|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
Hearts (prelude/Chapter 1)John looked up from his notebook and looked across the playground. A small, somber boy, probably around the age of six, was looking steadily back at him. John eyed him curiously from the other side of the playground, across the sea of children yelling and playing. The other boy seemed to be trying to read his mind from across the playground. John shook his head slightly, trying to shake off the younger boy's gaze. He turned back to his notebook, and realized that he had been sketching without noticing. Blushing slightly, he realized his hand had drawn a truly excellent sketch of the younger boy across the playground. He glanced up at the other boy who was smirking as if he knew exactly what John had been doing. John's eyes flickered down to his notebook and then back up, but when his glance returned to the opposite side of the playground, the boy was gone. John had no idea who he was or why he had been watching John. He shook his head once again and returned to his notebook.
It was the
Hearts (chapter 5)It was break on the first day of their last year of secondary school, and Sherlock was acting even more strangely than usual. As soon as they were outside, he grabbed John’s arm and dragged him bodily over behind a clump of bushes. By now, Sherlock was a good foot taller than John, even though he was four years younger. John looked askance at Sherlock and glanced regretfully back at Molly, who was looking rather stunned. “Sherlock, what are you doing?” he hissed. Sherlock looked around, as if checking to see if anyone was listening in. “Sherlock, no one can see or hear us back here. What do you want?”
“John, I don’t think you should keep seeing Molly Hooper,” he said finally. John was flabbergasted. Sherlock had dragged him all the way over here just to say that?
“What?” he said indignantly. “What do you mean? We’ve been going out for three years! I can’t just jilt her now for no reason. Besides, I really lik
Hearts (chapter 2) It was the first day of the new school year after the hols, and John was sitting down to lunch with some of his classmates. He was just setting his tray down when he felt a tap on his shoulder. It was that boy from the playground. What was his name? Oh right: Sherlock. An odd name. He appeared to have grown over the summer and was now only a few inches shorter than John.
“Can I sit with you?” he said. John was about to reply when another of the boys at the table said scornfully, “Don’t let him; he’s a freak.” John turned to the other boy. “What do you mean he’s a freak?” John asked, a bit harshly. Turning to Sherlock, he said, “Of course you can sit here.” The other boys at the table stared at John, stunned, and turned to glare at Sherlock. The boy who had spoken to John answered his question after the two boys had sat down.
“He has this trick he does where he can tell you everything you&
Hearts (chapter 3)It was the first day of secondary school, and John was nervous. He tugged on the familiar red jumper. It was not the same jumper that Sherlock had commented on all those years ago – that jumper had long since been too small. This was a new jumper, but it was in the exact same shade of red that John (and Sherlock, he had discovered) loved so much. John stood anxiously at the top of the school steps and scanned the crowd. Soon he saw the familiar tall figure and black curly hair of the boy who had become John’s best friend during their years of primary school. He waved slightly, and waited for Sherlock to come up the stairs.
“Hey,” he said awkwardly, when Sherlock had arrived. “How was your summer?”
“Dull,” Sherlock said in a drawl. “New jumper. And it appears your sister and my brother are no longer seeing each other.” The two boys walked into the school together and joined the throngs that were trying to find their classrooms.
Hearts (chapter 8)When John passed by his old Uni colleague Mike Stamford in the park, he had no flash of recognition, nor anything to suggest that John had once known the man. Mike recognized John, however, and called him over. John pretended to recognize him, and indeed he had a vague sense that this was someone familiar. They had a short and rather awkward conversation over coffee, and when John mentioned that he was looking for a flat and a flatmate, Mike perked up.
“You’re the second person to mention needing a flatmate today,” Mike said. “Who was the first?” John asked, a bit interested. “Come on, I’ll take you to meet him,” Mike said cheerily, standing up from where they had been sitting.
