My clever writings
Irreplaceable
Sherlock Holmes did not trust. He did not trust and he shouldn’t have trusted and he was never wrong. But, most of all, Sherlock did not feel.
He attempted to make tea, but John’s tea was always warm and most certainly did not taste like dishwater.
He drank it anyway.
Read on livejournal or archiveofourown
Trenches
Every time Sherlock pulled something like this, they got irrevocably dirty, but he only regretted it once.
They were filthy and they wouldn’t be clean for days, but they didn’t really care about any of that while their lips were still moving.
All Sherlock had thought, when his fingertips raked John’s face like a drowning man trying to find the levee, was that John’s skin was so soft.
Read on livejournal
That Would Be No
This is not the story of how Sherlock slayed his first snail, nor is it the story of how he found out the raven did it. No, this is the story of how Sherlock Holmes made his first friend.
Bird!Sherlock and Worm!John.
John had never seen one before, a bird.
But, on further inspection, they didn’t look nearly as evil as mum had told him they did.
Read on livejournal or archiveofourown
Five Pounds
He’d been sitting on that shelve for years, and it was bloody sodding time someone put him on again. From the point of view of MartinGaga’s shades.
Really, it had been days. If he didn’t want to fucking buy him, he should’ve left him there.
He was cool. He could’ve gotten out of that bloody pricetag himself.
Yet he couldn’t help feeling quite abandoned when he was shoved on a shelve above some wooly jumpers and a leather jacket he knew he’d look awesome with.
Read on livejournal or archiveofourown
Feathers
Sherlock always hugged John before he went to sleep. John didn’t mind. Of course he didn’t. He was only a pillow, after all.
Sherlock remembered the first time he saw John, lying on a bed in a store about to close. The cashier had stared at him as he demanded to purchase, no, not the whole bloody bed, just the pillow, for God’s sake, and do you speak English, habla Inglès, but he had gotten it eventually, even after spouting several vaguely racist comments to the poor, underpaid woman.
Read on livejournal or on archiveofourown
Milky Way
Sherlock climbs and climbs, and as he passes another set of stars, really wishes he’d worn some clothes.
In which Sherlock shows his limited knowledge of space once again and has got no pockets to stuff the stars in.
For a second, he thought to take one along for John. A star, that is. John did always like the starlight and was melancholy about not being able to see it properly in the befouled city skies.
Then he rejected that notion - he hadn’t any pockets to stuff it in.
Read it on livejournal, archiveofourown, or, if you’d like, tumblr.
A Little Bit Of Everything
John knows Sherlock always gives him what he can, which is, basically, a little bit of everything. Following the weekly prompts at #JohnSherlock.
Chapter one, The Starry Messenger, is on Fanfiction.net
Chapter two, Distraction, is on Livejournal or on Fanfiction.net
