Tag: my fic

ineffableboyfriends:

Yes you are, Sherlock.

[Ow.  Wow that packed an emotional punch.  And then this happened…]

It started with the invasion.  That sounded like a bad sci-fi opener, true, but it made the statement no less accurate. 

They got separated, and Sherlock was taken (because he can’t be bothered to stay put when John says to; because he’s a genius, and they need geniuses).  John didn’t stop searching, regardless of the hindrances, the warnings, or the attempts to stop him (nor did he stop making a very big impact on the supposedly superior race, racking up quite an impressive tale of destruction in his wake, and the daleks learned to fear a human doctor damn near as much as a lone timelord, oncoming storm or not, because they took his friend) until he finally found Sherlock, but… 

Well.

It was too late to really save him.  To save all of him.

John wouldn’t leave him, though – it was still Sherlock – it was, and didn’t he always say his body was just transport?  ‘It’s about the brain, John’ – but Sherlock wasn’t so sure about that, himself, now; once the reality of it was recognized and accepted (because Sherlock had never been one to lie to himself, however pretty the lie, however harsh the truth).  He could still think, still reason, was still brilliant, but he was missing half his senses, was so restricted into that damnable metal body – (‘The work, John! I can’t do the work! I can’t sense half the evidence, now, and I’ll trample it far easier than even the imbeciles at the MET manage on a bad day’.)

Read More…
(On AO3, because it got kinda long)

random-nexus:

greenmachine019:

sherlockjumpedoffbartsand:

bbcsherlockfanwork:

[x]

this is actually the worst

fUCK I’M CRYIGNSAD

Oh god. Crying.

*wibble*

[I don’t know why I did this, but here, have a quick mini-fill:]

It was frustrating how very little he could do.

There were stories and myths about what ‘angels’, or one’s deceased loved ones were capable of – prevalent thought that they could ‘watch out for you’ from beyond your perception.  Well – Sherlock found to his frustration – he could watch, but little else. 

He had already given everything he could to protect John, but that gift was tearing the man apart and there was little Sherlock could do from here to fix it – unable to communicate, to effect the physical world – all he could do was watch, and wonder vaguely if his ‘help’ had been more cruel than Jim’s harm.  (At least that would have been quick.)

But as pointless as it seemed, he couldn’t leave John’s side – wouldn’t leave him like this, even if his presence did nothing. 

It wasn’t until he followed a sentimental impulse one day – to extend one wing around John’s back, as if he could offer shelter – that things started to change.  Though Sherlock didn’t notice at first, when those feathers brushed his back, some of that tension leaked out of John’s frame. 

It happened more often, once he realized – one wing extended over him as he slept, driving the worst of the nightmares away, another brushing his back as they walked.  Sometimes – when he wrapped his wings fully around John, when he came up behind John and wrapped him in everything he still was, his friend would relax, would sigh almost as if he could feel Sherlock there – and it would almost be ok. 

It became a constant touch, and he slowly watched John… not quite heal, there was always that loss, that touch of emptiness in his eyes – but watched him put his life back together again; watched him live instead of exist. 

It had ached to watch him hurt, but in another way it also ached to watch him move on – to know even as Sherlock stood beside him, he wouldn’t know, was slipping further away from being his John, his friend.  Still, every so often John would stop, pause, do something he would only have done with Sherlock – a flicker of a smile at inappropriate times, a sentimental gesture – and that appeased him.  That he wasn’t forgotten. 

Sherlock could wait.  Sherlock had never been a patient man, but he could wait – hoped to wait a long time, really – to be properly reunited with his friend again.  After all, he had never truly left. 

A point he was already planning to make often, throughout John’s afterlife.

[No, seriously – why did I just write that?  I need to go find some fluff to read now.]

[(–Husband’s alternate take: Sherlock gets increasingly frustrated that John doesn’t notice him, and/or the clues around him (‘She’s obviously married, John’), and eventually whacks him with a wing out of sheer frustration, thus noticing the positive effects that way.–)]

Ring [askfic]

random-nexus:

The ring was a simple brass band, no embellishments, fairly thin metal; not shoddy, but not particularly high quality, either. He assumed there was something more to it with the formality in which John has given it to him; looked up with questioning eyes and waited, rather than say anything possibly damaging to the ‘moment’. Sentiment, he was sure, though he wasn’t entirely certain if that thought is attached to the ring or the reserve on his part.

“I know you don’t need gestures or ceremonies or anything, but… I wanted to give you something-” John’s hand raised absently to rub the back of his neck in a furtively embarrassed gesture; definitely sentiment then. “-I mean, I guess you always had it, really. In a way, I gave this to you a long time ago; it’s always been yours, but…” He seemed to realize he was rambling and stopped with a halfhearted, “yeah.”

Sherlock considered this – the delivery, the import John had attached to it, and contemplated the metal resting in his hand, again. Obviously specially made, but not a particularly high grade of metal – why would someone—

Something in the way John said it finally clicked and he looked up; much sharper question on his face this time. John seemed to understand without words – and this, this was one of the reasons they worked so well together, one of the proofs of their enduring partnership – nodded, and said, “Yeah… its, from that first night. The casing. Don’t know why I kept it, really – not very smart, but….” John sighed very softly, refocused. “It’s not pretty, I know, but that’s not something I thought you’d care about in the end.” He shrugged almost apologetically, and as the realization hit, Sherlock very nearly wanted to shake him for the attempt to disparage it, to diminish it.

