Johnlock Imagines

"Hello, everyone! Sorry, it's been a while since my last video," he rubs the back of his neck a bit shyly. "Since Rosie has begun walking, it's been a lot busier around 221 B."

He points the camera at the flat, showing the hodgepodge of baby's toys and Sherlock's books and papers. "Tell me you live with two children without telling me you live with two children."

"I heard that," came the dry, unamused voice of Sherlock. "I put my chemicals on a higher shelf. I'm not a child, I listen."

"Yeah," John walks from the living area and into the kitchen where Sherlock is sitting behind his microscope. "Rosie still listens better than you."

"Give me one example," Sherlock leans away from his microscope and folds his arms expectantly.

"She goes down to bed when it's time for bed, with minimal whining," John begins. "She eats all of her vegetables, she lets me wipe her face when it's-"

"I let you wipe my face!"

"You thrash, Sherlock!"

"...Don't upload the video."

"Sherlock, it's live."

"..."

NeedMilkASAP

GoApologiseToHudson

SherlockEatSomething

MyJumpersAreNotUgly

WhyAreYourShirtsSoTight

YourBrotherMeansWell

YouAreTheLoveOfMyLife

He spends more time than he would ever admit to a living soul... just staring at them. 

John watches the way Sherlock’s lips gently touch the rim of the mug he uses to drink his tea. He watches the annoyed curl of the detective’s lips when Anderson (or Mycroft) enter the room. He watches the quick flash of pink as Sherlock’s tongue darts over his full bottom lip before man’s mouth slants up into a smirk once the game has begun yet again. 

He watches- 

“Why are you staring at me?” Sherlock asks one night that they sit alone in the flat. And, frankly, it takes John by surprise -- John’s not even looking at Sherlock. 

John’s on his laptop, as ever. Not writing a blog this time, just embarrassingly reading a click-bait article about No-Bake Desserts. He doesn’t remember how he even got there. Wasn’t he just reading about the latest sporting match? John doesn’t even make desserts. Though, he does consider saving one or two of the recipes to show Mrs. Hudson.

“Sherlock, you’re far too smart for me to even need to explain to you that I’m not even facing your side of the room,” John mumbles as he closes the recipe tab he’d been reading. 

“Not currently,” Sherlock says from the sofa. “I’m addressing the habit you’ve acquired.”

“Habit?” John echoes. 

“You seem to do it religiously, so yes. Habit,” Sherlock shifts, smoothing his dressing gown over his lap. “So, why is it?”

John excepts that he’s been caught, then. Sherlock’s noticed -- of course he has. He’s Sherlock bloody Holmes. 

“I...” John could lie now. Would it be enough to convince Sherlock?

“Yes?” 

He could lie. He could lie. He has to lie. But...he’s already moving. 

Across the room, socked feet only making whispers over the creaky floorboards as he walks.

“John?” Sherlock’s confused, and John’s too focused on moving in a straight line from point A to point B to even revel in the rare state of a confused Holmes. 

The doctor reaches Sherlock in a few steps, far more than Sherlock’s long legs would have to take. But, he’s there. Standing in front of Sherlock. 

The detective’s eyes watch John carefully, mind racing to try and figure out what John wants before John even does. But, he’s not fast enough -- John’s hands are already caressing his gorgeous jaw bone. 

And finally, finally, John is able to feel Sherlock’s soft mouth. The pad of John’s thumb goes over the plush bottom lip -- it’s just as soft as John has imagined. Velvety and smooth. Sherlock’s breath is warm over John’s skin when Sherlock finally remembers to exhale. 

“John?”

a nod of the head: everything is alright

a touch on the wrist: I am here/I need you/I’m listening

a brush across the shoulders: I’d rather be alone with you/Let’s go home

a puff of breath against the neck: what you said was funny/I’m annoyed

But, the thing John is noticing the most is the slight tug on his right hand every so many steps. At first he doesn't understand what the small and sudden tugs are.

However, after getting lost in thought for a few moments, and only watching their feet along the path, John notices one of Sherlock's feet reaching out to step on a fallen leaf.

Crunch! Followed by a slight twitch of a smile on Sherlock’s face. 

John can’t help but be touched at this, because every time Sherlock steps on  fallen leaf -- he smiles. The same man who was called a freak, a sociopath, the man who was claimed to be so hated...He was being so soft. John wanted to share that softness with Sherlock, or at the very least -- keep him smiling. 

Crunch! John reached his foot out to step on a leaf. 

Sherlock smiles, John smiles. They step on fallen leaves. 

Crying!! Oh my gosh – you’re lovely. What a kind message thanks. And, you’re welcome, m’dear <3

YOU’RE WELCOME, I LIKE SHOUTING. Love you :)

You’re such a great friend, and a really brave person. Thanks for being awesome, let’s talk soon – or else. Pfft jk <3

~Violet 

That’s great to hear! It makes me happy to post, so I’ll keep doing so and we can be happy together <3

Frequent Rider Cards do come with a discount this time of year, as well as free smoothies and shock blankets. Thanks for visiting! :)

Your English is brilliant, thanks so much! This made me smile ✨🐝

Sherlock has his head hung in shame. “On the wall.” He mumbles.

“Sorry, didn’t quite catch that.” John folds his arms. 

“On the wall.” Sherlock says louder, then cuts his eyes to the ginger haired puppy who is sitting and panting happily as if nothing is wrong. He gives the pup an accusing glare. “In my defense, it was all going well before-”

“The paint was supposed to go on the wall, and now it’s all over the both of you.” John too cuts his eyes to the pup, whose ginger coat is mottled with white paint. “I have to give both of you baths now, I suppose.” John sighs, then notices Sherlock’s smirk. “A clinical bath, you clot.”

