#SherlockLove💜

by Holmesianlove

Because I'm impatient. Just like all of you. Have another chapter!

Chapter 4: The Contract

The flat was indeed lovelier than my own. An eclectic mix of antiques, interesting books, experiment paraphernalia and papers strewn everywhere. He had what I am fairly sure was a Stradivarius simply laid out on a table as if it held no value. A skull sat on the mantle. An actual human skull! The fire was already well stoked. Somehow, his rooms were equal measures of eerie and homely all at once. 

I nodded as I looked about. 

“So?” he asked eagerly, hands placed behind his back in anticipation, watching me.

“What exactly am I agreeing to here… Mister…?” I asked, realising we hadn’t even finished our formal introductions yet.

“Holmes. It’s Sherlock Holmes. I sleep during the day. I’m not very talkative. And I tend to work a lot during the night. I may want you to come with me at times, or I may need you to do some leg work for me during the daylight hours while I rest. I can’t be out during the day.”

I looked across at him, finding his statement odd, and yet he continued as if this was nothing out of the ordinary to mention. Then again, placed amongst so many other oddities it did somehow seem strangely normal.

“I can be moody. I don’t eat or drink much. I can play my violin for hours on end. It helps me think. I am not very sociable. But you won’t have to pay much rent. That is mostly taken care of. It’s comfortable. It’s central. And I will pay you a wage. It’s certainly nicer than that place you are currently lodging in.” 

I opened my mouth to argue, extremely affronted. Then again, he was not incorrect in his assessment of it. This entire encounter should have made me immensely uncomfortable but I was instead confused to find that I was enthralled by it. My pulse was thrumming with excitement. I was entertained. I did not want to leave the room, despite a very small part of my instincts trying to urge me that there was danger here.

He looked at me and there was something hopeful in his eyes. He needed me. I wasn’t sure I understood why. I was certainly confused by the whole situation. Despite this, I had nothing else going on in my life. I was only waiting out the days until I thought of a more interesting way to end my own and somehow he knew that. I had nothing to lose. And so it was agreed. We shook hands briefly and he gave me a key. The man’s hands were the iciest I had ever felt. He quickly let go and mumbled something about bad circulation, misplacing his gloves and needing to sit by the fire amongst his apologies as he thanked me with a gentle smile which I found to be quite lovely. It was the first time I had seen him smile openly. We made arrangements for my belongings to be brought to the flat the next day and with that, I said my farewells and left. I practically floated home, unsure if I had imagined the encounter, half expecting to find it had been a dream.

Chapter 5 tomorrow...

The link to AO3

A huge thank you to @helloliriels for the stunning cover art created for #FTH2026

Thank you to all my lovely supporters who have read my writing before. Please let me know if you want me to remove you before the next part! Or if you’d like to be tagged

@otter-von-bismarck @silvergoldsea @calaisreno @westandforships @fuck-off-watson-rp @notjustamumj @melodious-me @sherlocke3d

@therealalexisamess-blog @e-b1838 @rhasima @salmonsown @tropelovingpainter 

@dw91165 @pileofstardust2106 @moonkeller @surprisinglyokay @r4venlyn  @wssh13 @br-nz @solarmama-plantsareneat @givemesherbet-blog-blog

@sillygirlsmindpalace @johnlockficclub @rainstarboii @bheadhe @battledress @kholkate @randomquadballpun 

@kittenmadnessandtea @whatnext2020 @egregiously-chuffed @chriscalledmesweetie @catlock-holmes @starlitkeys @lumilama @yorkiepug @talkativeanxiousturtle @kettykika78 

by Holmesianlove

I will post a chapter each day (there are 14)  AO3 link below as well.

Chapter 3 - Avoidance

I brought him a cup of tea, and those eyes never left me. He had not said a word. It was incredibly unnerving. I had not received a name, or an explanation. He had followed me willingly, once the police had released him into my care. It felt strange, to lie, to take charge of a situation, in order to ensure the mystery man didn’t leave my sight again. In truth, I wasn’t entirely convinced that he was real until the Inspector had arrived and started speaking to him in person. Until that moment I was convinced I was hallucinating. How could the man I had seen on a few strange and isolated occasions, usually either drunk, or in agony, be right here in front of me? Surely it could only be explained as another hallucination? Perhaps a response to trauma? I had witnessed a murder and in my moment of horror, the very same man had appeared again? Surely that must be it. Only this time he was real. This time? Had he been real every time? Or only this time? I had so many questions. Was I allowed to ask them? Would he even speak to me? How could he possibly have been present at the Battle of Maiwand? Surely that one had been a hallucination?