John was right – he didn’t need gestures or the trappings of a ‘normal’ relationship – but this… this meant something. Their relationship had never been normal, and this was something he could understand, a tangible evidence of a value held; the very first show of devotion and their first case in one.

Sherlock let his hand close over the metal again, feeling the weight of it; heavier now that he understood its origin, it’s meaning. There were things he could say at a time like this; things he probably should say, but he was – for once – at a loss. John would understand. He always did.

Instead, Sherlock met his eyes with a certain solemnity.

“I believe there are expectations in situations like this?” he asked, holding his hand out to offer back the ring. John blinked up. “It’s not really-“, stopped, then smiled. “Yeah”, he said instead; accepted the small piece of metal as if it weighed nothing and everything at once – slid it onto Sherlock’s ring finger.

It fit them perfectly.

~~~~

You know exactly what sparked this.  Not, sadly, as strong a vibe as its inspiring chat, but maybe we can fix that later… 

Lady-Karasu  😀

~~~~

Random’s response: I ADORE THIS WITH THE POWER OF A THOUSAND FANGIRLS SQUEEFLAILING!  *DOES!*  Thank you for this!  Yes, I know exactly what sparked it and you made that spark into a f’ing awesome ficlet!  *gleeface*  ❤  YOU ROCK LIKE TECTONIC PLATES IN A 10.5!

I’m glad you liked it, sweetie.  ^_^  Now lets see if I can finish that other one…

(no, no, don’t get excited, it’s much much shorter. <3)  I’m just going to… you know, sit over here and blush now…

random-nexus:

jamanddogtags:

sherlockspeare:

I think I should name this gorgeous fan art “Wow! Horse”. 🙂

So my darling Saint Sam decided that she had to draw some porn-ish thingy, like Naked John on a Horse And Sherlock With a Riding Crop. She’s so good at it. 

Hnnng!

Oh. My.

[Hahaha – this is not my fault. *shifty eyes*]
Mini-fic: -Spoils of War-

He had been surprisingly honorable on the field, which was quite rare.  Whatever men liked to say in the comfort and safety of their own homes, or pubs, it was fairly uncommon in reality. When your life was truly in danger, when you were under fire, concepts like honor and courage were quickly given over for survival.

Sherlock was told that when he had been captured he didn’t curse, or plead; he saw his own situation, looked at his own options, and accepted it gracefully.  Had he continued to resist they would have used leverage against him, but he may still have escaped at the cost of a few of his own men; again, he took the rare path.  It was fascinating.

His own men found it less so; frustrated and confused by his lack of reaction – by his choice to act so contrary to the norm.  They had stripped him bare, bound and lashed him; still, no reaction- he had borne it all stoically, quietly. 

When he arrives before Sherlock – mounted naked on his own horse – he is neither a broken nor beaten man; simply defeated.  His head is still held high, regardless of the humiliation and rough treatment visited upon him.

It is not pride or false bravado; he appears to have simply accepted the reality of his situation for what it was – seeing no point in useless action.  His breathing is even, controlled; he gives every outward appearance of calm, though there is a subtle, quiet tension to him; a certain bracing for whatever may come next.

Sherlock raises his own riding crop after a moment, and there is no flinch, no fear from the man as it nears his face; he simply closes his eyes in forbearance when the tip is placed under his chin, pushes his head up.

“Captain John Watson…” And then he was watching down the length of the crop.  Not the passive look of resignation, but calculating; reading what he could of Sherlock, of this new development.  Good.  Good.  He can feel his lips curve up just slightly, and he really means it when he adds, “A pleasure to meet you.”

John’s eyes flashed with a subtle, banked fire; not diminished in the least by his treatment or position.  After a moment he speaks, voice tight, angry, but still polite.  “Would you do me the kindness of getting on with it already?  Just kill me and be done with it; I’ve done nothing to warrant this.”

“Wrong!” The reply is sharp, instant, and he can feel the smirk grace his own lips as the other man startles; because in his own mind, he really hadn’t- has yet to understand.  “You did; you caught my attention.”  At this the riding crop is lowered, trailing down the other man’s body – over neck, torso, thigh – before coming to rest at his side again.  “-and you will remain in my possession as long as you continue to be interesting.”

And now – here, the control cracks just a little; barest edge of panic showing through his control, cloaked with outrage.  “You can’t do that!”

“Oh, but I can.”  He smirks again, shifting his hold on the reigns, “Spoils of war.”

It will be stimulating, learning what makes this man tick; and he is always looking for a new distraction… 

[So, yeah… I had made an off comment last night about wanting to write something for this just so I could legitimately call it ‘Spoils of War’.  …and then Random-Nexus became an enabler… *shifty eyes*  What?  I’m weak!]

Random_Nexus: Not quite 3am fic, but almost…

random-nexus:

Is it still askfic if it doesn’t fit? So, my muse literally made me get out of bed to write this (couldn’t even finish the Moran thing first, nooooo – see what I put up with?) and since I said I’d probably write you a ficlet for making me smile earlier, here you go. 😉

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He stood ramrod straight, shoulders back, eyes straight ahead.…


Aw, thank you sweetie – I’m glad you liked it.  ^_^  (I would say ‘don’t encourage my muse’ but, please, encourage my muse – this is the first thing she let me bloody well finish without interrupting me with another fic idea in weeks; help! 😉

Random_Nexus: Not quite 3am fic, but almost…