so many johnlock feelings

Their first kiss takes place at the bottom of the stairs, where their first laugh was. And, that’s where it starts, the ‘double-tap’, Sherlock calls it.

As John slowly separates their lips, he tugs Sherlock’s forehead down to his own and brings their temples gently together twice. Though Sherlock notices it happening, he has no urge at all to question it. Not when his mind is already spiraling after the first touch of John’s lips against his own. Foreheads be damned. 

But, Sherlock notices the double-tap again. This time at night, in their bed. John’s holding Sherlock from behind, arms secured around the detective’s waist. Sherlock is drifting off into the milky feeling of sleep, when he feels a small ‘bump-bump’ against the bare skin along his spine – followed by a small puff of warm air as John sighs contently.

What was it? Why does John do that?

Sherlock applies some rather embarrassing internet searches to the topic of forehead-bumping your partners…but comes up with nothing but juvenile sites for teens venturing off into the ‘Exciting World of Relationships’, as well as sites that gives tips on executing a successful headbutt that will knock out an attacker in one go.

Neither of those help. So, Sherlock assumes it’s just a John-thing. Which is fine, because that means it’s going to be easier to figure out. Sherlock just needs to focus on it better.

Two and a half weeks into the Bump Study, and Sherlock’s not really gotten anywhere.

What originally Sherlock thought was an action done after kissing, turns out to be an action done before falling asleep, after saying hello, before saying goodbye, after an argument, after tea, in the middle of watching a film, etc.

What does it mean??

One day, Sherlock gets fed up with not knowing. He hates not knowing.

“What is that?” Sherlock asks, and in confusion, John looks down at the only thing he has currently.

John waves a hand toward his plate. “Toast with peach jam…?”

“Damn the jam, John.” Sherlock rubs the heels of his palms against his eyes. “The head thing, what is it?”

“Your skull…?”

“Oh, John. I envy you.”

John rolls his eyes. “Yes, yes. I know.” He says. “Lucky John gets to be an idiot, while I, the Sherlock have to lug the weight of my big brain around.”

Sherlock peeks up from between his fingers. “You take that back.”

“You probably only have curls to hide the massiveness of your head that your brain causes.”

“I just. Want to know. Why you bump me with your forehead.” Sherlock can’t believe the conversation they’re having.

“Oh,” John’s frozen for a moment, then he’s shifting about. “It’s just…”

Sherlock is quite literally on the edge of his seat. “Yes??”

John is blushing. “I do it for a lot of reasons.”

Sherlock’s mouth falls open, then snaps shut. “Goodness, John. Your ability to specify leaves our country forever indebted.”

“Prick,” John dry-laughs. “Anyway, it’s words, Sherlock.”


“Each tap is usually a word, and sometimes it’s a single word with two syllables.”

“Tell me. Which words?”

"Okay,” John says. “Warning though, this is very sappy.”

“So be it. Sap on.”

“The words are: ‘thank you’,” John gets out of his chair. “’Need you’, ‘want you’, ‘love you’, ‘hate you’…” He stops in front of Sherlock, leans down until he’s close enough to softly bring their foreheads together twice. “’Sher-Lock’.”

John breaks the name into its two separate sounds to show how it fits into the double-tap.

Sherlock doesn’t know why he feels so near tears.

For a teenage girl who considers herself to be straight, all the gay ships, fan fiction about them that I read and the questionable ways that everything they do (in the shows or more often fics) excite me, sometimes makes me wonder if I could possibly be swinging in more directions than I think

One of my favourite things is finding a fanfic, and getting so invested in the characters. I feel so much for them, their anger, and sadness and fear, and it destroys me. I’ll cry, and laugh, and yell, and hide behind my hands. But I LOVE that feeling of finding an author who can make me feel like I’m right there with them . 

Bless you, you wonderful authors out there.

That moment when you’re watching/ reading a book/show/movie and see a popular ship and wonder “why does tumblr ship this?” Until something happens to Person A and Person B becomes devastated/desperate or they are determined to save them and suddenly it just clicks like

Originally posted by yourreactiongifs

Originally posted by tuanpizza
Points by lifeonmars
Rating: Mature Original Text: Summary: The little things are infinitely the most important. -- "A Case of Identity," Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

I am dead and writing to you all from the afterlife. @marsdaydream POINTS read by @lockedinjohnlock-podfics killed me. It was…well…perfect not even begins to describe it. What an utterly fulfilling, tender, slow-build up story. No rush needed, no villain Mary needed. Some hints at HLV (thats non existing in this vers) Just three people coming to the realization what matters, what feels right, what feels important. Some delicate Johnlock to tell for easy. So many feels, such a well timed reading…I can’t wrap my heart around this properly. It’s too much for my small being. 