The morgue of St. Bartholomew’s hospital was not a place one expected to meet a potential flatmate, but that was exactly where Stamford took John. They passed by a pretty young woman in the hallway and she seemed to cringe at the sight of John, but John didn&
Hearts (chapter 6)John managed to avoid speaking to Sherlock for the rest of the year. They did not shake hands at graduation, and when Mycroft, Greg Lestrade, Harry, and Harry’s girlfriend Clara came up to congratulate them both, they did not even look at each other.
John applied to medical school and was accepted. He didn’t inform Sherlock of his decision, though he was reminded of Sherlock telling John he wanted to be a doctor when they were both in primary school. He was fairly sure Sherlock was not going to be a doctor, so he hoped he could attend Uni far away from Sherlock Holmes and never think about him again. How wrong he was. The medical school John was attending was part of the same university as a world-renowned science school, and Sherlock was attending to become a scientist. They ended up having at least one class together every semester, and they graduated together, despite John’s finishing his degree several years early and Sherlock’s many fields of
Hearts (chapter 7)After leaving medical school, John joined the army as a medic. After four years he was sent to Afghanistan, which was a living hell. John saw friends gunned down beside him while he lay helpless in a trench. He saw many young soldiers that he was unable to save because they had lost so much blood. A young woman that he had thought he had loved was killed while John watched. And still he survived. Something kept him going and kept him from harm. One day while his company was in the trenches, shooting and being shot, John was yelling at a friend to get down when he himself was shot in the shoulder. He remembered very little of that afternoon, except that everyone else died save one young man who inexpertly attempted to help take care of the wound. The few weeks went by with John hardly noticing a thing. When he finally emerged from his quasi-comatose state, he could remember almost nothing except that last battle. He could recite his mother’s phone number and street address, he cou
Hearts (postlude) It was 18 months later, and John felt time stop as he watched the dark figure falling from the roof of St. Bart’s hospital. He could feel all his memories returning as the figure dropped in slow motion: all his memories of school, of his family, and most importantly, his memories of Sherlock. He remembered the first conversation they’d had, and the last. He realized Sherlock had always remembered those, throughout the past 18 months that they had been in the same flat. He wondered what it must have been like for him: remembering the conversations and the quarrel while John sat next to him, not remembering a word of it. He wished he’d been able to apologize. He had never wanted to say those awful things to his best friend, and every day in Uni and in Afghanistan he had wished he could take them back. Now it was too late. As he watched the only person he had ever cared for falling to his death, he cried without hope of being heard, “I’m sorry S
A Little Domestic?My word, Watson, are you sure you'll be all right? SH 12:34
Quite possibly once I have my extreme amusement under control! JW 12:35
Dear, dear, John, what have we done to ourselves? I thought we agreed those coca leaves were to be left in Mrs. Hudson's cupboard! SH 12:35
That was your fault if I remember correctly. What in blazes have you done to my dog! Sherlock. JW 12:38
My- that was my fault?! I'm not the one who hides things under a bloody skull! And he'll be fine: I'm experimenting with a new sedative for Mrs. H. SH 12:40
What! If you'd just get up and look for the bloody things yourself we wouldn't have this problem! That had better be safe by the way. What works on Gladstone may work entirely differently on a human! Oh and Mycroft's called again. Something about your mother I think. JW 12:42
It's not my fault the sofa's so bloody far from the table. And Gladstone's seen worse: he had some of my formaldehyde the other day. I do hope you ignored Mycroft: anything mum w
The Return of the Reichenbach Hero - Chapter ThreeJohn awoke, stretched and sighed, then yawned widely. He started the day on a stale bowl of cereal and some toast, and opted for a large mug of coffee. He ate his breakfast in silence, watching the second hand on the clock tick by from his spot in the kitchen and as he ate he was reminded of the receipt on the table. It was from a café down the road, but John wondered what this person, if indeed it was Sherlock, was doing with a receipt from said shop. The detective found conversation shared between "normal people" inane, though no matter how much he tried to deny it, he had a soft spot for cake, Victoria Sponge specifically. Mrs Hudson had always made sure to drop round with a slice or two when she came back. John fiddled with the thin paper and decided to research as much as he could on everything he could find on the receipt. He whiled away the hours searching for post-codes and phone numbers, even researching the name of the cashier who had served them that day, to no avail.
