So this is my first ever fan fiction so please, no flames but constructive criticism is very welcome, I need help improving my writing as it isn't that good. But here you go, just a little idea that popped into my head. Enjoy! :)
John Watson stared into the warm fire of 221B Baker street, Sherlock was sat in the corner tapping away on his laptop, a few grunts coming from him now and then.
"Now and then" John thought. This lead him on to think about what life used to be like, after he had come back from war and before he had been introduced to the lanky detective.
A voice suddenly spoke out interrupting his musings- "John, now would be a great time for a cup of tea" Sherlock spoke from across the room.
"Well, you know where the kitchen is"
Sherlock pouted, he really was just like a child at times. "Fine, but only as I was going to make one for myself anyway" John said.
It only took a few minutes for him to make the tea and get back to his thoughts. After being invalided home due getting shot in the shoulder, and developing (according to Sherlock) a psychosomatic limp- there had been no hope.
John Watson was no longer the man he used to be, his life had no meaning and to be honest, he really was lost. So when he was introduced to Sherlock Holmes, something switched on inside his head, and after sharing a grin with the detective, John felt his life starting to brighten up.
Sherlock gave John the life he needed to get back to his former self, his limp went away, he no longer had nightmares about the war, and most importantly, he actually felt a reason to live.
Despite finding the occasional body part in fridge, Sherlock screeching on his violin at ridiculous time at night, and the microwave exploding due to one of Sherlock's failed experiments; John Watson was content at 221B Baker street.
Of coarse his limp came back occasionally, but that was only because he and Sherlock had seldom seen a case for a few months, and then Lestrade would make the phone call which pulled Sherlock out of his broody mood and into the thrill of the case.
Again, Sherlock pulled John from his thoughts, "Pass me my phone please John" he said. John looked at him exasperated.
"But it's on the table right next to you!"
"I know".
John got up and walked across the room, passed Sherlock his phone and sat down again, grumbling to himself all the way. Why do I put up with this? He thought.
He only had to look around to see why. Because 221B Baker Street was home, and life without the self proclaimed socio-path would be very dull. John lifted the mug of tea to his lips to hide his smile, this was most definitely home, and he would go nowhere else.
I took notice of the problem that it was just one block of writing, and did a little editing. Hope this is more friendly to read now! :) And don't be shy to review, anything you say will be welcome, and advice on my writing greatly appreciated.