Sherlock Sherlock John
Oh so very gay oh dear
yum yum yum yum yum
I hate you- chapter 3 I remember when frank presented me with the idea of getting his lip pierced. The summer after his 10th grade year had just started, and the dog days were creeping up on our shitty little home. Which meant more time for watching tv, more time for the internet, even MORE time for watching tv, and a lot more time for frank to get a new idea-egg that would somehow explode into another idea egg, which in the end would always get me in a shit. Well this time frank came up with the marvelous idea that it was time for a facial piercing. (Which was actually a pretty good idea, I just really wanted to act like it got on my nerves.) And after a few cruel jokes and some bribery, we were on the road to lip-ring-ation.
We ended up at some place that Frank had researched on the internet, and were both browsing a wall of lip rings. Well, more like he was looking while I was standing beside him and watching. But none the less, he was looking damn well har
I hate you-chapter twoI was pretty sure my brain was spilt into four different parts. The first part being anger. The second part being anger as well. The third was guilt. And the forth was whatever amount of compassion I had in me. A very, pitifully small part of my brain. My heart was probably about the same size, actually. I was like that from the time I was born.
I sighed, and looked down at Frankie, who wasn't returning the look in any way, shape, or form.
"Dear lord, Frank ..You scared the shit out of me."
Mind my French, but it was true. And at the moment I found it unfair.
"Where the fuck were you? I was out there waiting on you, and you never came .."
I said this as I walked over to sit against the wall across from where he was lying. In moments where I was madder then usual, I'd take one of my hands and put it on my forehead. I'd always done that, and Frank knew it was a bad sign.
I rolled my eyes.
"Dammit frank, do you have any idea how worried I was about this? You could've died, or go
You completely owe us dinnerListen up.
It was the middle of the desert near Battery City, California. And this young Killjoy, by the name of Fun Ghoul, was ready for anything the world had to throw at him. A determined soul, so long as he had a few friends, and a reason to go on. Today was part 6 of his reason. Mission 6: Steal a BL/ind H-airpoint plane, and make his way over to Japan. Now, I know what most of you are thinking; A kids gotta be crazy to try and pull this one off. Well, maybe Ghoul was a little crazy. But you gotta be a little crazy to survive in the wild wild west. And let me tell you; Ghoul was a crazy little Freedom Fighter. So long as he had his reason waitin' for him all those seas apart. Ghoul was a freedom Fighter, let me tell you that.
The sun pressed down on a mid-day desert floor for the Freedom Fighters, a new day and a new mission. He kept his hands on the handle and his eye on the prize, proudly and loudly cutting through the desert sand with no mercy on good ol' Lab
I hate youI was always the first one to say something irritating to him. I was the one who would forget get gas and leave us stranded in the middle of the road, already an hour late for school. I was the one who would steal the last cookie he had, partly just to bother him, but the other part because of the fact that he refused to share them with me in the first place. (So over all- just to bother him.) But either way, you can see the trend. To this day I still have no idea how the hell he dealt with me- will power? A dart board with my face on it? I have no idea. All I know is that I loved him more then I've ever loved anyone one in my life, my life before that, and probably the life after this. And I'm not even a cheesy person.
He went to KCS east high. The building was covered with bricks that were at least fifty years old, and the side walk was in need of replacement. There was a garden, (Which later got destroyed. In all honestly, that was probably the least amount of damage we
And it hurts, tooI woke up this morning and heard somebody being sliced in two.
Yesterday I woke up to the sound of rips, from a mans chain saw.
The day before that, i woke up to the sound of a hanging man in the great war.
And tomorrow, who knows what I will hear;
But someone will die.
Now now, I know what you are thinking;
People die everyday, yes? Every minuet, yes?
Every second of the day, someone dies.
So what is the difference?
Well this is one thing i yet to know; yet to try to know.
Yet to think about.
And there is much work to be done.
But until i start that, i just lay here and listen to the sounds of death.
The wonderful sound of entering the last few seconds of life.
And the joys, more or less, of living,
dieing down, quite ironically.
