Fic: I would brave a hundred New Years alone (for just one kiss with you); Johnlock; Pre-S3
Title: I would brave a hundred New Years alone (for just one kiss with you)
Fandom: Sherlock BBC
Spoilers: None
Rating: Adult, for the warnings below.
Summary: They’ve been alone for so long that being together should feel alien, and uncomfortable, but it’s like slipping into - no, that metaphor doesn’t work either. But John’s never claimed to be a good writer. All he knows is that he’s never felt as home as he does when he’s next to Sherlock. If all those years was the price for this, then it was a price worth paying.
Warnings: Child abuse, child neglect, alcoholism, drug use and minor character death. For the most part of it, it’s not graphic, but it’s not very happy either. Not until the end. Not Beta'd.
AN: In my yearly tradition I’m posting a fic on New Years’ Eve. This fic was written between the hours of 12am and 4:30 am on New Year’s Eve, so while I know it’s going to be thoroughly jossed in less than 24 hours (internal screaming a la Season 3), I’m going through with it anyway. It gives me a strange sort of pleasure because it’ll be a paradigm shift and I wanna plot how my mindset changes from haitus mode to s3. Anyway, that’s my own BS, but yeah. I’m assuming that the characters are the same age as their actors because I don’t have the brain capacity to fiddle with anything else. So John Watson is 42 years old in 2013, born in 1971, and Sherlock Holmes is 37, born in 1976.
Disclaimer: this fic was inspired by this piece of art by Johnnybooboo on tumblr, and yes, permission has been granted! I don’t own Sherlock in its modern incarnation - it belongs to our overlords at the BBC.
Crossposted to AO3, LJ and Tumblr (sorry if I’m spamming you)
Fandom: Sherlock BBC
Spoilers: None
Rating: Adult, for the warnings below.
Summary: They’ve been alone for so long that being together should feel alien, and uncomfortable, but it’s like slipping into - no, that metaphor doesn’t work either. But John’s never claimed to be a good writer. All he knows is that he’s never felt as home as he does when he’s next to Sherlock. If all those years was the price for this, then it was a price worth paying.
Warnings: Child abuse, child neglect, alcoholism, drug use and minor character death. For the most part of it, it’s not graphic, but it’s not very happy either. Not until the end. Not Beta'd.
AN: In my yearly tradition I’m posting a fic on New Years’ Eve. This fic was written between the hours of 12am and 4:30 am on New Year’s Eve, so while I know it’s going to be thoroughly jossed in less than 24 hours (internal screaming a la Season 3), I’m going through with it anyway. It gives me a strange sort of pleasure because it’ll be a paradigm shift and I wanna plot how my mindset changes from haitus mode to s3. Anyway, that’s my own BS, but yeah. I’m assuming that the characters are the same age as their actors because I don’t have the brain capacity to fiddle with anything else. So John Watson is 42 years old in 2013, born in 1971, and Sherlock Holmes is 37, born in 1976.
Disclaimer: this fic was inspired by this piece of art by Johnnybooboo on tumblr, and yes, permission has been granted! I don’t own Sherlock in its modern incarnation - it belongs to our overlords at the BBC.
Crossposted to AO3, LJ and Tumblr (sorry if I’m spamming you)