a glorified misc book for a glorified piece of trash

I had to learn lots of things on my own I'm writing this so that you won't have to

"I'm stupid," John says. "Why?" "Because I fell in love with you." "Yeah," Sherlock responds, "Definitely stupid." Set over the course of one school year in 2009, this is the story of two star-crossed misfits - Sherlock and John - smart enough to know that first love almost never lasts, but brave and desperate enough to try. They struggle through identity crisis, drug addiction, and child abuse together, along with dealing with the pain of a highschool that labels them as freaks. When Sherlock meets John, they spark a love that will remind you of your first - and how hard it pulled you under. "STFU ITS THE BEST FANFICTION I HAVE EVER READ AND YOU CAN QUOTE ME ON THAT" - @dearwatson when I was arguing with her this one time Cover art by @meglet713 and re-edit by my dad, @dearwatson No copyright infringement intended. Story and characters belong to Rainbow Rowell and BBC Sherlock. (no reposting please)

Lana's second unapologetic ramble book

hello hello and welcome. this contains johnlock. yay, right? also, also, also. i am terrible at updating (yeyyyyy procrastination. boooo school). but i do update once in a while, so that's a plus. a very small plus, but a plus nonetheless. carry on! (my wayward son) **fancy disclamer: all the characters belong to BBC and mofftiss. i only own my story ideas**

There isn't much work in the countryside for a seventeen year old. But somehow, Sherlock Holmes manages to get a job at the Waterwell Estate as the official beekeeper. He always thought of bees as perfect creatures. On his first day, he meets a particular blonde man and something particular happens. In particular. { Cover art by moi }

John's never had a patient quite as broken as Sherlock Homes. Or as ignorant of the fact that he is, indeed, broken. He speaks rarely, and when he does it's this torrential flow of insults and hurt memories and sadness. He speaks like he doesn't know that he's broken yet, like he thinks he's fine, and superior to everyone else in the room. Maybe he is. John doesn't know. Maybe he's not as beautiful, and clever, and graceful as he believes. Maybe he isn't some kind of ethereal creature that John has had the honour of beholding. Maybe he's just broken. And useless. And alone. John doesn't think so. John thinks he's everything, broken man and all. * Sherlock's never done anything quite like dancing. When he was there, wood springing under his feet, soft and warm and secure, he was happy. Sure. But he didn't know then that he'd give anything to be able to dance again. To have the pain of crushed toes, blisters, aching and biting all the fucking time. He didn't know he'd miss it like he misses breathing. But he does. Sherlock forgets to breathe, sometimes.

He is lavish. Masterful. Intellectual, inexplicable, overt. Sexual. Sherlock Holmes defines extravagance. He isn't exactly the best thing for John's tireless, bland stability. John works the nine to five and tries not to lose sleep over the small things - like the labor of his fiancée's expectations, and the sirens that fill his head with noise after curfew. He finds comfort in art, and drinking. Besides the war making its presence known, slowly creeping its black tendrils into the heart of Bristol - John's life is quiet. Given that, he's not surprised when he is dragged into Sherlock Holmes's orbit. There is no manual to help him navigate the moment their eyes first meet; he presents himself as the perfect distraction, a beautiful incendiary miracle. John thinks that maybe he was hoping for this, because: Sherlock is potent, and inflammatory, and perfectly willing to make John's life hell for his own self-indulgent pleasure. With one touch, John's sense of self is corrupted. And what does it matter if the world implodes? It was never kind to them to begin with.

Forged between unemployment and his girlfriend paying for the bills, John can't go back to the life he had seven years ago. He can't go back to summer nights and moonlit rooms and the broken-down echoes of hopes and dreams and wishes. He can't go back to Sherlock. Then John goes to his high school reunion. And sees him. And then it comes back full circle. [Warning: contains strong language, smoking, alcoholism, and ideologically sensitive material] =△▽△▽△= This has a prequel called Cabinmates, a fan fiction about John and Sherlock meeting for the first time on a school trip to a summer camp. You can find this story on my profile if not in "the discover" since it is rated Mature.

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.