#Along with the Sherlock Holmes part
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sesamestreep · 1 day ago
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finished reading “the adventure of Charles Augustus Milverton” today and I love these two guys who are not horny about crime or each other at all…
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“we’d both make such good criminals, Watson!” Okay, kiss about it then!!
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Watson is never beating the adrenaline junkie allegations at this rate, or any of those other allegations either quite frankly…
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littleoceanbabe · 2 years ago
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oh i just KNOW sherlock somehow, somewhere found a captain’s hat before he got on that boat. i know it in my heart.
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unnonexistence · 4 months ago
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oh my god i should reread one of the bailey school kids books. it would be so funny
#i used to love them but then at some point around 3rd grade i reached a critical mass of Bailey School Kids Books Read#and realized that the kids were never EVER going to figure out conclusively whether one of the Suspicious Adults was actually a cryptid#and i was SO ANGRY. the BETRAYAL!!!!#like. ok. i lean perhaps unfairly towards disliking ambiguous endings#HOWEVER. this was not that. this was little 8-year-old me realizing they'd been stringing me along for like 15 books#these narratives DO NOT FOLLOW THROUGH on their CORE PROMISE. like if you look at the blurbs:#''Could this man really be Santa Claus? The Bailey School Kids are going to find out!''#NO THEY'RE FUCKING NOT!!! THEY NEVER FIND OUT!!!! NEVER EVER EVER#(ok i don't know this for a fact. i didn't read all of them. but i would be shocked if i was wrong here)#i went from ''i love this book series!'' to loathing basically overnight#really funny in hindsight ghsdlkgmsdlmk. baby bookworm moments#AUTHOR YOU MADE ME A PROMISE!!! IT WAS BUILT IN TO THE NARRATIVE#BUT YOU HAD TO END EVERY BOOK LIKE ''guess we'll never know! *wink*'' INSTEAD OF FOLLOWING THROUGH#YOU BUILT YOUR SERIES ON A FOUNDATION OF LIES AND DISAPPOINTMENT#they didn't have to is the thing!!!!#like. okay i get why they couldnt have a ''this teacher is a werewolf!'' reveal. it would make it difficult to continue the series#but they could have the kids find out he ISNT a werewolf!!! i would have been on board with that. it's like scooby doo!#scooby doo still works after a million episodes even though you know it's going to be some jerk in a costume every time#side note i think scooby doo on zombie island should never have happened. it goes against the premise of scooby doo#side side note i also usually dislike when people mix sherlock holmes with ''oooh it was ACTUALLY A GHOST'' type stuff#they're trying to spice it up but they're misunderstanding the appeal of the thing#there are ways to add supernatural elements well though. angel of the crows does it#the hellhounds and werewolves and everything werent a problem because they followed rules and weren't like. a shock#that part of it was very well-done. i really liked the setting. on the other hand some books try to do a thing like#''sherlock holmes finds out he DOESNT actually understand the world!! and the supernatural is REAL'' booooring i am BORED this is DULL#side side side note i hate jack the ripper stories. whys everyone who does sherlock holmes want to do a jack the ripper case#wow you've put the most famous late victorian detective and the most famous late victorian serial killer together. so original#at least have the decency to change the name or something. come on#personal#bookposting
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the-casbah-way · 1 year ago
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do you realise how painful it was for me, basil rathbone sherlock holmes enjoyer number one, when bbc sherlock, the worst adaptation of sherlock holmes that has literally ever existed, was somehow able to garner a massive fanbase and be treated like a masterpiece for the best part of ten years. do you see how this show fucking butchered every character including holmes himself, how it completely misunderstood the entire crux of what made the original stories and characters so groundbreaking and compelling. do you realise how utterly appalling the writing is. do you realise it might as well be its own separate entity rather than a sherlock holmes adaptation because that's how unrecognisable it is when compared with the original source material. you want a good sherlock holmes adaptation? watch this one
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contact-guy · 2 months ago
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A Case of Identity - part 2
Part 1 here!
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direct eye contact
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“’Pon my word, Watson, you are coming along wonderfully. You have really done very well indeed. It is true that you have missed everything of importance, but you have hit upon the method, and you have a quick eye for colour."
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hate this guy
In Which Mr. Sherlock Holmes is Fully Aware of the Narrative Parallels:
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In the original story, Holmes doesn't tell Mary Sutherland that her stepfather tried to catfish her, remarking:
“If I tell her she will not believe me. You may remember the old Persian saying, ‘There is danger for him who taketh the tiger cub, and danger also for whoso snatches a delusion from a woman.’
At this point in my Holmes's arc, I think he has learned the lesson from Irene Norton, Mrs Hudson, and Mary Morstan, not to disrespect women *quite* that much. But he's still gonna let Watson 'snatch the delusion'.
The next story will be the absolute banger The Red-Headed League!
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moroniccats · 4 months ago
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God he’s so clingy and bratty
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Sherlock, babykins, don't be so jealous of John's patients. He loves you more than them, don't worry. 🩷🩷🩷
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hippiegoth97 · 8 months ago
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Random Spencer Reid Thought #2
A/N: Fucking FINALLY got something written for once. Enjoy some crumbs, lovely readers <3
Content Warning 18+ Only, Minors DNI: swearing, smut, virgin!Spencer Reid, fem!reader, no use of Y/N, fingering, groping, unprotected sex, loss of virginity, dirty talk, rough sex, fluff
Some tags: @rafeyscurtainbangs @loserboysandlithium @hotwritergf @bloodibambiidoll
"Are you sure you're ready for this, Spence?" You ask Reid as you're straddling his thighs, the two of you naked in his bed as you have been so many times before. Although, it's different this time, because he's just asked you to take his virginity from him.
"Yes. I'm ready." He replies softly, sitting up against the headboard, his hands resting at your waist. He's brought you here on many occasions, though up until recently the most you'd do is make out until your lips were sore.
He'd met you at a book shop a few months ago, reaching for the same first edition of some dusty old classic. Sherlock Holmes, maybe, or perhaps even Moby Dick. He doesn't quite remember (and his unmatched memory captures everything), as he was far too focused on the gorgeous, soft hand that brushed against his own in grabbing for the book. A shared laugh soon followed, light and airy, like it was the easiest thing in the world. Your beauty enraptured him instantly, and he nearly tripped over himself to give you his number and await your call to plan a date of some sort. It was so unlike him to do so, it made him seriously question his sanity for an hour or two. But after a conversation with you that lasted hours into the night when he returned home that evening, he was pleased to find he'd made a very wise decision.
Fast forward to the last month or so, and things have rapidly progressed from hand-holding and passionate kisses to touching various naked areas with your hands and mouths. You've been patient, guiding Spencer along each stepping stone towards intercourse, encouraging him, exploring him in every way imaginable. Despite your insistence (and multiple comments he receives from certain coworkers of his), he's never exactly found himself to be attractive. Not really.
He's spent most of his life a full step ahead of everyone else in terms of education and career, leaving him considerably younger than most of his peers. That fact alone has made it rather difficult to experience a lot of 'firsts' in regards to intimacy. He's been kissed before you came along, maybe even felt up a little bit, but nothing beyond that. In all honesty, a part of him is glad to have been spared the awkward adolescent groping and vulgar attempts at playing grown-up, because now he's been able to share all of these amatory encounters with you.
"I want this. I want you." Spencer reiterates as you haven't made any next moves yet.
"I want you too, baby. I just have one more question." You say softly, brushing a wispy hair out of his face before cupping his cheek.
"And what's that?" Reid asks, unable to help smiling as you gaze at him adoringly.
"Do you want me to put a condom on you, or are you okay without one?" You ask, the words sounding a bit more clinical than you'd like. But it's a fair question.
"I-I dunno. Should I?" His brow furrows, unsure how to go about this. He's aware you're on the pill, though that statistically isn't 100% effective. And he may be a virgin, but he's aware of the mess sex can make, and it might spare a bit of cleanup afterwards. He's getting stuck on it now, pondering inside his head as you play with the foil wrapper between your fingers.
You giggle at his momentary trance, shaking your head. "It's only if you want to, Spence. It's not exactly a life-altering decision."
"That's not true. You could still end up pregnant." Spencer retorts, about to rattle off statistics at you about just how many children were born to parents who assumed oral contraceptives were enough. You put a finger over his mouth to stop him, and he sighs when he realizes how intense he's getting about this. He gently moves your hand away, speaking again. "I'm sorry, I'm being silly."
"No, you're not. It's sweet that you're so concerned." You reassure him, giving him a soft kiss. He hums into you, allowing your tongue to slip into his mouth for a moment. You pull away shortly after, taking his breath with you. With your lips still brushing against his, you meet his dizzied gaze. "I only ask, because I want your first time to be extra special. And it'll feel so much better if you fuck me without a condom on." You say seductively, making his pupils dilate with lust.
"Actually, studies show that there's little to no difference in sensat-" Reid's gargantuan mind starts up again, leaving you no choice but to cut him off by taking his cock in your grasp. "-fuck." He mutters, losing his train of thought entirely, his eyes flicking down to look at the scene between his legs. His stiff, ample length throbs in your hand, pearly beads of precum dripping down the side as you lazily stroke him.
"Baby, look at me..." You purr, drawing his gaze to you. "I'm gonna ask you again. All I need is a 'yes; or 'no', okay?" You wait for him to give an understanding nod. He does, as well as letting out one of the filthiest little moans you've ever heard. "Do you want to wear a condom?" You ask, letting his dick fall from your hand for a moment. He whines at the loss, the sound sending a flare of arousal between your legs.
"No. I want to feel you. All of you. Please." Spencer begs, and you could just about melt at the pitchy whimper in his voice. You've noticed he grows rather needy in bed, and it doesn't take much to rile him up. The way he takes everything you give him like a precious gift is so goddamn intoxicating.
"So do I, Spence." You say with a smile, one he mirrors. "Is this position okay? We can do it any way you want."
"This is fine, makes me feel close to you." Reid says sweetly, squeezing your hips a little.
"You wanna warm me up a little bit first?" You ask, longing to feel his touch.
"Of course." He nods, leaning in to press his lips to yours. Spencer always starts with a kiss, no matter what it is you end up doing. It's really romantic, and makes your knees weak every time. You let him lead, allowing his tongue to dominate yours in a fervent dance. His hand leaves your waist, trailing along your supple skin, leaving goosebumps in his wake. His long fingers brush past your inner thighs, reaching their intended destination without him having to look. He rubs slow circles on your clit, making you moan against his mouth. It doesn't take long for him to venture further, slipping two fingers inside your drenched cunt.
