In 2019 I wrote a short fic called The Story of Us, inspired by a line from the movie Arrival. It was an intriguing idea and good enough story, but it felt incomplete, as if I'd skipped over a lot of the best parts. I had ideas about it.
A few months later, I started writing a story called Palimpsest, but backed away from it when other things took my attention.
At some point, I realised that these two ideas were made for each other. The John from The Story of Us with the Sherlock of Palimpsest might create an interesting dynamic.
In May of 2020 I wrote Sherlock investigating the murder of Vincent Karpaty. He didn't know John yet, but John had already -- well, you'll see.
The Sibylline Book includes some of my favourite things: ancient books, manuscripts written in unknown languages, conlang nerds, cold cases, murders, Chicago, classical scholars feuding over trivial things, first meetings, a John Watson obsessively trying to read a story written eight hundred years ago, and our favourite consulting detective falling in love. Did I say murders?
And Johnlock, for sure 💕
I'm aiming for early 2026, but will give you a bit now:
“Where is his laptop?”
“Didn’t see one.”
“Really, Lestrade.” I’m holding up a power cord, still attached to the wall under the desk. “Obviously it’s been taken.”
“Okay, someone broke in and stole his laptop. Killed him when he caught them at it.”
“A rather stupid thief, then, since he left the mobile.” Plucking the cell phone off the floor, I flip it open. “Enabled for email. Maybe it’s here.”
“What’s here?”
“The last message he sent, warning his colleague.”
“Colleague?”
“Partner, whatever. He’s an archaeologist, an unlikely victim of murder, unless he was involved in something more than ancient history. For that, he would need a partner, a collaborator, a confederate. Here it is.” I pause, frowning at the phone.
“What, like smuggling artefacts? Running drugs?”
Ignoring Lestrade, I continue looking at the email.
Don't go home tonight.
It appears that our victim wasn’t warning his colleague; instead, he has received a warning himself. Not the only interesting feature of the case, but certainly worth looking into.
“So, they weren’t supposed to kill him? What were they after? And why not take the phone?”
“I don’t know yet. Probably thought the laptop had what they wanted. When I’ve studied the message, I might have a better idea.”
“His last email?”
I raise my hand for a cab. “Trace the sender for me. The name’s JH Watson.”
Lestrade grimaces. “Common name. I’ll see what I can do.”
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For context: this came out in 2011 in Australia. Same-sex marriage would not be legalized until December 2017.
It was only legalized in 8 US states (the 8th only a few months before), and wouldn’t be legalized nation-wide until 2015.
It was only legal in TEN COUNTRIES in 2011. We wouldn’t hit 20 countries until 2017. (Australia was 23rd)
As of today (April 14, 2026), I believe only 38 countries have fully legalized same-sex marriage. Out of somewhere around 200 countries in the world. That’s only ~19% of countries.
This is the first of my two fics for the Fandom Trumps Hate 2026 event. I've been dying to share It Takes a Village with you all. My highest bidder @redmondcollege wanted an AU where neither of the characters needed to have their normal jobs - hence why I've moved them all to the idyllic village, Arboreta Combe. My generous bidder also wanted either parent!lock or a retirement fic. As you may have deduced from the picture above, I chose the former, but with a twist. Welcome to my hairdresser!lock universe!
A big thanks to @keirgreeneyes for the great beta job. You're a star!
Chapter 1 - The Biggest Secret
Summary: Sherlock is alone in his hair salon, tidying up after some hectic weeks. Most of the work is muscle memory, allowing his thoughts to wander freely. Unsurprisingly, they opt to relive his first meeting with John, which took place in this very establishment. Years later, the man is still an enigma to Sherlock, and he's no closer to deducing John's secret, but when the bell over the salon door chimes, announcing new customers, the mystery solves itself, and Sherlock's heart is about to break.
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whining below cut. sorry i just really need to get this out to SOMEONE since I don't really have anyone to talk to.
i'm in so much pain and i can't wait until this bloody tooth gets pulled on friday. i haven't been able to eat on the right side of my mouth for a year all because my implant failed (2 years later) due to bone degradation (I'm one of the unlucky 1% of failed implants, apparently) and possibly the metal plate of my implant may be broken but the specialist won't be able to tell until i get the surgery done. I have to get it taken out and the whole area bone-grafted and redone. it took six months to see the specialist, and then another month before i could get the surgery. the metal base of my implant is currently just sitting above a hollow space in my jaw, and in turn the tooth is just loosely sitting there in the space. In turn, it's loose and it hurts so much and pain killers aren't doing anything anymore because it's inflamed. AND I grind my teeth at night so I wake up with a jaw that hurts SO much.
