I do this now.
Seriously, this is completely normal for me.
I know none of you care, but this is mainly so I can remember a couple of the ones I like.
WATCH BBC SHERLOCK.
I need to sleep. It's 11:16pm and I need to get up at 6:30am for school.
You're now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!
You and the stranger both like BBC Sherlock, Teenlock, Wholock, Jam, and Johnlock.
You: Sherlock knocked on John's door, a bag slung over his shoulder, hair pulled down at the front and sides at a bad attempt to try and cover up a forming bruise. He was damp from the rain outside. He had gotten in a fight with his father, and he didn't have anywhere else to go. His feet had just taken him here.
Stranger: "Hell-- Sherlock? Shit what happened?" John opened the door, face immediately creasing into a frown and blue eyes growing concerned. He ushered him inside.
You: 'Uh..' Sherlock had to clear his throat once to get it to work. 'I might have made Father mad.' He dropped his bag on the ground. 'I told him something he disliked, then he got mad, then I got mad, and this happened.' A point to the bruise.
Stranger: Taking Sherlock's coat he hung it up beside the door to dry and herded him into the kitchen, depositing his friend at the table and grabbing an icepack from the fridge. Hrapping it in a teatowel he handed it over, finally trusting his voice. "Whatever you told him must have been massive for him to blow up like this ..."
You: 'Mmm, not really. Not from my point of view, at least. I think he just dislikes the idea, that's all.' Sherlock took the teatowel with a nod, and pressed it to his cheek. 'He's a prick, anyway.'
Stranger: "I think 'prick' is being far kinder than you need to be but you're the toff in the house." He grinned and mocked gently. "Isn't he usually more for solicitous neglect though? Can I ask what was said? Feel free to tell me to piss off. I know I can pry sometimes." Moving to the kettle he flicked it on and prepped a couple of mugs. Tea was usually good in these situations. It gave his hands something to do other than want to ring the Elder Holmes' neck.
You: Sherlock gave a shrug, lifting his shoulders up before bringing them down. 'He didn't seem to like the fact that I told him that I like a guy. Flipped out. He's probably badly homophobic.' His voice was steady and fairly normal, but his eyes were now trained on the floor in front of him.
Stranger: The teaspoon clinked loudly against his mug before John regained some sort of composure. "What an utter cunt ..." He growled quietly. Didn't know how he'd react if his parents were to react anything like that. He'd probably snot his Dad and leave as well. Was glad they hadn't reacted like that with him, then again Harry had paved the way somewhat for him ... Bringing the tea over he deposited a mug in front of Sherlock and took the seat parallel to him. "Just the face?" He queried, raising his brows and giving Sherlock a look over the rim of his cup.
You: Sherlock pointed two fingers at his stomach. 'Ribs too, though I'm fairly sure that they are only bruised as well, definitely not broken, not sure about sprained. Think I would have noticed if they were, but I'm not too sure.' He sighed, taking the cup and bringing it up to his lips to take a sip. 'Thanks for this, by the way.' He mumbled quietly.
Stranger: John waved the thanks off with a flick of a wrist and affectionate glance. "Like I wouldn't have helped." He sipped again then decisively put his mug down. "Will you let me have a look at your ribs? Mum's taught me pretty well, just to check their not sprained or popped. You're breathing's not bad so definitely not broken. And I can put some cream on the bruising to help."
You: 'If I didn't let you have a look, I'd be an idiot.' Sherlock took a gulp of the drink, glad for it's warmth. He'd probably have to change out of the damp clothes soon. He put the cup down so he could lift his shirt up slightly so John could look his ribs over, and kept holding the ice pack against his cheek with the other hand.
Stranger: Crouching down, John pressed his fingers over the area, feeling the rib connectors and bones themselves while trying to ignore the fact that Sherlock's own father had done this to him. Satisfied he stood and got the arnica from the medicine cabinet then began smoothing the cold cream over the bruising. "Sprained definitely. Not displaced, not fractured they would have been a bitch to put back in if they were popped any." He sat again and pointed to Sherlock's face. "I'll chuck a bit of this on there as well. Might as well get the bruising as swelling down as quickly as possible."
