A perfect pair.
The first time you see it, it can hit you really hard, especially since Sherlock is on a total roll and John delivers the line “please God, let me live” in a way where you can be forgiven for not being sure if it’s serious or snark. It apparently has the same effect on Sherlock, as well.
We never do get any details on how Captain John Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers was wounded in action. But from this exchange alone, it’s clear the situation was extremely serious. He was badly wounded, nearly died, and developed PTSD- Sherlock had himself earlier pointed out that the original circumstances of John’s injury must have been ‘traumatic’, and he meant emotionally traumatic, not just violent and painful. The blunt earnestness of John’s response even trips up Sherlock for a second or two, and he’s just been ranting and raving about not understanding why a woman would care about her stillborn baby after fourteen years. This also works as a tearjerker in hindsight if you recall ‘Please God, let me live’ whenever John is genuinely in physical danger elsewhere in the series.
Pretty much everyone in the room agrees that in your last moments, you would think about the people you love the most. John apparently had no one to think about when he was close to dying. He really must have been lonely even before he returned from Afghanistan.
I hate you for making this post because it’s the best I’ve read on this subject and it hurts.
idk can you tell it’s potterlock i don’t think so
The feels… :’(
I think I posted this earlier, but it makes me allllllll emotions.
30 Day Monster Boy Challenge Sherlock Edition: Day 14 - Ghost
“Ah, John. How wonderful of you to join me…but how terrible that you’re here.”
woW how depressing ;w;
The bee dreams started when Sherlock was four.
The first time he woke from one he stared at his tiny hands, wondering what had happened to him. When he realised those pale, wiggling fingers were what his body really looked like he cried in great wracking sobs, unable to explain to anyone what was wrong.
The next dream came three years later, the next almost five after that, and though he’s had fewer than a dozen, Sherlock remembers each with the sharpness of memory.
They’re always dreams of hives and honey and the buzzing hum of life. He dreams his back bears wings and his spine a stinger, and most of all he dreams he’s one of so very many, he’s among, with, part of.
Never alone, Sherlock is touched everywhere and touches back, drowsy little antenna dancing across the bodies of his kin, his queen, and there are no uncertainties or questions, just one sweet goal: Help the colony thrive.
Though he’s had these dreams as long as he can remember, Sherlock never thought to share them, and then one night, a few years after me became we, his midnight laughter woke them both.
“What is it,” John murmured, “What’s made you so happy?”
There in early-morning dark Sherlock told him, and then told him more, sharing each and every buzzing adventure.
And then a rare thing happened: The next night they each woke to John’s soft giggle, and in the dark Sherlock danced pale fingers over his lover’s body, filling the silence with dreamy deduction.
“You brought the queen honey, a dozen times a dozen kinds. You flew everywhere, took just a little from so many neighboring hives. You danced for her, you touched her, you mated.”
Sherlock wrapped his long body around John’s, grinned against his ear, “I was the queen.”
They’ll change through the years, these two, needs and dreams waxing and waning, but one thing will remain forever fixed: No longer alone, they’ll be part of, with, they’ll be us and we…forever and always their own sweet colony.
From fine antenna to sharp stinger, Chellokoru’s beautiful Beelock was irresistible from the moment I saw it. Thank you for this sweet artwork, Chellokoru!
This is Just to Say
I have disposed of
that were in
you were probably
for an experiment
they were disgusting
are a git