"Fuck, Spence." You moan aloud, the way his fingertips can reach your g-spot so quickly and easily takes you by surprise every time. You grab hold of his cock again, mainly holding it to keep him ready. Although, the sounds you're making and how wet you are seem to be doing that job just fine. The air of the room heats up, growing thinner as the seconds pass. Unabashed moans escape the two of you as you work each other up, building towards the one thing you've both desired for so long. "I'm ready when you are." You say breathlessly, eager to finally feel Spencer inside of you.
"O-Okay." He stutters, nodding his head enthusiastically. He pulls his fingers out of your cunt, bringing them to his lips. He sucks them clean, moaning at the taste of you. "Mm."
"Dirty boy." You tease, making a deep blush bloom wildly across his cheeks. You start to stroke him again, very slowly. You get up on your knees to position yourself over him.
He watches your every move, unable to say a word. It's finally happening. He's going to have sex. With you. Reid feels like a silly teenager with all these thoughts running through his head, but they all fall away the second you bring the tip of his cock to glide through your folds. You share a moan at the sensation, gazing at one another with parted mouths. Hearts pounding in anticipation, breath stolen from your lungs, arousal leaking from you both and mixing together in the indescribable friction. Spencer could cum just like this if he isn't careful.
"Ready?" You ask one final time, just to be absolutely sure that he wants this.
"Yes." Reid nods, trying to keep himself from squirming. You feel so good, and he's not even inside you yet. He's certain he won't last long, but you've already told him a hundred times that it won't be a problem.
You don't waste anymore time, holding his cock at your entrance and gradually sinking down onto him. "Fuck, Spence. You're so big." You moan as he splits you open. He's a bit larger than you've had before, and it's been quite some time since you've done this, so every inch is deliciously stuffing you full.
Reid, on the other hand, has gone completely mute. His mind has stopped working, and all he can do is grip onto your hips with all the strength he has without hurting you. You're absolute heaven inside, if he believed in such a thing. So hot, and slick, and snug, squeezing around his dick perfectly. He finally understands what all the fuss is about. He could just about cry from happiness in this moment. Once you're fully seated on him, your walls constrict out of reflex, which appears to get Spencer's sex-addled brain working again. "Oh, my...fuck- I, um, wow..." He babbles, unsure what to do with himself. His hands fidget at your sides aimlessly, and his expression twists and bends in all manner of ways as he attempts to get a grip on one singular thought.
"Shh, look at me, Spencer." You coo to him, leading his chin with your finger. He meets your eyes, though his own desperately want to roll back into his fucking skull. "That's it, baby. Just breathe, alright? Nice and slow, 'kay?" You guide him through the initial shock, nodding together slowly as he takes deep breaths. "There you go. I'm gonna start moving now, okay? Don't worry if you cum early, and just tell me if you need me to stop." You say softly, keeping things light and low-pressure. The last thing you need is him worrying about his performance.
"Okay." He breathes, chest shuddering as you start to ride him. You lift yourself up, almost letting him fall out altogether, and come back down at the same pace. You do this a few more times, gradually picking up a bit of speed.
"That feel good, baby?" You ask him, rolling your hips as you set a steady rhythm.
"Yeah, so fucking good." Spencer huffs, feeling close already. But he puts that out of his mind, focusing instead on enjoying this with you. "Do you feel good?" He asks, needing more than your vulgar moans as confirmation.
"So good, Spence. You fill me up so well, I'm so fucking wet for you." You admit these lewd thoughts to him, no stranger to being vocal during intimacy with him. Reid enjoys it immensely, adding words to the actions just makes everything astoundingly better. "Tell me how it feels to fuck me, Spencer." You say through a moan, riding him a little bit faster now.
Spencer groans at your increased speed, doing his best to hold back his orgasm. "I-It's exactly what I'd always hoped it would be." He starts. "I can hardly find the words to describe how much I'm enjoying this right now. You've blown my mind to pieces with this perfect fucking pussy." His grip on your waist grows rougher, taking you by surprise. He's following his instincts, leading you with his hands as you bounce on his cock. His assistance punctuates every landing you make, your noises growing louder as pleasure builds inside you. "I can feel you making a mess all over me, fucking soaked." He says, marveling at the drenched patch on his crotch. Your arousal glistens in the light as it's caught on his coarse hair and pale skin. "It drives me crazy to know you're loving this just as much as I am."
"I am, baby. You're so deep, hitting all the right places inside me." You say, speeding up a bit more. Spencer's hands migrate to your ass, squeezing your flesh roughly as he continues to keep up with you. You're surprised he's lasted this long, oddly proud of him for doing so.
"Fuck, you're incredible." Spencer groans, getting dangerously close to the edge again. He'd tell you to slow down, but everything feels too good to stop. Instead, he tries to drag you down with him, starting with diving face first into your tits. His mouth nips and sucks at your flesh wildly, struggling to land where he wants with your ceaseless bouncing. The noises he makes are borderline animalistic, groaning and grunting against your chest.
"Jesus, Spence!" You can't help letting out a breathless laugh at his urgency, picking up on the fact that his end is closer than your own. "You wanna try to help me out?" You offer, eager to feel him take some of the control. He doesn't say anything, just nods and makes an unintelligible sound at you. He thrusts his hips up, following what his primal urges are telling him to do. It appears to be working, given the shocked gasp that leaves your lungs at his effort. He keeps doing it, his mind turning to mush more and more as he fucks into your cunt to meet you halfway. "Oh my god! Yeah, keep doing that." You pant the words out, clinging to him by the shoulders.
Reid grins against your flesh, still biting and suckling while he pounds into you over and over. He's doing it, he's really doing it. He's keeping control of himself, he's going to make it. "Feel so fuckin' good, gonna make you cum, gonna make you scream, I promise...promise, promise..." Spencer murmurs to you, vowing to not give up, even though his balls are screaming for release right now. He has to get you there, if it's the last thing he'll ever do. "Such a perfect pussy, so good for me, so, so wet, fuck-" He groans when your walls constrict around him a bit, almost making him blow his load entirely.
"Don't stop, baby, you can do it, fuck me, make me cum, please, Spence..." You plead as your orgasm builds near the point of toppling over. His filthy mouth and feral actions have set you on fire from the inside out. You knew sleeping with Spencer would be special, and intense. But this is an entirely new level. His craving of you has blocked out all else, leaving him only with the mission to chase release. His, and your own.
"Oh, god, lay down, lay down, I'm gonna cum, gonna cum..." Spencer babbles, attempting to push you over onto your back. You follow his lead, his cock still sheathed inside you as you let him lead you where he wants. As soon as your body hits the mattress, he proceeds to ram himself into you as hard and as fast as he can.
"Fuck! Spencer!" You cry out as he hits an entirely new angle inside you, your ass resting over his knees as he thrusts forward. His hands grip your hips so hard, sure to leave dark bruises once he's through with you.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, gonna fill you up, gonna cum deep inside this pussy..." Reid grunts, sweat slicking him down, stomach clenching as he's about lose it.
"Keep going, baby. Don't stop, I'm almost there. Cum for me." You whine as his cock slams into you again and again.
"Fuck!" He nearly shouts when he finally feels it, his balls tightening, bliss washing over him, his hips stuttering as he fills you with thick ropes of white.
All you can do is bear witness as Spencer cums, harder than he ever has in his life. His brows knit together, mouth falling open as he moans so fucking loud. He keeps slamming his cock into you, hoping to pull you down alongside him. Feeling his load spill inside of you, as well as his desperate thrusts sends you tumbling over the edge. "Oh, god! Spencer!" You cry as your orgasm rips through you mercilessly. Your pussy clenches down on Reid's spent length, making him gasp as he keeps thrusting to get you off. You thighs shake violently, stars blurring your vision, hands clawing at the sheets beneath you. It's the most beautiful thing Spencer has ever seen.
You both slowly come down from your high, soaked in sweat and totally spent. Spencer carefully pulls out of you, though you still wince a little. "You okay?" He asks, noting your discomfort.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a bit worn out." You laugh lightly, crawling over to the right end of the bed to lie down. Spencer joins you, pulling the covers over you both and taking you into his arms.
"Sorry about that, I don't know what came over me." He says, a little embarrassed for losing control the way he did.
"It's okay, baby. More than okay, actually." You reassure him once again, stroking his damp face with your thumb. "I'm surprised you had it in you." You chuckle, and he does, too.
"So am I. I guess you...bring it out in me." He explains, and you nod in understanding.
"And I take that as a compliment." You say with a sleepy smile. "Did you have enjoy yourself?" You ask.
"Very much. Even more than I thought I would." Spencer says earnestly, making your heart skip a beat.
"Me too, Spence. And I'm so happy you chose me to enjoy this with." You reply, leaning in to give him a tender kiss. This night has been the best one of your lives (so far), and you look forward to sharing many more moments just like this one in the future. Together.
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obligateweirdo · 6 months ago
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I think we’re nearing the end of a Golden Era. After the finale of Good Omens is released, we’re going to be on a different footing. It will wrapped, it will be complete. We will have a whole story.
Thus far we’ve been able to hope, fear, speculate and dream—those opportunities will change dramatically after the finale is released.
I’m feeling all kinds of ways about that—it’s been a heck of a ride. “Roller coaster” doesn’t do it justice. Despite the cracks and schisms that have appeared, the fandom remains a fairly friendly and wholesome place. I’m not a huge capital-F Fan; I’m not always obsessed with a story or a show (though I’m usually obsessed with something, be it crochet or raku). I’m not generally up on production schedules and don’t usually read about actors.
However, I’ve been in a few fandoms over the centuries, and I’ve seen them get much more toxic than this one is even now. I’m so grateful. Y’all are a fabulous crowd of angels and demons.
My deal is that I was pretty sure I was going to be disappointed with S3 from the beginning. The characters took root in my mind and, well, they’re mine now, the same way they’re yours, and, little by little, my head-canons have become real to me. This is normal for me—I figured I’d have to watch the whole thing a few times and see if my internal convictions would conform to whatever solution was offered to me. I don’t think I’ve ever gone from this point of the evolution of a story to the end without disappointment. That part hasn’t changed.
Because characters like Aziraphale and Crowley turn real, rather like the Velveteen Rabbit. They enter the company of mythological beings, along with King Arthur and Sherlock Holmes and Finn McCool, and there they will stay, an amalgam of thousands upon thousands of images of them in thousands upon thousands of minds. I love this for them.
But the finale will bring a sea-change, and we’ll be in a new era where all that goes forward is the mythology—and that will be a new jumping-off-point, but also the last foreseeable jumping off point we will have as a group. (A group of the thousands of us.)
I just want to say that I’m very glad to have been here in the Bentley for the ride through hellfire and tartan hills, and I’ll be here for at least a while longer, enjoying the view of the new countryside.
