CRAAAAAACK! Potential Valdemar AUs

Author of the Crazy!Ed verse and Chaos Verse

Even the human fandom has recognized that it's a love story. Karkat's just disgusted that we've got them in the wrong quadrant. Rated Teen for Karkat's vocabulary.

Sherlock stared at the imperfect circle on his left wrist in horror, then sat down on his bed with a bit of a thump. After over thirty years, his heartmark was finally showing activity. This was not good.

Five times John and Sherlock kissed because of a case and one time they kissed for real.

John's a doctor. But when he's not a doctor, he's a werewolf.

Sherlock is peculiar, disgusting, and completely useless at being a decent dragon.

A fourth episode, beginning where the third ended. In which Sherlock and John play the cards dealt to them; featuring running, puzzles, running, a card game analogy, and more running.

Mycroft gives Sherlock the apparently simple task of solving a puzzle box containing a stolen microchip. It isn't simple.

One criminal consultant. One consulting detective. One serial killer. And one perhaps inadvisable bet...

"The likelihood of finding a cab on Christmas Eve is fast approaching nil." "So was the likelihood of you kissing me in the middle of the pavement, and yet."

It certainly wasn't the first time he'd been woken up at ridiculous o'clock; it wasn't even the first time he'd been woken up at ridiculous o'clock in London, in the comfort of his own flat. But as John Watson's fingers closed reflexively over the handle of the bedside drawer, yanked, and then plunged inside to close around the familiar weight of his side arm, he realised that it was the first time he'd been woken up by Sherlock Holmes silhouetted on the threshold of his room, with a feather in his hair, snapping his fingers peremptorily and announcing: “Gun. Now.”

“I’m not his date,” John snaps, for what must be the fucking umpteenth time in the fucking week.

'Neural handshake at 100%,' Mycroft says crisply. 'How do you feel?' It's astounding. There is so much to see in Sherlock's mind-- the tiny details, the analyses of different kaiju forms, their advantages and their structural weaknesses. It feels amazing. John stretches a hand out to brush against the blue bursts of memories between them, and Sherlock pushes through towards his own. They exist as a perfect balance within the drift, calm yet stormy, pushing and pulling. John feels invincible. Wherein John is a war-weary soldier thrown back into the fray, and Sherlock is one of the top kaiju analysts.

"I think I met someone," John says at his next therapist's appointment. "A friend." "Really?" Ella asks. She sounds pleased, and also surprised. "What's his name?" John nods. "Really. His name's Sherlock. He -- he plays the same game as me, the online one. We party together."

"This is why you didn't tell me, isn't it," John said.

The thing that made it so easy to hide was that everyone knew what dragons were supposed to be like. John heard people wonder about Sherlock sometimes, sending him slanting, speculative glances, as they questioned his lineage. But John Watson, who was steady, reliable, even-tempered? He slid right under their radar, just another average human being in a world full of them.

“My high school reunion is on,” John tells Molly. There’s a short pause as she processes this. “That sounds like fun,” she offers. “Do you want to go?” “Oh yes, because that couldn’t possibly go badly. ‘Hello, I’m John Watson, I’m a professional killer.’ ” A Grosse Pointe Blank AU.

Sherlock has just run off in a whirlwind of coat without a word, leaving Scotland Yard cursing his name. It’ll be a while before they can get someone to translate this, and meanwhile that tall know-it-all bastard has gone off to do god-knows-what without bothering to even tell them what the note says. John edges forward in the middle of the uproar, and surreptitiously glances at the note. Androvy, it says briefly. The warehouse at five. Serdyukov. John seems like such an ordinary bloke. Appearances can be deceptive.

“Eternity is really rather boring, John. Mortal life seemed as though it would be far more interesting.” Sherlock is actually the Devil, but he decided to live as a mortal because ruling Hell was boring.

What it says on the tin. (Including Follow-ups to: Maybe one of these days you can let the light in, and One Of Those Things, and Mrs and Mr Pond..)

“Your first mistake,” John says smoothly, “was calling yourself Moriarty. It got my attention.” In which Jim is not, in fact, Moriarty.

And how things could have gone differently.

On any given day, Sherlock might come out of the bathroom smelling like an Alpha on the hunt (Alpha #8) or an Omega in heat (Omega #9), a Beta brooding (Beta #3), or like no gender at all. The last one was his actual scent, which wasn't so much scentless as confusing. At least in an adult. If Sherlock and John were the sort of people to read Mills and Boon novels, they could have said that what occurred was because destiny intervened and set two destined lovers in their one true pairings' path. It was the lasagna.

“A few weeks ago I would have thought you were impossible,” Sherlock begins, walking into the kitchen in his blue robe, and John – not quite catching on – wants to scoff and argue, No, actually, you are impossible, but then Sherlock continues: “But now I’d say you are improbable.” John thinks this might be flattering, if he could wrap his head around it, but he can’t – Sherlock is standing near, steaming his sun-baked-clean-sand smell, like the beach after rain, an alive smell, an other smell. It’s intoxicating, and John has been studiously avoiding it, but he can’t shift away now it’s so near. Now Sherlock’s so near. And then Sherlock ruins the probable-loveliness of his words and the definite-beauty of his presence by saying: “And by ‘improbable’ I mean ‘not yet scientifically acknowledged.’”

This fic goes canon divergent for everything following Mary acting as a client in His Last Vow. Sherlock misses John. John misses Sherlock. Victor Trevor, Sherlock's oldest friend (and a super nice guy in this version) and participant in the 'great sexual experiment of '98' shows up to cuddle the hell out of a touch-starved Sherlock, get him talking, and get those two idiots back together. He'll work on Mary later. One fucked-up couple at a time is all he can handle.

Three weeks after their wedding, they give Sherlock a ring.

Sherlock needs John. John lights up around Sherlock. Mary loves her boys and thinks this is a lot less complicated than they are making it. Set right after TEH and before SoT. Fast turning into a bloody epic season three fix-it.

“Fuck,” John says, admiringly. He enjoys giving women head, but this is something else altogether. This is devotion beyond the call of duty. This is fucking worshiping at the altar of Mary Morstan.

“Trust me,” Mary whispers, and in a louder voice: “Come in, Sherlock.”

"Oh bloody fucking DAMN!" Sherlock shouted, apropos of nothing. John nearly dropped his tea. John turned and found Sherlock shaking his passport. "Mycroft made me French!"

In which John learns to balance a kinky girlfriend, an asexual boyfriend, a ten-inch cock, his sister, the neighbours, his friends, and his blog. Some are more balanced than others.

They'd never talked about sex in the year they'd known each other. Well, that wasn't quite correct: Sherlock had never said a word about sex; John had bemoaned his personal dearth of it on many occasions.

Yusuke isn't the only spirit detective in the world. Five AUs.

John, Sherlock, and Mary are married. No one knows. Except Molly. Who's helping Mary with a murder. While Sherlock proposes to Janine. Who's working for the guy who's blackmailing Mary and who Mary's planning to kill. Which neither John nor Sherlock know. What could go wrong?!

The spider's web: She finds an innocuous corner in which to spin her web. The longer the web takes, the more fabulous its construction. She has no need to chase. She sits quietly, her patience a consummate force; she waits for her prey to come to her on their own, and then she ensnares them, injects them with venom, rendering them unable to escape. --- Donna Hope

John and Sherlock have something in common of which they are both unaware. They've both been holding back from starting a relationship with the other because of the one aspect of their lives they are *sure* they cannot share. Serial Killer AU.