I woke up this morning and heard someone being sliced in two.
I will know why one day.
Just not today.
Why? Well, i don't know why.
But i just lay.
And listen. Just like i've done my whole life.
But until i find out.
I remain hearing
All Frankies go to heaven. After the depression, I often found myself wanting to blame things for myself. I'd want to blame the depression for the way I ended up. It was my mothers fault, of course, she raised me wrong. Or maybe it was my brothers, for pretending to push me into that river so many times. Maybe even Gods fault for making my fall into the river, right? Right. Of course. It was anyones fault but mine. Sometimes I even believe that, too. I even believe that I could've changed everything, and anything. I believed i could have made everything so much better then it is now. For my name is Gerard, and I know whats happening in Lourince, France 50 hours, 36 minuets, and 8 seconds from now.
Right now, He's flying a Kite all by himself over a cliff. In 68 seconds, he's reeling the kite in, and smiling like a fool. After that, he's going to walk back to his house and get scolded by his mother. Just like Frank does everyday. I would know, I've been watching.
Gravity A last day of school could've been looked at several different ways. For some, it was a day of celebration, that the despised finals were over, as was that year of school. For others; a disappointment that their childhood was slipping away from them, or something overly dramatic like that. But others, however, are not like Frank. Frank, Mr. Frank Iero, was Different. As Frank usually was, of course. But on his last day of school this year, was the same day, of the last time he would ever see his Gerard. His love, and the only one that could ever deserve the title of being his own; That was Gerard. The last day, the very last day, he would see the most beautiful man on the planet, maybe even in the whole universe; That was Gerard. An angel in his eyes, and a savior; Mr. Gerard way. And the only thing he had ever cared for in life, Gerard, was leaving him. On the last day of school, he was getting on an H-airpoint jet, and flying so far away that it could've
ChildrenOh, How these children have to teach us.
With the knowledge that they have,
Little, which is not much at all.
To stand in there little shoes,
Littler then my own,
Must I say,
Not very much at all.
To give a child a pencil,
How impossible, really droll!
How imaginative, in a continues stream,
Of god's confusing flow.
This flow of the world, the flow of things,
A child wouldn't know.
But if you give a child a pencil,
And not your downward glare,
Oh, How these children have to teach us.
With the knowledge that they have,
Little, which is not much at all.
House of wolfs ?? Ch5**FRANKIEPOV**
Did what just happen really just happen? It sure didn't feel like it. Had he really NOT gotten punched in the face? It'd be the first time. It had happened so fast, his mind couldn't even think about being confused. Not like that was a new thing for the boy, but still. I mean, one minuet you've got some fucking creepy guy with his hands bein' all creepy, and the next a really cute guy punching the creepy one in the face. Stuff like that didn't happen in Frankie's world. He didn't mind, though.
Frankie was being pulled out of the building with a hand stronger then his own. Paler, too. Yep, It was Mr.P-- Er . Gerard. It had taken a little while to process for Frankie, but that was definitely Gerard. He had never been so happy to see him in the past two times' they've spoken.
The feeling of danger was still in the air, as he was being practically dragged out of the place. He was empty minded for the firs
Johnlock - I believe in you, SherlockSherlock suddenly howled in frustration after four hours of deep thinking.
He had been leaning on his hands for the entire time, occasionally blinking and frowning, but still completely motionless. Even though the noise shocked me, I was relieved to know that he hadn't become comatose in his state of thought.
"You okay Sherlock?" I asked, not looking up from my paper.
"This case doesn't make any sense, John! Nothing fits together, there are too many variables!"
"Oh yes?" I murmured, only half paying attention.
"I wanted to get this case solved by tomorrow afternoon, but at this rate it'll take me days.. My brain isn't working, John!" He cried, spinning and falling onto the sofa with a winded exhale.
"You know that's not true. Perhaps if you went to bed or relaxed a little you could think more clearly."
Sherlock growled, facing the back of the sofa and curling into a ball. His tie and coat lay strewn on the floor from when he walked in, and his tie was hanging loosely from his shirt. He
JohnLock: A Whole New WorldJohn Watson walked through the store, gathering food as he did daily to make dinner for himself and Sherlock. He walked through the aisles of fresh produce, his ear caught a familiar sound drifting through the air.
