#sherlock fanfic

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom.

Warnings: mentionings of torture, injury.

Don’t Tell Him

The pain is greater and more agonising than all the beating he got in that filthy cell in Serbia, because this pain isn’t just physical. Sherlock knows that if he answered John’s insistent questions about who the shooter was, it would break John’s heart, despite what Mycroft says.

“Tell him, brother mine,” Mycroft urges. “John is far more resilient than you give him credit for, and his feelings for you…”

“Don’t!” Sherlock snaps. “The love of his life shot me in the heart. I refuse to add that burden to his confused mind.”

“I agree that he is confused, but not for the reasons you think, Sherlock,” Mycroft says cryptically.

Sherlock closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep. He’s not only in constant pain, but he’s also exhausted with all the emotions that this whole business regarding Mary Watson throws his way. It’s so much harder to stay focused and aloof when the painkillers leave his brain all foggy and relaxed. His pining for John comes to the surface, tugging at his heart.

“Go home to Mary,” Sherlock urged John before Mycroft arrived. “She needs you more…”

“I’m staying,” John interrupted in his stubborn tone. “Just fetching some clothes and stuff before I’m going with you to Baker Street tomorrow. Non-negotiable!”

He had lifted his chin in defiance, daring Sherlock to protest. His last words are a puzzle Sherlock still hadn’t been able to deduce.

“You need me, and I need…to…”

***

John has gone to Aldi to buy milk, bread and eggs, wile Mycroft stays to keep an eye on his brother, with strict instructions from the good doctor to call if anything changes regarding Sherlock’s pulse, heartrate, temperature, and several other unnecessary trifles. (Sherlock’s words)

“John, for Christ’s sake, go!” Sherlock says exasperated. “I’m fine.”

John looks sceptically at him, grabs his wrist and takes Sherlock’s pulse. When he’s satisfied, he hurries out of the bedroom and descends to the front door, probably running all the way to the shops to reduce his absence to a minimum.

“Are you still convinced that he only has friendly feelings for you?” Mycroft asks with a quirked eyebrow.

“Don’t tell him, Mycroft! He can’t know. If he’s ever to realise how much…I…I wish she had finished…”

“Sherlock!”

Mycroft rarely raises his voice but when he does, it speaks volumes.

“I would not survive your demise, brother mine. She can count herself lucky that she didn’t kill you. Even John’s plea for her life would’ve been in vain, her pregnancy notwithstanding.”

Mycroft’s voice trembles with emotions, which is odd to witness.

***

Sherlock has no sense of time anymore, but he thinks it’s been days since his conversation with Mycroft. Something is being delivered, and John’s steps are heavier than usual when he ascends the stairs.

Carrying something. Not groceries. Two bags. One over each shoulder.

When John brings his meds later, Sherlock observes that something is different. John’s face is displaying a variety of conflicting emotions. There’s determination and insecurity, sorrow and relief, anger and hope. The last deduction does something to Sherlock’s shattered heart.

“What’s happened?” Sherlock asks calmly, although he’s terrified of the answer.

John’s voice sounds mechanical, as if he’s rehearsed what he’s about to tell Sherlock.

“Mary left a note. She’s gone. The baby isn’t mine. Her name isn’t hers. She’s apparently an assassin. Worked for Moriarty. She shot you. You knew, and you wanted to shield me. I want you to stop doing that.”

He sheds his clothes down to his pants and tee and climbs carefully into bed. Sherlock’s breath catches in his throat.

Is this real, or a hallucination?

“It’s real, Sherlock,” John tells him, as if he’s the one who’s become a mind-reader.

He lies down beside Sherlock, letting his palm rest over the wound, over his heart. The heart that beats solely for John.

Does he know? If so, how?

“You’re not as subtle as you think, Sherlock. What I saw traces of before this, became clear as day when your brain function was compromised by painkillers. Am I wrong?”

Don’t hide. Tell him.

“No, John. You’re not,” Sherlock says and places his hand over John’s.

@flashfictionfridayofficial @totallysilvergirl @calaisreno @keirgreeneyes @raina-at

@helloliriels @safedistancefrombeingsmart @gregorovitch-adler @a-victorian-girl @peanitbear

@meetinginsamarra @topsyturvy-turtely @phoenix27884 @jolieblack @221beloved

[lilmoonbunny]

Denial; Mycroft Holmes

Mycroft only seeked you out to deduce you (aka, how Mycroft realised he liked you).

John and Sherlock were, without a doubt, the loudest neighbours that Y/N had ever had.

Gunshots at God only knows what hour, constant stabbing, banging, and so on. Despite this, she still considered them dear friends and the best neighbours that she had ever had. Sure, they were weird and loud, but they were also kind and genuine, at least for the most part. Alongside this, they also appreciated her baking, especially after long cases.

A gentle knock sounded on the door the 221B catching the attention of three people.

“You can come in, Y/N,” Sherlock called from behind the door, greeting the woman with a nod before turning his attention back to Mycroft whilst John smiled at her.

“Hi, Sherly. Hi, John.” She smiled at the two friends before turning to the older Holmes brother. “Hi, Mr Holmes.” Y/N greeted him with a smile. Although she hadn’t met him before, it wasn’t difficult to deduce who he was; the expensive suit and the fact Sherlock was glaring at him gave it away.

“Sherly?” Mycroft spat, grimacing at the nickname given to his brother. “Who on Earth would you let call you that?” He asked.

“This is Y/N, our neighbour. What have you brought for us today? I’ve been looking forward to this all week.” The sweet smile Sherlock gave to the woman made Mycroft feel ill. He had no clue who this woman was and absolutely no idea why they seemed to be this close.

“Chocolate cake, sugar cookies, and love.” She joked, beginning to laugh at the way Mycroft audibly gagged. “I’m only kidding. No love.”

“I should certainly hope not,” came Mycroft’s response, one which simply made her laugh again.

“Are you jealous, Mycroft?”

“Because of the cake, he is.” Sherlock interrupted, waving Myrcoft off. “No, I won’t take the case. You can leave now.”

“This is an urgent matter, brother mine.”

“Don’t care.”

With a groan and a roll of his eyes, Mycroft lifted himself to his feet and prepared to leave.

“I’ll leave these with you, just in case you change your mind. Goodbye brother mine. John.” The hesitation was obvious on Mycroft’s face, despite how well he typically hid his emotions, as he faced Y/N.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr Holmes.” Y/N smiled sweetly, earning a simple nod from him before he left.

Sherlock, who had leaned to grab the tub of baked goods from the woman’s hands, rolled his eyes as Mycroft left and immediately began to eat.

It wasn’t long until Y/N’s entire life had been researched.

There wasn’t much there. No criminal record, a few jobs, occasional moves, but no sign of her posing any danger to Sherlock and, by association, John. However, the way Mycroft felt upon seeing her was unusual, so he decided to do his own investigation.

“Morning, Mr Holmes,” he was greeted before he reached the empty counter. “Welcome to my bakery! Would you like anything?”

“Just a coffee, please. Black.” Mycroft nodded, not returning the smile she had given, despite the odd feeling it gave him. She was evil and he would prove it to Sherlock.

“Coming right up! Take a seat wherever you’d like, and I’ll bring it over.”

As Mycroft occupied a seat, he took a moment to properly assess the woman making his drink.

She didn’t seem threatening: a content smile on her lips as she prepared his coffee, humming a quiet tune that he barely picked up on. In fact, she didn’t seem out of the ordinary at all, but the feeling when he first saw her – a feeling Mycroft couldn’t explain – had him needing to investigate her further.

“Here you go, Mr Holmes.” Y/N said, placing a hot coffee and chocolate cake on the table in front of him. “Sherlock mentioned that you like cake, so I grabbed you some. It’s all on the house.”

“Why?”

With a small laugh, she responded without hesitation. “You’re Sherlock’s brother.”

