john please marry me

One Track Mind
  • *221B*
  • Sherlock: *working*
  • John: *sitting in his chair, tapping his leg; bored*
  • Rosamund: *colouring; looks up* What's wrong, Daddy?
  • John: *raises an eyebrow* Have you noticed lately...your Uncle manages to make every conversation about your Aunt?
  • Rosamund: *giggles* Really?
  • John: *nods* Watch *clears his throat; leans around his chair* hey, Sherlock? What time is that client due?
  • Sherlock: *still looking through the microscope* Four thirty. Half an hour before my wife's shift ends.
  • John: *gestures*
  • Rosamund: *happily* Ooh, lemme try *excited* Uncle Sherlock, on the way home from school, I saw a squirrel and- and it runned up a tree!
  • Sherlock: *looks up; smiles* That's nice.
  • Rosamund: ...
  • Sherlock: ...
  • Sherlock: *softly* Molly likes to feed the squirrels. We go to the park especially *goes back to work*
  • Rosmund: *grins at her dad* That's love, bitch.
  • John: ...
  • Rosamund: *goes back to colouring*
You built me palaces out of haikus

Anonymous: Aaah hi Hamilmom!! There’s this writing prompt that goes along the lines of “You left my room littered with haikus” and I think that’s perfect for a lams fic! Because Alexander’s a writer, y'know? If you could please write that that would be amazing. 😁 

I sure can write that, kiddo!! This is a SUPER FLUFFY fic so go brush your teeth directly after reading it, kiddos! ;D The line doesn’t appear directly in the fic, but its influence on it will become very, very clear. Enjoy the second lil fic in honor of Ham’s bday! This one is celebrating him being bi and loving Laurens :’) <333

John Laurens could never keep up with Alexander Hamilton. They’d been boyfriends for nearly five years now, and John still wasn’t sure how Alex did it. It being absolutely everything. Alexander was truly non-stop, and, most of the time, John felt like he was simply a witness to it. But he was happy to be a witness, and, sometimes, a participant, even if most of those times were when Alexander needed someone to step in and say take a break.

His hurricane of a boyfriend rarely listened to anyone, but he always listened to John.

John was accustomed to the mess that Alex often left in his wake. There were always papers, books–– some open, some with multiple bookmarks and tabs stuck in them–– Columbia University mugs that had once held coffee in them, blankets Alex huddled under while doing his work at various days throughout the week strewn all over the floor, old cups of ramen with the spoon stuck to the inside even though most of the time they ate real food because, even though they were only 26, they were adults with yearly salaries who could afford more than cups-o-noodles, but Alex simply never broke some of the habits he’d picked up in college.

So when John woke up one Saturday morning to an empty bed and a multitude of little papers scattered about their bedroom, he didn’t give it a second glance. It was only after he’d already gotten dressed that he noticed two things: 1) a note on the inside door knob instructing him not to exit the room until he found five haikus and 2) the scent of pancakes wafting from beyond the door, tempting him to ignore the note and follow the delicious smell.

As much as he just wanted to go scarf down the pancakes, John knew it was futile to leave without finding the poems, so he set to work. In a normal room, this might have been easy. But in their room, it was, well… challenging, to say the least.

He spent a few minutes flipping over drafts of essays Alexander was working on, and a few more rummaging through packets from Alex’s job that were left in the oddest places. He was considering begging Alex for a break when he noticed them–– tiny slips of papers folded like books, hanging from the blades of the ceiling fan, which was just gathering dust throughout the fall and winter, on nearly invisible white threads.

He stood on top of their bed and opened the first one up.

The moment I saw
you on the campus green, I
nearly couldn’t breathe.

John gently turned the fan just enough for the second one to land in front of him.

I felt the tug of
destiny move me forward,
closer to your grace.

John’s breath hitched, and he quickly scrambled to get to the next one.

You have taught me grace
and how to love; you’ve made me
feel something more.

