Johnlock Fluff (mostly) Oneshots

The Tattoo Machine

Hey plant, sorry it's been so long. I don't know what happened, I just haven't written in a while. Hope you are all well. Guess who is writing this instead of their History homework that was due in like 2 weeks ago. So, I got this chapter idea from  's book, and I mixed it with a comment I saw on it (if you recognise the idea because you got the idea, let me know and I will give you credit). Triggers - it mentions suicidal thoughts but no actual suicide but if you think that it will trigger you, don't read it (I probably shouldn't write it, but I'll be fiiiine).

3rd POV
John was moving back in with Sherlock at 221B Baker Street after it had been revealed that the detective was alive. It took a while for him to be convinced to move back in, but since he didn't have anyone else, he decided to move back. Not that he missed Sherlock or anything. Or course not because he's tOtAlLy NoT gAy.

It took them a while to actually finish moving all the boxes back in, but once they finally finished, John started to unpack.

Much to Sherlock's disappointment, John took the upstairs bedroom again instead of proclaiming his love for Sherlock, but he couldn't say he was surprised. Afterall, John was not gay.

Rather surprisingly, Sherlock helped John a lot with his unpacking, which John was of course grateful for seeing how much he had. It was astonishing that one tiny man could have so much stuff.

Sherlock's POV
I was helping John unpack all of his stuff. I didn't mind, it was quite interesting. It wasn't often that I saw his stuff, seeing as he had always kept his stuff upstairs.

I played a game where I saw with a box on the floor of John's bedroom, figuring out where he kept most of his stuff, and deducing what each item was, except for one black case.

It looked as if it had been hidden away for many years, forgotten about. There were no indications of what was inside this mysterious box. It was quite heavy, despite the fact that it wasn't excessively big. I didn't want to open it in case and then for him to walk in and see me opening his possessions without his permission.

I tried desperately hard to keep my curiosity at bay, but me being me, I failed miserably. John was probably downstairs, but I couldn't hear him, no matter how hard I listened. For all I knew, he could have been heading up the stairs to his room right now, or he could be downstairs, preoccupied with something which would hold his attention for a while.

Praying it was the latter, I unclipped the latches (clamps? Idk the metal things on cases to hold them shut) and opened it up. What was inside the box gave me more questions than it did answers.

"Sherlock?" The voice of my best friend came from behind me. Shit, my prayers were not answered and now I was in trouble. I twisted my head around to see him standing over me, looking embarrassed.

"Uh, hello there" I replied, chewing the inside of my cheek nervously.

"Why are you looking at my old tattoo machine?" I didn't know how to answer. Experiment? Accident? I could say it fell open? There were a few moments of silence before I replied.

"Why do you have an old tattoo machine?"

"It's a part of my past, nothing too important." He answered, scratching the back of his neck nervously. It seemed as if he didn't want me to ask about it anymore. Too bad.

"But what did you use it for? I mean, obviously you have had it a long time, going back to uni, but you don't seem to have used it much since then, which makes sense. You went from university almost directly to Afghanistan, not the most hygienic of places to do tattooing, that and you probably wouldn't have even been able to take it with you."