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Bad Blaze

Title: Bad Blaze

Summary: A case leaves a bag of weed in 221B.

Warnings: Casual talk about drug use, sexuality, and growing up different.  Also unresolved feelings about oneself.  Demi!Sherlock and GoodFriend!John.

Pairing: If you squint, there's some Johnlock.

Rating: PG-13

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A/N: Just so everyone knows, I'm posting this but I've written it as a purge of my own feelings.  Basically this happened except I wasn't high.  Yay emotions...


Being a doctor, John had seen people high on all sorts of drugs.  And he’d seen some pretty bad highs.  Also, having Sherlock Holmes, the infamous former-addict, he’d seen Sherlock high a few times as well as drunk.

He’d never seen him high on marijuana.

Their having weed in the house was entirely accidental.  A couple of teens living on the streets had come in with a case about a friend’s disappearance.  It turned out to be a very interesting case; involving a group of smugglers who transported everything from Kinder Eggs to people, a not-kidnapping, and a girl who had just gotten herself in too deep.  By the time John and Sherlock crashed after the nearly week-long case, the kids had moved on and were impossible to contact to return their bag of weed.

So Sherlock did what any normal person would - he rolled a joint.  Several, in fact.  While John was at work.  And was high as a kite when John came home.

“Sherlock, what the hell are you doing?  It smells like a skunk!”

“I…I think I’ve made a mistake, John.” Sherlock answered miserably.


John had to take a step back when the detective looked at him.  His eyes were glassy and rimmed in red, irritated.  In all the time they had been flatmates, John had never seen Sherlock cry for any reason other than to manipulate people.  But even Sherlock wasn’t this good of an actor.  There was no faking the despair that lined his face.

“What wrong?”

The way his lip trembled would have been comical had it not been so genuine. “… So much.  There’s so much wrong.”

“Do you… d’you want to talk about it?”

After a moment, Sherlock nodded. “I’ve never tried marijuana before.  I assumed it would be something like cocaine.  I expected euphoria, maybe drowsiness.”

“But you got sad instead?” John prompted after a moment’s silence.

“And then I started thinking about things I haven’t thought about in years.”

“Like what?”

“I’m a very lonely person, John.  You’re aware that I’m solitary but the fact of the matter is that I’m lonely.  Have been for years.  All in the name of the work.  I ignore so much in the name of work.  I’ve been consulting for so long, it makes me wonder if I still love it as much as I think or if I’m doing it out of habit.”

“Now I know for a fact that you love it.  It’s like Christmas every time we get a new case.”

“But the people.  I hate the people.  There are morons everywhere.  I’ve never related to people.  Even as a child, I was far ahead of my peers.”

Despite wanting to take advantage of Sherlock’s sudden openness, John couldn’t help but comment. “I’d expect nothing less.”

“All the same, it made for a frustrating childhood.  Believe it or not, there was a period of time when I was teacher and parent to many of the people I tolerated enough to call my friends.  It was because of that that I vowed never to father children.  It was exhausting.  There was, of course, also the problem of my odd sexual orientation.”

“It’s not that odd.”

“That’s because you only have a portion of the information.” He looked so distressed, John wanted to take him in his arms.  As if that was a scenario that would ever happen.  “I say that I’m asexual to make is easy for people to fit me into a box and never think about me as a sexual being ever again.  But it’s not entirely true.”

There was another pause, as if it was a hard topic to broach.  “What’s the whole story, then?”

“I’m a biromantic demisexual.” He paused, waiting for confirmation of understanding. “It means I can and have developed romantic feelings for both men and women, but there are only a select few people I could ever bring myself to have a sexual relationship with.  There has to be an incredible emotional connection before I could even consider sex.”

“So Irene-“

“Yes.  I had romantic feelings for her.  However, I never desired anything physical.  I suppose you could say there was a sapiosexual component to it as well.”

That lost John. “A what component?”

