Sherlock comes back and John is very, very angry. He refuses to move back in with him. Sherlock is alone at Baker Street, he suddenly gets a phonecall. It’s John. He immediately answers.
“John-? What is it, are you ok—”
“I still hate you.”
John hangs up.
This continues for weeks. John only calls Sherlock to tell him he’s still angry. Sherlock answers each and every time anyway.
Then, one day.
“Yes, John, I get it, you still ha—”
“I miss you.”
I haven’t drawn in aaaaages. Here’s some greaserlock!
If you like this AU as much as I do, you should read You Give be Fever by michi (and read the warnings…). It’s set in 50’s America, from the POV of a rebellious, obsessive Sherlock, and his growing relationship with the new kid, John. Michi said she was careful with the words she used to craft the sentences, and it shows! The story is beautifully poetic and evocative, set deep in Sherlock’s point of view, and you learn so much about him just from the way he thinks about things. I loved this <3 I love this whole AU <3
Warnings: coercion/dub-con, underage
Genre: au, smut, romance
Keywords: teenlock, underage!John, greaserlock, kissing, handjobs, mostly clothed sex, bottom!John, car sex, first time
Word Count: 16,108
Thou givest fever when we kisseth, fever with thy flaming youth
Fever I’m afire; fever, yea, I burn forsooth
“He’s the kind of boy you want to take apart.”
Why momo likes this fic:
Granted, I’m not usually into Greaserlock, but this is hot, and beautiful, and perfect. Sherlock seduces John, even coerces him on occasion (this is your warning!), all the while falling further and harder for him.
There are a few typos, but that’s really no matter. Overall it’s beautifully written, and if you’re a fan of greaserlock, or if you want to have a taste of this particular au, I’d definitely recommend reading this!
Read it here.
I’m reading this right now, and I’m not even finishing it before reccing it. Just look at the fucking opening:
He’s the kind of boy you want to take apart.
John Watson, clean-cut with his cardigans and glasses, hair like corn silk bronzing in the sun. White bread wholesome. The creases in his trousers starched stiff, ironed rigid and neat, straight as a knife’s edge. Clean pressed shirt and shoes spit-shined bright as new pennies.
Little square boy from Nowheresville, country bumpkin from a town where the people are vastly outnumbered by cows. You look at him and you think cornfields and open blue skies and goddamn sunshine.
All that picture perfect Americana - it’s enough to make anyone sick. How you want to destroy the perfection of him, everything that he is. He makes you want to paint your knuckles with his warm and dripping blood just to feel right again. You’ll lie awake in bed at night thinking about dirtying him up, crumpling his creases, smearing the wholeness of him in mud and blood, just to show he’s no angel after all, as if somehow that’ll make you, by comparison, less of a fuckup.
A gift for voyeuristicvamp (alinta?) based on her prompt involving leather and motorbikes. Thanks to my beloved Leigh Ann for co-writing the first half with me!
“For God’s sake, Sherlock! Try to loosen up and enjoy it. D’you mean to tell me you and John never just go out for a pint like normal mates?”
John rolled his eyes at Lestrade. “Yeah. Normal and Sherlock in the same sentence. Good luck with that, Greg.” He finished off his stout and set the glass down a bit too heavily.
Sherlock fixed John with his peculiar stare. “You never seem to tire of complimenting me, John.”
“You’re the only bloke I know who would take that as a compliment.” He motioned toward the barkeep for another pint then turned back to Sherlock. “Why are you here anyway? I thought you were deeply engrossed by your efforts to blow up the kitchen.”
Sherlock opened his mouth, but before he could speak, John leaned in. “I left the flat to get away from you. Your mess, I mean.”
I swear I had knickers when I started reading this………
I had the pleasure of reading this as a Beta, and let me tell you this story is gorgeous. Beautifully and artfully crafted, with a touch of that fantastic Lestrade whump that we all crave. Also some wonderfully rich Yarder appearances and thrills all the way through, so everyone read on!
