#221 b Baker Street

[holmesoldfellow]

Sherlock Holmes ornaments by De Carlini Ltd Ed

[bestnoncannonship]

There are normal people.

Then there are people who take those bullet hole decals that gun people put on their trucks and use them to make gay nineteenth century literature references on their living room walls.

We are the latter.

[crossingthedreams]

I was watching House MD and I just realized that in the episode Wilson “moves in” in Season 2 during his 3rd divorce, House lives in apartment B at building 221… which is located on a street named Baker…

He lives in 221B Baker Street.

I mean… What am I supposed to do with this information, are you KIDDING me?

[dianadragonfly]

So don’t laugh at me. I’ve been wanting to build a miniature room for awhile - ever since I finished the little library thing my mom gave me. So I’ve off hand been collecting stuff for 221 B Baker Street. I couldn’t find a miniature couch so I designed one in 3D and a colleague printed it for me. Another colleague was throwing out these squares of old leather-looking vinyl and I literally asked him if I could get them out of the trash.

So, I’ve just been taping things to cardboard and plastic to get the measurements right. I still need to put legs on the couch. But look!

It’s a start.

[j-eryewrites]

The Great Game (II)

Part 20 of The Arbitrary Lives of the Occupants of 221 B Baker Street

Previous | Next

SERIES MASTER LIST | MAIN MASTER LIST

Word Count: 5.7k

Author's Note: Agh! Finally. It has been so long since I have been able to write for Sherlock, John, and Y/N. Man, am I glad to be back? The chapter is not as long as I hoped it would be, but I am proud of it nonetheless. I hope I haven't made you all wait too long for this chapter.

Warnings: Crime scenes, gore, mentions of violence, canon typical violence, Sherlock is Sherlock (Let me know if I missed anything)

There was something weird. Greg couldn’t grasp it as he sat across Sherlock, John, and Y/N. John was fine if Greg excluded the serial bomber/killer case that they had on their hands. No, John wasn’t the problem. It was Y/N and Sherlock.

Greg’s eyes narrowed on the two of them. Sherlock bore his ever-expressionless face, but Greg was a cop, which meant he could read people, even if it weren’t up to Sherlock’s standard. It was the eyes that gave the consulting detective away as they subtly glanced over at Y/N. Greg stifled a snicker. Sherlock, no matter how hard he tried, could never be subtle. The man’s nature was to be bold and straightforward, something that became even more apparent in areas outside his expertise, such as love.

“She lives in Cornwall,” Lestrade began upon realizing he’d been staring at them for a few minutes. “Two men broke in wearing masks, forced her to drive to the car park, and decked her out in enough explosives to take down a house. Told her to phone you. She had to read out from this pager.” Greg placed the small pager on the desk in front of them.

Sherlock immediately snatched it away like an overzealous toddler. “And if she deviated by one word, the sniper would set her off,” Sherlock finished.

“Or if you hadn't solved the case,” John added. He crossed his arms and looked down. The lines marking John’s face began to deepen just as they did during his time in the war.

“Oh… Elegant!” Sherlock smirked.

Greg, Y/N, and John collectively raised their brows. “Elegant?” Y/N questioned. Sherlock didn’t answer her.

“But what was the point? Why would anyone do this?” Lestrade asked, sensing something more behind Sherlock’s words.

“Oh, I can't be the only person in the world who gets bored,” Sherlock said, and an unwavering worry filled Y/N’s eyes.

“Sherlock, what do you mean by that?” Y/N wondered.

However, the pink phone buzzed before Sherlock could send her another glance. “You have one new message,” it chimed before beeping four times. The group froze.

“Four pips,” John noted.

“First test passed, it would seem” Sherlock pulled out the phone, and a new image displayed on the screen. “Here's the second.” They all leaned close to get a good look at the pixelated photo. “It's abandoned, wouldn't you say?” Sherlock questioned.

The image displayed was a car. Blood covered the seats and stained the inner lining of the vehicle. From the image alone, they all knew there was a murder. It was another puzzle Sherlock would need to solve.

“I'll see if it's been reported,” Lestrade said before turning his laptop to scan the incident reports filed by the station.

A new noise entered the fray as Greg clacked away at the keyboard. It was a knock on the door. The air soured as John, Sherlock, and Y/N looked to her, who stood there, Donovan.

Distaste marked her face as she scowled at Sherlock. She raised a phone. “Freak, it's for you.”

Y/n tensed upon hearing those words. No matter how often she came to Sherlock’s defense, that name always floated around. It was inescapable. She hated how a brilliant mind like his was hated and feared. Watching Sherlock calmly retrieve the phone from Donovan’s hand made Y/N’s heart clench. She knew he wasn’t okay with the name that haunted him. Maybe one day, she’d be able to get them to stop. Maybe Y/N could make Sherlock no longer hurt. She’d save him.

“Hello?” Sherlock lifted the phone to his ear.

A hesitant breath echoed over the phone. It was as if whoever was on the other end was terrified of breathing incorrectly. “It's okay that you've gone to the police,” the voice spoke. It was a young man based on intonation and pitch.

“Who is this?” Sherlock questioned. His phone gripped the phone tighter. “Is this you again?”

The voice ignored Sherlock’s questions and continued reading the message the true villain had written. “But don't rely on them. Clever you, guessing about Carl Powers. I never liked him.” The sound of traffic blared through the phone, and Sherlock’s breath hitched. The voice was somewhere crowded. “Carl laughed at me and her, so I stopped him laughing.”

Sherlock’s ears perked up. The killer had slipped up. A small smile crept onto his face, and his blue eyes peered over at Y/N, who was watching him. “Her?” Sherlock repeated. The voice over the phone was silent. An answer was not coming, so instead, Sherlock changed his approach. “And you've stolen another voice, I presume.”

“This is about you and me,” the voice said.

“Who are you? What's that noise?”

“The sounds of life, Sherlock. But don't worry…I can soon fix that,” The voice shuddered as a sob broke through. “You solved my last puzzle in nine hours. This time, you have eight.”

Withdrawing the phone from his ear, Sherlock closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Whatever this criminal would throw at him, he’d solve it. He’d do anything to keep everyone safe.

“Okay… Great. We've found it!” Lestrade beamed. John and Y/N sat up, eager to hear what was in store. “The car was hired yesterday morning by Ian Monkford. Banker of some kind, City boy. Paid in cash. He told his wife he was going on a business trip but never arrived.”

Sherlock nodded his head. There was a momentary pause and a consensus agreement. All at once, Greg, Y/N, John, and Sherlock turned to leave the station and head to the crime scene. Sherlock led the way, and John and Lestrade trailed close behind. Y/N’s pace was slower than the others, and as she attempted to catch up to them, a head of dark curly hair stopped her.

Donovan held out her hand to Y/N’s chest, stopping her movement. She looked Y/N up and down before opening her mouth to speak. “You're still hanging around him.”

Y/N’s jaw clenched. “Yeah, well…”

“Opposites attract, I suppose,” Donovan interrupted.

Y/N’s eyes widened, and before her silence could turn into a confession, she exclaimed, “Sherlock and I aren’t–”

Donovan couldn't care less as she spoke over Y/N once more. “You should get yourself a hobby – stamps, maybe. Cosmetics. Safer.”

Scoffing, Y/N brushed Donovan’s hand away. “If anyone needs to get a hobby, it’s you. After all, you like sticking your nose into people’s business and marriages.” Y/N didn’t stay to see Donovan’s stunned face. After all, the woman wasn’t worth it.

_____

A deep sigh escaped Lestrade's mouth as he placed his hands on his hips, watching Sherlock dive his head into the abandoned car. "Before you ask," Lestrade began watching as Sherlock's mouth instinctively closed. "Yes, it's Monkford's blood. The DNA checks out."

John and Y/N frowned as they peered into the car. Policemen and women were hard at work scouring the crime scene for anything that could be evidence. Forgotten buildings between destruction and construction made it hard to determine what was part of the crime and what was just there. The noise of everything around them was deafening, drowning out the puzzle pieces of the crime scene. Blood was everywhere in the vehicle, and…

"No body," Sherlock stated, placing a small slip of paper into his pocket. Y/N's eyes narrowed as the sheet of white disappeared into his coat. She couldn't help but smile softly at herself.

"Not yet," Donovan corrected as they walked past, dropping off a new bag of potential evidence.

"Get a sample sent to the lab," Sherlock instructed before moving on to his next target: the distraught woman standing at the edge of the crime scene. "Mrs Monkford?" Sherlock asked.

The woman looked up at Sherlock, tears in her eyes and trails of mascara running down her face. "Yes." She looked Sherlock up and down, raising her head to meet his gaze. "Sorry, but I've already spoken with two policemen," Mrs. Monkford explained.

"No," John corrected. "We're not from the police, we're…" His eyes glanced over to Y/N, who gave him an uncertain shrug. They were from the police, but not the police. They solved crimes and cases, but it was more of a personal business consultation.

Suddenly, a sharp sniffle escaped Sherlock's mouth. With stunned faces, John and Y/N whirled around to see Sherlock's eyes pink and tears rolling out. The shock soon faded to reveal confusion. What the hell was Sherlock doing? It was the collective thought between the two friends.

"Sherlock Holmes," he tearfully introduced. "A very old friend of your husband's. We, um…we grew up together."

Y/N was the first to catch on to Sherlock's bluff. She had to admit it was compelling. Each pause and somber glance at Mrs. Monkford seemed to grow in sincerity.

"I'm sorry, who?" Mrs. Monkford took Sherlock's hand and shook it. "I don't think he ever mentioned you."

"Oh," Sherlock said, "he must have done. This is… this is horrible, isn't it?" He looked to John and Y/N, who did not waste time nodding solemnly to Sherlock's act. "I mean, I just can't believe it. I only saw him the other day. Same old Ian – not a care in the world."

The saddened look in Mrs. Monkford's eyes hardened upon hearing Sherlock's words. "Sorry, but my husband has been depressed for months." She stood up straighter to get a better look at Sherlock. "Who are you?" She asked once again.

If Y/N weren't looking, she wouldn't caught the slight smirk that flashed across Sherlock's face. Soon, the sadness in Sherlock's voice was replaced by his calculated nature. "Really strange that he hired a car. Why would he do that? It's a bit suspicious, isn't it?"

Shaking her head, Mrs. Monkford refuted Sherlock's question. "No, it isn't. He forgot to renew the tax on the car, that's all."

Instantly, the mask was back on and amped up the act a hundred times stronger. "Oh, well, that was Ian! That was Ian all over!" Sherlock exclaimed, earning looks from the policemen and women working the crime scene.

"No, it wasn't," Mrs. Monkford snapped.

"Wasn't it?" Any trace of deception was gone. Sherlock was back. "Interesting," he muttered before turning on the ball of his foot out of the crime scene.

Y/N and John darted after Sherlock; their lungs heaved when they reached him. John silently cursed Sherlock's long legs. "Why did you lie to her?" John wondered.

"People don't like telling you things," Sherlock explained smugly, "but they love to contradict you. Past tense, did you notice?"

"Sorry, what?" Y/N asked, trying to match her pace to Sherlock's.