I sat opposite him. “I’m… ah… Watson. Doctor… John Watson,” I offered awkwardly.

He smiled at his tea cup, not looking at me. “I know,” he said, nodding.

I frowned. “You… you know?”

He simply nodded as his only reply.

“Well how is that possible? We’ve never met!” I asked.

His smirk was somehow equal measures of irritating and charming because he was clearly in on some sort of joke that I had no knowledge of and I didn’t enjoy not knowing.

“Doctor John H. Watson studied at St Bartholomew's Hospital in London, receiving your medical degree from the University of London, with further training at Netley as an assistant surgeon in the British Army. Sent to India with the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers Regiment of Foot before being attached to the Sixty-sixth Berksire Regiment of Foot. Wounded at the Battle of Maiwand, suffered an enteric fever and sent back to England on the troopship HMS Orontes. Your family is all gone now and you’re leading a rather tragic and lonely life wandering London and drinking yourself to an early grave, which is a sad and sorry state of affairs given your god-given talent as a surgeon and the fact that you have simply got a psychosomatic limp.”

“You read Heinroth? You know of psychosomatic disorders?” Was all I could think of to say in reply as I sank back in my chair. I swallowed hard, staring at the man who simply stared back. “And besides, I assure you my limp is…”

“You left your cane in that alleyway and you haven’t needed it for an hour. You practically carried me up that staircase without it,” the man said simply, to end the discussion. “This is a rather depressing flat, if I may observe.”

“You are rather impertinent, for a man who very nearly died and was just rescued.”

“Oh I assure you that was mere theatre,” he retorted.

“I beg your pardon?”

“For your benefit,“ he added, with a little bow of his head.

“For my…?!”

“Indeed.” He gave a half smile and then sipped his tea politely and returned his cup to his lap.

I looked horrified. I was certain of that. The man was entirely far too familiar. And yet somehow I was intrigued and excited by it. No one had ever been close enough to me to be bestowed that honour. He made my pulse beat faster. I had no idea what he would say next and it was the most electrifying thing I had ever felt.

He sipped at his tea again, his eyes never leaving mine, making every one of my nerve endings light up without having to lift a finger to touch me. He was… observing me. And enjoying it.

“Are you going to tell me about yourself then?” I attempted to ask.

He simply shook his head slowly from side to side, still maintaining eye contact.

“I have a spare room, nicer than this. Perhaps you would like to see it? I could use a doctor. If you would like employment?”

“What exactly were you doing in that alleyway?” I asked.

“Not important.” He put down the cup and grabbed his coat. “Come on then. I assume you’re interested.” And with that he walked out, expecting me to follow. His coat billowed behind him in a ridiculous and enticing flourish as he left the room.

“My life isn’t tragic and lonely!” I called out to him as I sat there for all of a minute longer before I finally leapt up and followed.

Chapter 4 tomorrow…

A huge thank you to @helloliriels for the stunning cover art created for #FTH2026

Read from the beginning on AO3

Thank you to all my lovely supporters who have read my writing before. Please let me know if you want me to remove you before the next part! Or if you’d like to be tagged

@otter-von-bismarck @silvergoldsea @calaisreno @westandforships @fuck-off-watson-rp @notjustamumj @melodious-me @sherlocke3d

@therealalexisamess-blog @e-b1838 @rhasima @salmonsown @tropelovingpainter @dw91165 @pileofstardust2106 @moonkeller @surprisinglyokay @r4venlyn  

@wssh13 @br-nz @solarmama-plantsareneat @givemesherbet-blog-blog @sillygirlsmindpalace @johnlockficclub @rainstarboii @bheadhe 

@battledress @kholkate @randomquadballpun @kittenmadnessandtea @whatnext2020 @egregiously-chuffed @chriscalledmesweetie @catlock-holmes

@starlitkeys @lumilama @yorkiepug @talkativeanxiousturtle @kettykika78 

@givemesherbet-blog-blog @naefelldaurk @a-victorian-girl @phoenix27884 @peanitbear 

by Holmesianlove

A huge thank you to @helloliriels for the stunning cover art created for #FTH2026 I will post a chapter each day (there are 14)  AO3 link below as well. Let me know if you want to be tagged for updates!