“I can show you the world,
Shining, shimmering, splendid.
Tell me, princess, now when did
you last let your heart decide?”
He recognized the lyrics, where from? He thought it over and eventually came up with the answer. It was the Disney movie, Aladdin. He main character Aladdin sings this song to the Princess Jasmine. But even though he knew what the song was, he had no clue where it was coming from.
He looked around him in the aisle and walked to look around the corners but he couldn’t spot the source of the music.
He decided to just continue shopping and enjoy the music. So that’s what he did as he hummed along with the tune.
Sherlock held his phone up to his face, grumpy that John had
johnlockThere was something weird going on with Sherlock. He barely talked to me anymore, hadn't touched his violin in at least 2 weeks, was almost always somewhere else, rejected every case Lestrade offered him. It was weird. I was worried about him. Sherlock was about to go somewhere, when I stopped him.
'What's going on Sherlock?' I asked him. He ignored me. I grabbed his arm and turned him to look at me.
'Sherlock! What is wrong?' I asked. He looked at me with a pained expression. I frowned.
'What's wrong?' I asked again. He sighed and looked at his feet. Then he looked up at me again and did something I hadn't expected at all. He kissed me. My eyes widened and I froze. What the hell was he doing? He pulled back and quickly rushed out of the flat. But I had seen the tears in his eyes. Had that just really happend? Had Sherlock Holmes, the man with no emotions, just kissed me, John Watson? I sat down in my chair and thought about it. And about how I had felt when his lips met mine. I had fe
-Johnlock- Let's have a baby!Sherlock hummed a made up tune. His fingers tapped together as though it were a dance, his brilliant blue eyes darting back and forth across the room. He looked at the clock again. It has been half a minute since he last checked it.
He hummed again, not quite aware of the pace in which his fingers tapped together. A sigh of relief escaped him. John had come home.
"Lets have a baby."
John dropped the tea cup he had been holding. "Excuse me wh what was that?"
"A baby, John." Sherlock hissed in his best 'don't be an idiot' voice. "Let's have a baby!"
"Sherlock why would we we, by the way yes, two men have a baby together? We're not even dating, let alone gay! Or.. are we? Are you is the better question. Are you gay? Sherlock, since when have you been gay? And wait does this mean that you like like me "
"John, you're lowering my IQ. Shut up."
John glared at Sherlock
The kiss of nights comfort
Another man down.
Another friend down.
"Noo. . ." John murmurs in his sleep, his head moving to the other side of his pillow.
Another gunshot, followed by a loud boom as dirt flies into the air and comrades fall.
"Noo. . . noo. . ." He says more urgently, like a quiet, desperate cry.
The image changes.
It's Sherlock, on the roof of the hospital again.
The scene replayed in his head.
Sherlock sending his 'note' and jumping.
"SHERLOCK!" John bolts upwards, wide awake and breathing hard. He looked around, making sure that he was still there in his bedroom of 221b Baker Street. His and Sherlock's flat.
"That was two years ago John, calm down, Sherlock is fine." He said to himself, throwing his blanket back over his shoulder and laying his head on the pillow. He sighed, his breath back to normal. A light passed by the window, caused by a passing car. The faint sound of a siren wailing in the night. He turned away from the window and started drifting back to sleep. He was almost a
all because of one sheet (Johnlock)"John?"
"Mhm?" John looked up from his laptop and raised one eyebrow at his flatmate. "What i-..." He blinked and tried not to concentrate on the completely naked detective in front of him. "Sherlock? What the hell are you doing?"
"I can't find my sheet."
"Put on some clothes!" John stared at his laptop, he didn't dare to look up again, even as Sherlock was laughing.
"I just wanted to ask you, if you have seen my sheet somewhere. But as a result of your reaction I deduce that you haven't. You are ashamed to see your flatmate naked, or possibly like it, because you blushed and you can hardly keep yourself from looking at me again."