“Sapiosexual.  Sexual attraction to a person because of their intelligence.  But that was more on a theoretical plane than a desire to make it happen.”

“Right.  Okay.”

“But you must realize that that makes it far too complicated for most people.  The idiots that populate the world can handle definitives - either a person will or they won’t.  I am neither here nor there.  I’m a ‘maybe’.  Do you see?”

“I’m not sure.”

Sherlock sighed, a little hiccup of a sob escaping.  “Let’s make a scenario then.  Let’s say that I got into a romantic relationship with a sexual person.  Either sex will do.  They desire sex and I do not.  That is incompatible because sex is a base instinct for most sexuals and they often cannot do without.

"Let’s revise - I get into a relationship with an asexual.  Somewhere along the line, I develop sexual desires for them.  But, being asexual, they don’t desire me physically.  This is equally unsatisfactory as my desires are not being attended to.”

“What about someone like you?”

A true sob spilled out with tears.  “The timing would be an incredible gamble.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Even if I found another demisexual, which is an incredible feat in itself, speaking statistically, it’s impossible to say if one or the other of us would ever desire the other sexually.  And if only one of us did?  That’s almost worse than the other two possibilities.  I couldn’t expect someone who didn’t desire me to have sex to make me happy.  Nor would I tolerate someone asking the same of me.”

“… Have you never had a relationship?  There must have been something.”

“Once, long ago.  There were very strict rules between us and it was an altogether awful result.  I recall ‘cocktease’ being one of the highlights of our final conversation.”  He was wiping strongly at his eyes.  His hands and face were shining and pinking from the salt in his tears.  “I tried to compromise.  I did everything to him that he asked.  I became incredibly proficient at a myriad of sex acts that didn’t involve my own genitals trying to keep him satisfied.  But in the end, it was a point of contempt.”

“That was one person.  You can’t know that no one would be okay with just what you were comfortable giving.”

“Name one person you know who would be satisfied with that.” Sherlock pronounced laboredly, glaring.  John had no answer.

A long silence stretched between them.  Sherlock wiped his eyes and tried to quiet the sobs that made his chest bounce awkwardly as he breathed.  John tried to think of something to say to make it better.

Eventually, John handed Sherlock the tissue box from the table and fetched a damp flannel.  With careful tenderness, he wiped the tears from Sherlock’s raw face.  The detective sniffled, surprisingly pliant.

“Do you really think the marijuana would make me this sad?”

“I’ve seen it before.  You’re used to drugs that keep dopamine in your system instead of being reabsorbed.  The high you’re riding right now is throwing the balance between your dopamine and anandamine.  Maybe weed just doesn’t suit you.”

He sniffed again.  “Don’t tell anyone?”  He looked so fragile that he might burst into tears again.

“Course not.  And we’re tossing the rest of that skank.”

“Give it to Mrs. Hudson.  Tell her to have an herbal soother on me.”


And because I'm dumb, I have to add comedy.  Because that's how I deal with my feelings.  No, really.

Title: Baldr and Höðr (The Trouble with Mistletoe)

Summary: Sherlock learns about a Christmas tradition and is determined to make it work to his advantage.

Rating: PG

Pairing: Johnlock

Warning: Fluffy Christmas fluff. :)

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Mistletoe.  That was new.  John saw it in the doorway to the kitchen, strangely off to the side of the doorframe.  It hadn't been there earlier.

"Sherlock?" He called, continuing into the kitchen.  An acknowledging grunt came from the sofa. "Is the mistletoe your doing?"  Another mostly noncommittal noise.

John smiled, shaking his head, and went on making tea.

That evening, John's girlfriend, Hannah, came over.  John had already planned to pull her aside and kiss her under the mistletoe since it was so close to Christmas, but when the moment came, the sprig was gone.  He sighed and kissed her anyway.

Once she left (she had said she didn't like spending the night because of Sherlock's violin habit), John confronted his flatmate.

"So what was wrong with the mistletoe?" John asked.

