An Unexpected Novel - SherlockIt's been much too long (two days) since the last case and John has hidden Sherlock's gun. He'll find it in a momentit's either behind John's dresser or rolled up in a towel with the linensbut right now he can't be bothered to get up off the sofa.
Bored. Bored bored bored bored bored bored.
He doesn't have any experiments to run. Freezer burn invalidated the last one and John said he was sorry but it had certainly looked like bagged gravy to him, and the freezer seemed like a suitable place for it. And Sherlock had asked peevishly what kind of person puts gravy in bags? and John had snapped back about how oh don't tell me I'm supposed to evaluate your actions according to the standard of 'people' now. And so Sherlock was sulking. For the loss of his not-gravy (river water and sloughed flesh emulsification, actually), not for the retort, which was actually a reasonable one.
He doesn't know how John does this, the long, quiet afternoons. Sure, John
BBC SH Reunion - MollyThere was nothing nicer than being curled up warm in your bed with nothing but the hypnotic dance of the rain on your window to gentle the silence.
Molly Hooper was balanced on the very cusp of sleep, her duvet snugly moulded to the shape of her body like an embrace.
One of her eyes cracked open slightly.
She mentally scolded herself for falling asleep with her book in her hand and the bedside light on, but was too comfortable to get too irritated at herself.
She sighed, contented, and let her eyes slip shut once more.
Molly Hooper had always wanted to help people. Born cleverer than average, her father and mother had been so proud when she'd became a doctor. And she had loved it. For a while.
But, like sand in an hourglass creeping up the sides of the glass, the ones that she simply couldn't have saved began to accumulate.
Her parents worried about the falseness of her smile. She never had been good at pretending she was alright when she wasn't.
Then one day, she quietly informed them
BBC SH - Lost and FoundA man sat alone in a bar.
There was a neat little pyramid of glasses in front of him. Ten shot glasses in one pyramid. Five in a half-completed pyramid. Three pint glasses.
His jacket sleeve had trailed in a puddle of something blue. He grabbed vaguely at the material and sucked the liquid away.
Glacier mint vodka. From a puddle left by an earlier patron.
The bar man came over.
He pushed a handful of coins towards him.
"Alone again?" He said, ignoring the money.
He nodded and tapped pointedly at the coins.
"I should cut you off." He said, despairingly.
"How much wood could a wood chuck chuck if a wood chuck could chuck wood." He said, his voice wooden. "I'm fine. Hit me."
He sighed and took the money, giving him another pint. "Mate, I have seen a lot of people in my time and believe me you are not fine."
"More fine than I would be without it." He mumbled into the pint.
The sick gyroscopic whirling in his head was a welcome companion now.
It meant he wouldn't dream tonight.
Four patch problem?It wasn't often that John Watson woke up in the middle of the night for reasons not concerning his nightmares.
The nightmares had certainly woken him up, screaming into his pillow for soldiers lost, but there was something that was keeping him from drifting off again.
From his little room upstairs, John woke to hear the sounds of Sherlock stirring in his sleep. He sat on the edge of his bed, head in his hands, just for a few seconds so that he could slowly wake up before investigating further.
Sherlock didn't even try sleeping most nights; he'd just stay up with his cases, or his experiments. After almost a week of sleepless nights, he'd cave in. Rarely in his own bed. John, if ever he got up in the night, which was likely, would often find Sherlock asleep in the oddest of places. Most unusually on the sofa, but other times, his flat-mate would be snoring gently on the kitchen floor, perhaps not quite making it to the fridge or the sink, and letting his tiredness overrule his defiance
Must Be MadTitle: Must Be Mad
Rating: Mild T (13+)
Summary: There are some things none of us understand. Things like falling in love with Sherlock Holmes.
Warnings: Slash. May trigger intense periods of crying over the cruelty of the BBC.
Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock. If I did, the series finale would certainly not have involved John Watson's heart breaking into a million tiny pieces.
Notes: This is kind of part of a series of fics (Must Be Mad, More Than I Am, Lovers of the Lost, and Of Course, Of Course.) They can be read as a series, or as stand-alone stories