John knew there were tears gathering in his eyes, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He needed Alexander’s words, the words written for him, just as much as he needed water and food and air.  

You’ve shaped me into
a better man, and that’s why
haikus grace this fan.

There was only one left. John felt as if the world around him had come to a halt as he whirled the fan around one last time. After taking a shaky breath, he opened the last little booklet and read.

Now I need to ask:
John Laurens will you graciously
let me take your hand?

“Wh-what?” John asked the air.

Apparently, the air had ears.

The door to their bedroom opened, and in walked Alexander, a tiny box in hand. John sunk down onto the bed, his hands over his mouth, tears trailing down his freckled cheeks. Alexander grinned at him as he got down on one knee.

Alex silently opened the box, revealing a tiny piece of paper covering a ring. After a nod from Alex, John took the white slip and read it.

I promise to be
the best man I can; please, John,
will you marry me?

John looked at the ring–– a simple, elegant silver band–– then he looked onto Alexander eyes, which were also filled with tears. The smile on his face put John’s mind at ease, though. They were happy tears. And John’s tears. Were they happy?

“Yes,” John said, voice cracking. “A thousand times yes.”

Alexander’s face broke out into an even larger grin and any anxiety that had distorted his features evaporated. “Oh my god,” Alex said as he fumbled to pull the ring out of the holder. “Oh my god,” he said, as he slipped it onto John’s finger.

Alex stood and gently pressed his lips to John’s. Their kiss was as soft as the first one they’d shared, over five years ago now, drunk on nothing but their raw feelings for each other, tentative, slightly afraid, but full of desire. Now only that desire remained–– the fear and hesitation had dripped away with the familiarity that bonded them throughout their years together. Now there was only softness, tenderness. Now there was only passion, a want embedded in them as deeply as the urge to breathe.

Now there was only love.


TURИ - Criminal Minds AU

Prompt List; x

Masterlist; x

# 31, # 32 & # 41 - I’m pregnant │Please say something │Marry me; John Murphy

Murphy opened the tent to see you sitting on his bed, which was a surprise considering your fight this morning. That aside, he was the happiest he’d been today just seeing you in front of him. Him being himself had to hold that happiness back. You started this fight, he wasn’t going to give the satisfaction of seeing him grovel at your feet in joy.

“What are you doing in a murderer’s tent?” He asked, throwing his gun into the pile of clothes you two had stacked up and promised to wash soon.

“I just..” You couldn’t say it. You couldn’t say the two words that might make John’s world crash or brighten up. He just rolled his head, resisting his urge to pull you into a hug and tell you everything will be fine.

“You just what, Y/N? I honestly don’t have all day.” He kept his angry facade as you nodded at the request.

I’m pregnant.” You finally were able to say the words after stumbling over them for passed two minutes. You finally met Murphy’s eyes, they were wide. Watery, like he wanted to cry. His body stiff as he stared at you. “Please, say something.” You stood slowly. He still stayed silent as you put your hands on his shoulders. “John?”

Marry me.” He finally spoke, those words made you look at him like he was crazy.

“Excuse me?” You took your hands off of him and laughed.

“I want you to marry me.” He smiled, the smile you were waiting to see since your fight. “Y/N.. Marry me.” He repeated, taking your waist and pulling you towards him.

“You’re happy about this?” You tilted your head. He nodded slowly, leaning into to kiss you.

“Of course I am.”

SO. I found out it was Rawan’s @femwitchlock​ birthday today and she is one of the nicest people I’ve had the privilege to talk to even if briefly so I set down and wrote her this thing and I hope you like it sjfkghkdjfghs and it’s your birthday for five minutes more so i’m not even late!!

“What’s this?” John peered over Sherlock’s shoulder, blowing air on her tea before taking a tongue-burning sip and scrunching her nose.

