starry-days

The front door opens downstairs, hesitantly, slowly. I wait. Tired footsteps begin the journey up the flight of seventeen stairs. The sixth one creaks. John. His face appears in the darkened doorway, lines prevalent and deeply engrained in his features. I sit up. I stand. I know, already, but I don’t want to. “What happened?” His blue eyes give mine a wide berth, making their way to where his worn armchair still sits. Not difficult to notice. Does he realize? If he does, it doesn’t register on his face. “I- we, we decided we- we’re done.” His voice is what causes my stomach to drop, more than his w

Pain. The room flickers before my eyes, and I drop to one knee as I fight to stay conscious. Somehow, I win the battle, but I don’t think I’m capable of regaining my feet quite yet. Beyond the sound of blood pounding in my ears and the haze of pain radiating through my skull, I hear a dull thud and a low grunt. I crack my eyelids open a fraction and the light causes the pounding to escalate intensely. Probably a concussion, but I will worry about that later. I manage to open my eyes completely in time to see my burly attacker crash to the floor. Behind him, the butt of a gun still raised in his hand, stands Sherlock Holmes. Havin

John Watson was woken up by someone sliding into his bed with him and wrapping their slender arms around his waist, pressing against his back. At first, he wanted to push away and ask who decided they could get in his bed without his permission. But since he was too tired to do that option, he let the intruder cuddle close. He had always been a sap for cuddling, anyways. Even if he didn't let anyone know. Even if this could be Moriarty about to kill him. He was just too damn tired to do anything about it. Living with Sherlock Holmes really put a strain on John's life. So he could enjoy these few moments with however decided to come into his r

John traced his thumb against Sherlock's lively pink lip, looking deep into the detective's blue/gray, mysterious eyes. Oh, how badly he wanted to kiss this man, he didn't even know! His heart started pounding, hard, against his chest, fighting to get out. "I don't see any damage, Sherlock..." John muttered, his thumb still skimming that delicate lip. "Keep looking." Sherlock urged. "I know there must be something wrong with it! It hurts..." Sometimes Sherlock made this face. It reminded John so much of a helpless little kid, and it was adorable. John's heart stopped as Sherlock's eyes looked so helplessly into his own, and he gasped light

11:02 Ms Hudson is coming up. Should I tell her we no longer need two bedrooms? SH 11:02 Go ahead. She's been waiting for us to become a couple since day one. JW 11:05 John I think something is wrong with her! SH 11:05 Why? What's going on? JW 11:06 She's squealing. Rather loudly. SH 11:07 Oh. Women do that. No big deal. JW 11:07 But she sounds like an injured pig. SH 11:08 Sherlock! JW 11:08 It's true. SH 11:09 I'm sure it is. Just don't tell her that. JW 11:10 Too late. SH 11:10 You're really rude you know. JW 11:11 Doesn't seem to bother her. She's clapping her hands. SH 11:11 I knew she'd be happy.

John slipped into the break room in the hospital quickly, finally having a few minutes to breathe. The emergency room had been busy and John had been moving from patient to patient since he’d clocked in this morning. Which, really, was what John had been looking for when he’d quit the clinic. After all, running through the streets of London after criminals with Sherlock had given John something to live for after his injury in the army. The clinic just wasn’t giving him the adrenaline rush that John craved. When Molly had mentioned that St. Bart’s was hiring about six months after Sherlock’s fall, John had jumped

WARNING: Future chapters in this story will contain slash, some male on male sexual content, and mentions of violence. If this bothers you, then please don't read the story. Thank you!! AN at the bottom! :D *~~~* John Watson was nervous, to say the least, though he was grateful to finally have a place to stay. He had transferred to this university at the last minute, after most of the students were already settled into their dorms, because he needed a school with a better medical program. At first they had told him that he would have to rent an off-camps flat, which he couldn't afford since it was outside of his family's means. That is, un

John had finished packing and had set his bag by the door before turning to Sherlock. The detective was sulking in his black armchair, a hair away from yelling at the telly. John walked over, blocking Sherlock’s view. Cupping the other man’s jaw tenderly, John tilted his head up until their eyes met then smiled. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?” John asked yet again. “It’s only a small conference. I’m sure you would find it interesting to talk with some of my colleagues.” “Boring,” Sherlock replied, waving a hand at John. “Besides, I have work here to do. W

Sherlock Holmes was five and he was not happy. His parents had taken him and Mycroft to a water park during the hottest month of the year. Now, normally, Sherlock would be overjoyed at the prospect of experimenting on water and seeing how the weather affected it. But the sun beat down mercilessly and he was extremely hot. Also, there was a red tinge on his normally pale skin. Sherlock knew it was the beginning of a sunburn and hated it. Mycroft, of course, had reacted well to the outing. Then again, Mycroft tended to react to things the same way a duck dealt with rain: everything just rolled off of him without even ruffling a feather. &ldquo

"Answer the question, John," Sherlock said softly, only a thread of his usual imperiousness in his voice. He wouldn't break down to beg, not now. Not for something this important. But his eyes pleaded with John, pleaded with him to answer him. "I... I can't," John replied shakily. "I need some time. You kind of just sprang this on me." John backed up, surprise and shock on his face. He tried to ignore the flash of hurt that crossed Sherlock's face before the detective turned away from him. "Take... what time you need," Sherlock said, his voice filled with hurt. John was saved from replying by an incoming text on Sherlock's phone. Got a cas

John was sitting in his arm chair, reading the paper as rain hit the window on the other side of the room. He felt eyes on him. He could feel the stares but he didn't dare look up. He was mad. Ferrous even. Mad that he had done this to him. Mad that he had left him alone for three bloody years.  Mad that he loved him after it was all said and done.  "John..?" Sherlock's voice was barely audible being just above a whisper.  John ignored him. "John? Please..." Sherlock sounded pitiful.  John turned the page to the paper. He was going to make Sherlock suffer as long as he could. He was alone for three years. He was depre