You: Sherlock jerked a little when he started to apply the cold cream over his ribs. He took the teatowel-wrapped ice away so John could do the same to his cheek. He sighed. 'Sprained, lovely. Sure that will weigh on his mind.' He looked at John while he put the cream on, not really wanting to look away, not finding himself able to for that moment.
Stranger: Smoothing a lock of Sherlock's hair away from the cream covered bruising, John met the pale eyes. "I hope it fucking well does." John had never been more serious about anything in his life. He did hope it ate at Sherlock's father. It was the least of what he deserved for this. Not being able to help himself he ran his fingers briefly through Sherlock's hair, comforting gesture, then stood to put the jar back in the cabinet.
You: Sherlock couldn't stop the small tint of red that covered his cheeks after that small gesture. He swallowed, then set the ice down on the table, not entirely sure if he should put it back to his cheek. He doubted it, the cream was on there now. He took his mug and sipped the tea, his eyes following John as he put the jar away.
Stranger: Picking up his tea, John leaned against the bench. "So, um. Make yourself at home. Did you want to have a lie down or anything? I can go and make the bed in the spare room now if you'd like. Afraid it's going to be pretty boring around here this afternoon. I've got coursework to finish off which I need to get done. Sorry."
You: 'I'll do that then. And I've got something to read, I'll be fine.' Sherlock finished his tea and got up to put it in the sink, placing the ice next to it. He stretched, being careful of his ribs, then turned and went to the spare room to make the bed. He decided that it wasn't worth changing out of his clothes and into new ones, he wasn't going to be doing much, they weren't very damp, and they would dry with his body heat eventually.
Stranger: Following Sherlock up the stairs, John detoured into his room and grabbed a pair of pajama bottoms and one of his old soft shirts. It didn't look like SHerlock had bought any clothes with him. Coming in on him starting to make the bed, John shook his head. "Sherlock? Here. Get changed out of the damp clothes, leave them in the bathroom and I'll make the bed, you dick. You'll exacerbate your ribs with all the stretching and reaching." He handed the clothes over and pointed in the direction of the bathroom, brow cocked and daring him to argue.
You: Sherlock looked at him for a moment, then took the clothes, and turned toward the bathroom. He got changed, irritated at the way wet clothes tend to stick to your body and made them difficult to get out of. He folded his wet clothes(as well as you can fold wet ones) and left them near the door, on the tiles, after he mopped up the spilt water with a towel. He returned to the spare room rubbing his hair with the towel to get it to dry faster.
Stranger: "Alright?" John popped his head around the side of the wardrobe door and threw a few more pillows onto the bed so Sherlock could sleep elevated. "Sorry, they're well too short for you." He grinned, seeing his pajama bottoms at mid calf on his tall friend. Patting the duvet down, he fidgeted for a second then shook himself. Seeing Sherlock in his clothes was giving him mental images that were entirely inappropriate for the situation. "Well, I'll be in my room. Call out if you need anything, yeah?"
You: 'Yeah, fine.' Sherlock had brought a bag with him, but- him being him- it had been filled with books and other things, entirely neglecting clothes. He had forgotten about them when he had been throwing things into the bag. He looked down at the short legs of the pyjama pants and suppressed a chuckle. He had grabbed one of his books as he came back from the bathroom, and he sat down on the bed and opened it, starting to read. 'Will do.'
Stranger: John nodded, giving Sherlock a fond look and went to the bathroom to grab his wet clothes and set them to wash before he headed into his room to attempt that coursework. Half an hour later he slammed the lid of his laptop closed in frustration. He couldn't concentrate, his mind kept whirring around on thoughts of Sherlock and what his father had done and the bloke he said he liked. Scrubbing a hand through his hair he stood up and wandered down the hall to the spare room, glancing in to see if Sherlock was still awake.
You: Sherlock was asleep. The bed was comfy and he had been tired. He was moving a little in his sleep, as most people do. The book he had been reading was lying on the ground, open. He had obviously still been reading it when he had fallen asleep. He shifted, rolling over to face the door, whole body curled a little, his mouth open slightly. The shirt had ridden up a bit, so some of the skin of his stomach and hips showed.
