There’s a lot of things I adore about their relationship.

Firstly, there’s the companionship. John has just come back from the war - a traumatic experience. He’s feeling lonely, and he’s poor, and he needs someone to help. Sherlock, we are lead to believe, has had a pretty shitty life himself, and he needs someone to help him be normal, if Sherlock Holmes can ever be such. They need each other - they’re each other’s rock.

Then there’s the more detailed friendship. John always grounds Sherlock. For example, in Baskerville, when Sherlock was ranting about how asdfghjkl; the case was, John simply said “timing!” and Sherlock shut up. John has a hold over Sherlock, and that’s brilliant in terms of keeping a lid on Sherlock’s eccentricities. Of course, Sherlock helps too. He gets rid of John’s cane, for starters, and pulls him away from getting too attached to other people who might hurt him (e.g. girlfriends). That might be seen as possessive or whatever, but I feel it’s more protective, keeping John away from the bad people out there.

Then there’s the bromance. They finish each other’s sentences. They go out together. They read each other’s minds. You can’t deny that they are connected, whether you think it’s platonic or not. Neither of them might be gay, but the fact is that they need each other - they are like two halves of a whole (to quote Martin Freeman). 

Then of course there’s the heavily-implied actual romance. “Two bedrooms”. “Your date”. “I knew you’d turn up”. And that’s just in the first episode (Study). 

Overall, I think Sherlock and John are a very complicated couple. I see them as everything, from just friends to fucking, depending on the fic or the situation. To answer your question, my favourite thing about their relationship is the fluidity - the way they can go from being BEST BUDS 5EVA to FUCK ME AGAINST THE WALL in about ten seconds. I just really love that aspect.

Just a quick self-promotion before I leave for school.

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8379485/1/Room_1B

Parentlock and Superfamily! Yay! Please read and review - it means a lot to me :)

I’m going to write the next chapter of Room 1B, then prompts will be written ASAP :) 

Hey awesome people!

So I’m bored again. Please send me fanfic prompts (as long as they relate to one of my fandoms), love letters, random questions, whatever you want.

I feel like the world’s biggest idiot now. Plus I was very very rude to a rather nice anon. Plus I missed out on meeting Benedict.

I hate life.

Accepting fanfic prompts / love letters / random questions!

I love you guys!

Yvonne: We must defend our border against the aliens! Ah! *hands gun to soldier* Thank you… Sebastian, was it?

Sebastian: Yes, ma’am.

GUYS. SEB MORAN WAS IN TORCHWOOD.

Doctor Who, series 2, episode 12, Army of Ghosts.

Prompt: Jim Moriarty and John Watson are room-mates at college. Add Sherlock as you see fit.

John entered the flat. He wasn’t sure what to make of it – it was just one big room, divided into two parts by a line of chalk across the carpet. The half of the room nearest the door was painted a boring beige, with a small bed and a few stains on the wall from where blu-tack had been stuck before. The other half of the room was completely different – the walls were painted in a shiny white, a well-made bed with blue sheets and covers was pushed neatly into the corner, a large bookcase with textbooks and other study materials was on the far side, and a boy about John’s age was sprawled across his side of the room, reading a fashion magazine.

“Hello?” John called to the boy.

“Hi.” the boy didn’t look up from his magazine.

“I’m John, the new room-mate.” John set his stuff down on the rickety bed, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.

“Jim.” said the boy. He looked up, and a grin lit up his face. “You’re cute.”

“Oh, um, thanks, I guess.” John muttered. He turned to the bed. “Is this one mine?”

“Yup! Sorry about the state of it. My last flatmate left in a hurry.” Jim shrugged. He stood up, sauntering over to John and gesturing to the beige walls.

John cast an eye over the chalk line and contrasting wall colours. “I wonder why.”

“His name was Carl.” Jim sighed. “He was a bully. I didn’t like him much.”

“I hate bullies too. I’ll protect you, don’t worry.” John smiled. Jim grinned.

“Thanks. That… that means a lot, actually.”

John sat on his bed, staring at the strange boy. Jim was dressed in jogging trousers and a casual Gap shirt, his hair cut into short spikes. He was obviously intelligent, judging by the bookcase, and he seemed quite likeable.