"I referred to her husband in the past tense," Sherlock noted. "She joined in. Bit premature – they've only just found the car."

"You think she murdered her husband?" John questioned, quickly glancing over his shoulder at Mrs. Monkford, whose figure kept growing smaller and smaller with each step he took.

"Definitely not," Sherlock stated. "That's not a mistake a murderer would make."

"I see," John nodded. Y/N peeked out in front of Sherlock's body to look at John and raised her brows, asking for a clue. In response, he shrugged and shook his head, " Never mind, no, I don't. What am I seeing?"

"Where are we going now?" Y/N interjected as Sherlock led them to a cab waiting on the side of the road. Hoping in, he patted the seat next to him.

"Janus Cars," Y/N and John trickled into the leather seats. Once the doors closed, Sherlock pulled out the tiny card he had collected from the rental car. "Just found this in the glove compartment." He passed it over to John and Y/N, who took turns observing the paper. JANUS CARS was in all caps in the center of the business card.

"A bit bold for my taste," Y/N muttered, earning a few smiles from her companions.

______

It was a typical car garage. Mechanics scribbled on their clipboards as they diagnosed the issue with the cars in the shop. Y/N stood at the office window, watching them work so as not to acknowledge the overzealous man sitting behind the desk.

She had glanced at the man in his freshly pressed suit, sharp tan lines, and overly gelled hair. Working with Sherlock had its ups and downs, and one such down was running into men like Mr. Ewert, who believed they deserved the world just for existing.

"Can't see how I can help you, gentlemen," Mr. Ewert said. Y/N cleared her throat and continued to look out the window with a careful ear listening in. "And lady."

"Mr. Monkford hired the car from you yesterday," John read from Lestrade's notes.

Ewert nodded and slumped back into his office chair. His hands came to rest on top of the walnut-colored desk. "Yeah. Lovely motor," Ewert said. "Mazda RX-8. Wouldn't mind one of them myself!"

He flashed a smile and glanced around the room, looking for validation for the comment about the car.

Sherlock allowed the urge to roll his eyes to overcome him. He glanced over to Y/N. His eyes dissected every part of her as his heart pounded in her chest. Quickly shaking his head, he tore his focus off Y/N and onto the car, visible through the window. "Is that one?" He asked.

"No," Ewert shook his head. "They're all Jags." He peered at Sherlock and chuckled, "Yeah, I can see you're not a car man, eh?"

Sherlock frowned, unsure of what Ewert was insinuating. "But, er, surely you can afford one – a Mazda, I mean?"

Ewert sank even deeper into his chair and grinned. "Yeah, it's a fair point. But you know how it is." He looked to John, who sat in front of him. "It's like working in a sweetshop. Once you start picking at the licorice allsorts, when does it all stop, eh?"

"But you didn't know Mr. Monkford?" John asked, ignoring Ewert's attempts at relation.

"No," Ewert shook his head. "He was just a client. Came in here and hired one of my cars. No idea what happened to him. Poor sod!"

At this, Y/N peered over her shoulder and frowned. Her eyes caught sight of Sherlock's, who honed in on hers. His blue eyes flickered with the same realization. They had only come asking about Mr. Monkford and the car he hired—nothing about anything happening to the man.

"Nice holiday, Mr. Ewert?" Sherlock inquired, sending Y/N a brief smile before returning to his questioning subject.

"Eh?" Ewert frowned.

"You've been away, haven't you?" Sherlock clarified.

"Oh, the-the…" Ewert's relaxed expression faltered under Sherlock's harsh gaze. "No, it's, er, sunbeds, I'm afraid, yeah. Too busy to get away. My wife would love it, though – a bit of sun."

"Have you got any change for the cigarette machine?" Sherlock blurted.

"What?" Ewert asked.

"Well," Sherlock sighed. "I noticed one on the way in and I haven't got any change." He took out a bill and showed it to Ewert.

Y/N bit her lip, hiding her frown. Her and Mrs. Hudson's mission was to get Sherlock to stop. Mrs Hudson stated that Sherlock needed to pay her for all the damages in his flat, but Y/N knew it was because she genuinely cared. They both did, and with each day, Y/N cared more and more. Maybe she cared too much for her own good.

"I'm gasping," Sherlock pleaded.

Pulling out his wallet and flicking through the colorful bills, Ewert shook his head. "Um, well…No, sorry."

"Oh well," Sherlock said before strolling to the door. "Thank you very much for your time, Mr. Ewert. You've been very helpful." Noticing John and Y/N still stood in their places, Sherlock called out to them. "Come on, John and Y/N."

John hurriedly shut his book full of notes and pocketed them before pulling out his wallet. Meanwhile, Y/N pulled her attention away from the cars. It was honestly like watching some paint dry.

John opened the wallet and pulled out some change. "I-I've got change if you still want to, uh…" he motioned to the cigarette machine before catching sight of Y/N's eyes. Ashamed, he looked down and hid his wallet away.

"Nicotine patches," Sherlock proudly announced. "Remember? I'm doing well."

"I told you to cut back on those, Sherlock," Y/N hissed. She'd swore she'd gotten everything out of the flat the other day. However, Sherlock's elusiveness always got the best of her.

"I need them to think," Sherlock defended.

"Well, that doesn’t sound very healthy to me," she retorted. Sherlock huffed and peered down at the woman.

Sensing a brewing argument, John stepped in and took charge. "So what was that all about?"

"I needed to look inside his wallet," Sherlock stated.

"Why?" John wondered.

"Cause he's a liar/Mr. Ewert's a liar." Y/N and Sherlock said at the same time.

Sherlock gazed down at Y/N in awe. A proud smile adorned his face as he hopped in the cab awaiting them. As John and Y/N made their way into the car, they found their path stopped by Sherlock.

"What are you doing?" John asked as he was pushed out of the cab and onto the curb with Y/N.

"Going to the lab," Sherlock announced. John and Y/N frowned. "I need silence."

"He means he doesn't want us going with him."

"An astute observation, Y/N." Sherlock sat back in the seat. "We need beans and milk."

With that, the cab door closed, and Sherlock was gone. Y/N groaned into her hand as John cursed, hailing another cab.

It was a couple of moments before another cab came around, and the two of them scrambled inside. Once the door was closed and on their way back to Baker Street, Y/n turned to John.

"Tea at mine?"

John nodded. "How's Bjørn? Haven't seen him for a while."

"He's good." Y/N chuckled. I'm starting to think Bjørn's in the right with his dislike of Sherlock.

John snickered, "the animals always know."

"That they do."

A wave of giggles filled the back seat of the cab. Y/N smiled. She was glad she had a friend in John. It was safe to say John felt the same way.

______

The lab was quiet—just as Sherlock liked it—had. It was too quiet now. His thoughts thundered and screamed at him—thoughts of Y/N, the cases, who M may be, and most of all, thoughts of Y/N.

The shoes that started this all were found in her flat. It was a message not just about the shoes but also about her. M knew. M knew Sherlock held sentiment towards her. That Sherlock loved her. Sherlock shook his head. Sherlock had to protect her from M, and so to protect her, he'd make himself stop loving her. He had to, even if he knew it was an impossible task. Sherlock had to make himself stop, even if he knew he never could. He loved her. So, deciding the next best thing was to make her stop caring for him. Sherlock was good at that; that task itself was not impossible; just figuring out how was the next step.

While his mind configured a plan, Sherlock narrowed his eyes and peered into the telescope before him. He pulled back and frowned. Just then, the pink phone on the countertop beside him rang.

"Hello?" Sherlock answered.

"The clue's in the name," the voice announced. "Janus Cars."

Sherlock furrowed his brows. "Why would you be giving me a clue?"

"Why does anyone do anything?" The voice spoke. "Because I'm bored. We were made for each other, Sherlock." The man reading the message sobbed.

"Then talk to me in your own voice," Sherlock demanded.

"Patience," the man said, and the call ended. Sherlock sighed and glanced around the room. It was empty except for him, and he grew to hate the loneliness he felt. He missed Y/N and John's presence. He missed his friends. He missed her. Groaning, Sherlock began to realize how difficult his plan would be, and for the first time in his life, he was not sure he had the strength to see it through. But for now, a case needed to be solved. Solving the case was the best way to keep those he loved safe until he could figure something else out.

_______

"How much blood was on that seat, would you say?" Sherlock asked Lestrade.

"How much? About a pint," Lestrade replied, shoving his hands in his coat to conceal his shivers. The garage where the police had stored the car from the scene only seemed to amplify the freezing temperatures outside. It appeared that even John and Y/N were inflicted by the cold. All except Sherlock. Lestrade peered at Sherlock and the coat he wore. Now that he thought of it, Lestrade wondered if he'd ever seen Sherlock shiver. Maybe he needed to ask Sherlock where he purchased his coat.

"Not 'about," Sherlock corrected. "Exactly a pint. That was their first mistake. The blood's definitely Ian Monkford's, but it's been frozen."

"Frozen?" Greg repeated.

"There are clear signs," Sherlock noted, and Y/N sighed, recalling the frozen and boiling blood experiment Sherlock had conducted in his flat not too long ago. "I think Ian Monkford gave a pint of his blood some time ago, and that's what they spread on the seats."

"Who did?" John wondered.

"Janus Cars," Sherlock answered, murmuring under his breath, "The clue's in the name."

"The god with two faces," Y/N blurted, missing Sherlock's proud smile. "Sorry, I was really interested in mythology as a kid. "

"Exactly," Sherlock beamed.

"Mmm," John hummed, looking at how Sherlock gazed at Y/N. Upon hearing John's gaze, Sherlock tore his eyes away and strolled to the car.

"They provide a very special service," Sherlock began. "If you've got any kind of a problem – money troubles, bad marriage, whatever – Janus Cars will help you disappear. Ian Monkford was up to his eyes in some kind of trouble – financial, at a guess; he's a banker. Couldn't see a way out. But if he were to vanish if the car he hired was found abandoned with his blood all over the driver's seat…"

"So where is he?" John asked.

"Colombia," Sherlock replied.

"Colombia?!" Lestrade gasped with his eyes growing wide. Dealing with police affairs in London was hard enough as it was, but to add a case involving another country? He certainly was not paid enough for that.

"Mr. Ewert of Janus Cars had a twenty thousand Colombian peso note in his wallet…" Sherlock glanced at John and Y/N, hoping they'd connect.

"That's why you asked for change," Y/N said.

Sherlock nodded. "…Quite a bit of change, too. He told us he hadn't been abroad recently, but when I asked him about the cars, I could see his tan line clearly. No one wears a shirt on a sunbed. That, plus his arm."

"His arm?" Lestrade asked, confused by all the inside knowledge shared between John, Y/N, and Sherlock.

"Kept scratching it," Sherlock explained. "Obviously irritating him and bleeding."

John opened his mouth to say something when Sherlock cut him off, anticipating his question. "Why? Because he'd recently had a booster jab. Hep-B, probably. It is difficult to tell at that distance. Conclusion: he'd just returned from settling Ian Monkford into his new life in Columbia. Mrs Monkford cashes in the life insurance, and she splits it with Janus Cars."