How odd, Mycroft thought to himself. She doesn’t even know me and she’s giving me things for free…

Despite his thoughts, Mycroft simply nodded, watching as she took a seat opposite him. “I hope you don’t mind. It’s quiet today so I figured I’d try and keep you company the best I can. I’m sure you have better company than me, though.”

“I don’t mind,” he replied before even thinking. It was safe to say that he didn’t enjoy the way his chest felt whilst he watched her smile.

Maybe she’s a witch? No, don’t be stupid, Mycroft. They don’t exist.

“So,” Y/N’s voice broke the man from his thoughts. “It’s a funny story how me, Sherlock, and John met. I was actually working and Sherlock bursts in demanding to talk to me. My baking stuff had been found at a crime scene and he thought it was me!”

“How interesting.” Came Mycroft’s blunt reply, even if he was intrigued.

“You listened to it, so you must care, even just a little bit. I think that’s a win for me!”

Mycroft couldn’t help the tiniest smile that crawled onto his lips, but he internally prayed that nobody noticed it, especially her. She, however, seemed oblivious to the movement, simply staring over his shoulder and out of the window.

“Anyway, what was he like growing up? Was he like he is now? Blunt and rude?” Y/N asked with a giggle.

“He wasn’t, actually. He was rather sweet. He liked playing pretend with his friend; he always wanted a dog too.” Came Mycroft’s reply. “His favourite thing was pirates.” He said with a fond look in his eyes. Sherlock wasn’t going to be happy when he found out that he had told her, but he couldn’t resist answering her question.

Mycroft watched closely as the woman in front of him grinned, the bright and happy smile a nice contrast to what he was used to whilst working with the government. He couldn’t help but smile back, noting how her smile widened further as he did so.

“That’s sweet. I couldn’t imagine that, to be honest,”

It was time to ask the question that was on his mind. “Are you attracted to Sherlock?”

“Sherlock?” Y/N said, bursting into laughter. “No, absolutely not. He’s more like an annoying older brother. Same with John. We’re just friends, and, well, neighbours too.”

Confusion spread over Mycroft as she felt the weight on his shoulders lift at her words; she was telling the truth.

“How is she?” Sherlock asked the moment he answered the phone.

“How is who?” Mycroft’s voice sounded through the device.

“Y/N,”

“Why do you assume that I know?”

“It’s obvious you were there earlier.”

“…”

“Well, that and Mrs Hudson told us.”

“Of course she did.” Mycroft said with an involuntary roll of his eyes.

“So, how was it?”

“It was fine.”

“You like her then?”

“What makes you think that?”

“Well, you went to see her. It’s quite obvious, Mycroft. Come on, I thought you were smarter than that.”

Mycroft simply put the phone down.

He did not like her.

The next time that Mycroft came across Y/N was when it was raining.

He hadn’t wanted to seem ‘creepy’ by seeking her out again for more investigations and deductions, so he simply waited. She was friends with his brother, it wasn’t like their paths wouldn’t cross at some point. Besides, he didn’t want Sherlock to think that he liked her.

“Raining real bad tonight, isn’t it?” The driver spoke to Mycroft. He was new, so Mycroft couldn’t exactly blame him for attempting some type of conversation with him; it was still annoying, though.

Anthea, looking up from her phone was what caught Mycroft’s attention. “I feel bad for her.” She said, nodding towards a soaked woman. It only took Mycroft a moment to realise who it was.

“Pull over,” he stated bluntly, grabbing his umbrella. He simply ignored the look he was receiving from his assistant.

It had been a long day filled with rude customers, and to make it worse, it was raining, and she had forgotten her coat. Today couldn’t be going any worse for Y/N.

Shivering wildly and soaked to the core, Y/N huffed, watching the way her breath instantly evaporated; it was clearly below freezing, but she held out hope that the rain would stop and she would be home soon.

Her hope seemed to pay off, though, since she could no longer feel the rain. As she looked up at the sky, she spotted a familiar face.

“Mycroft?”

“Y/N.”

“What are you-“

“Get in.” He said, pointing towards the car before wordlessly leading her towards it, still holding the umbrella above her, even if he was getting wet.

“You don’t have to, Mycroft.” She said as he ushered her in and shut the door behind them both. “I mean, I’m soaking your car!”

Mycroft, who could feel the heat on his cheeks from their proximity, simply shook his head. He was too focused on the way her leg was pressed against his as she sat between him and Anthea who stared at her phone with a small smirk.

The ride was void of conversation, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, the only noise was that of Y/N shivering.

After a moment of hesitation, Mycroft shrugged off his jacket and handed her it. “Here.”

There was no chance of refusal, Mycroft wouldn’t allow it, so with a quiet ‘thanks’, Y/N popped the jacket over her shoulders. He just found the chattering of her teeth annoying, was what he told himself.

As they arrived at the flats, Mycroft followed her out of the car.

“Thank you, Mr Holmes.” She said as they stood on the door of her flat.

“Mycroft is fine, Y/N.”

“Thank you… Mycroft.” She said with a small smile before bidding him a goodnight.

“I see you gave her your jacket,” Was all Sherlock said as Mycroft entered 221B.

It was hard. Very hard. Harder than anything Y/N had ever experienced. Having a crush was not easy as it was, but having feelings for Mycroft Holmes was the hardest thing in the world: he rarely showed emotion, he was blunt, he was rude, but most importantly to her, deep down, he was nice.

A small sigh left Y/N’s lips as she worked on her latest batch of cookies for the morning. He was on her mind… again. It was a common occurrence by now.

“We’re not open yet, sorry!” She called over her shoulder at the sound of the door opening. As she turned around to see who it was and apologise again, a blush rushed to her cheeks. “Mycroft! What are you doing here?”

Mycroft stood there, umbrella in hand, and gave a simple shrug. “I was on my way to work so thought I would ‘pop in’ as people say.” He explained, earning a laugh from the baker.

“Modern phrases don’t suit you, Mycroft.” She teased.

With an amused shake of his head, Mycroft took a seat at the table nearest her.

“Want some cookies? They’re fresh out of the oven!”

Mycroft nodded with a grateful smile, always glad to have sweet treats. He would never turn down anyone’s desserts, least of all Y/N’s; not because he liked her and didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but because she was a good baker.

The pair sat in a comfortable silence, Mycroft gladly eating his cookies with an appreciative look whilst Y/N worked on her next batch. There was nothing awkward between them, and there, surprisingly, never had been.

“Are you not at work today?” Y/N broke the silence with a question that was bugging her. She could have sworn Mycroft had always worked this time over the months that she had known him.

Mycroft hesitated for a moment. He was supposed to be there right now but had decided to visit you before. It wasn’t like anyone could fire him for it, he was basically the British government, after all.

“Not yet,” he lied, and he was glad that he was a good liar.

“Oh, okay! I’m happy you came then. I don’t want to bother you.”

“You could never be a bother,” the words fell from his lips before he even registered what his thoughts, and he noticed the blush race up her cheeks, as did she with his.

“Thank you, Mycroft.”

As he stared at her and her rosy cheeks, a million thoughts went through his mind, but they were all related to one thing: her. It was in that moment that he realised the truth, he did like Y/N, and he had been attracted to her since the beginning; that was what he was feeling.

Oh dear…

[princessaxoxo]

Strangers to lovers Part 6

Sherlock x reader

Summary: Being Enola’s sitter was an adventure, but not as much as falling for her brother, Sherlock.

Warnings: 18+ Only, NSFW, fluff, unprotected sex (p in v), oral (f receiving), vulgar language, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of birth

Word Count: 523

“I now pronounce you man and wife; you may kiss the bride.” Sherlock kissed you with passion after the bishop made his announcement. Claps echoed throughout the room as your family and Sherlock's stood together. There would be a surprise that evening, one that you could not wait to tell your now-husband. “I love you, Mrs. Holmes,” Sherlock said with significance.

