Hey :) Here a little gift for you - simply because you are wonderful. :D Your Victor Trevor. (I tried to draw Karl Urban as Victor because you said it is your headcanon Victor. I am not actually good at portrays but I hope you like it nevertheless, my dear :D)
AHHH YOU GUYS! LOOK HOW AMAZING THIS IS.
This is so lovely, palefool. Thank you so, so much. I love it.
He’d expected it, obviously, from someone like John. Not that John wasn’t fully capable of rational behaviour, but as he’d said himself, it was a bit of an extenuating circumstance, coming back from the dead. He sounded tired when he said it (Sherlock isn’t used to that; John used to be tired when he was alone, and once, it was Sherlock that put an end to it). Then again, perhaps the exasperation of having to explain what seemed self-evident to him, after having thought he was free of it, was a bit much.
Sherlock wouldn’t know. To him, it isn’t exasperation, and he’s waited three years to have the privilege of explaining the obvious again.
Still, John handled it well, all told. There was an excessive amount of tea, some muted cursing, and Sherlock nursed a tender spot on his jaw for a few days, all the while counting down the hours until things seemed normal enough that he could ask.
It’s the question he’s wanted to ask for three days. Three years, too, but that seems like nothing next to the three agonizing days he’s spent at 221B with no sign of anyone but John and Mrs. Hudson (cried, hugged him, brought them jammy biscuits).
It’s probably still too soon, but Sherlock, despite years of trying not to be, is only human, and he can’t keep it bottled up forever. He’s tried being cold (watched the lines in John’s forehead deepen and abandoned that plan; never again), he’s tried being subtle (but Sherlock, for all his ability to detect the miniscule, is not a subtle man), he’s tried picking up clues from around the flat (and there aren’t any, which is typical of a world out to get him), and he needs to know.
So he asks.
He phrases it carefully, makes the question about crimes and cases and the Yard, things John will accept without question, and yet, John’s face still goes carefully blank; he still sits down in his worn armchair and stares at the coffee table, stirs his cold tea and takes a sip even though Sherlock knows he doesn’t like it that way (he makes himself fresh cups before he’s run out of the old ones, because they go cool faster than John can drink), and then says, Sherlock.
Something isn’t right.
Sherlock remembers the way he left, three years ago; he remembers what Lestrade must have had to deal with after his death (the fact that he isn’t, not anymore, won’t help) and he remembers the way Lestrade has always been about his job. He knows there’s a chance that Lestrade won’t want to see him, but that’s happened before, and he’s always given in, in the end.
Sherlock has long-healed needle scars up both arms to prove it.
Okay, says John. All right, I’ll take you there, and the address he gives the cabbie is all too familiar.
bluesrat submitted: Oh, hey, are we, like, morally obligated to submit new S/L or J/L fics to you? ^_^ Because, um, here: http://prettyarbitrary.tumblr.com/post/34128272724/bbc-sherlock-fic-silver
Publishing, because while of course you guys aren’t morally obligated to submit rare pair fic to me, I do so love reading them and spreading the love. So here, followers, have some new J/L! There’s a worrying lack of it in this fandom.
Submission from makingupachangingmind:
HOW DID I MISS THIS PIECE OF S/L GLORY?
Thank you, my friend! I don’t know how that fic slipped passed me, but that was brilliant.
Remember how, a few weeks (or several) back, you wanted a Parentlock fic based on that gifset that was a Parentlock/AOTW crossover? Well, guess what I found.
It is worse than Alone on the Water, angst-wise, imo.
Submitted by: nuttersandacorn.
Hey, thanks, dude! Much as I dislike Hamish stories, this was angsty enough to make up for that :) Thanks for pointing it out.
L & S drabble for Imp
Submitted by Archea
Author’s Note: (Found this lingering on my hard disk since last October - and thought I’d gift it to your Day. Happy Sherstrade!)
Imp’s Note: Thank you so much, my dear! This is absolutely lovely. Enjoy, everyone!
Lestrade was looking at the Thing on his desk.
First sight, after a dubious blink, had assured him that the evidence was a white pumpkin. A vast, enormous, is-this-even-legal pumpkin, its flesh scooped out and replaced by Lestrade’s old lighter (clue number one) alight, its rotund sides peppered here and there with small nicotine patches inked out. (His. Clue number two).