Balletlock Stories

Come along for the ride as Hamish Watson-Holmes and his friends find the ups and downs of the real-life experiences of being the twelve-year-olds of famous detective Sherlock Holmes and ex-army doctor John Watson, and a Detective Inspector and the British government. They really have no idea what going to happen. They all love it, their lives are never boring. (This is a Sherlock fanfiction. NCIS is only tagged because there is a small crossover for like 3-4 chapters.)

Sherlock discovers his abilities and love for dance along with his love for other things.......

Here's a fanfiction of our beloved characters Joan Watson and Sherlock Holmes, though this is a teenlock & balletlock AU. If you're not interested in AU's feel free to click away! Warning: there will be Johnlock

"The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return" ~ This story follows a man broken from war to Paris where he finds himself writing for one of the rowdiest theatre troops in France. When he falls for one of the male dancers and learns he'll do anything to protect him, how will he know when he's in too deep? Welcome to The Moulin Rouge!

These are just some oneshot, johnlock fanfics i write in my spare time.

It's just a regular weekday when John Watson finds himself in the middle of a petty feud between three bullies and one marvelous boy.

I'm Billy Brown...I get up at 7:30, and leave home about 8:30...Just in the morning normal getting ready things for school...Normal boy things ...classes starts at 16:15...Those classes are not math classes or algebra or English, no, they're ballet classes...Well I spend about 30 to 45 minutes doing kind of a pre class...Routine that I do...we have our ballet mistress...who is actually mom...yeah, she makes me work so hard sometimes...I'm a boy,I'm always surrounded with girls...because I'm actually the ballerina boy...people would call me with different harsh names...people would insult me...people made me an introvert...but only one person made me open up to the world and let them all see how I dance and stand on my points...Only Izaak Miller plays violin for me to dance on it...only him... Because I'm actually his Ballerina Boy...

John refuses to take part in the aerobics, bagging himself a detention. He figures he may as well watch the class with his other friends sitting out. Even he's a little shocked by how much watching a certain ballet dancer bend down affects him.

Sherlock has given up on dancing. He can't bring himself to dance again after what happened. Dr. John Watson knows how broken and empty Sherlock is. But can he fix him? "I don't think I can." "But by God I'll try."

Sherlock Holmes had never been the type to fall in love, but he was slowly and surely falling in love with the boy who watched him dance.

one day when the beautiful, elegant sir Sherlock Holmes walked into the clinic Dr. John Watson worked at, Something sent John's blood to rush through his veins with an unexplained warmth, his voice became caught by the lump in his throat and his eyes chained to the wonder that was Mr Holmes .The man moved with a delicacy that can only belong to that of an angel. He was fascinating, mysterious,but more than anything he was gorgeous. And just by looking at the man John a surge of life, running through him, burning like a fire. As he glanced down at his paper and read out the man's name, as his next patient, He could tell this meeting would be a little strange. But there is little you can tell in advance.

After recently returning to London, John has fallen into a maze of depression and anxiety, and a life of meaningless actions- or lack thereof. His therapist has recommend writing a blog about everything that happens to him, but nothing ever does. Until one day, when he meets Sherlock Holmes. The worlds' only Consulting Detective, a broken, lonely man. He does anything to evade boredom, to escape the scars of his past, but no matter what he does, nothing changes, the wheels turn, and the cycle repeats. But when the damaged soldier enters his life, everything changes and together- they discover something new.

John Watson watches a boy dance every lunch. He is hypnotized by the graceful moves and the elegant twirls. All he knows about this beautiful dance is his name. Sherlock.

John is a handyman backstage at the Royal Ballet, but no one knows that it's not just a job to make ends meet. John has a passion for dancing and even went to school for it. When he can't get a job, he works backstage so he can watch the elegant dancers prance across the stage and memorize the steps. Paying special attention to the dances that include a duet with Sherlock Holmes.

A one hundred writing prompt challenge filled with a whole lot of gay. A special thanks to my lovely beta acciomasterofdeath on Tumblr.

Sherlock Holmes is 16 years old. He's not exactly popular, but he's well known. People are always questioning who he really is, and when John Watson, captain of the rugby team, accidentally finds out, he's very surprised. I would like to add that I found the cover for this fic on Google, so all credit goes to whoever designed it!

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.