¯\_(ツ)_/¯

It’s pretty likely that it’s a four digit number, and as there are four digits chosen there, that means that there cannot be any repetition. This mean that there are:

No, no, no. Don’t base your deductions of psychology. Let’s talk chemistry. When you first press a button, there’s more of the natural oils on your skin, and therefore it wears down the numbers on the keys faster. Obviously 0 is the first one, then. Try 0791 first.

The light is green.

AU - Parentlock

“Oh but Papa likes it!”

“He doesn’t”

“He does”

“Miss Sherlock,” 8-part Japanese-language drama series, made as a joint venture with Hulu Japan.

“Miss Sherlock,” now in post-production, stars Yuko Takeguchi in the title role and is a modern interpretation of the classic Sherlock Holmes tales, solving bizarre and extraordinary cases. Shihori Kanjiya plays Dr Wato Tachibana, a reinterpretation of Holmes’ sidekick, Doctor Watson.

The Princess Bride vs Sherlock - Part 2 (Part 1)

bonus:

“So what are we doing then?”

“Oh just passing the time… and proving a point.”

“What point?”

~@ ~ POTTERLOCK FIC RECS ~@~

More Things Than Are Dreamt of (You are a Paradigm, To See You Shift, As I Let You Rewrite Gravity) – Potterlock series by 1electricpirate, 3 parts, mature & explicit. This is Bewitched ala 21st century, John is a wizard who eventually comes out to Sherlock, his Muggle Domestic Partner. Cute, and so well written!

More Interesting than a Mild Case of Vomiting by pennswoods, 2 k, gen. Potterlock. Very sweet fic about the Yule ball, and Sherlock’s plans to contract a pretend case of dragon-pox to avoid it. Somehow John asking him to come with him trumps a mild case of vomiting.

Of a Castle, Dreaming by michi_thekiller, WIP, 36 k, gen. John and Sherlock meet on the train to Hogwarts. They strike up an unlikely friendship – what with Sherlock being a Slytherin, and John in Gryffindor.

Knight Magic by suitesamba, 22 k, mature. Potterlock. When the two are attacked on the street one night, and John is down, Sherlock accidentally calls a bus for help that mystifies him.  Somehow Sherlock managed to delete the fact that he was a Wizard.  Not much sexy times, but a very interesting crossover fic that gets you thinking.

Dragon Heartstring in Ebony, Nine Inches, Quite Stubborn by what_alchemy, 2 k, teen and up. A cute little Potterlock short. After Sherlock has jumped off Barts, and left John alone, John finds a curious box with a wand in it hiding under the floorboards in Sherlock’s bedroom. He keeps it as a memento of his departed friend. Short, but cute.

Expecto Patronum by thisisforyou , 7 k, explicit, Potterlock. In which eighteen year-old Sherlock and twenty-one year-old John, first-year Auror trainees, embark on an impromptu study session which leads in very wonderful directions that neither of them had dared to expect.

The Magic of Deduction by TheShoelessOne, 65 k. On FanFiction.Net - In a world where John and Sherlock are wizards, there is still a Moriarty and the Game is still on. AKA John and Sherlock Do Hogwarts. Sherlock is in Slytherin, while John is in Hufflepuff – still they make it work as best they can. Wonderful spots for Moran and Irene Adler in this as well. Creates a nice  fusion universe fic with some romance, and LOTS of angst. Thumbs up.

A Magic Moment by alexxphoenix42, 35 k, mature. Sherlock is a seventh year in Ravenclaw, and John a sixth year in Gryffindor. They don’t really meet until one night serving detention together. They click as friends right away, but Sherlock longs for more.  When John invites him home to visit for spring break, things get interesting. Some angst, but very sweet overall.

The Wand Series by suitesamba. 3 parts, teen and mature. Though Sherlock is a Wizard, he lives like any ordinary Muggle with his Muggle flatmate, John Watson. Eventually Sherlock not only reveals his wand but his want, and the two fall into the relationship that has been stalking them. Oddly enough, John is both very comfortable and quite resistant to magic.  Sherlock is intrigued and desperately needs more information. Thumbs up – this is a wonderful series!

A Very Potterlock Christmas by CatieBrie , teen, WIP. Sherlock keeps noticing something about his flatmate John that doesn’t add up.  Amidst the hub-bub of the Christmas season, Sherlock and John grow closer together as Sherlock learns that John is a Wizard. Such fun! This is fluff and adorableness, with some great backstory of John with Charlie Weasley together at Hogwarts. Thumbs up! (Still updating.)

Care of Magical Creatures by stillaseeker, 2 k, mature - PWP of snuggles. John is a Wizard, and Sherlock is a Squib. Adorable.

Muggle Relations by ChloeWeird, 3 K , gen. A delightful little crossover. Mycroft is enchanted to meet the new Muggle Relations Director, Hermione Granger. So cute.

