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Big Bad John by FruitViking for Amypihcs, HolmesDepot
Fandoms: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
12 Aug 2025
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Summary
John Watson fell into a criminal lifestyle to make ends meet after the war.
One night Sherlock Holmes bumps into him — quite literally — and sparks fly.
When their paths cross again, and again, they both have to wonder; would they be able to make a relationship work, whatever it may be?Series
- Part 1 of Criminal!Watson AU
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Bookmark Notes:
Pretty new dynamic for me
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Bookmark Notes:
“Am I a novelty to you? Bit of rough you can mess about with ‘fore you go on back to your nice suits and good company, all that? ‘Cause I’m not about to do that with you or anyone, be some piece on the side for when you get bored.”
“No! No, not at all.” He clung to my shirtfront and pressed his forehead to mine. “No, John, you – you fascinate me. I want to know everything about you.”
I’ll admit, that made me smile. I was still wary. “I’m that flattered,” I said, “but I reckon you’re talking with your prick a bit. A man says all sorts when he wants to get bent over.”
“I’m not – !” He screwed his eyes shut. “Maybe a little. I want you. Is that so bad, for one night?”
“Only one night?” He didn’t answer. “Don’t misunderstand, Mr Holmes, I’m liking this. I like you. But you need to think long and hard if you want me in your life. I don’t come easy.”
“Is that a challenge?”
“Ach, stop it, would you? Listen to me.” I gestured around us. “My life is here; places like this, all over the city. Baker Street’s not my area. I’m no gentleman.”
“But you’re a doctor.”
“As best I can be, aye. Mostly I do what folks ask of me, and that could mean anything. You’re a detective. I’m – well. You must know how the law’s treated round here.”
“I’m not completely ignorant of crime, John.” He was scowling. “I am a detective, as you say. I came to a molly-house for entertainment tonight, for heaven’s sake; and so, meeting you in a pub in Saffron Hill, then again as you minded the door of said molly-house, I am aware that you have likely done some less than savoury acts in order to earn a living. Your knuckles tell tales of many fistfights.”
“And you’d turn a blind eye every time I don’t tell you what I’ve been up to? Every time you see me and there’s a new bruise, a new scar?” I pried his hands off me and held them instead. There were bits of sticking plaster on most of his fingers. “You don’t want me, not really. It’d only upset you.”
I swear he was this close to stamping his foot. “What upsets me is you seem to think I’m a prissy idiot who gets a thrill by playing at solving mysteries. I am very good at what I do.”