Also a perfect time to use this gif:
Sherlock: Sherlock arrives home from Bart’s four minutes past the exact hour mark from when he posted his request to John via his mobile. It would have been sooner, but the driver of the cab he took from Bart’s wasn’t one he knew well and wouldn’t go faster than the speed limit, even for money. He pauses inside the door, hearing no sounds from Mrs. Hudson’s – meaning she is asleep or having an evening out – and… no, this is the night Mrs. Hudson goes over to Mrs. Turner’s and they mutually host some sort of game with several other ladies of similar age and station. They’ll drink and gossip and Mrs. Hudson will come home quite late and a little tipsy, but happy. Judging by the time, she will be another hour or two, more than likely. By the time he’s gone through these things in his head, his agitation from the frustrating cab ride has faded, allowing his slightly increased heart rate and breathing to go back to resting normal. However, looking up the stairs, he may seem calm outwardly, but he isn’t inside. John will be waiting and they must talk about whatever societal boundary Sherlock has trodden upon now… a soft, frustrated sigh escapes him as he starts upward.
Sherlock: John isn’t in the flat when Sherlock arrives, fully prepared to be calm and rational. He waits ten minutes before he checks upstairs, but needn’t have bothered, John’s not in his bedroom, nor has he left a note. Twenty minutes later, Sherlock is pacing. Forty minutes later, he is checking his messages again, his email, his inboxes – again – and finding nothing from John to indicate why he’s not there as he said he would be. Nothing of his has gone, only his jacket and the clothes he was last wearing. Sherlock decides to investigate all his options first, before texting or phoning John. Just in case this is deliberate, Sherlock doesn’t know if contact from him will seem like pressure, and he’s half-certain that would only make things worse. Fifty minutes later, he’s sprawled across his own bed, head on John’s favourite pillow, dialling Lestrade’s mobile.
Thanks to all my tinychat pals who were so incredibly patient about this and helped me tweak along the way. Thanks to snogandagrope for the prompting and being beta and just everything. Thanks to crayoladinosaurs for making me cackle obscenely the entire time I was writing this.
“Favourites,” a very NSFW smutty piece of Johnlock fanfic, is now up on AO3. Click at your own risk.
Feel the Tide by positivelymeteoric → A Sherlockian Modern Classic
“Things John Watson doesn’t expect to do when he transfers to a new school:
A) Befriend his (possibly) mad roommate.
B) Investigate a particularly nasty streak of murders with his (most likely) mad roommate.
C) Fall slightly (or not so slightly) in love with his (definitely) mad roommate.
D) All of the above.” [x]
Hearts at Home Series by yalublyutebya → A Sherlockian Modern ClassicSherlock Holmes is everything Father John Watson should probably disapprove of. He’s an atheist, a rationalist, an addict, and gay. But none of those things is enough to stop him from being the most fascinating person John’s ever met. [x]
Word Count: 2,438
Summary: When Sherlock fails to solve a case in time, John will need to be there to pick up the pieces.
Notes: This is for reapersun, who won me in the Fuck Yeah Johnlock Fanfic author giveaway, and who gave me this utterly gorgeous piece of art as my prompt. Thanks to thisprettywren, hiddenlacuna, ardatli, greywash, and breathedout for speedy and awesome beta work and for setting me straight when I got off-track.
The ground was giving way beneath John’s feet. It felt like the pavement was crumbling away in the rain. “Yeah.” His throat ached. He felt the first bit of damp seeping through his coat, which was proving less water-resistant than advertised. It was stupid of him to keep standing out here. “Um. Don’t stay out here long, all right?” Sherlock still wouldn’t look at him. “I’ll—leave you be then.” He turned to go.
“John.” Sherlock’s voice was so soft, John nearly missed it beneath the dull roar of the rain. “I’m sorry.”
And just like that, my faith in fan-fiction is restored. Mega-angst, a tiny bit of fluff, and spot-on characterization. When Johnlock fics are good, they are oh so good. I recommend that you read this immediately.
Wow. This is one of the best things anyone’s said about my fic. Thank you so much! :)
We solve cases, make friends, travel to distant countries, perform rigorous stunts and somehow John lives to type the tales. A fall and a fixed point cannot separate us.
We live a happy, adventurous, sometimes bittersweet life. There is no tragedy in that. [x]
rominatrix replied to your post: For the life of me, I have absolutly NO IDEA how I…
which one? :)
AH HA HA…