Vinaya
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John Watson - Smart, Police Chief, Handsome, Sherlock's Boyfriend by Angel_Witch091
Fandoms: Sherlock (TV)
08 Jan 2026
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Summary
Hey Everyone! I'm back with season 2! It will make more sense if you read the first one.
John Watson is Chief of Police. And is in love with his Consulting Detective, Sherlock Holmes. How does this change the outcome when John is just slightly smarter, in love with Sherlock and has the power of Scotland Yard behind him?Series
- Part 2 of John Watson - Chief of Police
Bookmarked by Vinaya
21 Jun 2026
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Summary
Growing up isn't easy. Growing up with the person you're supposed to spend the rest of your life with is even harder.
Series
- Part 1 of Days
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 88,964
- Chapters:
- 22/22
- Comments:
- 312
- Kudos:
- 1,128
- Bookmarks:
- 292
- Hits:
- 62,169
Bookmarked by Vinaya
21 Jun 2026
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Summary
When Grantaire's usual club closes for relocation, he's forced to look elsewhere to find people who share his kinks. And who should he find in the first club he tries but the chief himself?
A lot of porn with secret feelings, basically. Mostly dominant Enjolras and submissive Grantaire.
Series
- Part 1 of Eyes to Serve, Hands to Learn
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 94,241
- Chapters:
- 9/9
- Comments:
- 268
- Kudos:
- 1,856
- Bookmarks:
- 359
- Hits:
- 44,594
Bookmarked by Vinaya
20 Jun 2026
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Summary
Sherlock and John are quite happy living together with Rosie in Baker St. They might be even happier if they didn’t act towards each other like their love is only platonic. Mycroft brings troubling news in the form of Mary’s parents wanting to know just what their grandchild’s home life is like. The boys decide to spend Christmas pretending like they are in love in order to seem more like a "normal" family. It's easy enough to pretend when all you're doing is dropping the act.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 27,258
- Chapters:
- 10/10
- Collections:
- 1
- Comments:
- 223
- Kudos:
- 1,569
- Bookmarks:
- 306
- Hits:
- 20,770
Bookmarked by Vinaya
15 Jun 2026
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Summary
When you have a fever, you go soft.
First the bones give way. The proud frame collapses, the spine curls into the duvet, folding into a small, stubborn shape that refuses to ask for help.
Then the lips soften—the dry, cracked lips that can’t quite manage a cutting remark. All they can murmur is one word: cold.
And finally, the hand. That hand that plays the violin, that conducts experiments, that points at a crime scene and says “elementary.”
It slips out from under the duvet and catches the fabric of his shirt.
It holds on so gently and yet so tightly.
Not with the usual controlled composure.
But the way a drowning man grabs at driftwood—no technique, only instinct.
Clutching his shirttail. His sleeve. His collar.
It holds on all night long. It doesn’t let go until dawn.
All night he calls his name.
And all night the other answers, “I’m here.”
The truth is, the fever has made him half delirious; he doesn’t even know what he’s calling for.
But each time he calls, a warm hand reaches out and rests on his forehead.
It stays there until he quiets, then slowly withdraws.
...