Hello there!
Honestly I just love roleplaying and haven't had a good one in a while and so I'm looking for anyone really that's willing to RP. If you like my writing or any of the starters I'm going to post below, just get a hold of me. I'm sure we can work something out.
Don't be shy, I promise I don't bite. 
[Psych AU? Not sure what to call this one. But it's definitely AU.] Sherlock had spent so much time inside the hospital that he almost forgot what life was like outside of it. His schedule was the same every day: wake up, breakfast, announcements, therapy session, vitals taken and recorded, lunch, group therapy, visiting hours (Sherlock never got visitors), recreation time, supper, night time meds distribution, and lights out. Wake up, repeat. Day in and day out. Nothing ever changed for Sherlock. He’d stare at his scarred face in the mirror and wished that he could tell his heart to stop beating. It would be quick and easy, but it doesn’t happen. His therapist won’t let him go. Sherlock doesn’t get any better. It’s a never ending cycle. That is until rumors start flying around the ward. That they’re getting a /new/ therapist. A young army doctor. Well, at least there will be something new to break his routine, if Sherlock is assigned to him. Sherlock settles down to sleep that night, wondering if the mundane routine he’s come to memorize will change tomorrow
[Potterlock] After John was injured in the Battle of Hogwarts, he retired from being an Auror. He didn’t care what everyone else had to say: he was done. He was mentally and physically scarred. He was left with a limp, a tremor, a deep white scar across his shoulder, and nightmares. That’s what happened when you were held under the cruciatus curse for a long period of time and didn’t completely lose your mind. So he’d given up life as an Auror and moved to London, hoping to settle down into a Muggle life. Perhaps use his skills as a Healer in the Muggle world. That plan had not gone well however, when he’d met Sherlock Holmes. Through everything that had happened -his and Sherlock’s adventures, Sherlock’s death, depression, meeting Mary, Sherlock’s return, the cases, the marriage, the baby, and everything in between- he’d managed to keep his true identity as a wizard a secret. Even from Mary. Until now.
There hadn’t been a choice. The men that had them surrounded were Moriarty’s. They had Sherlock pinned against the wall with a gun to his head. Before he’d properly processed his decision his wand had been out and “Avada Kedavra!” had rolled off his tongue. After a few spells, the men around them were dead before even they could process what was going on. He looked up to the now safe Sherlock with wide eyes. Not only had he just saved Sherlock and revealed who he truly was, but he’d also performed an Unforgivable Curse.
[Potterlock] John felt as though he’d downed a bottle of felix felicis. It was his first year as team captain of the Quidditch team. Hufflepuff wasn’t normally a very strong force in Quidditch, but John’s team had taken everyone by surprise this year and now he was holding the Quidditch Cup in his hands. Hufflepuff had beat out Slytherin by a mere ten points, but they’d done it. They’d won. The house was ecstatic and, because Hufflepuffs were too kind for their own good, they’d thrown a party for the whole school. Of course no Slytherins showed for it, but there was a fair mix of the other three houses attending. The professors had allowed them to use the Great Hall and had pretended not to notice when alcoholic drinks had been brought out. So as John downed his third cup of ale, he decided tonight was going to be the night he finally talked to Mary Morstan. Despite being bleeding exhausted (he hadn’t slept the night before due to nerves) he was determined to stay at the party until it’s close to see if Mary would come. The hour was reaching dangerously close to early morning and John was actually starting to nod off in his chair when he spotted her. He pulled his lower lip in between his teeth as he watched her. Although John had never actually spoke to Mary besides a brief introduction a few months back, he’d been watching the Gryffindor from afar for a while. He thought she was beautiful. He almost talked himself out of it, but forced himself to stand. Tonight was the night. It only took a few strides to cross the room, coming to where Mary was standing with Janine. He cleared his throat as he approached, announcing his presence. “Mary. Janine.” he said, giving them both a nod as he said their names.
[Lestrolly] An explosion had rocked London to its core that day. And of course, Greg Lestrade happened to be in the very building. He wasn’t sure how much time passed between the explosion and when consciousness returned to him. All he remembered was that his ears were ringing and he could barely hear anything… everything sounded muffled… He wouldn’t learn until later that both of his ear drums were blown. He wasn’t seriously injured. A few cuts. Bruises. His entire body ached from head to toe. He passed through the hospital in a blur, covered from head to toe in grey dust. His ears were still ringing when he was finally told that he could call someone to have them come pick him up. He called Molly Hooper. He held the phone against his still ringing ear, waiting for her to pick up…
Honestly I just love roleplaying and haven't had a good one in a while and so I'm looking for anyone really that's willing to RP. If you like my writing or any of the starters I'm going to post below, just get a hold of me. I'm sure we can work something out.
