Looks StunningWith John still in the hospital, it was tediously boring and quiet in the flat. It was back to the way it was before John walked into Sherlocks life, and Sherlock hated it. Sherlock never noticed how much he needed John to be with him. He knew that he couldn't live without him, but he never really knew how much it would hurt. Sherlock paced the flat, looking for something to do. Nothing.
Slowly, he walked into the kitchen, then towards his bedroom. John's door was slightly opened, unclosed from the rush of the ambulance getting him out of the flat, and Sherlock close behind in a cab. He paused, staring at the door and slowly pushed it open. He gently pushed the door closed behind him and walked into the room fully. Standing next to John's bed, he took a deep breath. That rush of John, vanilla and tangerines. Sherlock laid down on his bed, John's smell surrounding him, then, he took the bed sheet and wrapped himself in it, over his head. He inhaled deeply, breathing John in. Breat
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
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!!
Sherlock x John Part 2John Watson was doing what he thought he would never do. Hold hands with Sherlock Holmes. Unable to keep the grin off of his face, John turned his head to the side so that Sherlock wouldn't get too smug.
Then he remembered the huge love bite Sherlock had given him. John's grin dropped and a scowl replaced it. He turned his head and glared at Sherlock, who was looking in the opposite direction from him. He opened his mouth to yell at Sherlock, but the consulting detective sighed heavily and looked directly into John's eyes. "OK, so I bit you. And gave you a huge love bite. Who cares?" Sherlock groaned.
John was just about to tell Sherlock exactly 'who cares', but, once again, Sherlock cut him off before he could start. He leaned down to whisper in John's ear, his hot breath sending shivers of pleasure through John's being. "Besides, we both know you enjoyed it," he whispered.
John face flushed from embarassment, and Shelock, obviously enjoying John's embarassment, started nibbling light
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
On Your Mind.I quickened my pace to keep up with Sherlock, who never really seemed to pay attention to the fact that I was almost exhausted by the time we came home. Of course, I'd never say anything about that, because there will, undoubtedly, be coming a mordant remark my way. I was quite a bit smaller than him, as he had very long legs and, well, he was tall. His long, black, familiar coat danced around his legs. We were walking back home from the crime scene of our last case, and since we didn't have money on us, neither of us, we decided to walk home. It was quite a long walk.
"Come on, John. You're a bit slow today. What's on your mind?" He called out to me, never slowing down. Well, I guess it can't hurt to say that he should slow down. I'll survive the attack of remarks. I took a deep breath and before I had spoken a word, he said.
"Am I going too fast? Does it bother you? I could slow down a bit, after all. I know we're not the same size."
That's new. He's never said anything like that bef
BBC Sherlock: Eight days a weekJust an ordinary morning like many before. Sherlock was sprawled on the couch in his dressing gown, browsing through the newspaper and John was bustling about the kitchen, making breakfast for both of them. He was convinced that if he left Sherlock in charge of his own nourishment, the man would simply die of starvation. A bit not good for the world and for John, so he accepted grudgingly the role of the detective's dietician.
Something was different that day, though. A characteristic melody came in through the slightly opened kitchen window, breaking the silence that normally permeated the flat at this hour. One of the neighbours was listening loudly to the radio while tinkering with his car.
John smiled to himself, putting the kettle on. He recognised the song immediately, even though it wasn't in English. He had heard it so many times that he knew the lyrics by heart. John didn't plan this, he just started to sing along casually.
"Au soleil, sous la pluie, à midi ou à minuit, il