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    Summary

    The original plan for returning to England involved fucking around being shellshocked and suffering mandatory post-combat counseling and physical therapy to dissect the shattered mosaic of his feelings. That's not quite how it goes.

    Language:
    English
    Words:
    4,535
    Chapters:
    1/1
    Comments:
    133
    Kudos:
    2354
    Bookmarks:
    723
    Hits:
    103581
  2. 3 Aug 2014

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    Bookmark Notes:

    funny as fuck.

  3. 27 Jul 2014

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  4. 21 Jul 2014

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  5. 14 Jul 2014

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  6. 14 Jul 2014

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  7. 12 Jul 2014

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  8. 1 Jul 2014

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  9. 28 Jun 2014

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  10. 20 Jun 2014

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  11. 17 Jun 2014

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  12. 14 Jun 2014

    Rec

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  13. 31 May 2014

    Rec

    Bookmark Notes:

    Funny little fic

  14. 28 May 2014

    Public Bookmark

  15. 25 May 2014

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  16. 21 May 2014

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  17. 17 May 2014

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    Bookmark Notes:

    This fic is beyond amazing. John and Sherlock are BAMFs that moonlight as crime solving men with the maturity of 12 year olds.

  18. 12 May 2014

    Rec

  19. 11 May 2014

    Public Bookmark

  20. 2 May 2014

    Public Bookmark

    Bookmark Notes:

    The original plan for returning to England involved fucking around being shellshocked and suffering mandatory post-combat counseling and physical therapy to dissect the shattered mosaic of his feelings. That's not quite how it goes.

  21. 29 Apr 2014

    Public Bookmark

    Bookmark Notes:

    When he gets home that night, Lestrade is waiting for him in front of 221B Baker.

    "Oh, come on," John says. "There's new Doctor Who on tonight."

    Lestrade gives him a poisonous look. "There's also been a murder."

    "There's always a murder, bloody everybody is always dying everywhere all over London, we're worse than Detroit," John complains, and wanders past him, into the house, calling out a hello to Mrs. Hudson and starting up the stairs. The ache in his leg is just a twinge now, the memory of hurts. He thinks he should really go steal some money from Sherlock to set them up with a DVR service so Sherlock can stop illegally downloading fucktons of television. John takes off his coat and calls out, "Sherlock! Guess who's here to see you."

     

    But really, it's more about this:
    "Oh thank God," Sherlock says, when John tells him the next morning that he's taken a position with Bart's. "If you'd moped around the house decorating it and sanding things and moving all of my stuff any longer I was going to hurl you off of the roof."

    "Illegal, Sherlock," John reminds him, because sometimes Sherlock forgets about those sort of things.

    Waving a hand, Sherlock says, "As if Lestrade could ever find me. Anyway — I'm pleased to hear you've concluded the wounded, psychologically damaged war veteran portion of your life. We ought to throw you a party."

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