Sherlock: Caring Is Not an Advantage Part 3
Sherlock:Caring Is Not an Advantage Part 3
Part Three: Is It Alright If I Come Home?
Sherlock paced the flat thinking of something to do; experiments seemed to be only failures and it was not like anyone knew he was alive to actually give him a case. There was absolutely nothing to do, but to pace and hate his hair and hate that John was not there.
Though he was happy to be in his old style of dressing and the warm walls of his flat surrounding him; it felt great to be home and not hidden away in some hole in the wall. It was strange how he could go three years without being this wound up yet one meeting with John in person seemed to make it worse.
When he saw John it was different, he realized then how much he did miss the other man, not that he didn’t realized that he missed him but when he saw John he realized how much. Too much, Sherlock thought, he realized what it was like to wake up and not see John’s morning face, or to not smell breakfast being cooked in the kitc
The Lasting Distraction“Sherlock? What are you doing?” John asked, watching his friend pace the ground in front of him. “You’ve been going at it for twenty minutes. If I didn’t know better, you’d walk a canyon into the ground.”
“Don’t be an idiot, John,” Sherlock snapped half heartedly. “That’s physically impossible. It would take hundreds apon thousands of years to do such a thing, not to mention you would have to have a force to work the rocks and such out from under my feet. If you were referring to my walking actually wearing down the rocks enough so a canyon would start to form, you can add on another few billion years.”
John raised an eye brow at Sherlock’s answer, but shook it off and continued to watch his friend in silence. He watched for another five minutes, his eyes lazily following his friend as he passed in front of him, before Sherlock slumped down next to him on the wall, huffing and crossing his arms.
Who is the last that one paysJohn sighs irrelatively as he looks at Sherlock Holmes, who is sitting on the floor with his closed eyes and crossed legs, back at their fridge. An empty fridge.
"Sherlock! We've run out of food."
John closes his eyes. "Yes??I am hungry!"
"Cook something." The calmness in the detective voice makes John even more angry.
"Why on Earth, it is me, who always cooks??" He shuts the door of the fridge jerkily, making the whole thing shaking slightly. "When was the last time when you've cooked??" John walks to the living-room, his own stomach accompanying him.
Sherlock opens eyes and looks at John from his sitting position. "Remarkable, how hunger influences on you. When you are not hungry." He titles his head. "You are like a fluffy, little kitten. But now, when our fridge's become empty, which is absolutely not my fault, you've turned into a Evil maniac."
John stares at Sherlock, forgetting to make an angry expression.
"You've called me a kitten."
Sherlock sighs. "I said
A Texting Affair Chapter 1I'm bored. -SH
Doctor John Watson sighed at his desk. He had only been at work for an hour before Sherlock texted him, setting a new record at how quickly he could get bored. John rolled his eyes before sending his reply.
I can't entertain you ALL the time, Sherlock. -JW
His response came mere seconds later.
Don't roll your eyes at me, John. It's distracting. -SH
"How does he bloody do that?" John exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air in slight irritation. Was he that predictable?
It's what normal people do, sometimes. You should try it sometime. -JW
Dull. Normal is boring. -SH
"Maybe it would keep you out of trouble." John frowned. He kept that comment to himself, knowing that his companion would have a rant waiting for him as soon as he said it.
Speaking of normal, you should probably get some sleep. You haven't slept since you started that new experiment with the milk. -JW
I can't sleep now, don't be ridiculous. I'm in the middle of an
A Texting Affair Chapter 5Sherlock was beside himself with worry. And really? Sherlock Holmes is never worried. However, when it came to sitting on an uncomfortable chair at Saint Bartholomew's hospital, watching his best friend and love, sleeping on a just as uncomfortable bed, he was downright anxious. He hated hospitals to begin with unless it was for his use of it's morgue and laboratory. Any other time he tried to avoid it like the plague. Especially, this facility. If it wasn't for John's need of medical assistance he would be at St. Bart's. No, not when he took a giant leap from it's rooftop. It took everything he had to resist the urge to vomit as he walked passed the very pavement in which his fake death had occurred. He shook his head. No need to think about that right now.