"M-Mrs Monkford?" John questioned.

Sherlock's eyes widened. "Oh yes. She's in on it, too." Lestrade felt his head growing dizzy from all the back-and-forth. The calling of his name snapped him out of the daze. Looking to who called him, Lestrade found Sherlock, who was ready to relay his next instruction.

"Now go and arrest them, Inspector. That's what you do best. We need to let our friendly bomber know that the case is solved. I am on fire!" Sherlock's cheer and a particular pink phone ringing echoed throughout the garage.

Sherlock answered, placing the phone on speaker. Lestrade, John, and Y/N grew silent as they listened. "He says you can come and fetch me. Help. Help me, please."

______

It wasn't until they had stopped at Speedy's to recuperate that Y/N realized her exhaustion. Her head hung heavy as it rested against the table. Once full of eggs, toast, and some sausage, her plate was now licked clean. John was in a similar state. However, he chose to lean back in the chair rather than collapse on the table. Sherlock, however, sat tall. His spine was as straight as a needle, and his blue eyes were observed in his companion's sluggish behavior.

"Feeling better?" Sherlock uttered.

"Mmm," John groaned. "You realize we've hardly stopped for breath since this thing started? Has it occurred to you…?"

"Probably," Sherlock answered.

John shook his head as Y/N tilted hers to look up at him and Sherlock. "No, " John continued. "Has it occurred to you that the bomber's playing a game with you? The envelope, breaking into Y/N’s flat, the dead kid's shoes – it's all meant for you."

At the mention of all the cases, the shoes, the break-in. The group grew quiet. Y/N gulped and suddenly wished she hadn't stuffed her face with food a few minutes prior.

"…Yes, I know." Sherlock was the first to break the silence.

"Is it him, then? Moriarty?" John asked.

Y/N's ears perked up. There was something about that name—Moriarty. Yes, it was part of the case. "M" equaled Moriarty, but that didn't interest her. Something long and forgotten called to her via the name. Although a part of her desired to understand, another feared what would happen if it was discovered.

"Perhaps," Sherlock muttered. The pink phone on the table buzzed before chiming three times. The three of them peered at the photo that appeared on the screen. While Sherlock's face was confused, John and Y/N's eyes widened with recognition. The bleached blonde hair in a choppy bob, well-defined side part, dark purple eye shadow, red lips, and big, bold, shiny earrings could only be one person.

"That could be anybody," Sherlock grumbled.

"Well, it could be, yeah." John shrugged. "Lucky for you, Y/N and I have too much time on our hands."

"How d'you mean?" Sherlock asked, glancing between the two of them.

"Lucky for you, Mrs. Hudson, Y/N, and I watch far too much telly," John clarified. Turning over his shoulder, John pointed to the television in the cafe's corner.

The woman from the photo appeared on the screen. She said With a bright, cheery smile, "Thank you, Tyra! Doesn't she look lovely, everybody, now?"

Suddenly, the pink phone rang, pulling the group's attention away from the telly.

"Anyway, speaking of silk purses and sows' ears…," the television continued.

"Hello?" Sherlock answered.

"This one… is a bit… defective. Sorry. She's blind," the voice cracked. Y/N's eyes widened, and she quickly covered her mouth to silence any leaking noise. "This is… a funny one. I'll give you… twelve hours."

"Why are you doing this?" Sherlock asked.

"I like… to watch you… dance," the woman gasped, and the phone call ended.

Y/N paled as she looked at Sherlock. She always called it 'dancing' when Sherlock solved his cases. That's the only way she could explain it to others. With each puzzle, the fear in Y/N's stomach pooled. Yes, this was for Sherlock, but she began questioning her role in it all. Not everything could be a coincidence: her flat, the familiarity of Moriarty, now the dancing. It all leads to her being a target, too.

The telly seemed to deafen Y/N's anxious thoughts,"…continuing into the sudden death of the popular TV personality, Connie Prince. Miss Prince, famous for her make-over programs, was found dead two days ago by her brother in the house they shared in Hampstead…"

As they watched the television, Y/N made a silent prayer. A prayer that they'd solve these cases, catch whoever Moriarty was, and, most of all, have everyone make it out in the end. Peering over at Sherlock, she prayed that he'd solve it in time and, if her worst fears were confirmed, save her.

______

Y/N only needed one glance at the body before she was confident she was going to be sick. She'd seen bodies before. It was all a part of the job, but after the dancing men case, seeing the dead only made things harder. Y/N blamed it on her empathy. She cared too much about people. It didn't matter if they were people she knew, watched on the television, or just everyday folks whom she passed by on the street. People were people, and no one deserved to die in a manner like this. No one deserved to be killed.

"Connie Prince," Lestrade stated as he looked down at the body on the slab. Sherlock circled around the table, scanning every aspect of the deceased woman. "Fifty-four. She had one of those make-over shows on the telly. Did you see it?"

"No," Sherlock shook his head as Y/N and John nodded.

Lestrade took note of John and Y/N's reaction and turned to the conversation with them, allowing Sherlock the space to work his magic. "Very popular. She was going places," Lestrade said.

Before John could concur, Sherlock interjected, "Not anymore."

An uncomfortable silence fell over the group, and Y/N felt the contents of her stomach stir. She swore there was a bathroom somewhere down the hall.

"So," Sherlock continued, unaffected by the silence he created. "Dead two days. According to one of her staff, Raoul de Santos, she cut her hand on a rusty nail in the garden. Nasty wound," he noted, looking at the cut along the palm of her hand. "Tetanus bacteria enters the bloodstream. Good night, Vienna."

"I suppose," John murmured.

Sherlock stopped prowling around the body and frowned. "Something's wrong with this picture," he said.

"Eh?" Lestrade raised a brow.

"Can't be as simple as it seems," Sherlock explained. "Otherwise, the bomber wouldn't be directing us towards it. Something's wrong. John?"

"Mmm?" John hummed, looking away from the body.

"The cut on her hand: it's deep; would have bled a lot, right?" Sherlock asked.

John nodded, "Yeah." Then he began to walk around the body just as Sherlock had, hoping to uncover the fault in the picture. However, no matter how much he scrunched his face, he could find anything.

"But the wound's clean – very clean and fresh. How long would the bacteria have been incubating inside her?" Sherlock questioned.

"Eight, ten days," John answered. Immediately, his eyes widened. "The cut was made later."

"After she was dead?" Greg asked in clarification, stepping to the body to look at the cut.

"Must have been. The only question is," Sherlock wondered, "how did the tetanus enter the dead woman's system?" Sherlock whirled around to John and Y/N. "You two want to help, right?"

"Of course," John replied. Y/N nodded, trying to keep her food down.

"Connie Prince's background – family history, everything. Give me data," Sherlock instructed.

"Right," John said, making haste to leave the room. He flashed Y/N a look of concern as the two of them left the room, who whispered she was fine.

"There's something else that we haven't thought of," said Lestrade once Y/N and John were gone.

"Is there?" Sherlock pondered.

"Yes. Why is he doing this," Lestrade began, "the bomber? If this woman's death was suspicious, why point it out?"

"Good Samaritan," Sherlock jokingly stated.

"…who press-gangs suicide bombers?" questioned Lestrade.

Sherlock frowned. "Bad Samaritan."

"I'm – I'm serious, Sherlock." Lestrade pulled Sherlock to face him, staring him deep in the eye. "Listen, I'm cutting you slack here; I'm trusting you, and so is John and Y/N – but out there somewhere, some poor bastard's covered in Semtex and is just waiting for you to solve the puzzle. So just tell me - what are we dealing with?"

"Something new," Sherlock said with an unconscious smile growing on his face. "Come with me, Gary."

"Where are we going?" Greg asked as Sherlock hastily left the room without answering him. "…and it's Greg."

It was not long before Greg discovered their destination, 221 B Baker Street. However, he was still unsure why Sherlock had him come along. His dark eyes watched as Sherlock paced and twirled around the room, muttering to himself. Sometimes, Lestrade questioned whether or not this was all a show. Sherlock seemed to enjoy impressing an audience, not that Greg doubted Sherlock's abilities. The consulting detective was a genius; that knowledge was a certainty. It was the performance, the pauses, eye rolls, and smirks as he deducted each crime scene. It was almost as if Sherlock was excessively enjoying this all.

"Connection, connection, connection," Sherlock mumbled. "There must be a connection. Carl Powers was killed twenty years ago. The bomber knew him; admitted that he knew him." Lestrade nodded, trying to follow along." The bomber's iPhone was in stationery from the Czech Republic. First hostage from Cornwall; the second from London; the third from Yorkshire, judging by her accent." Sherlock stopped and looked at his makeshift mural on the living room wall with pictures of evidence from each puzzle. "What's he doing – working his way round the world? Showing off?"

"Sound like someone I know," Lestrade wanted to say, but the pink phone rang before he could.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" the old woman repeated to Sherlock. "Joining the… dots. Three hours. Boom… boom," she sobbed before the phone was cut off.

Sherlock lowered the phone. The game had begun long ago, and now it was nearing its end. He could feel it deep within him and was determined to win.

_____

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[pbjelly90]

I’m rewatching/rereading or checking out for the first time a lot of Sherlock media lately and after seeing the teaser for Knives Out 3, it’s got me thinking about fictional detective characters. I haven’t thought this through completely, but I was trying to decide how I’d rank my favorites throughout various mystery and crime media.

Of course I’m also happy to hear anyone else’s plugs for their favorites I’ve overlooked or not seen before too, so share if you’ve got ‘em and you happen to see this! Would love to see more female led detective stories and queer detective stories.

I’m thinking off the top of my head that my top 15 or so list goes something like this (might end up making this a top 20 or more as I keep adding to it lol) -

1. Sherlock Holmes - This is pretty obvious given the very few things I’ve posted about and my reblogs. The detective that truly got me into mystery stories about 20 years ago. I started reading a collection of the original stories I came across at a Borders bookstore and got hooked from there. I think Watson is what really sold me on Holmes, he humanizes him, givens him more of an emotional anchor. I also have always appreciated how flawed he is. Some genius characters are over the top, but he’s always had some genuine struggles like his drug use. And in the books he even admits Mycroft is better than him at deduction, just lazier with the legwork. My current favorite incarnations may be the original from the books and the Yuumori version, but credit due to the BBC version because I was obsessed the first two seasons in. I love that he’s in the public domain so we can get so many creative takes on him and his world and stories. I’ve been to the Holmes museum at 221 B Baker Street in London (an address they made just for the museum) and seen the statue of him honoring Sir Arthur Conan Doyle in Edinburgh. One of my top favorite fictional characters of all time. If you mention he’s in something, chances are, I’m gonna read/watch it.

2. Harry Dresden - Should probably be no surprise that as a fantasy and mystery fan, I’m a big fan of novels that started off as private detective stories with a wizard on the case. The series gets away from its detective roots later on in favor of bigger plots, but I always enjoyed seeing Harry mix workmanlike detective methods with practical magic. He’s no genius, but he’s clever and willing to mix it up sometimes to see what shakes out. I’d like to think Marcone is the closest thing to his version of a Moriarty, his criminal counterpart. There’s a grudging respect of sorts there even if they dislike the other’s methods. I love Harry and his stories so much I went to Chicago years back just to geek out at some spots from the books (and see Sue!) so he definitely deserves a spot on this list.