Orchideous by Youarethelightoftheworld, 4 k, teen. Just adorable fairy tale of a fic. Sherlock had turned his back on his magic, but when he met John Watson it started to bubble out of him. He finally turns to Mycroft for lessons. So cute, such fluff. Thumbs up!

The Next Great Adventure by wanttobeatree, 38 k, explicit. This story is an excellent case fic that expertly blends the worlds of Harry Potter, and Sherlock. Thirteen years since the Battle of Hogwarts, people are dying mysteriously. Dementors roam the streets once again. Sherlock is a Squib, John’s Auror days are long behind him, and there’s a new Dark Wizard on the rise. It could be dangerous. There’s a bit of sexytimes at the end, but the creative use of magic and the on-going adventure are the story’s main strengths. Thumbs up!

All of These Words by childhoodinfamy, 7 k , mature. There is one singular Ravenclaw in John’s Potions class. Seven years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Cute little fast forward vignettes of John and Sherlock at Hogwarts together.

The Mirror Of Erised by missilemuse, 2 k, teen.  Mycroft finds the Mirror of Erised, and tests it out on basically the entire cast of Sherlock in a room. Cute.

Now Kiss by Atisenia- almost 2 k, gen. The enchanted mistletoe at Hogwarts is strangely persistent and it stays until you make it go away. It finds Sherlock rather a lot.

Finite Incantatem by HollyShadow88, 52 k, teen and up. This is a fun, well-told potterlock tale that manages to add in a bit of parentlock beside. When Minerva McGonagall makes a surprise visit to Baker Street, a part of John’s past that he hoped he put behind him comes crashing back to the forefront. With a baby and an overly curious Sherlock Holmes in tow, John is forced back into the world he put behind him to bring a stop to the mysteriously familiar deaths haunting London. Good case fic with lots of good twists and turns, and some nice pining that ends with kissing and promises. Thumbs up!

Howl by xzombiexkittenx, 1.7 k, gen.  Howlers have started showing up regularly around the student body at Hogwarts. Most of them turn out to be nice notes, but not the ones Sherlock receives.  John is not pleased. This is a cute little short. Enjoyed it!

Face Your Fear by Ertal77, 3k, teen, Sherlock and John’s friendship is tested when Professor Lupin makes them face a boggart in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. Very sweet.

@anotherwellkeptsecret prompted: The slowest, sweetest, gentlest first kiss you can possibly imagine.

 It was a lovely, crisp day, and Sherlock—in an uncommonly good mood—left the window open behind him after forcing it open to gain entry to the suspect’s flat.

 The curtains fluttered in the breeze, carrying a myriad of vivid city smells, unmistakable London air, sharp and sweet and sour all at once.

 He breathed in deep, then turned away, clapping his hands together as he surveyed the cluttered room.

 Dust, dust everywhere, and that was wonderful, he could read years’ worth of history in dust, he could trace his way backwards through every book the man had read, every single move he’d made in the flat right up until the moment he'd—

 "Christ—" John wheezed from the window, grasping the sill and dragging himself inside. “A little help—” he dropped onto the ground, back against the wall, breathing hard. “—would have been nice.”

 "You managed just fine,“ Sherlock said, smiling a little bit.

 "Thought you were going to go around back and unlock the door.”

 "I’d have gotten there eventually.“

 John made a scoffing noise in the back of his throat, stood up. Moved to shut the window behind him.

 "Leave it.”

 John paused, gloved hands on the window frame. “Someone might see.”

 "Nothing out of the ordinary about an open window on a nice day.“

 "You are aware that breaking and entering is not actually legal?” But John stepped away from the window without shutting it.

 Sherlock smiled again, an almost involuntary pull at the corner of his mouth. He liked John like this, sharp-tongued yet indulgent.

 "All right,“ John said, letting his hands drop to his sides. “What are we looking for?”

 "Dust.“

 "Well. Plenty of that to go around.”

 Sherlock could not seem to stop smiling. Perhaps it was the weather. “Exactly.”

 "Will any dust do, or are you looking for something in particular? Clogged ceiling vent, perhaps? Maybe some dryer lint?“ John was looking at him, his brows raised, something approaching amusement in his face. Ah. Teasing, then.

 "Our suspect has a rather extensive personal library,” Sherlock said, tearing his gaze away to look at the shelves that stretched floor to ceiling along the wall. He scanned the rows of books, eyes flitting across faded, dusty spines. “Including several volumes on rare poisons.”

 "Pot, kettle,“ John said.

 Sherlock turned to look at him, narrowed his eyes. John offered up a shrug and a small smirking twist of his lips.

 "He’s more of a collector than a reader,” Sherlock said, turning back towards the books. “You can see from the dust that most of these haven’t been touched in years.”

 "He does seem to lack a certain standard of cleanliness,“ John agreed mildly.

