Johnlock Oneshots

i'm not the only one

a/n: who's reaDY FOR THE STRONGEST ANGST IN YOUR LIFE????

you and me, we made a vow
for better or for worse

They got married on a Tuesday in October, and it rained. It was a downpour that soaked through their expensive suits, but they laughed. They laughed and hugged each other around the waists and kissed and kissed and kissed.

"I love you," John had whispered into Sherlock's shoulder, fabric against his lips. Sherlock squeezed the blogger tighter as a raindrop slid down the bridge of his nose.

"I know."

Much later, back at 221B, after they had stripped off their jackets and shoes, John pulled Sherlock in for another kiss. A bubbly gasp escaped the taller man's mouth, and John smiled into it, biting at Sherlock's bottom lip.

John pressed him against the wall and sucked bruises into his throat. Sherlock clutched at John's clothes, the suit still slightly damp from earlier.

"You. Are. Beautiful." With each word, John undid a button of Sherlock's white shirt, kissing at each piece of pasty skin he revealed.

The detective was covered in freckles, from his neck down to his toes. John wanted to map out his ivory skin and keep it for his morning tea, and perhaps his afternoon tea...and maybe even the evening tea.

With a growl, John pushed his way through the rest of Sherlock's buttons.

"John," came a whisper.

"Sherlock?"

"I'd very much like to move into my bedroom."

John laughed, "Of course."

In the morning, Sherlock nuzzled John awake with a kiss to the yellowed scar.

"What if you get tired of me?" Sherlock rumbled.

"If I ever got tired of you, I would be dead, Sherlock Holmes."

i can't believe you let me down
but the proof's in the way it hurts

John kept going out late at night. At first, Sherlock never noticed much. He had experiments to complete, and sometimes he had his elbows so deep in a box of cat eyeballs, he didn't notice how the door of 221B would slam shut around eight PM.

One night, John returned, reeking of cigarette smoke and...and perfume.

Maybe he ran into a woman on the street, Sherlock would reassure himself. The detective paid more attention as John's monthly escapes became weekly ones.

One night, John came home around ten PM, his usual routine. He had pink lipstick on his collar.

for months on end i've had my doubts
denying every tear

"Sherlock."

"Haven't you kept an eye on him?!" A strangled shout ripped out of the detective's throat.

Mycroft folded his hands together. "I stopped invading your privacy once the pair of you were betrothed."

"Oh, really?"

Mycroft pursed his lips.

"Give me the footage."

"I've no idea what you're talking about."

"Give it to me right now."