#unilock

Send Me To Heaven by helloliriels - art for @breath4soul's stunning fic My Favourite Mistake! Still a WiP and worth the wait ... haha! 💋

"You're bloody gorgeous. I've died and gone to heaven."

Alt first meeting at uni where John gets drunk and pounds on the wrong door thinking it is his room. It turns out to be Sherlock's.

For @fanartfrenzy - make art for a fic that is 3 yrs old, and also for @sherlockchallenge for January: prompt YELLOW!!

Because tumblr is being funny with mature content, I've made a new sfw version of the moodboard of my latest fic in the Reluctant Topping series. Here it is!

Flooded by ShirleyCarlton

Sherlock tries to seduce John for a one-night-stand, which initially fails, but eventually he ends up getting more than he bargained for.

Rating: Explicit

Length: 7536 words

Relationship: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson

Tags: alternative first meeting, unilock, bottomlock, John’s first time, happy ending

With many thanks to my wonderful betas @blogstandbygo and @mama-orion!

Tags and link to original image under the cut:

HII 🕸️

so its not rlly that???? but well idk this the first thing that came to mind😭😭😭

AND TYSM I RLLY APPRECIATE IT😭 i rlly did not think anyone would care ab this crack,

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Sherlock (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson Additional Tags: Alternative First Meeting, bottomlock, Unilock, John's first time, Happy Ending Series: Part 3 of Reluctant Topping Summary:

And since you liked my previous two excerpts here's another one just for you.<333

It was a University Sherlock and John AU that I was working on. I don't even remember, what I had planned for this. :))

(And yes I made John a poet in this—well atleast an admirer.)

...Over the next three years, the dorm room became a battlefield that slowly, imperceptibly, turned into a sanctuary.

Sherlock learned to tolerate John’s recitations of Byron and Shelley, secretly finding a strange, rhythmic comfort in the sound of John’s voice while he ran his chemistry experiments. John, in turn, became Sherlock’s protector in a world that viewed the young detective as a freak. When other students mocked Sherlock’s erratic behavior, John would step in, his quiet confidence and formidable physical presence instantly shutting down the jeers. He never demanded that Sherlock change. He simply accepted him.

And then came the final year. The night of the storm.

They had been staying up late, studying for finals. The rain was lashing against the leaded windows of their Cambridge room. Sherlock was pacing, his mind frantic, overstimulated, vibrating with an excess of energy he couldn't discharge.

"Sherlock, sit down," John had said, standing up from his desk. He intercepted Sherlock in the middle of the room, catching him gently by the shoulders. His hands were warm, solid, anchoring. "You're going to burn yourself out."

"My mind is an engine, John! It needs to run!" Sherlock breathed heavily, his chest rising and falling. He was too close. He could see the dark gold flecks in John's eyes. He could feel the heat radiating from the man’s chest.

"Even engines need to rest," John whispered. His gaze dropped to Sherlock's lips, then rose back up, filled with a terrifyingly pure, unadulterated affection. "Let me help you quiet it."

The kiss had been inevitable, a slow-burning fuse that had been lit three years prior finally reaching the dynamite.

It wasn't a frantic, clumsy collision. It was deep, agonizingly tender, and laced with a devotion that frightened Sherlock to his very core. John held him as if he were something fragile, something precious. When they moved to the narrow bed, Sherlock surrendered to the sensation, letting the overwhelming wave of human emotion wash over him, drowning out the deductions, the data, the cold, hard logic of the universe. For one night, Sherlock Holmes was not a machine. He was alive.

But the morning brought the sun. And with the sun came the terrifying clarity of what he had done.

Sherlock had woken up with John's arm wrapped securely, possessively around his waist. He looked at John's sleeping face, so peaceful, so full of love, and panic—cold, sharp, and suffocating—seized him.

Sentiment. A chemical defect found on the losing side.

If he allowed this, if he allowed John into his heart, he would lose his edge. He would become ordinary. He would care if John was hurt; he would worry, he would calculate probabilities of danger based on emotion rather than fact. He would be weak. He was Sherlock Holmes; he had a grand design for his life, a destiny of pure, unadulterated intellect. He could not afford a heart.

He had quietly slipped out of the bed, packed his single trunk, and left before the morning mist had cleared from the quad. He didn't leave a note. He chose logic over love. Duty over desire.

And he had never looked back. Until now.

-🦚

PEACOCK NONNY!!!!!

unilock you take over my life