Sherlock didn't look up from his laptop.  "Why should there have been something wrong?"

"Well, you had it up and now it's gone."

"Oh, yes.  I used it.  Experiment.  Why?"

John fumbled for a moment.  "Well, Hannah was over.  I thought it would be nice to follow tradition."

Sherlock waved his hand dismissively.  "You seemed to have no problem kissing her regardless." John rolled his eyes.

"Well, she's supposed to come over on Christmas Eve.  I'll get more mistletoe before then."

The next morning, John bought another sprig and hung it in the kitchen doorway again (centered this time).  Hannah came over while John was changing his shirt (at Sherlock's suggestion since John had been baking), so Sherlock let her in.  

"Oh, hello Sherlock." She said, unsure as ever.  

"Hello, Hannah!" Sherlock smiled.  "Come in.  Would you like some tea?"

Hannah stared dumbly for a moment.  "Er, sure.  That would be nice."

Sherlock walked into the kitchen, stopping short just past the doorway.  Hannah had been following behind, looking away as if searching for John, and ran into Sherlock.  

"Oh, sorry."  She squeaked.

"No problem at all."  Sherlock replied, smiling to himself.  He turned on the kettle before the mistletoe caught his eye.  "Oh, you shouldn't stand there.  Here,"  He reached up and pulled the bunch down.  There were a number of weevils crawling around on its surface.  

Hannah screamed.  John came running.  There was shouting and hysterics that ended in Hannah rushing out, vowing to never return.

"What did you do?!" John accused.

"I saved her from having weevils drop on her head.  Or yours."

"There were no weevils on that this morning!  Why do you always do this?  I want to have girlfriends, Sherlock.  I have every right to!  But I can never keep them around because you're always scaring them off!"

Sherlock stood quietly as the kettle clicked off.  He regarded John carefully.

"What?" The doctor finally asked.

"If you observed more often, you'd probably notice the pattern."

"I have noticed the pattern.  That's what I'm saying."

"There's more than one."

Sherlock walked back over to the sofa where he pulled his laptop over and just sat.  John made tea to calm down and think before walking over and sitting next to Sherlock.

"Alright, just tell me.  What am I missing?"

"It's said that a woman who stands under the mistletoe and is not kissed will not marry for another year."

"Yeah, heard that one.  What's that got to do with-"  Then it clicked.  "Sherlock, we've been going out for three weeks!"

"And in that time, you've seen each other almost every night and she's been visiting you at the clinic.  You've already made out in your office and very nearly had sex in a broom closet, not to mention the number of times back at her flat.  You mentioned her in your case write up from last week and you planned to take her to Angelo's on New Year's Eve."

John's voice was suddenly very soft.  "And why does that matter to you?"

Their eyes locked.  It wasn't as if it had never happened before, but this time Sherlock's "we both know what's going on here" face was appropriate.  They did both know what was going on even if neither really knew what to do about it.

At least for a moment.  John's tongue flicked out over his lower lip, his gaze easing down over Sherlock's face.  When Sherlock wet his lips similarly, John leaned in carefully.

The gentle contact sent shivers down John's spine, set Sherlock's hands trembling.  It was more a meeting of lips than a kiss, but it was warm and sweet.  John touched their foreheads together.

"How long had you been planning that?"

"Six days."


And that sent them kissing again.  This one was real, open-mouthed, but no less sweet.  Hands were buried in curls and checked shirts, fingers hooked in belt loops and cupping sharp cheekbones.  

It was a very merry Christmas without Hannah.

A/N: According to Wikipedia, "Baldr and Höðr are rival suitors, and Höðr kills Baldr with a sword named Mistilteinn (Old Norse "mistletoe")."  I thought it was awfully fitting.  :)

This was also inspired by this fanart.
Title: Baldr and Höðr (The Trouble with Mistletoe)

Summary: Sherlock learns about a Christmas tradition and is determined to make it work to his advantage.