“You can always let it cool down before you drink it,” Sherlock said scornfully, but with a smile dancing at the corner of her lips. She leaned back in her chair and stretched her neck to look at John upside down.

“What’s the fun in that?” John smiled back, and leaned down to land a peck on Sherlock’s mouth, whispering good morning, bumblebee into it. Sherlock huffed an embarrassed laugh and replied by rubbing her nose with John’s. “Now tell me what you’re up to.”

John took a sit next to Sherlock at the kitchen table, where three small, identical wooden boxes set in a row, unopened, and several pages with Sherlock’s untidy scribbling were scattered all around them. The boxes had a mildly disconcerting look to them. Undoubtedly luxurious, golden decorations on dark mahogany, small, intricate shapes carved in them, they looked like someone’s heritage, like the weight of them in your hands must be significant in more than one way, but then, John’s past experiences with unopened, unfamiliar packages in their flat are not of the best kind.

Sherlock’s fingers ran over the golden lines on the box closest to John. “This?” She asked, sounding mildly distracted by the box’s beauty.

“Yes, this. Nothing dangerous, I should hope.” John took a closer look at box Sherlock was currently caressing. Handmade, no doubt.

“Oh no, no,” Sherlock turned to look at her, her eyes bright. “Just a little game.”

John raised an eyebrow at that. “Case related?”

“Nothing like that.”

Sherlock had a mysterious twinkle in her eyes, a mysterious quirk to her lips, her fingers moved to trace the same shapes on the upside of John’s palm. John swallowed, and took another look at the boxes. They were lined meticulously, like their placement had an importance to the game.

“They were sent in the mail with only this letter,” Sherlock continued, and handed John a piece of folded paper.

“By who?”

“No one to suspect of malice.”


Sherlock rolled her eyes. “Mummy.”

John cracked a smile at that. “Your Mum is playing games with you now?”

“Read the letter.” Sherlock ignored the invitation to talk about her distant relations with her family in favour of stealing John’s cup of tea.

John unfolded the letter.

Sherlock Dear,

Found these in the attic and remembered you never did solve this one.

Maybe you’ll have better luck this time around. With a little help, perhaps. Send John my regards. And nonetheless, I hope you find them useful.

“Well that…” John cleared her throat. She still felt uneasy being recognized as an important part of Sherlock’s life by Sherlock’s parents, which didn’t happen often, since Sherlock very rarely spoke to them, or visited them, but it felt weird, to be accepted like that into someone’s life. “That doesn’t explain much.”

“Hmm,” Sherlock hummed around the rim of the cup, and squeezed John’s hand before getting up, dressing gown flaring behind her. “Not enough sugar,” she complained, and went straight to the cupboard to pull the sugar out.

John should really not let this habit of taking over her morning drinks be so endearing. “Maybe ‘cause it’s mine.”

Sherlock ignored her. “Want to give it a shot?”

“Solving a thing that you didn’t manage solving?”

“Well, I did solve it, today, but. Yes.”

“Sure, why wouldn’t I be in the mood to embarrass myself first thing Sunday morning.”

Sherlock snorted as she poured a generous amount of sugar into the cup. “John, really. You’re never an embarrassment to me.”

John felt herself blushing. Complements from Sherlock still caught her unguarded, even after years of hearing them – handed offhandedly in the middle of a crime scene, reverently repeated between kisses, whispered brokenly in bed. She could never get used to this brilliant woman loving her.

“So?” Sherlock quirked an eyebrow at her when the silent went longer than necessary.

John cleared her throat again. So much for an easy-going Sunday. “Tell me the riddle.”

“Not precisely a riddle,” Sherlock corrected, coming back to sit next to john and resting her feet in John’s lap. John’s hands immediately came to massage them. Sherlock threw her head back, closed her eyes, and murmured: “‘They are all identical, correct?”

John examined the boxes closely, to see if it’s a trick question. On the surface they indeed seemed to be identical, but what if she was missing something? After several moments of examination, nothing popped out to her eyes, and she answered: “Correct.”