Sherlock took you to bed in a bridal fashion. The day of your wedding was filled with little touches to private areas of your bodies. In a manner unbelievably timely, you witnessed him strip off his clothing. The urge to have his body near yours—closer than ever—consumed Sherlock. He was exceptionally tough and passionate tonight. Sherlock looked at you and stated, "I have the most beautiful wife," as he assisted you in taking off your clothes.

His lips didn’t leave an inch of your body untouched. Eventually, his face landed between your thighs, and his soft lips made love to your cunt. His tongue swirled and sucked on your clit repeatedly until his name fell from your lips in whimpers and your orgasm took over your body.

In one quick thrust, his cock stretches your cunt as his body covers yours. There was hunger and yearning in the way he moved. With your palm firmly clutching his locks, Sherlock's head was nestled in the hollow of your neck. Sherlock's enlarged length brushed against your g-spot with every snap of his hips.

He kissed his way up to your lips while your nails scratched across his back. Your body experienced a familiar sensation, alerting you to your approaching orgasm. Sherlock felt your legs start to tremble as your walls tightened around him and his name slipped from your lips.

His seed filled you to the brim, and he groaned deeply. Before he could catch his breath, you said, “I’m pregnant, honey.” Sherlock just stared at you, unable to speak. “Not too long ago, my courses ended, and I saw a doctor. I'm definitely with child."

His face lit up with a smile as he placed his palm on your belly. “Our child, you mean.”

Nine months later, you were giving birth to your baby. Sherlock was by your side, holding your hand. “You’re doing fantastic, sweetheart," he said, then kissed your hand. “One more push, miss!” the doctor said aloud.

With all your might, you gave Sherlock's hand a strong squeeze. Abruptly, a cry filled the room. "Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, congratulations; it's a boy." They handed you your son. Upon holding your son for the first time, happy tears obscured your vision. “Hi, little one," you said as you brushed the side of his tiny head.

Sherlock had the biggest smile you've ever seen on his face as you turned to face him. His eyes were glossy. "Would you like to take him in your arms?"

"Yes, absolutely." With gentle care, you handed Sherlock his son. "He's gorgeous, isn't he?" Sherlock asked, glancing at you. 

You beamed and said to him, "He resembles his father." After exchanging quick glances and kisses, you both turned to face your son and looked forward to what lay ahead.

Taglist: @shellyshellshell @identity2212 @chloe92 @juliaorpll78 @nighttimestan @ellethespaceunicorn @armystay89

[depressedoompaloompa]

✨Hydrate✨ bitches

This is a reminder for everyone who sees this. Get up from where you're sitting and drink a glass of water<3

Reblog so your moots don't die on their beds in their girlcaves

[strawberrywinter4]

Summary: Recently retired police officer, John Watson, stumbles upon an odd man named Sherlock Holmes when traveling by train on his way home. He concludes the detective is insane after having only one conversation with him, but can't help but be intrigued. Ignoring John's hesitance, Sherlock brings him along on an exciting case. Through this adventure, Sherlock doesn't bother to hide his palpable obsession with John while John tries to hide his growing feelings. What will happen when they both break, following their desires?

Relationship: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson

Tags: Case Fic, Possessive Sherlock Holmes, Obsessive Behavior, Sherlock Holmes is a Bit Not Good, Takes place by the bay in Maine, American!John, Ocean, Small Towns, Alternative Universe-Small Town, Sherlock Holmes loves John Watson, John Watson is oblivious, BAMF John Watson, BAMF Sherlock Holmes, Eventual Happy Ending, Explicit Sexual Content, Love Confessions, Kissing, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Read chapter 1 here.

Spotify Playlist here.

I just made a little something…can’t wait to see where it goes! <3

Tags: @a-victorian-girl @whatnext2020 @totallysilvergirl @ninasnakie @thegildedbee @whodwantmeasaflatmate @with-a-ghost-mr-holmes @sherlocknjohn221b @jawnn-watson @blogstandbygo @lisbeth-kk @holmesianlove @7-percent @itsonlytext @chinike @peanitbear @mary-johnlocked @bakerstreetbe @curlyjohnlock @helloliriels @keirgreeneyes @ceceliajupe @ghostofnuggetspast @dw91165 @jolieblack @cortinita @gwendelaneyisjohnlocked

[a-victorian-girl]

SH: (using John's computer, of course): - " What's this? 'Archive of our Own'..."

SH: (starts reading an 'explicit' Johnlock fic John left open): - " WHAT THE....??"

[naefelldaurk]

New Sherlock Fic

Sherlock has one last chance to show John how he feels. The results far exceed his expectations.

[delicate-moon-princess]

Hello, if it's alright to request stuff, may I ask for some soft smut with Sherlock? Like morning, sleepy makeout in bed or something along those lines? Thank you!! I really love all your work! Keep up the great work!!

Taste of Home

Summary: You wake up next to Sherlock in bed after months of being apart. It never felt like home when he was gone. And now finally, he’s there to fill the void in your heart.

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Warnings: 18+ smut, kissing, thigh fucking, unprotected p in v, sleepy sex, cock warming, a tad emotional?- Let me know if I forgot anything!

Word Count: 2k

Any typos are my own!

A/N: Of course, thank you so much for the request! Here’s a very soft and sleepy Sherlock for you, nonnie ❤️

Daylight flooded the room, waking you as it beamed onto your face. The curtains had not been closed, and you were facing the window. The brightness made your eyes ache and you pouted as you covered them.

It was far too early, you decided. You sighed as you tried to go back to sleep, burying your face in the pillows. When you shifted, confusion filled you when your bare skin rubbed against the soft sheets. You realized you were nude. It was not like you to sleep without clothes.

You lifted your head and looked around. A shuffling sound came from behind you on the bed, making you look back. A familiar sleeping face greeted you. Your husband. Sherlock. Who was also nude, judging by the way the blanket draped low on his hips. You had a perfect view of his chiseled torso and defined v-line.  

It all came rushing back to you when you looked at him. He came home from a very long work trip the night before. And after a quick dinner, he made love to you till the early hours of the morning. You remembered falling asleep in each other’s arms immediately afterwards.

It was no wonder he was exhausted. As were you. After the workout he put your body through, it was almost like you hadn’t slept at all.

Even now as you gazed at his dozing features, you felt like you could easily fall asleep. Nevertheless, you carefully rolled over so you could get a better look at him. You laid your head on the pillow next to his as he faced you, taking the time to admire how beautiful he was.

To say he was beautiful was an understatement. His curly brown locks tousled, which softened his appearance. His long lashes fluttered as he slept. He looked so peaceful.

Who were you to disturb him? He worked so hard all the time. This last particular case he was working on had been especially tough to solve. Of course Sherlock Holmes closed the case, but even the famous detective ran out of steam.

He deserved to sleep in for as long as he liked. His brows began to twitch as you admired the lines in his face. You tilted your head and watched him. At first, you thought he was dreaming, but then his eyes opened. He took in the sight of you, before he gave you an enamored smile.

“Mrs. Holmes…” Sherlock murmured groggily. “Good morning.”

You didn’t have time to say it back, because his lips were on yours the instant the words left his mouth. Your eyes fluttered shut, letting out a pleased hum. Good morning to you too, husband. He hummed back as you lifted a hand to his cheek, your tongue coming out to lick his bottom lip. When his taste hit your tastebuds, you shivered. 

That taste. You missed it so. Like wintergreen and tobacco. It was both bracing and earthy. A taste of him this early in the morning was a treat. 

Your mouth watered as you avidly drank down what you could from his lips. If you could bottle up his taste and drink it every morning, you would. He tasted like comfort, like home.

Then, the warmth of his lips was gone. You sluggishly opened your eyes, finding him looking at you as his fingers stroked your cheek.You tried to savor the residual of his saliva on your tongue.

“How long have you been awake, dear?” His question took a moment to register with you, given how exhausted you were. Based on Sherlock’s lazy caressing of your face, you could tell he was just as tired as you.