Heigh-ho, said Anthony Crowley.
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enterthetadpole · 2 months ago
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Enterthetadpole's "Long Awaited" Solo Completed Sherlock BBC Fandom Stories List
Hi everyone!
Now that I am really trying to put focused effort on completing my WIPs, I have decided it may be helpful to create a list of my (for now) finished solo and collaboration stories in the Sherlock fandom. There will be links below, along with a little blurb about the story, and as an extra bit of fun, I will also add some trivia/BTS about the story itself.
As far as the collabs, they will go in a separate post because my collab partners deserve their own posts for me to gush on and on about.
But first, here are the stories that I have battled alone with the help of many cheerleaders.
Ok then, let's go!
Completed Solo Stories
Far Away From Casual
Summary:
One-night stands aren't something that John does anymore. He's too old and Afghanistan took more out of him than he thought was possible. Unfortunately, a night of laughs and lots of drinks changes things.
Words: 19,828 Chapters: 18/18
Johnlock AU Different meeting. Light and comical with a fairly emotionally mature Sherlock, a "still figuring himself out" John, and Harry, Mike and Mycroft in the mix.
Fun Facts/BTS: I spent the better part of a year and a half just trying to get an idea of what this story was going to be about. It was a Fandom Trumps Hate auction story, and I struggled hard as to a plot to go with. Then finally it came to me one day. The visual was of Sherlock Holmes, asleep in bed , naked with a bruise in the shape of a hand on his ass. I laughed, couldn't get the image out of my mind, and a fic was born!
Just Before Christmas
Words: 1,014 Chapters: 1/1
Summary:
John left the clinic after a long Christmas Eve shift to come back to a dark and empty flat.
Small little ficlet about the warmth that comes from caring about the people you are with, and how a little tree can make a big difference. John and Sherlock are friends only, with maybe a little bit of wondering under the surface.
Fun Facts/BTS: This story came after a long bit of writer's block that was helped along by me reading the stories of Berty and listening to @podfixx. The inspiration for the tree came from my own little store bought tree gotten that same year. The book cover for this ficlet also is a photo of that same tree.
Through the Silence
Words: 11,547 Chapters: 12/12
Summary:
John watched the best man he ever knew fall from the rooftop of St. Bart's but refused to give up hope that somehow Sherlock may still be alive. If he was, John would find him. No matter what or who stood in his way.
Fairly heavy angst. John Watson in pain and self-destructive. Multiple POV shifts for the first half of the story. Post Reichenbach.
Fun Facts/BTS: This story was a very difficult one for me to write, not because of the subject matter itself, but because of the mood I would need to be in/get into to keep the overall flow of the story intact. The story is one of my first real attempts at more descriptive and poetic prose. Also, perhaps it isn't noticed, but the POV changes to only John's POV after a very specific realization occurs.
The Sh- Word
Words: 1,971 Chapters:1/1
Summary:
What happens when Sherlock accidentally has both a tranquilizer dart and a John Watson in the same flat? Chaos, and perhaps something more.
Pure crack fic. Out of his depth Sherlock and Understandably Oblivious John.
Fun Facts/BTS: This is technically part of a two-part prompt connected to @elldotsee. I actually used my spouse as a "test body" for this story. My spouse is a wonderful person who knows the insane writer they married.
The Theoretical Argument of Cats and Cake
Words: 575 Chapters: 1/1
Summary:
Cats, cakes, John's exasperation and Sherlock deducing everything. In no particular order.
Small ficlet about John and Sherlock being essentially John and Sherlock. Also featuring Molly's cats.
Fun Facts/BTS: This ficlet was completed at my first @221bcon, and I share Molly's love of cats as a fellow cat mom myself. Have a problem with it? Fight me.
Detachable
Words: 2,563 Chapters: 1/1
Summary:
John has only been dating Sherlock for three weeks. He doesn't deserve this type of humiliation, and yet here we are. Poor John...
More pure crack. Sherlock being peak Sherlock. John being baffled, embarrassed, but still in it for the long haul.
Fun Facts/BTS: The other ficlet that was directly connected to @elldotsee. There is a podfic that goes with this story that I adore so much. This is also one of the fic pieces I direct readers to who are interested in my stories, but unsure of what to read first. This story is my writing style in a small, digestible package. I suggest not swimming for at least three hours after consumption.
The Christmas Notes
Words: 2,821 Chapters: 25/25
Summary:
Sherlock writes notes to John. John tries not to strangle Sherlock. Insanity ensues.
Grumpy Sherlock. Patient John. Feelings realized through passive-aggressive notes.
Fun Facts/BTS: This was a series of writing prompts by Kat for the Xmas 2020 Collection. It was fun having to think of a different letter idea for every day in December up to Christmas. Would do it again. 10/10 no notes.
A Spark of Clarity in a Very Specific Moment in Time
Words: 927 Chapters: 1/1
Summary:
John is a very observant man. When one lives with Sherlock Holmes, one has to be...
Another crack ficlet, starring Sherlock's slumbering nudity and John's internal screaming. I regret nothing.
Fun Facts/BTS: This story came to life because of a photo of Benedict as Sherlock sleeping on the BBC Sherlock famous sofa. Sherlock being starkers was added by me. You're welcome.
Dissecting The Universe
Words: 37,163 Chapters: 29/29
Summary:
Series Four of Sherlock and so much pain has left what Benedict and Martin had in nothing but ruins. However, perhaps things can change if a series of events occur to make everything good, bad and unspoken float back up to the surface.
A real person fanfic that I still placed in the BBC Sherlock section because it is Freebatch (Benedict Cumberbatch/Martin Freeman) but it is centered around the Sherlock series. Lots of inside jokes and behind the scenes plot points.
Fun Facts/BTS: It was a lot of fun switching between character perspectives in this story, and how Ben and Martin may have dealt with the fandom and fallout. I understand that RPF isn't for everyone, but I did try to make this story as respectful as possible, and none of Ben or Martin's children ever directly appear in the story.
However Improbable
Words: 15,748 Chapters: 15/15
Summary:
Dr. John Watson had been through many things in his life, but can anyone truly prepare for meeting the world's only consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes?
This is a different first meeting AU. John is freshly out as Bisexual, and Sherlock is very direct about his feelings. Also Harry has both an attitude and a cat.
Fun Facts/BTS: Harry's cat Ginger ended up becoming a real-life cat for me. We adopted an orange cat about two years after this story began, who ended up being named Ginger before we changed her name to Mousaka. However, unlike the Ginger in the story, Saka is a lot less grumpy but just as feral.
Thank you for taking the time to read my fandom stories. I appreciate all, and reblogging is always such a help. Please let me know if you want to be tagged or not be tagged!
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angryducktimemachine · 11 months ago
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I really like that Watson snaps at Stamford (and then immediately feels bad about it), I think it's nicely showing the "my nerves are shot to pieces" aspect.
Boss makes a dollar I make a dime that's why I listen to Sherlock Holmes on company time
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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year ago
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Unraveled 1
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No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: A curious man wanders into your dress shop with a lot of questions.
Characters: Sherlock Holmes (Cavill)
Note: I hope you all enjoy this random idea.
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.
I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖
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One hand guides the fabric as the other turns the wheel. Your work is slow but steady, every stitch perfect, every seam precise. Your fare may be modest and your product simple, but its quality cannot be contested. Your labour as yourself is honest and plain.
The noise of the machine is your only company. The one-room shop nestled behind the butcher’s rarely sees a customer through its door. Instead, the orders are sent from the factories, returned with the printed adverts you disperse outside their doors. The writs are sent along with an envelope of pence and shilling and you complete each with equal diligence before sending them back bundled in paper and twine.
The operation isn’t especially fruitful but the profit is enough to subsist. Enough to guarantee your independence; a small apartment just above and a pot of stew to last you through each week. This humble existence is preferable to any marriage you’ve witnessed. 
The letters from your sisters reaffirm your spinster’s fate. You’d rather a hand wheel and a needle than a brood and broken back. A husband seems to provide several jobs at once, you’ll happily settle for one.
As your hands work from memory and your head wanders from tedium, the bell above the door gives a single sharp toll. You ease the wheel to a halt and leave the seam unfinished. You peer up above the black iron machine, reminding yourself to fix your hunch as a client enters. You can’t but wonder if he may have come to the wrong shop.
By his attire, he is a class above the factory women who require gray skirts and simple stays. His waistcoat is embroidered and his jacket is pressed and clean. He is tall, locks part tidily so his curls lay gracefully. His face is fresh-shaven, square jaw with a cleft, and shoulders broad and strong. He does not share the same sinewy gauntness as the labourers with the coal-dusted noses.
He carries a fine leather bag. Another clue to his status. His shoes, another. Polished and without creases.
You stand to greet him, “good afternoon, sir. Might I help you with something?”
His answer is not prompt. He takes in the finished dresses hung by the east wall and turns to examine the rolls of wool and cotton. At last, he returns his attention to you.
“Afternoon,” his deep timbre fills the small space, “you are the dressmaker.”
It isn’t a question, but you answer, “I am.”
He narrows his eyes as he approaches your desk, the sole fixture in the space. From without, the shop is just as bare. The blackened windows offer not insight into the business, its only suggestion the sign hung above the door, though the paint requires a fresh coat.
“And the shop owner?”
“That is me as well, sir,” you assert. The presumption is not uncommon.
“Ah,” he accepts your explanation without comment, “so, you will have sewn this.”
He puts his bag on the desk, nearly knocking your shears from the corner. You try not to flinch as they teeter near the edge and he pulls open the top of the leather bag. He pulls out a swath of grey. You recognise it and he rolls the cuff to show your initials sewn within.
“Sir,” you say precariously, “is there some issue with it? Is it your wife’s dress?”
“Wife? No, no,” he dismisses, feeling the fabric between his fingers, “rather I am in search of the dress’s owner. The initial must belong to them, yes? So you would have a name for the buyer.”
“Mm, no, those are mine,” you point at the letters, “as it is my handiwork.”
“That makes sense,” he frowns in disappointment. “So you wouldn’t know who would wear it?”
You rub your chapped lips together. You find your tongue sliding over them often when you work, turning them raw with the habit. The man’s lips are rosy and smooth, as well-kempt as the rest of him. He is no factory worker’s husband.
“I might… would you take it out?” You ask.
He obliges as you pluck up the metal cylinder from your desk and unfurl the tape measure from within. He shakes out the dress, holding it by the shoulders to reveal salt stains along the skirts and unleashing a dingy smell in the shop. You wiggle your nose at the stench but worse roils in from the butcher’s on hot days.
