#sherlock fix it fic

[helloliriels]

We're ready to watch S4 again ...

(as long as you promise to read this)

And the Award goes to ...

@discordantwords for

(Never) Turn Your Back to the Sea

🌊🐚🌊🐚🌊🐚🌊🐚🌊🐚🌊🐚🌊

Read the fic critics are calling: "Cathartic, Heartbreaking!", "This fic absolutely HEALED me!", "So deeply satisfying", "God. WOW.", "This could actually happen, I can SEE this happening!", "Magnificent", "Endless Kudos", "I'll end every rewatch of Sherlock by reading your fic!", "This fic felt like coming home."

Nominated by @raina-at and @bakerstmel (and many more besides!) You were bound to win for at least one fic* this round!

*My nom was set to be Whirlwind, but the fandom has SPOKEN! (and this word art was hella fun to make!)

@chinike @rhasima @whatnext2020 @loki-lock @justanobsessedpan @topsyturvy-turtely @what-even-is-thiss @iwlyanmw @neverlet @riverwithoutbanks @ithinkthereforeiamaswell @thesunandherflannelcurtains @daltongraham @ileenhaddockhawkins @lisbeth-kk @inatshej @mxster-jocale @bakerstreethound @ninasnakie @tiverrr @im-erin @escapingthereality @arwamachine @bisexualmindcabin @summerfly-blues @lhrinchelsea @belles-magnetic-violin @chriscalledmesweetie @eclectic-confusion @iamjustreading @dw91165 @scrub456 @mrb488 @glows-n-the-dark @keirgreeneyes @anyway-kindness @peanitbear @missdeliadili @colourfulwatson @eplapourdissant @impalaparkedat221b @theresnoescapingfromtheheartache @itsadeathfrisbee @wizama @johnlocky @scarves-and-jumpers @sgam76 @janetm74 @winchester-1895

[yeehawpim]

a comic about fix-it fanfics

[finleycannotdraw]

we need all types of art in fandoms

[larphis]

I think the closest thing I‘ll ever accept as a proof of god‘s existence are fix-it fanfictions. Jesus sounds great and all - but have you ever had a post canon fanfic that was so well written that it sounded like it was actually canon and you felt as if all your wounds were suddenly healed?? THAT‘S a religious experience if there ever was one, if you ask me.

[raina-at]

I owe you another ficlet, so here it is. It was written for the brekfast challenge, and I think there's a longer story in this, so maybe I'll return to this one day. Meanwhile, have a ficlet.

It’s been eleven days since Sherlock Holmes jumped off a building. Three days since the funeral. One since John stood by Sherlock’s grave and begged him not to be dead.

There’s a constant fog of unreality in John’s head. The world seems muffled, far away, slowed down. He has a difficult time telling day from night, dream from waking, truth from fiction. 

The worst thing is the numbness. There’s a well of pain right inside John somewhere, but he can’t feel it. He can’t feel much of anything. 

Mrs Hudson sobbed into his shoulder at Sherlock’s funeral, but John has yet to shed a single tear. He knows it’s self-protection, that something inside of himself has shut down to prevent him from breaking. 

It’s not pleasant, but it keeps him alive. Barely. 

He forces himself to eat when people are around, and he gets a few hours of fitful sleep, but he’s losing weight rapidly and the dark circles around his eyes are getting more pronounced. Nobody’s said anything to him yet, but he knows it’s a matter of time before he’ll get a kindly-meant intervention from Greg, Molly and Mrs Hudson.

He thinks of leaving. Just getting on a train or plane or boat and disappearing somewhere he can waste away in peace. The thought is comforting.

But he knows today will not be this day when he gets a text from Mycroft Holmes summoning him to a breakfast meeting at a coffee shop around the corner of the Diogenes club.

John knows it’s pointless to refuse.

So he goes. It’s a nice day, and he walks. 

He gets there ten minutes late, but Mycroft isn’t here. He gets in line to order a coffee and a scone. If he’s here already he might as well eat. 

He orders, then waits for the barista to make his coffee.

