Because Fanfiction is Sexy

Fanfiction recommendations for BBC Sherlock. Why? Because I can.

I realized that I have a shitload of fanfics I read, and they could potentially be shared. So here I am. This will be mostly Sherlock fanfic recs, with some Harry Potter and some Avengers. Enjoy!

Dec 1

cottoncandypink asked: Can you point me to any fanfics that are; Long, novel length, sexual tension that leads to romance, smut as the pay out, well written. I would be thankful. I'll be going through your recs of course but if you know of one I would love to hear about it.

Hi there! I have a few personal favorites:

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6435170/2/The-Heart-In-The-Whole 

The Heart in the Whole (Sherlock is blind, John gives a massage- 22 chaptered complete)

http://madlorific.livejournal.com/30177.html 

Performance in a Leading Role (AU, they’re both actors, fall in love on the set, 20 something chapters, complete)

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6298052/22/The_Road_Less_Traveled

The Road Less Traveled (Sherlock figures out a plan to make John stay with him, surprise it involves seduction, quite a bit of angst but good, 23 chaptered complete(

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6692754/1/The_Magic_of_Deduction 

The Magic of Deduction (Hogwarts AU, i’m pretty sure they sleep together but if I recall it’s heavily implied, not explicit, but still worth it, 7 chaptered complete)

http://archiveofourown.org/series/13034

The Art of Seduction (Sherlock is not a consulting detective, he’s a consulting sex consultant, John is his flatmate, three long stories involved in this series. Definitely the one to go to if you want smut.)

Hope this helped!


Jul 17
superlockedhogwartianinthetardis:

i-o-u-a-fall:

mindpalaceofversailles:

Obviously their boggarts would be each other’s corpses.

If Sherlock hadn’t known what it was John was seeing, he would have rolled his eyes; would have cast the spell himself; would have scolded John for freezing up at the sight of his worst fear. They were third year students who had tangled with trolls , aggravated acromantulas, and made friends with the merfolk of the Black Lake. This wasn’t above them by any means, and John was a capable-enough wizard to know how to best a boggart.
However, Sherlock knew exactly what it was John was seeing. He was there, behind the line, watching the boy panic at the sight. And, he had seen the same when he had taken his turn with the beastly boggart: the corpse of his best friend.
(John’s throat bit out by some monster or other, his eyes turned up to the ceiling, wide and empty, his blood pooling around him, staining his tawny locks, paling his skin— No. He couldn’t think of it again. Couldn’t think of the way John called his name behind the other students, trying to reach out, trying to protect him from the trick; how his hands had shaken, how he had stammered out the counter spell, how he had pushed his way back to John’s side and stood in stoic silence, unreachable.)
He watched the young Gryffindor’s hand tremble as he held his wand to his chest in a death grip. John seemed to be choking on breath, trying to contain the tears glistening in his eyes. He looked physically ill, unsteady and ready to be knocked over by a mere breath. Sherlock knew the other students were muttering about themselves in judgment. He didn’t care to hear their words himself, but he knew John would (and more importantly, he hated to see John lose himself), so he stepped forward, ignoring the rule not to intervene, and gingerly reached to touch John’s shoulders.
A tiny yelp escaped the boy, who flinched greatly under the touch which burned him. John turned away from the boggart to look at the offender. Sherlock’s eyes met John’s, damp and overflowing, and in his friend’s gaze he saw confusion and fear. John looked back to the boggart, blinked hard and gazed his way again, then returned to the trick before him, whimpering and entirely unsure which was reality and which was fraud.
"Come on, John," Sherlock said quietly, supportingly, in the way John would encourage him. "’Riddikulus’. It isn’t real.” A sharp breath shook the Gryffindor’s entire frame, and Sherlock saw tracks of tears beginning to trickle down his cheeks. His hands gripped John tighter, hoping the grip would bring him back to reality.
"I-I can’t," John choked at last, his horrified eyed not on his friend but on the boggart at his feet (at the picture of Sherlock’s still body soaked with blood, lifeless, no more brilliant charms or incantations slipping from his lips, no light in his eyes, no more Sherlock Holmes). John shook his head feverishly. “I can’t," he squeaked, and a desperate sob escaped him as he said again, “I can’t.”
With a glance to the professor and a nod of approval received, Sherlock tugged John aside - and he fought against him, uttering ‘No, no’, desperate to stay by his corpse’s side - without waiting for the professor to intervene with their own boggart, with their own jestful spell, with their own solution. He grabbed his and John’s bags and left the building, ignoring the hushed murmurs of their peers as they passed.
There is a secret room in Hogwarts that not many people know about. It burned the last time it was used, but Sherlock knew how to find it. He had read about it, had heard rumours, and now he and John were masters of summoning the Room of Requirement. And there they found themselves again and once more; and within the walls of the secret hideaway, John screamed at Sherlock, screamed at him what it was he saw as if Sherlock hadn’t seen as well; and within the walls John broke, falling to his knees, his hands on his eyes in anguish, sobbing out apologies that Sherlock was sure involved the illusion of his death; and within the walls Sherlock let John in, holding his frame and trying to soothe the distraught boy as best he could.
And he didn’t judge John at all, for he was the stronger of the two in Sherlock’s mind. He was the one who could let himself cry at the thought of his best friend dying. He was the one who cried for them both.
"It’s fine, John," Sherlock murmured, his cheek in John’s hair. “It’s all fine."
He pretended not to notice the fingers wrapped around his wrist, counting his pulse, each pump of blood bringing them both back to life.