You take the measure of the sleeves and the waist, then to the hem. You scribble the numbers on a scrap and take that to compare with your ledger. The measurements are in now way defining but might narrow it down. He keeps the dress aloft and you return to him to check the thread along the seams. A few months ago, you changed the thickness as the factory workers complained of splits under the arms.
“Hm, it is a recent purchase,” you assure him and return to the ledge. 
He lowers the dress and approaches. You snap the book closed and turn your face up to consider him once more, “why do you need to know, if it is not your wife?”
“You are very discerning,” he remarks as he folds the dress and drapes it over his bag, “I’m certain then you can surmise the woman who wore this dress did not meet a kind fate.” He tugs up the hem and shows a tear trimmed in scarlet, the colour not obvious from a distance. “Holmes, Sherlock Holmes. I’m a detective and I’m trying to identify a poor woman found not far from here. I believe it is in your own interest that I discover her assailant.”
“I cannot say for certain which she is,” you turn over the scrap and re-open the ledger. You write down three names which match the measurements and hold the paper out to him. He takes it, his thick fingertips brushing yours. “Those are the ones which align with the dress.”
“Mm,” he hums as he tucks the paper into his chest pocket, “and your name? I couldn’t make it out on the sign.”
You recite your name flatly, “it isn’t on the sign.”
“It requires new paint,” he admonishes, “I could hardly find you.”
“I am aware,” you reply. “Thank you for noting.”
He’s quiet, “being a detective, however, I did indeed put together the clues.”
Is he making a joke? You cannot tell. He folds up the dress completely and puts it back in the leather bag. The smell persists.
“What are you prices?” He asks abruptly.
“Sir, I sew dresses for factory women, sometimes a few communion pieces, but I’m afraid I don’t do much suit work.”
“My sister requires a dress,” he sniffs, “as simple as it is, I can see your work is fine.”
“I have only wools and cottons,” you counter.
“Do you always turn away business?” He challenges.
“I wasn’t, sir, I’m only clarifying what I currently do. My prices are set for those fabrics,” you explain.
“I will pay for the muslin and velvet,” he waves his hand staunchly, “you will be paid for your labour. Can you sew with more than wool and cotton?”
“I can, sir, but you could find a ready-made dress in a market boutique if the dress is required promptly.”
“I can afford the time and coin,” he insists. “You are not a talented advertiser, are you?”
You’re taken aback by his bluntness. Often, his ilk have that demeanour. It’s why you’d rather the factory workers and the fish sellers’ wives.
“I suppose not,” you agree, “I would need measurements before I begin. You may send the numbers along with the fabric, then. And I would require a style. Perhaps your sister is a purveyor of fashion magazines?”
“I will send a messenger,” he shrugs. “Thank you for your time. I shan't get in your way any longer.”
“Good day, sir.”
“Good day to you,” he takes the bag from your desk and the shears fall to the floor with a clatter.
You skirt around to grab them as he bends and swipes them up first. You recoil as he closes the blades with a snap. He examines them before placing them back on the desk.
“Apologies,” he says, “and miss,” he looks at you, “take to heart what I’ve told you today. Keep away from the allies and perhaps you may consider locking your door.”
“Thank you, sir, your concern is appreciated.”
“Rather you might just keep those close, eh,” he points to the shears and his cheek dimples.
Again, you can’t be certain of his humour. You keep a placid expression, neither smiling nor scowling. He clears his throat and runs his hand down his jacket, gripping the lapel.
“Very well then, I’ll be off.”
He turns on his heel and marches to the door. You stay by the desk as the bell rings with his departure. Once the door closes, you cross the shop. You turn the lock into place, his foreboding lingering with the stale scent of dirty water.
🪡
Despite the unusual visit, your days roll on like a hand on a clock. The thought of the woman’s tragic fate looms like a shadow but fades. You have too much stitching to do to fret over that man and his ominous words. You assume his interest in your work thereafter was wholly feigned as he does not return.
That day, you pass off six parcels to Eustace, the driver who takes them down to the stacks to hand off to the floor bosses who will parse them out to the women they’ve been cut for. You pay him his toll before he climbs back into the seat of his cart, his horse kicking impatiently.
“Excuse me, sir,” another driver clops up along the other side of the street, a narrow squeeze between the slanting buildings. “I’m in search of a dressmaker. I believe the store is tucked behind the butcher’s and…” the man’s voice drifts off as his eyes flit to the meat sellers marquee.
“Right here, good sir,” Eustace responds, “wouldn’t ya know, she’s right here.”
You lift your chin to see past the cart and spy the driver. He removes his cap as his gaze meets yours. Eustache dips his chin as he adjusts his own hat and snaps his old mare into a canter. As you're left alone with the carriage driver, a vehicle rather lofty for a block like this, you fold your hands behind you.
“Sir, you hardly look in need of a work woman’s dress,” you say.
“Miss,” he ties the reins off and jumps down from his seat, “I am sent for you, not a dress.”
“For me?” You echo.
“Mr. Holmes has sent,” he crosses the muck and nearly slips. “He said he made an appointment for a seamstress.”
“An appointment? I wasn’t informed of the time,” you rebuff. “I’ve a shop to run, orders paid for. I can’t simply leave.”
“Ah, yes, Mr. Holmes made mention of a fee,” the man feels around his striped coat, “he said a deposit would be needed.”
He takes out a brown envelope and hands it over. You take it, a small weight within. You look at the driver before you pull back the flap and peek inside. A large gold sovereign sits in the corner of the paper; a whole pound. That’s at least three days work.
You hold your breath, trying to maintain some composure. If that’s the deposit, what is he offering for the rest? You slip out the folded paper within, a page torn from a fashion journal. The dress is elegant if not extravagant. You don’t often do off-the-shoulder or ruffles like that but it isn’t beyond your skill.
You fold the flap closed again and lift your chin to face the driver, “I must lock up, you see?”
“Take your time, miss,” he says kindly. “Mr. Holmes isn’t expecting you to hurry.”
“Thank you, sir,” you bow your head and turn away.
You measure your steps along the facade of the butcher’s shop and curl around to the alleyway. You let yourself into your shop and tuck the envelope into your apron pocket. You take your sewing bag from under the desk and shake off the dust. You don’t often have reason to use it.
You open it up and pack away your shears, a measuring tape, pins with a cushion, your notebook, and a few other bits and bobs. Just in case. You grab a role of linen from against the wall. It’s heavy but you can manage.
You take the key from your desk drawer and switch off the overhead light. You lock the door and continue back out to the street. The driver puffs smoke from a pipe as he waits.
“Miss, allow me,” he snuffs out the pipe and puts it in his pocket. He nears and reaches for the roll of linen.
“It’s quite alright, sir,” you say.
“I insist, miss, can’t have a lady doing all that,” he takes it, not forcefully, and you let him.
As he goes to the carriage and opens the door, you give pause. You don’t know if you should be so easily swayed on a gold coin. Mr. Holmes hadn’t been entirely pleasant and you do prefer your simple work. Still, you can hardly turn your nose up at a pound. Not with the summer fizzling to a finale.
You lift your skirts and cross the street to the open carriage, “sir, might I have a name?”
“Gavin,” he answers, “and I have yours. Mr. Holmes made sure of it.”
“Yes, very good,” you say as you approach, another sliver of doubt trickling through. Mr. Holmes claimed to be a detective but is that really the reason he was strolling around with a dead woman’s dress? You gulp and look at Gavin then the carriage, “might I keep the window open?”
“Surely you can,” he agrees amiably. “Mr. Holmes lives quite a ways, shouldn’t mind the air. I’ll be certain to stay away from the stacks.”
“Thank you, sir,” you accept his proffered hand and he helps you up into the carriage. 
You settle on the bench as the door shuts and you open the window from within. You lean back, your hand grasping the top of your bag. You unclasp it as you feel Gavin climb up on the driver’s seat. You dip your hand inside and clutch your long shears.
You don’t forget all of what Mr. Holmes said.
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mercurial-chuckles · 2 months ago
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Waltz Into My Heart
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Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x F!Reader WC: ~350 Warnings: Fluff | Some Bridgerton-inspired themes | Unbeta'd A/N: Dedicated to @thereoncewasagirlnamedjane for all the love she showered on The Curious Affairs of Mr. Holmes. I never really thought I'd write for Sherlock again if not for you, love. So, thank you, my dearest Janie, for all the beautiful love notes and for encouraging me to write for him. ✨ Just a tiny spark of inspiration for now… but who says it won't grow into something more? 🤭🩷 Note: Do not Steal, Copy, or Plagiarize any part of my work! I do not consent to AI scraping my work. Banner and Divider credits to me. Photo credits to Pinterest. Thank you :) Check out my other works: Masterlist
Indulge Away!
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Sherlock despised many things.
Balls. Grand declarations. Crowds. Boastful dumb twats.
Perhaps he was more pliable on matters of friendship, for he wouldn't otherwise subject himself to this madness if not for Watson, who was currently dancing with Lady Mary.
And boy, was Sherlock grateful he'd yielded to his friend's incessant pursuit! From the moment he first glimpsed you in passing, Sherlock had been quite unable to look away, and it wildly bothered him.
You stood at the farthest corner, turned from the room, hiding behind a gigantic vase--concealing yourself mostly from your mother, from what he gathered. He realized you were the Viscount's third daughter based on introductions, and your mother was eager to marry you off along with your sisters. It didn't sit well with Sherlock. He could also tell you hated being there.
Sherlock waited for a long moment, rationalizing himself not to gaze at you which he failed to do so. When he couldn't resist, he walked toward you. He told himself he was merely curious about what you were scribbling in your dance card, and not because he needed to be close to fend off the suitors swarming you.
It was highly improper to approach you without an introduction--but damn propriety.
"Mr. Picklethwaite?" Sherlock read upside-down, placing his palms on the console table and leaning forward.
Startled at the sudden intrusion, you looked up at him, shocked, lips parted. Sherlock knew the moment recognition dawned in your eyes as to who he was. His heart fluttered delightfully.
"I suppose Lord Tiddlewick shall take the next?" Sherlock murmured, stepping beside you, eyes sparkling with amusement. You'd figured he knew what you were doing--filling your dance card with fictitious names.
You let out a nervous chuckle. "I can't take this anymore," you whispered, gently pleading with him to keep your secret.
Goodness, you smelled divine, and it was numbing his senses. You decided to torment him further by biting your lip, waiting anxiously.
He internally groaned.
A suitor approached, and you stood frozen.
"I'm afraid her dance card is full, Lord Mason," Sherlock said, a bit irked as his presence didn't ward off the attention. Lord Mason excused himself.
You turned to him and smiled in relief. Grateful. His heart quickened.
Sherlock chuckled softly, "Would you care to dance with me, my lady?" he asked, his senses completely outwitted by his heart.