“Not long.” You muttered when your sense of understanding came back to you.

“Why didn’t you wake me sooner, darling?” He asked you, letting his hand rest on your cheek.

You melted, leaning into it. Bringing your hand up to cover his, you nuzzled your nose against the lines of his palm.

“You needed your rest.” You whispered, pressing a kiss to the crease of his thumb.

“After all the time we were apart, what I need more than anything is to spend time with my gorgeous wife. And I need to be awake and conscious to do so.” He pointed out to you, his voice still laced with sleep.

Sherlock moaned when you nibbled gently on the ball of his palm. His fingers flexed, and he lazily rested his forehead on your temple.

“Or at least lucid enough to admire how angelic you look in the morning.” He yawned softly, his face falling to your neck. “Though I am having trouble keeping my eyes open.” He mumbled against the flesh of your collarbone.

“Perhaps we should rest a little while longer.” You suggested, your fingers in his soft curls.

“Hmm… perhaps. Then again, we should get up and get ready for the day. My guess is we’ve already slept past breakfast. I fancy your idea much more, however. Staying in bed, with you.” He nudged his nose along your jaw, inhaling your sweet scent.

“Sleeping. Staying in bed, sleeping.” You corrected him, smiling softly.

“Hm? Oh, sleeping. Yes, of course.” He hummed innocently, his lips on your jaw. “I wouldn’t be surprised if I find it hard to fall asleep, though. You smell too good.” He moaned, tugging you closer.

You gasped when you felt his erect cock against your stomach. His manhood twitched when it touched your belly. 

“And so warm. I’ve missed your warmth.” He murmured, squeezing his length between you as it leaked onto your skin.

His seed was sticky as it oozed onto your flesh. You shivered, it was so warm and you were reminded of last night when he shot his fervid seed inside you. A large hand grabbed the back of your thigh, lifting it so your legs spread slightly.

“I’m willing to bet you're also wet for me.” He reached down to grab the base of his cock. 

You watched him guide his manhood towards the crease between your luscious thighs. It wasn’t until he slipped in with ease that you realized your inner thighs were covered in your fluids. Not only a result of his current actions, but also the very pleasant dreams you had of him last night.

A deep blush bloomed on your cheeks. Sherlock further situated his erection, nestling it between your wet folds. You jerked and gasped, your clit pressed against his solid length.

“So wet for me. Mmm…” He gave a sleepy smile and hum. Then he pulled away to look at you. “Tell me, my love, did you dream of me?”

There was no chance of hiding anything from him. His question was answered when you lowered your head bashfully. You took interest in where he buried himself in your thighs, watching as he shifted his hips. The top of his shaft nudged your delicate bundle of nerves. A heat rose in your belly, making you mewl as you rolled your hips.

“I dreamed of you. The entire time I was gone, I dreamed of you every night. It was the only thing that kept me going, the promise that I had you at home, waiting for me.” He sighed as your thighs squeezed him.

“I knew soon enough I would be back here, surrounded by your warmth. Your smell. Your taste. U-Ugh, your taste.” He groaned as he pulled out from between your legs. Your clit was rubbed the other way. You arched your spine with a breathless hiccup.

“Like the sweetest honeysuckle. I can't get enough.” He grabbed your cheeks, moaning as he brought you into a deep kiss. 

His tongue slipped into your mouth, lavishing yours in sensual licks. Your flavors paired beautifully together. Honeysuckle and wintergreen. Sweet and refreshing. It made your cunt pulsate as you swallowed.

“Sherlock.” You hiccuped, your hands falling to his chest and you weaved your fingers through his chest hair.

You squeezed your legs together, gripping his cock as he continued to buck between them. He panted against your mouth, hitching your leg up onto his hip. He reached down, rubbing the tip along your now exposed slit.

“I need to be inside you, darling. Need to feel you.” He exhaled into the kiss, and you greedily drank down his breath.

He lined up with your dripping hole, and slowly sank into you. Sherlock held your hips, squeezing when you sucked in a breath. Your body accepted him inside you easily. Like it was welcoming him home.

There was nothing better than this. Being wrapped in the arms of your beloved, being as close as two people can get. Yes. This was home.

You whimpered, pulling him closer with your leg. Pulling away from the kiss, you opened your eyes to stare into his. You cradled his face in your hands.

“I-I’ve missed this.” You admitted, your chest heaving in soft pants as he shallowly began to thrust. “I’ve missed you. I dreamed of you too, Sherlock. Every night-ah!”

You sighed in pleasure. The tip of his cock nudged your cervix and it felt like all your nerve endings sparked. He was so deep.

He cradled your bum, easing in and out you. Your words caused him to moan and press his head against yours. 

“Did you always wake up wet for me?” He groaned, licking his lips as he waited for your response.

“Yes. Yes, everyday.” You whined as you remembered the mornings where you woke alone in bed. “It always felt so… cold without you here. I dreamed of this every night. And each morning, I ached for you to fill me. I-I felt so empty.”

A whimper escaped you, your emotions jumbled from the mix of pleasure and fatigue. Sherlock shushed you, grinding his hips to remind you of how not empty you were at the moment. His pelvic bone grazed your clit. You melted, your face falling against his neck as you moaned.

“It’s alright now, my love. I’m here. I won’t ever leave you empty again.” He promised you, burying his face into your shoulder as he gained a little speed, though his pace was still slow and lazy.

His deep momentum had you to the edge in no time. It was all too much. You felt every inch of him and it was making your drowsy head swim. Sleep sounded so good right now, but cumming all over your husband’s cock sounded even better.

“I’ve got you, dove. You can let go. I’m here now.” He breathed into your ear, pulling your body impossibly close.

With one last jolt of his hips, you came with a soft cry. Sherlock quickly pressed his lips to yours, swallowing down all your sobs as he gave his own gasps. He pressed into you all the way, shaking as he shot his load deep inside your cunt. His hot, thick seed covering your cervix only prolonged your orgasm.

You felt his heart thudding in his chest as he pressed it to yours. He held onto you tightly, and you clung to him. As your climaxes subsided, both of you were left panting.

You never wanted this moment to end. Being one with your husband, it was euphoric. Why did it always have to end?

He shifted, and you whimpered. You tightened your leg around his side. He grunted when you clenched down on him in an attempt to trap him inside you. His hand squeezed your ass.

“Relax, darling. I told you, I’m not going anywhere. I promised not to leave you empty again, didn’t I? The both of us are going to get a bit more rest, as we stay just like this. And when you wake, my love, I will still be here. Inside you.” He hummed in content as he closed his eyes,  stroking your back to relax you.

You were able to unwind once you realized he wasn’t going to pull away. Closing your eyes, you burrowed into his chest. A soft sigh escaped you, blowing around some of the hair on his chest. Sherlock pressed a kiss on the top of your head.

“Rest now, sweetheart. I’ll keep warm. And full.” He murmured, his low and comforting voice made your eyes droop. 

The warmth of your husband helped lull you to sleep. Your dreams were once again filled with him. There was no need to worry about waking up aching and empty this time. Because Sherlock was back home, and everything was whole.

A/N: Look at me, finally getting another fic done😅 Sorry it’s been a bit, I’ve had a horrible case of writer’s block. I hope you enjoyed, love you all! ❤️ Taglist: @sunshine-with-daisy @leigh70 @islacharlotte @lysarria @kebabgirl67 @pandaxnienke @identity2212

[lisbeth-kk]

May Prompts (31) Pride

The Luckiest Girl in the World (chapter 31)

Summary: We get glimpses of Joanna Shirley's first year and an emotional trip to the countryside ensures that the circuit is closed.

