John has found out about Sherlock's self harm and is left baffled as to how to tell Sherlock about his own secret. *TRIGGER WARNING*

Here in England we can drink at ages 18 so in this AU they're aloud to drink at 18 okay? In a world where love is for the highest bidder, can love really survive? Castiel Novak leads a double life, on the one hand he is high school nerd, music master with his hair slicked back and glasses on. However on the other he is a dancing and sex machine, stripping for money and fornicating (having sex) for even more. Once Castiel steps out of school he chucks his glasses and whips out his wing tattoo - along with his other persona: angel. Leave your inhibitions at the door when you step on the club floor - CATS&DOGS strip club Warning: prostitution and violent scenes ART IS MINE!! #muchproud

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.

Darkness. Definition: Sherlock Holmes Light. Definition: John Watson look at the stars. look how they shine for you. and everything you do. it was all yellow.

POST REICHENBACH/JOHNLOCK AU. Two years after watching the love of his life commit suicide, John Watson has faded out. Balancing between sleepless nights or facing the nightmares to see Sherlock’s face again; he knows the game is over. But he never had closure. And so, on a bleak Christmas Eve, he visits Sherlock’s grave and says what he should have said but never could. He hadn’t expected a reply; especially not this one. After two years of using the shadow of his demise as a cover to take down a terror network, Sherlock Holmes is back. With his hand hovering over the call button, he waits near his grave to catch a glimpse of John, unsure of how to come home. But one night, somebody makes it easier. The game is on. (Or should I say, “The gay is on”?) BOOK #1 of the SherlockedDoors Subcanon (shitty name, I know, but alliteration calls.) (NOTE: This does not follow the plot of series 3, it goes off in a totally different direction. Though some things have been recently updated to merge with some posts in John's blog and a couple of teasers, I started writing this AAGGGEESSS before series 3 so the reunion scene is different. Anyhow, if you like Johnlock, you'll probably like this. Enjoy!)

"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)

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.