You appeared quite taken aback, a flush rising to your cheeks. Then, gathering your composure, you tapped your card with a mischievous smile. "I am told you solve mysteries, Your Grace. I should prefer to remain one."
Sherlock laughed, unfathomably delighted with your answer. As rationally adept as he was, he knew then--he was already tumbling into the abyss of love.
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ultralightpoe · 2 months ago
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Crown And Glory - Eddie Munson
Authors Note: the last part has arrived ladies and gents and nerds all around.
Word Count: 9k+ words
Warnings: Fight scenes, crappy writing
Description: Nancy Drew solves the case
Main Master List - - Stranger Things Master List
Part One: Nancy Drew
Part Two : Cold Cases And So Forth
Part Three: The Hardy Boys
Part Four: Crown And Glory [You Are Here]
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[Thank You For The Gif @shedaresthedevil ]
Enjoy!
The Case Of Blending In….. 
Brenda and Trish were an odd pair to go dress shopping with. Though you’re sure they would both probably say the same about you. 
Brenda was a ‘try everything on’ type of girl, she refused to take a chance that something wouldn’t fit, and she inspected the look with a meticulous glare. If there was the slightest bit of room near the shoulders she’d spot it. If there was too much room near the ankle she'd notice it immediately. Clean colors, she liked pastels. A spotless look is what she aimed for. 
Trish liked…. Bows and frills and color. She wanted to make a statement and rather than trying everything on she would use her hands to measure much to your surprise. 
It had been 3 hours of clashing. 
3. Friggin. Hours. 
You were going to die. 
The bruising on your face was more yellow now, still swollen, but at least the lip healed up a bit. Both girls had made sure to comment on it quite a bit. Trish was outright disgusted and Brenda played worried but she mostly loved the drama of it. 
“Where on earth did you find that girl?” Brenda snaps, leaning against a rack of tops as Trish is on the other side of the store trying on shoe after shoe, leaving a massive mess behind her as she decides which one looks better. The store clerk was sending glares from over the counter, obviously torn between getting involved or minding his own business. 
“She’s friends with the DnD group I think….” You answer, running your fingers over the fabric of a dress near you just as an excuse to look away. “One of the boys likes her-”
“But she likes your man.” Brenda interjects, shaking her head. “I thought they were dating. Which is why you were all mopey and miserable a couple weeks ago.”
“I remember.”
“Are you better now? I mean,” She laughs, pushing hangers around aimlessly. “You climbed out of a window to avoid him.”
“I did.” You had. And then days ago you kissed him, a wonderful wonderful kiss that had left you in an awkward state ever since. Not due to either of you not wanting to talk about it but due to the fact that the two of you had yet to be alone since. Between Wayne hovering because you were hurt and Gareth attached to you like a sidekick obsessed with an adrenaline rush and Jeff trying to play Sherlock Holmes you and Eddie had your hands full. 
But Eddie tried. He worked his ass off in attempts to get you alone. None of it seemed to work though. 
But you would get time to talk about it, you would, you had faith in it. 
Today however you were being dragged along shops two towns over from Hawkins, with two females that clashed like no other. 
“So…. I’m not catching on. She likes your man and yet she’s here?” Brenda questions, tilting her head. “I don’t get it.”
“One of the other guys likes her. And…. well I’m not really worried about her liking Eddie not that he would qualify as my man-”
“You made out. You and Eddie made out.”
“And I’m the teen sleuth?” 
“How was it? Did you love it? You must have loved it.” She gushes, nearly dropping the dress she was lugging around. “I mean he’s a fool but damn that boy looks like he was made for kissing.”
“Who was made for kissing?” Trish asks, appearing out of nowhere with one singular shoe in hand and the rest scattered on the floor behind him. The clerk turning red from the counter, a vein popping in his forehead. “Gareth, right? He’s like always following around you.”
“Those shoes are turquoise.” Brenda notes, tilting her head a bit. 
“Yeah? So?” Trish asks, tilting her head the opposite direction, both of them holding terrifyingly similar smiles that were as fake as they came. 
“You chose a red dress.” Brenda huffs, flipping hair over her shoulder before turning to the mess Trish left behind. “You aren’t going to leave that mess are you?”
“Why wouldn’t I? It’s his job.” 
You needed out of here, immediately. 
“Did you pick a dress?” Trish asks, that head tilt to you. 
“Yes. Yes I did.” A hell of a lot quicker than they had, that’s for sure. “Are we ready to go?”
“I am still deciding on shoes-”
“Go for silver. Now can we please go?” Brenda hisses, walking to the front to check out. You watch her go, the purple dress in her hands clenching from her tight hold, her ringed hands in fists. For as long as you had known Brenda she had always been a bit of a hothead. She argued with just about every female she could and there had been an insane competition between the two of you in the newspaper club. But lately it has been tenfold. 
“Ready to go?” Trish asks, smiling at you. 
“Yes. Yeah.” You nod, pulling the dress you chose a little closer and heading to the front to pay for it. 
Gareth and Eddie are waiting for the car where Brenda drops you both off at the diner, and at the last moment, just before you slip out of the car while Trish yells out a ‘Hey Eddie!’ you turn to Brenda with a smile. A real one. And apart of your anxiety at everything going on lately eases up when she returns it with an actual smile. 
“Thank you for inviting me.” You mumble. “I…. I enjoyed it.”
“No you didn’t.” She laughs.  “But I….. If you admit it to anyone then I will stab you with a butter knife, but I….. You’re a blast, Nancy Drew.”
“I won’t tell a soul.” You smile, stepping out to see Eddie waiting outside the door for you, holding out his hand. You expect him to grab your hand, but instead he grabs the bag and tries to rifle through it. “Hey, paws off!”
“Don’t I get to see? It’s not like it’s a wedding dress?” He scoffs, whining a bit when you snatch the bag back before you turn to try and invite Brenda into the diner to eat with the group just to see that she was already driving away. Eddie has his hands on you, lightly tugging on the earring you were wearing to pull your attention. “You okay?”
“Yes. I’ll be so much better if you don’t eat all my fries.” 
“Now you’re just aiming low.” He whines, wrapping an arm around you to pull you into the diner and out of the heat. Jeff and Gavin are already at the booth, arguing over a DnD booklet as Eddie guides you to sit with them. They had taken to picking the circular booth so that everyone could fit, no more awkward motions to grab a chair or switch seats. 
You slide in, Eddie quick to follow, grabbing the menu to open it between you two as Gareth and Trish stay outside to talk. You should be looking at the menu, should be talking Eddie down from ordering something stupid, and yet you find yourself staring out the window to watch those two talk. Eddie doing the same. 
“Ah, young love.”
“Poor guy. Struggling.” You note. 
“Like a cat hitting a lake.” Eddie laughs before you slap his shoulder a bit. Both of you jump when you turn to see Gareth glaring at you through the window, turning so quickly you bump foreheads together before gluing your eyes to the menu. 
When you hear the diner bell go off you both stay frozen, listening to the sound of his feet on the tile of the floor before seeing the flannel in edges of your vision. 
“They have cheese fries. We can add chili and jalapeno.” Eddie notes, nodding his head. 
“You both are pains in my ass.”
“Chili is going to make you sick.” You respond, playing along. 
“You’re gonna pretend I’m not here? Really? You two are so childish!” 
“I’ll make you a deal here, split a milkshake and I-”
“I was going to split a milkshake no matter what. Chocolate.”
“Peanut butter.” He challenges.
“Lunatic.” You respond as Gareth groans and sits down with a plop, Trish coming to sit by Jeff. “Fries. Chicken sandwich. Chocolate milkshake…. And then I might share what color the dress is.”
“Deal.” Eddie rushes out, closing the menu quickly. 
The Mirror Effect. 
English class had always been Eddie’s favorite, the only class he never really had to worry about trying in since everything came naturally to him. All the others he spent begging you for help but this one? He enjoyed it. 
Mostly because Mrs. Erickson let him sit in the back and read, knowing he’d attempt to pay attention if they were going over something he didn’t know. And today he had taken full advantage of that, slipping into the fantasy world laid out before him so easily that when the school bell went off he had to blink to snap back into reality. 
Not that it was too much of a drag coming back, this world had you in it and there were no sword fights or dragons that could ever compare to the feeling your smile left him with. He was rushing to pack up, hoping he’d get a moment with you in the halls before your newspaper club, when the teacher called him up. 
“I know this is a weird ask.” She begins, reaching behind her to grab a backpack. “But Joseph Storm left this here the other day and he’s been home sick. If you could drop it off as well as this weeks homework that would be terrific.” 
“Can do.” Eddie nods, pulling the bag to his shoulder. 
“And please tell our little sleuth that I hope she’s feeling better. Quite a nasty bruise I saw on her this week.” 
“Yeah…. Will do….” He nods, moving to head towards the door before stopping, turning back. “Joseph Storm? He’s in…. He has you for English?” 
“Yep. All year..” She answers, moving to sort some stuff in her cabinets as Eddie nods slowly and turns to walk out, his head warping into circles. 
He makes it all of 4 steps before stopping short, turning to head to the journalism room where you would be. 
The room goes silent when he waltzes in, everyone stopping what they were doing to stare as you smile a bit awkwardly and stand to meet him at the door, shutting the door behind you so you could be alone in the hallway. 
“What can I do for ya?” You giggle, and something in his chest tightens at the sound, the urge to touch you a bit too much so he reaches up to trace a thumb along your jaw with his fingers on your neck. He never thought he’d get to hear you giggle for him like that, so free and flirty. Or well…. He guessed you always had but he had talked himself out of believing it was true. Never wanting to risk the friendship. 
All it took was him risking the friendship by chasing you away. 
“I just needed to see you.” He blurts, stepping closer. “You promised me could stitch ourselves together, I wanna see what kind of thread you want.” 
“I get a choice. Lucky me.” You smile, leaning into him and he thinks his knees go weak, nearly falling then and there as he leans in to close the space completely. His lips so close to getting where he wants when someone clears his throat to pull attention. “Sorry Mr. Daniels.” 
“Right.” The teacher nods, rolling his eyes before walking past and Eddie watches him go, something weird in his gut before turning to you. 
“That man is gay.” Eddie notes, watching your face punch in confusion before you actually pinch him. 
“Be nice.” You scoff. 
“No! I’m not being mean. I’m stating a fact.” He laughs. “I’m not saying it as a diss. I would never do that.” 
“But the letter…..” you mumble, watching him closely. 
“All I’m saying is he is wearing the most put together outfit I’ve seen, and walks like he’s about to meet Princess Diana.” 
“Those are mean stereotypes.” 