Thirty-One Years Old

Some months after Joanna’s first birthday, we’re going to Sussex to spend a week with my parents. She has Timothy’s dark hair and my curls. Her eyes are violet-blue and radiant, her social skills are impeccable. Our daughter loves people. When we’re out in the park, at the shops, on the tube or the bus, she babbles to anyone who’s willing to listen. Most people are. During the Pride parade, that became quite evident. 

Molly had bought her a multi-coloured dress. In each hand she had a flag. The traditional rainbow flag in her right, and the bisexual one in her left. Every so often, people in the parade approached her to say hello, and she preened and had the time of her life. Timothy filmed the whole charade to show to our families later.

When she’s used up her charm…let’s just say; her bad temper is as untamed as her good mood…

“Just like her mother,” Dad often points out when I complain.

There’s no sympathy to get from Papa either.

“A tornado is calm compared to your tantrums as a child and teenager, Bee.”

“Ha, bloody ha,” I retort, but I know it’s true.

Having a strong will and principles can be good things, I guess.

***

Joanna has never seen Papa’s garden and beehives. The last time we visited, it poured down all weekend, so we stayed inside.

She has yet to have taken her first steps, but there have been other firsts. 

First trip inside the city: New Scotland Yard with uncle Greg so he could show her off to all his previous colleagues (he retired two years ago.)

First solid food: corn porridge (she detested oatmeal.)

First tooth: four months (she bit me when I breast fed her.)

First real trip: Sussex to Grandad and Lock. (She refuses to call Papa anything else.)

First BIG toy: an antique rocking horse from the granduncles. (Guess which one searched worldwide for the correct one, a replica from his and Papa’s childhood.)

***

The second Joanna sees her grandparents, she starts to wriggle in my arms, can’t get to them fast enough.

“Easy, my little octopus,” I mutter and hand her to Dad with a relieved sigh.

“Hey there, princess Shirley,” Dad coos and kisses her cheek.

“Da!” she exclaims and pats his shoulder, before turning eagerly to Papa, stretching out her arms.

“Hello, little Joan,” Papa rumbles, which make her giggle and shout: “Lock!”

“You’ve got to stop calling her that,” Dad protests half-heartedly.

“Nonsense,” Papa says mock serious. “Not until you stop calling her princess Shirley.”

Joanna points at herself when she hears Dad’s name for her.

“Yes, that’s you,” Papa agrees proudly. “My clever girl.”

***

After lunch and Joanna’s nap, Dad and Papa walk around the garden with her, safely in Dad’s arms to show her the different flowers, letting her smell and touch. Her dazzling smile, and the besotted looks on my fathers’ faces are caught on camera. I decide to get it enlarged and framed as a Christmas present.

Papa points out the beehives, but they stay at a distance lest Joanna’s waving arms disturb the bees. I stifle a sob when she turns and points a finger at me when Papa says the word “bee”.

“Yes, darling. That’s Mummy too,” I say in a choked voice.

“Well done, princess,” Dad praises.

“Cess,” Joanna manages and presses her palm against her chest.

***

A week later, as a farewell, Papa takes Joanna for another stroll in the garden, which she seemingly can’t get enough of. She took her first steps there two days ago, eager to get her hands on a bee that was resting on a flower petal. When the insect flew away, she turned questioningly at Papa, who had followed in her steps ready to catch her if she lost her balance.

After they’ve finished the circuit, Joanna starts to wail, but Papa’s excited voice and gesticulating hand, gets her attention.

“Let me tell you what I once told your mother when she and Granddad moved to Baker Street,” he starts, and goes through the different stages of human decay, the art of flagging down a taxi in London, and pissing off the likes of Philip Anderson.

Before he’s finished, Joanna has fallen asleep in his arms.

Also available on AO3

You can find the fic that inspired this one here

Here we are. At the end of an amazing month of prompts which have produced ficlets, limericks, heartbreakingly beautiful writing, hilarious new AUs and so much more. Tears have been shed, laughter has been shared, the fandom has shown endless support and love to everyone involved.

Thank you to the wonderful @calaisreno for instigating this marvellous event, and to everyone who has participated, commented, reblogged and cheered along the way.

(P.S There'll be no Rosie at the age of 106 as you requested early in the month @totallysilvergirl because that would ensure the demise of our OTP, and we both know that I don't do that...)

@keirgreeneyes @raina-at @helloliriels

More tags in the replies

[lilmoonbunny]

Balls and Questions; Mycroft Holmes

Mycroft has a question.

There was nothing Y/N hated more than attending balls, but alas, it was mandatory in her workplace. Being in the cyber security sector of the government was nothing short of exciting, at least until you factored in that the digital safety – and perhaps physical also - of the country was essentially in her hands. Socialising had never been her forte, least of all dancing, so combining the two was a nightmare which is likely why she stuck by her close friend Mycroft Holmes.

“Do we have to be here?” Y/N whispered, being careful as to not be too loud that others around them would here.

Frankly, Mycroft did not care about being heard and replied in his typical voice. “Sadly, yes. I do not wish to be here anymore than you do.”

With a sigh, Y/N turned to face those dancing, watching her friend Anthea dance with a man she had been approached by moments prior.

“I don’t know how people dance so much; I couldn’t do it.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Mycroft asked, turning to face her with a raised eyebrow.

Y/N smiled. “A bit of both. I don’t think I’d be a good dancer.”

Mycroft hesitated for a moment, seeming as though he was about to say something before turning back to facing the crowd.

Everyone seemed to be having fun except the pair stood off in the corner of the room, both praying that nobody would approach them, although, Mycroft did have a question on his mind for the woman beside him that he was not yet willing to ask.

Truth be told, he had harboured feelings - a ‘silly crush’ as Sherlock called it - for her for the last year, having worked together for three, yet no matter how many times Sherlock told him that she reciprocated his feelings, he did not believe him nor wish to approach her romantically. He didn’t believe that he could be a good partner to her and did not wish to hurt her in any form.

“Maybe we can leave early? Say I feel sick or something.” Y/N chimed in with her idea.

“That does not get me out of this, I’m afraid.”

“Just say you’ll take me home or something,”

“That would start rumours.”

Y/N smiled sadly, taking a sip from the glass in her hand. “I guess you’re right.”

“I always am,” Mycroft replied, shaking his head when Y/N turned to him with a raised eyebrow and a smile, a giggle falling from her lips.

“I’ll take your word for it, Myc,”

There was that nickname again, the one that she had been calling him for the longest time when they were alone; the one that always had his cheeks flushing. It gave him confidence, well, downing his drink also helped.

“Would you like to dance with me?” He asked, avoiding looking towards the woman, despite wishing to see her reaction.

Y/N smiled to herself. “I would love nothing more than to dance with you. And not just a single, slow dance, I just want to have fun and dance with you for the rest of the night.”

Maybe balls weren’t so bad after all.

[princessaxoxo]

Strangers to lovers Part 2

A/N: this is now a multiple-part series.

Sherlock x reader

Summary: Being Enola’s sitter was an adventure, but not as much as falling for her brother, Sherlock.

Warnings: 18+ Only, cussing, angst, kissing

Word Count: 2k+

4 years later...

Dressed in your finest clothes with your suitcase in hand, you were ready to head to your family's home for a few days. The train was running a few minutes behind schedule today. Peaking your body and head forward a little, you saw the train before you heard the horn.

You happily stepped back, waiting for the train to come to a stop. You’ve wanted to get away for a while, and you knew spending time with your family would give you some relief. A smile was plastered on your face from the excitement.

People started to unload: parents with their children, lovers hand in hand, and many more.

You bent down to pick up your suitcase and started for the entryway to get on, but stopped once you saw him, Sherlock.

The smile you held dropped from your face. He got off with his brother, Mycroft, both of them talking and then looking around as if they were waiting to meet someone.

You took notice of who they were looking for—of course, Enola.

You took notice of how that relieved you; it made you feel better that it wasn’t another woman. It upset you that you still cared and that you still got jealous; you didn't want to, and you thought it had left, but seeing him again made you show how you still did.

