Awesome!

Devil John 11 - Like a girl

Fandom: Sherlock

Rating: Explicit

Excerpt:

The smell of oranges.

A tent door flapping in the breeze. Strong fingers digging in. The bright peel falling in pieces onto the surface a camp table. Oil arcs through the air filling the entire cabin with the smell of citrus.

“We've more ground to cover, and we're two men down,” Major Sholto says before taking a piece of orange and putting it in his mouth.

John looks up from where he sits slumped in his camp chair. He stares into blue eyes as bright as the desert sky. “Elroy and Firman were both good men. I tried to save them. I did everything I could for them.”

“I'm sure that you did, Watson. You're the best surgeon we have. If you couldn't save them, then they couldn't be saved.”

John smiles weakly, “It's nice of you to say, but I still think I could have done more.”

“As you should. Striving for perfection, that's what makes a man, isn't it? You did the best that you could, under the circumstances. No one can ask more than that. But I'm not looking forward to writing those letters to the family. It's never easy, but it's especially hard when those who die are so young.”

“Sometimes I wonder why they even enlisted. They could have been in Uni, having fun and meeting girls instead of coming out here to die in the desert.”

“Some people aren't made for civilized places. I couldn't imagine going back for good. Could you, Watson?”

“No,” John says. “It's a strange thing to say, considering where we are, but I've never lived in a place where I've felt more at peace than I do here and now...with you.”

Sholto pauses a minute to smile at John before eating the last orange slice.

John stares at the man sitting across from him. So strong and straight, and beautiful. It's as if this place had been made simply to show off his features. The square lines of his face echoed in the walls and floor. The beige color of the tent setting off the gold of his hair. He shines here, like the sun over the tops of the mountains.

In this moment, John's heart feels full, and this man makes him feel more welcome than anyone that he has ever known. He wants to tell him somehow, but he doesn't have words to describe it, so he rises to his feet and walks over to place a hand on the Major's shoulder.

He can hear birds singing outside the tent. Soon the sun will rise and everyone else in the camp will wake, but this moment seems made just for the two of them. A stolen moment of peace in a time of war. Unwilling to break the silence, but unable to keep his feelings inside, he bends down slowly and touches their lips together.

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Victorian Holmes Prompt Box is up and running!

This is an all-year-round prompt challenge for all Holmes universes set in the 19th century (ACD Canon, Granada, A Study In Emerald, etc.). You can post prompts or pick some to fill. Deadlines are optional: you can set them for your prompts or leave them open-ended. This is a no pressure challenge, so you can fill prompts at your own pace (if the deadline is not specified by the prompt poster). There is a prompt filling month twice a year, though, when everyone is encouraged to fill the prompts they’ve picked over the previous months (see announcements later). Any ratings, from Gen to Explicit. No word count restrictions. Artists and vidders are very welcome to join!

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I added three prompts so far. One for Anthony Horowitz’s Moriarty plus one for Neil Gaiman’s A Study in Emerald (like, I have some questions after reading both. I don’t think I’m going to write in those ‘verses, but if somebody did, I’d be happy!) and one ACD (I’d love to write a story about it but I have zero headcanons). Absolutely anyone can add prompts! Even if you don’t intend to fill any :) Who knows, maybe your prompt will inspire someone!

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Lock Down Fest is a non-anon, self-posting, multi-ship and multi-fandom mini fest that is designed to bring comfort to everyone staying indoors under quarantine restrictions at the moment and to all of us experiencing fear because of the pandemic. Anxiety levels are high and the news is distressing, so we want to invite everyone to use this time to be creative and spread joy. LDF will run from 20-30 March; announcements will be made here.

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Devil John

Chapter 5 - Tea

Fandom:Sherlock

Rating: Explicit

Excerpt:

The Black Dragon's Blood is long gone. It had given him confidence last time, burning through his veins. Without it, his anger is buried deep, even so, he can feel it simmering like a coal covered in a bed of ash waiting to catch fire again.

“So,”John says, looking back at the newspaper again. “Has it really been over a year?”

“Almost two.”

“I see.”

“But time passes differently in Hell, you said.”

