ZThemes

darlingbenny:

Molly’s reaction to Lestrade’s theory vs. Tom’s theory

*bonus: Lestrade’s reaction to Tom’s theory:

image

syldoran:

anotherwellkeptsecret:

John buying little sugar skulls for Sherlock’s tea.

DONE

They were kind of a morbid buy, John thought even as he clicked the button to order them online. He’d never seen sugar skulls in stores—plain little skulls made of pressed white sugar, not the decorative Mexican sort—and he had to admit they were kind of cute. In a morbid way, which was par for course in his life nowadays. 

Sherlock would get a kick out of them, at any rate. John didn’t take sugar in his coffee or his tea, but Sherlock did. Their cases were a little slower in the last few weeks, and Sherlock was becoming steadily stroppier and distressed. A little present couldn’t hurt.

The package arrived two weeks later, after John had completely forgotten about his silly impulse buy. Sherlock was out running mysterious errands when Mrs. Hudson brought the mail up to the flat, so he was gone when John unwrapped the box.

He felt a little silly as he arranged the box on the counter next to the kettle. Really, they were nothing more than expensive sugar cubes. He couldn’t even guarantee Sherlock would care one way or another about the damn things; he might even scoff at John for having spent ten dollars on having special sugar cubes shipped to the flat.

Too late now. John settled into his chair to watch some telly and wait.

Sherlock came home that evening, satisfied and with his shirt stained with a substance John dared not ask about. While Sherlock ducked into the shower (as John would not give any kisses until Sherlock was clean), John set the kettle to boil and prepared two mugs for tea.

Sherlock finished his shower just as the kettle finished boiling. Without a word, he went into the kitchen and sidled up behind John, resting his chin on John’s shoulder in the needy way that meant he wanted attention.

"I want a case," he muttered.

"I can’t get you one, Sherlock. Not without murdering someone." John smiled as he poured boiling water over the teabags.

"Nonsense. Your murders would be boring. An idiot could solve them." Sherlock sighed and pressed his face into the side of John’s neck, softening the barb. Then he paused. "John?"

"What?"

"What are these?" He didn’t wait for an answer, letting go of John to reach for the box of sugar skulls on the counter. He picked up the box and seemed to scrutinize the contents.

"Figure that’s a bit obvious. Got a label and everything." John mixed a little bit of milk into one mug. "Thought you might like them."

Sherlock stared at the box a moment later, then scoffed. “Ridiculous,” he said.

John bristled and frowned down at the mugs. A few seconds later, Sherlock’s pale hand dragged the milky tea across the counter, and Sherlock delicately dropped in two sugar skulls. John looked up, and Sherlock smiled at him over the rim of the cup as he took a sip.

John sighed in exasperated fondness and got a sweet, tea-flavored kiss in apology.

—-

One of the sugar skulls made its way to the living room mantel, resting against Billy the Actual Skull. John didn’t put it there. Sherlock didn’t acknowledge that it was there.

anotherwellkeptsecret:

John buying little sugar skulls for Sherlock’s tea.

DONE

They were kind of a morbid buy, John thought even as he clicked the button to order them online. He’d never seen sugar skulls in stores—plain little skulls made of pressed white sugar, not the decorative Mexican sort—and he had to admit they were kind of cute. In a morbid way, which was par for course in his life nowadays. 

Sherlock would get a kick out of them, at any rate. John didn’t take sugar in his coffee or his tea, but Sherlock did. Their cases were a little slower in the last few weeks, and Sherlock was becoming steadily stroppier and distressed. A little present couldn’t hurt.

The package arrived two weeks later, after John had completely forgotten about his silly impulse buy. Sherlock was out running mysterious errands when Mrs. Hudson brought the mail up to the flat, so he was gone when John unwrapped the box.

He felt a little silly as he arranged the box on the counter next to the kettle. Really, they were nothing more than expensive sugar cubes. He couldn’t even guarantee Sherlock would care one way or another about the damn things; he might even scoff at John for having spent ten dollars on having special sugar cubes shipped to the flat.

Too late now. John settled into his chair to watch some telly and wait.

Sherlock came home that evening, satisfied and with his shirt stained with a substance John dared not ask about. While Sherlock ducked into the shower (as John would not give any kisses until Sherlock was clean), John set the kettle to boil and prepared two mugs for tea.

Sherlock finished his shower just as the kettle finished boiling. Without a word, he went into the kitchen and sidled up behind John, resting his chin on John’s shoulder in the needy way that meant he wanted attention.

"I want a case," he muttered.

"I can’t get you one, Sherlock. Not without murdering someone." John smiled as he poured boiling water over the teabags.

"Nonsense. Your murders would be boring. An idiot could solve them." Sherlock sighed and pressed his face into the side of John’s neck, softening the barb. Then he paused. "John?"

"What?"

"What are these?" He didn’t wait for an answer, letting go of John to reach for the box of sugar skulls on the counter. He picked up the box and seemed to scrutinize the contents.

"Figure that’s a bit obvious. Got a label and everything." John mixed a little bit of milk into one mug. "Thought you might like them."

Sherlock stared at the box a moment later, then scoffed. “Ridiculous,” he said.

John bristled and frowned down at the mugs. A few seconds later, Sherlock’s pale hand dragged the milky tea across the counter, and Sherlock delicately dropped in two sugar skulls. John looked up, and Sherlock smiled at him over the rim of the cup as he took a sip.

John sighed in exasperated fondness and got a sweet, tea-flavored kiss in apology.

