Anonymous asked: I think you mean, "Everything is Wholock and EVERYTHING hurts"
Apologies for replying so late. Tumblr doesn’t like to tell me when I have mail.
One of the things I love about both Doctor Who and Sherlock is that no matter what happens, no matter how ridiculous it seems, there is always a reasonable, viable explanation to fix the situation. I don’t view this as a setback.
This is a little vague, but I don’t want to post spoilers so soon after airing. I promise that I’ll say a bit more on the topic after my self-imposed spoiler-time-limit has expired.
Disclaimer: If I owned rights to either Doctor Who or Sherlock, then I wouldn’t be writing fanfiction, I’d be adding JohnLock to the script and Doctor would find a way to save the Ponds.
John quickly unlocks the door to his apartment, 221B, that he shares with Sherlock. He knew it was risky going out to buy food when Sherlock was in a mood like this. Hopefully, the worst he’d get is wearing a sheet. But as John hears the violin slowly fade out he knows he’s getting into it. “I’m bored, John. Bored, bored, bored, bored BORED.” The last bored was accompanied by a small click. John abandons the groceries on the landing and rushes into the room. He runs over and pulls the gun from Sherlock’s fingers. “Sherlock, what have I told you? No shooting the walls. Remember how cross Mrs. Hudson was last time?” Sherlock tries to interrupt but John stops the argument by quickly pressing his lips against Sherlock’s. “No shooting the walls, no matter how bored you get. And what happened to that last case?”
“Oh simple. His wife was cheating on him.”
“How was that relevant?”
“It wasn’t, but I thought it was kind to tell him.”
John groans, “Sherlock, that is anything but kind.” He walks into the kitchen and starts to pack away the food. “AND STOP PUTTING BODY PARTS IN THE REFRIGERATOR!” Sherlock smiles from his position on the couch, but that quickly faded with his boredom. “It was an experiment. Needless to say, if it ended up in the fridge, it failed. And I’m BORED. No ordinary case will merit more than a two.” He’s interrupted by the bell. Two presses, each held for a second. Client. “John, get the door.”
“No, you get off your lazy arse and do it.” John yells back.
“Thank-you.” Sherlock replies. John sighs and walks down the stairs, resigned to being Sherlock’s slave. He opens the door to a group of three people. They rush past him and thunder up the stairs. “Yes, hello, nice meeting you, why don’t you go up and see bloody Sherlock.” He mutters sarcastically.
Sherlock is still sitting on the couch, but at least he’s wearing clothes. Four sets of footsteps, one following behind, probably John. First making heavy clops, male, large size, approximately 6 ft tall, wearing army boots. Second a lighter note, woman and boots, unknown height. Thirdly even footing and tread, hard to say. As they walk into the room, the first man gives an odd smile, “Have we got an adventure for you.”
“I don’t know, have you? Leave. Not interested.” Sherlock says in his usual manner. John glares at him from the doorway. “Oh alright. What do you want and make it quick?” Sherlock states. The man is about to talk when a woman with lots of hair runs in, “Sorry I’m late, just had to park her properly.” Her gaze shifts to Sherlock, “Hello Sweetie.”
Sherlock looks like he’s been hit in the head with a frying pan, before promptly passing out. “River?”
A/N: Okay, I know I’m evil. Yes, there is a bit of JohnLock, nothing too graphic. And virtual cookies to anyone who figures out how River knows Sherlock.