A stolen ring! An artful blogger! And many more adventures for your enjoyment.

[COMPLETE] John is lost without Sherlock, and he keeps getting visits from a dead woman. He's not sure what Irene wants from him, or why he keeps giving in.

(Johnlock, memory palace) / Every night, Sherlock unpacks himself carefully, methodically, item by item, bit by bit. Unpacks and examines it all in the palm of his hand, examines and separates worth from chaff, data from static. He can separate and process and dispose, and after that he can close the hatch up and be ready again, clean and precise and smooth, for another day.

Sherlock couldn't have predicted this. John doesn't object. (Sexual tension, olives, kissing.)

Translation of purplescene's "Incisión" (ASiE) "Sherlock's fingers sink into the still-warm breast of the cadaver like an artist's brushes into paint, his features composed and curls hiding his eyes, stained orange by the light... tracing the letters R-A-C-H-E on the nondescript yellow wallpaper. Next to the lifeless body, it can be read as a signature, or maybe as a warning."

"Except that he'd never died, had he? It was an illusion, smoke and mirrors, all pendulum and no pit. It was all a show; it was this." Or, Sherlock comes back wrong.

Five times Sherlock remembers John, and one time he doesn't have to. (Johnlock, hiatus, reunion(

It's outside the ordinary, to be sure, but John has always been able to rely on his strange ability to heal. Until one day, he can't. Magical realism, Johnlock.

John finally realises what exactly it was that drew him to the woman he's been seeing. Sherlock knew all along. Shameless smut ensues. Written in under 24 hours and given the most ridiculous title I could think of. Hope you enjoy.

But apparently this is just the right degree of hidden, the right mix of risk and security because there's a sharpened edge to Sherlock's need, and his every sense feels heightened as he tries to keep his wits about him enough to monitor their surroundings. Explicit Johnlock.

"Only, there is shadow under this red rock. (Come in under the shadow of this red rock.) And I will show you something different from either, your shadow at morning striding behind you, or your shadow at evening rising to meet you; I will show you fear in a handful of dust." A series of (non-consecutive and non-related) one-shots based on lines from T.S. Eliot's "The Waste Land."

Later, a voice in Seb's head asked him whether he might not have been better off with the tiger. (MorMor)

Sherlock and John have all kinds of ways to communicate. Written for the come at once challenge, so be prepared for explicit content.

John has been selected for a covert operation in Afghanistan, but all is not as it seems. In order to protect him, Sherlock is forced to come out of hiding and reveal himself to John in a very unlikely place.

It certainly doesn't explain why Sherlock is glaring down at Molly like he cannot fathom such a level of stupidity, but then, in the same way that the average person might say that the sky is blue or the grass is green (or that the earth goes round the sun), Sherlock says, "But I'm going to do John's autopsy."

It wasn't exactly how he'd thought that John would cope, but they were, after all, English. Maybe it had been unrealistic to expect an emotional reunion, a charged exchange, an embrace his arms weren't quite sure how to return, a fist to the jaw. Instead, he would slip seamlessly back into life at 221B, and life would go on like it had, except when John would go silent and blank.