He looked like he had stepped out from the pages of a Shakespearean tragedy- with his high cheekbones, piercing grey blue eyes, and the pale, ghostly tint of his skin. Sherlock Holmes was a sonnet to be recited, a ballad ready to be sung, a love story begging to be read. He was drama and romance and beauty. And he thought John Watson was fascinating. Teenlock.

Drugs are easy enough to come by, he's been told. Especially if you're pretty and if you know how to use your mouth. After all, the body is just transport, and Sherlock is willing enough to give them a ride. Mycroft calls it 'self destruction'. He likes to think of more as self preservation. Until John Watson came along. And saved him from that self made hell.

"You're drunk," John insists. Sherlock gives a light, mirthless laugh. "Why? Because you can smell it on my breath? Do you know what you smell like, John?" He is standing too close, far too close, closer than they've ever stood. He bends down so his breath tickles John's ear. "Another woman's perfume." In hindsight, Sherlock thinks, the alcohol was a bad idea.

"Get me a doctor," Sherlock suggested. "What do you think I've been doing for the past hour?" "Not just any doctor," Sherlock muttered. "My doctor." Sherlock is sick. And the worst thing about this whole situation is that he has no John. But Sherlock finds that making a fuss is the easiest way of getting his handsome army doctor back from Dublin to take care of him. Fluff.

'"John," he said in a slightly strangled voice. "I just wanted to tell you that-" he breathed deeply. "That the depth of what I feel for you frightens me."' It is medically proven that hearts can break. John would know, since he's a doctor. But if Sherlock has taught him anything at all,it is that they can be mended just as well. John would know, since he's in love. (smut.)

"Are you okay?" he asked. "No," I replied, wiping away the blood on my lip. "That's fine. Neither am I. But, unlike you- I know how to remedy that." That's when he bent down and kissed me. I thought Auror Training would be hard compared to the job. That was before they pushed me into the field with nothing but a wand and this arrogant, handsome arse I was supposed to call 'Sir.'