librarylock:

kimbiablue:

hockeybella25:

kimbiablue:

So basically @librarylock and I conspired for me to write a crack fic based off of her crack fic (all details included in the AO3 link below! also Lilo will have hers posted soon and I’ll link back then ahhhhh) and it spiraled out of control and I ended up with 3500 words of implied Johnlock and Reichenangst and crossover sex. So yeah, enjoy lmao.

—

John’s first thought as he takes in the sight before him is, If Sherlock isn’t really dead, I’m going to kill him myself.

He’d heard the commotion from down the street, three passersby grouped over a grounded, though not prone, man. The shout of “is anyone a doctor?” had sent him running their way until the man lifted his head and John had frozen in place.

Perhaps his very first thought isn’t actually a thought at all. Shock grief hope anger love. A tsunami of emotions that must show on his face, because the man, outlandishly dressed and sporting a cut to the temple, gets to his feet and eyes John with more concern that it seems he feels for his own predicament, before asking, “So… where am I, exactly?”

The clothing. The heavy American accent. The close-cropped hair and stylized beard. John isn’t buying it for a second.

“Right,” he says, words choked with emotion as his fists clench and his body slides into an aggressive stance. “What the hell is this? Sherlo-”

His voice breaks, but the seething fire inside carries him on.

“Sherlock Holmes.” He spits the name, fists closing in heavy blue fabric before he realizes he’s moved forward. “Start talking. Right fucking now.”

The man blinks in front of him, still the picture of bewilderment, as John hears whispers behind him of “ Sherlock Holmes, that detective that killed himself? ” and “ Are they both a little mad, you think? ”

It takes less than three seconds of glaring into this man’s eyes for John to know that it isn’t Sherlock. They’re disturbingly similar, as with everything else about him under the hair and beard, but they’re not his. John knows.

He steps away from the man, blinking rapidly, chest heaving, hand trailing over the large golden pendant the man wears, as he releases the tunic. For a moment, he doesn’t know what to say, but what he does know is that he needs to talk with this man.

“Forgive the misunderstanding,” he manages in the direction of the assembled onlookers, impatient to get them moving along. “I’ll help this man out, I’m a doctor, thank you for your concern.”

He turns his head to the man, hoping he’ll concede, and he does, with an awkward half-smile and incline of the head toward the group. The behavior is so reminiscent of Sherlock that John is left winded and desperate to make sense of it all.

As the people disperse, John takes another step back to face the man directly. His brain continues to assault him with the notion that it’s Sherlock playing dress up, lying, deceiving, tormenting him.

“I take it you… mistook me for someone,” the man says after several moments of silence, and the American accent is distinct enough that it helps the disconnect for John, and he’s grateful.

“Yeah, I. Yeah.” John runs a hand through his hair. “God, but you look like him.”

“Aaaand he… wronged you? That’s my best guess, man.” The stranger shifts, looking around with what still appears to be confusion. “Not exactly what you expect when a doctor comes running.”

“Yeah, sorry, I…” The situation at hand catches up with John, and he pushes the weight of emotion to the side in an effort to be a bloody doctor. “Look, this isn’t the place. Can I escort you to A&E? Or if you prefer…”

John shouldn’t offer this. He falters, and the man’s eyes, not Sherlock’s but piercing and captivating all the same, seem to alight at the implied suggestion.

“It’s… well, it doesn’t seem to be a serious injury,” John continues, light-headed and nervous, but with his body thrumming in a way it hasn’t since before Sherlock had gone. “And you seem lost. I… I actually am a doctor, I could patch you up at my place, pretty close by, send you on your way without unnecessary procedure.”

The strange man doesn’t reply, considering John’s offer as he touches fingertips to his temple.

“And frankly, you look ridiculous.” John adds, the barest hint of amusement breaking through. “Might want to get you out of the public eye.”

The man cracks a smile and extends a hand. “Stephen.”

John exhales and clasps their hands together. “John. And you’re in London.”

Read the rest on AO3!

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I JUST SAW THIS ON TWITTER & READ IT. Oh yes, I ship it. This.

@hockeybella25 TWITTER. WHERE TF DID THIS SHOW UP ON TWITTER AHHHH

Also, now including a link to darling Lilo’s fic I based this off of! @librarylock 😙

Yes, also curious! I lowkey follow fandom people on twitter, but it’s my profession twitter so I try to be at least slightly chill asdfksbsbs