#no queerbaiting in this house

[itsonlytext]

Quiet Days

It was so unlike Sherlock to follow the tide, to knuckle under, to allow such menial phrases such as ‘quiet days’ to slip out of his mouth. Defying those social standards and refusing to submit to them was what differentiated him from others, gave him his title, made John even look his way the first time that they met.

no warnings, just some complicated feelings and overall a very queer scene >1000 words.

(if it better suits you, here's the ao3 link to this one-shot.)

Sherlock had imagined it more than he was (ever) willing to admit:

The heat of their skin blending into sighs, the tugs, the way their names would roll off of each other’s tongues and melt onto their skin, sink into their core and erupt a blinding light - so hot and demanding that they wouldn’t care about the amenities of keeping each other hidden until night, so deliciously shameless that they would proudly bask in the afternoon sunlight until the heat of their bodies were indefinitely hotter than the sun itself.

He gazed at the sight in front of him - John, (Oh God, John.) ever so content in his patterned armchair, gazing at the bright screen of his laptop with tired eyes. It was a sight he was used to seeing whenever a quiet day doomed Baker Street and the detective would leave the front steps of his mind palace and open his eyes with an arduous sigh. John would always be there, always so calm, always sitting with his laptop open, feet (slightly) stretched out, arms (sometimes) crossed over his chest. Sherlock always wondered what he was looking at, reading, watching. Whatever it was, whatever was drawing John’s eyes away from him, he hated it.

Sherlock’s ears pricked with a thought.

Experiment: Record himself working - simply working over a case in the lab at St. Bart’s hospital for exactly ninety minutes and in silence. Then, write an entire dissertation about himself - anatomical habits, childhood events and/ trauma accompanying the result of an in-depth MRI of his own brain (something to elicit interest in the doctor if it hasn’t been drawn already). When John isn’t paying attention (eating, watching Jeremy Kyle, sleeping, on an unsuccessful date), he will upload the video and dissertation onto John’s laptop. That way, no matter if John has decided he will spend his quiet day on his laptop, he will still be focused on Sherlock - still looking, reading, watching - honouring him with the attention he wants. (Needs.)

Reminder: Make sure to inform Molly that he will, at some point, require a camera and the lab.

For now, Sherlock sat quietly the way he always did on quiet days.

He was sure that he never believed in quiet days. If he did, he hated them. Or he once hated them. Over time, as he allowed the quiet to hold him down, force him to stop moving and sink deep into his bones, Sherlock realised that perhaps he could allow them to pass every now and then without sparking a fuss whenever they did.

Quiet days, Sherlock thought to himself as John shuffled in his seat, his eyes still glued to his laptop (and not the detective), how pitiful they could be.

The term was planted by Mrs Hudson, who would climb up the stairs with a knowing smile and a tray of fresh tea as she whispered, ‘it’s awfully quiet today,’ or ‘today’s going to be nice and quiet, I can tell’. It was then germinated by John, who always agreed with her as he’d gratefully pick up a biscuit from her tray and reply, ‘yes, I think so, couldn’t come sooner,’ or ‘definitely a quiet day today, Mrs Hudson’.

Sherlock somehow watered it without wanting to - he always knuckled under John, even whilst simultaneously convincing himself it was the other way around. At some point (he didn’t know when), he had also started to refer to these days as ‘quiet days’.

It was so unlike Sherlock to follow the tide, to knuckle under, to allow such menial phrases such as ‘quiet days’ to slip out of his mouth. Defying those social standards and refusing to submit to them was what differentiated him from others, gave him his title, made John even look his way the first time that they met.

John (oh God, John).

When would he realise that he was being stared (gazed) at?

It was all Sherlock ever did on quiet days. It was all he knew to do, eventually morphing into instinct whenever quiet would bless Baker Street. He knew it was the result of conditioning, a simple failure on his part - to pair one with the other. John, quiet days. He couldn’t tell the difference anymore. (Perhaps not so much a failure.)

John hadn’t noticed the staring (admiring), not even as he took a sip of Mrs Hudson’s tea or a bite from an overly sweet biscuit.

Update ongoing experiment: Now the thirty-second instance that his staring (treasuring) has gone unnoticed by John. When would he realise? Sherlock suspects in due time, perhaps when the next quiet day comes. (False hope - another seed unconsciously watered due to John.)

The detective, having barely moved since the morning, tucked that ongoing experiment in the deep confines of his mind palace - now archived, dormant, always ticking.

He went back to adoring John (oh God, John).

John - a much simpler word, much easier to accept than the existence of a quiet day. Quiet day - two extra and redundant syllables, much more difficult to knuckle under. But without having tolerated its existence or going the full ridiculous length of three syllables, Sherlock never would have discovered John, he knew that.

John (oh God, John).

He wouldn’t mind letting that syllable slip out of his mouth every now and then.

“John.”

