINAL PROBLEM and in comes Eurus Holmes, setting up this game for Sherlock, and putting Molly Hooper’s life in danger, and during that call we get all this…
Is this one of your stupid games? No, it’s not a game.
I’m not an experiment, Sherlock. No, I know you’re not an experiment, you’re my friend, we’re friends.
You know why. No, I don’t know why.
Because it’s true, Sherlock. It’s always been true. Well if it’s true then just say it anyway.
Say it like you mean it. I love you. I love you.
He spends the whole phone call worried and pleading and as soon as it’s done he tries to shut all that off and get back to the game so he says…”Eurus, I won, I won…I won, I saved Molly Hooper.”
But then you have Eurus coming back with that EMOTIONAL CONTEXT speech and being like, HAHA NOPE, silly boy, you just lost, you proved yourself wrong, you have emotions, you do care.
And the writers had Eurus use Molly Hooper against Sherlock, like this, to facilitate this exact epiphany, (disproving everything he’s said over the years, that he’s not a hero, that he doesn’t have a heart) becauseMOLLY HOOPER does count, she matters the most, he loves her, andLOVE IS NOT A GAME.
AND I JUST CAN’T GET OVER HOW IMPORTANT THAT SCENE WAS! NOT JUST FOR THIS SHIP BUT FOR SHERLOCK’S ENTIRE ARC OF CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT!
They’ve come back from a case, Rosie long-asleep in the upstairs bedroom where there’s just enough room for her cot and John’s bed, and Sherlock is ranting.
“Stupid,” he spits out, pacing to and fro in the living room, his hands in his hair. “Why was she so stupid? Why kill them in the first place, when she knows she’s the best suspect?”
“Well, she loved him,” John offers, even though he knows Sherlock doesn’t really want his opinion.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he snaps, not even looking at John. “She didn’t love him.”
“What?” John sits up from where he’s been lazing on his chair. “Of course she did. Listen, I know you like to dismiss ‘sentiment,’ Sherlock, but love makes people do crazy things, so-”
“That,” Sherlock says and his voice is flat and angry at the same time, “was not love. That was possession, that was ownership, it may even have been jealousy, but it was definitely not love.” He infuses the word with such contempt that it makes John flinch, but Sherlock is moving again, glaring at the world as though it had personally offended him. “If she loved him, she’d have let him go. She’d have done everything in her power to make sure that he was happy, even if that meant he was with someone else. She’d have killed - she’d have died herself - if it meant that he would have one millimetre more happiness in his life than otherwise. She would have protected his lover with her life, she’d have done absolutely anything in her power to give him anything he wanted. Instead, she killed them both in a fit of jealous rage, because she never really loved him, she loved owning him. Like a favourite pair of shoes, or a pretty picture.”
John is still trying to absorb that rant when Sherlock crosses the room and slams his bedroom door behind him.
John sits in silence for a few moments before heading to bed.
He wakes up an hour later and John Watson has never actually experienced an epiphany before, never experienced that moment Sherlock is always chasing where all the pieces come together and your brain dissolves into fireworks and you know everything but he’s pretty sure that he just had one.
Before he can even think, he’s downstairs, pushing open Sherlock’s door and standing there like a fool.
Sherlock sits up, sleep-mussed and soft, and says “John, what’s wrong? Is it Watson?”
John licks his lips and tries to speak and…nothing.
“You…you love me,” he manages, and it’s a bare whisper, all he can force past the weight in his chest, of ten years of unsaid words. “Sherlock?”
Sherlock is looking at him with horror in his eyes.
“I-I” Sherlock says, and John interrupts him.
“Please say I’m wrong, Sherlock, please say I’m wrong,” and he’s speaking quickly now, tears running down his face unchecked, and his leg gives out and he finds himself on his knees by Sherlock’s bed, a ragged penitent in old pyjamas, prostrating himself before a saint. “Please say I haven’t been wrong all this time, haven’t wasted all these years, please, Sherlock, please…”
He hides his face in Sherlock’s bed, so that he can’t see Sherlock’s eyes, his beloved face creased in confusion.
“John?” Sherlock asks. “I don’t…I don’t understand.”
But John is sobbing too hard to answer, great heaving sobs, and Sherlock puts a hand on the back of his neck that burns like a brand because of course Sherlock would try to comfort him, even though he doesn’t understand what John is on about, even though John has hurt him so terribly so many times.
“I love you,” John gasps into the bed. Sherlock’s hand stills for a moment and then, cautiously, resumes its smooth comforting stroking.
“John, you’re upset,” he begins, but John cuts him off mid-sentence.