I just want to pull this whole tooth out on my own omgggg.
I can't eat solid food anymore because any movement of my tongue jostles the implant and accidentally chewing too hard chomps down on the implant and sending immense pain through my whole right side of my face.
I'm just so upset because this initial implant cost me about 10K WITH insurance and a year and a half from start to finish, and now I have to spend another 10K and another year to fix it.
why is dentistry (AND EYES OMG) NOT COVERED UNDER OHIP UGHHHH.
sorry, I shouldn't whine about this. i know i've got it good since my insurance is REALLY good because of my job (it's covering half of my surgery on friday. it will still cost me 2000$) but then I have to wait until 2027 for my insurance to reset to finish phase 2 of the implant.
Anyway, sorry. I try to keep my personal troubles away from y'all, i just... feel really bloody alone and i'm crying every night. my weekend is going to fucking suck but holy shit i just want this tooth gone.
Thank you everyone so much for the love, hugs and well wishes in the comments and reblogs *SOBS* Seriously makes me feel loved, I really appreciate it.
I'm feeling a bit better today because I finally had some sleep last night and forced myself to rest today (it's REALLY hard for me since I go do 2+ hr high-intensity workouts on Saturday and Sunday mornings, and I'm not allowed to do that for at least another 3 days UGGGHHHH) I did go for a little walk to soak up the sunshine at the very least, and GOD I'm SO HUNGRY ALL THE TIME right now because I can't eat anything super solid. I've just been eating scrambled eggs and meal replacement shakes.
I CRAVE POPCORN. I CRAVE CHICKEN. I AM CRAVING PIZZA AND CAKE AND OMG SOBS. I haven't had any of those in nearly 2 months because of the pain in the original tooth, and now I can't have it because I have to keep chunky stuff out of the wound area while the bone graft heals. Two more weeks until post-op, but I'm allow to start eating SOFT solids (so long as they aren't crumbly) starting tonight. ggguuuuh.
ALSO thank you for the suggestion of ice on the spot, so relieving before my codeine kicks in. It's a bit hard for me right now because the WHOLE area is bruised and hurts for me to even touch it, so I can't keep it there too long. Hopefully the lighter ice pack (that's basically a plastic sheet with ice bubbles in it) I bought will be ok for bedtime.
*HUGS* Thank you all again. I love you all so much 💜🖤
It's been a few days now since the surgery and I am floored that this one is taking so long to heal compared to my other teeth-pulling-and-grafting incidents. I guess this one was WAY more damaged than I thought (the dentist had to use a LOT of grafting material, I could FEEL it going into my jaw so I have no idea how I even have any teeth left at all LOL) and he did say that he had to dig out some of the infection that hadn't healed over, so perhaps that's why it's giving me such a knock down.
I worked from home today because I'm still really lightheaded from not eating or doing much on the weekend (I literally haven't left my apartment since Friday afternoon), and FINALLY the swelling has gone down and I can touch the side of my face again without pain. Now that I could open my mouth wider again, I inhaled half a spinach pizza, some eggs, and pasta for my meals today, and I'm feeling a lot better after having a lot more food. Hopefully I'll feel better to go to work tomorrow.
I really appreciate and am FLOORED by all the love and support y'all have shown me for this. I feel happy knowing that you guys do genuinely care. Baby steps, my friends. I'm trying every day to carry on. The pain is manageable now with OTC meds, which is a blessing because I hate taking codeine as it makes me drowsy and feeling worse.
*HUGS* Thank you all so much for the overwhelming comments of love and kindness <3
Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight
Never in life had I seen such a sight!
It’s a dream to be wished
That I’d not know I missed
Which has lead to my heart taking flight!
The subdued omnipresent strain of period-typical racism that runs throughout the entire canon is at its worst in this shoddily plotted story. Though it gives us a hasty peek at the formidably under-used Langdale Pike, Holmes’ gossiping columnist friend, there is nothing that can redeem this adventure. Holmes is indeed a product of his time and privileged place in society, and as such displays a complex array of prejudicial attitudes, but it is hard to reconcile his relaxed mood at the conclusion of “The Yellow Face” with his aggressive racism toward the figure of Steve Dixie. The case itself is a rehash of an already twice-used plot, growing weaker each time: it is basically identical in premise to both the events of the Red-Headed League and the missing Garrideb, with clues that apparently no one but the reader picks up on, a Holmes with a remarkable absence of foresight, and the villain(ess) undeservedly getting away with her crime. One is left to wonder why it was considered for publication at all.
