”While all fan fiction is to an extent AU these are the ones that are not canon compliant in that they have aspects of magic, take place in other fictional universes (I’m including crossovers in this sense), etc.. I hope you enjoy them.

“Come To Morning” by Sunnryder (Fanfiction.net) /  “Come To Morning” by Sunryder (AO3)

“LOTR Fusion. John Watson was a Shire Hobbit, born and bred, and he was terrible at it. Until Sherlock. Now he's running around Middle Earth trying to stop a killer, and avoid Mycroft's schemes, while pretending he wasn't half mad in love with the Elf.“ 

(There are 2 versions of this fic. The FF.net version is shorter and only has Sherlock and John’s version of the story. The AO3 version is longer and has the added story line of Bilbo/Thorin. They’re both amazing, and while I prefer the FF.net version I highly recommend them both.)

“You are a Paradigm” by 1ElectricPirate (AO3)

“Sometimes, only sometimes, when Sherlock is very far away and absolutely guaranteed not to return for at least three hours, John sits on the sofa and lets the tea make itself.

In which John is (reluctantly) a wizard, Mycroft is (apparently) omniscient, and Sherlock is (surprisingly) oblivious.”

“I See You Through” by BelovedMuerto (AO3)

“John has never asked Sherlock about his past, his childhood, the reason he quails in lonely misery almost every time he sees his brother. He’s never needed to.“

(This is part of a much longer series in which John is an empath. I love it. Writing this post took three hours because I stopped to read this fic, and a few of the others.)

“The Detective and The Demon” by Oreganotea  (AO3)

““Every demon on record is described as either monstrously terrifying or breathtakingly beautiful,” Sherlock says. “I have never heard of a demon with a forgettable face and a propensity for ugly jumpers.”

The demon looks down at his jumper. Okay, so it might not be the most flattering article of clothing in the world, but it sure looks a hell of a lot more comfortable than Sherlock’s two-sizes-too-small shirt.”

“No Intention” by KeelieThompson1  (AO3)

“Sherlock Holmes had his first experience of sex when he was sixteen years old, with a girl who was the daughter of his father's business partner, helped along with a stolen bottle of scotch and a rather ancient looking condom stolen from the wallet of an obnoxious party guest. Somehow, eleven years and three months later, he's faced with ten year old John Watson.”

(Normally I’m not a huge fan of fics where one is the other’s son, but this one is pretty great. The followup fic is one of my favourites as well. (Warning: Child Abuse))

“Faerie-Touched” by Blind_Author  (AO3)

“ In a world of sorcerers and magic, Sherlock is a Faerie-born and John, lacking any kind of magical talent, often seems a bit out of place. But he has a gift all his own... “

(This is a 5 Star fic and everyone should read it..... If you don’t want to read it there is also a podfic that isn’t half bad.)

“John’s Dragon” by winterhill (AO3)

“ Sherlock is peculiar, disgusting, and completely useless at being a decent dragon. “

(I love “How to Train Your Dragon” and this is pretty much the perfect crossover. I love this fic. It’s funny and it’s sweet. I cannot recommend it highly enough.)

“A Study in Winning” by Jupiter_Ash (AO3)

“ John and Sherlock are professional tennis players and it’s Wimbledon. One is a broken almost was at the end of his career, the other an arrogant rising star tipped for greatness. It should have been a straightforward tournament. It really should have been. How were they to know that a chance encounter would change everything? “

(I cannot even begin to describe how much I love “Wimbledon”. It is honestly my favourite romantic-comedy (Which is a genre that usually gives me hives). So finding this fusion was a freaking god-send.)

Adieu,

Today marks my first Tumblr post. I have, in the past, attempted to blog, and it has, needless to say, failed. So I thought I would go with something that I really like: Fan Fiction. I like what I like. I like movies and TV shows and books, and the unfortunate thing about liking such finite things is that they must eventually come to an end. Fan Fiction is the opportunity to enter into the world of works of fiction from a new perspective, and to see my favorite characters in new stories. So in my premier post I will present some of my favourite fics. I hope you enjoy them.

Sherlock:

It’s been done before, and it will be done again, but I would be remiss if I didn’t recommend it:

Mad_Lori’s “Performance in a Leading Role”

“Sherlock Holmes is an Oscar winner in the midst of a career slump. John Watson is an Everyman actor trapped in the rom-com ghetto. When they are cast as a gay couple in a new independent drama, will they surprise each other? Will their on-screen romance make its way into the real world?”

This is one of my all time favourite fan fics. It is pretty close to perfection. The story is amazing, the writing is beautiful, and It makes you fall in love with Sherlock and John all over again. If you are a fan of the Sherlock fandom and you haven’t read this fic you definitely should.