Rating: PG

Pairing: Johnlock

Warning: Fluffy Christmas fluff. :)

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Loneliness is the Key

Title: Loneliness is the Key
Summary: For all his patience, even John Watson has a breaking point.
Rating: PG
Warnings: Angst.  Lots of unresolved angst.  
A/N: This is my first non-prompt fic in quite a long time.  I haven't been feeling very well recently, so I thought I'd write some angst to try to get it out of my system.

For all his patience, even John Watson has a breaking point.

It was after a hellish few weeks.  No cases which meant the following progression on Sherlock's part: annoyance, boredom, black moods, drug use.  That was how it had been.  Always.

But as week four rolled around, new things started happening.  Sherlock wasn't just searching around his mind palace to try to find a distraction.  He wasn't just doing absurd experiments.  He wasn't even just using cocaine and heroine.

He was disappearing.

He was withdrawing.

"Oi, Sherlock."  John tried for the third time.  "You okay?"

"Hmm?  Oh, I'm fine."

That was the seventh time in the last two days that Sherlock had answered the same question in the same way.  Sometimes, if John asked a particular question of his friend, he would get some variation on "it's nothing."  Sometimes, John was alright with that.  Other times, he had to remove himself from the flat to keep from prying the information out of Sherlock by means of more force than strictly acceptable.

And the detective's body language and habits were changing too.  While laying on the couch, he wouldn't just turn towards the wall.  John noticed after a few times that Sherlock seemed to purposefully turn away when he walked by or sat in the chair by the sofa.  The man even made himself food in what seemed to be an effort to avoid John altogether.  Less time was spent on the couch and more time either out without the doctor or in his own room.

"If I say there's something wrong and offer help, will you even consider taking it?" John finally asked after basically cornering Sherlock.

"No because there's nothing wrong."

"Sherlock, I know I'm an idiot by your standards, but I'm not a complete moron.  I can tell when something's wrong.  And there's something going on that you aren't telling me."

"It's nothing."

"Not good enough!  Damnit, Sherlock!"  John grabbed Sherlock's forearm when he tried to walk away.  Sherlock hissed in pain.  "What's-"  

When he pulled the dressing gown aside, John could see the cuts that lined Sherlock's arms.  Thin but deep, John estimated that, being anemic, Sherlock would have nearly passed out with the amount he would have bled if they were all done in one sitting.  And, if they weren't, they were made in rather quick succession.

"…Why?"  He finally managed.

"Just leave it, John."  

John could do nothing but watch dark curls as they disappeared into Sherlock's room.

And that was the last straw.

He let it lay for the night, then tried to get Sherlock out of his room - one last try.  He refused to unlock his door.  So John picked up a pad of paper and a pen, wrote for a few minutes, then walked upstairs.  An hour later, He came back down, bypassing the rest of the flat entirely, and walked out the door with two large bags.

When Sherlock came out at around midnight the following night, he found the pad of paper next to his violin.


I'm leaving this in the one place I know you're sure to find it in a timely manner.  I want you to know that I've left not because I no longer want any association with you, but because I'm clearly doing more harm to our friendship than good despite my intentions.

I can say that I really do love you.  I feel deeply for what's between us.  But there's only so much a person can handle.  And I can't do it anymore.  Not if you won't even tell me what's wrong.  Not if you won't let me help.  I a doctor, for chrissakes - you of all people should know it's my mission in life to help people.

I've taken all my necessaries from the flat.  I don't know if I'll be back, but I'll be gone for a good long while.  Text me if you want me to come back when you're out of this rut - whatever it is.


A/N:  The title is taken from IAMX's "I Am Terrified."  The while line is "Loneliness is the key to break that spell."  My point in using it was related to the idea of "alone is what protects me."  Then, back to the lyrics, I thought "is it?"  Would it help?  I left this hanging because I really don't know the answer and neither John nor Sherlock seem to either.