“Years, Sherlock, years,” he gasps. It’s becoming easier to speak, the weight on his chest becoming less with every word. “I’ve loved you for years. Since Angelo’s that first night, I think, since the cabbie, since the first time I saw you sleep-soft in morning light. I loved you in Dartmoor and I loved you at the pool - God, how I loved you in that moment, I would have fallen to my knees and worshipped at your feet for the rest of my life and I would have been content. I loved you on the roof of Bart’s and on the pavement a moment later. I loved you every moment of every day you were gone, and I loved you every time I stood in front of your grave and begged you for one more miracle, and I loved you when I punched your face because it was that or kiss you, and I loved you when you were bleeding out in Magnussen’s office. I loved you on Magnussen’s porch and I loved you on the tarmac, and I loved you in the morgue and in the hospital and in the prison and the well and I’ve loved you every moment since the day I met you, I love you I love you I love you.”
He doesn’t stop so much as run out of breath, chanting those three words - three words he’d never thought he’d be able to say - like prayer, John is a monk and this is his religion now, this is his faith, this only thing he knows for sure.
“John,” Sherlock breathes. “Why didn’t you…”
“I thought,” and John is trying to think of a way to say this right, a way to really explain, “I thought that you didn’t…I didn’t think you didn’t love me, but I thought you wanted me as a friend, just a friend, and so I tried to be the best friend anyone could ever have, but obviously I’m pretty shit at it, but I tried and I hid it, and hid it, and I married Mary because I thought…I thought I’d break apart from missing you and later I thought I’d die from wanting you, and I couldn’t bear to lose you but I was losing you anyway, but the surest way to lose you was to tell you, you didn’t feel the same, you didn’t want the same things, and that’s the best way to kill a friendship, and if friendship was all I could-”
And John shuts up, because Sherlock has slithered out of his bed and fallen to his knees in front of John, and stopped his panicked babbling with his mouth.
When Sherlock finally pulls back, John stares at him, shocked into silence.
“So many years,” Sherlock says, stroking a thumb over John’s lips. “We could have had so many years, John. If only we hadn’t been…”
“Afraid,” John supplies. Sherlock nods, and he’s so close that his nose rubs against John’s when he does, and it’s unbearably intimate. “We could…” And John has to stop for a moment to breathe, to lick his lips and gather his courage in his hands. “We could still have years,” he says. “If I’m not too late. If you still-”
And Sherlock doesn’t say anything with words, but when he kisses John, he writes eloquent poetry in this new language they are building together.
Yes, he says as he licks into John’s mouth
I want, he says, as he sucks a bruise into John’s neck.
I still, he whispers into the curve of John’s ear. I still love you. I will always love you.
I love Jealous Sherlock so much. I know I’m missing a tonne of them here, but these are the ones I could quickly find or remember being Jealous!Sherlock! I’m also adding Possessive Sherlock here as well, because I LOVE LOVE LOVE “his / My John” SO SO MUCH and literally I fave every fic that has it in there. GUH.
Unimpressed by 221b_hound(M, 3106 w.) – Sherlock has no intention of attending the Met’s New Year’s Eve party. The start of a new year is all but meaningless to him. But he ends up there anyway, having odd conversations, and John does not find Sherlock’s jealousy the slightest bit cute. And then there is dancing. Part10 of Unkissed
Unforgiven by 221b_hound(M, 4721 w.) – Sherlock’s latest case is for his ex boyfriend, the brilliant and handsome Professor Victor Trevor. John is not too happy about that. But things aren’t what they seem, an old friend of John’s is involved in the case, and John has a few surprises up his sleeve. Also - a proposal! Part 16 of Unkissed
Maintaining A Personal Life by Gingerhermit(E, 24,284 w.) – Sherlock and John discover some interesting revelations about each other’s sexuality, which lead them both to question the assumptions they’ve made about one another for years. In the midst of their mutual discoveries, a dangerous psychopath looms on the side-lines who threatens to destroy their new beginning.
For you, there’s only me by shock_blanket(E, 19,557 w.) – Sherlock realizes he has fallen in love with John, but believes he is unlovable. Cue lots of pining and jealousy on Sherlock’s part, followed by our favorite cuddly marksman making it all better. Because for Sherlock, there’s only John.
The Kissing Disease by cottonballz_of_death(E, 30,856 w.) – John brings home a boyfriend, shocking Sherlock, who long ago gave up hope that his straight flatmate would ever take a romantic interest in him. In a bid to reconnect with John, he tries to infect himself with a “harmless” virus. Neither of them is prepared for the emotional fallout that results.
Surety by hudders(G, 2,477w.) – “Sherlock is pissed because it seems that four pints of larger, two shots of tequila and a glass of wine has resulted in Lestrade becoming a little bit too friendly with everyone. And by everyone, Sherlock really means John.”
Correspondence by Cleo2010(T, 8031 w.) – Sherlock’s been spirited away on a case for Mycroft. Part of the deal was that he and John could communicate via letter until the case was completed. Maybe the cliche is true, absence does make the heart grow fonder. Or perhaps something is growing on the feet in the fridge. Read their letters month by month. Written after series one.
Presence by LostGirl(M, 8625 w.) – Sherlock has recently noticed a shift in his own perceptions, but he can’t quite figure out when it started.
