so i wanted to draw my two fav au sunflowers, so heres punk!sherlock and nerd!john sitting in a park, listening to music together. maybe its a date who knows. ;u; ill have this as a print at my table at 221BCon, loves~
Punk!Sherlock, because punklock is love. It’s been a while since i drew something with lineart so this one took me like forever. I’m not quite happy with the coloring, but anyway, here he is! Punk!John is gonna be next on my to do list. If you can see johnlocky thing here, you’re awesome.
so i don’t post my stuff ‘cause i’m a tad self-conscious but erm i drew something and it’s not a disaster so yeah
it started off as a doodle of rugbyjohn picking balletsherlock up from practice but it turned into a full-fledged thing of rugbyhipstertattoojohn picking hipsterfashionistagenderfluidtattooballetsherlock from practice and then gone grocery shopping and walking home haha guess i was fueled on by the sights and people of atx
thanks so much to reapersun and msaether for their stuff that i referenced back and forth to (and i didn’t ask first i’m so sorry)
“That was,” Sherlock paused, clacking the barbell in her tongue against her teeth. “Well, it was… good of you. To do that.” She chanced a glance at Joan’s face. Already a brilliant collection of bruises were blossoming across the bridge of her nose and around her eyes.
She had miscalculated. Frazier had never seemed particularly violent, but apparently pushing the right buttons could set him off like a firework. A few prodding questions about his girlfriend’s whereabouts last Friday night had turned him from a sullen drunk into a brawling one. She could have handled it; Frazier had a bad knee— one swift kick to it while wearing her steel-toed boots would have been sufficient to send him crashing to the ground, but there she had miscalculated again.
Good Samaritans always complicated things. She had dodged the first clumsy swing and then there was a short, lean ball of controlled fury between her and Frazier. Joan— as Sherlock came to know her once Frazier was groaning on the ground— had thrown herself into the fight without a second thought.
Joan glanced over her shoulder at Sherlock and smirked. No one should look so delighted to be covered in bruises, but Joan glowed with it. She had cursed up a storm while resetting her nose, but grinned while poking at her black eye. The blood from her broken nose had ruined her shirt, which had been discarded without a hint of remorse. In the yellow light of the cramped bathroom, she looked like a warrior returning from a glorious battle, her shoulders held straight in defiance as she cleaned and tended to her wounds. “Maybe next time don’t go pissing off someone twice your size.”
“Hmm… it is a fairly regular occurrence. I make no promises. Besides, if he was twice mine, then he was three times your own.” Sherlock risked a tentative smile. “Why did you do it?”
Joan shrugged. “Couldn’t let a pretty face get bashed in.”
“No, that wasn’t it. Granted you do seem the type to rush to the rescue of people, but this was something else.” Sherlock studied her, eyes glued for a moment on the cut on Joan’s lip, before taking in the rest of her appearance. It came to her in a flash and she chuckled at the realization. “You were bored and looking for trouble."
"No, I wasn’t.” The tips of Joan’s ears turned red. Fascinating. Not a hint of embarrassment at getting kicked out of bar for fighting, but confronted with her need for danger and she turned a stunning red. Suddenly Sherlock desperately wanted to see what else would make her turn that color.
"Yeah, well, looks like I found it.”
“And what do you plan to do about it now?” Sherlock hooked a finger into Joan’s belt loops and pulled her close.
Joan looked away and licked her lips. “I’ve got a few ideas.” She pounced, once more surprising Sherlock by how quick she was, and smashed their mouths together.
Sherlock grinned around the taste of beer, copper, and possibilities.
Mycroft is sixteen, shy, and has been assigned to be Greg’s Literature tutor. Greg is seventeen, sexy, and needs to pass Lit to stay on the rugby team. What happens when posh meets rough?
Someone asked us for winter Mystrade a bit ago, so here you are! The second I read the premise for this, I actually said, “Gimme!” out loud to myself. Something about sexy, rebellious, teenage Greg Lestrade just… I need it in my life. And Mycroft would be a tutor, wouldn’t he? He’s just the right mixture of Mother Hen and Pretentious Scholar. Also, the way Lestrade is described in this is really hot, plus he has a hint of punklock/bad boy going on what with his bike and his stab wounds and his tattoo and his smoking and his drinking… Yeah, I probably shouldn’t be as into all that as I am. The writing is great, with no noticeable spelling or grammar errors, the descriptions are smouldering, and I really loved how things built between them. I’m an absolute sucker for a slow burn, and Mycroft was so adorable when he got all flustered. For being Teen rated and a winter fic, this story had plenty of steam. I loved it! Even if you don’t like this pairing, I highly recommend this fic.
Rating: Teen and Up
My Rating: A+
Warnings: insecurity, first kiss, mentions of violence, promiscuity, tattoos, smoking, drinking
Word Count: 4,646
My Favourite Quote:
Mycroft swallowed hard, and looked at him. Dark brown eyes, long lashes, luxurious hair that flopped carelessly over his right eye. Full, lush lips, slightly parted, showing a flash of those straight, white teeth. Slight dusting of hair trailing from his chest down to the top of the waistband of his pants…[…]