Cry Me Awake

Title: Cry Me Awake
Summary: From 8dreamcatcher8's prompt; "After Sherlock comes back post-Reichenbach, John regularly sleepwalks to Sherlock's bedroom (or living room if Sherlock is sleeping on the sofa) and he touches/caresses the side of Sherlock's head where there was blood after the fake suicide and he's crying at the same time.
I'd like to see Sherlock's reaction and I'd prefer a not too sad ending. And I always love Sherlock/John, obviously."
Rating: PG 
Warnings: Fluffy and a little bittersweet. Johnlock. :)

The first time Sherlock oserved John's sleepwalking was the first night after Sherlock's fall.  He snuck into the flat to take some necessaries that John wouldn't notice were gone.  Initially, he thought he had been caught, then he realised that John's eyes were closed.  He was intrigued.  For as long as they had lived together - for as much emotional distress as John had been through - he had never walked in his sleep (and Sherlock would know since he almost never sleeps).  He apparently did have nightmares that didn't wake him.  Whenver he dared, Sherlock would watch John sit up in bed, weeping, but still fully asleep.

Upon Sherlock's return, John's sleepwalking evolved dramatically.  He still cried, but he seemed to find Sherlock wherever he was.  The brush of fingertips over his left templestartled Sherlock the first time.  So much so that it took him an embarrassingly long time to realise what it was.
John was reliving the fall - touching Sherock's injury.

The first few times it happened, Sherlock just guided John back to bed, letting him work through it on his own.  But after the first week, John wandered into the detective's room without him noticing.  Sherlock was lying in the middle of the bed as he always did, so John climbed in next to him.

Even just waking, Sherlock knew something was different tonight.  For starters, there were no tears yet.  John's hands strayed into dark curls, fingertips following the line of Sherlock's skull as though searching.  His left hand trailed the side of his face to cradle his neck.  Then, lips on Sherlock's forehead.  Gentle, chaste, but a kiss nonetheless.  

That was when the tears started, but John stayed put, now his forehead pressed to Sherlock's.  Sherlock didn't move.  There was a sinking in his stomach akin to anticipation, but what it was, he didn't know.  

Sherlock let himself lose time.  The doctor hovered over him like the shield he was; warm and present as he wasn't for Sherlock's absence.  Another kiss on Sherlock's cheek, then along his jaw.  When the next drew near, Sherlock turned into it, lips meeting lips.  It was short, but somehow long-awaited.  

A smile played over John's face, Sherlock's curving similarly.  Maybe they'd talk about it, but that was a decision for another time.   For now, Sherlock laid his friend down, pulled the duvet over them both, and let him sleep.

Anything to Feel Alive

Title: Anything to Feel Alive
Rating: PG
Spoilers: TGG and the beginning of ASiB.
Summary: AU fic - After returning from Afghanistan, John is picked up by Moriarty.  Then, on the job, John meets Sherlock.  Based on an idea by Pernille
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. If you see any errors, let me know (NICELY) because this is unbeta'd.
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Notes Upon Deaf Ears

Title: Notes Upon Deaf Ears
Rating: PG
Pairing: None though it can be read as John/Sherlock
Summary: It began when he was thirty - the ringing in Sherlock's ears. Deaf!Sherlock
Warnings: It's a bit sad at the beginning, but all is well!

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Sherlock cake!

So, I made my friend kaleigh_marie a cake for her birthday.  Being that we're both deeply into Sherlock, I thought it only right to do this:

It was a chocolate cake with Nutella filling and buttercream frosting.  Took me about an hour to decorate. :)  It was SOOO much fun!


Title: Prosopagnosia
Rating: PG
Summary: Prosopagnosia, more commonly known as face blindness.
Character: Molly-centric

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Tectonic Platonic

Title: Tectonic Platonic
Summary: A blending of 8dreamcatcher8's prompts here and here.
Warning: partial nudity.  Showering.
Rating: PG-13 to be safe.
Pairing: None really.  S/J if you want to make it that way.

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