Enola and you had kept in touch but weren’t as close anymore. The both of you would meet for lunch now and then.

Standing there, seeing them talk, you wanted to walk away; you needed to, but you were stuck and couldn't move. It was as if your feet were glued to the concrete. And then, with no warning, Mycroft noticed you, his eyes landing on you, and you knew you looked like a deer caught in headlights; your eyes bulged out.

You weren't breathing; you turned in a hurry before Enola and Sherlock turned to see that Mycroft noticed you.

Secretly hoping he didn’t realize it was you and that they wouldn't be able to tell from your back.

You were cursing the heels you decided to wear; you couldn’t walk fast enough as you were trying to push past multiple people, but you were failing.

All you could do was hope; they couldn’t tell it was you.

Sherlock looked at his brother, noticing Mycroft had turned his attention away. “What is it?"

He looked over at Sherlock. “Hm, your old lady friend was just here. I do have to say, she looked much better."

Sherlock gave a confused face, old lady friend. He thought. Who had he been speaking of?

Mycroft noticed his brother's turmoil. He rolled his eyes. “The one you always ran around with.” Mycroft looked at Enola and said, “She babysitted Enola."

Sherlock realized who he was speaking of now, and he turned his head in search of you, his eyes moving around the crowd of people. You were dressed differently, but he was able to tell it was you just from your backside.

He wanted to know why you were here—were you waiting for someone, maybe a lover?

He knew he had no right to be possessive over you, especially since he left you.

Enola tugged on him and said, “Come along; the carriage is waiting.” Sherlock nodded his head. But he took one look back; however, you were already gone.

“I’ll invite y/n over tomorrow for lunch,” Enola said with a big smile. Sherlock's stomach dropped at the thought. He was sure you would yell at him or hit him. And he wanted to have a conversation with you in private, but it felt too early.

Both Mycroft and Enola stared at Sherlock, waiting for his reaction. “Sound’s great. Can’t wait”

You rushed back home, slamming your door once you reached inside. You felt stupid; why did you rush away? You were over him. You decided a long time ago that you wouldn't allow him to upset you. But here you were, running away from him.

You put your hand on your forehead and started to hysterically laugh at yourself.

After you stopped, you wrote to your family to tell them you couldn’t make it. The excuse was horrible, and to make matters worse, a lie. You despised lying.

The next day, you dropped the letter off, and Enola found you: "Y/N, you must come to lunch with me at my home.” You were unsure of how to answer, "I don't think." Enola cut you off, making sure you weren't able to say no. "Great, I'll see you at 1."

You were left speechless as she left; of course, Enola would be able to find you. And get you to come to her house.

On the carriage ride to Enola’s house, you gave yourself a pep talk. You would only stay for lunch, maybe an hour? And then leave. And you certainly wouldn’t let Sherlock get under your skin; you just wouldn't pay any attention to him.

The home looked the same—more aged than the last time you were here four years ago.

You weren't alone for long before you could take another step. Enola was in front of you, pushing you to the dining room.

You expected to see Sherlock, maybe even Mycroft. But they were nowhere to be seen. “Sit, sit,” Enola excitedly said. “I have some biscuits for us," she said, pushing the tray full of desserts toward you.

Enola and you talked for what felt like hours.

She smiled at you. “I like this change.” She looked at you up and down. You turned your head in confusion about her comment; you hadn't thought you changed that much; you dressed differently; you were more socially acceptable; but that was all.

“Your style but attitude as well.”

You laughed at Enola but thanked her.

Soon after you heard multiple footsteps enter, you turned your head on instinct. As soon as you saw him, your laughter faded. “I do have to say, you look like a lady.” A dig from Mycroft was expected.

You rolled your eyes. “Pleased to see you as well, Mycroft,” you said with a small fake smile.

Sherlock didn't say a word, and neither did you. But the way he looked at you said a thousand. “I enjoyed this Enola. Thank you for the desserts and for making my afternoon. I’m afraid I must go."

“NO! Sorry, would you mind staying with Enola? Me and Mycroft just need a couple of more minutes.”

You were stunned when he shouted, but you agreed to stay with her.

Most of the time, you were in your head, not paying attention to her like you should’ve. All you could think of was Sherlock. You needed to talk to him; it was eating you alive.

Once you heard his office door shut and Mycroft leave, you told Enola that you’d be back soon and headed toward Sherlock's office.

Sherlock heard his door open and shut again. “Need something else, Mycroft?”, He didn’t receive a response.

So he turned his head and saw you standing against the door, speechless.

He coughed, "Y/N, how may I help you?” Sherlock was having a hard time looking at you.

"You... you actually can’t help me at all," you said, and he raised his face.

“After I say this, I am going to leave, and you won’t see me again; you don’t deserve to see me again."

He swallowed, getting ready for what you were going to say. Sherlock knew he deserved every insult and every hurtful word you would give him.

“You left me. You left me with only a letter; I couldn't believe that you didn't tell me in person. I waited for you all night. Once I saw the sun rising, I knew you were indeed a coward. A coward who didn't love me. A person who loves you wouldn't have done what you did."

Tears started to brim.

“I saw a life with you. And I thought.. " you sarcastically, let out a chuckle. “I thought you saw one with me too. But I realized I was just another fling to you.” You shook your head at him. “But just answer me: why would you let our relationship bloom just for you to let it go without a problem?"

Sherlock stared at you wide-eyed. “I am first and foremost a detective; I have always been that and never said otherwise. And I admit, I regret and have regretted the way I left you. You deserved more than that. But I loved you, and I still do. With every part of my being.” Sherlock patted his chest, where his heart was. “I couldn't let you go, not after that night. That night, you became mine. I knew what would happen, but I didn’t care. I was selfish. I am a very selfish man when it comes to you. There are things I regret, but I don’t regret keeping you to myself. And I never will.”

Sherlock walked towards you.

Your eyes stayed on him. “Thank you. I’ll take my leave now."

But your feet didn’t move; you were stuck in your place by his eyes that were blazing within.

“Okay, take your leave,” he said, and you nodded your head. Sherlock took notice that you weren't moving, reached behind you, and opened the door.

As your eyes didn't leave him, they spoke a thousand words you couldn’t say to him. Sherlock clenched his jaw, waiting for your next move to see if you would leave.

He slammed the door shut and grabbed you by your face, kissing you with passion. He pressed his body against yours. "Sherlock,” you whispered.

He didn't want you to speak; he wanted to kiss you. He never wanted to stop kissing you. He feared that if he did, you would leave and he wouldn't see you again, just as you said earlier.

You knew what was going to happen if you stayed; you were deciding what you should do.

“y/n, stay with me. please. I don’t want to lose you.”

You took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, I have to go. If I stay, I’ll be the one who ends up hurting again.” You backed away from him and left. You said your goodbyes to Enola and tried to rush home.

Sherlock caught you outside. “Fuck, please stay. I’m begging.” He got down on his knees and hugged the lower part of your body. “I thought of you as someone who would never hurt me, but you did. You can’t just say sorry and beg me and think that’ll make up for your actions."

A tear fell from your eye, and Sherlock rose to his feet. “Are you going to forgive me?”

You put your hand on his cheek. “You need to earn my forgiveness."

He ran his hand through his head of curls. And shook his head continuously. “Let me at least see you home”, “No, you stay, and I’ll go. Have a good night, Sherlock.”

As you returned home, you were torn.

You wanted to forgive him, and he had you so close to letting that happen. You wanted to stay with him and forget the past. The other part of you was happy that you left; he needed to stir, and he needed to be without you.

Sherlock had many sleepless nights, but this one was the worst of all. All he thought of was you. His hands didn’t leave his hair, countlessly running them through and tugging on his stands. He started thinking of what he could do to earn your forgiveness. To get you back within his reach.

He hadn’t realized how long he had stayed up until he left his office and saw the morning sun. With the bright rays burning his eyes, he shielded himself from the sun.

