johnlockdrabblesblog-blog

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Prompts?

I’ve been kinda bleh on writing lately, and would love for some people to ask/ submit (if your prompt is a long one/you don’t want to have to submit it in several asks). I can’t say that I’ll absolutely get to it immediately, but I need some inspiration!

So send me some Johnlock prompts?

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H/C post fall

Prompt: John panicking when Sherlock’s up on a roof, and he has to look over the edge to see if it was possible to survive falling from that height

Meet me at St. Barts. New case. SH

Glancing at his phone once more, he checked the time stamp. It wasn’t that unusual for Sherlock to demand that he meet him at a crime scene. Beforehand he had been at the shop, and maybe with a half hour having passed, he wouldn’t even be needed. He had told Sherlock that, but with no text message back, he figured that he would at least show up. At the very least he could get the story from Lestrade about where Sherlock was running off to next. Sighing, he shoved his phone back in his pocket, pausing in the middle of the street when he saw what he did-

Sherlock was on the roof, glancing over the edge.

John’s heart squeezed tight, and for several seconds, he forgot how to breathe. All of it was just too familiar. He had lost Sherlock before, for three full years, and he wasn’t losing him again. Not so soon. He just got him back.

His heart pounding, he ran through the doors, barely offering an explanation to Lestrade before he found the doors to the rooftop, moving as quickly as he could. This time, he would be fast enough. He couldn’t be too slow. “Sherlock!” John gasped out when he entered, seeing Sherlock still on the edge, seemingly examining something. Sherlock turned around, barely having noticed that John was there now.

“Ah, John, you finally decided to join me-“ Sherlock started, quieting when he saw the look on John’s face. “John?” He questioned, only growing more confused when his best friend moved closer to him, grabbing him by the arm, dragging him away from the ledge. Yes, maybe he had gotten the information he needed, but John’s grip was so tight on his wrist. He might even be bruising him. And was his hand shaking? What was wrong with John? “Erm, John?” Sherlock questioned once more, his eyes running over the hand that was gripping his wrist, before moving up to look at John’s face. It was tense, and his face was flushed. He didn’t seem to be sick, but he was slightly out of breath. Even if he rushed up here, that wouldn’t cause it. Not in a military man.

“Not again.” John finally said firmly, and Sherlock was even more confused for a few seconds, before he glanced toward the edge. Oh. This was where he had jumped, wasn’t it. Or where he had supposedly jumped. And John coming to the crime scene, he must have thought that he was doing it again. That would explain how he was still holding onto him like that. “John?” Sherlock questioned once more, before moving his other hand, cupping John’s cheek. John turned his head, obviously not wanting to be seen like this, tense, but finally realizing that Sherlock was fine, that he wasn’t going to jump. “John, look at me.” Sherlock asked, and finally, John looked into Sherlock eyes. “Never again, alright? I’m not leaving you ever again.”

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H/C

Prompt: Hey, can you do a hurt/comfort where John has been super stressed out and had a bad day at the clinic and comes home a complete mess, so Sherlock wraps him in blankets and gives him tea and forehead kisses until he calms down? Cheesy, I know, but I’ve been searching endlessly for good h/c fics lately.

The week just seemed to be building up from that moment. Have you ever had one of those weeks where the first day, one thing goes wrong, and you’re like “Okay, but I can fix this, this isn’t that bad,” but then the next day, something happens again, and each time things seem to get worse, or even if it wasn’t that bad, because it happened when things were already bad it just seems horrible? That was the sort of week John Watson was having. An impatient patient who made him repeat things over and over because she wasn’t paying enough attention the first time, a messy flat, an experiment on the stairs that nearly made him late for work, a patient that decided that they knew better than he did even though he was the doctor. Each thing just seemed to annoy him just a bit more, pushing him closer and closer to the edge. It didn’t even matter who it was at this point, but if you talked to John, his ‘t’s were a bit too punctuated, and his teeth seemed to stick together when he spoke, and his sentences were either strangely too short, or too put together.

