"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)

A collection of songs intertwined in her head that she weaves into a web of intellectual words and let's them flow free in the form of poetry. **actually really cringey poetry that I wrote in the span of a year when I was 14**

Poetry that I like to write. VI Beauty and horror cannot be simply contained by the fragile walls of the human mind.

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.

Being in a band has its perks, Adriel's favourite one happening to be the unlimited amount of woman willing to climb in his bed. A new party and a new face every night, that was the routine he had quickly become accustomed to. Because nothing is permanent. Or, so he had always thought. A green eyed boy is making him rethink that deeply, and everything he thought he knew about himself.

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.