I live, and I write!

18th May 2012

Photo reblogged from I'm insane - are you just getting that now? with 5,295 notes

lostconner:

playing  violin

Johnlock OTP being adorable with Violins? Sounds like pure win to me!

Tagged: JohnSherlockOTPJohnlockFanart

Source: lostconner

4th April 2012

Photo reblogged from CONFUSING REALITY WITH PORN with 929 notes

dramatis-echo:

“I’m so sorry to have to call you in, Doctor Watson. I know you’re busy.”

John nodded; tension already evident in his body. “What is it this time?”

“I’m afraid that Hamish has been caught fighting. Again.” The principal huffed, moving some papers around on her desk. John took a quick glance, and noticed none of them seemed pressing; just trying to look important, then, He mused to himself. “This is the fourth time in three months. I’m terribly sorry, but he’s going to have to be suspended.”

John pursed his lips, “And I trust the students he’s been fighting with are ALSO going to be suspended?” He shot her a withering look. “There’s always two sides to a fight, so, Hamish can’t be solely responsible. He might be a brat sometimes, but I know he isn’t violent.”

“The students he’s been fighting with have had some problems in the past, that’s true,” The principal admitted, albeit a bit reluctantly, “But the witnesses in each incident mark Hamish as the instigator in every occurrence. He’s proven to be disrespectful in class, he talks down to the teachers and corrects them during  their lessons, he doesn’t interact well with other children, and he doesn’t complete class assignments.”

John’s hands curled into fists as he tried to keep his cool. “He had a history assignment due last week. I know he completed it, because I was there. He always completes his work… in record time too, I imagine.”

“Actually, Doctor Watson, Hamish has a horrible habit of belittling the assignments he’s given. He will do the work, granted, but then presents an ‘extended’ project in which he believes he’s improved the class syllabus.”

The doctor scoffed, “So, you’re chastising him for doing MORE work than is required?”

The principal sniffed in sharply, and looked back to her desk.

“I understand that parents can be over-protective of their children. And there’s no denying Hamish is gifted, but…” She trailed off, as if waiting for John to fill in the blanks himself.

“What exactly were these fights about?”

She continued on, blatantly ignoring his question, “Respectfully, Doctor Watson… the fact that I need to contact you tells me a lot about Hamish’s home life.”

“…Excuse me?”

“I’m not trying to make assumptions about Mr. Holmes’ occupation or your private life together… but you are of no blood-relation to Hamish. Yet, you are listed as the primary contact in his file, while his father seems to show little to no interest in him. Hamish is on a dangerous path, Doctor Watson.”

John felt like if he clenched his jaw any tighter, his teeth would shatter.

“Well, thank you for your ‘concern’.” He breathed, shaking his head in disbelief. “But you won’t need to worry about Hamish anymore. We’ll be pulling him out of this school. Poor kid shouldn’t have to stifle his genius to please you morons.”

The principal looked slightly taken aback, “There’s no need to be hostile, Doctor Watson…”

“I can’t be hostile toward an institution that’s displaying a similar hostility toward my son?” He countered sharply.

She took a deep breath. “I didn’t mean to offend you. Perhaps… if we could contact Hamish’s mother. I realize she and Mr. Holmes ha-”

“She’s dead.” John interrupted. “And trust me, Hamish’s home life isn’t the problem. No. I can see the real problem; clear as day now.”

With a curt nod, the ex-army captain headed out of the office without another word. Once in the hall, he took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. He didn’t need her to say any more; John was capable of reading between the lines and didn’t need ANYONE undermining or questioning his (or Sherlock’s) ability to raise a child. He knew it was probable that the school staff just didn’t like Hamish, but John wouldn’t be surprised if there was a bit of homophobia lingering about in the back of their small minds.

Looking to his left, he saw Hamish sitting silently on the wooden bench against the wall. John sighed and walked over to him; crouching down so he was at eye-level with his son. He still didn’t make eye contact with his dad, but instead, kept his gaze down. Perhaps he was expecting to be reprimanded. He had a bit of dirt smeared on his cheek (the fight took place outside then, John deduced), and his clothing was a bit ruffled.

“Good riddance to this place, huh?” John muttered gently in the hopes of reassuring Hamish he wasn’t angry. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a handkerchief, and carefully began to wipe the dirt from Hamish’s cheek. It broke his head to see a large tear clinging to the corner of Hamish’s stunning blue eyes. His face didn’t contort, and he didn’t break down… but rather like his father, held in his disappointment. His pain, his frustration.