Interlude by sussexbound (SamanthaLenore)(G, 2,837w.) – “Are you actually doing anything?” Sherlock scowls. “What?” “Are you busy? Because if not, I could use your help peeling potatoes.” “I’m not eating what you’re making. Why should I peel the potatoes?” John just shakes his head. “Because it might be a polite and thoughtful thing to do for the person who loves you. Just a tip.”Oh…Part 8 of The Homecoming
Understanding by sussexbound (SamanthaLenore)(T, 4,556 w.) – John’s face stretches into a smile that fades again, just as quickly. “It just comes like that, sometimes—all of a sudden. You don’t expect it.” He murmurs against Sherlock’s skin. “What does?” “Grief.” Part 9 of The Homecoming
Sibling Rivalry Or Fighting Over John Watson by Jessa7(T, 8K+ w., Romance and Humour, FFNet) – Mycroft is just as much of a genius as Sherlock is. He keeps randomly kidnapping John for chats, and the locations get better. Cue Sherlock’s younger sibling complex rearing up and jealousy ensues.
Come Home by hudders-and-hiddles (E, 3,763 w. | more pining than jealous but close enough) – When John leaves for a medical conference, Sherlock tries to entice him back home.
The Semantics of Crop Circle Formation: a case study by Sherlock Holmes [unpublished] by canolacrush(M, 41,710 | Cockblocking Sherlock) – “Look at these photographs,” I said, gesturing to the wall of crop circles. “What do you observe?”“Crop circles,” John replied.“Obvious. What else?”“Are…are those intestines surrounding them?”“Yes. The majority are bovine and ovine in origin. The farmers who have acquired these crop circles in their fields have also had a tenth of their livestock murdered and arranged thus.”“Why?” John said, presumably in a rhetorical fashion.I detest rhetorical questions. “That is what I must find out, John.”
Down with this Ship by FrostedFlame (PinkOrchid)(M, 10,862 w.) – Sherlock drags John undercover to a gay bar - for a case, of course - looking forward to seeing John flustered by their surroundings (since you know, he’s NOT GAY). John decides that he has hidden both his orientation and his feelings for his daft flatmate for far too long. He is done hiding, time to be honest with his bloody best friend in the world. He just hopes it won’t change anything between them. And then it does.
Paparazzi by SilentAuror(E, 10,543 w.) – John moves back into 221B Baker Street after his marriage falls apart and the paparazzi won’t leave him and Sherlock alone about the status of their supposed relationship. Sherlock, of course, never denies it, until one day he does…
Pattern Behaviour by SilentAuror(E, 14,835w) – Sherlock doesn’t even know why he resents John’s dates so much. Until the day he does know. Slight angst, unrequited feelings (but don’t let that scare you off!) (FAVE!)
OBSESSIVE / POSSESSIVE SHERLOCK
Perdition’s Flames by i_ship_an_armada(E, Treklock, 63,435 w., | mild Possessive Sherlock) – Sherlock would do anything to save him. Risk anything. Give anything. His money, his life. His soul. What he does, though, is change both of their destinies forever. Genetic re-engineering is the only option left. It turns out researchers underestimated the life expectancy and potential abilities of genetically re-engineered subjects. The British government and what would eventually become the United Federation of Planets, however, had not. Part 1 of PF Universe
The Things You Hide *Adult Edition* by verityburns(E, 10,821 w.) – Sherlock and John have been working and living together for nearly a year, each finding the other’s friendship to be the one thing they would not risk or want to live without. Until something happens to disturb the status quo…
Let Go by thisisforyou(G, 2,743 w.) – In the end, separating John’s things from Sherlock’s in the chaos of their sitting room is like pulling a limpet from a wet rock. Especially when the rock is clinging on for dear life, because Sherlock doesn’t want to let go.
In the cherry blossom’s shade by Eliane(M, 3,934 w.) – “This isn’t new. Sherlock has already done this – has gone through cities, and dingy hotels, and sleepless nights but it was different before. John wasn’t there before. They’re in this together.”
The Marriage Proposal Negotiation by Goddess_of_the_Night(G, 2161 w.) –Sherlock hasn’t ever really done anything the traditional way, so of course it wouldn’t bother him to propose to John even though they’re not even dating. And the fact that John is already on a date with someone else when he decides to do it? Tedious. Marrying John was the only thing he could do to ensure John was his.
The Light of Day by allonsys_girl(M, 7297 w.) – Rewrite of the end of Sign of Three. John actually notices Sherlock leaving the reception early, and chases after him. Angsty Johnlock. Happy ending, for sure. Part 1 of The Light of Day
Let the Sun Fade Out by nothingislittle(E, 2711 w.) – “He could warm the sun itself, Sherlock thinks, could heat their flat with just his presence, could brighten the room with one dazzling smile or just the sparkling in his eyes. Everything hurts when John looks this beautiful, but it’s a dulcet, aching pain, one that consumes Sherlock from the inside, that sends soft pangs through his abdomen and lodges a lump solidly in his throat. John glows, he glitters, he’s light itself, Sherlock thinks, and doesn’t even bother to scold himself for exaggerating, because he’s not, he’s not, John is everything, he’s beautiful and he shines, he’s everything.”