3. Ron Kamonohashi - This is a very close race between him and Benoit Blanc, but Ron wins out. He’s got a Watson like character with Toto, which I always appreciate (let Benoit’s hubby come along sometime?) and he’s very Sherlock coded with his little quirks (black sugar syrup is his drug lol) and dependence on mysteries for mental stimulation. Also his dynamic with the police. I enjoy his relationship with Blue and the characters from the academy very much. And I’m very curious to see how the Moriarty connection plays out. He’s just such a silly and I wish the manga was out in physical form in English, I love him and he’s my blorbo. He feels like Sherlock from an Ace Attorney game even more than Herlock Sholmes from The Great Ace Attorney did. This anime feels very much made for me like Yuumori feels. Also his cat is adorable. 💕

4. Benoit Blanc - I enjoy him so dang much. I’d love to see a book adaptation of Knives Out but I wonder how much of how charm is how well Daniel Craig plays him and how much fun you can tell he’s having. Love his relationship with his hubby, his accent, his dress sense, and how he just stumbles into these intricate mysteries with crazy rich folks (and helps support the women who’ve been wronged by them so they can take matters into their own hands to set things right.) I’m delighted they’re continuing to make these movies. I’d take a graphic novel too if not traditional books.

5. Shawn Spencer - Had to bump everyone down this list, how could I forget about Shawn from Psych? He’s definitely more on the strong personality end for detectives, quirky, more interested in romance, and much more extroverted than many examples. I love his friendship with Gus and also his relationship with his father always gave him more depth. Seeing how his father trained him up from a young age, sometimes at great personal cost between them, was an interesting spin on how a genius detective gained their special skills. Also the show is just so dang fun and silly. As a person, I’d probably find Shawn a bit annoying IRL, but I greatly enjoy his misadventures with Gus to rein him in. Lassie is totally his Lestrade. And Shawn’s last name is a Robert B Parker reference to Spenser, isn’t it?

6. Sam Vimes (and the rest of the Watch) - Vimes only doesn’t score higher here because somehow he feels like more of a cop or protector than detective? His emphasis has never been completely about just unraveling mysteries but more focused on defending Ankh Morpork, especially the common people, and delivering justice. Jingo, Night Watch and Thud are three of my all time favorite books of his, with Night Watch as one of my favorite books of all time. Feet of Clay is probably his main detective turn in my memory, as the later books see him have to take on more of a diplomatic role with different responsibilities. Angua and Cheery get a shoutout here as also being highly competent members of the Watch. Carrot has his moments too. Vimes and the rest of the Watch are notable on this list as the some of the very few ranked who are part of actual law enforcement and not some sort of private consulting detective. The Discworld books and the Watch books in particular were formative reading for me back in my teenage years and further cemented my interest in crime stories (and caring curmudgeon characters like Vimes.) Hugh Laurie would play a great Vimes.

7. Amy Santiago & Rosa Diaz (Brooklyn 99 Squad) - The only other official members of law enforcement on this list so far. Jake gets most of the focus and cases, and similar to Shawn Spencer, I enjoy him as a character even if he’d probably be annoying IRL. Love Terry and Holt as the two leaders and mentors of the squad. But my biggest shoutout here is to Amy and Rosa, I would adore a spinoff with them as the Sleuth Sisters solving cases together. Two skilled, nuanced Latina detectives with their own distinctive, non-stereotypical personalities and an awesome friendship? Yes please. They’re what carries this squad way up the list, even if the cases in this show aren’t usually as complex as some of the others, with the focus more on comedy.

8. Hercule Poirot - Been years since I last read the novels, but I’ve always enjoyed him as a little fussy looking Belgian fellow that folks underestimate. He’s got a different approach from Holmes. He likes a dramatic ending reveal. He always seems like he knows a joke others don’t, has a twinkle in his eye. I devoured a lot of the Agatha Christie stories back in the day, and Poirot’s personality maybe isn’t as strong on the page as Holmes, but I feel that’s more to give the reader a chance to feel like they’re the detective figuring it out alongside him. It’s almost like reading along with a silent protagonist at times in a video game. Part of this is due to the fact that Poirot novels never have one consistent narrator, which allows Christie to do some creative things with the narrator and have them take different roles in the story, but it also means we never really have a POV character who understands and describes Poirot on the same level as Watson does for Holmes (at least not that I remember? Apparently Arthur Hastings is in 7 novels at least but I guess he did not make as much of an impression on me. He appears to be more prominent in the David Suchet TV show.)

9. Conan Edogawa - I never finished Case Closed / Detective Conan because it’s crazy long, but it’s a very nostalgic show for me and I very much enjoyed the many episodes I watched back in the day. Conan is a genius, probably to an over the top degree, but his difficulties in working around being stuck as a kid helped add some stakes and obstacles in his stories and felt very relatable as a younger person interested in mysteries growing up. I wonder if they’d ever consider doing a reboot series someday with much fewer episodes, so we’d get a conclusion without needing to watch over 1,000 episodes.

10. Enola Holmes - A little Mary Sueish and teenage wish fulfillmenty, but dangit she’s fun. Essentially a younger teenaged Sherlock with a touch more people skills? Fighting back against the misogyny of her time period. I have a feeling if she came out back when I was a teen and first reading Holmes, I’d be obsessed. I’m curious to check out her books, I don’t mind if they’re more YA oriented if the mysteries are solid.

11. Ranpo Edogawa (and the whole armed detective agency from BSD) - I love and enjoy Ranpo and he very much has spoiled little brat energy. Fukuzawa as his dad figure brings me much joy. However, I also find him and most characters from Bungo to be over the top geniuses, to the point where they no longer feel very grounded as human. Sherlock often feels still believable to me, that someone could specialize to his degree and be that effective, but the BSD characters have always felt supernaturally competent. But with that aside, they’re also often very fun. Given that Ranpo doesn’t have any other superpowers, unlike other geniuses like Dazai or Fyodor, I can allow “ultra deduction” to be his. But Atsushi and Kunkida feel way more grounded and they’re the heart of this group. Love Yosano and Kenji too. Fukuzawa is my favorite but does little detective work usually, leaving that up to the team. I would have enjoyed seeing Aya and Bram be a detective team within the ADA. 😢

12. Nancy Drew - I read these so long ago but these books definitely contributed to my interest in detective stories growing up. I don’t remember many distinctive traits of Nancy now, but I have to give her credit for nostalgia and sparking my interest in mysteries back then. Has there been a modern day update of these?

13. Spenser - Got into these novels by Robert B. Parker at some point back in my twenties, as they were always mentioned in early blurbs for The Dresden Files as a point of comparison, Spenser crossed with Merlin. Very pulpy detective stories, a lot like the Maltese Falcon. Not the most feminist, got plenty of film noir type tropes, but the mysteries were compelling. I can’t say Spenser was necessarily likable, but he had the workman like detective style you find in Dresden that I appreciated. Not a genius like Holmes, he truly had to stir things up sometimes, make a lot more mistakes, and in general do extra legwork. Wouldn’t mind seeing someone update him for modern day somehow.

14. Anita Blake - Does she count here? I’ve found a sad lack of female detectives, maybe that’s because I’ve largely read older stories in the genre? She, like Dresden, started off more detective (and huntress) and since then has changed. Unlike Dresden however, I gave up on Anita’s series around book 10. I enjoyed her early on although she definitely had some viewpoints I did not agree with, I enjoyed the St Louis setting and urban fantasy elements. I think the Sookie Stackhouse mysteries are in a similar area of the country, also with vampires? Maybe I’ll give those a try.

A tie below perhaps for number 15?

Adrian Monk - I’ve only watched a few episodes of Monk, never got super into it, but he gives me Poirot vibes with how fastidious he is. Eventually I’ll try watching a bit more of this.

Miss Marple - Curious to see how these books compare to Poirot. I started one ages ago but didn’t finish it, got sidetracked. I’ve seen now someone has written a book with characters based on Holmes, Marple and Poe? (Interesting that it’s not Dupin.) Curious to see how that’s handled since Marple I don’t believe is public domain? Some Poirot is, but not her yet to my knowledge.

Auguste Dupin - Read The Purloined Letter, but not the other stories yet that I recall. I don’t remember Dupin himself having any traits that particularly stuck with me, but he is the proto fictional detective so I have to give credit there.

Sam Spade - Similar to Dupin, Sam Spade sets up the proto tropes for his genre of detective story, the more film noir type story. But otherwise he wasn’t super memorable to me, perhaps because he only had the one. Spenser takes a lot of inspiration from him.

Philip Marlowe - Ditto for the above. Read The Big Sleep, can’t recall if there were more that I read? But he helped establish the genre.

Nero Wolfe - I think I have read one of these, but I'll be honest, I don't remember it very well. Probably due to give this series another shot.

—

Honorable mentions: For characters that are not technically detectives by title, but still solve mysteries, or aren’t the lead in their respective stories -

Richard Ranasinghe de Vulpian - I first picked up volume one of the Jeweler Richard light novels because the boys on the cover are pretty, but I bought it because it was described as having mystery elements online and that the two leads would work through cases together. It’s shifted some in focus since then, but Richard is certainly like a detective for jewel related matters. He’s a bit of a Holmes figure, brilliant with specialized knowledge, clever, good at reading people, British, and Seigi is like his warm hearted Watson, good in a fight, deeply loyal. Yet another reason why I love these boys.

Maomao from Apothecary Diaries - Technically not a detective, but she does so much investigating and I love her. Her work sometimes even extends to non-medical cases, she truly has a lot of knowledge but it feels believable with her fixation on medicines / poisons and her upbringing, particularly with her adoptive dad’s mentorship and training. Love hearing her infodump on plants in particular.

All the Ace Attorney lead characters do so much investigating. I recently saw a post that said Phoenix is more of a skilled investigator rather than a lawyer, and they are not wrong. Herlock Sholmes is very silly and I need to finish GAA to really properly judge him, but I’ve seen him invent more than I’ve seen him deduce. I love Ema Skye and would love to see her get her own investigations game, really enjoy seeing her geek out over forensics and working cases once she lands her dream job. Gumshoe is precious but not the best at his job.

Jack Reacher technically doesn’t have a job anymore? But he was an MP and does investigate nearly as much as he fights. I read a fair number of his books when I wanted to learn how to write fight scenes better, and learned some other helpful details while following this series too, particularly about firearms. I like the new Amazon tv adaptation of these stories so far too. Reacher has earned a shoutout here on this list.

The first two Paper Mario games have at least one detective chapter, usually a very silly take on Agatha Christie like tropes, and I enjoy them very much. Give me a full detective spinoff in the Paper Mario world please. Detective Peach from Princess Peach Showtime maybe? Daisy as her Watson? I liked her cases but they were short and the mechanics got a little repetitive, gameplay-wise.