"Would you please shut up, Sherlock?"
"I'm right, am I not?"
"Damn, no, Sherlock! You aren't right! And I don't like this experiment very much! I'm begging you, put on some clothes!"
"Why do you think it's an experiment, John? I'm just looking for my sheet, but I can't find it. Maybe Mrs. Hudson put it away..."
"Yeah, maybe." John grumbled. "Go and ask her!"
JohnLock - I Did it For YouSherlock Holmes had never intended to hurt John Watson.
The consulting detective lacked social skills, and even though he'd lived all those months with his blogger, he hadn't managed to pick up enough to know what was right and what was wrong in those situations.
He did what he had to do in order to save his only friends.
He had learned that when it came to Moriarty, one had to expect the unexpected. So as soon as he figured out he most likely only had one way out, in order to save himself and those he cared about, he started planning. He gained help from Molly which he had not expected. He knew though that without her, it would have been harder to get his plan to work; no one else trusted him.
Sherlock never wanted to hurt John. Because it was HIS John, his in every way apart from the love of lovers.
They loved each other as brothers, as companions, true; but there would never be anything more than that. And it was fine; they did not care, because it is the best kind of lo
JohnLock - Safe and SoundIt was, to the day, three years since Sherlock Holmes walked of the roof of St Bart's.
For John Watson; three years of pain and grief and misery; three years spent pushing everyone except Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade away. Even Mycroft checked in on him once in a while. Three years during which he had been the same person he was after returning from Afghanistan; the limp was back, he went to therapy, he tried to blog, but there was honestly nothing going on in his life that was worth blogging or writing about.
Honestly, who would want to read of the misery of an ex-Army doctor who still believed Sherlock Holmes when everyone apart from Molly, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, Mycroft and himself found him a freak; a fraud?
Still, there were signs out there that others believed Sherlock as well. Posters coming up all over London which said "Moriarty was real" and "Richard Brooke was a fraud", graffiti in the exact same paint that was used in their second case which stated "I believe in Sherlock."
Johnlock - Speaking Silent Words - Fluff WarningIt's been about a week since me and Sherlock decided to go steady.
To be honest, nothing much has changed. I'd confessed my feelings over dinner 8 days ago, and received a frosty reception from the detective. Considering it had taking much mental convincing and building up to the point where I could confront him on my feelings, I found it hard to take. We spent the rest of the night in silence, as Sherlock zoned out to think (or just purposely ignored me) and I simply couldn't think of anything to begin another conversation.
I'd be lying if i said that I got much sleep that night. Well, neither did Sherlock. I woke up to him being in the exact same spot, wearing the same clothes as the night before, except this time, his fingers weren't pent, and his bright grey eyes weren't glazed over as they usually were when he thought. Instead, he sat crossed legged in his chair reading yesterdays paper. A paper he'd already read.
"Ah! You're up." He said brightly, folding his paper and placing it
Only you can ease my painJohn winched and gasped as yet another sharp stab of pain pierced his shoulder, centering in his old wound from Afghanistan. Though it was nothing unusual at this time of year for his shoulder to act up (the cold weather always made it stiff and aching) it was still a painful and dreaded experience each time. The pain was often accompanied by small yet rough and ruthless flashbacks from that ill-fated day he had received the wound, the day he and his entire team had been ambushed and he, despite his greatest efforts, had lost three men at his own hands
Another wave of hot white pain hit the doctor. The hand, currently grasping his bare, left shoulder in a desperately tight grip tightened, if possible, even further and John couldn't help letting of a small cry of pain this time around. Normally these painful incidents didn't last long enough to grow this painful, normally a pair of long pale hands would come to his rescue and, without him even asking, gently massage and kneed his tense
A Songfic Request - JohnlockBarbie Girl
"I'm a barbie girl. In a barbie world!"
"Life in plastic, it's fantastic!"
"You can brush my hair, undress me everywhere!"
"Imagination, life is your creation!"
"Come on Barbie, let's go party!"
"John please stop that nonsense."
"But Sherly, it's the best song EVER!!!"