—-

One of the sugar skulls made its way to the living room mantel, resting against Billy the Actual Skull. John didn’t put it there. Sherlock didn’t acknowledge that it was there.

bukowina7:

World’s only consulting detective, his blogger and the British Government

BBC Sherlock S3 Character Alignments

kinklock:

I love that Sherlock has skulls in the living room, but like a periodic table and a drawing of a bee hanging in his bedroom ~ the 221B decorations truly reflect Sherlock himself, he projects a morbid cold front to the outside, but is really the softest of sweet baby nerds on the inside

locklocked:

the hanged man

locklocked:

the hanged man

findawaytoshine:

Irene vs. John
What might we deduce about his heart?

Bonus:

A Year in the Forest—Or, Now There’s a Fawn in John’s Woods and What Do You Even Do With That

I’m slowly but steadily working my way through a bit of NymphJohn/Fawnlock fic. I figure that I’ll do a set of vignettes for each season through a year, starting in summer.

I admit I’m NOT 100% on all of the lore; I’m picking up what I can, but I only recently got into the AU enough to write on it a bit. So if it’s all wrong, GOMEN TO THE CREATORS WAAAHHHH

——-

Summer

It’s a warm day at the beginning of the season when John stumbles upon the unfamiliar creature in his woods. He’s alarmed at first, fearing another human has made their way to the forest, but it’s immediately obvious that the newcomer is anything but.

Fawn, his mind supplies helpfully, while he watches from behind a tree as the creature drinks from the stream.

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practicefortheheart:

If Johnlock becomes canon I think Sherlock would be his socially clueless self and he’d be offended if people didn’t immediately notice he and John are together. “It’s so obvious, John, just look at your cuffs!” And John would be all awkward smiles and blushes and then he would find the nearest cupboard.

OOPS I FICCED BECAUSE NINA ALWAYS HAS SUPER CUTE PROMPTS

Sherlock was agitated.

This morning, after Lestrade came to them with a particularly complex string of robberies, John had gently caught Sherlock by the arm before he could whirl out of the flat in excitement. “Sherlock,” he had said. “Can we—um. Can we keep this quiet for now?” When Sherlock had frowned in confusion, John clarified, “Us. This whole thing.” He gestured between the two of them. “It’s not that I want to keep it secret! I just don’t want to, you know, spring it on everyone right away when it’s still so new.”

“Yes, yes, fine,” Sherlock had dismissed with a flap of his hand, only becoming interested again when John seized him for a quick but thorough pre-case kiss.

That wasn’t why he was agitated, though. In fact, he had been perfectly fine with John’s request before they left the flat because he had been absolutely certain that everyone else would notice that they were together.

And nobody had.

Lestrade had greeted them perfunctorily at the Yard before launching into a full explanation of the case. Donovan had barely acknowledged their presence. Molly had quietly but happily assisted them with the autopsy report, casting her usual longing glance at Sherlock when she thought Sherlock wasn’t looking. Various techs and officers and others came in and out over the course of the day and not a single one commented on Sherlock’s and John’s obvious new relationship.

The agitation worked its way up to genuine frustration, then borderline anger as the day progressed. After Lestrade came into his office and left again without a comment on the obvious for the fourth time, Sherlock threw down a stack of files, making John jump.

“Jesus, Sherlock, what—”

“Everyone here is blind!” Sherlock fumed, scrubbing his hands through his hair. “It’s no wonder they need my help, they can’t even see what’s right in front of them!”

“What?” John leaned forward to look at the case files, scattered on the desk. “Did you find something?”

“Not the case, John. Almost everyone in this building is meant to be solving murders and yet they can’t even tell when we’re dating!

John was quiet for a moment as the outburst sank in. Sherlock focused on the little endearing crumple between John’s eyebrows as the man thought.

“So you’ve been in a strop all day because nobody’s noticed that we’re together,” he eventually said.

Sherlock groaned. “It’s obvious!” he said, spinning on his heel to look directly at John.

John looked like he was trying to hold back a smile. “Most people can’t tell just by looking at two people if they’re a couple, mate.”

“But it’s so obvious!” Sherlock repeated with a frustrated gesture. “It’s all over you! The state of your hair—obviously someone’s been running their hands through it, it’s been poorly fixed back into place. Lips more chapped, slightly more color, and you keep licking them: you’ve clearly been snogging someone recently, and given there is only one person around you constantly, that narrows the options quite a bit. The crease in your shoes means it’s someone taller, then there’s your collar, the way you keep touching me and moving into my space even though clearly don’t realize you’re doing it—”

Sherlock stopped mid-rant when he realized John had turned his head away. “What?”

“Nothing.” John’s shoulders shook with what Sherlock realized was barely-restrained giggling. When John looked back again, he was grinning and his cheeks were pink. “Nothing. It’s just—you really are the only one who would notice those things, you know.”

Sherlock was at a loss, induced almost entirely by the adorable flush on John’s face.

“Well,” he eventually pouted, “they should notice.”

John burst out laughing. “God, you really want them to know, don’t you,” he said, with just a trace of awe to his tone. Before Sherlock could reply, John dragged him down with a hand on the back of his neck and kissed him.

Regardless of the Yard’s collective inability to notice rumpled collars and mussed hair, it was incredibly difficult to miss two men kissing in the middle of one’s office. In this way, Lestrade figured it out, and it ended up spreading through the Yard. Sherlock took great pleasure in lecturing passers-by on all the signs they had missed and overusing the phrase “my partner, John.”

John mostly smiled and blushed and looked for closets to hide in.