She seems vaguely familiar. Red hair, freckles, tattoos. 

“John?”

He looks up. She smiles at him. Hands over his drink. Holds his eyes. “Here,” she says, winking at him. “I think this is what you asked for.”

He looks down at the cup and sees she’s put her phone number down. He smiles politely. He couldn’t be less interested if he tried.

“Don’t call right away,” she says, winking again, then turns to the next customer.

Mycroft isn’t here yet, so John decides he doesn’t want to wait and leaves.

He sips at the coffee as he wanders back to Baker Street.

The coffee has grown cold by the time he’s back in the flat. He wanders into the kitchen to throw the cup out.

That’s when he notices there’s writing under the phone number.

John

07975777666

And below that, in a handwriting he’d recognise blind, backwards and under water, two words:

Vatican Cameos

The cup hits the floor as John’s knees buckle.

The coffee seeps into the kitchen rug as John stares at the cup, at the two words. He thinks of the barista. He recognises her now. She was one of the people who held him back from Sherlock’s body when he fell.

It takes him ten minutes to realise that he’s crying, that the tears are falling freely now, that the knot of numbness and pain in his chest is finally dissolving. He’s shaking with it, with big, heaving sobs that shiver through his entire body. 

Alive, alive, alive.

Mrs Hudson finds him there, sobbing and shaking on his knees, and she holds him while he cries.

She thinks it’s grief.

He knows it’s relief.

*-*

It’s midnight and he can’t stand it any longer.

He tore the flat apart looking for the Adler woman’s phone because he knows he can’t use his own. His charger wouldn’t fit, so he had to go out and buy a new one, and then let the bloody thing charge.

It’s better this way, anyway.

It’s dark and he’s sitting in Sherlock’s bedroom, on the floor next to Sherlock’s bed.

His hands shake as he dials the number. 

Maybe he’s delusional. 

Maybe the barista just wanted to mess with him.

Maybe nobody will answer.

It rings. He’s nauseous with nerves, shaking with anticipation.

If this isn’t real…. He can’t even think about it.

The line picks up.

A voice he’d recognise anywhere. Uncharacteristically hesitant. “John?”

John’s breath hitches and he lets out a laugh that’s mostly a sob. “Oh, you unbelievable bastard.”

There’s a small smile in the voice as it answers. “You asked me for another miracle. How am I doing so far?”

John smiles through the tears that are running down his face unchecked and unheeded. “Pretty well.”

“I just wanted to let you know…. I heard you,” Sherlock says, quiet and gentle, in a tone of voice that makes John's heart hurt. “I heard you.”

“Sherlock-”

“I have to go. But I’ll come for you soon. Wait for me.”

The line goes dead.

John stares at the phone for a long time. Wondering if any of this is real.

Finally, he nods at himself. I believe in Sherlock Holmes, he thinks. He always has, and he always will. 

In the meantime, he will wait. 

That makes 31 ficlets, making my collection complete. This was so much fun, thank you all for reading and liking my ficlets, I've had such lovely responses.

Tagging a few people.

@calaisreno @discordantwords @keirgreeneyes @jrow @peanitbear @lisbeth-kk @shiplocks-of-love @iamjustreading @the-reading-lemon @thetimemoves @fluffbyday-smutbynight @helloliriels @topsyturvy-turtely @catlock-holmes @7-percent @khorazir

[topsyturvy-turtely]

turtely's OTP challenge!

now on AO3! (tumblr link)

read the updated version of part 9 here:

summary: The One where John actually tries to be a good person and attempts to fix things between Sherlock and him.

[A Fix-It of 'The Lying Detective' and how 'The Hug' should have been, in my opinion.]

