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Awkward Affection :Johnlock:Awkward Affections
I have heard time and time again how Sherlock is incapable of affection, sometimes even from the man himself. When discussing things like love and affection Sherlock looks at it in an analytical, apathetic, way. He sees no use in feeling such things that would be a distraction.
Or so he says.
But I know the truth.
For a while I believed what everyone was saying, until something happened. Well, it would actually be inaccurate to say just one thing happened, rather it was a gradual increase in small 'somethings' that made me realize they were all wrong.
First it was a smile here and there that Sherlock would only give me and no one else. Then came random times when Sherlock would play songs he knew I liked on his violin when we were sitting at home wasting time. Neither act was provoked by be, to my knowledge, yet they began to happen more and more frequently.
Then came physical affection, or Sherlock's version of it. Again it was subtle at first, and even now after al
Comfort"John, it's okay, it's alright now."
"NOW IT'S NOT! It is not okay!"
I had never seen John so scared, so angry, so out of control. It frightened me. He was always calm, held himself back, always in control. But he wasn't as I watched him. He breathed rapidly and shallow, I could practically see his heart pounding away in his chest. He was scared stiff by what he had seen, even if it wasn't real.
"Okay John, you need to calm down," I soothed.
"NO! I just ARGH!" John yelled. He was falling apart right in front me. I needed to comfort him somehow, I just didn't know how. Feelings isn't something I know a great deal of, they'd become even more confusing since I had met John. My stomach doing strange things every time he looked into my eyes, the hate I felt for all of the women he went out with, the urge to hug him after he comes home from a long day at work burning in body, the need for him to be touching me, having his lips on mine, raging in every fibre in my body, the strange feeli
Watson LockedJohn looked so cute. So peaceful as he slept, his arms crossed over his stomach, his mouth opened just slightly ajar, his breathing deep and gentle, one in a while swallowing and taking a deep, long breath. Sherlock never knew someone could look so at peace. He almost had second thoughts of waking the peaceful solider. But yet, he needed him... Needed to hear him speak, needed to have him hold him, needed to have John's warm lips brush his forehead with a kiss.
Slowly, Sherlock entered the room.
"John?" He asked softly, still unsure about waking him. "John?" He asked a little louder.
He knew John was a heavy sleeper... But still. He walked over and sat down on the edge of John's bed. As he breathed, he smelled John. Just the light smell in the atmosphere that reminded Sherlock of vanilla and tangerines. He adored that intoxicating smell that was, and always will be, John Watson. -His- John Watson.
He brushed John's soft cheek with his finger and smiled. John's eyes slowly fluttered ope
Commission Prices and Rules [ON HOLD]
Update: Commissions are on hold until I finish up the ones I have.
Things I will not draw for you...
-Custom original characters
Things I can draw for you...
-Same gender couples
-Semi naked people (exposed chest and naked backsides are allowed)
-NOTE me with the form filled out and give me the points after I say so.
-Payment is needed BEFORE I start Commission (don't want to work really hard on a commish and not receive payment when done)
-MUST HAVE REFERENCE PHOTO, or I wont accept your request. Must be a good quality, colored, full body showing (If any part of the body is missing from photo you must explain in detail of what it looks like). The more Refs the better.
I WILL NOT LOOK UP THE PHOTO MYSELF YOU MUST INCLUDE THEM IN THE NOTE!!
Inspector Wolf The old lady was dead. I could smell it before I even got into the house. The whole place reeked of adrenaline, sweat, fear, copper and steel. He’d dropped her right in her living room. Chopped and chopped until she stopped moving. But I could tell I was getting close. This had been done in a hurry, and the killer didn’t have the time to clean up after himself like he usually did.
Across the room, the phone rang. The shrill sound set my teeth to grinding, but I ignored it. Instead I followed the killer’s bloody footprints into the back bedroom. He’d climbed out the window. If I hurried, I could catch up to him and end this disgusting spree he was on.
Then the answering machine kicked in. “Hi, Gramma! It’s Red. Sorry I’m running late. I kind of lost track of time. But don’t worry. I packed the picnic and I’m heading out the door right now. Love you.”
She’d been expec
The TrundlerThe waste land behind the fire station is always silent. No birds sing there, and even the wild rabbits and feral cats avoid it. Weedy wildflowers nod their seasonal heads in the breeze. Lying fallow in the midst of housing developments, shopping malls, the new movie theater — the vacant lot stands out like a knife wound on a woman’s placid face, shocking, brazen, ugly.
It is always empty. Except for one thing: a ragged heap of old trash, all nasty black tar paper and vicious snarls of rusted wire, car parts and broken glass and other junkyard jetsam. The embodiment of injury waiting to happen, an invitation to a tetanus shot... the city never hauled it away. No one ever wants anywhere near it; it radiates an eerie sense of calculating watchfulness.
And at night, it wanders.
When darkness falls, and the last cars heading into the hives of tract housing stop illuminating the asphalt with moving-picture shadows, it… unfolds. Bitter, broken tangles, grotesquely mov
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