#bwi writes

we're just gonna like. pretend I didn't stop functioning for a month.

🤫

"You are going to get us caught," Sherlock scolded when the footsteps faded.

"I'm going to get us caught?" James repeated incredulously. "You're the one making a racket every time I touch you." He put on a breathy accent. "Oh, James, please, I need -"

Sherlock cut him off with a pillow to the face. "I do not sound like that."

"You sound exactly like that.”

"Get out of my room."

"No."

"Out, James."

👗:

Being with James was an… informative experience, to say the least. It’d never occurred to Sherlock these sorts of actions would be so enjoyable, and yet night after night he was left trembling in his arms, contented in ways he’d not thought possible. His lack of prior experience was not the detriment he initially feared it would be, as James seemed to enjoy it. Prefer it, even, if the way he cooed when introducing Sherlock to something new was any indication.

There was something almost nurturing about it. Sherlock might have gone so far as to describe him as sweet.

🩸:

It wasn’t his fault.

At least, that’s what James would have said. Sure, he’d probably have given Sherlock another round of hell about not being a quicker shot, but he wouldn’t have blamed him. No one could have expected a bullet to the shoulder would end up like this. It was bad luck. His own carelessness, not bothering to tell anyone his wound had reopened in the mine explosion. A shoddy stitching job in the first place, not the kind of attention Sherlock had gotten.

hi my lovely!

👗:

“Look at you,” James said, voice soft. He approached Sherlock slowly, like he was a wild animal liable to be scared off by a sudden movement. “Oh, Sherlock.”

Sherlock lifted his chin, fisting his hands in the sides of the skirt. He willed himself to stay perfectly still as James circled him. There came the feeling of the brush of a hand over the small of his back and he shivered, melting immediately into the touch. James stepped around him, hooking his arm around his waist and pulling him chest to chest.

@shewolf-sinclair 🌸:

There was something wrong with James.

What exactly it was, Sherlock couldn't have said. The one time he'd asked, he'd been brushed off with a smile anyone else might have taken as real. But Sherlock knew him even when James didn't want him to, and he knew he was lying through his teeth. The details eluded him, but the situation itself did not.

silent fury (also posted on ao3)

He doesn't think. He just hits.

The world fades around him and all he can hear is his own ragged breathing. He's sure there's a sound somewhere — screaming, maybe, or the thump of fist bouncing a head onto stone — but he doesn't hear it. There's blood on his hand. There's blood on the ground.

There's blood on Sherlock, hands folded over his stomach, a knife sticking through his fingers.

James sees red, and he hears nothing, and the more he hits the more he hurts.

He thinks the man under him stops breathing.

dice

"I have no idea what I'm doing," Chrissy said, a little nervously.

Eddie covered her hand in his. "It's easy," he said, voice low in her ear, and she shuddered. "Just shake and drop."

tagged by @ashyjingles

“Ah,” James said dismissively. “Unless you're of a particular inclination, there's nothing to say for it. I did hit you.” He said it like it negated everything he'd done before and after.

“A particular inclination?” Curiosity snapped at Sherlock's thoughts.

James opened one eye, looked at him silently, and then closed it again.

“James. What inclination?”

“Nothing,” James said. “I'm only having a laugh. You don’t need to thank me.”

Well, now it was a matter of principle, and of the many things Sherlock had been called over the years, stubborn was high among them. He set his drink down and rubbed his palms over his thighs.

“What?” He started. “Should I get on my knees?”

starsign

"Did you know that your star sign is Leo?" Erica flopped onto Derek's bed.

"I don't know what that means," he said, "but shoes off my sheets."