Avengers:

It’s been awhile since I read this fic, but I remember loving it while I was reading it, and I would recommend it to anyone who loves a Tony-centric story:

MountainRose’s “Arc Tremors”

“Tony's light had flickered out in the aftermath of the fight with the Chitauri, but his team was there and, hey, he'd just been to space, give a guy some slack. The next morning they accepted, but when he collapses weeks later, they're not going to let him brush it off again, and neither is JARVIS.”

I really don’t know what else to say about this fic, but it was everything I hoped for and more. It was totally Tony-centered but it was also about JARVIS, and whats not to love about a lovable AI.

Merlin:

I just read it recently, and while I don’t “squee” often I totally did while reading this:

FayJay’s “The Student Prince”

“A Modern day Merlin AU set at the University of St Andrews, featuring teetotal kick boxers, secret wizards, magnificent bodyguards of various genders, irate fairies, imprisoned dragons, crumbling gothic architecture, arrogant princes, adorable engineering students, stolen gold, magical doorways, attempted assassination, drunken students, shaving foam fights, embarrassing mornings after, The Hammer Dance, duty, responsibility, friendship and true love... “

I’m just glad that no one could hear me while I was reading this fic, because I take my status as a chill and stoic being very seriously, and squeeing at fan fiction could have caused some serious damage to my street cred.

The Blacklist:

I started watching “The Blacklist” when it first appeared on Netflix and I am so glad I did. Needless to say I binge watched the whole and immediately wanted more. In my hour of need I turned to fan fiction and I was not disappointed.

 Writerfan2013′s “Arcane Heart”

“She has a gift, but she doesn't know it. The golden key made her forget, and he must keep her secret close in his clouded heart. But danger has followed him to this world, looking for her. AU but it should all seem very familiar. And of course there's romance. Lizzington.”

I remember my many desperate searches through the dearth of Blacklist fan fiction before coming across this one and being pleasantly surprised. It kind of has a surreal feel to it, and it’s definitely a little strange, but I love it for what it is.

Harry Potter:

This was actually my first “Harry Potter” fan fic, and one of my first fan fics over all. It is by far my favourite fan fic. It’s crack. pure and unrefined crack, and sure my nose is covered in white powder and I can no longer maintain my position as the mayor of Toronto but it is so incredibly worth it:

DisobedienceWriter’s “The Horror! The Horror!”

“Humorous, post GOF tale. Harry goes to Africa and sets up a potions ingredient business. Wackiness ensues.”

This fic. Honestly I can’t even begin to describe it. This is the fan fic I read when I want to laugh until I cry, and I have never not laughed while reading it. 

I hope you enjoy these fics as much as I did and continue to do.

Until next time,

Adieu,

My girl suitesamba continues to hone her Sherlock skillz, and this one is simply lovely.

All That is Right, by suitesamba (PG-13, 2k)

This is a post-Reichenbach take on John that I haven't read before. In it, he manages to piece together enough of the clues surrounding Sherlock's fall to decide that Sherlock may well not be dead. Nonetheless, dead or alive Sherlock has absented himself from John's life, and John is left alone and less than he has been. It features him in a stint - tellingly set up by Mycroft - with Médecins Sans Frontières, which I kind of love.

And then there's this:

In the pale of his grief, it takes him some time to realize it. That everyone else has moved on. That they are nostalgic, but not broken. Sad, but not consumed with loss. He misreads the pity at first, thinking that they imagine something between John and Sherlock that was more than what appeared on the surface. That they don’t know how to treat him, and his grief, and don’t have a status to append to him. Grieving widower? Lost friend? Inconsolable brother?

It is easy to pull away. What reason is there to visit Lestrade? To knock on Molly’s door? He is not chasing insane cabbies through the streets of London, or solving impossible riddles left by a criminal mastermind or tracking decomposition rates of fingers and toes at differing temperature and humidity levels. He is John Watson, doctor, with regular hours at the surgery while Amy Carter, the doctor he’s filling in for, is on bed rest for two months before her twins are born.

He is not Sherlock Holmes. He never was a genius detective. He is a sidekick, a moon without its planet, a planet without its sun. There is no gravity without Sherlock. No sunrise. No sunset.

Lessons in Observation, by suitesamba (2k, M [slash])

For those of us who are working our way into writing Sherlock fic from other fandoms, getting a feel for the characters takes time and a LOT of writing. My girl suitesamba is well on her way with this lovely little fic - a series of vignettes that trace John's observations about Sherlock in the first flush of their relationship as flatmates. There are little gems of insight strewn throughout, but the last two sections - short and succinct - showcase what the author does so well: show, rather than tell, and in the showing she pulls at your heart so beautifully.

