His hair was auburn, His skin was sunburnt, His clothes fit loosely, All at once on a afghan Tuesday It happens fast, to fast to see, John Watson dropping hard to his knees, By a man he once knew, But now forgotten in the news. (This is a story about two soldiers, one a captain and one a recruit, but after both being injured they forget each other and then they meet again in another lifestyle) In celebration of 221 followers I give you this

Funny comedy for you when your feeling down ;) One shot "Why can't Sherlock just get my name right?!"

Sherlock Holmes, the biggest change that John ever had, and one he won't be willing to let go. "Thick as thieves Better than brothers More than friends Less than lovers" A story that changed from the past to before Sherlock to the days spent with Sherlock in the present day- alternative universe, follows no BBC storyline.

For single parent, John Watson, and his toddler, Hamish, life is absolute chaos and only gets worse when he meets an eccentric detective. Chapter Management

John happens to stumble upon a book, a book with very peculiar powers, that introduces him to a mysterious boy on the other side of the pages, Sherlock Holmes. A PotterLock cross over Johnlock Fluff Some MorMor

REQUESTED sherlockxjohn this one might be a little short but i'll try to update it frequently NONE OF THE STORIES FEATURED ARE MINE !!!

Guys, it's a Johnlock. No Authnotes. All will be done by message. Trying to write a real book but as a fanficition so its all professional. I know! :D Have fun!

John has the perfect life, he has a beautiful wife, a adorable little kid, and a large, cozy house. He hates it to death. Sherlock has the worst possible life, his job as a second grade teacher is more like purgatory and he could count the people he liked on one hand. When the two meet there is no way anything could happen? Right? Johnlock fluff Two separate point of views marked either John POV or Sherlock POV Credit to the artist who drew the beautiful cover (I love it to death btw)

Simply exhausted of all colour. Wasted. I didn't lie down. I didn't blink. I just sat there, staring into nothingness, waiting for something to materialise into my vision. Something. Anything. I had kept Sherlock away. Kept him away from his death, for so long. So long. Little did I know, all he needed was a little jump from a rooftop. It wouldn't take me long either, would it? I wasn't going to die. I needed relief. I needed disconnection. Disorientation. Oblivion. Ignorance. Because ignorance is bliss. It was in my hand, now. Like vengeance disguised in forgiveness. Breathe. Steady. Hold. Control. . . . Now. Pain shot through my arms and my palms, like my nails were being pulled out. It spread like fire, like ice cold fire, still burning like coals. My limbs were numb. I fell onto the bed, my mouth pressed into the sheet at an odd angle. I was too fatigued to change it. Too drowned to change it. Drowned too deep. To change anything. I'd never done this. Was I going to die? It'd be better if I died. What would that feel like? Flying? Better that this I suppose. Don't you think, Sherlock? [TW: IF YOU ARE STRUGGLING WITH PTSD SCHIZOPHRENIA DEPRESSION ANXIETY PANIC DISORDERS DRUGS OR ARE TRIGGERED BY ANYTHING ELSE PLEASE PROCEED WITH DISCRETION. GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF NEAR- SUICIDAL THOUGHTS AND VIOLENCE AND ZERO CLOSURE LIKE LITERALLY NO CLOSURE]

John's never seen a kid like him. He has this beautiful, crazy grace - withheld behind a smug smile and wisecracks that make John frustrated in so many different kinds of ways. And his eyes; crystal clear, decisive, cleaning through the unimportant things to find the valuables in life. He may or may not have a thing for smoking and James Bond, his favorite ice cream is mint with a chocolate swirl, and he is absolutely addicted to Pop Rocks and toffee. He enjoys pretty boys and warehouses, where he can hoard and think and be alone. Also, bumper cars, and John Watson. But Sherlock Holmes's thing, his niche, his calling in life... is to steal. Books. Wallets. Phones. Cars. Everything you've ever wanted, he's had. Everything you've ever wished for, he's stolen. Everything you are, everything you told yourself that you weren't, he owns, and he plays you like an out-of-tune violin. Does that mean that John's going to let him steal his heart? Not a shot in hell.