His Loyal Blogger
// Sorry for being on and off on here!

I’m on a bit of a hiatus on this account at the moment. Other muses have suddenly appeared to me and I’ve been focusing on them. That, on top of a lot of school stuff, I’ve not really had time for a John muse.

I should be back after I finish my SATs and ACTs which would be the 26th or so.

Thanks for sticking around~! :D

-Caite

2% filed as: +Hiatus
NEW Emma Swan RP account

sadishappiness:

So I gave in after days of debating and finally made an Emma Swan RP account.

*~Self Promotes~*

http://hisloyalbloggerjw.tumblr.com/post/97822320282/caringwontsavethem-hisloyalbloggerjw

caringwontsavethem:

caringwontsavethem:

hisloyalbloggerjw:

caringwontsavethem:

"No." Sherlock said firmly. "You’re staying right there. I’ll see if Molly has a suggestion."

Not that he hadn’t calculated every restaurant and possible route in his head already.

"I’ll bring something back for…

Sherlock found himself on the roof once again, sunlight filtering through the dark curly locks of unruly hair.

A cigarette was held to his lips as he took a long drag, ice green eyes miles away.

"I stayed."

His voice was low, little more than a growl.

"I had a choice, and I stayed. Why couldn’t you."

Sherlock could almost see Irene in the burning rays of sun, dancing over the swollen Thames.

He was… angry.

It wasn’t just that someone had killed Irene. It was the fact she left. She could have come back after Moriarty’s web was dismantled. She could have texted.
She could have built a bloody ark and sailed back to London.

Then again… he could have gone after her.

But he didn’t.

He couldn’t.

He’d owed one more miracle.

To John.

John doesn’t sleep for very long. 

He has a nightmare that jolts him awake.

It’s unpleasant.

Looking over at Dani, he runs a hand through her hair, trying to find some way to extract himself from her without waking her up.

He needs to find Sherlock, check up on him.

John gently slides his arm out from under Dani as he sits up.

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aconsultingdetective:

Legit Johnlock Scenes

Also, Greg just heard what you’re planning to do, Sherlock.

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hisloyalbloggerjw
"You're the one person I actually trust."

laststandatreichenbach:

hisloyalbloggerjw:

laststandatreichenbach:

Sherlock looked up from where she’s nursing a bruise on her ribs with an ice pack pressed to the sore spot over her camisole and she laughs bitterly, the taste of blood still prominent in her mouth from where she’d been biting the inside of her cheek during take off.

Then, the plane landed, but she still had the stench of Magnus’s blood on her and she shook her head. “That’s the worse decision you could make John….” she breathed out.

John recognizes the behavior. 

Avalon does it all the time when she’s grumpy about a case.

John lets himself be huffy for one more sigh, before holding Sherlock close and resting a kiss to her temple.

"You’re here now. That’s all that matters. You’re where you are supposed to be, Sherlock." He whispers in her ear.

"I killed the most powerful man in London John… there’s going to be repercussions even though Moriarty is back…" she mumbled, fingers tightening in his jumper before loosening. She shifted, pulling back and staring down at him from where she’s straddling him.

Her  jaw shifts and she leans down, fingers twisting in his jumper again as she kisses him, grounding herself to the moment. “He was dead John…. he was dead. I swear it” she breathed out.

"I know…. I know…" He breathes against Sherlock’s lips, eyes shutting as he feels hers brush his.

John kisses her back.

"We’ll fix it."

He runs his hand over her back. He slips his fingers beneath her shirt and he runs his fingers gently over her skin.

"We’ll fix this." He kisses her firmly. "Together. You aren’t alone in this."

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somesortof-housecat:

hisloyalbloggerjw:

"Plastic." John replies, tapping it with his cane. The prosthetic limb clicks and creaks as he shifts into the flat.

"I would have visited, but the job got in the way."  He steps in warily, observing the area silently. John is still paranoid since his latest mission got him in the hospital after six months of torture.

"Just thought I’d come by and tell you, Moran’s dead. Sherlock’s name should be cleared by the end of the month."

John swipes a pack of cigarettes off of Gregory’s table, sticking one beneath his teeth, lighting it with a silver lighter. The initials S. H. are engraved on the side of it. “Smoking is bad for you.”

image

Gregory watches John closely. “Says the man who has my father’s lighter” Gregory shot back icily. He closed his laptop, setting some water to boil for tea and he watched the blond. “I stopped expecting you to visit when he died… there was… no reason for us to speak then” he stated gently, looking away and taking the pack back.

image

Gregory took his snuffed cigarette out from behind his ear and lit it with the stove.

John sets the lighter down on the table, as he sits down in one of the chairs. Leaning down, he adjusts his prosthetic leg, tightening one of the pieces.

"I may be distant now, but I’m not horrible. I still should check up on how you’re doing every now and then."

John is actually there for selfish reasons.

The nightmares have gotten bad. Especially now that he’s got physical therapy.

He can’t hear Sherlock’s voice any more.