Chapter 2 - Making Acquaintances

When I awoke I was told that I suffered an enteric fever and had been unconscious for three weeks. A soldier had brought me in from the battlefield and somehow, I had miraculously healed. I was sent home to London. Home is such a subjective word for it, though, with no family, and a pension barely worthy to live off. Adding to that an injury which made it impossible to work, I almost longed to have died in the war, or perhaps to have been sent back to be killed properly to have ended the emptiness that festered inside. For many days upon my return, I wandered aimlessly, finding myself hopelessly drawn back to establishments. Somehow, I thought if I could achieve that state of mind I had been in the night before I first travelled to war, I might find that stranger again, that face with the magic eyes. Maybe I could somehow conjure him up from somewhere. I knew it was a ridiculous fantasy, for no matter how many times I tried, I was left feeling empty, helpless and alone. 

Well, perhaps not alone. There was always something strange. I constantly felt like I was being observed. However, when I turned, there was never anyone behind me. It seemed paranoia had been a gift I had returned with also. The only relief I found from it was at the end of a bottle. When I had the coin spare I would find myself at a variety of taverns in the town, it mattered not which ones. I spent many early hours limping about the London streets, stumbling aimlessly, alone with no purpose, feeling helpless. For what was a soldier with no mission, a surgeon with no patients, a man with no family meant to do with his life? I was utterly useless on this earth now. 

It was on one particular night, as I bumbled about, that I was to come upon an attack in a nearby alleyway. I heard a scuffle and some loud grunting. I looked down into the dimly lit, narrow space to see a group of people, all in dark clothing. It was hard to tell how many were there, or what was the cause of the commotion. Was it a strange lover’s tryst? Was it a mugging? A murder? Should I involve myself at all? My soldier’s instinct, boredom and if I was honest, the fact that I had no desire to live made me move forward, faster than I had anticipated. I dropped my cane and rushed into the alley.

“You there? What are you about? Do you need assistance?” I called, as I moved toward the noise. 

The shuffling instantly stopped, the huddle froze, but no faces appeared.

“I say, do you need help?” I tried again.

I heard whispering and suddenly the group dispersed. One body remained on the ground, unmoving. Another collapsed back and three pushed past me, as they took off at an alarming speed. I knew I wouldn’t be able to catch them; not in my state of injury and drink. I rushed forward to observe a lady who was pale and somewhat beyond help and a man in a weakened state. I saw familiar dark curls and as he turned his head to look at me, I knew at once.

“It’s you,” I gasped as he closed his light eyes and let his head drop back to the ground.

Chapter 3 tomorrow…

Thank you to all my lovely supporters who have read my writing before. Please let me know if you want me to remove you before the next part! Or let me know if you'd like to be tagged!

@otter-von-bismarck @silvergoldsea @calaisreno@westandforships @fuck-off-watson-rp @notjustamumj @melodious-me @sherlocke3d

@therealalexisamess-blog @e-b1838 @rhasima @salmonsown @tropelovingpainter @dw91165 @pileofstardust2106 @moonkeller @surprisinglyokay @r4venlyn  

@wssh13 @br-nz @solarmama-plantsareneat @givemesherbet-blog-blog @sillygirlsmindpalace @johnlockficclub @rainstarboii @bheadhe 

@battledress @kholkate @randomquadballpun @kittenmadnessandtea @whatnext2020 @egregiously-chuffed @chriscalledmesweetie @catlock-holmes

@starlitkeys @lumilama @yorkiepug @talkativeanxiousturtle @kettykika78 @givemesherbet-blog-blog @naefelldaurk @a-victorian-girl @phoenix27884 @peanitbear 

by Holmesianlove

A huge thank you to @helloliriels for the stunning cover art created for #FTH2026 to go with this story. Our fandom is so lucky to have artists of this calibre! BIG LOVE TO YOU!

