colonelmajorkepler

[colonelmajorkepler]

The touch of your hand (says you'll catch me)

By @abstractfrog and CeruleanJen

John’s heart leaves a visible, viscous trail upon everything he comes into contact with.

It oozes love.

Sherlock had never understood the saying of someone “wearing their heart on their sleeve” until he’d met Doctor John Hamish Watson and the constant, sticky stain of affection that he wore day in, day out. John’s heart oozes with his feelings for the world around him and the people who live in it.

It had been unsettling when they’d first met, just how messy John had been with it all – mess wasn’t something that Sherlock had been accustomed to.

Now, he couldn’t picture a life without it.

Sherlock’s childhood had been almost clinically clean. His parents, when they had been there, barely left a smudge. They’d never really planned on a second child, not when their first was already due to start attending boarding school and their careers were taking off so well. They’d loved him in their own way, but it had been a sterile love to match their sterile lives.

His brother had been a little messier than their parents - flecks of affection in the encouraging noises made when Sherlock would enthuse about his latest interests, fingerprint stains on the letters he’d write home, the lightest impression of hands when he awkwardly hugged him because Sherlock’s blanket wasn’t working well enough.

But Mycroft was usually away at boarding school and then university, and he’d always been touch-averse even without learning their parents’ hands-off form of love. He didn’t know how to leave a mark that would last.

John, by contrast, doesn’t seem able to stop leaving marks.

Even the lightest touch – a brush of fingers against Sherlock’s shoulder as he passes behind, a gentle shoulder bump as they both try to make use of their tiny, messy kitchen – leaves visible signs, ones that take forever to wash away.

Nowadays, it’s rare for Sherlock to look in the mirror and find himself unblemished. He’s unsure when exactly his attitude towards it altered from resigned acceptance to relieved fondness, but alter it did, and a day where he doesn’t bear some mark of John’s affection for him leaves him more unsettled than he ever felt with the marks before.

-

School had been an often-overwhelming experience for Sherlock. The other children had been messy - and it had been a type of mess that was too much for him to cope with. It was loud, and sharp, as they yelled and shoved and teased . It had hurt, dark marks seeming like mud and bruises, and had been so much that he’d recoiled from it, appalled. He’d pulled away, avoided any contact and blocked out the harsh words about how he didn’t fit in with their chaos.

Better for him to remain spotless than for him to suffer the oil spill of everyone else’s emotions.

That avoidance of others had carried on into his adult years – he’d kept his own company, a barrier between himself and the rest of the world that either erupted with emotion or avoided him in turn.

So when he’d met John Watson, taken in the emotion that had oozed from his chest like Sherlock’s own stab wound oozed blood, he’d been certain that Stamford’s introduction had been pointless. Why would he want to spend time in the same place as a person so messy? When being sullied by the other’s feelings would be both unavoidable and likely to burn?

Except, to his shock, the smudge John had left across the surgical thread as he stitched up his wound… hadn’t hurt. It was warm, and smooth, little of it that there was. It had been strangely comforting, like a patch of sunlight dappling across his skin, warming him. It almost felt as though the pain had been lessened by this substance, had been soothed as though it were aloe vera over a sunburn.

Very fitting, for a doctor.

-

The Holmes’ house - never quite a home - was minimalist in decor, and was spotless thanks to the dedicated efforts of the cleaning services his parents employed. The marble floors sparkled, the hardwood furniture gleamed. It gave the impression of a showroom, more than the household of a family with two boys.

The fridge in their kitchen – top of the range, like all the other appliances – had shown only Sherlock’s reflection staring back at him when he looked at it. It’s metallic surface bare of any signs about the family who used it. A sign in and of itself.

It was bright, and cold, and clean.

The fridge at 221B is barely visible underneath the myriad magnets and photographs scattered across it, each item glistening with John’s affection.

The small “I <3 Scotland” magnet John bought from the one souvenir shop on Fjara is sticky across the cartoon heart, and sat at an odd angle to fit one corner of the takeaway menu it held up.

Towards the centre of the fridge, the photograph of Sherlock and John taken by Mariana during a trip to the Science Museum bears countless fingerprints from where John held its corners, fussing over the best placement for it amongst the others.

The letters and artwork from listeners, each one cherished as if it were a priceless artefact, all drip with the stain of John’s love, but remain somehow intact despite it. Looking at the mess brings a glow of warmth to Sherlock’s chest.

-

John’s affection spreads outward from his chest in a non-stop flow. It’s truly unsurprising how he ends up leaving trails on everything.