“So, what do you study?” John smiled.

“Lots of things.” Jim shrugged. “Criminology, sociology, psychology, physics, Literature, chemistry…”

“So you’re a genius!” John grinned.

Jim laughed. “I like to think so!”

There was a knock on the door.

“Hey, Jim.” Sherlock sighed, leaning against the door-frame. “Class starts in ten minutes.”

John’s eyes widened. This guy was tall – incredibly so – and his black shaggy hair framed his pale face, exaggerating his cheekbones. He was dressed in a sharp black suit, a complete contrast to Jim.

“I see you received a new room-mate.” Sherlock glanced at John, who just grinned goofily.

“Yes, and he’s mine, so hands off.” Jim glared at the taller boy.

“Wha-?!” John laughed.

Both boys stared at him, and he shut up.

“Ten minutes.” Sherlock nodded to Jim, and disappeared down the hallway.

“Sherlock Holmes.” Jim growled.

“Who?” John asked.

“Never mind.” Jim smiled at the boy. He held out his hand. “I haven’t properly introduced myself! I’m James Moriarty, soon to be professor.”

“John Watson, soon to be doctor.” John shook Jim’s hand, and they smiled at each other.

“I have a feeling we’re going to be friends, John!”

“I think so too, Jim!”

Prompt: Sherlock meets the Weeping Angels.

Dartmoor, nightfall. Henry Knight crashed through the giant forest, tears streaming down his face. Why had he tried to shoot Dr Stapleton? He was hallucinating – that was the only explanation. Just keep running, Henry. It’ll be fine. Run.

“Henry?” yelled the consulting detective, his torch sweeping the ground for tracks.

“Sherlock, over here!” John’s voice wafted through the fog. Sherlock ran over, stopping beside the army doctor.

“What is it? What?” Sherlock frowned.

“That.” John pointed at a stone statue behind a tree. It wasn’t very big – just a few inches taller than Sherlock – but it was creepy… and it was hiding. Or at least seemed to be.

“It’s just a statue.” sighed Sherlock. “We have to find Henry!”

“No, wait.” John stepped towards the stone. It was shaped like an angel – one of the wings was chipped badly, as if the angel was hurt somehow. Indeed, it seemed to be crying – the expression on its face was one of pain, not regret. An arm was covering the cold, hard eyes. John stepped even closer to it.

“John?” Sherlock frowned at him. He looked closer at the statue. OH GOD.

“It’s well-made.” John noted. He was within an arm’s reach of the angel now.

“JOHN!” Sherlock yelled. John looked round – and then he was gone, a terrifying stone angel in his place. The hands were claws, stretched to the spot where John had been just a moment ago. Despite the horrifying expression on its face, the angel seemed quite pleased with itself.

“John!” Sherlock yelled again. He ran to the statue, staring straight into its face. “What are you?” he growled. The angel said nothing. Sherlock stepped backwards.

“So, John was fine, walking to you.” he pointed to the angel. “He walked towards you, and he was fine, talking… until he looked away.” Sherlock’s eyes grew wide. He looked slowly back at the angel – but now it was in front of him, glaring into his eyes, jaws open wide, fangs showing. Sherlock yelped, stumbling backwards. He composed himself, forcing his eyes to keep open.

Don’t blink.

Blink and you’re dead.

“Very helpful.” he growled. He stared at the angel. No use – his eyes were watering. Any second now -

“Ooof!” he yelped. He slammed into a wall, leg bashing against a bin and startling a cat.

“Hello there!” someone called. Sherlock groaned, clutching his leg.

“What?” he mumbled.

“Nasty things, the Weeping Angels. This isn’t the first time someone’s been taken by them.” the man sat next to Sherlock, patting the detective’s arm. Sherlock glared at him.

“Weeping? They weren’t sad – they seemed pretty damn pleased with themselves.” he grumbled. The man laughed.

“You sound like you’re used this kind of thing.” the man helped Sherlock up.

“Sort of, but this doesn’t make any sense.” Sherlock sighed. “I’m usually very good at this.”

“Ah, me too! Alien expert, me.”

“Aliens?”

“Yup! I’ll explain, don’t worry.” the man adjusted his 3D glasses. “I’m the Doctor, by the way.”