Teen And Up Audience, 2.089 words. Fix-It Of Sorts, Episode s04e03: The Lying Detective, Ghost-Mary actually ships them and helps them get together, hugging, kissing, John Watson is a Mess

tags under the cut! :)

tag list! (tell me if you wanna be added or removed please 💚) @justanobsessedpan @helloliriels @catlock-holmes @fluffbyday-smutbynight @inevitably-johnlocked @hisfavouritejumper @rhasima @forfucksakejohn @ohlooktheresabee @turbulenttrouble @so-youre-unattached-like-me @totallysilvergirl @peanitbear @train-mossman @loki-lock @smulderscobie @timberva @grace-in-the-wilderness @chinike @jawnn-watson @whatnext2020 @escapingthereality @missdeliadili @kettykika78 @musingsofmyown @7-percent @speedymoviesbyscience @astudyin221b @francj15 @ladylindaaa @we-r-loonies @mxster-jocale @sherlockcorner @noahspector @our-stars-graveside @jobooksncoffee @baker-street-blog @macgyvershe @myladylyssa @battledress @a-victorian-girl @dreamerofthemeadow @oetkb12 @ohnoesnotagain @mutedsilence @jawnscoffee @raenchaosandcozyadashofmurder @lisbeth-kk @quickslvxrr @compact-and-beautiful @kabubsmagga @sunshineinyourmind

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom. He hasn't heard his name been spoken for nearly two years.

Like a caress

All those months away did things to him. He was used to being in disguise on occasions in London, but only brief. Travelling around the world hunting down Moriarty’s network, didn’t allow him to be Sherlock Holmes. It was too dangerous, because to most of the world he was considered dead. Buried even. 

John’s prayer at his gravestone, almost broke Sherlock.

“Don’t be dead. For me.”

Those words haunted his dreams almost every night before he returned home. 

In his prison cell in Serbia, imaginary John talked to him, kept him sane and alert. Sherlock knew he wasn’t there, not for real, but his brain wasn’t functioning at its best capacity, so he made this version of John promise never to call him by his name. If his jailers heard, they wouldn’t end the torture until he talked, and he didn’t have the strength to hold on for that long. 

When Mycroft finally turned up, he called him by another name. The name he’d chosen to use most of his time abroad. It was like he knew Sherlock was in such a fragile state that he probably would collapse if even his own brother called him by his given name. 

***

Back in his beloved London, Sherlock felt reborn. He walked the streets for hours to get re-acquainted with the old lady. His walk ended outside a black door with a brass knocker and the number 221 above it. Despite the fact it was two in the morning, the lights in the living room were turned on. John was awake, or he might’ve fallen asleep in his chair. Sherlock inhaled sharply when he saw John’s familiar figure suddenly appear in the window, gazing blindly into the night. He looked so lost, and Sherlock knew it was his fault. He was to blame for so much. It was almost unfathomable. He’d ruined the lives he’d jumped to protect. Could they ever forgive him, and John in particular?

Only one way to find out. 

Sherlock carefully ascended to 221B and opened the door without a sound. John turned around abruptly when Sherlock locked the door with a click that sounded like a gunshot in the silence of the flat. He paled, took a step closer, leaning his hands on the back of Sherlock’s chair, staring, drinking in the sight of his not dead friend. 

“John,” Sherlock said softly, feeling his heart flutter with excitement at seeing the real John again. His John.  

John’s face scrunched up and a sob escaped him. His knees gave way, but Sherlock had seen the signs and was at John’s side to catch him in his arms. John grabbed the front of the Belstaff so hard his knuckles whitened, and he cried into Sherlock’s chest, while Sherlock stroked his back soothingly.

When John spoke, Sherlock stopped breathing. His name had never before been spoken this reverently, this incredulous, this loving.

 “Sherlock. My God, it’s you. Sherlock, I’ve missed you so much. Sherlock.”

His name in John’s mouth was like a caress, and he didn’t need to be afraid of it being said out loud anymore. He, the man known by another name, many other names even, was back where he belonged, and he couldn’t wait for John to say his name again. Every day from now on. 

@flashfictionfridayofficial @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @calaisreno @a-victorian-girl @phoenix27884 @safedistancefrombeingsmart @topsyturvy-turtely @gregorovitchworld @peanitbear @helloliriels

[inevitably-johnlocked]

do you have any recs for full-series rewrites? ideally ones without the Mary storyline or John lashing out?

thank you for all that you do!!!!