Sherlock savoured the way his head snapped up with a hum, so quick to respond to the deep, baritone voice that called him.

He cleared his throat and shuffled. “Yeah?”

“Quiet day,” Sherlock replied plainly, his eyes gazing at the desk and wandering over the tea and food Mrs Hudson had left for them that morning.

John watched him for a moment, a gentle smile tugging his lips as he watched the detective’s deeply contemplative face and wondered what he was thinking about.

[ayo-edebiri]

HOUSE M.D (2004 - 2012) I 8.20 Postmortem

[atomicradiogirl]

house and wilson in house md is the opposite of queerbaiting. they are the most canon tragic friends to lovers situationship in fiction history they literally move in together, EVERYONE thinks they’re a couple, house literally fakes his own death just so he can be alone with wilson in his last few months of life, the show ends with them riding off into the sunset together. they literally love each other. the only thing missing is they don’t kiss (on screen). dear GOD. and this show is from 2004. house and wilson invented 90% of modern day queer ship dynamics. just saying.

[lesbiancaptainkirk]

this episode is why people call it hatecrimes m.d

[puppistarwonder]

I HATE THEM I HATE THEM I HATE THEM SOOOO MUCH

i love hilson shenanigans, feels reminiscent of when parents fuck around and lie for no reason other than amuse the other.

i mourn for what we could've had.

[lovehours]

everyone has commented on this scene already but i just need to talk about how insane it really is. wilson giving up after trying to find furniture he’d truly love because he’s never really gotten attached to the places he lived before even with his previous partners… which is why he’d just let them do the decorating. he was opting more for comfort than actual care for the homes he would live in.

but this time he got something only house could use. something he knew house would enjoy. i love how he just affirms that he does let others define him... but it's house specifically who does so. like this is the guy who helped ruin all of his marriages after the first one (low-key ruined wilson's attempted reconciliation w/sam later too)... house is the most important person in wilson's life. no matter how much the things around them change, they’re a constant in each other’s lives and wilson is more than okay with that. the fact that he used furniture to communicate that is so... its just so them idk how else to describe it

i can only imagine the gay ass smile wilson had on his face as he picked the organ out and thought about house’s reaction when he’d come home and see it. just crazy. they really should have fucked here

[xiaoming56]

Ive fallen into the Medical Malpractice Show rabbit hole...

[hauntedmoors]

oh you get it

[deeism]

when i watched season one of house i saw house and wilson interact here and there and i was like oh okay. they could be gay i guess. in a plausibly deniable way. But um. late seasons hilson feels like repeatedly getting hit over the head with a bat and when you finally come to you're lying on the ground watching as the blurry vague silhouettes of house and wilson make out over your lifeless body

[temporaerthaervaerk]

Queerbaiting sucks... but

I find it so affirming as a person who struggles with their romantic orientatation. I just live for that state of not quite friends/not quite lovers.

Like yes, they are partners, yes, they live and die for eachother, yes, every other relationship they have loses all meaning compared to them. But also no, they haven't kissed, and they don't want to kiss, and yet, somehow, every single word, every single glance, every single touch carries so much meaning and conveys so much love because this amount of platonic love is usually unheard of and they don't want the other to misunderstand. And I just- aaah, it gives me so much hope and reminds me that romantic love isn’t the only type of love worth experiencing and showing on screen/paper.

I do wish it was done intentionally and wasn’t just a product of homophobia and capitalism. Like I really, really hate the reason I get this representation. Like, it also leaves a somewhat sour taste in my mouth, because I can see that if the world was more accepting, it would probably be a romantic relationship.

(I sometimes see people calling queercoding queerbaiting, and just to make it clear, that isn't what i'm talking about)

[itsonlytext]

Innate Destructibility

He knew that if he wanted this (them) to work, he was going to have to stop squirming in his own words.

content and warnings: sexual thoughts, brief mentions of drug use and overall a rather (unspoken) angsty scene >1000 words. john struggles to communicate, sherlock struggles to understand.

(if it better suits you, here's the ao3 link to this one-shot.)

John (oh God, John).

He tried to hide the fumbling in his hands as he clumsily wandered over the planes of this warm, inviting body, but he couldn't. He knew that John had figured it out by now. (He must've.)

He had, of course, done it in the past (experiments, drunken teenage accidents, Janine). But he had never done it with John before - a man. (The man.) And no matter how hard he tried to force the trembling in his slender fingers to dissolve with every heated kiss, to push down the shaking in the sighs that escaped his lips, he knew he couldn't have hidden it. John always knew. He must've. (He sees everything.)

"Sherlock," he sighed out with a gentle laugh, pulling away and staring up at him earnestly.

Sherlock ignored the way his heart was beating faster than he had ever felt it before (heroine, 29 mg cigarettes, murders, they didn't compare anymore - they never will). He ignored the way his curly hair fell slightly into his line of sight (John) and blew out the breaths trapped in his lungs.

