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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alright, i'll be the one to say it. ao3 and tumblr becoming "mainstream" did so much damage to the community and the writers. i have seen loads of videos and posts about:
1. people hating on writers and fics. writing is something we do for free and for fun. if you stumble upon a fanfic that isn't necessarily your cup of tea or you just don't like, scroll. dont read it. literally leave their page. you don't know if this could be the author's first work that they're so excited about, you dont know if the language they're writing in isn't their first language, you dont know that the writer could be a literal teen and loads of other reasons. fanfictions don't HAVE to be perfect. you write what you want to write because we do it for fun and enjoyment and we want to share that to the world. seriously, what is the wrong with that?..
2. x reader consumers getting WAY too entitled. the number of tiktoks i've seen that say "i run a strict program when it comes to reading fanfics." girl you aint running shit. this is FAN FICTION you're reading. F A N F I C T I O N. there is no denying that most fanfiction writes are beyond talented but just because you read one fanfic that exceeds your expectations doesn't give you the right to talk down on others that don't. people have their own personal writing style, their way of doing things and you talking shit on that isn't right.
at the end of the day, we are all humans, reading and writing is what we do and what we're meant to do. and for you to talk shit about a person WRITING is so insane. we are humans. not some robots that you can tell what to do so you can consume it.
i've seen so so many authors take down their fanfics and losing all motivation to write because of a hate comment. DONT LIKE DONT READ‼️
and to every author reading this, this community values your work and your contribution. we love u and, please, never let anyone's negative words have an effect on you.
Fandoms have a serious problem with how creators are being treated these days.
Fandom creators spend hours of their free time to create something to make fandom thrive...for free and for the love of the game.
And what do they get? A wholeass heap of fuck all. No reblogs, no comments, no nothing. And people are surprised that creators are dropping out left, right, and centre??
"Why is there no long fic anymore?" "Why did my favourite writer stop?" "Why is my favourite artist not posting anymore?"
I implore you to ask yourself: "What's the last thing I did to support my fandom? Does my favourite creator know they are my favourite? When was the last time I left a comment under something?"
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Summary: Sherlock is there before John can collapse to the ground. Back home, Sherlock makes tea, and then John reveals a secret very few people know about. It leaves Sherlock furious and devastated, and he gets a better understanding of why John weren't able to keep in contact with his daughter.
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Summary: The epilogue is finally finished, and John decides to walk down the hill to Sherlock's salon to share the news. As he passes the playground however - which surprisingly is occupied by strangers - a familiar voice calls his name. Suddenly the reason he left London appears before him. It catches him off guard and all he can do now, is to hang on for dear life.
He has an ambivalent relationship with the Tube. The invention is genius, of course, but sometimes there are too many people who can’t seem to comprehend how to behave. Especially when embarking or disembarking the carriages. Grown ups suddenly seem to have left their common sense behind on the platform or inside the train.
“Mind the gap,” the familiar voice tells them all.
At least, this announcement seems to register in everyone. To this day, Sherlock has never encountered anyone who has seriously miscalculated entering or leaving the train. He knows it occurs obviously; people are idiots after all.
What he has experienced in abundance, however, are morons trying to get on the train while others are trying to get off. Simultaneously. It’s evident than neither of these human beings have any clue about logistics. Or physics for that matter.
Because of this, he avoids the Tube like the plague in the rush hours, not to mention in the summer when hordes of dim-witted tourists are invading the city.
Sherlock is aware that not every place on the planet have underground transportation systems like London has, which the forementioned tourists prove on an hourly basis, but surely one should expect people to do their research before travelling to a large city. They don’t even know how to place themselves on the escalators, for goodness’ sake! There are signs which inform them to stand on the right so that people like Sherlock, who’s always in a hurry, can leap up the moving device on the left side. Sometimes, he wonders if they’re all illiterate.
***
“Watch your step!”
“Are you talking to me?”
Sherlock is genuinely puzzled. Nobody ever tells him to mind where he’s going. He never stands still long enough.
“Yes, you moron!”
And then, Sherlock finds himself manhandled to the side by a strong but small man with blue eyes, blond hair, tanned skin, and an abandoned cane that lies some feet away on the platform.
“You were about to step right into – “
“Afghanistan or Iraq?”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
***
“Oil spill. Watch…”
Sherlock’s arms flail in an attempt to regain his balance when his shoe slips on the spilled oil, but just before he falls, strong arms catch him.
“I’ve got you,” John murmurs close to Sherlock’s ear.
His face flushes as if he’s suddenly been exposed to a roaring fire. Before he’s able to catalogue how his body responds to being held by John, his equilibrium is restored, and John retreats.
“Thank you,” Sherlock mutters.
He’s mortified to find himself in such an undignified situation, witnessed by his capable flatmate who more often than not, praises Sherlock’s agility. This calamity will certainly put a stop to that.
“Are you alright?” John asks quietly.
“Of course,” Sherlock says with false self-confidence.
***
“Fucking idiot!”
“Indeed.”
“Did he just try to walk straight through me?”
“So it seems.”
“I fear for humanity, Sherlock. Truly.”