Stranger: Smiling softly, John crept into the room and fished the pack of sticky flags out of his pocket he'd been using to mark his textbook pages. He marked the page, put the book on the bedside table and quietly as possible pulled the blanket from the foot of the bed over his sleeping friend, again not being able to help the gentle running of fingers through unruly curls. He heard the timer on the washing machine go off and padded back out, closing the door half way then making his way downstairs. Chucking the clothes in the dryer he glanced at the clock, Sherlock would need something to eat when he woke up and it was getting late so he set about making dinner for them, just some pasta bake and salad that could sit for a while, comforting but not too heavy.
You: Sherlock woke up about forty-five minutes after that. He propped himself up on his elbows, noticing the blanket and giving a soft small smile. He rubbed his eyes and went out of the room, walking quietly through a room or two. He found John, and gave a little wave. 'How long was I out for?' He asked, raising a hand to stifle a yawn.
Stranger: Just sliding the bake into the oven, John jumped slightly. "Bloody hell, you're like a ninja." He toed the oven shut and looked at the clock again. "Maybe an hour? Bit over?" He flicked on the kettle. "Dinner'll be about another hour. You're eating. Don't argue." He warned with a scowl then grinned. "Did you sleep alright?"
You: 'People have commented along those lines before.' Sherlock gave him a nod. 'Wanted to go back to sleep, actually. Wondered what time it was.' A small smile. 'I don't really see the point in arguing over food with you, you always make me eat it even if I don't want to.'
Stranger: "Well, if you want to go back to sleep do that. This'll keep." John jerked his thumb at the oven. He fiddled with a teabag and glanced at Sherlock from the corner of his eye. The frustration was back and he made a little growling noise in the back of his throat. "Ok. Again, permission to tell me to piss off because this is entirely none of my business, ut who is the bloke you fancy?"
You: 'Might do that then.' Sherlock looked at him for a moment, then a slow grin crept across his face. He rested his chin in his hands. John looked like he had been thinking about for a while, and not getting very far. Sherlock wondered how it was difficult, he didn't exactly know many people who could stand his company for more than an hour or two, and he never did like the people that couldn't. 'Why, are you getting worked up about it?' Cheeky.
Stranger: He narrowed his eyes. Then bit his lip before opening his mouth. When nothing came out John flushed all the way to the tips of his ears and finally managed a rough 'Piss Off' of his own. Sighing, the blonde leaned against the bench and folded his arms over his chest. "I'm getting worked up because I think I might fancy you quite a bit and seem to have reverted back to some sort of possessive cave man state where the thought of someone else touching you makes me want to hurt them. There." He spouted in a rush and seemed to find the pattern on the kitchen lino fascinating.
You: Sherlock blinked, slightly surprised. 'Well then you really shouldn't be worried. The only person I would want touching me more than casually is sitting across the table from me.' He said it with a completely straight face, though a tint of red had coloured his cheeks. His imagination had kicked in, which he tried to stop, without much success.
Stranger: John's eyes snapped to Sherlock's face to see if he were taking the piss. If the extremely fetching blush was any indication, he wasn't. John's heart started to pound against his ribcage. "Oh ..." --Brilliant, Watson. Sherlock fancies you and all you can say is 'oh'. Well done.-- He mentally berated himself for a good minute, eyes glued to Sherlock's and hands clenching his biceps so hard he thought he was going to bruise later on. A picture show of what he could be doing with Sherlock had begun to flicker in his brain about ten seconds into his berating of himself and it was making it a bit .. difficult to concentrate.
You: [bad timing, but I have to sleep now if I want to function properly in the morning. Do you have an email? Tumblr? Something we could continue on? Because I like this one :3]
Stranger: ((All good. Functioning is paramount to porn. thesevenpercentsolution is me on tumblr ^__^))
You: [I'm andthestorystarts]
Stranger: ((lovely. Sleep. I shall add and mebbe we can keep the boys going
You: [I hope we can, I'm enjoying this one :3]
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