Being as old-fashioned as I am, I don't think a piece of writing under 1000 or 500 words qualifies as story. But ever since I came across Tumblr, I've caught myself writing ficlets of such length (uh, *shorth*?). I don't want to post them as single stories; so this will be my collection of ficlets inspired by Tumblr posts, fanart, and basically everything else that can be inspiring.
This can and will have everything in regards to a category (fluff, h/c, angst, humor etc.), but it sure will always be Johnlock. Ratings may vary and/or change.
If you like, send me prompts. No guarantee that I will fill them, though, my muse and mind are a bit stubborn at times.
This one is based on a post that showed up on my dash - all it said was "Sherlock playing his violin at John's wedding". I wanted to scroll past it, but my mind was already working, prompting me with the following ficlet.
Rated K.
Our Song
He was disappointed. So disappointed. But was he surprised? He shouldn't be. Really shouldn't. This was Sherlock Holmes, after all. And when you chose genius detective Sherlock Holmes as best man, you had to face the possibility that he wouldn't turn up - because some damn case was more important than the wedding of his best friend, and because he didn't care about weddings anyways, as he'd made quite clear.
John sighed. At least he had Mike, who had, with a knowing smile, agreed to stand in for Sherlock. Now was really not the time to be angry; not when his soon-to-be wife was about to walk town the aisle.
A smile - one he didn't entirely feel, despite this day being the happiest in his life - firmly in place he faced the church doors Mary would enter through any second now.
But when she eventually did, John wasn't looking anymore.
The moment the doors opened, music started to play - as expected. But not from the church organ.
A single violin accompanied Mary's way down the aisle.
A few steps to his right he stood, John's best man, best friend, playing Mendelssohn Bartholdy's Bridal March, and John stared at him, open-mouthed, dumbstruck, not believing his eyes.
Even when Mike nudged him to look at approaching Mary again, he still couldn't turn his head. Too much he feared - yes, actually feared, he realized with a start - his mind betraying him, and that this beautiful illusion would be gone the moment he looked away.
"John," he suddenly heard a so well-known and yet unfamiliar voice when the song had almost ended. It was a fight against his own muscles when he heaved his head back around to where it was supposed to face, and looked at Mary, who was regarding him questioningly.
Right. This was really not the time to think about Sherlock, or his complicated relationship the genius.
Turning around to the waiting priest, Mary's arm linked with his, he stole himself one last side glance at his friend, now standing next to him. Where he belonged.
This was the time to marry the love of his life.