Sherlock sat at the table, staring off into nothingness.

He heard a voice. “What are you going to do about her?"

Sherlock looked behind him and saw Mycroft. “That lady you seem to be interested in, what are you going to do?"

Sherlock only had one answer.

“Anything.”

Part 3

[xs1344]

[strangesthirdeye]

A detective and a part time dad (SH x wife! Reader ft baby)

Summary: only a detective whose part time job is to look after his son. Warning: it's Sherlock. He's detective. Sweet, fluff, baby, love, warm, William can be 5 or 6 months years old. (The Sixth Thatcher references ahead) As usual, I'm sorry if there are any wrong sentences or typos or grammatical mistakes, please forgive me and again English is not my first language, so I try to improve my language and writing in this way.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"you just need to make his milk and heat his milk if it's cold. And make sure his diapers are always clean" You told Sherlock as you put your wallet in your handbag.

"what if he cries? How to stop him crying?" Sherlock adjusted baby William's support in his arms. Sometimes he took out William's hand that was put in his mouth.

William babbling in protest after his wet hand was removed from his mouth. Sherlock then wiped William's hands and mouth with a napkin.

"Just sway him when you pick him up until he fell asleep or give him that soft cookie or when all that is useless maybe you should give him attention" You cooed at William with a sweet smile while stroking William's cheek with your finger.

"Didn't he always get attention?" Sherlock replied while stroking William's small foots.

"perhaps he needs your attention more." You said then walked to the door of the flat and put on your black jacket. "I won't be gone for long, I just want to settle some files in St's Bart. So you, young man. Be good to daddy, okay?" you muttered to William as you played with his little hand.

William let out a small babbling and then showed a wide toothless smile. Sherlock then sighed a little. Right, this is the first time he took care of baby William. So far only you know how to handle William with what he wants but now it's Sherlock's job.

You noticed Sherlock's concerned face and looked softly at him then you put your hand on Sherlock's cheek. "don't worry, I'm sure Will can cooperate with you. You boys go have fun while I do work, ok?" You stroke Sherlock's cheek and kiss Sherlock's lips passionately.

Sherlock returned the kiss and nodded slightly. You smiled gently and walked out of the flat. The flat door is slammed, signifying that you had left and there was only Sherlock and William left. Mrs Hudson went out to London to visit a friend far away so there are only two people living in the flat for now.

Sherlock then looked at his son who was also looking at Sherlock's face with his mouth and his shirt wet with saliva. Sherlock looked narrowly at his clone.

"Wonder what's going on in your head" Sherlock wiped William's lips.

William wailed happily and patted Sherlock's chest as his feet kicked in the air in Sherlock's arms.

"Ok Will, now.. what should we do?" Sherlock looked around for a moment trying to think of what activity they should be doing. William let out a small cooes trying to get Sherlock's attention. Sherlock then looked at his son's chubby face with calculating on his face.

"fancy a game of Cluedo?"

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"Already told John the victim could be a suspect but he didn't believe it and said that's not how this game works." Sherlock mumbled to himself as he flipped through the cards in his hand.

William who was sitting on the strap on John's chair (like Rosie's chair in The Six Thatcher) let out a loud wail as if agreeing with his father and waved his hands in the air.

"see, you agree with me"

William babbling while bubbling his lips with saliva creating a bubble. Sherlock wiped William's lips with a napkin.

"well, the rules are wrong"

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"no you can't put my magnifying glass in your mouth" Sherlock snatched his magnifying glass from William's grasp and put it on the dining table so William couldn't reach it.

William then screamed in protest trying to slap his father's hand with his chubby hand. His feet kicked in the air several times quickly.

"you cannot put that in your mouth, understand?" Sherlock kneeled in front of his son in front of the baby seat.

William then stopped screaming in protest and looked at his father's face with a red face. And immediately his face scrunched up in sadness and started crying loudly.

Sherlock panicked and didn't know what to do and then he got up and lifted William from his seat. His hands held William's small body tightly and swayed left and right trying to calm William down. But it doesn't work. William kept raging and sobbing as he pressed his face to Sherlock's chest. This is tiring. Sherlock was stumped. He doesn't know how to calm his own son let alone persuade him to stop crying.

Soft cookies were given but William still wanted to put something hard in his mouth. What did you say before? William started teething? Is that what you call? Perhaps his gums are already itchy and uncomfortable, that's why he always puts hard things in his mouth to relieve his itchy gums.

Sherlock sighed tiredly. William was still struggling in his arms but his face pushed into Sherlock's chest making Sherlock's shirt wet with his tears and saliva.

Sherlock then gave up and put William back in his seat and walked towards the corner of the living room where there was a toy box and reached one of William's toys. Sherlock then kneeled in front of William and held out a toy magnifying glass towards William with a soft face.

"You can put this in your mouth. At least it's a little soft and won't hurt your gums" Sherlock said softly and put the magnifying glass toy in William's hand.

William, whose face was red and had streaks of tears on his face, looked at the toy in his hand for a long time. Sherlock smiled genuinely at William. Not a few seconds later, William threw his toy magnifying glass at Sherlock's face precisely making Sherlock startled and dumbfounded.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

After a few hours later, Sherlock and William slept together on the couch. William who was lying face down on Sherlock's chest snored slowly while Sherlock had his arms around William's small body protecting him from falling. The father and son were sleeping so soundly that they didn't even hear the flat door being opened by you who had just returned from work.

You expect this flat to be noisy with William crying or Sherlock mumbling to himself but no. This flat is quite quiet. Weird. You took off your jacket and hung it on the hook next to the door then slowly you went up the stairs to flat 221B. As soon as you arrived in front of the door of the flat, you slowly opened the door and were stunned to see your husband and son sleeping soundly on the couch. You refrained from making a sound. This scene is too sweet and it will give you a cavity but what the heck, it's too cute.

You slowly took out your phone and opened the camera and pointed your phone at your two boys and snapped the picture to make memories. This is so cute. You chuckled softly and walked without footsteps to your bedroom to change your clothes and bring a blanket to join the two of them.

[strawberrywinter4]

May 9 | Prompt: Intimidation

Warning: Depictions of violence and drug use.

“You’re just too much sometimes, that’s all I’m saying,” his mother comments as she troubles herself with the dishes.

Mycroft rolls his eyes. He knew it would be a poor idea to come visit. He should have just settled for a call.

“You almost scared John away,” she says, scrubbing a class clean. “Your comments and glares at dinner are not helpful, you know. Sherlock almost had your head.”

“John is anything but frightened by me, Mummy. He made that perfectly clear when we first met.”

“Sherlock told me about that first meeting.” She sighs, turning toward him with a scolding expression. “Mycroft, why did you do that?”

Mycroft wills his cheeks not to flush crimson in embarrassment. “It was merely for precaution.”

“Sherlock is a grown man. He can take care of himself.”

Mycroft’s hands clench the kitchen counter. She doesn’t know. She hasn’t seen the extent of Sherlock’s pain like Mycroft has.

“All I’m saying is that I think you should be more considerate to the people who seem to actually want to be around him,” she says. “And John…well, he’s a very polite man. I think he’s good for Sherlock. Very good.”

Mycroft doesn’t answer her. Realizing she’s not going to get a response out of Mycroft, she leaves the kitchen with a tut under her breath.

Mycroft’s eyes are trained to the sink.

——

The front door opens and shuts loudly, Mycroft wondering if the force of it broke any vases. Ignoring his brother in the lounge, Sherlock runs up the steps, his little feet going as fast as they can. Mycroft hears his bedroom door shut.

Mycroft sighs, getting up and leaving his science project. Heading upstairs, he turns the corner and knocks on Sherlock’s door.

“Go away, Mycroft!”

Mycroft is silent for a moment, then tries for the door handle lightly. Locked, of course. He rests his head on the door.

“If you open the door, I’ll make Ginger Nuts.”

