Courtney's Fanfiction Plan

Origin: BBC Sherlock (2010)
Writers: Steven Moffat & Mark Gatiss
Based on the Novels by: Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Drama

Fiction title:Ghosts
Ship: Johnlock
Genre: Angst, Drama
Characters: John Watson (As played by Martin Freeman) / Sherlock Holmes (as played by Benedict Cumberbatch)
Rating: PG13 (Swearing)



Quick notes for anyone who hasn't had the chance to see this 6 episode series.

Meet Sherlock Holmes set residential London in early 2012... Yes, this is modern Sherlock; including blackberries, blogs and black umbrellas. He is a consulting detective helping Scotland Yard with various cases.

John Hamish Watson is an army doctor recently returned home to London after being stationed in Afghanistan. He was shot while on duty and has frequent nightmares about the affair, resulting in a psychosomatic limp and frequent therapy visits. That is until he meets the enigmatic, self-centered and peculiar Sherlock Holmes. Now he is living a bachelor life helping his best friend solve crimes between patients.

Fanfic Context
It will be based on the space between seasons 2-3 where Sherlock is, for all intents and purposes dead. He jumped off a building, declaring himself a fraud to save his comrades from Moriarty's underground syndicate. This is how I imagine John is coping without his friend.

Scene: A flat (Not on Baker Street)
POV: God I suppose.. Third person subjective
Genre: Angst and Drama, simply because this is a very dark time for John
Plot: Working on it, but hopefully if this works out right it will leave the reader to their own deduction
Audience Expectation: Johnlock, simply is a story based around John and Sherlock and their lives at 221B Baker Street. They will be looking for believability in the characters they love, how well they interact not only with each other but the world around them and underlying themes that are common in the world of Sherlock. Such as danger, anger, trust, skepticism, sarcasm, etc.


Links for Johnlock

Chameleon by velvet_mace
A simple Johnlock fanfic, starting from their past and stemming into the present.

This was extremely long for the content, about 5000 words to come to an eventual conclusion which seemed a little washed out when compared with the long exposition of the story.
Most of it I felt was unnecessary but I wonder if that is the writers choice of style, in which case they achieved what they set out to do. 

The Magic of Deduction by TheShoelessOne
Crossover fanfiction featuring John Watson at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry.

I find this one a fascinating fiction crossover, simply because of the underlying themes and cleverly woven interaction between the two worlds. Its highlighted in the series that John thinks of Sherlock as a hero, while in Hogwarts it is believed only Gryffindors are the heroes.  Its cleverly crafted, clearly disguising references between both series not only making the plot believable but also highly enjoyable. The characters remain true to themselves despite the new environment and builds roughly on the Harry Potter themes and plotline. Excellently written.

Till Now I Never Knew (The Swan Triad) by pennin_ink
An  earlier recount of the Watson's meeting the Holmes's through a family connection. John at the age of 8 years old, traveling to France with the sick infant Sherlock. 

There are a fair few fictions that revolve around Holmes and Watson meeting earlier than being introduced by Mike Stamford, often being childhood friends. Often the big reveal if at the end to summarize the entire story by bringing out an item or a memory, which I understand solidifies their inevitable friendship. This is one of these fictions, which seem to push the boundaries of being believed. Sherlock and let alone Mycroft both have astute brains would remember John and such a family connection, so I hold my skepticism with such stories. However, this falls under creative license and author/character perception which varies from person to person, I however do think they missed a highlighted character flaw.

This Man’s Heart by ellie.hell
A 'Beauty and the Beast' crossover theme of Sherlock Holmes, set in the earlier 19th century.

Now this one was a little loquacious for me, and it tended to drag in some areas. This might have something to do with the theme being too heavy for the characters, who are quick and witty in the original series who seem very unlike themselves here, perhaps taking some time to adjust and contour to their new environment.
It may have been the authors intention to propose the characters in a new light, however I do feel like most of the iconic attributes were forgotten or hazed; not highlighted or exaggerated in a typical 'Sherlockian' fashion.

What Meets the Eye by worldaccordingtofangirls 
 This ficiton is based on the whole universe where Holmes and Watson are together. That's what you read, together and facing all the couple stereotypes you can possibly imagine while solving cases.

Ironically put by the authors writing pseudonym, this is a fans dream, filled with cliche fluff and totally dream-style stereotypes that come with having a free writing hand and too much time. Its a guilty pleasure of mine to read such fluff, and for which actually enjoy. Overdone cliches can open a whole new media for enjoyment and hilarity which was my understanding of the purpose of this fanfiction.

DRAFT

“Damn this window,” John grumbled “Christ!”  Taking all his strength and frustration he punched the pane. Eventually sacrificing a lace from his shoe to tie the latch pieces together; muttering something about complaining to the landlady downstairs. 

For a moment he thought of Ms Hudson, not the fat woman downstairs. He could feel her smile sympathetic and full of worry, he hated it on her. He couldn’t go back to the Baker Street flat. Not yet.  