Don't be shy, I promise I don't bite. [Psych AU? Not sure what to call this one. But it's definitely AU.] Sherlock had spent so much time inside the hospital that he almost forgot what life was like outside of it. His schedule was the same every day: wake up, breakfast, announcements, therapy session, vitals taken and recorded, lunch, group therapy, visiting hours (Sherlock never got visitors), recreation time, supper, night time meds distribution, and lights out. Wake up, repeat. Day in and day out. Nothing ever changed for Sherlock. He’d stare at his scarred face in the mirror and wished that he could tell his heart to stop beating. It would be quick and easy, but it doesn’t happen. His therapist won’t let him go. Sherlock doesn’t get any better. It’s a never ending cycle. That is until rumors start flying around the ward. That they’re getting a /new/ therapist. A young army doctor. Well, at least there will be something new to break his routine, if Sherlock is assigned to him. Sherlock settles down to sleep that night, wondering if the mundane routine he’s come to memorize will change tomorrow
[Potterlock] After John was injured in the Battle of Hogwarts, he retired from being an Auror. He didn’t care what everyone else had to say: he was done. He was mentally and physically scarred. He was left with a limp, a tremor, a deep white scar across his shoulder, and nightmares. That’s what happened when you were held under the cruciatus curse for a long period of time and didn’t completely lose your mind. So he’d given up life as an Auror and moved to London, hoping to settle down into a Muggle life. Perhaps use his skills as a Healer in the Muggle world. That plan had not gone well however, when he’d met Sherlock Holmes. Through everything that had happened -his and Sherlock’s adventures, Sherlock’s death, depression, meeting Mary, Sherlock’s return, the cases, the marriage, the baby, and everything in between- he’d managed to keep his true identity as a wizard a secret. Even from Mary. Until now.
There hadn’t been a choice. The men that had them surrounded were Moriarty’s. They had Sherlock pinned against the wall with a gun to his head. Before he’d properly processed his decision his wand had been out and “Avada Kedavra!” had rolled off his tongue. After a few spells, the men around them were dead before even they could process what was going on. He looked up to the now safe Sherlock with wide eyes. Not only had he just saved Sherlock and revealed who he truly was, but he’d also performed an Unforgivable Curse.
[Potterlock] John felt as though he’d downed a bottle of felix felicis. It was his first year as team captain of the Quidditch team. Hufflepuff wasn’t normally a very strong force in Quidditch, but John’s team had taken everyone by surprise this year and now he was holding the Quidditch Cup in his hands. Hufflepuff had beat out Slytherin by a mere ten points, but they’d done it. They’d won. The house was ecstatic and, because Hufflepuffs were too kind for their own good, they’d thrown a party for the whole school. Of course no Slytherins showed for it, but there was a fair mix of the other three houses attending. The professors had allowed them to use the Great Hall and had pretended not to notice when alcoholic drinks had been brought out. So as John downed his third cup of ale, he decided tonight was going to be the night he finally talked to Mary Morstan. Despite being bleeding exhausted (he hadn’t slept the night before due to nerves) he was determined to stay at the party until it’s close to see if Mary would come. The hour was reaching dangerously close to early morning and John was actually starting to nod off in his chair when he spotted her. He pulled his lower lip in between his teeth as he watched her. Although John had never actually spoke to Mary besides a brief introduction a few months back, he’d been watching the Gryffindor from afar for a while. He thought she was beautiful. He almost talked himself out of it, but forced himself to stand. Tonight was the night. It only took a few strides to cross the room, coming to where Mary was standing with Janine. He cleared his throat as he approached, announcing his presence. “Mary. Janine.” he said, giving them both a nod as he said their names.
[Lestrolly] An explosion had rocked London to its core that day. And of course, Greg Lestrade happened to be in the very building. He wasn’t sure how much time passed between the explosion and when consciousness returned to him. All he remembered was that his ears were ringing and he could barely hear anything… everything sounded muffled… He wouldn’t learn until later that both of his ear drums were blown. He wasn’t seriously injured. A few cuts. Bruises. His entire body ached from head to toe. He passed through the hospital in a blur, covered from head to toe in grey dust. His ears were still ringing when he was finally told that he could call someone to have them come pick him up. He called Molly Hooper. He held the phone against his still ringing ear, waiting for her to pick up…
