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John knew him for a short time, and he knew of the man even less

I had the strangest revelation that jpw could be in Afghanistan around the same time as Vincent sooo I wrote a fic and drew this lol

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sto nino cutie

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The Business of Loving

By @miiints-repostiory and @paperleef

Red.

The deep, rich reds of life splatter the walls, a glittering, thick paint which mother nature used to color every being she called her offspring. It would soon coagulate, the pure essence of existence quickly corrupted by the frigid air of adulterated space-- sweet, imperceptible life, distilled in the most sacred of substances-- blood-- could never last long under the dark scrutiny of the unholy viewer, under the glare of God.

The doctor groans, leaning into his earl-- the tall, lean detective a solid island for his mind to grasp onto as the rest of reality swims. 

"My Earl?" Holmes' gaze finally flickers back to the man in his arms, a hand slick with gore coming up to tilt his head this way and that. His Boswell makes some wry, helpless sound, swooning in the detective's embrace. 

There had been another. 

He knew it before the signs had revealed themselves-- the look in his dear Boswell's eyes was telling enough on its own-- there was another, and he had been defiled- disgraced and degraded by the cruel, disgusting claws of another. 

The marks, the disarray of their hotel room-- it was clear, some filthy thing, lower than the rat or raccoon, had sought a feast in this room-- but they'd only found a fight, and in the process of flaying them, the detective must've lost himself to the heat of rage. Watson's cool hand comes up, shivering, to cup his cheek. 

"Holmes, I'm here," he sucks in a shaky breath, "I'm alright, Holmes-- Are you with me?" 

Holmes lets his eyes slip closed, taking in the grounding sensation of the doctor's palm against his cheek, the subtle weight of him in the vampire's lap. Slowly, he nods. 

"I am, but it is no matter-- are you alright, Watson? Please, tell me that creature did not hurt you," he fumbles frantically with the top latches of Watson's vest and dress shirt, only calming when all he feels is soft, sweet skin and a strong heart pounding in his chest. 

His expression is telling, though. 

"It's nothing to concern yourself with, Holmes," even so, the doctor wheezes when moving to sit up. Holmes' hand cascades along his torso and waist, but then something clicks. 

The pain paired with the lack of wounds, the deep red stains on his shirt, dizziness, a wavering sense of balance--

"The serum. You took it--- They hurt you--" 

"Holmes--"

"You're hurt, John!" The detective takes his boswell by the shoulders, sharpened claws pressing into his skin. Sherlock's typically calm gaze is blown wide with turbulent emotion. 

The doctor shivers and Holmes immediately retracts, fear overwhelming his  fury for a moment. He tenses, "I-- ghhr-" and sputters, choosing instead to click and snap his hand in rhythm. The sound is akin to the gentle ticking of a clock, if said clock had been running at ten times the speed, of course.

"Sherlock, really, I am fine-- You saved me, my dear. The pain won't last...I- simply didn't want you to worry." 

"Is it not the business of love to worry? Is that not what you called it time and time again, when Moriarty had me backed into a corner, when you've caught me strung out in a daze?" 

Holmes shakes his head, "I may seem something heartless and calculating to most, but I do fear deeply for you, my dear--- If something happened to you, I could never forgive myself. I would lose my mind without you, Watson." 

The biographer takes his muse by the hand, cradling delicate fingers in his own broader digits with a little squeeze. "I truly didn't mean to imply anything like that, my dear Holmes...I--" 

A soft sigh escapes him. Watson traces a circle into the vampire's lower back, who quickly takes the opportunity to nestle himself in his dear doctor's embrace. "You must know it's in my nature to consider myself humbly..." 

Holmes hums, “To a fault.”

"I owe you a thousand apologies, my earl." He merely sighs. 

"You owe me none. It is I who failed to protect you."

"Holmes,"

"You have been violated most cruelly, treated as a fair carcass, a golden banquet to be indulged upon-- a free-for-all feast. And yet here you are, worrying on whether I will take it well, when it is I who's failed you time and time again." 

"Holmes."