Empty green walls stared back, shrinking around him. It was simple; he had been used to simple. His gun had been returned to the dresser and his cane had found its way back to his side where it belonged before all of this.  

“Right, time for bed” he announced before allowing dark images to cloud his mind. He had seen them too often already, every time he closed his eyes. Bloodshed, death, the crack of bone on pavement. It wasn’t the images of war that kept him up, just one man and the glaze of his blue eyes over his crimson-stained pale face. 

He cringed at the image, “No, no! Not again, not…Again” he sat on the edge of the bed, throwing the cane aside. Slowly he crowned his fingertips and buried his forehead in them. “Sherlock” 

“John?”  

Rumbling came from his left propelling John to his feet with his cane armed in a ready swing. 

“You” No…. It had to be fake, him standing there. Just like every other time he had imagined. Posed, polished, perfectly fine. 

“John” he repeated. John couldn’t help cautiously lowering the cane.  Maybe it wasn’t fake, maybe he was perfectly fine; the only one who could pull a miracle like this was him. Miracle? No, he had to die to be a miracle. 

 “How is this-I-I took your pulse-“flourishing questions each battled the others to be asked. He shook his head mainly at disbelief, and more at his own anger that was growing by the seconds. 

“No! No! You can’t do this to me Sherlock! You’re dead! I saw you! I SAW YOU DIE!” 

“John, I know you won’t forgive me for this… I’ve hurt you” He couldn’t help but chuckle, pain, what did he know of it?  

 “Hurt me?” a hallucination. Brought on by insomnia, drinking, drugs, something!  “Hurt is an understatement, Sherlock. You rang me, told me that you, that everything was a lie! And then told me to watch WHILE YOU JUMPED OFF A FUCKING THREE STOREY BUILDING!”  

“Well, it was only two, basement doesn’t count” 

“SHERLOCK!” the pair fell into silence, “What you did, what you made me go through these last few months” cracking plastic filled the space as the cane fell discarded“-What they said about you-“ 

 “I saw” 

“You mean noticed?” Deadpan retorts were all he could manage withholding his anger, “I bet this seems hilarious to you! Faking your death then coming back like nothing’s happened. So, what? Say you’re sorry and we’re fine again?” 

“As I said, I don’t expect forgiveness. This is hardly an amusing experience, it wasn’t part of the plan” Sherlock placed his hands behind his back; every movement carried a calm offense.  

“Plan? What plan?” 

“Take out Moriarty’s Intel from inside; bring the entire web to its knees by pulling strings. Without Moriarty playing puppeteer- Simple“his eyes basked in triumph, seeping into the corner of his mouth, “With some help from Mycroft-” 

“Mycroft was in on this?”  

“And Molly.” 

“-Fake autopsy” 

“Almost complete.” 

“Congratulations.” 

“Thank you”  

“Get out” 

“John!” Sherlock’s voice made his ears cower as he hobbled for the door. Two options, get out or be thrown out, “John!” rage blinded him, infecting his reasoning.  

He went for the gun in the dresser.  

 “-John, Listen to me. I never really left. I was always following you, keeping an eye out in case any of the operatives found out I was alive. They would come here first” Despite the army-issue pistol directed at him; there were no signs of fear in the silhouette. 

“Me? Why?” 

“You are my friend.” 

“Friend,” his sneer spat into his words, ”You don’t so this to friends, Sherlock” 

“You’re bitter about me leaving?”  

“Bitter? You had me thinking you were dead. Faked an autopsy to take down a dead man’s syndicate! Dear god, I hated what they said, the papers, telly, blogs. I shut mine down” His arm slowly giving into shakes as the weight of the revolver seemed to gain. 

“If I told you the truth they wouldn’t have believed I was dead. I am sorry for what I did to you. But understand,” daringly he stepped closer causing the pistol to jump back into attention. 

“What?” 

“If you were bitter, you wouldn’t be as angry as you are, John Watson. Bitterness is a paralytic. I felt it as I stood watching you, the only reason I had for stepping off that ledge, was the one begging me not to do it.  Love is a viscous motivator.” A gloved hand reached for the gun, removing it.  

“What are you telling me Sherlock?” 

“You are my friend, John. My only friend. The more you yell, tell me to leave; the more you convince yourself that this is a dream or another drunken stupor in hope of evading even the possibility that I am really standing here so you won’t be as upset when you wake up, tells me I’m not alone.” 

“Alone” John echoed, resonating within his darker memories “I was so alone” he studied Sherlock’s face, every detail, “The flat, Ms Hudson, everything was wrong without you” He was fine, he was alive and he was here, “Dammit Sherlock, why?” 

“I told you why-“ 

“No I mean why, why does it hurt so much without you? Why am I not furious that you lied to me? Dammit Sherlock!” 

The gun crashed to the ground as overwhelming emotions swept him away. Falling to his knees he curled on his hands gripping the floor. Sobs carried, echoing outside the empty, locked apartment.