Sherlock hums in agreement and relishes the fact that they are pressed tightly together in a packed carriage. The man who moments earlier tried to disembark the train, clearly needed glasses. Granted, John isn’t as tall as Sherlock, but he isn’t small as a child either. John had tried to prevent the collision from happening, but the train was simply too crowded to move more than an inch. Sherlock on his part, had been too preoccupied with his phone to stop the stupid man. However, he quite enjoys having John plastered to his side after the incident, so there’s that.
A jolt makes a woman lose her balance, and to steady herself, she takes a small step toward John. Her high heel lands heavily on John’s foot, who cries out in pain.
“Watch your step!” Sherlock scolds the unlucky woman, who apologises with pink cheeks and a nervous laughter.
“It’s fine, Sherlock,” John mumbles, though his grimace tells another story.
“Are you hurt?”
“It’ll probably bruise, but nothing’s broken,” John assures him.
Sherlock looks sceptically down at him and manhandles John to stand closer to the side of the door where no one can reach him.
“Oi! I’m not a puppet you can just – “
“Shut up, John. I need my blogger and doctor unscathed.”
John starts to giggle once he’s finished rolling his eyes. This always leads to one thing – Sherlock joins him. It is impossible to stay imperious and aloof when he hears John’s laughter, which is extremely contagious.
“You madman,” John grins once he’s composed himself.
“You call me such lovely things, John.” Sherlock says softly, quietly.
John inhales sharply and meets Sherlock’s gaze. The silent conversation that takes place, is impossible for the other passengers to decipher, but the sparks that fly like fireworks through the train, does indeed register. Not on the Richter scale, but close.
i love explaining the etymology of the word "rickroll" because the story starts with "ok, so at one point 4chan applied a filter to everyone's posts that changed the word egg to duck"
Every now and then a difficult period like this comes along: so it's time to request some assistance.
I've kind of been neglecting my vision for the past year or so, aware that I needed new glasses (and to go have a consult for possible eye-related surgery), but putting it off... and now the situation has, as it were, come home to roost.
The other day, when I was typing something and then (to check it before posting) had to pick up the Mac and hold it up to my nose to see what I'd typed... I realized that if this went on much longer, even with dictation (because after you dictate, you still have to edit...), I wouldn't be able to write.
That would be bad.
I need to go see my Eye Lady, get examined, and get both sets of glasses re-fitted with new prescriptions. This—as usual, each time it needs to be done every year and a half or two years, due to Weird Eyes—is going to run into a low-four-figure-ish kind of money. And due to other recent unexpected medical expenses, right now there's not enough dosh around (or spondoolicks or whatever term you prefer...) to get things sorted.
Therefore: can I get people interested in keeping a writer, you know, writing (as I've got three novels working at once at the moment...), to consider doing one of these things?
(a) Go over to Ebooks Direct and buy a book. (Or a bundle. Or a gift card for somebody else who might like my work.) And if you do: thanks so much!
(b) Stop by my Ko-Fi and drop a little something in the pot. It'll be most appreciated.
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Shout out to @curiouspupsicle, who ran with the Throwback Thursday retrospective look at older Good Omens fics several weeks back (check out their blog). This week, @carry-the-sky joins in with a tasty-looking (you should pardon the expression) read: putting the "sex" in excessive. (Because they should have their picnic, as many times as we want to write it.) And @quitequaintrelle offers feel the earthquake in the room -- post-season-2 husbands finding their way back to each other, bonus Jesus doing cannonballs in the hotel pool. Smashing that to-read button.
I almost forgot it was Thursday, myself. But for some reason, I've been thinking repeatedly about this fic lately:
This tale grew in the telling, as a famous author once put it. I only meant to write a wistful one-shot, built around the idea of Crowley's forging a bond with the surviving unicorn in the cold open, and what that could mean given the mythic characteristics of unicorns. I wrote it under the influence -- of a poem, that is, Augusta Gregory's Donal Og, which is full of regret for giving one's heart: "You promised me a thing that is not possible."
And as will happen... Sixteen thousand words later it was a trip through the ages, angst, feelings unspoken, reconciliation, and resolution.
That You May Be Without A Mate Until You Find Me -- rated M, ~16,000 words
The long fingers were moving in the silvery mane. To Heaven, Crowley was outcast and damned, curst above all cattle and every beast of the field, but the unicorn didn't seem to know that, or care if it did. Aziraphale paused briefly, knowing his approach would startle the beast. The sight cracked his heart, which he was morally certain he had (their corporations had been made in the perfect image of mortals, down, so far as he could tell, to every niggling detail) but not sure he needed.
That might be a good thing. He was even less sure it belonged to him any more.
Twelve chapters, spanning the period from the Ark to after "to the world," and saturated in all the history and literature I soaked up in college and didn't get to use much in "real life."
Do you have a fic that took on a life of its own? Drop a link in the notes!
Tagging in the replies as usual; drop a note if you want on or off the list.
I write mainly Good Omens, along with occasional ventures into Sherlock Holmes (BBC and ACD), Doctor Who, and my first love, Star Trek. Find my fic here on AO3.