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Chapter 5 of a Chance of Showers is up on Ao3 for you now! Enjoy!
Summary: When the Watson's shower becomes unusable, John asks Sherlock if he can shower at 221b for a while. Now if only he could figure out why this feels so right.
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What if the children go to schools unafraid of tear gas and bullets?
What if the birds come back, and the bees are healed, and every species moves from endangered, to threatened, to thriving?
What if the rainforest ADVANCES?
What if every parking lot had solar panels? What if every structure had solar panels? What if we built climbing gyms and terraced gardens in the skeletons of old coal power plants?
What if you baked your neighbor bread, and they shared their home-grown blackberries?
What if every person who needed a home, had one? What if every person who needed healing was healed?
What if every body was treasured for what it was, not what it should be?
What if every trans child's parents attended their graduation, their wedding, their new-name-day?
What if every warehouse became a closed-circle repair station? Goods flowing out, and back, and out again? What if landfills started to SHRINK?
What if the water and air were clean? What if there was enough public transit that the cars dwindled, leaving the streets safe for kids on bikes, evening deer, midnight cats and foxes?
The condors are back. The whales are saved. The sea turtles are no longer endangered. The cranes are back. The bees are recovering. The air in LA and Tokyo and London is clean again. The aquifers in the LA Basin are refilling.
Children are kinder than previous generations. Parents are stopping the abuse cycle. Being trans and queer is more acceptable than ever on a ground level.
It's hard to see if you're young, if you don't know how to step back from social media and the news. But remember--bad news sells, and the algorithm knows despair keeps you scrolling. It's a skewed lens.
We are fighting and we are winning against this adminstration's bullying. We are coming together against the bullies and they are running away scared because they don't understand that we will do that.
People are working hard every day to find ways to make sure fewer animals get hit by cars and planes and rockets.
Maker spaces are more common than ever. Solar and wind are more common than ever. Coal plants are shutting down every day.
Unprecedented numbers of acres are being bought back or given back to their rightful stewards, and the world heals because of it. People are working hard every day to learn how to help a forest recover faster.
We are not at zero. We are at decades of effort to heal the world. We've come SO far.
In 1982 there were only 22 California Condors left in the world. In 1992, when the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service (USFWS), with its public and private partners, began reintroducing captive-bred condors to the wild. In 2001 the first wild nesting occurred in Grand Canyon National Park since re-introduction. In 2002 there were only 8 pairs of wild nesting birds population-wide. In 2008, for the first time since the program began, more California condors were flying free in the wild than in captivity. Today there are nearly 500 – more than half of them flying free in Arizona, Utah, California, and Baja Mexico.
When I was born, there were no condors in the wild. I'm 37 now, and there are over 250 condors flying free.
When my mom was born in 1955, there were days when she wasn't allowed to go outside to play, because of the air pollution. When I was born, that never happened anymore.
When I was born, humpback whales were critically endangered, and people thought they were going to go extinct. Today, they've recovered to exceed their recorded numbers. Other whales too!
We fixed it.
We CAN fix it and we ARE fixing it and we DID fix it.
Since 1990 extreme poverty has decreased worldwide by over HALF.
This is not the narrative media sells us. We have access to more information about suffering now than we used to, but things are getting BETTER overall. Yeah some people are trying to undo this, but we have made SO MUCH PROGRESS. Don't give up.
In the ongoing contest over which dystopian classic is most applicable to our time, Butler’s “Parable” books may be unmatched.
This amazing author - who had to work so hard to be recognized as a legit science fiction writer - predicted Donald Trump's America in a book published 31 years ago, set in the year 2024.
Don't ever tell me that science fiction is silly fantasy nonsense with technology. Don't tell me it isn't about us.
Fluffbruary Extended Version Infinifluff. June 14. (Sherlock fandom) Prompts: grove - arbour - formal + the image below.
Chapter 4: The Former British Government
Summary: For the first time since John arrived, the weather changes. It looks as if a storm is approaching. When Sherlock informs him that this has everything to do with his brother's predestined arrival, John doesn't believe him. Surely, dark clouds and the probable thunderstorm aren't signs of a human appearing at their doorstep?