“Yes.”

“Was it much shorter?”

“Hard to say. It's hard to tell the hours apart when things are always the same.”

“It would be interesting to make a calculation of the differences. That is, people have speculated about the afterlife for quite a long time, and this is a unique opportunity to write something definitive on the subject. If you could simply describe what it is like there. I mean, I've read books. There are tales of a tunnel, some sort of light, but no one ever sees what's on the other side of the ...”

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“Is it that you are forbidden from speaking of it? You might let me guess. Then you only need nod. Is it anything like Dante's inferno? Or is it possibly that you...”

“I said that I don't want to talk about it!”

Sherlock stops talking. That more than anything drives John to turn and face him. Sherlock seems much healthier than before. He's underweight, as always, but despite his leg, he seems in good vigor. His blue eyes sparkle in the light from the window, and there is nothing about them that suggests that he isn't sleeping.

“You came back to me,” Sherlock says with eyes soft with feeling.

“Did you doubt I would?”

“No.”

“Liar. If you didn't doubt it, you wouldn't have mentioned in the first place.”

John walks over to his chair. It has been recently dusted and the union jack pillow neatly placed in the center. He thinks of sitting in it, but that would be too normal, so he walks around the chair instead placing his hands on the back to steady himself as he looks down at Sherlock.

Sherlock stares at him in wonder. John looks at his amazed face and then down at his own hands. He is uncertain what to do next. This isn't a completely uncommon state of affairs. Sherlock often unsettles him. When he had been alive, he had felt so confused at times, knowing that he wanted to say something, but not quite knowing what it was. But this is embarrassing. Demons aren't supposed to feel awkward, not in any vision of the afterlife that he's heard of. He rocks back and forth on his heels glancing up at Sherlock who is staring at him as if he believes that tearing his eyes away would make John disappear.

John starts to talk, then stops. Last visit he said some things that he was ashamed of. He wants to apologize to Sherlock for calling him names and for hurting him, but he's fairly certain that apologizing is also something that demons don't do. He had thought that death would change things, but he was pants at this sort of thing when he was alive, and it seems that he's going to be a pants demon as well?

Continued on AO3

A very beautiful image of these smiley blackfoot. It seemed everything was alright…

Photograph by Mary T. S. Schaffer in 1907.

Story: Devil John

Fandom: Sherlock

WARNING! - Not even a little PC

Excerpt:

Breathing in he smells familiar scents: The elegant dust which settles on the bookshelves and drapes. The odd chemical tang of one of Sherlock's forgotten experiments. The chalky taste of bone. The traitorous smell of cigarette smoke.

He catches his image in the mirror. His face is dark, shadowed, threatening. His black eyes shine like moonlight on an obsidian knife. He doesn't look human.

Black Dragon's Blood burns when it goes down, but it settles in John's bones as a warm heat that glows like anger. He feels dangerous.

He frowns, and the darkness grows deeper. John realizes then that he is controlling it. It must be one of the effects of being a supernatural creature. He is a demon, after all. Things should be different, like breathing. He doesn't need to breathe anymore. He breathes in anyway just for the silky feel of it.

When he crosses his arms, darkness closes around him like smoke, with only his eyes shining through. His very thoughts have the power to manipulate matter. He wants to investigate it. Discover all of the things that he can do, but suddenly, he realizes that he is not alone.

Sherlock is sitting in his chair. He was so still and so quiet that John didn't notice him at first. John wonders if he has seen him, but Sherlock never turns around. Has Sherlock fallen asleep? No, his eyes are open, and his hair has been freshly groomed. What is he waiting for?

He's wearing the white shirt that he wore the day he met John and Mary in the restaurant. The shirts that he buys for himself are tight, the buttons almost popping across his chest, the nipples peeking through. Mycroft bought this shirt. It looks modest in comparison. John floats closer.

Sherlock seems to wake then. He sits straighter in his chair before rolling up his sleeve. It is only when Sherlock reaches over to pick up a bit of rubber tubing that John notices, on the table beside him, a syringe. The empty bottle next to it reads. DIAMORPHINE HYDROCHLORIDE. John growls.

Continued on AO3