BeSarcasm

Supernatural, Marvel, Welcome to NightVale, Hannibal, Teen Wolf, Glee, Sherlock, Doctor Who, homestuck

Christine and I are doing this thing where we give eachother a song and we have to write a oneshot based on it. I really don’t remember the title of the song I used for this one, but Christine posted it a few days ago. Excuse the mistakes and general lack of planning, I can sometimes really suck at oneshots. This one’s Johnlock.
[edit from Christine: the song was James dean and Audrey Hepburn by sleeping with sirens]

Sherlock stands calmly in the kitchen, eyes resting on a dirty beaker but not at all focused on it. It is precisely 8:54 pm on a Friday, and his flatmate worked regular hours today. The soft sound of water hitting a tile floor before rushing down the drain emanates from the upstairs, and if his observations are correct, John would only be another 3 minutes. Sherlock fills the kettle with water and places it on the stove out of habit, turning it on medium heat. Every Friday that John doesn’t have a date, his flatmate makes them both tea and they sit down in the living room and keep themselves busy, Sherlock often updating his blog or skimming through various people’s emails and John often watching the telly or blogging himself. Sometimes Sherlock would join him for the news, and other times John would sit reading a random book he found around the flat. The only thing that seemed to always stay the same was that John made tea every time. It helps him relax, Sherlock noticed, and he enjoyed drinking it after a long week of work and whatever else he happened to be dragged into in the days prior. Every Friday, he would make a cup for himself and Sherlock; at least until his flatmate decided to start making it instead.

Sherlock didn’t make tea every Friday, sometimes he wasn’t around to (though that applied mostly to his mental presence than his physical one), but when he did John was grateful. Now here he is again, making tea for the two of them on a seemingly normal Friday, except Sherlock knows that this isn’t a normal day. Today was the day he had decided to admit his feelings to John.

He has pride in his affections the way one would have pride in a piece of artwork they had spent a great deal of time on, but has a fear in them that seems unparalleled to anything he has ever encountered. One would think that in his chosen field of work, he would sometimes feel afraid during the more dangerous cases, but it simply doesn’t happen. In reality, that game he plays is such an easy one. There’s always a right and wrong, a series of actions and motives to uncover, a perpetrator, and an end. Everything is almost always black and white. But when he dives into the complex web of feelings and emotions encompassing everyone that he once ignored, the grey area surfaces, and suddenly there isn’t necessarily a correct answer. There’s no good, no evil. It lacks a criminal and it lacks a victim and it lacks the common mental pathways and actions that Sherlock uses to discover the two. It seemed so simple from the comfortable distance the man always puts between it and himself, but now that he has been thrown into it he realises just how complicated interpersonal relationships really are.

When he first learned of his feelings for his flatmate, Sherlock decided it would be in everyone’s best interests to try to ignore it. But his mind is persistant, like it always is, and had woven images of John into his dreams. It began as a minor presence, which Sherlock also elected to ignore, but then it started to become more serious, and the man found it increasingly more challenging to push away things like the feeling of John’s stong hands running through his dark curls or John’s soft lips ghosting over his hot skin, nor did he really want to. There is more to it, but the detective took that bit as sign enough.

The kettle starts whistling, distracting Sherlock from this thoughts. He carefully removes the steaming container from the stove and pours the hot water into the two waiting mugs, each with their own bag of black tea waiting, and carries them into the living room. The shower seems to have stopped some time ago upstairs, but John is nowhere to be seen. This worries Sherlock; he has everything planned out and will not stand for deviations in his schedule. The man sets the two mugs on the side table and turns on the telly to the news channel. It served as background noise to all of Sherlock’s hypothetical situations firing rapidly around his head until precisely seven minutes later, John comes down the stairs. Just as the detective feared.
“Going somewhere?” Sherlock asks.

"Yeah, Janet’s dog died earlier today, I told her I would stay over and comfort her," John said as he grabs his coat. Sherlock lets out a overly dramatic sigh and throws his head back theatrically on the couch cushion. "What, do you have a problem with that?" he continues, slightly aggrivated.

"Yes!" The detective blurts."-No. Yes. I don’t know." This isn’t the plan, it’s not supposed to come out like this, but Sherlock still takes a calming breath and starts on it anyway. He can’t put it off any longer. "John," he says simply. The doctor understood now that this is a serious matter and his whole demeanor changes, opting to take a seat on the couch next to Sherlock.

"Do you need me for something?"

"I want you to stay here tonight."

"Why?"

"You’re gone alot," Sherlock childishly pointed out.

"So? I do have a job. And a girlfriend,"

"I know, I know. It’s just," The detective sighs. "This is a new area I’m not familiar with, so please bear with me,"

"What are you trying to say, Sherlock?" John asks, eyeing him anxiously.