If one more person said anything to John, he knew he was going to snap. How couldn’t he? He just had too much going on. Making his way up the stairs (making sure to step over the fifth step where Sherlock’s experiment had been left), he had his mind met up that he was going to take a shower and go straight to bed. There wasn’t anything he could possibly do to fix what was wrong, so just getting enough sleep would at least make it bearable. That was, until he opened the front door to 221b Baker Street, that door in front of the steps.

When he had left, the place had practically been spotless from John having to clean it from Sherlock’s last fit. Now, the place seemed to be in shambles. There were clothes on the ground, new holes in the wall, liquids seemingly being soaked up by rags. There were even burns on the wooden floor. Lastly, right there in the middle of it was Sherlock, on his knees studying one of the burns on the ground.

John nearly quit then and there. Just continue with his plan, and he’d deal with this later. But what if it was still there later? He couldn’t fix the work problems, and the home problems, go to work, deal with it again, just to come home to another mess. There was always another mess. “John, erm…” Sherlock paused, looking up at him with that look, through those lashes, hoping to get out of trouble that always seemed to work. But not today. He couldn’t take it today. And when Sherlock saw that, he stopped. Maybe Sherlock was going to say sorry, or maybe he was going to promise to fix it. Whatever he was going to do, it didn’t matter. John shook his head, his hands balled up into fists. Whatever Sherlock said, it just didn’t matter. It wouldn’t fix this mess, it wouldn’t fix the work mess.

“Just don’t.” John said through his teeth, moving to go around the mess, going to go with his plan. Maybe if he came back later, Sherlock would have taken care of it. Maybe he could pretend this never happened. John was just so tired. But before he could make it out of that room, Sherlock made the mistake of grabbing his arm, stopping him. “John, wait,” managed to escape Sherlock’s lips before John interrupted, all of the anger that had building up that week coming out at once.

“No, no, no, I’m not waiting. I’m tired of waiting. I’m tired of patients who think they know best, I’m tired of coming home to a disaster, I’m tired of finding experiments everywhere and everyone else getting their way. I’m just fucking tired, Sherlock. Now bugger off, let go of my arm!” John tried to jerk away, but the grip only seemed to grow tighter as he tried to twist out of it. John was cold to Sherlock’s touch, which must have been from him forgetting his jacket this morning. His face was red from shouting, from losing his breath so quickly. He was just so tired. “And you, again, another mess? I shouldn’t be having to clean up after you, I’m not your maid, I’m your boyfriend.” John snarled, finally getting out of his grip.

Sherlock’s eyebrows furrowed. This seemed a bit bigger than just another mess. And John was cold, and upset. And more importantly, the look wasn’t getting his way. Sherlock had let go of him, confused on what it was. “John, are you alright?” The words were soft, more confused than anything. And from what John said, he certainly wasn’t mad at just him. With those soft words, John’s shoulders slumped, and his hands seemed to be shaking more, but not from anger. From exhaustion. Sherlock studied him, waiting, not sure whether or not whether if he moved closer if John would retreat, or whether or not he’d get punched. After a second, he decided it was worth getting hurt if the latter was to happen. He wrapped his arms around John, hugging him tight.

At first, John tensed, about to squirm out of his grip. He did, at first, but Sherlock didn’t let go. Finally, John relaxed, burying into Sherlock’s chest, just letting everything go. Sherlock held his weight before finally he moved, scooping up the exhausted doctor, taking him to the couch, pulling a blanket over him before pulling him back on his lap. He’d make him tea later, but right now, it was obvious John didn’t want Sherlock to move away from him. “It’s alright not to be alright.” Sherlock finally murmured into John’s hair, not expecting a reply at all. When he didn’t get a reply, Sherlock bit his lip, wondering if it had truly been a good thing to say. He had slowly been getting used to being a boyfriend, being able to say the right things, but sometimes he just wasn’t good. Instead of trying something else, he squeezed John tight, pressing kisses to the top of John’s head, and when John finally shifted, to his forehead and cheeks as well. “It’ll be alright.” Sherlock murmured, and for the first time in several several moments, John gave a small nod. With Sherlock there, it really would be.

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Previously thebestofjohnlockdrabbles...

Johnlock drabble blog here! I’ll probably be rewriting some old prompts here, but feel free to send me some new ones. Anons are welcome. I’m trying to write more, so feel free to send an ask! Johnlock only though please :)