Johnlocked AU

The Great Game

Heyy lovelies, this is probably the longest bloody chapter I have ever written in my entire history of wattpad. So yeah, long chapter warning or whatever.

And thanks so bloody much because I didn't expect so many damn reads. You know what I mean? I just wrote this because it was stuck in my mind for ever. So yeah I went like why not, lemme write this thing. So i did.
Anyways, special thanks for the comments. I absolutely ADORE it when people comment on my stories

Also if anyone has specific scene in mind about how Sherlock would act when high then please comment. Because I'm not good with comedy.

"What have you done to my bloody walls!?" Mrs. Hudson shrieked, a horrified expression plastered on her face, "I'm putting that on your rent, young man."
"He's got a sister in the damn British government," Sherlock muttered mostly to himself but he was sure John heard him anyway.
"The wall had it coming," John simply stated, winking to Sherlock who grinned.
"Pull it together, both of you. I don't get paid enough for this," Mrs. Hudson murmured the last part absent-mindedly as she tidied up the dishes. John have a hum of approval while Sherlock mouthed a 'sorry' to his landlady.

As soon as Mrs. Hudson left the room, Sherlock shifted in his couch, facing John who was inspecting the gun.
"I read your Blog," He muttered, eyeing John skeptically. "Really? What'd you think?" John looked up from the gun.

Of course the detective heard several comments each day about how great of a man he was. Of course many people adored him for his cases and his blogs. But Sherlock? There was just something peculiar about this man which John just couldn't figure out. He didn't need the detective there just as a detective. He liked the detective's presence, no matter how disdainful it was.
Even if John wanted, he couldn't bring all his emotions into words for Sherlock, he couldn't. Despite however he acted around him, he cared. Probably he cared about him the most - and that is coming from someone who generally hates everyone.

So of course Sherlock's views mattered. He wanted to hear those words again. 'Amazing' 'fantastic'. They felt special, if not typical, coming from the junkie's lips.

"I never really took you for the writing type....you know," Sherlock half slurred. John sighed and smiled. It was one of those half smiles that were purely genuine and reserved for him. For Sherlock. "It was good though, I would even go for amazing but you just gave a severed head sanctuary in the fridge so no." Sherlock smiled.

His smile was as genuine as well, but toothy -  none of them knew about the realness, they couldn't, they didn't value themselves enough.

Then the smile was wiped away from his face, a mischievous expression taking over, "Although I reckon most writers know current affairs like the queen and all that."
"Ah, this again," John sighed, sitting upright.
"Look," He beckoned, leaning against his knee, hands clasping before him, "I don't care who's Prime Minister, or who's sleeping with who-"

"Or that the Earth goes around the Sun."

"Oh, my god - Sherlock," The detective pointed to his head with either of his index fingers, "This is my hard drive and it only contains important information. Common people fill their minds with all sorts of rubbish."

"Rubbish?!" Sherlock gasped, "it's primary school - oh never mind that - even I know about the Solar System and look at me!"

"I am and you're just...." John made a strange gesture and muttered 'an idiot'.

"I'm wounded by that accusation!" (If u, by any chance, understand this reference then I would be glad to pay for ur therapy) Sherlock giggled and faked being hurt.