“We’ll look for a new school. Maybe that private school your father and uncle attended, hm?” John continued, trying to stay optimistic. Hamish still didn’t answer. “Look, Hamish…. I’m sorry. This was my fault. I thought putting you in a public school would be good for you. I just… I don’t know. I wanted to see if you’d take to it. But you’re a Holmes through-and-through. Guess I should have listened to your father, but…” He paused, tilting Hamish’s chin up so he had to finally look him in the eye. “I don’t want you to dumb yourself down. Not for anyone. You’re a genius, Hamish… definitely smarter than me. Er, not that that’s any great feat.”

The corner of Hamish’s mouth twitched as he tried to repress a smile.

John stood back up, relieved that he’d managed a tiny break through. Maybe he could ask Hamish later what the fights were about. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

Hamish slid off the bench, and obediently followed John back through the school corridors, and finally out the front doors.

John’s phone chimed, and alerted him to a new text.

Meeting go well?
SH

John shook his head,

You know it didn’t.
Taking Hamish out of this school. They’re idiots.
JW

Told you.
SH

Is Hamish alright?
SH

I will make other arrangements.
SH

Is he upset?
SH

Bringing human brain home for Hamish to experiment on.
I think he’ll like it.
SH

I always hated that school.
SH

On my way home now.
SH

Does ice-cream make children feel better?
I read somewhere it does.
SH

# parentlock

Parentlock is now a thing.

A thing I am going to track.

Because OMG this is AWESOME.

Tagged: EEEEEEEEEEEParentlockSherlockJohnJohnlockADORABLEHamish

Source: dramatis-echo

30th March 2012

Photo reblogged from I live, and I write! with 60 notes

fannishminded:

teabeforewar:

John/kittens. :3

For a kinkmeme prompt: Sherlock walks into John’s room to find John covered with sleeping kittens. Sherlock says they can’t keep the kittens. John replies with, “It’s too late. I already love them.”

Goddamnit. I am now going to go try writing out the bit of brain fluff that mauled me.

I am supposed to be ASLEEP damnit!

Goddamnit. 2 hours later. Whelp.

Kittens for Dinner, Partners for Life

• Part 1

The kittens seemed to be clean when he’d peeked in, the inside of the box still fairly dry but with the way the rain was pissing down, the box wouldn’t last long. John double checked the inside of the box before straightening with a short and soft exhalation of “Fuck”.

John hunched his shoulders and continued the forward motion into a leaning slump. He braced his forearms against the brick wall over the already soggy “Free!” sign, his breath slightly steaming in the frigid spring air as the cold trickle of rain from his hair swiftly became a steady stream along his spine due to the new angle.

He couldn’t leave them out here, not even for long enough to call it in to a rescue. If he was this miserable, just the idea of the roughly six week old kittens in the box being trapped out in this downpour made him shudder.

His voice was steady as he moved to pick up the box, bracing the opening against his jacket to try and keep the kittens a bit warmer and dryer as he walked back towards the flat. “Nothing for it, you lot better be older than you look- I only have enough to get some basic kibble, nothing fancy like replacement milks. Fuck. Whoever left you out here should get locked out in this mess.”

His talking was as much for himself as the kittens, he vaguely remembered that talking was good for keeping kittens calm, however his last kitten had been in university. Franky. He hadn’t thought of Franky in years.

Franky had been found on the way home from a Rocky Horror night, in fact had been in a box much like these kittens. Franky, named by his then girlfriend Minda, was the only kitten in the box, and had been half starved and so flea bitten John had doubted he’d live.

After almost a month of care Franky was strutting and over the top in seeking affection, just like his namesake, none the worse for starting out in an alley. John had mourned loosing Franky to Minda more than he’d mourned loosing Minda when they broke off the engagement two years later.

He knew for a fact that kittens younger than ten weeks old tended to be at least partially on kitten formula if they couldn’t get mother’s milk, however if he got a little evaporated milk and a few eggs, he should be able to make some mush that even kittens barely past the initial weaning could use. He reached around to get the door, smiling as the shifting caused a few tentative mews to rise up from the box.

John barely paused to look at Sherlock, zoned out on the couch, before carrying the box the rest of the way up to his room. The only place safe enough for the kittens was his room- all of the downstairs was a health hazard for humans, let alone kittens. John used the one arm to clear off his desk before setting the slightly soggy box on it. He had been right, the cardboard was starting to give up the ghost.

• Part 2

Over the next couple of hours John made a new nesting basket for the kittens from a few trashed sweaters and jumpers before pulling each kitten out to be inspected, rubbed cleaner with a lightly dampened cloth, and set into their new home. He then found some leftover litter from the experiments last month and a roughly correct height pan to make into a litter box. A small bowl of water was put to the far edge of a flannel sheet protected area of hardwood floor.