I will post a chapter each day (there are 14) and they will also go up on AO3 as well.

I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1 - Obsession

The first time I encountered him was the night before I deployed. Whisky-laden and uneasy, my judgement was no doubt questionable, but even then, there was no mistaking the colour of those eyes. In the dim, flickering candle light, I somehow instinctively recognised they were the wildest blue-green hue like the sea right before a storm takes hold. I’d seen nothing like them before. They seemed to bore a hole right through the centre of my chest and took hold in my brain at the very same time. How it was possible I could not tell you. I was transfixed, reminded instantly of my last visit to my grandmother’s home in Aberdeen, when I would sit on the rocky hill, watching the ships as they were tossed about in rough seas, bringing the soldiers home from battle. Back when my own dreams of becoming a soldier first took hold. I could not have invented those eyes in my own imagination. As they glared through me from across the bar, my heart leapt in my chest as if he was controlling the very rhythm of my atria and ventricles. He drew me to him, urging me closer. Yet, before I could even get off my stool to move, he had vanished just as if he had never been there. 

Time to go to bed, Watson, I admonished myself. At the time, I assumed it was the drink that was responsible for the strange encounter. 

The rock-hard mattress upstairs in my pub lodgings were not in any way conducive to sleeping but it was all my meagre coin could afford me before boarding the ship to head off to battle and I put the strange occurrence out of my mind.

The second time we crossed paths was on the battlefield. When I was shot in fact. In the midst of the Second Anglo-Afghan War, at the Battle of Maiwand, as I tended to the wounded. There I was, a surgeon trying to heal the injured, when I was shot by a bloody jezail bullet, right through the shoulder; or so the tale was recounted to me after the fact. One minute I was upright and the next, I was staring up at a sky, grey with clouds and surrounded by smoke, explosions and shouting. All muffled around me as my body processed the shock. I wasn’t sure how long I lay there but suddenly those eyes came swiftly into focus. Those sea-glass eyes, crazed with concern and fear, instantly above me. 

I’ve been told that pain and shock create the strangest of coping mechanisms. I have heard many an unusual tale from soldiers in their beds – parents or siblings that have visited from across the seas, long dead relatives, impossible visions that men recall with unmitigated seriousness. Of course none of it is true. I suspect whatever inebriated vision I had in that pub, manifested out of a fear of going to war, had visited me again as I lay bleeding out on the field awaiting my death. Probably my hippocampus - my younger self, remembering the proud desire for battle - invented him entirely to begin with. His dark, beautiful curls framing that pale perfect skin which made those eyes all the more alluring and those bowed lips... Lord, he was a magnificent sight. If I was dying, it wasn’t a bad way to leave this earth, that was for sure. My breathing slowed and I felt an incredible calm come over me that he had found me again. I closed my eyes and I was sure I felt a gentle, cold hand touch my cheek.

Chapter 2 tomorrow...

If you're AO3 inclined

Thank you to all my lovely supporters who have read my writing before. Please let me know if you want me to remove you before the next part!

@otter-von-bismarck @silvergoldsea @calaisreno

@westandforships @fuck-off-watson-rp @notjustamumj @melodious-me @sherlocke3d

@therealalexisamess-blog @e-b1838 @rhasima @salmonsown @tropelovingpainter 

@dw91165 @pileofstardust2106 @moonkeller @surprisinglyokay @r4venlyn  

@wssh13 @br-nz @solarmama-plantsareneat @givemesherbet-blog-blog

@sillygirlsmindpalace @johnlockficclub @rainstarboii @bheadhe 

@battledress @kholkate @randomquadballpun 

@kittenmadnessandtea @whatnext2020 @egregiously-chuffed @chriscalledmesweetie @catlock-holmes

@starlitkeys @lumilama @yorkiepug @talkativeanxiousturtle @kettykika78 

@givemesherbet-blog-blog @naefelldaurk @a-victorian-girl @phoenix27884 @peanitbear