A taste:

The cab ride home was nearly silent. Sherlock should have been sleeping. Hell, he – John – should have been sleeping. Or laughing uncontrollably. Or pinching himself in the arm or the shoulder and delighting in the fact that he could feel the pinch, that he could operate his fingers to pinch at all.

And Sherlock, who had been on a frantic, not-stop pace for days and days and days, he should be unconscious. Moriarty was out of their reach now, and there were no sniper marks on either of them (John glanced over at Sherlock and checked again, quickly, just to be sure).

Adrenaline highs were one thing. But for John, they only balanced out the danger when he was in control. When the gun was in his hand. Or when the escape had been his own doing.

Sherlock didn’t speak until they were only blocks from home.

“This can’t end well.”

A simple statement. Loaded with meaning.

His hand shook as he unlocked the door to 221B. John, just behind him, wished he would hurry.

Sherlock, unnerved, unnerved John.

Before a Fall (T, 1k [gen]), by suitesamba

My girl suitesamba, who has written some of the most exquisite Snarries around (With Eyes Wide Open, anyone?), has succumbed to my all-consuming love of Sherlock and ventured into new territory with this beautiful little ficlet. This is a wonderfully mournful post-Reichenbach tale of John and the memories and spectres that haunt him at every turn. To wit:

It’s bad enough to chase ghosts and shadows in coffee shops. It is infinitely worse to see him on the other side of the street, sidling in and out of the packed commuters, or on a crowded platform pushing off the Tube just as he has gotten on. Lurching forward, face pressed to the window, searching the throngs through darkened glass. He has lost before. Lost friends before. Been lost before. He has seen men die, felt them die beneath his fingers. Death is tangible. Permanent. A side-effect of life. He is stoic. He is always stoic. He has always moved on. Before. He understands shadows and ghosts. But he has never before been haunted like this.

I have mentioned here, more than once, my foolproof masquerade kink. Because, I love masquerade fic. And sex stemming from masquerades. Also, it's that special time of the month when anything that features hot, hot sex is on my radar. So.

The Halloween Party, by XistentialAngst (NC-17, 19k [slash])

Aaaaaaaaah. The good stuff. This is flat-out fun - Sherlock and John hot on the pursuit of a 'vampire', a costumed Halloween party, and John finally, finally getting the guts to make a move he's been thinking about for months. The costumes are inspired, the mutual appreciation perfect - and that's the real thing about masquerade fics, to my mind. They give us an  opportunity for the characters to see one another outside their usual habitus; to bring forth all the delicious things that lurk underneath a cold or plain exterior. They're the chance to be someone else - someone the other person might be attracted to.

This is a first-time!fic, and what a first time. I won't give it away; suffice it to say that it's not the first place you'd expect to have sex with your flatmate-about-to-be-turned-lover, and it makes an, um, lasting impression. I love John here - all whoops I thought I knew what I wanted but Jesus H. Christ he's gorgeous - and especially Sherlock, who's poignantly vulnerable in this story. He's a bit of a tart when he needs to be, and he clearly seems to have ulterior motives in, at least, his choice of John's costume, but when the time comes to make real decisions, he has to trust that John means what he says when he promises that this has all been a long time coming and isn't the work of just one night's fun. Funny and sweet and lovely and, damn, hot.

A Taste:

Sherlock was standing near the window looking out.  And oh, dear god.  What the hell was he wearing?

Or not wearing, rather?

Holy mother of God.

Sherlock was dressed, or rather,painted, as some kind of faerie creature.  The lights in the room were out. Only the glow from the kitchen doorway and the illumination from the window broke the darkness.  As Sherlock stood at the window, surrounded by shadows, he looked for all the world like he was on stage.  He wore only a kind of rustic fabric shorts (small enough to be bordering on loin cloth) stitched up the sides with heavy twine, and a diaphanous, transparent vest that hid nothing underneath.  The rest of him, acres and acres of skin, was painted a silvery blue and decorated with hand painted vines along his sides.  The paint continued onto his face, accompanied by what looked like glitter in magical swirls and something dark staining his lips.  And his hair – it was stiff with gel, so heavy it gave the black locks a slightly greenish tinge.  It was molded up into artful spikes and twists, straight up and off his face, emphasizing the alien beauty of his bone structure -- the sharp cheekbones, the firm nose and jaw, his long neck.

Jesus, he was beautiful.

Lest my faithful Snarry readers think that I've completely abandoned everything Snarry, I'd like to mention that I found my way to this story by the amazing bk7brokemybrain, who told me that it was one of her first Sherlock loves (Snarry readers will - or absolutely should - know her from one of MY favorite stories, A Match Made in Ottery St. Catchpole). So, if you're even remotely tempted to give Johnlock a try, this is the one to start with. From two Snarry writers/readers to you.

