radicalnothing | John/Sherlock | E | 6,319 words
(221) We can talk tomorrow when we’re both alert. My mind is somewhere else right now.
(1-221) Where’s it at?
(221) In your pants.
John and Sherlock and the slow burn of a blossoming romance through inebriated textual exchange.
What a perfect mix of humour (“Reason number one: he likes having a nice, relaxing evening without Sherlock borrowing his cell to make angry, glottal calls in some imprecise Slavic dialect (last time that happened he’d ended up signing for a package shaped upsettingly like a sniper rifle and Sherlock had snatched it happily from his hands).” and “Before he has enough time to ponder if Sherlock himself can be classified as a virus (frightening, exhausting, chemically-resistant, cellularly alien, bloody impossible to kill [God, Sherlock is mononucleosis]), he gets another text.”) and smut (God, the story’s intense and scorching hot!) – and let’s not forget BAMF!John and those drunk texts either. Brilliant work!