“Sherlock Holmes. ” Sherlock looked around. He turned to the Doctor, a look of horror on his face. “Where’s John?”

“Oh, Dr Watson?” the Doctor smiled. “He’s in the TARDIS.”

There was a moment of silence.

“If anything, that makes even less sense.”

Prompt: Sherlock and John are beginner consulting Pokémon trainers.

They were ten years old, stood outside Professor Mycroft’s house in Baker Town. Sherlock Holmes, the professor’s (much) younger brother stood with an air of importance, waiting for his own house to be opened to him. John Watson, Sherlock’s friend, stood nervously, his hands turning clammy. Irene Adler, also a ‘friend’ of Sherlock’s, stood impatiently, texting on a Pokégear.

“Morning, children.” Professor Mycroft appeared behind the three, startling them. The elder man didn’t smile, but he nodded curtly to them and beckoned them into the huge house.

“I can’t believe this!” grinned Irene. “It’s finally here!”

“Your first Pokémon will be with you forever, or so they say.” Sherlock shrugged.

“Pretty big decision then…” John chuckled nervously.

The party stopped outside a big door, which Prof. Mycroft opened. The light hit their eyes, but as soon as they could see clearly, they rushed towards the long desk in the centre of the room, hopping happily.

“These three Pokéballs-“

“Yes, yes, we know all that.” Sherlock muttered impatiently. “Which do we choose?”

“If you know all about them, then you tell me!” snapped the older Holmes brother, crossing his arms. Sherlock smirked.

“The first contains Bulbasaur, a grass type. A bit of an easy choice – no-one ever picks it.”

John felt a bit sorry for the Pokémon. “Why not?”

“Because it’s a little thing, and it’s a disaster to try and feed. Its only good attack is Bullet Seed, if you have the right training or TM. It’s loyal, small but fussy, and it’s not very intelligent.” Sherlock snickered.

“I want it.” John said suddenly.

“But-“

“No. I choose Bulbasaur.” he grabbed the first Pokéball on the desk, cradling it in his hands. “Hello.” he whispered to it.

“Whatever.” Sherlock shrugged. “The second is Squirtle, a water type. Medium ranking, very sturdy, easy to hide, not easy to manipulate, not easy to train. Sleek and cute – but only when it wants to be. It can be a real minx. To be honest, it’s a bit unreliable, but if you know what it likes, then it’s true to you.”

“I want that one!” Irene’s eyes lit up. She took the ball off the desk and grinned at it. “Later, boys!” she sang, skipping out of the lab.

“Where are you going?” Sherlock called.

“To train! I’m not sitting around while you bore me.” she laughed. In the next instant, she was gone, leaving Sherlock and John in the room, stunned.

“Fine.” Prof. Mycroft shrugged. “Just ignore me then.”

“The final Pokémon.” Sherlock took the Pokéball gingerly. “Charmander, the fire type. Hard to train, stubborn, and will attack at any point.”

“Are you just making this up?”

“No.” Sherlock frowned at John. “Charmander, although annoying and temperamental, is by far the best starter for the Kanto region. A lot of great attacks, and it’s smart, too.”

“And of course you’d wind up with it.” John chuckled.

“What do you mean?” Sherlock glared at him.

“It’s just like you – annoying, temperamental, stubborn…” John grinned.

“Fine. I’ll show you.” Sherlock growled. “I challenge you to a battle!”

“Bring it on!” John laughed. “My Gladstone is much better than your stupid lizard!”

“You named that thing Gladstone?!”

“That’s right! And it will beat your lizard hands-down!”

“My starter is no ordinary Pokémon! His name is Lestrade, and he will always win!”

“Is that so?”

“Obviously.”

The two boys glared at each other for a moment, then turned away.

“Tomorrow morning. Right here.”

“Agreed.”

…

P.S. I always imagine Moriarty in charge of Team Rocket, but instead of Rocket it’s Reichenbach. Yes, I think it’s hilarious. Shut up.

Prompt: Sherlock is a snorer (from Hound of the Baskervilles, Sherlock Season 2).