It seeps across his abdomen and over his arms when he offers Sherlock a grounding hug, making them even better. The impression of John’s hold on him remains long after the man has let go, a phantom weight that continues to provide comfort even hours after the event.

On particularly hard days, Sherlock will stare at his reflection afterwards, studying the definition in the damp silhouette of John’s care over his chest, across his shoulders, and accept the empirical evidence that he is loved.

It gathers over his palms, leaving warm impressions of his hands over everything he picks up. When Mariana is sick, John spends hours in their kitchen, making her bowls of soup. As he does, he leaves his fingerprints across the wooden spoon and the pot handle, decorates the sides of the bowl as he holds it steady and carries it downstairs.

They appear - and remain - on the various gifts he provides. The prints across Sherlock’s ear defenders are a permanent stain, a wonderful contrast to his engraved initials and an extra layer of noise protection.

The same can be said for his birthday presents a year later - the violin case has John’s thumbprint across a corner of the silver plaque, and Sherlock has a full set of his prints from the birthday card that accompanied it, kept safe in a drawer in his room.

Whenever he holds Sherlock’s hands between his own, tackling the chill in the air and the detective’s horrific blood circulation, Sherlock can’t tell whether they are warmed more by John’s body heat or the ooze that is left behind when he eventually lets go. An insulating warmth, protecting him as much as John himself does.

It even soaks into his voice as he talks to the listeners during cases and mailbags, chatting away as though they’re his friends. He has read the comments from the Discord, sees that - despite their teasing - the fans love John just as fiercely as he loves them, and they know that he does, too.

That same warmth appears in John’s tone as he chatters about everything and nothing when Sherlock desperately needs the comfort of a calm, steady voice to cling to, an anchor in the storm. On days where touch is too painful for Sherlock to accept, John is still able to stain him in a quiet love, a balm that’s both weightless and all-encompassing.

The fact that he’s able to do so, even despite his own nature, still takes Sherlock’s breath away.

He is naturally tactile person, especially with those he’s close to. He leans into their space, dripping, without conscious thought. Makes eye contact, reaches out, touches.

And yet he never pushes Sherlock. Never assumes he has the right to contact, never forces it. If anything, he seems to war between his deep-seated need for contact versus an unwillingness to cause unwanted stains.

And the wants of others triumph, every time.

He’d sooner drip in solitude, or fight back the seeping fluid that stems from his too-large heart, than leave a single spot on a person if there’s a chance it could harm them.

It’s that complete control, almost self-destructive at times, that removes the same pain other people’s emotions generally cause. That allows Sherlock the certainty that John’s love would never harm, only heal.

John Watson’s heart oozes love, and Sherlock Holmes wishes to be drowned in it for the rest of his life.

[colonelmajorkepler]

collecting canon gay sherlocks like candy

[colonelmajorkepler]

Sherlock: What feels like home?

John: Baker Street.

[colonelmajorkepler]

Sherlock & Co. fan art because we need more.

Please darling please listen to this podcast <3

[colonelmajorkepler]

Speckled Band reread doodles...no snake was harmed

(this is a part of the Watson's Sketchbook series)

[colonelmajorkepler]

watching the granada holmes series and finally got to see my girl alison skilbeck aka agatha doyle in wooden overcoats

[colonelmajorkepler]

No content on socials the last few days because fun fact our co-creators got married today!

[colonelmajorkepler]

still haven’t finished this game but i did start his side story and lemme tell you the whiplash i had from laughing at all his silly clown lines to clutching at my heart over how sad his story is was crazy

oh god. Im gonna fkn die huh

[colonelmajorkepler]

If madeleine has a million fans, I am one of them. If madeleine has 10 fans then I am one of them. If madeleine has only one fan then that is me. If madeleine has no fans then that means I’m no longer on earth. If the world is against madeleine I am against the world

[colonelmajorkepler]

Bro is onto nothing!!

[colonelmajorkepler]

some podcast johnlock moments i’ve been replaying over the past few days #iykyk #loveislove

[colonelmajorkepler]

just realised that in sherlock & co’s final problem they’re probably gonna have sherlock leave a voicenote to john instead of a letter……

[colonelmajorkepler]

autistic man (sherlock) said he likes thomas the tank engine and I said oh i’m sure

[colonelmajorkepler]

john watson is stronger than me, if my 10 year long situationship suddenly returned after faking his death i would’ve reichenbach-fallsed myself

[colonelmajorkepler]

Um yes haha yes this is fanart of my favorite boys in Baker Street

[colonelmajorkepler]

me cameo on the fawx & stallion instagram😁😁😁

[colonelmajorkepler]

i too was like john in that i couldn’t stop smiling listening to his voice note