Hey Nonny!

OH Gosh, ah... This is a tough one because like technically "episode specific" and meta-fics can work for this. Check them out:

Pre-ASiP fics

Season 1 Fics

Season 1 Fics Pt 2

TGG Related Fics

TGG: Pool Scene

ASiB Fics

THoB Fix It Fics

THoB Fics Pt. 2

Post-TRF Divergence

Post-TRF No Mary (Jan 2023)

Reverse Reichenbach

Reverse Reichenbach Pt. 2

Reunion and Other Post TRF Fics

Reunion and Other Post TRF Fics Pt. 2

Reunion and Other Post-TRF Fics Pt. 3

John Finds Out About Hiatus

John Joins Sherlock During Hiatus

Johnlock Against the World

Sherlock Returns from Hiatus Injured 

Serbia / Aftermath of Hiatus Fics

The Empty Hearse-Related Fics

TSo3-Related Fics (Updated Sept 2023)

Post John’s Wedding Fics

Gay Bar Scene

Stag Night

HLV Fics

After the Gunshot (HLV)

Tarmac Scene

Post S3 Fics

Long S3/Post-S3 Fics (20K+ w.) [Apr 2020]

TABlock (Apr 2020)

TLD Fix-Its / Aftermath of TLD

TFP Is Canon

Post S4 / S4 Fix Its

Post S4 / S4 Fix Its Pt. 2

Post S4 / S4 Fix Its Pt. 3

Post S4 / S4 Fix Its Pt. 4

Post S4 / S4 Fix Its Pt. 5

S4 Rewrites / MetaFics

S3 / TAB / S4 [FIX IT] Fics (March 2019)

Post S4 and Mental Health

Unseen Moments (Updated Sept 11/23)

=====

I wish I could help you out beyond that, and I'm pretty sure I'm misunderstanding exactly what you're looking for, but I hope these help you out <3 I'm working on an S3 No Mary list, so one day that will be done LOL.

If anyone wants to suggest their own fic or a fave fic, please do <3

[chriscalledmesweetie]

The Tenth Good Thing About Sherlock by ChrisCalledMeSweetie

After the Reichenbach fall, John, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson try to think of ten good things about Sherlock.

Based on the lovely children's story The Tenth Good Thing About Barney, by Judith Viorst.

[cupidford]

The Man With the Cartier Frames by JRow

Sherlock's case will surely be solved quickly...in between trips to Putney to help with Rosie, collecting her from school, and preparing for her sleepover at 221B

Johnlock Love Letters #2313

[sightofsea]

the first time, a second time around: chapter five

It is very…difficult, to tread in these moments. Often it’s advised, for the sake of not having a Conversation, which would distract from the case, to ignore them completely. It would be the wisest decision. Sherlock is smart, but he cannot claim to be wise. “And your way?” he asked. John blinks at him. “Do you cling or do you…move on?” Which is to say How long did it take you to move out? Did you do it because it was time? Because it was too much? How often did you think of me? I like to think you thought of me often. I like to think you left with the intention of coming back. But that’s just thinking. Not practical to reality. You can make it real.

this chapter is full of wonderful things like: almond croissants, grief, cancer, deceptive cigarettes, more grief, symptoms of living, chronic masturbators, tigers, and more grief

[helloliriels]

What If I'm Not? (Ch.15)

“We made progress today, Mallory.”

Ella rose to see her young patient out, “I’m very proud of you.”

Mallory beamed up at Ella, and then went skipping down the hall towards the receptionist. Ella followed to the doorframe. Waving goodbye as the child and her mother departed.

She heaved a sigh of relief, going back to her desk and jotting some final notes down in her journal. Then paged the receptionist. 

“Last appointment of the day went well. I’m don’t know about you, but I think we’ve earned a-”

The receptionist cleared her throat, pointedly … “You have, umm, one more appointment waiting-?” The young woman cut in. 

.

“But, I thought-?”

“Mr. Evans cancelled-” she agreed, “but there is a-?” She sounded hesitant, searching for her notes, “-he said it was about John Watson?” 