"Always, Watson, even I am so cruel with you as to take advantage of your kindness constantly-- I should have expected another would see an opportunity there as well and prepared you for it--" 

"Sherlock!"

A sharp flinch-- now it is Holmes' turn to be held deftly by his shoulders, his Boswell's grasp just as firm but a hundred times more gentle. The vampire relaxes minutely, not meeting Watson's gaze. 

He sighs, speaking slowly-- as though each word needed careful consideration beforehand, "I am not some damsel to be saved, my dear. I know worry is merely the nature of attachment, but you must know I am capable, Holmes." Watson's hold relaxes, his hands shifting to slowly massage tension out of Holmes' shoulders and arms. 

"It is in the business of love to worry, yes, but so is trust, my earl," The doctor very carefully brings their foreheads together, his muse finally looking back at him. 

"I cannot describe in words how deeply I am honored to receive your care. Your brand of affection-- it is oozing with love more than anything else could. More than any heart could be drained purely of blood when crushed by the cold fist of truth."

"My dear Watson...."

"But I beg of you to trust me, Holmes. I worry deeply for you too, almost every second of a case I am worried for you. But I trust you, Sherlock. I trust you." 

All is quiet in the gorish room for just long enough to take one's heart rate. Holmes sighs, sinking into Watson's embrace bonelessly. He takes claim of the space between the writer's jaw and shoulder, gingerly pressing a kiss to the hollow of his neck. Watson hums, pleased. 

"I do, dear fellow, I swear I do, but..." 

Watson cradles him, nails gently scratching at his scalp, then trailing down to card through his hair. 

"I know, Holmes. I understand."

The detective sighs. 

"Then you must know it is no fault of yours?" 

"Of course. I know fully, my dear. There is no fault on your part, either." 

A wry little chuckle escapes him, "Forever too kind, my Boswell."  

Watson hums a tune of mirth as well, "Someone must show your clients some sympathy." Holmes cannot help but laugh more clearly at that, his whole body overtaken by tremors of gaiety. 

Cooling to a slightly more serious tone, the detective looks up at his biographer, "I still must make it up to you, my dear Watson, for now I have unintentionally breached another line of yours. Despite your impeccable temperament, I feel my actions are errant and deserving of proper follow-up." 

Watson traces the careful form of the vampire in his arms, mapping out the planes of his back, his shoulders, and his neck-- hand only coming to a stop at Holmes' cheek, which is stroked affectionately by thumb. 

"Consider yourself forgiven if you indulge in a proper dinner this evening. And, of course, if you could deign yourself to helping me clean this garish room." 

Sherlock smiles for a moment, a soft, earnest thing uncharacteristic to the typically petulant and cool expressions of Holmes. 

Then he sighs, full quickly filled with drama, and flops back against the floorboards.

"If I must, my dear Watson." It sounds almost strenuous, but good humour sparkles in his eyes. He tosses an arm over his forehead, looking like a distressed maiden, "The things I put myself through, for your sake..." 

The poet laughs heartily at that, smacking Holmes' thigh. 

"Get up, you impish fiend." 

"Am I your favorite fiend, Watson? Your beloved little wretch, your darling minx?" 

Watson rolls his eyes, taking a moment to admire Holmes' lithe frame as it is highlighted by the sparkling moon. He sits up and leans over, pressing a kiss to the detective's chest that elicits a little giggle. 

"Always, Holmes." 

[paperleef]

Vincent the beloved (study)

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

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I love the moomins

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Her <3

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I giggled. Oooooh the girls are fighting

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Rachel chinouriri doodle ❤️

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wip I pray I get to finish SPOILERS FOR MIGRATORY MOUSTACHE!!!!

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western fellas

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My new Twitter is leefpaper

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Now that wist3 is out here’s some notes

Can you spot all the details? ;)

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Can you spot all the details? ;)

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shiny n co’s vampire au

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Based on the fanart ive seen and the show's color palette, ive decided to draw the first three chapters to fawx and stallion (more will be made) The artstyle is inspired by ghostbee's Consulting Detectives. chapters 4-6; 7-9; 10

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good luck jeeves!