AS IF IT WASN’T FUCKING SAD ENOUGH YOU SON OF A BITCH DON’T PLEASE

superlockedhogwartianinthetardis:

i-o-u-a-fall:

mindpalaceofversailles:

Obviously their boggarts would be each other’s corpses.

If Sherlock hadn’t known what it was John was seeing, he would have rolled his eyes; would have cast the spell himself; would have scolded John for freezing up at the sight of his worst fear. They were third year students who had tangled with trolls , aggravated acromantulas, and made friends with the merfolk of the Black Lake. This wasn’t above them by any means, and John was a capable-enough wizard to know how to best a boggart.

However, Sherlock knew exactly what it was John was seeing. He was there, behind the line, watching the boy panic at the sight. And, he had seen the same when he had taken his turn with the beastly boggart: the corpse of his best friend.

(John’s throat bit out by some monster or other, his eyes turned up to the ceiling, wide and empty, his blood pooling around him, staining his tawny locks, paling his skin— No. He couldn’t think of it again. Couldn’t think of the way John called his name behind the other students, trying to reach out, trying to protect him from the trick; how his hands had shaken, how he had stammered out the counter spell, how he had pushed his way back to John’s side and stood in stoic silence, unreachable.)

He watched the young Gryffindor’s hand tremble as he held his wand to his chest in a death grip. John seemed to be choking on breath, trying to contain the tears glistening in his eyes. He looked physically ill, unsteady and ready to be knocked over by a mere breath. Sherlock knew the other students were muttering about themselves in judgment. He didn’t care to hear their words himself, but he knew John would (and more importantly, he hated to see John lose himself), so he stepped forward, ignoring the rule not to intervene, and gingerly reached to touch John’s shoulders.

A tiny yelp escaped the boy, who flinched greatly under the touch which burned him. John turned away from the boggart to look at the offender. Sherlock’s eyes met John’s, damp and overflowing, and in his friend’s gaze he saw confusion and fear. John looked back to the boggart, blinked hard and gazed his way again, then returned to the trick before him, whimpering and entirely unsure which was reality and which was fraud.

"Come on, John," Sherlock said quietly, supportingly, in the way John would encourage him. "’Riddikulus’. It isn’t real.” A sharp breath shook the Gryffindor’s entire frame, and Sherlock saw tracks of tears beginning to trickle down his cheeks. His hands gripped John tighter, hoping the grip would bring him back to reality.