Ella was puzzled. 

Someone here about John Watson? But not John Watson … ? 

Had something else happened … ? 

. Concern rushed through her like a fire.

.

“Who is it?” Ella inquired. Heart racing.

“He said if you don’t know who he is, then maybe you can’t help him??” The young woman replied enigmatically, sounding a bit confused herself.

Filled with more concern than curiosity, Ella came rushing out of the office and into the waiting room. The receptionist nodded towards the chair at the far wall, and Ella followed her gaze. 

There sat an unfamiliar man in a dark coat. Head in his hands. Fingers entangled in the unruly curls … as if he had been trying to keep himself held together by sheer willpower alone. 

A pair of piercing blue eyes, wreathed in agony, looked up at her as soon as she entered … 

“I need to know what to do about John Watson,” he begged.

.

It took Ella all of five seconds to know exactly who this was … 

. “Sherlock?” She invited, suddenly calm.

. “Why don’t you step into my office … ?”

.

WHAT IF I'M NOT - has continued! New chapter 15 is up now!

@johnlocky @fluffbyday-smutbynight @chinike @rhasima @totallysilvergirl @7-percent @sarahthecoat @missdeliadili @masterofhounds @arwamachine @catlock-holmes @cyn2k @forfucksakejohn @gregorovitch-adler @lisbeth-kk @a-victorian-girl @i-call-me-clarence @impalaparkedat221b @im-erin @janetm74 @peanitbear @peageetibbs @pocketwatchofmycroft @safedistancefrombeingsmart @whatnext2020 @kabubsmagga @liifafaa @thetimemoves @keirgreeneyes @stellacartography @raina-at @calaisreno @discordantwords @simplyclockwork @kettykika78 @khorazir @jobooksncoffee @amyreadsandstresses @solarmama-plantsareneat @kittenmadnessandtea @bluebellofbakerstreet @topsyturvy-turtely @xjessicafaithx @unburstedbubble-was2smach @iwlyanmw @dinner--starving @astudyin221b @musingsofmyown @johnlockismyreligion @shiplocks-of-love

[teaspoonnebula]

The Fix-It Fanfiction You All Need Right Now

Sir Gordon Pickering-Leigh had watched the crates being unloaded from the wagon with a critical eye. He had written several monographs for the London Zoological Society on correct procedures for transporting animals, and it seemed that none of them had been followed. Still, he supposed it had all been done in haste.

His own preparations had been last-minute after he received the telegram from Mr Holmes, although he prided himself that there was nothing slap-dash about them.

First, the cheetah. She was a sweet animal, timid and shy. When she was released into the large enclosure on his estate and discovered that space was plentiful and good food abundant, she began to thrive. Once, several months later, she came up to Sir Gordon and licked his hand.

The baboon was difficult, of course. Such a personable, intelligent animal. Fortunately Sir Gordon had a small group already in residence in a large enclosed space at the northern end of his estate. The new occupant soon became embroiled in their complex social structures. His coat began to shine. A year later, he became a father.

Then there was the beautiful speckled snake. Swamp adders were not generally an aggressive species. Clearly this one had been terribly mistreated (what had they been feeding it?) to lash out at a human. Sir Gordon was the inventor of a thoroughly modern reptile house. Wearing his protective gloves, he had carried the little body and placed it on a lush bed of greenery near his patent heat-lamp.

"Don't you worry now, my dear," he had cooed, "You'll be happy here."

[gregorovitch-adler]

Truth

(Inspired by this amazing art by spooksi-cle)

--

Sherlock extended his hand to John for the last time. "To the very best of times, John," he said, choking down all the words and feelings inside the core of his heart.

John did not take the hand. He just gave Sherlock a pointed look.

Sherlock gulped down his throat and schooled his features, trying to put up his sociopathic front again. "Oh, if we must," he said with feigned exasperation, as he spread his arms open a bit.

John stepped forward, placed his arms around Sherlock, and was practically clinging to his shoulders. He had placed his head on Sherlock's chest.