“No those are high compliments. That man was not into Holly.” He explains, huffing a bit before leaning in to give you a chaste kiss. “We really need alone time. But I gotta go.” 
He doesn’t give you anytime to say anything, dashing to catch up to Mr. Daniels. 
“Wait! Gimme a sec!” He heaves, trying to catch his breath as his pace slows when he catches up to the man, who is raising an eyebrow. “Did….. you…. Holyshit….. Holly….” 
“Oh my god Sherlock Holmes. Take a moment to catch your breath.” He groans, already tired of Eddie’s shit. 
“Okay. Okay. I’m fine. Did you know Holly-“ 
“Yes. Are we done here?” His teacher is already turning to leave before Eddie steps in front of him. 
“You were friends right?” 
He hesitates, looking around quickly, noting the cars in the parking lot before nodding. “We were.” 
“And just to be clear, you didn’t write a love letter to her. Asking her to meet you at lovers lane?” Eddie clarifies, smiling a bit when Daniels gives him an incredulous look. 
“God no. She was my best friend. She knew everything about me and I her but I would never- not to say she was nasty but…..” he shrugs, hands gesturing to himself like the answer should me obvious and to Eddie it was. 
“You know anything about the guy she was seeing?” 
“No? Holly wasn’t seeing anyone. Had an on and off thing with the king of the school but they barely talked by prom.” Daniels sighs. “If you’re interested because of the crown donation then I suggest going to the office.” 
“The office is closed. And they had it under anonymous when we went and checked.” 
“I don’t know what to tell you Munson.” Daniels sighs again, rolling his eyes. “Just …… leave me out of it. I wasted 4 years obsessed with what happened to my friend. I can’t do that anymore.” 
With that he’s off, leaving Eddie standing in the middle of the parking lot with a sneer covering his face. He could see where Daniel’s was coming from, but if you went missing after prom he’d find a way to tear apart the planet piece by piece until they found you. 
He whirls, ready to charge back in and tell you what he found out, until the second backpack he had been carrying swings at the momentum and falls off his arm, slamming onto the concrete below and spewing papers across. 
Cursing under his breath Eddie rushes to snatch the papers, one by one. English homework, science lab work, your homework, an overdue English es- your homework. 
Your homework. 
Shaky hands, he runs his finger over the handwriting he recognizes as yours on the back of the page, willing himself to be wrong before turning it over to reveal your name scrawled across the top. Your science homework. 
The science homework you had gotten an incomplete on because it had been stolen with that damn letter. 
“God damnit.” He seethes, snatching everything else up and rushing to his van. 
“Dad?!” You call, rushing into the house and dropping your bag by the front door. “You home?!” 
He had rushed home from his work trip the second he’d heard about what happened, and had been mother henning you since. Cleaning the wound every night, rubbing lotion on the bruise and even checking your pupils for progress on the concussion you for sure had. 
“I’m here!” He calls back and you follow his voice to the kitchen where he is fixing up some food. “I was trying to make dinner, but I keep burning everything.” 
“How dare you.” You laugh, leaning against the wall. 
“You excited for tomorrow? Spring formal and all that?” He wiggles his eyebrows, shaking his shoulders a bit. To your dad it seemed like his only daughter was finally getting into the girlhood of it all. If only he knew you were laying a trap to catch the janitor in the act. 
“So excited.” You nod. 
“You mind going and grabbing my work pad? I need to head in and take notes on this meeting call. I left it on the table when I left for the trip.” You nod, remembering that he had left it there to make sure you knew where he was, shuffling to grab it. 
Once you spot it in the table you dramatically clap your hand to grab it, sliding it closer as the bottom of the pages catch your eye. A design, logo really, from his company. Brenda Carlton’s dad owned it, one of the richest men in town. 
No wonder she is so picky about her dresses. You think, moving in to pass it to your dad before mumbling out that you were heading to Eddie’s. 
“Hey!” He calls last minute, making you turn. “Be safe!” 
“I will.” You frown, watching him shake his head. 
“Most parents have to worry about their kids having sex. I have to panic about mine busting a meth lab in our neighborhood” he mutters to himself before rushing to answer the phone in his office while you head outside. 
Gareth, after a massive amount of guilt tripping, had bought you a new bike and for a moment you were quite happy with the fact that he hit you with his car. Because your last bike didn’t have a basket or bell. And you used the bell to your advantage when you made it to Eddie’s trailer, ringing it until he came to the front door. 
“I pity the day you get a car with a horn.” He calls, shuffling on the porch steps and opening his arms for you to walk into once you leaned the bike against the walls. 
“You’ll be so excited that you don’t have to cart me around anymore you’ll get me a special horn.” You chuff, moving to hug him as he rolls his eyes. 
“Me? No. Even when you get a car we’ll still be running old Bertha to every crime scene.” Something was off, his demeanor tight and worried. 
“You okay Ed’s?” 
“Yup.” Liar. He was such a liar. You pull back quickly, trying to look into his eyes before he avoids the eye contact, moving to pull you inside. “You hear from that Joseph kid? He’s been sick the past couple days.” 
“No. I hadn’t known.” You hum out, following him to his room. 
“He doesn’t call you? Gareth said that he was into the investigation when we were….. you know?” 
“Fighting? Yeah. But not too invested.” You respond, watching him closely as he toes at his own carpet with his hands on his hips. “What’s going on?” 
“Are we going together?…. Tomorrow?” He finally asks, looking up at you. 
“No. I was going with Jeff. You just bought the same color tie to be cool.” You giggle, watching him roll his eyes at the sarcasm before a smile spreads across his face. “Why are you asking?” 
“I just…….” Once again at a loss for words he tries to come up with one, gesturing between the two of you before giving up, crossing the room to latch his lips onto your own in a passionate kiss. His lips melting against yours as a bit of energy zaps through you both at the contact, stirring you into action enough to wrap your arms around his neck while his hands slide into your hair and onto your back to hold you to him. 
When you part for air he is panting, eyes staring into your own with a spark you had come to recognize as he lunges back in, using his foot to slam his bedroom door and shuffle you both to the bed. Falling onto it with a bit of a bounce as he slots himself between your thighs forming a giggle to pass your lips. 
“What’s so funny?” He breathes out, staring down at you as he hovers so close you can feel his hair on your forehead. 
“My dad said something about other parents having to worry about sex meanwhile he was worried about my sleuthing habits.” You explain, watching his face form a confused stare. “I think he should be worried about the sex part. Our sleepovers are gonna be cut off once they all find out.” 
“I have broken into so many buildings. Your room will be easy work.” He growls. “Cause when you need me I’ll be there.” 
“Promise?” 
“Swear it.” He nods, taking his hand and extending a pinkie to you which you accept. And this time instead of bumping heads you pull him in for a kiss, making quick work of shucking off your jacket. 
12:30. 9 hours before the plan. 
“Alright. You got the plan down?” You ask Gareth, standing with him at the end of the hall, both trying to seem casual as you peer down to where Benson Cane was mopping. 
“Yup.” He nods, casting a glance before turning to you. “Actually no.” 
“I just need a look out. Eddie is in an exam right now, and I need someone to watch the hall while I go into his office. If you see someone that can bust me you hit this button on the walkie twice.” You explain, showing him which to hit. “Got it?” 
“Why hit it twice? Why no code word?” 
“Because then they’d know you’re talking to someone. When you hit it twice I hear-“ 
“Is that a hickey?” He blurts, finger digging into the spit right under your collarbone with a disgusted look. “That’s so gross.” 
“Oh please. You have all people can’t judge. You want to give Trish so many hickeys.” You huff, slapping his hand away. 
“Not true.” He argues, his entire face going red. “Okay. Ready?” 
“Yes.” You nod, taking a couple steps away and then rushing down the hall. 
Bensons office is locked, of course it is, but you were taught by the best so you pick the lock and slide in, turning on your flashlight to take a look around. His office is spotless, not shocking for a janitor. The desk only holds snacks, no papers, and the cork board above it holds school papers. Most of which are about your cases. The chair squeaks and when you sit in it you nearly fall, your knee coming up to hit the desk, sending the corkboard falling between the desk and the wall. 
“Shit-“ And then Holly was smiling at you, through a picture anyways. Many pictures actually. Smiling to the camera in each and every one of them. “Benson…..” 
You take a picture with your camera, hearing the two clicks of the walkie and knowing you had to get out, so you try and fix the pinboard only it won’t go back up. 
“Shit come on.” You panic as the walkie sounds off twice again, adrenaline and fear taking over as you get it to sit and rush for the door, only the second your hand reaches for the knob it turns and you have to rush to hide, sliding the door to the mop closet and hiding in there as Benson Cane heads in. 
Panic covers you as he walks around the room, collecting cleaning supplies, heading straight for the closet you are in before the phone goes off. He groans, moving to pick it up before knocking over some stuff on the desk, bending down to pick it up. 
You had two choices, you could have stayed and grimaced at the half moon he was showing or take this chance to escape. You chose the ladder, nearly running into Gareth in the hall on your way out before you both dash down the hall for cover. 
“You got what you need?” 
“Yeah. He’s scheduled for 9:30 tonight. We confront him then.” You pant, even though you still felt like something was missing. 
-
2:30 7 Hours Before The Plan 
Eddie was a bit pissed at the fact that instead of seeing you one more time before tonight he was forced to take his van to the richest part of Hawkins and park it in front of an idiots house. 
It didn’t take long to waltz up to the front door, knocking on the oak wood a couple times before he was greeted with an older woman. “Hey. Is Joseph home? I’m trying to drop off his homework.” 
“Oh he’s been out. All morning.” The woman smiles, waving her hand. “Had school and then some club. He’s so busy these days.” 
“Yeah I bet.” Eddie laughs, handing her the bag. “Have a nice night.” 
6:30 3 Hours Before The Plan. 
Eddie was punctual when he picked you up, hopping out of his van with an extra jump before fixing the suit he borrowed from Wayne, making sure the tie stayed clipped before heading up to where you stood waiting on the porch. “Sorry I’m late. Had to conceive Gareth to take his own ride.” 
“You’re on time.” You laugh, moving to meet him in the middle, hands sliding up his arms until they make it to his chest the second he’s within reach, allowing him to pull you in and press his hands into your back. 
“No. On time is late.” He argues, leaning forward to kiss you gently, hands rubbing circles onto your back before he pulls back. “Are you ready for a formal, Nancy Drew?” 
“Well that depends…. Am I going with my best friend? My detective partner? Or a boyfriend?” You question, heart thundering a bit as his eyebrows raise. 
“I have just what you need!” He exclaims, clapping a bit to pump you up. “I have a guy that can be all three….. he….. he costs 400 dollars an hour BUT you get a happy ending.” 