A few seconds pass and the lock clicks, the door creaking open. One of Sherlock’s blue eyes peak through the crack. “Do you promise?”

“Yes.”

Satisfied with the reply, the door fully opens. Mycroft holds his grimace successfully, but it isn’t a simple task.

Sherlock’s eye that wasn’t peaking through the door is a mixture of purple and black, a few bruises gracing his jaw. His lip is cracked and blood is oozing down his chin.

Mycroft attempts to keep his voice leveled. “Sit on the bed, I’ll grab the first aid kit.”

Returning with the kit, Mycroft is pleased to see Sherlock took his advice for once, sitting on the sheets, eyes focused on his legs as they swing back and forth over the edge.

Without comment, Mycroft sits beside him. “Up,” he instructs, tilting Sherlock’s face to the correct position. He applies alcohol to a cotton and begins dabbing the application to his brother’s lip.

They sit in silence, Sherlock hiding his winces and Mycroft cleaning the blood and bruises.

“When are they coming back?” asks Sherlock.

“I’m not sure. Probably not for another few days.” Mycroft is used to their parents being gone for business trips, but Sherlock is still wrapping his mind around it.

Silence falls again. Then Sherlock speaks up:

“Are you really making Ginger Nuts?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t believe you.”

It takes everything in Mycroft not to crack a smile. “Why is that?”

“You don’t like Ginger Nuts and you only do things that benefit yourself,” he says bluntly.

Mycroft hums. “You really think so little of me?”

“Yes.”

They both share a grin.

Mycroft’s face hardens as he wipes another trail of blood on Sherlock’s cheek. “Did you decide to make another quip?”

Something changes in Sherlock’s expression. Something akin to…embarrassment? Shame? Mycroft’s not sure, but he’s never seen his brother acquire such a look.

“I didn’t,” Sherlock replies.

“Then what happened?” Mycroft demands, though his voice is quiet.

Sherlock shrugs. “I don’t know.”

And it truly seems like he doesn’t know. “Then tell me what could have possible occurred.”

Sherlock looks down, his finger trailing the design of the solar system on his bed sheet. “I thought I made a friend.”

Mycroft blinks. “A friend?”

Sherlock nods. “He said he wanted to be my friend. At break, he offered me to join him at the back of the building to play, and I said yes because…well, I told you about the pond that’s back there.”

Sherlock enjoys observing the frogs that live around there.

“I thought I’d show him the pond,” Sherlock says, this time more quietly. “But then we got there and he pushed me in the mud. His apparent friends came around the corner and…”

“Did that,” Mycroft finishes, nodding to Sherlock’s face.

Sherlock nods in answer.

Mycroft will never understand it. Out of all things, he will never understand this. Yes, Sherlock is odd. He has required rudeness over the past year, but Mycroft fully believes that Sherlock has just been taking after him.

Then there are the admittedly good things about him. Sherlock enjoys rambling about scientific discoveries, he likes to play in ponds and rain, he likes to help Mummy bake, he likes to play Pirates (which is actually quite fun), and he is a swift and independent learner. Mycroft admires these qualities. And though he’s never been good at showing his affection (and possibly never will be), he and Sherlock know how to make their relationship work.

“I will take care of them,” Mycroft says as Sherlock wipes tears from his eyes.

“They’re big,” Sherlock says. “And scary.”

Mycroft snorts. “Bigger than you. Not me.”

Hesitantly, he puts a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. This seems to give a sign to Sherlock that he’s been waiting for, and he hugs Mycroft tightly. Stunned, Mycroft settles for patting his curls awkwardly, but this doesn’t will Sherlock away. Sherlock continues to hug him and cry, and Mycroft wants to make it all go away.

After a while, Sherlock releases him and sniffles stubbornly, wiping more tears. “Can I have Ginger Nuts now?”

Mycroft stands, nodding to signal Sherlock to come along. “You’re assisting me. I know you know how to make these in your sleep.”

——

In a random building, in a random place. That’s usually where he is.

Mycroft hears either miserable sounds or nothing at all. He sees stranger’s eyes rolling to the back of their head while taking sedatives or pills.

The curls are unmistakable. Sherlock is huddled up in a corner, a blue hoodie wrapped around him loosely. Mycroft nudges him. He then turns him and is not startled to see his pale skin, his unhealthily sharpened cheekbones or his dull eyes.

Mycroft sighs.

He helps Sherlock up and practically drags him to the vehicle parked thankfully close outside.

Carefully putting him in the passenger’s seat, Mycroft gets behind the steering wheel.

Mycroft glances at him, and is overcome with what his brother has turned into.

“Brother mine. Why do you hurt yourself so?”

He knows Sherlock doesn’t hear him, doesn’t understand his whispers.

Maybe that’s for the best.

——

“I worry about him…constantly.”

John stares at him. “That’s nice of you,” he murmurs.

“But I would prefer for various reasons that my concern go unmentioned. We have what you call a difficult relationship.” Mycroft keeps his voice impassive. His heart aches.

John’s phone pings. It’s obviously from Sherlock.

They continue with comments back and forth. Mycroft feigns an impression that he’s only wanting Sherlock’s whereabouts for personal gain. John seems to believe it wholeheartedly.

Mycroft can’t decide if John is worth Sherlock’s time.

Probably not.

Mycroft analyzes him to get a rise out of him.

“Are we done?” John asks, attempting to keep his frustration to a minimum.

Anger issues. Of course.

The rest of the meeting goes not so smoothly. John leaves obviously bothered and Mycroft doesn’t know, he doesn’t know if he can trust this man to even come close to deserving Sherlock’s friendship.

No one does. It’s the truth.

Mycroft has been called overprotective. He’s been called annoying. Unfair. Unethical.

Mostly by Sherlock.

But what are big brothers for?

——

You can read it here on ao3 as well.

I hope you all enjoyed! Love me some Sherlock and Mycroft lore.

Prompt by @calaisreno Thank you!

Tags: @a-victorian-girl @whatnext2020 @totallysilvergirl @ninasnakie @thegildedbee @whodwantmeasaflatmate @with-a-ghost-mr-holmes @sherlocknjohn221b @jawnn-watson @blogstandbygo @lisbeth-kk @holmesianlove @7-percent @itsonlytext @chinike @peanitbear @bakerstreetbe @curlyjohnlock @helloliriels @keirgreeneyes @ceceliajupe @ghostofnuggetspast @dw91165 @jolieblack @gwendelaneyisjohnlocked @cortinita @kettykika78

(Please let me know if you do or don’t wish to be tagged)

[a-victorian-girl]

"Guess we should see what we came here for?" John offered, leading the way, "think the library is back here? Ah!" He flicked on a lightswitch behind a pair of double doors ... and a . "WHOA!!!!" Slipped out of their mouths simultaneously ... jaws dropping. As the darkened warehouse before them flickered to life, row ... by illuminated row ... Revealing hundreds ... if not thousands ... NO ... HUNDREDS of thousands!!! Of stories ... . Written about ... them? . John winked at Sherlock. Before dashing ahead in a mad chase. Each grabbing up several volumes apiece and meeting to read a few pages ... . "Look at this one!" . "John - you won't believe-!" "Sherlock!" "John!" . "This is-" "-I'm taking this one!" "This is brilliant!" . "We're in a sci-fi!" "oooh an epic!" "OHmyGOD!" John's giggling could be heard a few rows down, and Sherlock tucked another in his pocket and swung around the shelving to peruse over John's shoulder. His jaw dropped.

This is an excerpt from this brilliant fic written by @helloliriels, you can read it completely here (( my gift to you, sweetie, I LOVED TO READ IT!! ))

And... this is also my tribute and gratitude to all the wonderful writers, illustrators, digital retouchers, and GIF makers in this glorious fandom, to which I've been very attached for almost a year :)

❤️

[forevers-world]

When you're a psychopath but also one hell of a matchmaker