This is my absolutely perfect and fantastic commission from shootbadcabbies! I asked for hipster genderfluid teenlock revealing to John for the first time that xer genderfluid in John’s bedroom and I got something so much more incredible than I could have ever imagined! Thank you soooo much!
do not think about sherlock and john in the shower together and john laughing at how flat sherlock’s hair gets and how it covers his eyes and definitely do not think about john lifting the hair out of sherlock’s eyes and saying “hi, handsome” and kissing him and absolutely DO NOT think about sherlock gently kissing down the back of john’s neck as he idly washes his back DO NOT EVER
when sherlock first notices john moving things around the cottage he shrugs it off as spring cleaning but it goes on for about a week and he can’t figure out why so he spends one afternoon pondering all the possibilities and when john comes home he barges out to the cab to give him his deductions but he doesn’t even get to say a word because john opens the door and an irish setter pup comes barreling out barking and tripping over its own feet and it runs to sherlock and jumps up and is a wriggling ball of excitement and sherlock just stares in shock because puppyproofing the cottage wasn’t even a possibility in his mind and john smiles and scoops the pup up and hands him to sherlock and tells him happy birthday and even after twenty five years john still surprises him
sherlock and john sell honey at the local farmer’s market in summer and become known for it. john dozes off as sherlock rants to a customer about the bee species he thinks create the best honey. he handles the transactions and sherlock provides information, leant back in his sunhat, watching john. sometimes the two of them bicker about the jar arrangement on the table (and almost always snicker when sherlock deduces passersby). two tired grumpy happy old men who make the best honey in the south downs (◡‿◡✿)
Okay so gaytectives was talking here about how Sherlock would have reacted to seeing John in his wedding tux for the first time and I was thinking best man usually goes to the tux fitting so…I did a ficlet.
Image of penicillin mold can be found here, if you’re curious.
“Okay then,” John says from behind him, stepping out of the dressing room. “What do you think?”
Sherlock tugs at a cuff, still grumbling under his breath at the poor, put-upon tailor at his heel as he whirls about to face John.
“I think I’ve had just about enough of this place. Honestly, I don’t know why you wouldn’t just use Mycroft’s…”
Sherlock’s syllables fumble to an uncoordinated halt, his sneer sliding sideways on his face, dangling at the edge of his slightly parted lips before falling away completely. Dimly, Sherlock thinks he hears it shatter on the floor. At any rate, something is breaking, sharp shards of it lodged between his ribs, behind his sternum.
John brushes past him to inspect himself in the mirror. “Well? How does it look?” he asks, flicking at imagined lint on his shoulder, the tips of his socked feet peeking out from too-long trouser legs.
Sherlock’s mind is racing. He’s expected to say something. What does one say? What does one say when he looks like…when he looks like that? He has never quite looked that way before. In silks and tails and waistcoat, still ill-fitting, but cutting pleasing lines across and around his compact frame.
“John.” The name gets caught in his throat, scrapes out dry and creaking. John is smiling uncertainly at him in the mirror. Sherlock’s mouth is still open. How does it look?
Like Penicillin chrysogenum at a hundred times magnification. The way you’d never know what it was, just looking at the surface. The way it spreads like roots, like tiny flowers reaching for the sun, this ordinary thing that is not ordinary, not at all. This unassuming thing whose whole structure is beautiful, this thing that someone thought was worthless, this thing that will save you, in the end.
“You look like penicillin mold,” he manages at last.
John’s half-smile flickers, then hardens into his more customary irritated smirk. “Ta,” he says, and resumes fussing with the shoulders of his jacket. “Hope you’re saving some of that poetry for the best man’s speech.”
Sherlock isn’t listening. He watches John’s reflection in the mirror, and he is thinking about beautiful things that grow in secret places, about the shattered glass that fills the space around his heart.
imagine sherlock undressing john languidly and unrushed and he kisses all along his neck and collarbone and asks him to turn so he can paint his back with kisses, and he sees john’s shoulder scar, not for the first time but now, in shadow only visibly by memory, it’s even more intriguing, and he brushes his lips over it, not kissing just barely touching, and john shudders and begins to shrug away from his affections, but sherlock utters against his skin, breath hot in the chilly air, “this brought you to me.”
imagine john undressing sherlock kindly and slowly and he noses his freshly-washed hair and kisses the back of his neck in little, adoring pecks, and he sees the scars on his back, he’s seen them before but somehow, washed in blue moonlight, the sight of them is more poigant, and he strokes each gash - short and long and shallow and deep - with his index finger, and sherlock shudders and starts to say his name in protest, but john tips his forehead onto sherlock’s shoulder and mumbles, “these brought you back to me.”
and sherlock brushes his fingers over the minuscule scars on john’s temple and remembers nearly losing him in the bonfire, and john tenderly kisses sherlock’s clean bullet scar on his abdomen and remembers nearly losing him again to someone he once thought he loved, and their scars are little pieces of evidence of the struggle they’ve fought just to be together, and it’s all been so worth it
when sherlock starts to really go grey john can tell it bothers him even if he just huffs and dismisses john pointing out his pepper hair and later that night when john sees sherlock frowning at his reflection john comes up from behind and runs his fingers through his hair and kisses his neck and calls him dashing and anytime it happens from then on out that’s what john does (and john knows sometimes sherlock does it on purpose just to goad him into affection but he doesn’t mind giving it at all especially if it makes sherlock smile)