ZThemes

fics where Sherlock fucks it up and makes John think he doesn’t want him

where he spends days trying so hard and not understanding and saying the wrong things over and over and trying and John getting angrier and angrier until somebody has a breakthrough 

ugh these are the actual worst

John accidently blurting out "gorgeous" instead of "brilliant" after Sherlock made a deduction And Sherlock blushing and looking away while clearing his throat
+ anotherdayin221b-deactivated201

piningjohn:

please please please 

Sherlock’s mind is whirling with the thrill of the case. He paces the locked room one end to the other, while Lestrade and his team look on. John is standing with military bearing, arms crossed, his eyes tracking every movement. The window—now open—lets in a stream of early evening light, casting golds and oranges on the grisly blood-stained scene. It’s almost beautiful, in a macabre way. He barely notices except to point out the clues. 

Not right-handed, as you thought,” he says, gesturing about, and he rattles off his deductions as they come to his mind. The case is coming together—it’s been a grueling twelve hours, but it’s all worth it in the end, when the puzzle pieces start to slot themselves into place and the crime is solved. The suspect is not who they thought at the beginning. The fingerprints were all wrong.

"The criminal couldn’t have escaped through the window, the lock was stuck and had been for months if you looked at the dust, and the door was locked from the outside. You assumed that meant he covered his tracks but he was an architect, he knows his way around houses, and if he did not escape through normal means … "

Sherlock crosses the room, keenly aware of everyone’s gazes. It’s his imagination, he knows it is, but he fancies John’s feels the most intense. He removes a framed poster of a rock band from the wall, runs his fingers along the exposed plaster, and pushes. For a moment, it resists, and then the panel swings open, revealing a cramped and dusty, but recently used, tunnel leading up through the wall.

"The house has no attic but that doesn’t mean he can’t reach the roof," Sherlock says, triumphant.

Lestrade sighs in that way that means he’s agitated but impressed. Anderson sneers as he moves forward to inspect the tunnel.

"Gorgeous," John murmurs. Sherlock’s head snaps up to look at him.

John’s expression is stricken; he quickly realized what he had said. An accident. He had meant to say his usual—brilliant, fantastic, amazing. Never gorgeous before. How often had he thought that before? Did he always think Sherlock was gorgeous? Had he ever thought other adjectives? Beautiful, handsome, attractive—

Sherlock’s face is burning. He wants to know now. He wants to grab John by the shoulders and demand to hear everything John has ever thought on the matter but never said.

He doesn’t do that. Instead, he turns his head in a futile attempt to hide the red in his cheeks. He can feel John watching him again.

"Well." Sherlock clears his throat and wills the damn blush away. "Anyway, the murderer should be easy enough to track from here. Call me if you have anything truly interesting for me. I have other things to take care of."

mormoriarty:

sherlock text posts

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