Day 1

[day 2]

prompts: clue | velvet | museum

DISCLAIMER: when i laid in my bed and thought of what i could write in the middle of the night... i had the word 'glue' in my mind. i came up with this thing and i like it, so i just took the liberty and changed it. therefore: CLUE -> GLUE here (:

fandom: BBC Sherlock

hello my lovely turtles i am joining @fluffbruary, yay! (let's see how long i'll pull through with it)

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This is gonna sound weird but there are three kinds of people: some are like glue, others are like velvet and still others are like museums.

But wait! Before you log off saying "Dr. Watson has finally gone senile in his old days", please stay and consider this!

The first group: glue-people. The reason as to why they are called glue-people, is because they stick with you. Of course there are some, who are of better quality, who really stick with you your whole life. Hopefully that would be a parent or sibling. Others however - and I hate to break this to you - will only be around for a short while; those would be, for example, school friends. You love them, they love you, maybe they will stick along for longer but they'll probably just be here during your school years. But with the term 'glue-people' I mostly mean those who are meant to be around for you, all their life.

Then there are velvet-people. Velvet-people are - as you probably imagine already - the softest kind. They smooth your worries and anxieties. They are the ones that bring you tea and carefully touch your forehead when you're sick. They hold your hands through tough times and embrace you when they are proud. They are the ones who put a smile on you, when you just were about to cry your heart out. Lots of velvet-people are glue-people, soft and sticking around. Not all glue-people are velvet-people, they might stick around but might be about as velvet as sandpaper.

Almost no museum-people are glue-people. Because museum-people... those are special. They are rarities, hardly ever found, and utterly fascinating. You hear of them and you are immediately mesmerized. You wanna look at them all day and read up all the information you can gather. And you do and for a while they are all you ever wanna know. But in the end... museum-people are exhausting. You spent all day with them, tried to find out everything about them and eventually still just know a fraction of them. Still, you will never get enough of some of those museum-people. They keep feeding you with new curiosity about their mysterious personalities.

But- oh, my dear readers! Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock Holmes is all of them. Fascinating and breathtaking like a museum. Soft and warm like velvet. And - thankfully - he'll stick around until the end like glue.

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Hi y’all! I hope everyone’s doing okay while we’re in quarantine :) I know mental health can tank during times like this, so I hope I can help a little bit with a piece of johnlock fluff for you all.

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Sherlock remembers every kiss, every touch, every skin to skin, mouth to mouth contact he and John shared. Every sense gets heightened when he feels John’s hands on his skin. He remembers their first kiss, after the high of a chase with backs against a wall of 221b, breathing heavily and laughing. A moment of euphoria, when he suddenly found John’s lips on his. He tasted of sweat and Earl Grey.

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He knows the feeling of John’s lips on his forehead when Sherlock is deep inside his mind palace, the feeling of John piercing his senses even when he’s deep in thought. His lips were always warm, and Sherlock always melted at the touch.

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He was beautifully familiar with the feeling of his head on John’s chest, feeling his chest fall at a steady rhythm. He had memorized his heartbeat, knowing the sound of each thump of the heart. He hoped he would never have to hear it stop.

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He loved the feeling of John’s arms around him. In the lull of the morning, with John’s arm loosely over his waist, heavy with sleep. In the kitchen while Sherlock looks at skin samples, when John’s arm snakes around his shoulders as he gets a quick kiss. His skin is smooth, his touch soft and Sherlock can’t get enough of it.

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The feeling of John’s hands. Smooth, yet calloused from the trauma of war. His fingers nimble when the grasp Sherlock’s own thin palm. His touch was always soft, lingering, and every nerve in Sherlock’s body relished in the feeling. In the cabs on the way to the Yard, when John takes his hand Sherlock holds it tightly and doesn’t let go. When Sherlock’s too deep in his head and John just takes his hand, bringing Sherlock back to their world.

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Sherlock (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Additional Tags: Fix-It, The Final Problem, Sherlock - Freeform, BBC Sherlock - Freeform, how it should have ended, universe where Sherlock and John watch the show BBC Sherlock made about their lives, Fluffy, TJLC, Johnlock - Freeform, i refuse to believe that was the ending to this beautiful story, My First Fanfic, My First Work in This Fandom, My First AO3 Post, i wrote this last night at 3am cause I couldn't sleep and was upset, twitter mentioned, TFP - Freeform, season 4, s4, s4e3, sherlock season 4 Summary:

Sherlock and John finish watching The Final Problem - the episode that was supposed to be history-making in terms of telling the story of their lives - and Sherlock finds himself disappointed with how the writers chose to conclude their story. So, he decides to fix the problem himself.

The Final Problem fix-it ficlet! I wrote this at 3am cause I couldn't sleep and was disappointed in how The Final Problem ended. Set in a universe where BBC Sherlock is written and created about the real-life lives of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. This is my first posting on here, so I hope you like it!

Back in the early days, when Sherlock and I worked together in synchrony like smooth-running gears, there was something in it of the blend of vocal harmonies. Of perfectly-matched dance partners. Or even—a thought I buried down deep—of lovemaking, when every movement is right and seamless.

There was always an awkward coming-down in the aftermath. A coming-apart in the return to normal life. After being two halves of one whole, it was uncomfortable to go back to being a monad. For Sherlock, even more than for me. I could see it in how his shoulders tensed up again and he put on that imperturbable mask again. His cloak of infallibility.

But it was lonely in there, and I could see that. 

It might also have been lonely in the bath, where he usually went to sluice off all the sweat, adrenaline, excitement. I never tried to shower first; bathing was his way out of discomfort, like a disconcerted cat, and I could wait.

But that one time. That last one before our first kiss. The atmosphere was electric and I knew I wasn’t going to let him come down without something—anything—changing. Even if it was for the worse. So just as he was drawing that deep breath that meant “back to ordinary life,” I moved in and kissed him.

keep reading below the cut, or at Solace and Joy

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