He can’t remember how his lips move when they say ‘wastepaper basket’.

Gregory looks so similar… It’s comforting.

It allows John to relax. To not want to look at the door with a gun at the ready.

"I’m clearing your father’s name as fast as I can. He’s an honorable man, we both know that…. even though his methods are questionable." 

He taps the ash into an ash tray.

"I’m… also here to…Mmm…" He inhales half the cigarette. "To apologize. For not being there. Afterwards, I mean."

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somesortof-housecat:

When the bell rang, Gregory rolled his shoulders and forced himself up. “What the bloody hell?” he stopped as he opened the door, blinking at the blond for a long time. “Well…” he states, putting out his cigarette and shifting again.

image

"Been a long while since I’ve seen you… how’s the leg?" he asked, turning inside of his flat and trying to clean up as he walked them towards the kitchen.

"Plastic." John replies, tapping it with his cane. The prosthetic limb clicks and creaks as he shifts into the flat.

"I would have visited, but the job got in the way."  He steps in warily, observing the area silently. John is still paranoid since his latest mission got him in the hospital after six months of torture.

"Just thought I’d come by and tell you, Moran’s dead. Sherlock’s name should be cleared by the end of the month."

John swipes a pack of cigarettes off of Gregory’s table, sticking one beneath his teeth, lighting it with a silver lighter. The initials S. H. are engraved on the side of it. “Smoking is bad for you.”

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hisloyalbloggerjw
"You're the one person I actually trust."

laststandatreichenbach:

hisloyalbloggerjw:

laststandatreichenbach:

Sherlock looked up from where she’s nursing a bruise on her ribs with an ice pack pressed to the sore spot over her camisole and she laughs bitterly, the taste of blood still prominent in her mouth from where she’d been biting the inside of her cheek during take off.

Then, the plane landed, but she still had the stench of Magnus’s blood on her and she shook her head. “That’s the worse decision you could make John….” she breathed out.

John sighs and makes tea for both of them anyway. It’s a habit of course.

He sets the tea down on the coffee table before disappearing to Sherlock’s room.

He brings her a blanket and a hoodie. He realizes the hoodie is actually his old Uni one. John drapes the blanket gently over her and sets the hoodie on the arm of the couch.

John settles into his armchair, sipping his cup of tea and jotting down notes from the past few days into his sketchbook.

Sherlock is gingerly sipping the tea when he returns, sighing softly and thanking that he can make a good cuppa. She forces herself up and she gently pushes John’s sketchbook away and forces herself into his lap with the blanket curled around her.

She envelops them both  in the blanket and rests her head on his shoulder and sighs deeply.

John recognizes the behavior. 

Avalon does it all the time when she’s grumpy about a case.

John lets himself be huffy for one more sigh, before holding Sherlock close and resting a kiss to her temple.

"You’re here now. That’s all that matters. You’re where you are supposed to be, Sherlock." He whispers in her ear.

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Some Kinda Ghost

laststandatreichenbach:

hisloyalbloggerjw:

"Shhhh…. Shhhh…" He coos quietly now, holding her close and kissing her cheeks. 

"Why don’t you rest now? I’ll be here when you wake up. I promise."

Sherlock laughed slightly, “I know you will be—” she mumbled softly as she rests against him. “Loyal as a Labrador…” she whispers before forcing herself to go to sleep, curled around John.

John hums softly and smiles at her words.

When she falls asleep, his smile turns sad and his eyes shut tight, John holding her.

I almost lost you. I almost lost you. I almost lost you….

He stays in that tense position for the rest of the night.

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hisloyalbloggerjw
"You're the one person I actually trust."

laststandatreichenbach:

hisloyalbloggerjw:

laststandatreichenbach:

Sherlock looked up from where she’s nursing a bruise on her ribs with an ice pack pressed to the sore spot over her camisole and she laughs bitterly, the taste of blood still prominent in her mouth from where she’d been biting the inside of her cheek during take off.

Then, the plane landed, but she still had the stench of Magnus’s blood on her and she shook her head. “That’s the worse decision you could make John….” she breathed out.

"Not really." He replies, crouched in front of her as he puts away his medical supplies.

"Just take the compliment because I don’t say that to many people." John murmurs before staggering up. Grabbing his cane, he limps over to the table and sets the kit on top of the newspaper.

"Want anything to drink? Tea? Water?"

"I’ll always take a compliment, as long as it’s true—" she replied softly, rolling onto her side and curling her arms under her arm and stared ahead, ignoring John’s question at first.

"No…" she replied darkly, shifting and rolling over onto her sore side and faces the inside of the couch.

John sighs and makes tea for both of them anyway. It’s a habit of course.

He sets the tea down on the coffee table before disappearing to Sherlock’s room.

He brings her a blanket and a hoodie. He realizes the hoodie is actually his old Uni one. John drapes the blanket gently over her and sets the hoodie on the arm of the couch.

John settles into his armchair, sipping his cup of tea and jotting down notes from the past few days into his sketchbook.

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