“A little out of my price range.” You play along, allowing him to lead you to the van. 
“Okay. I have a guy that can do the last one. But he’s also into guys so it won’t be that believable but he is a blast to hang out with.” Eddie offers. 
“Jeff is a blast but…. He’s got his eye on someone from the swim team.” 
“Damn. Missed that one. I’ll have to ask him. Okay. Final offer. I have one that can be all three….. but he can be an ass sometimes. Talks too much. Spends too much time daydreaming about you so he might be behind in all his classes.” He lists off, turning you to face him as you lean against his car, pushing in until his hands were splayed out and trapping you within his arms. 
“Does he kiss?” 
“Looks for every chance just to kiss you.” 
“Will he dance with me?” 
“Formals aren’t really his scene.” 
“But I want to dance.” 
“I’m sure he’ll make an exception.” He huffs out. 
“Then you have yourself a deal.” You smile, pulling him by the tie to lock lips. He pulls back a little, after a few moments to breathe out “I wasn’t talking about me but I’ll accept it.” 
By the time you both get to the school you’re already nothing but giggling messes, hearing the music filter down the halls as the boys meet you by the front to buy tickets. Eddie keeps a tight grip on your hand as you walk through the endless hall of streamers before making it into the gym that has been completely redecorated for the event. Colored lights hitting the floor being anchored up in the ceiling with rope, a stage with a band currently playing some of the best hits of the 70s near the other side. 
“So this is what they do at dances?” Eddie laughs, looking around. Neither of you had ever been to a school dance before. Cases always managed to get in the way. “Alright. You want to go check out the school? Get ready?” 
“Maybe….. maybe we stay and have fun first?” You offer, a nervous feeling coiling in your gut. “Maybe the mystery comes second and we just….. act like teenagers for 5 minutes.” 
The smile that cracks across his face makes you warm, smiling back at him with a giddy urge to pull him to the dance floor. So you do, and even though he hates school dances he lets you drag him in. 
You dance with him most the time, bumping into Jeff and Simon here and there, avoiding the awkwardness of Gareth and Trish. You’re both flushed panting messes when Eddie leads you from the dance floor to grab some punch, sweat forming at your hairline. 
“We could have been having this much fun.” He laughs, watching Jeff and Gareth break into a mummy dance. “But what’s crazy is I never realized we were missing out because I loved our adventures…… how many of these kids can say they have done any of the stuff we have done?” 
“Like when we dressed as an old couple in the retirement home to catch the thieving nurse!” 
“Or when we ended up on a movie set 4 towns over, being drenched with fake rain all to catch a makeup artist pawning jewelry.” 
“Oh! How about the time you had to climb the tigers gate at that crappy zoo to find the murder weapon the zookeeper had hid.” 
He laughs at the memory, leading you both to the edge of the gym so you didn’t have to yell too loud over the music. “What’s your favorite so far? Out of all our cases? Which one?” 
“My answer is pretty boring.” You shrug, holding the glass punch cup as your eyes trace around the room. 
“Which is?” 
“Way back in the day…. I found this kids lunchbox for him.” You smile, finally turning to him. “That’s my favorite.”!
“Mine too.” He smiles. “I got my lunchbox and my favorite person all in one day. An amazing feat considering I had been crushing on her for weeks before that.” 
“You HATED me! I cleaned your desk and you-“ 
“I’ll have you know I worked so hard to maintain that clean desk after you cleaned it.” He laughs out, leaning forward to kiss your forehead, just grazing his lips onto your skin before pulling back with narrowed eyes. “Hey I’ll be back alright?” 
“Ed’s it’s almost 9:30.” You laugh, watching him with confusion. 
“I just have to go to the bathroom. I’ll be back in time. Swear it.” He smiles, walking past you to rush out the door. 
“You look great!” Brenda calls, rushing to hug you closely before pulling back to make you spin. “Munson scored out of his league with you.” 
You laugh at her amusement, reaching to keep her steady when she staggers a bit. “You havin fun?” 
“Oh yeah. So much fun.” She huffs, shaking her head. “I should booze this party up. Prove a point to my mom.” 
“Whys that?” 
“She’s here! If you can believe that! Both of them! Cause she used to work here.” Brenda complains, making you stop short. 
“Right. Your mom used to work here…..”  you nod, looking around the room to catch eyes with someone. “Brenda. I’ll be right back.” 
“Love ya.” She makes a kissy sound before you rush to follow the figure escaping. 
9:15 15 Minutes Before The Plan. 
Eddie is quick to keep pace, chasing down a figure about his height that keeps looking back before picking up speed. Turning corners in an attempt to lose him but Eddie wouldn’t let that happen. He had a score to settle. 
“Hey!” He calls, making the figure panic and turn into the woman’s locker room, Eddie quick to follow. 
Once he enters the door there is nothing to be seen, no one in sight. He walks a couple steps to check the stalls, opening door after door before doing the same with the curtains for the showers. Nothing. 
He’s about to admit defeat when he gets a prickly feeling on his spine, turning and kicking at a locker in anger enough to make the door snap open to reveal Joseph Quinn. 
“There you are you little cockroach!” Eddie sneers, reaching to pull him out of the locker and push him to the ground. “I’ve got you all figured out!” 
“Whatever you think I did you’re wrong man! I didn’t do anything!” 
“Yeah? That so?” 
“Yeah man! You touch me and I’ll call hopper. Have you fucking arrested!” Joseph seethes back, scrambling to stand only to realize he’s trapped in a locker alcove. 
“You want me to lay out what you did? Or just confess so I can get back to my girl?” 
“I didn’t do shit.” Joseph spits, eyes widening as Eddie takes a step forward. 
“You attacked her. It was you at her house that night.” He explains, hands sinking into his pockets. 
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” 
“Fine. Let me lay it out. You’ve been stalking my girl. I don’t know how long, I’m sure it’s been a minute though. You knew the second we started fighting. You knew the second she was introduced to the Holly case.” 
“Fuck you.” 
“Gareth told me a funny story, about how he went to the tutoring center and she was there claiming she wasn’t the tutor but no one else was there so she had to have been lying. He said her performance was terrible. She was lying but she was still right. There was supposed to be someone else there. You were signed up for tutoring hours. You were the missing tutor.” Eddie explains, pointing at Joseph to prove his point. 
“I don’t know what your on -“ 
“You grabbed the yearbook. Even hid it in her next class with a fake love letter from Mr. Daniels so that you could be apart of the investigation. A red herring. Daniels was never in love with Holly, he’s gay.” 
Joseph stays silent, so Eddie continues. “The night she got threatened you broke in to grab the letter. Either second guessing yourself and your plan or you just wanted something of hers cause you grabbed her homework too. I know it was you because whoever was threatening her on the phone couldn’t have broken in without her hearing them and they happened at the same time.” 
“You’re fucking crazy man.” 
“I am. Because you broke into her house and you. Hurt. Her.” Eddie sneers, taking another step forward. “You hurt her. And I am not gonna let that pass you fucking freak.” 
Joseph’s face pulls into one of grief, eyes welling up with tears before his face begins turning red. He goes from fake confusion to devastation and straight into rage within the span of seconds. 
And he lashes out fast enough to hit Eddie hard enough it sends him to the floor. 
“You’re dead, Munson.” Joseph growls, pulling off the tie of his suit and wrapping it around his hands to get ready to choke Eddie out. 
9:21 9 Minutes Before The Plan. 
He was tall, it wasn’t hard to track his figure through the halls even when he walked into the darker section, where all the lights were turned off to prevent kids from coming through. He walked with confidence, hands in his pockets and shoes clacking against the ground with easy steps until he shuffles into a science classroom and you follow. 
He had taken to sitting on the counters by the windows, letting the moonlight illuminate him for perfect viewing as you stared him down and he stared right back. 
“It was you.” You state, standing as straight as you can. “You were the older man Holly was seeing.” 
Brenden Carlton, Brenda’s father, merely chuckles with a smug smile covering his face, his eyes ice cold. “I’ll play along. Tell me how you got to that conclusion, pretty girl.” 
“You met her at the homeless shelter. You take cases there all the time for pro bono work. You started a relationship with one of your wives students and it lasted awhile. Until the night of her prom….. when she revealed she was pregnant. There was a photo in Bensons office, she was wearing a sweater but you could still see a bump.” You begin, watching him closely as you step further into the room. “You guys used to meet at lovers lane, and the night of her prom she did meet you there, told you she wanted to keep the baby. You told her no. You both got into a fight and she threw the ring you gave her at you but it fell to the ground. She went to the prom and you were left panicking about it. Finally you gave up. You ended up at the school and pulled her away from everyone. You attacked her, left her for dead.” 
“Oh yeah?” He smiles. 
“Yeah. Brenda was the one that gave me the photo in the first place, this entire town pretends Holly doesn’t exist and it’s a struggle to find photos of her but your daughter found one just fine. And the ring she wore that day, I didn’t correlate it until now but it’s just like Hollys ring I found by lovers lane. Rose gold in a Celtic knot.” His face is falling a bit, shoulders tensing more and more. “Brenda was the one who mentioned lovers lane to me because she heard it from you. Mostly everyone goes for lovers rock or lovers lake. Lane had been unheard of until Brenda told me. B.C. Carved into the tree. Hopper thought they were Brenda’s initials because they were. She was named after you.” 
“You have no proof here.” 
“My dads legal pads from work held the same initials. B. C. You sent him on that work trip to clear the house, assuming I’d be with Eddie. You tore up my room looking for the evidence. And you’re a fucking failure cause you didn’t find a thing.” He sneers at you, standing up now. 
“You have nothing.” 
“No…… most of what I said wouldn’t hold up in court without dna or a confession.” You nod. “Which is why I was sent to distract you while my two teammates grabbed the crown. Because your dna is on it.” 
It was a bluff. Sure the boys were grabbing the crown, but you didn’t know if there was any dna on it. Didn’t seem to matter though since Brendon believed it, his face morphing into one of devastated rage. 
“I’m gonna kill you like I killed her.” 
And then he lunges. 
-  
9:36 6 Minutes After The Plan Was Supposed To Start. 
“Where are they?!” Gareth snaps, pacing back and forth in the hall as Jeff keeps close to the glass case. “They were supposed to be here….. did you see them leave the gym?” 
“I saw Eddie leave. Last I checked she was talking to Brenda.” Jeff answers, knocking his knuckles against the case gently as he watches the reflection from the hall. “What would they want us to do if they aren’t here?” 
“Grab it probably.” Gareth shrugs. “But they are criminals that know how to pick a lock.” 
“I thought their schtick was goodie two shoes detectives.” Jeff huffs before realizing something. “Dude there is no lock!” 
