do you think that once john gets over being angry at sherlock for faking his death that they’ll go and visit sherlock’s grave together and just stand around and snark at sherlock’s very much alive spirit and leave ironic flowers
being on a meteor for two years bodies are bound to change
clothes stop fitting
and the most embarrassing moment of rose lalonde’s life becomes going to kanaya maryam and asking her with a straight face to make her new lingerie because she doesn’t fit into any of her old things anymore.
Their housemates all supposed it wasn’t really a surprise in the end; a few students had been taking bets on when free-spirited, Slytherin Gamzee and shyer, stumbling, Hufflepuff Tavros would finally come down to breakfast in the Great Hall, hand in hand with matching smiles on their faces.
A considerable amount of whoops were heard, winks were tossed off, and questions like “How much Amortentia did that take, Nitram?” were carelessly and cruelly thrown across the room and completely ignored, save for a snarl from Gamzee.
“Motherfuckin’ miracles,” he said, sitting down with Tavros Nitram next to him and waiting for the owl post to arrive.
They met on day one, shot hateful glances at each other on day two, compared schedules on day three, ate lunch together on day four, beat up a bigot together on day five, got drunk together on day six, kissed on day seven at Alternia Boarding School.
It was a new year, a new life, and they were sure having fun.
Plus, Vriska had always been a sucker for a girl in a plaid skirt.
The question was one he asked many, many times a day, and yet it had never dripped with quite so much meaning as Dave gazed upon the clear-cut, wicked face that sent his stomach churning and synapses (lovehatelovehate) firing off in his brain.
“What are you into?” he asked the client, the client with the smooth eyes and pointed teeth who said his name was Karkat, who gazed at him like the world was ending and he would like nothing more for Dave to fall and burn with it.
The client snarled, with a wicked grin, and then he pounced as efficiently and desperately as if maybe he would like to go down with this awful world too.
((I TRIED BUT THREE SENTENCES IS NOT CONDUCIVE TO HOT EVEN WITH LOTS OF COMMAS))
He sat down next to her that one Thursday, after bridge club, when she was just watching the grass blades move from the red rocking chair that dwarfed her, with her twisted old spine and limbs that seemed to have shrunk from their former grandeur.
His face was wrinkled, as with everywhere, but his eyes sparkled like he’d seen a thousand planets, danced among the stars and finally settled down in the forest green rocking chair next to Rose’s old red one.
“Hello, I’m John Smith…and…you are?”
Harriet Watson runs into her brother’s wife, Mary Morstan, at a pub one night.
They drink a little, gossip a lot, at first only about light topics, but as Mary begins to get ahead of Harry on the drink orders, some more interesting things begin to pour out.
Harry films Mary on her mobile, complaining extensively about Sherlock Holmes.
She uses the email on Sherlock’s website to send it to him, and gets only the response “Isn’t jealousy fine?”
But only when they’re drunk; it’s become a game to see who can get the other drunk enough to sing “I’ll Be” first.
John had pictured the whole thing in his head, internally thinking this was probably the worst idea he’d ever had. Sherlock would spend the whole time pointing out the inaccuracies of the show and disproving the physics of it all. Long story short, he was not looking forward to watching Doctor Who with Sherlock Holmes.
Surprised is he when Sherlock sits, quietly captivated, the entire episode.
While the Slugbug game is a good one for passing time during dull cab rides, Sherlock’s sometimes not quite sure when to stop. He has been known to wake John up from where he’s sleeping on the car seat next to him with a violent punch to the arm screaming that he’s seen one and does this mean he wins yet?
For a brief time, Sherlock procures a stalker from one of his solved cases. He’s sufficiently disturbed by his fangirl follower, but John just laughs and tells him to get used to it; he’s very stalkable.
Sherlock reveals that when he was at uni, he managed to hack into the archaic hearing aid technology that one of his professors had in his ear and make him convinced that his food was screaming in pain when he cut it.
Reusing one from a while ago…
John inquires one day as to why Sherlock keeps no photographs on his desk; he himself has ones of his parents, of himself, Lestrade, and Sherlock grouped together after a case, two of Harry, and one of him as a child. Sherlock stares at the desk, as through figuring something out.
The next day, a single photo of John in a simple frame appears on the corner of Sherlock’s desk.
For a bit, John tries instating a bedtime in 221B; eleven o’clock on normal nights, one AM on nights where they have cases, in an effort to get Sherlock to stop killing himself from lack of sleep. He ceases once he figures out that Sherlock waits for John to fall asleep and gets right back up, making the problem worse than before.
Sherlock loves them. He finds them beyond fascinating. John doesn’t quite understand, but he will certainly not say no to a chance to get a picture of a tiny little black and white kitten riding on Sherlock’s shoulder as he paces around with his violin.