"John, you're drunk."
"No I'm not, even ask the pink elephant over there."
"You're drunk. Look you just threw up. Are you alright?"
"There's too much blood in my alcohol system."
"I can see that John. Come on let's get you to bed."
"Mine all yours baby."
"Our bed John."
"Oh yeah. Oh, hey Sherlock."
"What is it John?"
"I put the STD in STUD, all I need is U."
"You're never drinking this much again John. Here we go. There, you're nice and snug in bed."
"Sherly, can I just say something?"
"I love you."
"I love you too."
The text message comes around 2 AM one night, from a blocked number. There's no indication who it's from. John sat up in his bed, rubbing his eyes. 'Who the hell was texting him in the middle of the night?'
Who is this? -JW
The response, somewhat delayed after ten minutes or so of nothing, seems oddly diffident in tone.
You shouldn't be awake.
And yet I am. Now who the hell are you? -JW
Nothing and no one. This was a mistake.
He blinked at the texts, feeling a sharp pang in his chest. They sounded so much like Sherlock, but it couldn't- could it?
There's another long pause before his phone blinks with a response.
Consider it a pang of ill-advised sentiment.
Sentiment? What do you mean by that? -JW
It's strange how the saying goes. Familiarity breeds contempt. It doesn't seem to hold true.
John furrowed his brow a bit confused.
It's nothing, I'm just a fan. It was easy to find your number. Sorry to disturb.
My number is unlisted. -JW
Welcome Home - Johnlock.Sherlock picked up his phone, and typed, 'John. I'm sorry. SH'. His fingers were shaking as he pressed send.
John sat up straight, he had just dozed off in the living room after watching the News, and the buzzing of his phone in his pocket had made him jump, he unlocked his mobile phone and looked at the text.
His eyes filled with tears and took a few moments to take in the fact that his one wish could have come true. 'Sherlock. You're alive? -JW' he replied.
A few moments later, he received another message, 'That is irrelevant. You need to come pick me up. SH'
'Irrelevant?! But... Ugh. Where are you, Sherlock? JW."
'Outside a pub. Two blocks from 221B. SH'
'Why can't you get a cab? JW'
'None of them will take me, john. SH'
'No wonder! Everyone thinks you're dead! JW'
'That's not why! I may be slightly intoxicated. SH'
John sighed. Only Sherlock. He hadn't even explained how he had jumped off a building in front of him and som
Genre: romance i guess?
Author's note: this is 100% fictional
'John, have you seen my phone?' Sherlock asked me. I looked up and frowned.
'Why?' I asked. He never used his phone.
'Because I need it' He said while throwing stuff everywhere and making a mess of the apartement. I sighed.
'It's on the table' I said. He threw everything off the table and found his phone by hearing a soft tud when it landed on the floor. He picked it up and started tapping away. It looked like he was doing something hard, because he had a kind of pained expression on his face. I thought about what he could be doing, but decided to shrug it off and continued to read the paper. I was just about to read something about drunken driving or something, when my phone bleeped, saying I got a text. I picked it up from the little table and saw it was from Sherlock. I frowned and looked at him. He was staring at his feet. Weird, I thought. I opened it.
'Hey John, I think I may kind
Safe and Sound Another typical day, that it was. Sherlock Holmes and Dr John Watson sat in their flat, John sipping coffee and Sherlock typing away on the laptop he’d taken from John. It was nearly twelve o’clock in the afternoon now, and their surroundings had been rather quiet, save for the sound of Sherlock’s occasional mumbling of what he was thinking and Mrs Hudson’s brief stop-in to dust off a few things. Few words were exchanged between the trio before Mrs Hudson left and Sherlock and John were left alone once again. As time slowly dragged on, Sherlock’s actions were startling, causing John to jump as a reaction and nearly spill his coffee. Sherlock had slammed the laptop shut, clapped his hands together and unnecessarily loudly said, “Right then!”
Frowning, John set his cup of coffee down to avoid the risk of actually spilling it before he looked up at Sherlock, who had gotten up from his seat and was pacing back and forth a