Sherlock curled her toes as John pressed down on the middle of her soles, and sighed. “They were made by three different people, at three different spots of the world, all within the same week and not as a copy of the first one made. What is the link between them?”

John blinked. “Well they – must have had the same design plans or – “

“No.” Sherlock cut her off. “Think, well, outside of the box.”

John gave her a good tickle for that one. When the laughter and squirming died down, and they had settled comfortably again, Sherlock pushed the middle box in John’s direction. “You can open them if you need to, go on, take a good hard look and tell me what you think.”

“Git,” John said fondly, and took the box offered to her carefully. She felt the weight in her hands, spinned it in them to examine all sides. She could think of ridiculous theories that Sherlock would scoff at, like an identical triplet with a hive mind, like coincidences that don’t exist in the world. She searched for something that will distinct this box from the others and will disprove the axiom of identicality, but found none. She was genuinely lost.

“Open it,” Sherlock nearly groaned, and kicked her playfully. She was now watching John intently, her eyes fixed on John’s when the latter looked up at her. She wasn’t smiling, not anymore, but her expression was so open it might have been better than smiling. “Come on,” She said, more softly.

“Alright,” John retorted through the lump in her throat. Whatever was going on, Sherlock wanted John to figure it out already, and believed that John, in time, will arrive to the (for some reason) important conclusion.

John’s fingers fumbled with the lock and her breath was caught in her throat as she pushed the lid back and exposed the insides of the fancy crate. Her brows furrowed in reaction to what she found inside, she looked up at Sherlock’s face, carefully controlled into a supposedly blank expression, but underneath it all John saw the unbelievable vulnerability that always made something grow in her chest and wrap itself tightly around her heart, a heart that was beating too fast.

“Sherlock…” she whispered in awe, her face crumpling out of confusion and into realization.

Sherlock kept on looking at her expectantly, not daring to say a word.

“Was this – were you just trying to – “

Sherlock cleared her throat. “Yes,” she croaked out, seeming terrified and hopeful all at once.

For a long moment, John couldn’t speak. She knew Sherlock must be freaking out under her demeanour but she honestly couldn’t find the words to say –

“Will you?” Sherlock asked, just then, just as John was about to gush out her incoherent response.

John felt herself starting to tear up. “Sherlock…” she said again, placed the box carefully back on the table, and breathed in, and breathed out, and before Sherlock could start apologizing for her stupidity got swiftly out of her chair and took Sherlock’s face between her palms and kissed her. “I will,” she said, kissed her again. “I will. Bumblebee, of course I will. Yes, yes, I will marry you. Please marry me back.”

“Oh, John,” Sherlock breathed out, hands clutching at John’s shirt and pulling her closer. “I love you.”

“Tell me, then,” John smiled into the kiss.

“I will marry you. We’re going to marry each other.”

“Yes. Yes, we are.”


“So this…elaborate scheme…” John nuzzled her nose into Sherlock’s shoulder, her hand resting on her warm, pudgy stomach, playing with the sparse hairs that go down from under her naval.

Sherlock smiled into her hair. “I just wanted to…surprise you.”

“You certainly did. But, was your mother in on it?”

“Oh no,” Sherlock tangled their legs together, and huffed out a laugh. “She’d sent me the boxes months ago. It was then that I got the idea.”

“So there was something you didn’t solve.”


“What was it?”

Sherlock inhaled deeply, and sighed. “It’s nothing complicated.”

John poked her in the ribs. “Tell me, though.”

“When I was younger, Mummy asked me what’s so special about these boxes. She got them as a gift for her many successes in her academic field. I gave her many answers, mainly concentrating on the minute details that made every box differ from the other to the trained eye. They are not, in fact, completely identical, but that’s not the point.”

“What is the point, then?”