Also in video games, Professor Layton is technically an archaeologist and professor, but he certainly ends up solving quite a few mysteries. I haven't finished all of his games because I'm actually quite crap at a lot of kinds of puzzles, but I enjoy him very much.

House, MD - for a much harsher take on a Holmes like figure, with his own Watson in an actual practicing doctor, Dr Wilson. Ties back into Holmes inspiration coming from a real world medical doctor, Dr. Joseph Bell. I was really into this show for a few years, but House could be so acerbic at times I stopped caring for it as much. Especially when he would be a dick to Cuddy.

Neal Caffrey from White Collar does a lot of investigating and would be a clever detective type in another show, but here as a CI he gives me more Arsene Lupin gentleman thief vibes.

The leads from Cowboy Bebop do have to do a lot of tracking down criminals and investigating, but as bounty hunters, they’re generally after folks who have already been identified as major suspects or convicted, so they don’t quite fall under the umbrella of detectives. Still I love this show and it also added to my interest in crime stories and influenced my writing since I was a teen.

Spy characters in crime stories like James Bond, Twilight / Loid, etc - these guys do some investigation as well, but this is like a whole additional category on its own. Big fan of this genre typically as well, had someone recommend Alex Rider for a YA take on the genre.

I’ll probably continue adding to this post as I think of more fictional detectives to ramble about. 😆

[gregorovitch-adler]

Wallet

John sat back on the sofa and relaxed. Rosie was at the daycare, and the renovation of 221 B Baker Street was about to finish in a day or two. Sherlock and John were done with today's work at least.

Sherlock was out for a walk to clear his head, probably to delete some insignificant information from his Mind Palace. John was only guessing, so he shrugged to himself.

Working on the renovation of this house - the place where they used to live together and John had the time of his life before Sherlock's awful staged death - had brought them closer together once again. John had moved back into this flat with Rosie a while ago.

Perhaps this was their way of forgetting about the dreadful day at Sherrinford. John was trying to forget Eurus in general, but his messy and still a little burnt surroundings were making it difficult. She was the one to send the silent bomb to their place, after all.

Still, John was trying to live. Trying to make things better between him and Sherlock. He knew he had to be the one to make the most effort - given how he'd treated Sherlock after Mary's death. Cutting him out of his life. Abandoning Sherlock when he needed John the most, and letting him end up in that morgue at Culverton Smith's mercy.

The images of John kicking and punching Sherlock until he lay half-dead on the floor, actually bleeding from several places, flashed before John once more.

John closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He hadn't stopped being haunted by the vivid images of that day. What had he done? He'd ruined everything they once had between them, that's what. John deserved to be haunted, and so much worse. How could he possibly treat someone he was in love with in that way? He didn't deserve Sherlock at all.

They'd started to work together again on the cases because, for some inexplicable reason, Sherlock didn't hold John accountable for his actions, even when he had every right to do so in the world.

John would never dare to even think of Sherlock as a heartless person again. John knew he would never be able to comprehend the size of this man's heart.

Still, things weren't the same. John felt that he and Sherlock had a lot of things they needed to talk about with each other. Both of them had been holding back on many things.

Not that John expected things to remain the same, after how he'd treated Sherlock. But a better communication was needed.

John will have that with Sherlock someday. He didn't know how, but he was going to try. He'd start by apologising first. He was ready to get down on his knees if that was what he needed to do. He'd do anything Sherlock asked. Anything in the world.

For now, he pulled out his wallet from his back pocket to open it.

His stomach twisted when he saw it was Mary, Rosie, and himself in the photo that the wallet contained. He felt nauseated looking at his fake smile in that photo. The time when everything was bitter but he was supposed to pretend he was okay.

It went without question that John loved Rosie, but he couldn't bear to look at the fake happy family photograph anymore. Not with how things with Mary turned out in the end.

John decided he needed a different photo for his wallet, so he took this one out and placed it on the coffee table.

He wondered which photo he'd use instead. John grabbed his phone from his pocket and opened the gallery, to go through some suitable images.

John wasn't the one to take a lot of pictures, but as he scrolled through, he stumbled across one from ages ago.

It was Sherlock in that picture, standing just outside a restaurant and laughing. Heartily and beautifully.

John stared at the image trying to recall what this was about.

That's when he remembered: They were on a case and they'd taken a short break because John was hungry. And John had tried to pull the door instead of pushing, even when the sign clearly said 'Push'. John had spitefully taken his photo after that.

John chuckled at the memory and swallowed. This one it was then. The picture he'd use for his empty wallet.

John was very much aware that he'd lost the chance of trying to have a relationship with Sherlock. He was incredibly lucky that Sherlock was ready to have him back as a friend.

John had to take his feelings to the grave, but this was the least he could do to make himself feel better. It was selfish, but it was his private thing.

It had to be this way.

*

Sherlock September Challenge by @onesmallfamily

Prompt: Wallet.

Tagging: @helloliriels , @topsyturvy-turtely , @lisbeth-kk , @keirgreeneyes , @gaylilsherlock , @clueless-mp4 , @curlyjohnlock , @a-victorian-girl , @lookingforlifeoutthere , @missdeliadili, @peanitbear , @calaisreno , @kettykika78 .

[nerdypuddincup]

The Case of the Secret Room-Part 1 It is of my friend Sherlock Holmes, and the woman whom he would come to be involved with which is why I am putting this tale to paper. No, I doubt that I shall ever publish this one as I had so many other adventures that my friend and I had gone on. Alas, this must be written down just so I may forever keep the memory of when Lady Anna Windsor came into our lives and changed everything, forever.

The year was 1889, I was to be married to a woman that Holmes and I had met during an adventure known as the Sign of Four. A rather nasty affair in which I have already detailed. Regardless, it was at this time that I had begin to collect my things from 221 B Baker Street and begun to move in with my fiancée. To say that my friend was upset at my leaving would be an understatement. He attempted to pass off his melancholy state due to the fact that he was out of work. But, it didn't take a Sherlock Holmes to see the true reason behind his poor humor. In a way, I felt bad for my friend. He and I had been through so very much over the past few years and due to that we had become very close indeed. The cynic in me felt that Holmes was simply upset because he would have no one to stare in amazement as he went off on one of his rather admittedly brilliant deductions.

Despite how many times I had advised against it, Sherlock had gotten himself into his habit of a seven-percent solution of cocaine. I detested such a thing but when confronted he would simply reply that he detested the bore of mundane. While most sought comfort in the familiar, Holmes hated it with a passion to rival any. He craved excitement, mental or physical stimulation. And, if he could not receive such naturally then he simply would chemically instead. He sat there in his chair, staring at the fireplace with his pipe in hand. He had already gone through smoking three pipes worth of tobacco as I collected my things. Of course, he never offered to help. Why would he? Regardless, it was clear to me that even with the cocaine going through my friend's system he wasn't truly nourished. His violent mood swings were beating out the artificial stimulation he had hoped the solution would bring him.

As I grabbed the last of my bags and headed for the door I said my goodbyes to my friend. I assured him that this wasn't the end, and that we should get together for lunch or a nice spot of tea soon. I also told him to go easy on our poor land lady. It was she whom I felt the most pain for. Without me around, there would be no one that would save her from the antics of the world's foremost consulting detective. And oh how he enjoyed his petty torments. I recall, a week before I moved out Mrs. Hudson had stopped me in the hallway and begged me to stay so that she wouldn't have to be alone with him. Poor woman.

"Come now Holmes. I know that I am leaving but the least you could do is be more chipper. Happy for me that I'm moving on with my life. A hearty handshake would be nice." I said to him. Then, his cold blue eyes fell upon me and my heart stopped a moment. I saw such pain and hurt and a bit of anger in the eyes of my most cherished friend as he looked upon me.

"A hearty handshake? Be happy for you? Perish the thought Watson. You are leaving me at a very inconvenient time." Said, Holmes.

"And why makes this so inconvenient?" I asked.

"You have known me long enough to know how my mind works. How it rebels against me in stagnation, how it cannot function properly without proper stimuli. And here I sit, with none whatsoever." He practically flew out of his chair as he went over to his large stack of requests for cases which he had lovingly stabbed through with a dagger atop of the fireplace. "There is no cases to be had here. Due to the notoriety in which you have given me, every single last person who has lost a simple object or requires some sort of legal advice have written to me." With that, he pulled from the top of the pile and looked at it. "Lost pencil, sorority girl needs advice, puppy gone missing..." As he continued to pull the requests he crumpled them up and threw them into the fire where they were quickly reduced to ash. "Any infantile child or Scotland Yard detective with a quarter of a brain would be able to solve such petty things."

"And this is somehow my fault?" I asked, obviously offended.

"Yes, yes it is." Was Holmes's only reply.

"And pray tell, just how exactly it is my fault Holmes?"

"Do you truly not know?" He asked as he walked back over to his chair. He moved some papers around and pulled forth a book titled 'A Study in Scarlet' a book that I had written, detailing the first case I had ever been apart of with Holmes. "You have made our exploits into some cheap thrill adventures. You have capitalized upon the crimes that had occurred and not the methodology, the logic, the deduction into how they were solved. You have made me out to be some sort of super powered thing you would find in a Penny Dreadful, not a true consulting detective who has created his own form of investigation. I do not rely on interviews and contradictions in testimony such as Mr. Poirot from France. No, I see minute details and make observations. You should have documented my methods, not the crimes. As I have told you a million times Watson, crime is common but logic is rare. And you~"

At that moment, Holmes stopped. His head tilted towards the door for a moment as if listening. "We have a visitor." Was all he said before quickly falling back into his seat, crossing his legs, and smoking his pipe as if nothing had even transpired between the two of us. "I shall see you soon then my friend. Good day." He tried to shoo me away, but I was going to stay and see who this guest was. And I was still very much put out over what he had said to me and about my writings

[nkp1981]

That Time The Doctor Visited Baker Street 221 B

[holmesoldfellow]

221:B by Vincent Starrett

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hi Steph!!! Hoping you can help me since @bluebellofbakerstreet is trying to kill us all softly ...

Are there any John in a kilt stories?

Preferably making Sherlock all hot and bothered?

Hey Lovely!

Ahh, I do have an old Community Recs list from 2019 here, but you're giving me a good reason to make a new list of my own; I have enough on my MFL list to make one of my own, after all.

Please, if you guys have any, add them below! <3 I’ve only added anything that a search of “kilt” gave me on my personal offline list :) I know there are a tonne that I may have not tagged, and I surely don’t have nearly all of them.

JOHNLOCK AND KILTS

See also: Alexx’s “Johnlock in a Kilt” List

All the Girls Love a Soldier by Book7BrokeMyBrain (E, 12,951 w., 1 Ch. || Military Kink, Frottage, Domesticity, Post S3, Pining Sherlock, Kilt John, Wedding, Dancing, Oral, Romance, ) – John is invited to a stag party and a wedding. The related accoutrement suit Sherlock to a T. 

MARKED FOR LATER (TO READ)

the dead-end case of the kilted kirkyard killer by darcylindbergh (E, 8,823 w., 1 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting || Scotland, First Kiss/Time, BAMF John, Frottage, Blow Jobs, Banter) – In which Sherlock follows the wrong man and gets more than he bargained for.