Sherlock stood still for a moment in surprise. He then wrapped his arms around John's back too.

A few seconds passed. Neither of them said a word. For the first time ever since he had met John, Sherlock felt so daring as to place his chin on John's head.

John was the one to break the silence at last. "Thank you," he said in a voice just above a whisper.

Sherlock furrowed his brow. "What for?"

"Existing."

Sherlock pulled back a little to be able to look at John's face, trying to detect any hint of sarcasm. John looked up at him, and the earnestness in his eyes had taken Sherlock completely by surprise.

All he could see was vulnerability in those deep blue eyes. Those eyes. The eyes which contained an entire universe in them, that Sherlock was yet to unravel.

Why was John thanking him? For saving him from Magnussen? Since when had their friendship been reduced to these painful, formal gestures?

John could never be his-- not in the way Sherlock had wanted him to be. The wife standing at some distance from them was a tangible proof of that. But John could have at least spared him the formalities, moments before he was about to take off to Serbia.

Sherlock could not bear to maintain eye contact any longer, so he pulled John close to his chest again.

"You weren't going to make a joke about your name," said John after a moment and Sherlock winced reflexively. "Even I'm not that stupid." His voice was shaking, a bit. It sounded strangely familiar.

"Why would you help me?" Mary had said.

"Because you saved my life," Sherlock had replied.

"What, sorry... what?" John had asked, demanded rather.

That was John's reaction. The vulnerability, the frustration, the tears in his eyes. Sherlock's own agony. He was being reminded of so many unwanted feelings at the same time.

Was John holding back on his tears, just like Sherlock had been desperately trying to?

"Say something, Sherlock," John whispered, shaking him out of the trail of his thoughts. "I need to know. What was it that you'd meant to say always, but never really had? The real answer this time."

Sherlock's insides were burning at this seemingly simple request.

"Don't do this, John," said Sherlock quietly with the unspoken plea evident in his tone.

John pulled away from the embrace but his hands were still placed on Sherlock's forearms. John was looking at him directly in the eye now.

"Please, Sherlock. For me?"

This was not fair. John knew what effect those words always had on Sherlock and he had chosen this exact time to use them. Sherlock screwed his eyes shut.

Sherlock opened them again to look at John directly. He took a deep breath and exhaled. "I love you," he said in a low voice.

To Sherlock's surprise, John's face broke into a smile. The vulnerability had been replaced by relief in his eyes. "I love you too," he whispered.

Sherlock's heart was swelling. He was trying to suppress his grin because they weren't exactly alone at the tarmac.

"That's all I need to know," said John, squeezing Sherlock's forearms. He dropped his hands to his sides as his expression changed to full determination. "Take me with you, please."

Sherlock knitted his brows. "Your child? And your wife?"

"My marriage with her now exists only because of the baby. And I'm pretty sure everything can be arranged, as far as my daughter is concerned."

"This could be dangerous, John," said Sherlock with a sense of warning in his tone.

"When has that ever put me off?"

"You could die."

"Knowing about the feelings we have for each other, and with you by my side? Everything would be worth it," John said and let out a sigh. "Take me." His voice had become all authoritative, now. His quintessential stubbornness, leaving no room for negotiation.

"Well, about the arrangements related to your child, I think Mycroft can make himself useful for once in his life," said Sherlock with a small smile.

John gazed at him with the emotion filled in his eyes that could only be called 'love'.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Prompt Truth by @calaisreno

Thanks for the tag!

Tagging: @topsyturvy-turtely @tjlcarchives @keirgreeneyes @totallysilvergirl @catlock-holmes @gaylilsherlock @totallysilvergirl @lisbeth-kk

AN: This is a repost because I'd already written this before. I thought it would be appropriate here.

[johnlockissess]

someone give me a good johnlock fics where they are emotionally constipated

[raina-at]

Reflecting Light

“Okay. Let’s try this again.”

Sherlock switches on the music, and holds out a hand to John.

The sweet violin music blends together with an acoustic guitar, filling 221B with the lovely sounds of a beautiful walz.