John had quickly set up a barrier of sorts to impede escape attempts by the crafty little kittens, a combination of stacked books and tightly rolled towels making an impressive barrier to keep the kittens in the cleaned and warm corner near the heater.

By the time everything was set up, John could already tell each kitten apart, the grey markings were very similar on three of the four of them, but the personality on each of the three was more than making up for any potential confusion.

He was tempted to name lazybones Sherlock, especially since lazybones was the one that attacked his fingers every single time he wiggled them at him. He just seemed to refuse to move for anything less than a wiggling movement directly in front of him. Once he was moving, he had energy to spare in batting and pawing and biting at whatever it was that dared to wiggle in front of him.

How such a laid back and pliant kitten could also be the most energetic and enthusiastic in that regard boggled him even as it made him laugh.

Then there was licker, absolutely everything had to be licked by licker, and then batted at, and then headbutted, and for good measure, licked again. This process was not just limited to the basket, or the sweaters, or even to John himself. No, licker seemed to feel a need to test everything. Extensively.

Really, lazybones couldn’t be Sherlock, because licker could easily try and sneak that name.

Well, not sneak, not like scoundrel. John really shouldn’t get as much enjoyment out of scoundrel’s antics. Scoundrel seemed hell bent on picking a fight with everything. She would bat at each of her siblings for however long it took for them to attack her back, and then she’d look wide eyed and a bit dazed after the tussle. Like she hadn’t realized batting at her sibling’s ears would make them pounce her and bite at her paws. So she’d then sulk around the basket and burrow into some fold and try to hide. Then, when another sibling came past, or she got bored, she’d start the cycle all over again.

No, he couldn’t name any of the kittens Sherlock- mostly because all the grey ones seemed to be trying for the name.

He still hadn’t come up with a nickname for the last kitten. Normal, would be the closest for him. He was obviously the runt, and his coloring was different, more of a sandy color to the sooty ash of the other kittens. He was a bit energetic and a bit lazy, ready to finish a fight but never starting them like scoundrel.

Watching normal pin the much larger scoundrel had been surprising, seeing as until then, normal had been just calmly and slowly exploring the basket and the edges of the rolled towel barriers that marked the edge of their area by the heater. He had been the first kitten pulled out, and beside the characters that were his siblings he seemed almost dull despite his constant but steady explorations.

John knew it was only a matter of time before they all had names. He also knew that he really should call them in to a shelter for pickup, but every time he reached to do it, one of the kittens would do something else to remind him of Sherlock, or surprise him like the little sandy one did in pinning scoundrel…

John’s stomach growled and the little sandy colored one mewled as if agreeing with it. John gave a small chuckle and pulled himself up to go back out. “Careful there, or I’ll name you Sherlock. I’ll bring you and your siblings some tasty kibble to make into gruel- and some beans for the humans. Don’t get into trouble, now.”

Some habits died hard; others only ever hibernated.

• Part 3 (stopping here for now as my head is Fecking killing me and I am making massive mistakes- expect more Sunday)

As Sherlock hadn’t yet shifted- likely not realizing that hours had passed since John had first left to do the shopping, John found himself musing while walking into the evening rain. Musing on how he was already talking to the kittens like he had his other cats.

John had always found it a bit easier to talk with his cats, first the family cat, Pudge, then his first cat, Twinkletoes, then Franky, then every other cat that had gravitated to him and he to them.

His last cat, Spangle, had probably stayed in Afghanistan. Hopefully some other serviceman had taken him in. John himself had all but inherited the cat from an American sniper that had later died from the wounds that brought him to John’s company.

John never asked how Spangle came to be saddled with the name- he just knew that Spangle was a promise to be kept that became his one pleasure in a world that all too often seemed to be filled with blood and grit and loss.

He had comrades and family in the people he worked with, but it was Spangle that comforted him when there were too many dead and not enough living.

John shook himself from his darker thoughts as he escaped from the rain into the overly bright light of the market. Evaporated Milk, package of eggs, bit of oil, some decent Kitten Kibble, and the beans that were on sale. He had originally planned to make a really good dinner tonight- eggs and beans with kittens for company would have to do instead of the roast he had originally planned.

John found himself grinning at that last thought as he walked back home, despite the increased rain.

Tagged: WhelpWritingGoddamnitSTOP THISJohnAdorableJohnlockFannish FicFannish WritesFannish Babbles

Source: teabeforewar

30th March 2012

Photo reblogged from Fangy, Stormy, and just a little bit Scandalous with 60 notes

teabeforewar:

John/kittens. :3

For a kinkmeme prompt: Sherlock walks into John’s room to find John covered with sleeping kittens. Sherlock says they can’t keep the kittens. John replies with, “It’s too late. I already love them.”

