Everything is Wholock and Nothing Hurts

This is a place that hopes to gather everything Wholockian on tumblr.
Thu 12 Dec
@15:40

crystalsoulslayer:

spinning-logic:

beingextremelycleveruphere:

merrychristmasoswin:

For immediate reblogging

Any Sherlock’s want to rp this awesome thing?

this is so ridiculously good why isn’t this person making so much money why?

HOW IN THE LEMON-SCENTED SUBORBITAL EFFERVESCENT FUCK DID THEY DO THIS

(Source: qroote, via sonicsetting24601)

Fri 12 Apr
@11:19
Fri 25 Jan
@18:28

Anonymous said: I think you mean, "Everything is Wholock and EVERYTHING hurts"

Hello Anon,

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.

Cheers

Thu 24 Jan
@19:49

watsonwarrior:

Wholock (x)

@18:44
@17:38
karambolka:

Doctor, stop fangirling and go home!

karambolka:

Doctor, stop fangirling and go home!

@16:33
misslaneye:

~By Siladin on Devianart~

misslaneye:

~By Siladin on Devianart~

(via misslaneye-deactivated20140219)

@15:27
@14:22

Who are you, Moriarty?

themajesticmountainscold:

A Wholock fic. Set on the rooftop during Reichenbach.

Sherlock tries to figure out who Moriarty is.

Read More

(Source: carmillaswife)

@13:16

Chapter one

consultingdetectiveandtwodoctors:

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.

(via drawingwerewolves-deactivated20)

@12:11

jawnthetimelord:

So I made a fic

Fic: Hiden in plain sight

Fandom: WhoLock

Rating: K+

Language: English

Words: 1,241

Summary: John had always thought his life would be normal, for once, but with the reappearance of a familiar box in the sky, his world is toppled over, and truth will out.

(via jawnthetimelord-deactivated2014)

@11:06
absentdaydreams:

Random sherlock doodle, because Tumblr won’t allow me to post normally.
Now here, my Wholock oneshot!!
——————
Baker Street is empty, as he expected. The thought is a little sobering, and he takes the precious few minutes he has to scan the room intently for details. John is evidently living here still, the table cluttered, and a jumper thrown across the back of a chair. He finds that odd; he is so used to Johns immaculately tidy habits. John is the type who folds a dirty tea towel into little squares before placing it in the laundry. He irons his clothes to within an inch of its life. It is unnatural for him to be messy. That is Sherlock’s job.
Newspapers, magazines, and all manner of paper fill the empty space on the coffee table, and he can see that one of the headlines blares out about his apparent confession and subsequent suicide. Why John would bother to keep such drivel is beyond him. It has crinkled, crumpled from overuse and he realises with a pang that John is obsessing.
There is only a single coffee ring staining the varnished surface. John is living alone. Sherlock isn’t sure whether he is pleased by that notion, or not.
Emotions at the best of times annoy him, bothersome things that they are, but even more so when he cannot sufficiently identify them. There is a lump in his throat and his eyes burn a little, enough that he is forced to blink salty tears away.
Sorrow.
However, the rest of it is a hopelessly jumbled, tangled mess. He wants so desperately to tell John that he is alive. He does not dare to. He finds himself reduced to sneaking into his own flat in order to steal his own possessions and he must do so without telling John or Mrs Hudson, for fear of their lives.
Why on Earth he had thought it a good idea to get emotionally attached was beyond him, he thought bitterly. When did it ever become a good idea to care?
“Feeling regretful?”
The voice is quiet in the empty flat. He does not turn.
“i’ll just be a moment more.” He says with enforced casualness, equally quiet in the dim light. He stares down at an open magazine, at his own face and an article entitled, “Believe.”
His acquaintance nods once, thoughtfully, a wave of brown hair flopping over his forehead. Green eyes, so ancient and wonderful, survey the flat with mild interest.
“It’s only a while longer.” He says to Sherlock, staring at the skull on the mantlepiece. “and then no more sneaking about. Just until we stop the Master, or as he’s calling himself, Moriarty. Until then, you’ll just have to stay with me.”
Sherlocks lips thin, turn pale in their anger.
“I wish you had thought to warn me that he was like you. I wish I had known he would not die so easily.”
His voice wants desperately to rise, to shout and let some of this godforsaken frustration out. But he knows that Mrs Hudson is asleep in her own flat and so he cannot dare.
It trembles instead, faltering and he hates it with every fibre of his being.
The man in the doorway raises an eyebrow coolly.
“Perhaps I had thought you would deduce it, Sherlock Holmes.”
This makes a muscle in his jaw twitch.
“I am aware I missed the signs. But he didn’t broadcast them like you did. He wanted to be hidden.” He seethes, cursing himself for his own blatant stupidity. He knew Time Lords, or at least the signs to look out for. It was not his fault Moriarty hid his double heartbeat. Not his fault.
It was entirely his fault. He had placed John at risk by not seeing the signs. Had he realised that the man who challenged him was more than human, was more than they, in their limited knowledge could handle….
The thought overwhelms him for a moment, and he realises with ice cold dread that that he is exactly that -limited. He may well be a genius, above the norm, but he is human too. He cannot defeat that which he is less than.
His knees shake and he tumbles, collapses into his leather armchair. His head in his hands. They are trembling. When did that happen?
“…Breathe, Sherlock.” His acquaintance reminds him gently. This is not the first time that this has happened. It is embarrassing to think on it, or rather, it would be, if he were in any state to actually care.
He breathes.
“He is just like you.” Sherlock says softly, not looking up. “he is far superior to us because he is more. He will just keep coming back, again and again and—”
“No.” States the Doctor firmly. “Not greater, not ever greater. You forget, Sherlock, that you are human.”
A short laugh echoes around the room and it takes a moment to realise that the sound is his own voice.
“That was rather my point.”
“It isn’t a weakness to be human.” The Doctor states firmly. “Because to be human is so, so wonderful. All those clever little ideas you get, all those hopes and fears and dreams and emotions!!” His green eyes swirl with wonder and his tone is almost reverent.
“Distractions.” Sherlock dismisses.
“No, not at all! You still don’t get it!!” The Doctor darts suddenly, his hands raising to gesture wildly. “Time Lords are limited. The Master, Moriarty, whatever…He is limited and he always will be, because he isn’t human. He sees you all as animals, as silly, stupid little apes that don’t stand a chance against him, but just look at you, Sherlock Holmes!” You stood against him, not once, but twice and here you are, still fighting! You beat him at his own game and saved John didn’t you?!”
Sherlock stares at the alien pacing across his living room.
“Didn’t you?!”
“Yes.” Sherlock admits, stunned.
The Doctor positively beams.
“So there. Now, should we go and stop him so that I can finally see John hit you for lying to him?”
Sherlock stands, tugs at his lapels so that they stand up, his trademark look.
“Shall we, Doctor?”
The Time Lord gestures to the door and then pauses, a finger raised.
“Don’t you forget, once we’ve done this, you’ve my case to solve.”
“Clara Oswin Oswald?” Sherlock asks smoothly. “Easy. I’ve at least five possible matches so far, and you’ve yet to give me the full data. She wasn’t married , was she….?”

absentdaydreams:

Random sherlock doodle, because Tumblr won’t allow me to post normally.

Now here, my Wholock oneshot!!

——————

Baker Street is empty, as he expected. The thought is a little sobering, and he takes the precious few minutes he has to scan the room intently for details. John is evidently living here still, the table cluttered, and a jumper thrown across the back of a chair. He finds that odd; he is so used to Johns immaculately tidy habits. John is the type who folds a dirty tea towel into little squares before placing it in the laundry. He irons his clothes to within an inch of its life. It is unnatural for him to be messy. That is Sherlock’s job.

Newspapers, magazines, and all manner of paper fill the empty space on the coffee table, and he can see that one of the headlines blares out about his apparent confession and subsequent suicide. Why John would bother to keep such drivel is beyond him. It has crinkled, crumpled from overuse and he realises with a pang that John is obsessing.

There is only a single coffee ring staining the varnished surface. John is living alone. Sherlock isn’t sure whether he is pleased by that notion, or not.

Emotions at the best of times annoy him, bothersome things that they are, but even more so when he cannot sufficiently identify them. There is a lump in his throat and his eyes burn a little, enough that he is forced to blink salty tears away.

Sorrow.

However, the rest of it is a hopelessly jumbled, tangled mess. He wants so desperately to tell John that he is alive. He does not dare to. He finds himself reduced to sneaking into his own flat in order to steal his own possessions and he must do so without telling John or Mrs Hudson, for fear of their lives.