The Perfect Specimen Series by Cleo2010 (E, 27,825 w across 2 works || Kilts, Masturbation, Drunkenness, Oral / Anal Sex, Hand Jobs, Cock Worship, Manipulation, Toys, Rimming) – After seeing John undressed for the first time and making certain observations, Sherlock quickly becomes obsessed with a certain body part belonging to his flatmate. This is the story of how that first sighting came to be and the following attempts to learn more. An unashamed masturbation-fest, first person and very detailed. It's rated explicit for a good reason!

The Bachelors' Handfasting by Jberry (E, 30,624 w., 20 Ch. || Regency AU || Arranged Marriage, Virgin Sherlock, 1800′s Scotland, Bodice-Ripper, Romance, Kilts, No Period-Typical Homophobia, Smoll Sherlock, Suicide Discussion, Romance, Miscarriage, Depression) – After her son is caught in a compromising position, Victoria Holmes must make arrangements for a quick marriage between Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.

Men in Kilts by okapi (M, 33,000 w., 23 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting, Meet-Cute, Hurt/Comfort, Kilts, Fluff, Slow Burn, Hand Jobs, Oral Sex) – Mrs. Hudson hires John, who works for the Men in Kilts housekeeping service.

The Straw Man Fallacy by Vulgarweed (E, 40,422 w., 8 Ch. || Wicker Man AU || Ritual Sex, Sacrifice, Mystery and Horror, Romance, Fuck or Die, Dubious Morality, Mildly Dubious Consent, Pagan Festivals, Public Sex, First Time, Case Fic, Virgin Sherlock, Scotland, Kilts) – Summerisle is not a welcoming place to visitors, but it shows its best face at May Day. For ulterior motives.

Philia and Eros by distantstarlight (E, 84,660 w., 20 Ch. || Historical AU || Friends to Lovers, Time Travel, Kilts, Possessive Behaviour, Love Confessions, Slow Burn, Implied Rape/Non-Con) – Love is timeless but time isn't necessarily linear. John Watson and Sherlock Holmes are about to embark on an unintended adventure that will take them far away from the comfortable confines of 221 B Baker Street. Part 1 of Strange Paths

October to Hogmanay by snorklepie (E, 127,318 w., 25 Ch. || Post HLV Fix-It, Awkward First Times, Hurt/Comfort, Sherlock is a Mess, Shameless Smut, Sherlock’s Past, Scotland, Poison, Holmes Family, Kilts, Dancing, Angst) – John stared at Sherlock’s profile against the cab window and exhaled slowly. After a long moment, he reached out and touched Sherlock’s long fingers where they were fiddling with the button on his coat. The tall man didn’t look around again, but his fingers slowly unfurled before curling deliberately around John’s hand. Part 2 of Scotland

Nine and a Half Weeks by CumberCurlyGirl and Kameo (E, 198,502+ w., 40/? Ch. || WiP || American AU || Different First Meeting, Daddy Kink, Bottomlock, Anal Plug, Riding Crops, Spanking, Light Bondage, Anal/Oral, Aftercare, Posh John, Virgin Sherlock, Homophobia, Sugar Daddy John, Rimming, Coming in Pants, Light Dom/Sub, Past Sherlock / Victor, Light BDSM, Public Sex, John in a Kilt, Vibrators, Happy Ending) – Sherlock Holmes is about to graduate from high school in midwestern America. Despite his intelligence, his prospects are bleak due to poverty, an indifferent, alcoholic father and poor choices. One day, at work, he sells a riding crop to a handsome blonde Brit and his life is changed. He doesn't know what hit him - until he does. This is a story of a journey to love and self-acceptance and explores many themes along the way: drug abuse, grief, coming out, age difference, consent. Lots of sex but so much more.

[son-of-drogo]

So I've had this character knocking around in my head since high school and I've been rewatching the Granada Sherlock Holmes and then had an idea while listening to 2000's emo music.

I had the idea that the Holmes family continues to rent or maybe eventually own 221 B Baker Street and whenever the resident detective retires, a new family member is picked to take their place.

Our story starts in the late 1990's in the same universe as the Granada series. Our heroine, Vivian has recently moved from Chicago to take up the post after her great aunt retires.

Btw if you're wondering where a whole Holmes family tree came from, it was a lot more common to have a marriage of convenience to produce an heir and the duty fell to Mycroft as the oldest. He had one child and that child had children and so on and so forth. Vivian is Mycroft's great grandchild and the third Holmes to be resident detective at 221 B. (Sherlock Holmes, Great Aunt Nettie, and Vivian)

As you can probably guess, she's gay as shit.

[j-eryewrites]

A Study in Pink (II)

Part Two of The Arbitrary Lives of the Occupants of 221 B Baker Street.

Previous | Next​

SERIES MASTER LIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

Word Count: 5. k

Trigger Warning: Mention of Suicides, Gunshots, and Sherlock being Sherlock. 

Y/N finally has her first interaction with Sherlock!!

_______________________________________________________________

It’s an odd feeling to be woken up with a furry weapon of destruction lying on top of one’s face. However, Y/N was used to it. She was used to her tiny devil gently suffocating her as a memo to feed and worship him. By the time that appeared on her phone, it was clear to her that Bjørn had not adjusted to the new time zone–neither had she. The two of them rose very early in the morning when not a single soul was out. The sky was still dark with the remnants of the night as Y/N made her way to make herself a cup of coffee. She groaned realising it was still safely tucked away in the cardboard boxes she had shipped from home. This is my home now, Y/N corrected. 

She wrapped her shawl close to her body. She mentally scolded herself for not unpacking any kitchen gear. A decision which she is now paying the consequences for. She rummaged through the boxes looking for the familiar label of KITCHEN STUFF. Finally, she found it and tore open the top. By now Bjørn had begun to meow. 

“I know,” Y/N reassured. “Just give me a second Bjørn.”

The cat strolled up next to her, sitting down. His yellow eyes peered up at her through. They glowed underneath the dimly lit lights. His fluffy tail flopped around as he patiently waited for his food. After a few minutes, the familiar crack of the can’s seal was heard. Y/N dumped the canned cat food into Bjørn’s bowl. The cat’s ears perked up in interest. He headbutted her legs before jumping up on the counter to dig into his food. 

While Bjørn was occupied eating his breakfast, Y/N turned on her favourite tunes and began to unpack. The comforting voice of her favourite artist guided her hand as placed the dishes and kitchen tools into their new homes. Her tired mind turned into music, allowing her body to work away, unpacking and making her new flat a home. 

It was when she heard creaking from above that she snapped out of her daze. The sun was now above the horizon. Its warm rays lit up the streets as people went about their business. Her stomach grumbled; her kitchen was now unpacked. Finally, she could eat, except…She cracked open her fridge and pantry to find it completely empty. A groan escaped her mouth as she blamed all her problems on the jet lag. She turned away from the cold buzzing refrigerator to take in the view of her new flat. 

Y/N had rearranged the furniture as best she could without disturbing the others in their slumber. The apartment had never looked better and had never been more of a home. On the walls there hung precious memories: her family’s smiles, friends from college, and Bjørn as a kitten. Besides the pictures hung works of art that she had collected throughout the years. In the center of the living room sat a large velvet green couch. One of which Bjørn made himself comfortable, taking his second nap of the day. Beside the couch sat two chairs both made of dark wood cushioned with matching burnt pink pillows. On the mantle, she placed mementoes from her travels and small pictures filled with more memories.

She sighed and placed her hands on her hips. Slowly she made her way over to the curtains. She pulled them back to reveal a bright and bustling street. London was very much awake. Y/N decided to get a start on the day.

Her stomach practically yelled at her. She needed to eat soon. She quickly got changed for the day and offered Bjørn a quick and subtle pat on his furry head. 

“Alright Bjørn, I’m off. See you when I get home”. 

Then checking herself in the mirror to make sure she looked alright, she grabbed her coat and made her way out the door. 

As she closed her door, the sound of creaking followed by a thud could be heard. It was John. He wore a brown overcoat, and, in his hands, he held two paper bags. 

“Good morning!” Waved Y/N as she walked down the hall. 

“Morning, Y/N,” smiled John. “How was your first night in London?” He asked.

“Oh, it was alright. Bjørn loves it though,” she commented. John smiled at the mention of the cat. “Whatcha got there?” She pointed towards the bags in his hand. 

“Oh, just some breakfast from Speedy’s” he replied, lifting up the brown paper bags. 

“Speedy’s?” asked Y/N, her stomach grumbling again. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.  

“It’s a cafe just down the street,” John explained. 

“Really?” questioned Y/N and John nodded his head in confirmation. “I’ll have to check it out.” She quickly waved goodbye to John as she reached for the doorknob.  

John took that as his cue to leave. His steps climb up the stairs. “Later” He muttered, but Y/N had already stepped out onto the street. 

The morning chill hit her, and she shivered. Her head turned up and down the street looking for the cafe. Her eyes gave her no clues, so she did what all people do when they are in need of direction–pulled out her phone. Her shaking fingers typed in the name of the cafe, and she was immediately shown where it was located. 

The wonders of technology, she chuckled to herself.  

She walked in the direction of Speedy’s. Her hair picked up in the wind. The breeze carried the delicious smell of coffee and freshly baked goods to her nose. The sky was a faint shade of blue. Her eyes scanned the street as cabs and cars drove by. There were buses that stopped to pick up passengers and people who flashed by as they walked to work. 

Reaching the cafe was easier than Y/N expected. It wasn’t hard to miss the big red sign adorned with the words SPEEDY’S Sandwich Bar & Cafe. There was a bit of a line in the cafe, but Y/N didn’t mind. Right now her thoughts were being controlled by her stomach. As she waited in line, she noticed the three employees behind the counter. They seemed scrambled as they fulfilled their customer’s orders. 

Maybe they need an extra hand? Y/N pondered. After all, she did need a job to keep her life and Bjørn’s life afloat here in London. 

The line began to diminish, and she finally stepped up to the counter. Placing her order, she moved to the side to wait. A voice called out her name and Y/N retrieved her breakfast. She muttered a quick thanks and walked through the crowd to the door. 

This time the cool breeze was combatted by the warm coffee cup in her hand. Steam rose from the tiny hole in the lid as she strolled back to her flat. Occasionally took sips of her drink, but quickly pulled back when the hot drink scorched her lips. Coming to the ebony door labelled 221 B, Y/N grabbed the shiny new set of keys out from her pocket and put them in the keyhole. She turned the key and opened the door to the building. A few moments later doing the same for her flat. She entered her home and was immediately greeted by Bjørn. She greeted the cat and set down her breakfast on the counter. Bjørn eagerly jumped up on the counter and sniffed her bag. 

“Not for you,” Y/N chuckled as she snatched the bag away. She picked up Bjørn and placed him on the ground beside her. Afterwards, she opened the bag and began to dive into her breakfast. A moan escaped her mouth as the cheesy goodness of the breakfast sandwich entered her mouth. 