Goddamnit. I am now going to go try writing out the bit of brain fluff that mauled me.

I am supposed to be ASLEEP damnit!

Tagged: WhelpWritingGoddamnitSTOP THISJohnAdorableJohnlock

Source: teabeforewar

29th March 2012

Photo reblogged from scared of a little thunder? with 2,520 notes

dramatis-echo:

“Explain.”

Hamish sheepishly looked up toward his father. Sherlock was sitting beside John on the weathered love-seat against the wall of Molly’s flat. She wasn’t home, currently, which served to amplify the level of trouble Hamish knew he was in.

“I already told dad.”

“Yes, and now you’re going to tell me.” Sherlock instructed firmly; regarding his young son with a casual, but stern demeanor from his position on the love seat. He had one leg crossed over the other, and seemed more at home in Molly’s flat than his husband was.

He had initially been standing, but John being the ‘peacekeeper’ of the family, made him sit. He had told Sherlock that confronting children about their ‘misbehavior’ was better done at eye-level so the child didn’t feel intimidated. Sherlock rather liked intimidation because of his height, but listened to his partner regardless. John had a gentler, more emotionally-aware tactic during these confrontations that had proved effective in the past.

“School is dull.” Hamish finally answered.

Sherlock scoffed, “Yes, but that’s hardly an excuse. I have cases at Scotland Yard that require my attention - which is difficult to keep when your incompetant teachers continue to ring me.”

“Actually they ring me, but keep going.” John chimed in quietly, glancing around Molly’s flat. “Actually, no. I’d rather talk about your growing habit of breaking and entering.”

Hamish pouted, “Molly doesn’t mind.”

“Only because she doesn’t know.” John countered with an unimpressed look. “She gave us that key for emergencies. Her flat isn’t a hideout for you to ditch school, Hamish. You didn’t have permission.”

“Father does it.”

John sighed, and looked to Sherlock. “Told you.”

“You cannot always justify your behavior by linking it back to me.” Sherlock huffed. “If I jumped off a bridge, would you?”

Hamish shot his father a look; it was of frustration and annoyance. Every time John saw that look, he saw Sherlock in their son. It was amazing, really. “Yes, because chances are you’re jumping off a bridge for a good reason. You’re smarter than anyone else.”

Sherlock tilted his head in thought, and then smiled.

“Hamish, don’t distract your father with flattery.” He groaned, shaking his head. “You’re going to be punished for this. And you’re going to apologise to Molly - and I am going to set about hiding her key in a more secure place.”

Hamish pouted more. “I’ll still get in.”

“Sounds like a wager to me.” Sherlock muttered, glancing around Molly’s flat for himself. “It wouldn’t take much. Might be a good experiment to see how Hamish could adapt to the lack of a key, obstacles or witnesses who may catch him in the act of breaking and entering. Perhaps we c-“

“Sherlock.” John snapped, quickly silencing his partner. “Hamish, you’re grounded for the next week. And you’re going to continue to attend school. If I find out otherwise, I’ll send you to stay with Mummy Holmes and you can spend a few months being privately tutored at the estate.”

Hamish’s eyes widened. “B-But that’s way outside of London!”

“So’s my patience.” John nodded. “Go to school and there won’t be any problem, yeah?”

Slowly, their son nodded.

“You said I could discipline him this time.” Sherlock complained petulantly crossing his arms and leaning away from John on the tiny loveseat.

John rolled his eyes with a smirk, “For godsake, Sherlock, don’t pout.” He shook his head as he stood up. “Come on. Let’s clear out before Molly gets back from St. Bart’s. I don’t fancy having to explain why we’re all here.” As he passed Hamish, he gave his son a quick ruffle on the top of his head to show there were no hard feelings.

Sherlock stood slowly and walked toward his son; towering over him as he held his gaze. Hamish held his right back, and straightened his posture.

“…How did you find the key?” Sherlock asked curiously.

Hamish stared up at him. “…How did you find me? I tried not to leave any clues.” He sulked.

Sherlock tilted his chin up a bit.

“I’ll tell you, if you tell me.”

Hamish smiled, “Deal.”

The corner of Sherlock’s mouth turned up into a small grin, before he placed his hand affectionately atop Hamish’s head. His boy smiled back.

# kidlock | # parentlock

Tagged: sherlockkidlockBRB DYINGTHIS IS ADORABLEjohnlockCUTEAdorableficlet

Source: dramatis-echo