The Progress of Sherlock Holmes, by ivyblossom (NC-17, 62k [slash])

So, I had three reactions upon finishing this. 

1. There's a reason it has 3k+ kudos on AO3 2. I may never write again, because I cannot write like this (and this is a pretty common thought when I read - see past recs) 3. OMFG this is absolutely fucking gorgeous.

The last of which is pretty impressive, considering that it's all in first-person Sherlock voice, and "gorgeous" isn't necessarily the first thing that comes to mind when thinking of his clinical approach to things. So it's an absolute testament to the author's ability to hear both what and how something is said, but also what's not said; or, rather, what's said in a look or a small, seemingly meaningless action. Because this is a true voice - it sounds like Sherlock to such a satisfying degree that I find myself wanting it spoken aloud - performed. But it's okay, because I can see and hear it in my mind, and I wouldn't lose all of the stream-of-consciousness thoughts and feelings - oh, god, the feelings - that we're privy to because it's a first-person narrative. 

The other thing I love about this is that it's about as close to ACD canon as a romance can be. Mary Morstan figures prominently here - a complex, multi-dimensional character who's impossible to hate (even Sherlock doesn't, though he certainly sees her as a rival for John's attentions and affections) - and Mycroft is wonderfully rendered as well. Part Machiavelli, part truly concerned brother (his parting gift at the end - exquisite). But, of course, it comes down to Sherlock and John, and their relationship here - the one they begin with, the one they nearly lose, and every step in-between, is simply rich. It's a long story, and I didn't know going in if I'd be able to sustain interest in what's essentially a running internal monologue for 62k words; I needn't have worried. Every detail, every moment, every observation and interaction is so loaded that I found myself not wanting to leave. The vast majority of you have probably already read this, but if, by chance, you haven't, do. I can't say it more plainly: read. this.

A Taste:

“Sherlock, are you okay?” John. Holding my chin. Open my eyes (heavy). John. Lit from behind and to the left. Light from a lamp on his bedside table. (Yellow-orange glow.) Can recognise him this way too, can see the perfect symmetry of his eyes, the way the firm line of his mouth of set, the left side quirked slightly upwards. His eyes are blue, flecked with brown (if you look close). Complex iris, a mass of pattern and disorder. No sharp edges. No hospital corners. “Sherlock, all right?”

“Yes, fine.” Try to say it. Not sure the syllables come out in the right order.

“Maybe I didn’t need to give you three of those pills.” John’s voice. His hands on my shoulders. John.  “Hands on your head, okay?” Moves my arms (made from soft rubber), places my hands behind my neck. “Hold still a moment. Exhale.”

Push the air out of my lungs. Wait. He wraps a strip of flannel around my chest, once, twice. Take a deep breath and feel; constriction of cloth. Exhale again; he wraps another strip under the first one. Feels like being held, (the way John’s bed holds him). Order around chaos. A revelation: he’s my order, I’m his chaos. Yin and yang. Needs me (need him). A perfect match, a perfect pair. Obvious.

“Breathe.” He puts his hands on my chest. “That’s not too tight, is it?”

Don’t really have an opinion. Feels fine. (Better than fine.) Make a noise that could be interpreted either way.

“John.” This is important.

“Yes?”

“I’m your chaos.” I gesture toward the bed. No more hospital corners. No dreadful, peaceful, complete order that leaves John empty and riddled with pain and regret. No evidence of his nightmares. Only evidence of me. “I did this for you. Like Tchaikovsky.”

Make the connection: it’s so obvious. A second epiphany. These things I do, I do them because they soothe him, make him feel more connected to the world outside Afghanistan, to me. To soothe him, the way his tightly-made bed soothes him in the night when I cannot. (Couldn’t I? I think I could. Worth a try.) He does the same for me, his order soothes me. Symmetry, like his eyes. “Yes?”

Looks at me (vaguely amused; a bit puzzled). How could he be puzzled? So clear, so obvious.

“Okay.” He says it slowly. “Well thanks.” He laughs. “I appreciate that. I think.”

Yes.  I feel a surge of pure joy.

“I hoped you might.” Smile.  Lean forward. Forehead touches his. Shut my eyes, feel my lips meet his.

Kiss him.

He is warm (tastes like toothpaste).

Put my hand in his hair. Kiss him again. Perfect.

He sighs against my cheek. (Warm.)

Folds me back into his bed, tucks me in. Smooths my hair with his hand, putting me in order. (Soothes.)

“Have a sleep now.”