 "Except—” Sherlock smiled at a smear on a lower shelf, a small half-moon pattern where clean wood gleamed through. He framed it with his hands, measuring. The perfect size for a rested knee. He allowed his gaze to climb upward, catching the imprint of fingertips in the thick dust, and there, there, the place where a book had been pulled free, dislodging cobwebs and ancient dust bunnies.

 "A little light reading?“

 Sherlock rummaged around in his coat, withdrew a crinkling evidence bag, a bloodstained book resting within.

 John groaned. “Did you steal that?”

 "Borrowed.“

 "What are you—”

 "Just wanted to be sure,“ Sherlock said, and he grinned, a quick flash of teeth, the kind of dangerous grin that John usually responded favorably to. He leaned back and looked at the gap on the shelf, looked at the book in his hand.

 "Looks like it fits,” John said.

 "Hm,“ Sherlock said, and he moved carefully, delicately, resting his knee in the smooth clean space left behind, pressing the very tips of his gloved fingers where they would not disturb fresh trails of dust. He lifted himself slowly, with utmost caution, climbing until he was eye to eye with the gap.

 "Sherlock,” John said. His voice was muffled, slightly. As if he was speaking through clenched teeth.

 "Mm,“ Sherlock said, distracted, scanning the shelf for anything else, anything he might have missed in his first assessment. It was beautiful, eloquent, the way that history was written into dust.

 The shelf under his foot creaked, an alarming, sharp sound, and Sherlock’s pulse jumped.

 There were hands on his waist, strong hands, sure hands, John’s hands, steadying him, holding him still.

 "Careful,” John said, his voice low. “Or you’ll bring the whole thing down with you.”

 Sherlock opened his mouth to retort but found he could not speak, not with John leaning back, taking his weight, easing him off of the shelves and back down towards the ground.

 He stood facing the books, mind blank, pulse racing, John breathing close at his back.

 "All right?“ John asked, when the moment had stretched too long.

 Sherlock turned, slowly, straightening up. Meaning to say: My weight was perfectly balanced. There was no danger of the shelf breaking and instead clearing his throat and meeting John’s eyes and saying nothing, nothing, because John was very close and had not yet moved to step away.

 "Sherlock,” John said, and he was so close his breath puffed against Sherlock’s face. The window was open behind him, letting in that sharp-sweet-sour dangerous air, and John was close, he was so close, so close and so utterly beloved and just like that, after years and years of careful restraint, all of Sherlock’s self-control simply fluttered away on a gentle breeze.

 He only needed to tilt his head slightly to bring his lips against John’s, to slide his nose along John’s cheek, to catch John’s warm surprised breath in his lungs.

 They stood like that for a moment, lips ghosting together, just breathing. Sherlock’s back brushed against the shelf and he spared a brief thought for the dust, and then John made a noise in the back of his throat, a noise that was pained and joyful all at once, and his hands came up to cup Sherlock’s face, to press against the heat rising in his cheeks, and Sherlock thought quite clearly: sod the dust and then on the heels of that came: this moment has been written in dust, scrawled here on the shelves for anyone to see.  

 He let the evidence bag drop, the book hitting the ground with a muffled thud.

 John’s hands on his face, cradling him, thumbs moving against his cheeks. John’s mouth on his, soft and warm and wondering, their breaths mingling.

 Sherlock realized that he had, at some point, tangled his hands up in John’s coat, had grasped at the collar of it and had wound the edges around his fingers, pulling him closer, locking him in place.

 "Oh,“ he said, mumbling against John’s lips, because each gentle slide, each damp press, each tug and pull and nibble and rasp of chapped skin was a revelation. "Oh.”

 John laughed, not a cruel or mocking sound, but a soft huff that seemed to come from somewhere deep in his chest. He laughed and Sherlock could taste it, sweet against his lips.

 "Oh?“ John said, nudging Sherlock’s nose with his own.

 "I’ve just realized—” Sherlock said, and his voice was alarmingly unsteady. “Well. No. That’s not quite accurate. I’ve known for some time. That I—well. But. It hadn’t seemed—”

 "Oh,“ John said, and there was a surprised light in his eyes, a dancing mischief that Sherlock hadn’t seen in a very long time. He looked younger, somehow. Unburdened.

 "Is that—?” Sherlock hesitated, feeling uncertain and clumsy and much too slow. His pulse skittered under his skin, joyful, ebullient bursts.

 "I don’t know how you didn’t know,“ John said. He shook his head, shut his eyes, smiled.

 Sherlock looked at that smiling mouth and thought: I’ve kissed those lips.

 "I—” Sherlock said.

 "Me too,“ John said. He slipped one of his hands back, running it through Sherlock’s hair, settling it on the back of Sherlock’s neck, skin warm and slightly sweat-damp. He leaned up and Sherlock let himself be kissed. "Just—me too.”