I am very happy. Thank you both for this.

The tears infused laughing of Locky will carry me all the day


Sherlock tries so hard to be strong for John.

Sherlock tries so hard to be strong for John.
Sherlock tries so hard to be strong for John.
Sherlock tries so hard to be strong for John.

The phone ringing next to him on the nightstand wakes him up at. With a groan and sigh, Ben sits up, trying to muffle the noise of his phone by pressing his hand against the microphone - Sophie deserves a full night’s rest and he’d hate it if Chris woke up because of him. 

He quickly makes his way to the living room before he picks up. 

‘’Benedict speaking.’’ 

‘’Been complaining about me again, I see.’’ 

Martin. Ben’s stomach drops as his heart start hammering against his chest. God, he knew he should not have said those things. He knew he should not even have mentioned Martin, but the bitterness of being half a world away was getting to him. It’s like everything and everyone is trying to keep them apart, throwing them project after project, both abroad and at home. Amanda keeps him updated, sure, but it’s not the same. It just isn’t the same. 


‘’Goodmorning, sweetheart. Now, what’s this I hear about me not calling you?’’ He is teasing, but there is something else in his voice, something hesitant and careful and Ben decides he doesn’t like it. 

‘’Had to give them something good, with Steven and Mark keeping their jaws shut and all.’’ 

Martin giggles on the other end of the line and Ben feels the tightness of his chest dissolve a bit. Martin is calling him. Martin read what he said and called him! ‘’Have you and your mum set this up then?’’ 

Wait. ‘’My mum?’’ 

‘’You haven’t read the things she said? I swear to God, Ben, I adore that woman, but it was a bit obvious. ‘’They adore each other so much’’’’ Martin’s dissolves back into giggles after trying to impersonate his mother’s voice and Ben groans. 

He’s going to kill his mother. 

‘’So,’’ Martin asks, once he calmed down again, ‘’how was it?’’ 

‘’Good… It was good. Hectic, but good. Alistair might have given something away about John and Sholto, but Mark and Steven managed to keep their cool. Also -’’

‘’Ben… how was it?’’

Ben sucks in a breath and for a moment he just listens to Martin’s breathing on the other side. They shouldn’t do this. They said they wouldn’t, not anymore, but it has been months and it still feels like someone ripped a part of his heart out of his chest. A horrible analogy, he knows it and he knows Martin would laugh if he told him, but it is no less true. Sophie and Chris are great, his life is great, the work is great, the fans are great, but…

‘’I miss you.’’ 

Ben hears Martin’s shaky exhale before the mirthless laugh. ‘’I call Amanda every single night, did you know that? Right before she goes to bed. And every single night, I keep twiddling with my fucking phone because I want to call you. And I know what we fucking said, but… Jesus Ben…’’

‘’I know.’’ And he does. He does know. They shouldn’t, even though nothing ever truly happened between them - not like that - they really shouldn’t do this. It’s too risky, too tempting. And yet, they’ve been circling around each other for years, unable to stay away. They stay quiet for a while, just listening to each other, soaking in whatever they can. That is before Martin breaks the silence. 

‘’Why is it so quiet on your end? Where are you?’’

Moment gone. Ben closes his eyes for a moment, trying not to let the disappointment get the better of him. They can’t stay here; he has to sleep and Martin probably has to work. They need to keep moving. Standing still is just too much of a reminder of what they’ve been doing to each other for years. ‘’It’s 2:48 in the morning, Martin. Sophie and Chris are asleep.’’ 

‘’Oh shit. I - oh Ben, I’m so fucking sorry. Why didn’t you say I woke you up?’’

‘’I don’t mind.’’

The words hang between them for a moment and Ben grins when he hears Martin’s chuckle. ‘’Prick. I’ll… I’ll email you later, okay? For real, this time. Just go back to sleep, love.’’ 

Ben’s stomach flips at the word, but he doesn’t acknowledge it. They never do. ‘’Will do. And thank you, Martin… for the call. I appreciate it.’’ 

I love you.

‘’Thank you for picking up, you git. Sleep well.’

I love you too.