Soon after, she cleaned up breakfast. She grabbed her computer and hopped down on the couch. Bjørn climbed up and curled up in her lap as she cracked the computer open. Creating a new tab, she began to type in the search bar. With her free hand, she pets Bjørn. His sweet purr filled Y/N’s ears as she set off into the deep net in search of a job. 

Her bottom began to ache from sitting too long. She brought a hand to rub the itch from her eyes from staring at the screen too long. She closed the laptop and placed it to the side. The room was now dimly lit as the sun sank in the sky, starting to retire for the night.  A loud rumbling shook Bjørn awake. He jumped off her lap and meowed in protest. She really did need to eat, so it was decided. She would take a trip to the grocery store. 

________________________________________________________________

Y/N entered the grocery store and was disappointed. She didn’t know what she was expecting, but she wasn’t expecting this. Growing up in the United States with humongous grocery stores that are filled to the brim with anything you could possibly need with prices that end with the glorious -.99. The grocery store in which she found herself was a mouse compared to the giant chain stores she was used to. She’d also never seen a grocery store this empty. She was quite sure as looked around the building, that she was one of three customers. The squeaky wheels of the cart groaned, screeched, and whistled in the most annoying manner possible. Y/N already felt herself going crazy. She had to get what she needed and get out of there fast. 

Her shoes clacked along the black and white checkered floor. Her feet stepped over the numerous muddy footprints that stained the floor. Y/N began to miss the music played in the grocery stores back home. The music that was two decades too old would faintly play from speakers around the building. Here, in London, Y/N was left alone to her thoughts and the squeaking of the cart’s wheels as she meandered around the store finding what she needed. 

To make matters worse, Y/N’s brain had taken the three-customer hypothesis to heart. She peered down at her list of groceries. Closely examining each material as her hand took a pencil to cross it off. She dragged her hand against the paper and suddenly her hand shot up, ruining her perfect straight line. The handle of her cart jutted into her stomach, and she yelped. She had knocked into something. Quickly, she began to apologize, whether it be to an inanimate object or not. A shadow of dread fell over her body, as a voice responded to her apology. 

The man she had hit, had rebounded from the impact of the cart and fell into the shelf beside him. A wave of tin cans fell to the floor like dominos. Their clanging echoing off of the floor grasped the attention of every soul in the grocery store. 

The man sheepishly waved at the employees and other customers whose stares bore into him. He reached down to pick up one of the cans that had fallen, placing it back on the shelf. 

“I’m so sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going,” apologized Y/N. She began helping the man place the cans back on the shelf. 

“Don’t worry about me, I’m quite sturdy.” He replied. His voice sounded familiar in Y/N’s ears. She glanced up from the cans and looked at the man. He was crouched over, picking up can after can. She caught sight of his short blonde hair. The man sensed someone looking at him. He peered up from the cans and had to do a double take. 

“John?” and “Y/N?” the two of them said at the same time. If Y/N wasn’t embarrassed before, now she was completely mortified. Of all people to run into, it had to be John. 

The two of them sat frozen, crouched over the pile of silver cans. John’s ears burned red, and Y/N’s face was a deep scarlet. A cough sounded from above them and the two snapped their eyes up to look at one of the store’s employees. They couldn’t have been older than 16 and with their tired eyes, told John and Y/N that they had it taken care of. The two adults insisted that they help, but the employee was adamant. Y/N reluctantly turns back to her cart and with a creak pushes the cart along. Suddenly she was hit with a realization and turned back to the pile of cans covering the floor. The kid looked at her with a confused face and she awkwardly smiled back at him. 

With her hand, she snatched one of the cans off the floor and placed it into her cart muttering, “Need this.” 

Y/N looked down at her list and the words missing a line in the middle bulged out from the paper. Screw this, she thought. Y/N was done with all these embarrassing coincidences. She directed her cart toward the checkout lanes and began to check out. Barely a word was said to the employee as she paid for her groceries. Y/N knew she’d have to come back soon to get the rest of the things she needed, but after today’s occurrences, she knew she could show her face here for about a week or two. 

After paying for her things, Y/N grabbed her bags and excused herself from the store. After she emerged through the sliding doors, she saw John by the road. He had hailed a cab and was just about to sit down when he saw Y/N. He called out to her, and she approached him. 

“Would you like to split the cab?” He asked. 

The weight of her groceries was already weighing her down. She could already feel her forearms getting sore. “Yeah, I’d love to.” 

She opened the trunk of the cab and placed her groceries down. She closed the lid, sat down next to John in the back seat, and closed the door. John relayed their address to the cab driver, and they were off. 

The both of them were too embarrassed from the incident in the grocery store to say anything, that was until Y/N brought up Bjørn. John’s eyes immediately lightened up at the mention of Y/N’s cat. 

“How’s Bjørn?” He asked.

“Doing alright. He thinks he already owns all of 221B,” she chuckled. “Auntie M loves him. Spoils him rotten, I say.”

Another wave of silence fell over them. Y/N huffed as she considered whether or not to ask John about his flat mate, but it seemed as if he had read her mind. 

“Have you met Sherlock yet?” He asked. 

Y/N thought back to the conversation she overheard. “It’s not like he’s wanting to meet me. If I remember correctly, I’ll have moved out by the end of the week.” Her jaw clenched. If she knew anything by heart, it was that John was roommates with the most stuck-up man alive. 

John winced at her words. “You heard that…Y/N, I’m so sorry,” He tried to apologize.

“Of course, I heard it. He’s got a loud thunderous voice. I bet people a block away heard him,” she ranted. She crossed her arms and muttered, “He’s a dick.”

John nodded in agreement. “You wouldn’t necessarily be wrong there. However...” Y/N turned to glare at John. “Alright, Y/N hear me out. Sherlock’s a good person at heart.” 

She scoffed. “Yeah, right. I’ve heard how he’s treated my aunt. I can’t believe she’s let him live that long in 221B.” 

“Well, yeah, “said John. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked up. “How’d you meet Bjørn?” He blurted. 

Y/N raised her brow. “I don’t see how this has anything to do with…”

“You’ll see later, just how’d you get Bjørn?” He reassured. 

Y/N thought back to how she had gotten Bjørn and began to relay the story to John. It had only been a few years prior when had come across Bjørn. On her days off of work, she would volunteer at the animal shelter near her home. One day, a cat was brought in off the street. He was labeled as feral and did not let anyone so much as look in his direction. The cat hadn’t been eating and was in serious need of a bath and medical care, but no one could get near him. The others at the animal shelter said he was a lost cause, but Y/N wouldn’t hear of it. She knew she had to try something; she couldn’t give up on the poor thing. At first, the cat had hissed at her and backed itself into a corner. Y/N sat down with a can of freshly opened food at her feet. She sat there for hours. The cat was unmoving, but no longer hissing at her. Slowly, the cat’s ears relaxed, and it’s tail lowered. After some time, the cat’s nose began to twitch as it had caught the scent of the food. The cat placed one foot forward. Each time its paw left the floor, it’d look up at Y/N. She was smiling and tried her best to not move at all for fear of startling the cat. Paw after paw, the cat had reached the can of food and began to eat. Y/N slowly began to whisper to the cat. “You’re a feisty one,” she said. “Almost like a bear.” She looked over the cat’s thin figure. Its fur was a beautiful shade of brown, something she had never seen on a cat before. Her hands ached to pet him but knew that she’d probably regress the cat back into the corner. After the cat had finished, he sat down and peered up at her. Y/N’s eyes widened at the action. She had thought he’d run back into the safety of the corner. What the cat did next shocked her to her core. The brown cat dropped its head down and began rubbing up against her. The faint sound of purring left the cat as he marked Y/N as his human. Hesitantly she reached a hand out, the cat looked at it with its golden eyes and began reaching for the hand. Y/N brought her hand down gently and began petting the cat. The minute her hand touched his rough, dirty fur, she knew that she had to take him home with her. After the shelter had given him treatment, washed and groomed him. Y/N immediately signed the papers of adoption and took Bjørn. Her little bear-Bjørn. 

As she finished her story, Y/N smiled. She loved that cat with all her heart. 

“Alright,” John said, bringing her out of the memory. “Think of Sherlock like Bjørn.” 

Y/N narrowed her eyes at John. 

“Sherlock is feisty and mean. He holds himself up in that corner, away from others. When anyone tries to approach, he hisses them away,” John explained. “Y/N, you’ve just got to give Sherlock time. He’ll warm up to you and eventually come out of that corner. Then you’ll know just how great he can be.” 

Y/N sighed. John was too good with his words. She reluctantly nodded her head. She’d be willing to give Sherlock a chance. She didn’t know when, but she knew she would. 

The cab came to a stop and the driver notified them that they had arrived. Y/N and John spilt the cab fee and got out. They opened the trunk, got out their groceries, and headed into 221B. John invited Y/N up later that evening if she wanted to come and say hi. She thought about John’s words in the car and nodded her head. John smiled and continued his way up the stairs and into his flat. Y/N turned towards her flat door and opened it up. Bjørn jumped down from his seat on the couch and began meowing at her. As if he was saying he missed her. She dropped the groceries on the floor and picked up Bjørn like a baby. She cradled him in her arms as she took a hand to pet his soft fur. He purred as Y/N continued to ponder over John’s words. He was right, if Y/N didn’t give Bjørn time, they would be here now. She figured she could offer Sherlock, whoever he was, the same thing–time. 

_____________________________________________________________

Y/N did not expect to be treading carefully up to John and Sherlock’s flat with a weapon in hand for the first time, but that was until she heard the sound of gunshots from ahead. Completely terrified she did what anyone would do: Try and call 911 but then realize she wasn’t in the U.S. and then proceeded to grab the nearest object, a broom, and carefully headed upstairs. Bjørn had growled at the noise, glaring upwards as she left the safety of her flat. 

Y/N’s eyes glanced down to her aunt’s door. It was closed. Either her aunt wasn’t home, or she didn’t care enough to come marching up the stairs in defense of her tenants. Y/N thought over the options and decided she wasn’t home. Y/N knew that Mrs. Hudson cared about John and Sherlock as if they were her own children. As Y/N stepped closer and closer to the entrance of John’s flat, the wooden floor from underneath her creaked. She winced and slowly began to continue. 

When she reached the top of the stairs, Y/N found the door to the apartment wide open.  Y/N squinted her eyes debating whether or not she should enter. 

“Come in” announced a baritone voice, one that belonged to definitely did not belong to John. 

Hesitantly she stepped inside the apartment holding the broom like a baseball bat. To say the least, the apartment was a bit eccentric. One wall had a black and white floral wallpaper, and another was a red and white diamond design. The other walls were a light shade of green. There were books, teacups, newspapers, and files scattered everywhere. Y/N was even sure she saw a mug filled with a bubbly liquid and what appeared to be human teeth. In the middle of the living room there stood two chairs. One was dusty red and quite worn around the edges. The other chair was a musky greenish brown that was held up by a metallic frame. In that very chair sat a man with curly black hair. He was sitting with a slouch, but it was clear that he was quite tall. His knees rose a bit higher than the cushion of the chair. Next Y/N noticed the man’s facial features. He had a strong bone structure, with his cheekbones being especially sharp. His eyes were a piercing blue. A shade you’d only find in a glacier from the icy north. When their eyes met, she gasped. The man before her bore a cool and calculated expression. His hand was rested under his chin. In his other hand, he held a gun.