“Hey, Gary.” John caught the older man’s arm as he walked away. John and Sherlock were leaving for London again with a happy and extremely tanned Lestrade, and the army doctor had stopped along the way to check out of the hotel.

“Ah, Dr Watson!” smiled Gary. “Leaving for London?”

“Yes, now, actually.” John pointed over his shoulder. “I just wanted to check out, and to see how you were doing.”

“We’re doing fine. And I’ve already checked you out of the room – your boyfriend came in earlier.”

“He’s not my boyfriend!” John frowned.

“How do you know who I was talking about?” Gary winked.

“I didn’t…” John glared at the floor.

“Poppycock! We need some gossip, sir, gossip! This place is too dull!” Gary laughed. He grew solemn. “Well, it is now.”

“What’s this?” Billy appeared by Gary’s side, eyebrows raised.

“Dr Watson is going to tell us a fact about his love life.” Gary whispered to his partner.

“I’m not telling you anything!”

“Oh, but I think you owe us, Dr Watson, after that whole dog business…” Billy crossed his arms. There was a moment of silence.

“Fine!” John threw his hands into the air, sighing in exasperation. “If I tell you one thing, can I go?”

“Certainly!” “Of course!”

“Ah…” John settled into a chair as the two hotel owners leant on the bar, watching him. “One thing. Right. Sherlock hogs the blankets.”
John thought for a moment. “He always sleeps on his side, and always has the duvet right up to his chin, like this,” John put his clenched fists under his chin together, then placed them at his sides again. “and he tosses and turns in the night, muttering about cases and bombs and other things. And he always manages to kick me awake.”
John put a hand to his forehead.
“Oh, and he SNORES! He’s such a loud snorer, he can probably wake Mrs Hudson, even if she’s sleeping like a log because of her evening soother. But then he very rarely even comes to bed! He’s usually in the living room pacing or smoking or moping on the sofa or shooting the bloody wall. Then, if he ever does come to bed, which is very unlikely, I’ll probably be sound asleep and he’ll come barging in, yelling about some case or another, and fall onto the bed and go right to sleep without even a ‘good-night’. He never turns the light out either! But that’s not even the worst of it! When we have sex, which is another rarity, he’ll sometimes jump out of bed and run to the living room because he’s thought of another piece of case information, leaving me in bed, tired and rejected and very cold because he’s probably taken the bloody duvet with him!”
John gasped for air, clutching his side.

Billy and Gary glanced at each other.

“Well!” Billy giggled.

“Well indeed.” Gary nodded. John went slightly red.

“I didn’t mean to say all that. I’m sorry. Sorry.” he muttered.

“No, it’s fine. It’s him you want to worry about.” Gary pointed at the doorway. John turned slowly round to see a bemused and slightly hurt Sherlock.

“I don’t always mean to take the duvet with me…” Sherlock grumbled. He turned on his heel and walked out of the door. John sighed.

“Boyfriends, eh?” Gary laughed.

“You don’t know the half of it.” John rolled his eyes.

Accepting prompts, as usual.

I might take a break from le internet for a while, so fill up my inbox with random stuff.

If anyone wants to send me stuff, I’m free.

Prompts
Love letters
This or that? (nothing too cruel…)
Kid!lock requests (because reasons and feels)
Anon hate

Plus, we hit 199 followers!! Thank you all so so so much!! :)

So I’ve been working on a Wholock fic. I know.

Would you like me to upload it? It’s got 11 chapters (but they’re quite small), and I think it’s fantastic. There’s no point in being modest - it’s the best thing I’ve ever written and I’m not going to be all “well it’s okay”.

Like this post so I can see who wants this. Or reblog it and spread the word.

Hi guys! My name’s epicluna, your lord and master, and I’m the girl in charge of sailing all your favourite ships. On behalf of the rest of the shippers on Tumblr, and the guys stuck on Facebook, let me give you guys one Hell of a big Fandom welcome on board today.

Now, before we go right ahead and sail some ship, I’m going to ask you to fill my inbox with fanfic prompts. Hey, I know guys, big yawn, eh? But you know what, it just might make my day. A-Although if you don’t want to it’s fine, but still…

Okay. See you on the flipside of my Tumblr inbox.

Ciao!

Cabin Pressure parody because reasons and I DO WHAT I WANT.