John rested a hand on his (left) shoulder, his hand hot to the touch, leaning his back flat against the wall. He seemed to struggle to find his words (it was unlike him, Sherlock thought. John always knew what to say). "I- You.." he huffed.

Oh. Flushed cheeks, heavy chest, nostrils slightly flared - he was catching his breath. (How didn't he deduce that?)

Sherlock kept his lips pursed the way he usually did when John spoke (too scared to ruin it with his innate destructibility).

"You know that you don't.. we don't. We don't have to do that.. right now," he shook his head, running his hand over his mouth and looking firmly into Sherlock's eyes. "This.. is good. This is really good, we don't have to do anything else yet."

Sherlock didn't understand. (Never understood anything.)

He didn't reply. Didn't he want this? Surely those four torturous years of waiting, hurting, miscommunications and implications had been enough to calcify their current intentions. (Clearly not.)

John pursed his lips and moved his hand from Sherlock's shoulder to the nape of his neck. "Come here," he pulled him into a confident, firm kiss.

It was only (upsettingly) brief.

John knew he was confusing (losing) Sherlock with every obscure and choked out sentence, slowly pulling the rod back to shore with the bait still lamely dangling on the hook. He knew that if he wanted this (them) to work, he was going to have to stop squirming in his own words - an underlying disease that made all his bait look so incredibly unattractive.

"We can.. We can always--"

"John? Is that you in there?"

Mrs Hudson's wandering voice fell close to the (closed) bedroom door. "John?" her voice tilted like she was on the precipice of laughter.

Sherlock could see her scrunched up nose and smile in his mind. Her interruption was a good thing, he knew. No matter what John was about to say, he wouldn't have been able to understand it anyway (he never did, he never did).

"What are you doing in there?"

John dipped his head frustratedly and lowered his voice. "She's going to have a field day with this," he muttered.

A small smirk tugged at Sherlock's lips as he graciously stepped back and allowed John a bubble of fresh air from the wall he had been previously pinned to. He gestured to the door. "You might as well."

"What?"

"Well she's already heard you."

"Oh!" her voice had gotten louder, as if she had somehow managed to lean even further into the door. "Is Sherlock in there with you?"

The detective suddenly opened the door. "It is my room, Mrs Hudson," he replied plainly.

John didn't seem too pleased with his answer. Sherlock couldn't precisely tell why, but the face he made twisted his stomach into unfathomable discomfort.

"Yeah, no, Mrs Hudson, we were just.. Talking."

(Innate destructibility - a virus that attacked more than just his speech. His actions, his mind, him.)

She grinned.

"Yes, erm." Sherlock watched John uncomfortably rub the nape of his neck as he stepped closer to their landlady with flushed cheeks.

Oh. He was embarrassed.

"Did you need me?"

Her eyes wandered over him knowingly before nodding. "There's a delivery out for you."

"Right, er, thanks.." he glanced at Sherlock with another ambiguous gaze - nothing that promised, 'we'll talk about this later', or 'i'm sorry, maybe when we're alone'. His facial features provided no form of context that Sherlock understood. (Why couldn't John ever finish the sentences that mattered? Relieve him of this unadulterated agony?)

Sherlock watched him follow Mrs Hudson out of the bedroom without a second glance.

John (oh God, John).

tags: @nathan-no @helloliriels @dragonnan @strawberrywinter4 @with-a-ghost-mr-holmes @7-percent @totallysilvergirl @inevitably-johnlocked @meetinginsamarra @a-victorian-girl

[alexvacice]

"House will do Wilson before you do Chase," says Foreman to Cameron while Cameron and Chase are actively fucking

[atomicradiogirl]

whenever i think about how sara hess, a lesbian, wrote the most queer episodes that could have aired on network tv in the 2000s, i explode. how do you write “you’d be surprised what you can live with?” and wilson literally proposing to house in public as a joke and neither of them mention it again, toxic lesbian patients that literally mirror house and wilson, house buying flowers for wilson to prove cuddy likes him (sureeee), and thirteen having one night stands with women to cope with her terminal illness and having to deal with one of her one night stands dying as well, HELLO????

[wingsofhcpe]

actually there's a huge difference between queerbaiting/"Hey guys look how gay these two are haha they're definitely gonna end up together, give us views uwu oh- never mind oops they're going to superhell" and "Hey it's 2004-2012 and there's no way we can get away with having our protags/main couple be two gay men but we really want to show these two are soulmates so we'll do it through subtext and underlying messages and by literally telling you over and over again their relationship is the most stable and important in the entire show, and the ending will imply they lived and died together", and it's insane that some of yall don't see how these two are not the same fucking thing.

[ratsdontmurder]

people really need to learn the difference between queerbait and complex queer media

[dicttheo]

finally saw the "my marriages were so crappy I spent all my time with you" episode and Wilson, buddy, that was not that comeback you thought that was. That was gay