Sherlock stops smirking and puts down the paint roller in the pan. “As if you’ll be able to resist me once I’m undressed.” He begins undoing the buttons on his shirt as he leaves the room. “I’ll give you five minutes before you-”

“Don’t forget you’re in trouble!” John warns. 

“Hm, even more a reason to indulge.”

It has been just over a year since Bendybobert Cackleboob was first seen on the streets, saving the people of London from danger and crime. 

Not to be an airhead, but Benedict was really loving the publicity and the freedom his secret identity gave him. He could go on the streets without being asked for a photograph,or even a signature. Though, that didn’t last long. Before long, his superhero name was in the tabloids nearly as much as his real one was. And…for that reason… 

He decided to give up his hero work…once and for all. 

- Somewhere Across Town - 

“Sir, are you sure you want to do through with this?” The minion asks. 

“Of course.” Benjamin Cumberbatch grins in the mirror, his face just as angular as his twin brother’s. “My brother has no idea what hell I’m about to rain down on this city. He has no idea who I even am.”

“Who…who are you, Sir? What villainous name have you chosen?”

With a stroke of his facial hair, and a smirk evil enough to strike fear through anyone may see it, Benjamin says: “Bandersnatch Cucumperbatch”.

This message is from T&K?

Steven Moffat 

Mark Gatiss

I see you villain – I SEE YOU!

As John slowly separates their lips, he tugs Sherlock’s forehead down to his own and brings their temples gently together twice. Though Sherlock notices it happening, he has no urge at all to question it. Not when his mind is already spiraling after the first touch of John’s lips against his own. Foreheads be damned. 

But, Sherlock notices the double-tap again. This time at night, in their bed. John’s holding Sherlock from behind, arms secured around the detective’s waist. Sherlock is drifting off into the milky feeling of sleep, when he feels a small ‘bump-bump’ against the bare skin along his spine – followed by a small puff of warm air as John sighs contently.

What was it? Why does John do that?

Sherlock applies some rather embarrassing internet searches to the topic of forehead-bumping your partners...but comes up with nothing but juvenile sites for teens venturing off into the ‘Exciting World of Relationships’, as well as sites that gives tips on executing a successful headbutt that will knock out an attacker in one go.

Neither of those help. So, Sherlock assumes it’s just a John-thing. Which is fine, because that means it’s going to be easier to figure out. Sherlock just needs to focus on it better.

Two and a half weeks into the Bump Study, and Sherlock’s not really gotten anywhere.

What originally Sherlock thought was an action done after kissing, turns out to be an action done before falling asleep, after saying hello, before saying goodbye, after an argument, after tea, in the middle of watching a film, etc.

What does it mean??

One day, Sherlock gets fed up with not knowing. He hates not knowing.

“What is that?” Sherlock asks, and in confusion, John looks down at the only thing he has currently.

John waves a hand toward his plate. “Toast with peach jam…?”

“Damn the jam, John.” Sherlock rubs the heels of his palms against his eyes. “The head thing, what is it?”

“Your skull…?”

“Oh, John. I envy you.”

John rolls his eyes. “Yes, yes. I know.” He says. “Lucky John gets to be an idiot, while I, the Sherlock have to lug the weight of my big brain around.”

Sherlock peeks up from between his fingers. “You take that back.”

“You probably only have curls to hide the massiveness of your head that your brain causes.”

“I just. Want to know. Why you bump me with your forehead.” Sherlock can’t believe the conversation they’re having.

“Oh,” John’s frozen for a moment, then he’s shifting about. “It’s just…”

Sherlock is quite literally on the edge of his seat. “Yes??”

John is blushing. “I do it for a lot of reasons.”

Sherlock’s mouth falls open, then snaps shut. "Goodness, John. Your ability to specify leaves our country forever indebted.”

“Prick,” John dry-laughs. “Anyway, it’s words, Sherlock.”

“…Words?”

“Each tap is usually a word, and sometimes it’s a single word with two syllables.”

“Tell me. Which words?”

"Okay,” John says. “Warning though, this is very sappy.”

“So be it. Sap on.”

“The words are: ‘thank you’,” John gets out of his chair. “’Need you’, ‘want you’, ‘love you’, ‘hate you’…” He stops in front of Sherlock, leans down until he’s close enough to softly bring their foreheads together twice. “’Sher-Lock’.”

John breaks the name into its two separate sounds to show how it fits into the double-tap.

“Is he giving you a hard time?” He takes his jacket off and hangs it up on its hook.

“How was work?” Comes Sherlock’s response, not taking his eyes off Billy.

“Not as dull as it could’ve been.” 

“Good.”

Sherlock finally turns to face John, and Sherlock watches as John’s face creases, then softens. He can’t tell what John’s expression means.

“What is it?” Sherlock asks.

John doesn’t say anything, just crosses the room to him. “Come here, Sherlock.” When John is close enough, he reaches his hands up towards Sherlock’s face.

A million signals go off in Sherlock’s brain as the other man cups his jaw: John. John is touching me – my face, my skin. Why? Is he – he’s pulling me closer. Eyes, his eyes. His mouth. John. He is…is he going to–

John tilts Sherlock’s face down, closer to his own. Sherlock’s pulse is accelerating enough to throw off his own breathing, John notices that.

“Don’t worry,” John says, brushing his thumb over Sherlock’s jaw in comfort. “I’m not trying to – it’s just, you’ve got a welt on your forehead. What happened?”

“Oh…” Sherlock takes himself from John’s hold, trying not to seem flustered. “Goggles incident.”