I've witnessed Sherlock do this on a number of occasions, and the fact is, I'm no stranger to the concept myself.
When I’m writing a blog post, when I’m in the kitchen making dinner, when I’m daydreaming about my mad flatmate in the shower, are some examples of me being stuck inside my head. Of course, I don’t have a Mind Palace like he has. I don’t walk down imagined corridors, into libraries, labs, cellars, and what have you like he does when he leaves for his spacious second home.
Unlike him, I’m easily roused out of my torpor. Just a touch to my shoulder, my name softly spoken, or the scent of tea, is enough to pull me back to the present.
I’m not in the habit of losing myself in thoughts for longer periods like Sherlock does. Mostly, only a few minutes have passed before I’m back to full consciousness. Therefore, it’s utterly fascinating to me that my best friend can stay in his Mind Palace for endless hours.
“Have you ever got lost? Been unable to return?”
It’s a ridiculous question, of course, but I’ve always wondered. His answer both worries and astounds me.
“I have. Only once. It was unnerving.”
“Oh, wow. But… um… how – “
“Mycroft.”
Of course, his brother and mentor – the man who has taught him this memory technique in the first place – would come to his aid when he realised that Sherlock had lost himself in his head.
“How? When?”
“I don’t recall how. It was years before we met. I was… high.”
Despite that I’d suspected this, it hurts to hear him admit it. The stinging sensation in my heart - as if I’ve been stabbed with a stiletto - is as real as the toast on my plate.
“I’m glad he was there,” I say quietly.
“Indeed,” he agrees.
***
For each passing week, it happens more frequently. And it doesn’t only apply to when I’m in the flat. Even at grim crime scenes I lose myself in thoughts of Sherlock.
His agility – jumping over fences like an athlete. His large hands – gesturing elegantly. His voice – deep and resonant, speaking to my very core. His lips – lush and breath-taking. His hair – tousled or perfectly coiffed. His coat, his tight trousers, and shirts – making my knees weak.
“Out with it!”
I’m so startled, I nearly topple over. A large hand grabs my elbow gently, and Sherlock’s baritone scolds someone called George for being rude.
“Come on, John. We have a killer to catch!”
And without further ado, I’m running after my mad and gorgeous detective, while my phone buzzes in my jacket pocket.
Later - the killer is behind bars, and Sherlock delights in my adoring praise of his flawless deductions – I get a chance to check my mobile.
Are you ok? You lost yourself in your head again today. Like Sherlock does. What’s going on, John? Out with it!
“What does Gavin want?” Sherlock drawls from his chair.
“Nothing,” I say.
My blush is competing with the flames in the hearth, and I’m one hundred percent sure Sherlock knows I’m lying. He always does.
***
One of the many perks of Sherlock retreating to his Mind Palace, is that I get to observe him undisturbed. I only let my gaze linger when his eyes are shut. Granted, I’ve tried to wave my hand in front of his face when they are open; he doesn’t even blink, so I know it’s safe. Nevertheless, I don’t want to push my luck.
What will he think if he saw me drinking him in like a man finally reaching an oasis in a dry desert? It doesn’t bear thinking about.
At the moment, Sherlock’s eyes are closed, so it’s safe to ogle his lithe frame, his steepled hands, his slightly parted lips. I let my eyes wander and linger wherever they desire. My tongue darts out to lick my chapped lips, and to my horror I realise that I’m drooling slightly. Christ.
When I have swiped the moist away, Sherlock’s eyes are open, meeting mine with an unexpected fondness. I find myself unable to look away. Maybe it’s time to stop this pretence and just dive into the unknown.
“So, this is what Gerald meant,” he murmurs.
“What?”
“His remark, and I quote: ‘Out with it.’”
Shit. He heard that. Obviously. His hearing is –
“John, don’t. Please.”
Please, what? I can’t comprehend what the familiar voice asks.
When something warm registers on my face, I open my eyes to find Sherlock kneeling in front of my chair, his delicate hands cupping my face.
“You need to stop doing that,” he whispers, “it feels like you’re leaving me.”
“I would never do that to you, Sherlock,” I say softly, and lift my own hands to caress his precious head.
“Good.”
We are both properly present when our lips meet for the first time. After all, this isn’t something any of us would want to miss.
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