"John. For the last few weeks-maybe months, I’m losing count- I have had dreams. Of you. At first, I tried to ignore them. It was in my best interest at the time, it seemed. But I couldn’t, and with a little time, I found that I didn’t want to ignore them. The idea of falling for someone has sounded preposterous to me in the past. I never thought I would want to be with someone, definitely never thought someone would want to be with me, and yet here I am, and I can’t imagine being anywhere else than here with you. I use to think life was all some game you had to win, but in my time here in 221B has shown me that you don’t have to be extremely intelligent and superior to have a good life. Happiness can be found in many places, and you showed me that. I know the notion sounds ridiculous, but you are all that I need, John," Sherlock admitted. He knew John wasn’t expecting something so heartfelt from him. The detective bore his feelings, something the man previously thought him incapable of, and he caught his flatmate offguard.

"Sherlock," He hesitates, still at a loss for words. "Just what exactly are you trying to say?"

"John, I can’t promise you that we would be normal, or that we wouldn’t have a few fights, or that it would be easy to be with someone like me. But I can promise that I would do my best to be the best man I could be for you. I can promise that I would try my hardest to take care of you. And I can promise that I’ll never leave. I use to see you as my collegue, then as my friend, and now I see that from the beginning there has been so much more behind my feelings for you. I could try to explain to you the extent of it, but I don’t feel I have the words to express what you mean to me. Please, John, will you stay here with me?"

"I," John sits up on the couch. "Can’t seem to find a way to say no to that." He takes a steadying breath, which as he exhales turns into a nervous chuckle. "Look at that. Sherlock Holmes just confessed his feelings to me,"

"I’m sure someone down at the Yard just earned a small fortune," he said, joining John in a short laugh. As it dissolved, there is a pause.

"Yes." John said.

"Yes what?"

"Yes, I’ll stay here with you." Sherlock smiles, and John adds, "But just to make things clear, we’re going at my pace. I’ve never, um, been in a relationship with a guy before, and I’ve only even considered that a posibility for the past half year."

"A half year? Interesting."

"Oh shut up and pass me my tea," John jokes. Sherlock grabs the mugs off of the table next to him and gives one to his flatmate. After John texts a very upset Janet, they sip the lukewarm tea and watch telly for awhile. Their hands eventually find eachother and slide easily together, as if they are meant to be that way. All things considered, Sherlock doesn’t think it could have gone any better.

Home- by daughtry

“Goodbye John.” eyes spilling tears, Sherlock threw the phone to the side. You wanted a chance to save John. This is it. You’ll only be gone for a few months, a year at most. It’s a small price to pay for his life, for Mrs Hudson’s life, and Lestrade’s. They’ll be okay as long as you aren’t. With that as a last thought, Sherlock jumped. “SHERLOCK!”

Waking with a start, Sherlock’s hand flew to his throat. He couldn’t breath. Where was the air in this room? He was being suffocated. Stumbling out of bed, he ran to the window to ensure that he was in London. Seeing the familiar city instead of the view from the hospital brought him peace and allowed his breathing to return to a more consistent rate. He wasn’t jumping. He was in London. In and out Sherlock, in and out, he told himself.
On some level, he knew that what he had was post-traumatic stress, but it wasn’t important to him. He had survived the jump. The plan had worked. John was safe. In the end, making sure John was okay was all he truly cared about. Mycroft keeps him updated about John every week with reports.
It’s idiotic, Sherlock thinks, his PTSD. It’s a waste of time and he doesn’t understand why it won’t go away. It’s been two years since he “died” and he still has nightmares every night. He wasn’t even supposed to be gone this long. He was certain at the time, that he wouldn’t be missing for more than a year. Apparently he had miscalculated. Moriaty’s reach had extended further than once thought.
Traveling the world, going undercover as hundreds of different aliases, he broke Moriaty’s web piece by piece. The stats were as follows, he almost died six times, he was hospitalized eighteen times, and injured about every time he left what was his safe house. Just getting across boarders was a bother. He had to go unnoticed and under the radar.
All the places he was able to travel to, they got old. He was sick of them. He did worry about Johns reaction, to his death. Mycroft had told him how hard he’d taken it. Secretly Sherlock found it satisfying that John cared so much.
Sherlock was finally done running.

Pulling up outside Baker Street in a cab, Sherlock took a deep breath. He hasn’t seen John since that day.

“Goodbye John.” “SHERLOCK!”

He could hear the scream in his head whenever he shut his eyes.
Sherlock climbed out of the cab and payed for his ride. John would be happy to see him, right?
He swiftly climbed the few steps to the door and entered. His heart was pounding in his chest and his breathing was erratic.