Steel-blue eyes trained on his companion just a few feet away from him. Two days ago there was so much blood coming from just his side. His assailant was only millimeters away from nicking one of his lungs and the damage wou
A Good Man Went to War - Chapter 7When Mrs. Hudson woke from her episode a short time later, Sherlock had made Earl Grey tea for her and was setting it on a small end table next to the sofa where she was laying. He handed her a cup when she sat up but she barely took it into her shaking hands, and didn't even take her eyes away from him as she did. Was this really Sherlock Holmes? Had she done something to deserve being haunted by such a specter? Terrified, she asked him as much.
Sherlock couldn't help but to smile a little at the question. She really hadn't changed a bit. "I'm not a ghost; I'm real."
"But," Mrs. Hudson took a quick drink of her tea, "John saw you die..."
He looked to the ground and gripped his hands together tightly. He regretted tricking John like that more than anything else in the world, even though it had to be done. "It's...complicated," he told her. It wasn't too complicated for him, in fact it had been rather easy, but he didn't think he had enough time to explain it all to her. If he could lat
A Good Man Went to War - Chapter 10Two days had past since John and Sherlock both returned to their rightful places: John with the consulting soldiers and Sherlock at John's side. Finally, for the first time in those forty-eight hours, John was able to stand up without a searing pain rushing through him, and his legs were steady enough for him to walk though he often clutched at Sherlock's arm for balance if a shock ran through his legs. It was because of this reason that Sherlock very rarely left John's side while he was awake, even when he had to bathe or just sit down.
He also helped to change out John's bandages three times a day whenever Marie was busy with the surgery and couldn't get away to do so. It was during one of these times that Sherlock noticed something different about John's front. Other than the lacerations turning into dreadful scars, there seemed to be something missing. He gently ran the tips of his fingers over John's left shoulder. When questioned at what he was doing, he replied with quite a bit
Sherlock didn't mind John's bed. In fact, it was probably more comfortable than his own, if he cared to admit it. The doctor's firm mattress was an excellent support for the back, and the covers were kept remarkably straight and neat. (As was the rest of the room, to John's credit.)
However, there were times when Sherlock felt as though their relationship was a bit unbalanced in certain regards. While the withdrawn detective knew that John would never force or even insinuate starting something without Sherlock's interest and explicit permission, it still left Sherlock ill at ease sometimes... As though he had less control over the situation, because he was a guest in John's space.
It was a conscious effort, then, when he took the time to put his studies aside for a day and tend to more common duties. He threw the windows of his bedroom open to let in the cool, fresh air and evacuate the musty smell that had built up from his last experiment. He skittered about his room, tossing anythin
Hearts (chapter 4)The next few years were strange for John. He and Molly had been going steady since that first week of secondary school, and he and Sherlock had remained friends (as much as Sherlock could have friends), but their friendship was strained. Sherlock would at times treat John the way he had since John was in fifth year, but would occasionally ignore him completely and at other times would be highly protective and possessive of John and try his hardest to keep him away from Molly. John was completely confused by Sherlock’s behaviour, and his life was made even more difficult when his sister Harry tried to flirt with Molly then brought home another girl the next week, when John’s parents went through a nasty divorce, and when Sherlock called John once to tell him in a disgusted voice that Mycroft had begun seeing one of their classmates, Greg Lestrade, and his parents were horrified.
LatreuophobiaI wash off sick-sweet orange lipstick in front of a mirror as dusty as gothic romances. It tastes like oblivion, that is to say, like nothing my tongue can detect.
The door opens with a creak no private restroom could emulate. Some chick with blue bobbed hair and smeared eyeliner. I looked like that once. Ten years ago.
Getting the beer out of my hair is harder. Some men just can't take it when I'd rather they not kiss my feet or call me an angel or-
“Dayum girl, you look like a goddess.”
I gulp, taste of acid.
Keep in Touch!
^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More