The lights are low, the fire is lit. 

John hesitates just a fraction. 

He’s not sure how much longer he’ll be able to stand this. Sherlock’s hand in his, their bodies so close, the lovely music. Sherlock’s arm winding around his body.

“John.” 

John nods, takes Sherlock’s outstretched hand. Lets Sherlock pull him close, position their bodies in the perfect dance position.

John takes a deep breath as Sherlock counts them in under his breath, and then they’re moving together, slowly and deliberately. Sherlock’s body is so close, and he smells so good, familiar aftershave and his fancy shampoo and Mrs Hudson’s laundry detergent. (When John moved out of Baker Street after Sherlock was… gone, he took one of Sherlock’s pillows with him and slept with it occasionally. After a while, it stopped smelling like Sherlock, and John felt a bit like Sherlock had died all over again as he finally threw the pillow out because he couldn’t stand the not-Sherlock smell any longer)

“One, two, three,” Sherlock mutters under his breath, and John takes up the count in his head, anything to distract himself from the nearness of Sherlock’s body. He can feel Sherlock’s fingers move against his back, can feel his breath, the way his chest rises and falls, can almost hear his heartbeat.

One, two, three. 

John is getting married in three weeks. And he loves Mary, he does.

But nothing he feels for Mary has ever come close to the magnetic, heart-pounding, life-changing whirlwind he feels whenever he’s in the same room with Sherlock Holmes.

It’s not to be, he knows this. Sherlock doesn’t feel the same, will never love John the way John loves him, desperately, bottomlessly, hopelessly.

So John is doing the sensible thing. He’s exchanging heartbreak for contentment. It’s not an earth-shattering happiness, Mary never made his pulse jump and his heart hurt just by entering a room. But Mary loves him, Mary wants him, Mary is honest and dependable and there when he needs her. 

But is it so wrong to pretend, just for one song? To pretend that this is more than a favour Sherlock is doing a friend, to pretend that Sherlock is holding him because he wants to, because John is as precious to him as Sherlock is to John? To have this, just for one dance?

The music changes, starts a slow, dreamy waltz, a woman singing. 

John closes his eyes and lets himself dream.

Sherlock counts them in, and then they dance. 

It’s slow and dreamy and intimate, and John swears he can hear Sherlock’s breath hitch as they move together, closer with every turn. John looks up from his feet, meets Sherlock’s eyes, and his breath hitches, too, because the expression on Sherlock’s face mirrors the sad longing within John’s chest. Without conscious thought, they move closer together, eyes holding. John lays his head on Sherlock’s shoulder, breathing in that familiar scent of home, and closes his eyes. Sherlock’s arm tightens around him, and they no longer dance but sway gently to the music. 

The song stops, and neither of them pays it any mind. They just stand there, in the middle of 221B, holding each other tightly, lost in the moment. 

John has no earthly idea how long they stand there, wrapped up in each other, Sherlock’s wildly beating heart and his hitching, shuddering breath under his ear, Sherlock’s nose grazing his hair. Their entwined hands are trapped between their bodies, arms around each other holding tight, enjoying that maddening, lovely, beautiful, hopeful closeness, sharing breath and warmth.

Finally, Sherlock speaks. “What if I wasn’t married to my work?” he whispers into John’s hair. 

John draws back and looks at Sherlock’s open, hesitant, vulnerable expression. “Well, then,” he says, “I suppose you could be married to me.”

Sherlock’s smile is hopeful and bright and it tastes of love and forgiveness and the future as John surges up and meets him in a gentle, tentative kiss.

Written for the prompt music from @notjustamumj , thanks a bunch for tagging me!

The song I'm thinking about for this is fittingly called Reflecting Light by Sam Phillips (Lorelai and Luke's theme song in Girlmore Girls, pretty much). The song is bittersweet and slightly melancholy, and fit so well for Sherlock and John.

Tagging a few people to play if you want to: @fluffbyday-smutbynight @helloliriels @keirgreeneyes @the-reading-lemon @agrlsname