Rating: PG13 - R
Difficulty: Intermediate to Difficult, depending on your experience
Possible "Genres": Johnlock (Sure, why not?), friendship, action, drama
Bored.
The exact word that Sherlock quite frequently murmured (or shouted, cried, groaned, or sometimes even sang) was the one word that John’s mind sighed. The former soldier took his lingering hands away from the keyboard and slumped down in the chair, almost feeling defeated.
The day itself was boring as well. London was typically known for being grey, dreary, and foggy, and it had been rather stormy that week with quite a downpour of rain that particular day, with rumbling thunder and flashes of lightening. It had been quiet that day, as no one had gone outside to brave the storm until that hour, but even the most resistant of individuals have to go home at five, six, or seven o’clock, which explained the light hustle and bustle down in the streets. Of course, however, everyone would be home within 30 minutes of leaving their offices and workspaces, and London would be peaceful again.
Of course, London being peaceful meant that there had been no crime or case for Sherlock to solve. It had seemed that when the bad weather drove everyone back into their homes, all of the criminals and monsters had slithered back into their dwellings, left to lurk against the cold stone walls of their mind and anticipate for the sunny rays of opportunity to creep through their cave openings.
John signed again and gingerly closed his laptop. It seemed that Sherlock had run off to his own dwellings too, wherever those were. They certainly weren’t in his room today, or yesterday, for that matter. Sherlock had left the previous morning and he’d not returned since, as found by Mrs. Hudson’s fruitless check-up, which would have been followed by rose tea and biscuits, but instead she fretted about Sherlock’s and forgot all about the tea, leaving it to run cold.
Sherlock’s moment of absence was a change of pace for John, as he hadn’t had to run any demeaning errand like grocery shopping, fetching him whatever mundane (or unorthodox object) he needed, and he certainly hadn’t been called to reach into Sherlock’s coat either (which would have left John to mumble on about how lazy and deplorable Sherlock was as he burned in annoyance, so absence of anything ruining his otherwise content demeanor).
John sighed and picked up his phone so he could navigate through his messages. Nothing from Sherlock, it had seemed. Nothing at all. There was no demand for his presence left in his phone, nor was there a demand of a favor or a troubling task.
Difficulty: Intermediate to Difficult, depending on your experience
Possible "Genres": Johnlock (Sure, why not?), friendship, action, drama
Bored.
The exact word that Sherlock quite frequently murmured (or shouted, cried, groaned, or sometimes even sang) was the one word that John’s mind sighed. The former soldier took his lingering hands away from the keyboard and slumped down in the chair, almost feeling defeated.
The day itself was boring as well. London was typically known for being grey, dreary, and foggy, and it had been rather stormy that week with quite a downpour of rain that particular day, with rumbling thunder and flashes of lightening. It had been quiet that day, as no one had gone outside to brave the storm until that hour, but even the most resistant of individuals have to go home at five, six, or seven o’clock, which explained the light hustle and bustle down in the streets. Of course, however, everyone would be home within 30 minutes of leaving their offices and workspaces, and London would be peaceful again.
Of course, London being peaceful meant that there had been no crime or case for Sherlock to solve. It had seemed that when the bad weather drove everyone back into their homes, all of the criminals and monsters had slithered back into their dwellings, left to lurk against the cold stone walls of their mind and anticipate for the sunny rays of opportunity to creep through their cave openings.
John signed again and gingerly closed his laptop. It seemed that Sherlock had run off to his own dwellings too, wherever those were. They certainly weren’t in his room today, or yesterday, for that matter. Sherlock had left the previous morning and he’d not returned since, as found by Mrs. Hudson’s fruitless check-up, which would have been followed by rose tea and biscuits, but instead she fretted about Sherlock’s and forgot all about the tea, leaving it to run cold.
Sherlock’s moment of absence was a change of pace for John, as he hadn’t had to run any demeaning errand like grocery shopping, fetching him whatever mundane (or unorthodox object) he needed, and he certainly hadn’t been called to reach into Sherlock’s coat either (which would have left John to mumble on about how lazy and deplorable Sherlock was as he burned in annoyance, so absence of anything ruining his otherwise content demeanor).
John sighed and picked up his phone so he could navigate through his messages. Nothing from Sherlock, it had seemed. Nothing at all. There was no demand for his presence left in his phone, nor was there a demand of a favor or a troubling task.