“Nobody could be that clever.” “You could.”

Opening the door to the living area, it all came rushing back. The cases, the laughter, those moments at three am when John would come down the stairs and tell him to stop playing the violin, it was all here in this room. He felt tears prick the corners of his eyes. God it was good to be back.

“That’s a skull.” “Friend of mine.”

Sherlock choked on a laugh. He was back. He made it.
John didn’t appear to be home currently so sherlock took the time to sit in his chair. It was exactly the same. Nothing had changed here.
He heard creaking on the steps and braced himself. “Mrs. Hudson I told you, you don’t have to clean the flat. I can handle it.” John halted when he saw him sitting there. He didn’t seem able to move. Sherlock thought he detected him mouth ‘no’ under his breath.
“John I” Sherlock slightly stuttered “I don’t know what to say. I didn’t think through this far to be honest.” John didn’t say anything though. Sherlock thought it would be best to give him time. He stood up from his chair and passed john to enter the kitchen and make tea. Maybe john needs tea? Sherlock doesn’t understand what he needs but John always gave him tea on cases to calm him down.
He let the kettle boil, then poured two cups and dropped in the tea bags. John still hadn’t moved when he returned and when he saw him again, his eyes widened. Sherlock had just set the tea down when he felt himself yanked backwards and turned around. Lips were on his and he responded in kind. He wasn’t expecting such a warm welcome but he certainly wouldn’t complain. “You were dead. I never thought I’d see you again.” John stated once they had separated. “I’m sorry. I’ve not always been the best friend to you but I’d like to attempt to. That is, if you’ll give me a chance.” He didn’t know why John would give him another try after what he’d done to him. He didn’t deserve it.
“Stay. Never leave again.” John hugged him close. None of this had been what he’d been expecting. He thought John would be angry and never forgive him.
John didn’t seem to want to let him go but sherlock though this would be better on the couch so he tried to move. “Don’t you dare leave me.” John said through clenched teeth. He gripped him tighter. “I just wanted to go the the couch.” Sherlock smirked slightly. John loosed his grip and pulled him down onto the couch so they could both be comfortable.

“Take my hand.” “Now people will defidently talk.”

Home. Finally home.

I come out of my room and my brother says “you have to watch this.”

laundromatic:

Do you ever get jealous of someone who interacts really well with a really close friend of yours, not because you have a crush on your friend or anything but because you’re jealous of how much you pale in comparison to them when you see how much of a better friend they are to the one you’re close to?

(via vvilk-and-cookies)

vvilk-and-cookies:

out-in-the-open:

Dean Winchester used to have fun showers. Now it’s all intense and shit.

Shower fun is inversely proportional with suffering

chicagno:

oh i think i will animals

(via cherry-flavored-trickster)

(via glee4ever)

radiogoddess:

deanhime:

every time i remember that dean locking sam in the panic room is a parallel to michael locking lucifer in the cage i just cry bitterly

whY WOULD YOU post such a thing as THIS

(via deansass)

tapdancers:

wwehs:

how to be an adult

im sad this was so short because he was about to go so hard

(via vvilk-and-cookies)

avenger-doctor-castiel-holmes:

Why does dean always throw his lighter like does he go digging through the ashes later to get it back or does he keep a box of like two hundred identical lighters in the impala

(via deansass)

outofthewhore-dinary:

beautifulgodzilla:

beautifulgodzilla:

THIS TOOK A FAR DIFFERENT TURN THEN I EXPECTED

I NEED A CALEB IN MY LFIE

(via lifeofa13eliever)

vvilk-and-cookies:

wrinklefucker:

godtie:

fun fact: if a persons body odor smells good to you that means they have an immune system basically opposite of yours! this happens so the chances of finding a mate with the opposite immune system is greater and the chances that any offspring you produce together will have a stronger immune system is greater.

this is fascinating

This explains a lot

antelopethunderfuck:

kittydoom:

exgynocraticgrrl:

Breaking The Male Code: After Steubenville, A Call To Action

 (Left to Right): Peter Buffett, Jimmie Briggs, Joe Ehrmann, Tony Porter,
 Dave Zirin and Moderator Eve Ensler.

MIC DROP

Damn Eve just killed it

(via flygoing)

Black: I would date you.
Green: I think you’re cute.
Blue: You are my tumblr crush.
Grey: I wish you would notice me.
Purple: I don’t talk to you but I really love your blog.
Teal: We have a lot in common.
Yellow: FUCK ME, LET’S FUCK.
Orange: I don’t like your blog.
Brown: I don’t like you.
Pink: I think you are unattractive.
Red: I hate you with a burning passion.
White: Marry me.

(via flygoing)