"I-I can’t," John choked at last, his horrified eyed not on his friend but on the boggart at his feet (at the picture of Sherlock’s still body soaked with blood, lifeless, no more brilliant charms or incantations slipping from his lips, no light in his eyes, no more Sherlock Holmes). John shook his head feverishly. “I can’t," he squeaked, and a desperate sob escaped him as he said again, “I can’t.

With a glance to the professor and a nod of approval received, Sherlock tugged John aside - and he fought against him, uttering ‘No, no’, desperate to stay by his corpse’s side - without waiting for the professor to intervene with their own boggart, with their own jestful spell, with their own solution. He grabbed his and John’s bags and left the building, ignoring the hushed murmurs of their peers as they passed.

There is a secret room in Hogwarts that not many people know about. It burned the last time it was used, but Sherlock knew how to find it. He had read about it, had heard rumours, and now he and John were masters of summoning the Room of Requirement. And there they found themselves again and once more; and within the walls of the secret hideaway, John screamed at Sherlock, screamed at him what it was he saw as if Sherlock hadn’t seen as well; and within the walls John broke, falling to his knees, his hands on his eyes in anguish, sobbing out apologies that Sherlock was sure involved the illusion of his death; and within the walls Sherlock let John in, holding his frame and trying to soothe the distraught boy as best he could.

And he didn’t judge John at all, for he was the stronger of the two in Sherlock’s mind. He was the one who could let himself cry at the thought of his best friend dying. He was the one who cried for them both.

"It’s fine, John," Sherlock murmured, his cheek in John’s hair. “It’s all fine."

He pretended not to notice the fingers wrapped around his wrist, counting his pulse, each pump of blood bringing them both back to life.

AS IF IT WASN’T FUCKING SAD ENOUGH YOU SON OF A BITCH DON’T PLEASE

(via schniggles)


Jun 4

Apr 17
alicexz:

[ Rift ]
Finished portrait from my sketch of a younger Sherlock. Print available at my Society6 shop.

I am still here guys! I just haven’t had any time to read. If you have recs, do please send them in, I would love to read them and share them. 

alicexz:

[ Rift ]

Finished portrait from my sketch of a younger Sherlock. Print available at my Society6 shop.

I am still here guys! I just haven’t had any time to read. If you have recs, do please send them in, I would love to read them and share them. 

(via batched)


Mar 22


Mar 17
thenaebyrd777:

teabeforewar:

“YOU CAN’T LEAVE WHEN THERE’S A MURDER, JOHN.”
I spent way longer on this than I meant to but that’s okay because John’s walk turned out awesome.

AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

thenaebyrd777:

teabeforewar:

“YOU CAN’T LEAVE WHEN THERE’S A MURDER, JOHN.”

I spent way longer on this than I meant to but that’s okay because John’s walk turned out awesome.

AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

(via bouncycastiel)



Mar 15

Land of Hope and Glory

Hi, I found this very interesting and unusual fic. It’s still WIP but updated regularly as far as I can tell. Thought you might find it interesting. 

“John stares blankly at the detonator in his hand. He knows he will never live to be eleven or twelve or thirteen. He deserves to die, but the man standing next to him doesn’t Sherlock doesn’t deserve this.”

Summary AU – The British Empire spans the globe: her greatest threat is not foreign enemies but domestic terrorists, killing in the name of freedom and independence. Mycroft Holmes leads the grim war on terror and Sherlock is his best secret agent: cold, calculating and obsessive, who is hell-bent on destroying the militant rebels until one explosive day when he meets a child soldier named John

Rating PG-13

Genre Adventure/Action, Kidfic, Espionage, Romance, Dark,

Characters Sherlock/Irene, Sherlock&John, Mycroft/Anthea, Lestrade, Sally Donovan, Anderson, Moriarty

Length 40,000+ 16 Chapters

Chapters on Tumblr:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Read at AO3 


Feb 8

cosmic-nerd-angel:

If Sherlock was an animated show. 

I took random screencaps from A Scandal in Belgravia and redrew them as cartoons.  

(via bouncycastiel)


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