Dedicated to the small amount of music on my phone. Alas, there would be more, but my phone's memory is limited. But hey, I have a device that stores and plays music, and I am grateful for that.

Oh, and to Nonnymoose, and my love.

To Nonnymoose: WHOOP WHOOP SUMMER YEEEEAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH

To My Love: Good luck with everything! :3


Alright, guys, I swapped this challenge out with the Potter!Verse one, because I want that one to have some length to it, and seeing as I am writing this at 1:30 in the morning, that is unlikely to happen. So, that's tomorrow, which means today you get...


DAY 11 CHALLENGE: Runaways/Homeless AU

Challenge accepted.


John yawned, stretching slowly as his back ached.

Sleeping against the side of buildings, he'd discovered, especially when it was cold and/or wet (and when was it not?), was not the best way to treat his back. Or joints. Or spine. Or ribs. Or any part of him, really.

When he awoke he was usually sore, hungry, cold, and in such a foul mood that it made his (usually) hungover sister's behaviour before ten AM seem relatively civilized.

She'd offered, when he first returned from the war. To let him live with her. And the saddest part about the whole affair was, he had actually considered it, almost accepted it, even. That was before he remembered the drinking, and all the fights, how unrepentantly rude and abrasive his sister could be at times, and the many other reasons why them living together, no matter how temporary the arrangement, would be a terrible idea.

So John had lived off his army pension for as long as he could, and when that was no longer able to sustain him, he moved out of his bare and miserable flat with the intention of finding a new one, only to never have that happen.

He'd been on the streets for just under six months, now. He hadn't told Harry, and, quite honestly, had no desire to tell her. She'd just fuss and worry and make an even bigger mess of things, and John didn't want that, even a little bit.

He blinked, and when he saw that the sky was still starry, he moaned and rolled back over onto his side, determined to get a few more hours of sleep, soreness in the morning be damned.


Sherlock Holmes was just on the other side of the alley, laying down but most definitely not sleeping.

He wasn't homeless. He had a homeless network, yes, and he was currently spending the night on the street, but he had a place to return to if he so chose. Which he didn't, because Montague Street was boring, and his landlord was exceedingly dull (and had also kicked him out, and told him he had two week's notice to leave.)

He turned when he heard the muffled yawn, and then the movements at the other end of the alley.

He stood up tentatively, walking over to where he heard the noises.

"Hello?" he asked.

A man's eyes opened, and he stared ta him for a few moments, blinking blearily. He was dirty (had been homeless for about six months, judging by the state of his clothes and his appearance), and moved sluggishly, still half-asleep.

"Who're you?" he eventually forced out.

Sherlock blinked at him. "Who are you?"

The man groaned, sitting up. "I asked first." He looked Sherlock over, frowning. "And what do you want?"

Sherlock frowned. "I wanted to see who or what was down here."

John shrugged, laying back down. "Well, then, you saw who it is. Just let me sleep now, please."

Sherlock looked him over, concentrating. "You're... an army doctor." He smiled. "Afghanistan or Iraq?"

The man sat up again, eyeing Sherlock suspiciously. "Afghanistan," he answered after a moment.

Sherlock grinned. "Good. I require an assistant." He looked at the man.

The man looked back, slightly baffled. "Alright..."

Sherlock smiled, suddenly recalling an old client of his who would be willing to give them a discount. "Meet me in two day's time, at 221B Baker Street."

The man frowned, then looked shocked as he realized what he meant. "But-," he spluttered, "I just met you!" He added, as an afterthought. "I don't even know your name."

Sherlock smiled mischievously at him. "The name's Sherlock Holmes. And you are?"

John blinked. "John Watson," he said quietly.

Sherlock grinned. "I'll see you then."

He turned around, and with a swish of his coat, was gone.


A few years later, John woke up in Sherlock's arms, back feeling relatively fine, the good, not starving kind of hungry, and warm.

He smiled up at the man.

"Thank you," he whispered, and then promptly fell asleep.


heeeeeyyyyy guys

I am very sorry this is late

and I didn't reply to reviews

I had a very busy day and am now very sleepy

I will tomorrow, promise.

Love you all, and thank you

Please forgive any typos/general suckiness.

This was based off a suggestion by the lovely jaimi-or-jaemi

thank you so much m'dear

Goodnight, or good morning,

Love, Rainy