“The point is,” Sherlock drawled on, running her hand up and down John’s spine, making her shiver slightly. “That nothing is special about them, unless you look for it. They are beautiful, for sure. They are crafted with talent, no doubt about that. But they are all the same, unless you put the effort in to make them special. People, surprisingly, when you put as much scrutiny to them as I do, are very much the same. It’s not the grand things that make them special, it’s the details you need to work hard to get that do that. It’s getting to know them closely that does that.”

John had let Sherlock’s quiet mumbling envelop her, and now, with her eyes closed and Sherlock’s warm body pressed even closer to her than it was before, somehow, she’s so sleepy and content she barely manages to ask: “So how did the proposal come into this?”

Sherlock’s voice is cracking at the edges when she answers, “You could have been just another face I didn’t bother with, but you made me pay attention, and, John?”

“Yes?” John’s voice mimicked Sherlock’s.

“I could never, and would never, know someone as intimately as I know you, and therefore no one could ever be as special to me as you are, and I wanted – “ Sherlock’s voice breaks.

“You wanted me to be even more special.”


John climbed over Sherlock, straddled her, so she could look her in the eyes as she said: “I love you, too. You are – my special one, as well. And I am so happy you paid attention to me, because there wasn’t a chance in the world that I wouldn’t pay attention to you.”

“That’s…” Sherlock swallows, “good.”


“Yes, good.”

John grinned at her. “Show me how well you know me.”

And as Sherlock grinned back, John thought that this, this is everything she’ll ever need.

The amount of unsent texts and emails on Sherlock’s phone is staggering. They start out simple enough - I’m not dead, I’m sorry, The woman next to me on the bus is cheating on her husband - but as time progresses they become more and more desperate.

I miss you.

I think I’ve fallen in love with you.

I have fallen in love with you.

I’m sorry John, please forgive me.

Please come home to me.

Do not marry her.

I need you. I’m sorry.

I’m so sorry.

shit guys i think i died

Sherlock: A Summary
  • <p> <b>ASIP John:</b> "Is this guy for real? He's fascinating."<p/><b>ASIP Sherlock:</b> "We are a good team. Please like me."<p/><b>TBB John:</b> "I should probably stop you from being the only thing in my life."<p/><b>TBB Sherlock:</b> "But I can give you everything. Please like me."<p/><b>TGG John:</b> "I want to help with the cases. I'm smart, too."<p/><b>TGG Sherlock:</b> "Go ahead and take these few cases yourself, I'll make sure you don't mess up. Please like me."<p/><b>ASIB John:</b> "Who. The hell. Does she think. She is. Texting. And flirting. All the time."<p/><b>ASIB Sherlock:</b> "I don't text back! You're the only person I ever have dinner with! Please like me."<p/><b>THOB John:</b> "God, why does he say such horrible things? Does he try to hurt my feelings?"<p/><b>THOB Sherlock:</b> "I'm not broken! There's nothing wrong with me! I'm allowed to be afraid! I'm human! I've only got one friend in the whole world. Please like me."<p/><b>TRF John:</b> "I must defend Sherlock's honor. I must punch this police chief."<p/><b>TRF Sherlock:</b> "You're afraid you've been taken in, too. Moriarty has been playing with your mind! Please like me!"<p/><b>TEH John:</b> "Fuck off."<p/><b>TEH Sherlock:</b> "Everything I do is for you. Please like me."<p/><b>TSOT John:</b> "I'm getting married because I need someone to love me back, for once."<p/><b>TSOT Sherlock:</b> "Everything I do is for you. Please like me."<p/><b>HLV John:</b> "Why is everyone out to get me?!?"<p/><b>HLV Sherlock:</b> "Everything I do is for you. Please like me."<p/><b>TAB John:</b> "The only thing I know in this life is that there's always two of us. I'll always be with you. Always."<p/><b>TAB Sherlock:</b> "YOU LIKE ME!!!!!!!!"<p/></p>