The man took in a deep breath, sat up straighter, and brought his hands to rest in his lap. “Who are you? Why are you holding a broom like a lunatic?” He questioned. 

“Umm…” She looked him over again unsure of whether or not to tell this strange man. “You first. Who are you?”

“You’re in my flat. I will ask again, who are you.” He challenged. 

Y/N’s brain connected the dots. The man before her was Sherlock. John’s roommate. “Your neighbour, I just moved in…” alluded Y/N, hoping he would somehow recognize her.  Sherlock just cocked an eyebrow at her in intrigue. “I heard gunshots and got worried.”

A door creaked open, followed by light footsteps as John entered the room. Taking off his earphones he asked, “Y/N? What are you doing here?” 

“There were gunshots and I got scared,” She explained. The broom in her hand was now lowered down. 

“Sorry about that. Sherlock…,” condescended John.

Then Sherlock interrupted. “Don’t go worrying like we’re friends. You’ll be moving out by the end of the week anyway. Other tenants never stay long.”

“Sherlock!” reprimanded John. “Be nice.”

“I’m a high-functioning sociopath and have no use for being nice,” enunciated Sherlock. His voice rose slightly. 

A harsh breath escaped her mouth. She wasn’t about to lose her cool. She wasn’t going to let Sherlock get to her. She was going to stay whether he liked it or not. She began to imagine that Sherlock was Bjørn. She wouldn’t give up on Bjørn, so she’d wait for Sherlock. It was the least she could do for John. She took in a deep breath and replied; “No, it’s fine, John.” She looked down at her hand with the broom and swung it behind her back hiding it from view. “Let’s try again. I’m Y/N L/N your new neighbour. John invited me over to say hello and introduce myself to you.” She smiled at Sherlock. 

Sherlock turned his gaze away from Y/N and began glaring at John. It was as if John had offended Sherlock in the worst way possible. “You invited her over?” Sherlock grumbled. His words were slow and careful. 

John’s jaw clenched. “She’s Mrs. Hudson’s niece, Sherlock! At the very least say hi to her and yes, I invited her over. I quite like Y/N,” John told Sherlock. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and conceded as he rolled back into his chair. His jaw clenched and he brought his gaze back to Y/N. Y/N felt a chill go up her spine as Sherlock continued to stare at her. His eyes began to squint and before he could say something. A man had burst into the flat. His pepper-colored hair was messed up a bit and his button-up shirt wwas slightly untucked.  

Sherlock perked up. “Where?”

“Brixton, Lauriston Gardens” breathed the man. 

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed, “Something’s different.”

John looked between the two men. “Does this have something to do with the suicides?”

“Suicides? What suicides?” prodded Y/N. 

The man in front of Y/N turned and pointed toward her, “Who’s she?” 

Without skipping a beat, Sherlock replied, “No one, Gary”. The man opened his mouth but was silenced. “What’s different?”

Y/N scoffed at Sherlock. The new man in 221B looked between Y/N and Sherlock. He got the feeling as if he was interrupting something. 

Gary hesitantly continued, “This one left a note.” 

Now, this intrigued Sherlock, “I’ll come. Who’s working forensics?” 

“Anderson.”

Sherlock grimaced, “Anderson won't be willing to work with me.”

“Well, you have, John. Right, John?” asked Gary. 

“Yes, of course, Greg,” agreed John. 

“Thank you” mouthed Greg or Gary. Y/N was confused about which name to call him by. He looked around the room collecting his breath and then he was off. 

Sherlock jumped out of his seat, practically leaping for joy. “4 serial suicides, and now there’s a note. It’s practically Christmas.” He raised his eyebrows giving John a smile. “Shall we?” 

John nodded and grabbed his coat and hat off of the coat rack. Sherlock followed suit, throwing on his scarf to help keep warm. The two men turned to face Y/N with John glancing up at Sherlock with a look of hesitancy on his face. As if he was expecting something to happen. It seemed quite impolite to just leave Y/N so suddenly.

“Close the door on your way out,” Sherlock said.  His crystal blue eyes met Y/N’s. 

It was hard to tell who was more shocked, John or Y/N. John’s mouth hung wide open. Y/N was completely taken aback, but before she could respond, Sherlock quickly made his way out the door and down the stairs. “Mrs. Hudson, we’ll be heading out.” Notified Sherlock as if Mrs. Hudson was his mother. 

Mrs. Hudson tore her eyes away from the soap opera on the television. “Of course, dear. Where are you boys heading off to? Is it those suicides?” asked Mrs. Hudson. 

Popping his head into the apartment, Sherlock replied, “John and I are heading out to a crime scene. Be back quite late. Perhaps prepare some tea?”

“I’m your landlady, not your housekeeper, Sherlock.” 

Accepting that answer, Sherlock was out the door, shortly followed by John. A loud slam came from upstairs. Mrs. Hudson crept to her window and watched as the two of them hailed a cab and were on their way. Satisfied, she sat back down in her chair and began to knit. Shortly after, Y/N appeared in her doorway. “You are here?” She muttered to herself. 

“What was that N/N?” Mrs. Hudson asked. “Couldn’t quite hear you.”

“Nothing,” exclaimed Y/N.

“Why aren’t you going with them?” Mrs. Hudson asked. Y/N grimaced at the thought. “I thought you left with the boys. You were always one to follow the boys around. I remember that childhood friend of yours Jason or something like that.”

“James, Auntie M. His name was James. And I decided against it. I’d rather not burden John with Sherlock’s dead body.” 

With that Y/N left Mrs. Hudson to her knitting. Give him time, She whined. That was going to be a lot harder than Y/N thought it would be. She was sure she’d strangle Sherlock by the lapels of his coat before he ever said hello to her. In a huff, she slammed her own flat door at the thought of the man. Bjørn hissed at the sound. 

“Sorry,” she muttered. The cat only meowed in response. Bjørn hopped on her lap to comfort her allowing her to pet away the stress and anger she held for Sherlock.

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Let me know what you think! Also, comment below if you would like to be tagged in further posts. 

@bartokthealbinobat​

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[okami-avalon]

[ First Prompt: Johnlock. Adroidlock. Based in Detroit become Human. Apologise for my English in Advance! We can continue here if you like or via email :33 ]

The cases were getting more complex. The streets of London were more dangerous.

And for that they had created him. Sherlock Holmes. The most advanced Android ever created by CiberLife.

The most characteristic features are his ability to observe and reconstruct the crime scene in his mind, his advanced technology to analyze data and samples in seconds, and his quick and rational mind applied in moments of stress. Sherlock was exceptionally smart, cold, and determined, ready to do anything to succeed in his mission.

It was made to help the Scotland Yard Police to reduce crime in the City of London. Although his personality might be difficult, his efficiency was excellent.

But as an Android, he needed a Master. And by fate, he was assigned to John Hamish Watson, a Doctor who had been in the army, fighting in Afghanistan, until a bullet in his shoulder ended up with his return to England. In exchange for being with the Android, and share information with the Company, they could live comfortably on 221 B Baker Street.

Sherlock had already got used to live with the Doctor. They had solved several cases together.

However, cases of 'Divergents' appeared. Androids capable of feeling. To go against human orders. To be able to even kill humans. And Sherlock had to investigate them and stop them.

London wasn't being nice to the Androids either. The protest against the androids were more frequent. It was becoming dangerous both to the Androids and Humans.

Sherlock was thinking about all this, playing the violin in the living room, in front of the window, like always. However, something was clearly bothering him. He stopped playing his instrument. "John. You shouldn't keep coming with me to the cases." He said at last.

[gregorovitch-adler]

Title: Clandestine Meetings.

Fandom: ACD canon (and related).

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes/Original Female Character (unrequited love from OC's side).

Rating: T.

Words: 19,539.

Chapters: 8/8

Summary:

Devi Dey has moved from India to London, England with her husband Debashish Dey. Mr Dey has to face injustice at workplace, and that is how Mrs Dey ends up at 221 B Baker Street, asking Holmes and Watson for help.

Mr and Mrs Dey's marriage does not seem to work quite well, and Mrs Dey ends up falling for Mr Sherlock Holmes during the process of his crime solving with Dr Watson's assistance.

Mrs Dey has to deal with two things: the uncertainty of her husband's job, and the feelings that she has developed for the great detective.

--

Hello everyone! @nowiamcoveredinyou and I wrote a fanfic based on the original stories. It's a case fic, exploring a case adventure and the sentiments that Devi Dey develops for Holmes.

Check out the link! We hope you like it. 😊

Tags: @helloliriels @lisbeth-kk @calaisreno @keirgreeneyes @jamielovesjam @peanitbear @gaylilsherlock @totallysilvergirl , etc.

[jasminelyoko57]

Detective Yuu - The Phantom of Baker Street (terrible period)

(A/N: I apologize for being inactive with this AU for months (I think), but at least I’m back!)

After the AI explained the game rules, Yuu, Jack, Epel, Ace, Deuce, and Sebek, as well as several youngsters choose “EAST END”, a mystery set in 19th century London. The game starts and Yuu discovers they can't use Crewel's inventions. 

Crewel is able to communicate with Yuu and sends them a hint which makes Yuu realize that Sherlock Holmes is the "supporting character" they have to find. Near 221 B Baker Street, a vagrant plays the accordion and sings an odd song. The youngsters don't pay him any attention.

---

[Virtual world_]

Yuu and their friends hid behind a wall when they found two policemen patrolling the area.

"There's been another victim in an alley near Mitre Street." The first policeman reported.

"Two incidents in an hour... is this the fourth one? What a terrible world,” commented his colleague. The two policemen walked away. Yuu sighed in relief.

Sebek looked at Ace worriedly. "We've come to a terrible period, haven't we?"

Ace nodded. "To think that the world has becoming so horrendous..."

Hearing them, Jack turns to Sebek and Ace with a knowing expression. 

“Turn-of-the-century London is said to be the last of the British Empire's most prosperous period, but... in reality, there was a vast disparity between classes."

(Replace Haibara with Jack talking here, ‘kay?)

“Poverty and crime were abound, particularly in the East End and St. Giles. It was the time where people's hearts were filled with bitterness.”

Deuce puts on a thoughtful pose, "Speaking of which, I heard from a friend that if Sherlock Holmes is the 'light' of this era, Jack the Ripper is the 'black shadow'."

“Well then, let’s find the ‘light’ of this era!” exclaimed Yuu. “Only a little more to Baker Street!”

Yuu and the others walked forward. However, before they could continue, they encountered a vagrant, playing an accordion while singing cryptically.

“Beware of Jack the Ripper... he awaits ya on the night streets~ ♫” The vagrant looked at Yuu briefly before continued to sing. 

“If ya don’t wanna die, what are ya to do? ♫ Ya gotta become bloodstained too...  ♫“

“That was surprising...” commented one of the youngsters. “I wonder what that means?”

“Kill before being killed, isn’t it?” answered his friend.