Why on Earth he had thought it a good idea to get emotionally attached was beyond him, he thought bitterly. When did it ever become a good idea to care?

“Feeling regretful?”

The voice is quiet in the empty flat. He does not turn.

“i’ll just be a moment more.” He says with enforced casualness, equally quiet in the dim light. He stares down at an open magazine, at his own face and an article entitled, “Believe.”

His acquaintance nods once, thoughtfully, a wave of brown hair flopping over his forehead. Green eyes, so ancient and wonderful, survey the flat with mild interest.

“It’s only a while longer.” He says to Sherlock, staring at the skull on the mantlepiece. “and then no more sneaking about. Just until we stop the Master, or as he’s calling himself, Moriarty. Until then, you’ll just have to stay with me.”

Sherlocks lips thin, turn pale in their anger.

“I wish you had thought to warn me that he was like you. I wish I had known he would not die so easily.”

His voice wants desperately to rise, to shout and let some of this godforsaken frustration out. But he knows that Mrs Hudson is asleep in her own flat and so he cannot dare.

It trembles instead, faltering and he hates it with every fibre of his being.

The man in the doorway raises an eyebrow coolly.

“Perhaps I had thought you would deduce it, Sherlock Holmes.”

This makes a muscle in his jaw twitch.

“I am aware I missed the signs. But he didn’t broadcast them like you did. He wanted to be hidden.” He seethes, cursing himself for his own blatant stupidity. He knew Time Lords, or at least the signs to look out for. It was not his fault Moriarty hid his double heartbeat. Not his fault.

It was entirely his fault. He had placed John at risk by not seeing the signs. Had he realised that the man who challenged him was more than human, was more than they, in their limited knowledge could handle….

The thought overwhelms him for a moment, and he realises with ice cold dread that that he is exactly that -limited. He may well be a genius, above the norm, but he is human too. He cannot defeat that which he is less than.

His knees shake and he tumbles, collapses into his leather armchair. His head in his hands. They are trembling. When did that happen?

“…Breathe, Sherlock.” His acquaintance reminds him gently. This is not the first time that this has happened. It is embarrassing to think on it, or rather, it would be, if he were in any state to actually care.

He breathes.

“He is just like you.” Sherlock says softly, not looking up. “he is far superior to us because he is more. He will just keep coming back, again and again and—”

“No.” States the Doctor firmly. “Not greater, not ever greater. You forget, Sherlock, that you are human.”

A short laugh echoes around the room and it takes a moment to realise that the sound is his own voice.

“That was rather my point.”

“It isn’t a weakness to be human.” The Doctor states firmly. “Because to be human is so, so wonderful. All those clever little ideas you get, all those hopes and fears and dreams and emotions!!” His green eyes swirl with wonder and his tone is almost reverent.

“Distractions.” Sherlock dismisses.

“No, not at all! You still don’t get it!!” The Doctor darts suddenly, his hands raising to gesture wildly. “Time Lords are limited. The Master, Moriarty, whatever…He is limited and he always will be, because he isn’t human. He sees you all as animals, as silly, stupid little apes that don’t stand a chance against him, but just look at you, Sherlock Holmes!” You stood against him, not once, but twice and here you are, still fighting! You beat him at his own game and saved John didn’t you?!”

Sherlock stares at the alien pacing across his living room.

“Didn’t you?!”

“Yes.” Sherlock admits, stunned.

The Doctor positively beams.

“So there. Now, should we go and stop him so that I can finally see John hit you for lying to him?”

Sherlock stands, tugs at his lapels so that they stand up, his trademark look.

“Shall we, Doctor?”

The Time Lord gestures to the door and then pauses, a finger raised.

“Don’t you forget, once we’ve done this, you’ve my case to solve.”

“Clara Oswin Oswald?” Sherlock asks smoothly. “Easy. I’ve at least five possible matches so far, and you’ve yet to give me the full data. She wasn’t married , was she….?”

(Source: )

Tue 15 Jan
@5:52

doomslock:

Wholock AU: Doctor Who?

└ Sherlock investigates a man called the Doctor and John becomes increasingly intolerable of the obsession.

(via bbcsherlockftw)

Sat 4 Feb
@11:12
@4:48