“What-“ before Gareth could actually finish the question Jeff is sliding the glass to expose the crown to the outside world. “We are idiots.” 
“HEY! WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH THAT?!” Benson Cane yells, spotting them from down the hall. 
“Run.” Gareth orders, and Jeff snatches the crown up to dash with his friend down the hall, Benson hot on their heels. 
9:37 7 Minutes After The Plan Was Supposed To Start.
Eddie couldn’t breathe, his fingers were digging to find purchase on the tie around his neck, doing anything he could to try a relieve it as the edges of his vision began spotting. 
Joseph was sitting on his back, choking him out with a silver tie of all things, and Eddie was more so aggravated by the fact that he was about to die in a girls locker room with a TIE for gods sake. That is until he begins pawing around him on the ground and finding a pair of tweezers, reaching behind him to dig them into Joseph’s thigh as hard as he could. 
The boy screams out, letting go of the tie enough for Eddie to crawl out, panting for hair and rubbing the sore skin in effort to ease the wound. He didn’t have time to sit here, so he uses the bench to help him stand, rounding quickly to throw a punch at Joseph cracking him in the face where you must have cracked him before. 
“JESUS FUCK-“ the kid cries, falling to the floor with his hand covering his face and the blood sliding through his fingertips. 
“I’ll give you something to Jesus Fuck about….” Eddie growls, his voice uneven and gravelly from just having been choked out. Only when he steps to the kid he barely manages to see the knife in his other hand, swerving back and narrowly avoiding it as Joseph begins swinging it wildly. “Ahhhh of course!” 
9:40 10 Minutes After The Plan- You get it now.
His first lunge is narrowly avoided with a side step, him swinging his arm is not. He hits your cheek as a perfect angle, sending you staggering back onto the teachers desk with a hand covering your cheek. 
“You think I want to do these things?!” He calls, grabbing at your hair to pull you in, ignoring your hands that claw for freedom. “I love-“ 
“I don’t wanna hear it.” You groan, reaching to hit the heel of your shoe and dig it into his foot. He yells out, legging go and you take the second to try running. When he reaches for you he almost gets you, tearing a piece of your dress off. 
You nearly make it to the door, your exit so close, but he lunges over the tables and tackles you. 
Both your bodies go flying into the glass case of beakers, the glass shattering around you as you fall into it. Your arms fly up in attempt to cover your face form all the glass but he is already dragging you back, sliding you across the broken shards on the floor as you cry out. 
-
9:42 12 Minutes After The Plan. 
Jeff and Gareth took a good habit of swinging each other in moments of panic. That meaning they developed a good pattern of pulling each other when they take corners, swinging to keep momentum and pace. 
“Gareth! Science hall is a dead end!” Jeff reminds, choosing to go left instead and dragging Gareth to take that turn. Gareth swings out, tripping up a bit before taking the lead. Dashing down the hall right as the janitor turns the corner with another yell. 
“Why is he so damn worried about this crown. It’s not even that cool!” Gareth yells before tripping over a mop bucket, flying into the floor with Jeff still holding his arm. 
“Stop it!” Benson yells, coming up to grab the back of Jeff’s shirt. “Come on you hooligans!” 
“Hey! Back off my partner man!” Gareth yells, snatching the mop and swinging it around to stave off the other guy. “We know you killed Holly! You were obsessed with her!” 
“What the hell?” He gasps, taking a step back. “Why the hell would I kill my niece?” 
9:45. Honestly the plan is shit, I’m done counting.
They were a mess. Joseph would swing the knife and Eddie would kick him. By the time Eddie got the knife out of his hands they were just a sprawl of limbs fighting over the locker room. 
Shoving each other into the lockers and falling over the bench in the middle. 
Joseph’s blood was getting everywhere. 
He was on top of Eddie now, trying to crawl a little faster as they were both reaching for the knife, cursing each other out until a heel comes into view. Both of them looking up to spit none other than Trish standing there with wide eyes. 
Tommy H at the doorway. 
“Poor Gareth.” Eddie groan, gasping out when Trish kicks the knife close to him and he can snatch it, sending Joseph flying back in panic. 
“Get him freak!” Tommy calls as Eddie looks around for something to tie him up in. 
“Oh! Here!” Trish staggers for some pool rope, pulling it over to help Eddie tie him up. Once Joseph is finished he turns, slightly out of breath to look at Trish then back to Tommy. 
“Trish come on.” He huffs, moving to grab her arm gently. 
“What? Why?” 
“You’re too drunk to leave with him of all people.” Eddie explains, bringing her with him as he leaves the locker room with Tommy yelling something behind them. 
Now he just has to find the rest of the group. 
“So you were related to Holly? Not obsessed with her?” Gareth asks, walking alongside Benson Cane to get to his office. 
“No shit.” The older man snarls, shaking his head. “Her mom was my sister. I fell into some deep shit for awhile and Holly was workin at the homeless shelter. We grew close. She helped me get back on my feet.” 
The man pulls the keys from his belt, unlocking the door. “She….. well she told me about some stuff before that night. I found her bleeding all over the science room floor and helped her get outta here.” 
“So…… Holly is alive?!” 
“Alive as can be.” The man huffs out, moving the pin board to reveal the pictures you had talked about. “We ain’t gotta family picture.” 
“So….. you found Holly but you weren’t the one that attacked her?” 
“Hell no. Cleaned her up, got her on a bus with all the cash I had on me. She told me not to look into it cause the person would be able to find her.”
“So who attacked her?” The voice makes all of them jump, turning with wide eyes to find Eddie in the doorway with Trish smiling beside him even though he was covered in blood. 
“You said you found her in the science hall, right?” Jeff questions, not asking any questions about Eddie’s current state or Trish. 
“That’s right.” 
“I bet you Nancy Drew figured it out.” And with that all 4 of them ran, only Gareth turned back to help Trish sit down before racing after the others. 
What Brenden Carlton didn’t think through about dragging you through shards of glass was that you would end up picking one up, snatching it in a fist as he pulled you to him, trying to get his hands around your neck before you sunk the piece into his shoulder. 
“FUCKK!” He screamed out, keeling over to ease the wound as you pushed him off, scrambling for something else to grab. You ended up snatching a science textbook, swinging it to hit his face. 
By the time the boys all came rushing in Brenden was on the floor a whiny moaning mess as he held his shoulder, curling into a fetal position. 
You drop the book, eyes widening when you see Eddie, trying to pinpoint where he was bleeding as he did the same for you. “Just a couple slashes.” 
“A couple? A couple dozen.” You correct as shakes his head at the amount of cuts you have from the glass. 
“I called the police!” A voice snaps, entering the room. Vivian Carlton, storming in with her daughter hot on her heels. “They will be here any minute.” 
“Vivian!” Mr. Carlton cries out. “Help!” 
“Let’s get you kids cleaned up.” She eases, reaching out for you until Eddie steps in the way. “Easy now. Down boy.” 
“I’m sick of-“ 
“Before you go into a long rant just think about it. Who would donate a prom queen crown right as Nancy Drew was investigating?” Vivian rolls her eyes, shaking her head. “I found the crown and the picture. I gave the picture to Brenda for a news article cause I knew you’d get matched to it.” 
“That’s a lot of work for someone who could have just asked us to look into it.” Eddie snips, arms extending to the mess behind him. “I mean seriously.” 
“It worked didn’t it?” She jabs back, right as police lights began to filter into the room from outside, illuminating you all as the sirens sounded out. 
Eddie turns to you quickly as Benson moves to push Brenda out of the room before she could panic about the state her dad was in, a meanwhile Eddie tilts you to sit on one of the tables until people come in to help. You both stay silent, not bothering to talk, as you run a finger along the fresh bruises on his throat. 
By the time you are both interrogated and cleaned up by the paramedics you find your way to the street outside, sitting on the curb of the sidewalk side by side as arrests and evidence are claimed. 
“So…..” he murmurs, leaning into you a bit. “What now?” 
“Hmmm.” You pretend to contemplate, leaning your head on his shoulder. “There is this huge pumpkin patch conspiracy over in Hutchins.” 
“Yeah?” He chuckles, leaning his head on top of your head while he weaves your fingers together. “Let’s go now.” 
“Or….. we can get some sleep. Sleep until like 2 tomorrow and then go and get some burgers?” You offer, closing your eyes. 
“You had me at or.” He answers back, keeping his eyes closed as Hopper laughs out in the distance while being interviewed. 
“The Cold Case Of Holly Sampers, the prom queen who mysteriously disappeared just 2 hours after being crowned, has finally been solved after over 10 years. By who you might ask? A local teen detective that this town likes to refer to as Nancy Drew. I’m Heather Jasper Howe (if you catch this reference you’re a god) and today I will be interviewing some residents of Hawkins as we follow just how this all came to be.” The news reporter smiles, her teeth flashing from behind the camera as she walks through Hawkins High, allowing them to get a shot of the carnage left in the science room. 
Wayne rolls his eyes before shutting the tv off, turning his head to glare at the two of you from where you sat at the half assed kitchen counter, drinking from the travel mugs the man liked to collect. “You two are pains in my ass, you know that?” 
You and Eddie try to stifle your laughter, both looking a little worse for wear after sleeping in until 2:30 and waking up looking like zombies. Half his hair was at odd angles and he had slashes across his stomach from where he fought Joseph, and he made sure to forgo a shirt so you could see everything last night. 
You were in one of his shirts and a pair of shorts, looking no better from the way Wayne glared. 
“Shouldnt you be at home? Your dad is probably worried sick.” 
“I called him. He’s a bit busy….. considering the ceo of the company he works for just got confirmed as a….. well criminal.” You shrug. Your dad had actually nearly driven over when you called last night, but work had been ringing him a lot and you had promised to go home tomorrow so he could have time to deal with the mess of you ruining his bosses life. 
Eddie didn’t appreciate the wording you chose. “He ruined his own damn life.” 
And he was right. 
But none of that mattered right now, all that really mattered was leaning into Eddie and getting bitched out by Wayne. 
The Case Of The Killer Clown. 
“Need I remind you both that you’re supposed to be playing grandparents?” Jeff groans, walking around the van to spot Gareth and his new girlfriend Gwen in a wet lip lock that has both their wigs tilted. “This is just nasty.” 
“Ah, young love.” Eddie chuckles, shaking his head as he throws hit leather jacket in the back of the van. 
“Wouldn’t this be considered elder love?” You tease, climbing out in your own costume with a cane in hand. “Gareth, don't forget this.”
“Why do WE have to play grandparents?” Gareth groans, stomping his foot a bit. 
“Because YOU fell asleep on the stakeout.” Jeff answers, making Gwen laugh a little bit and high five him. 
“You know this plan would work better if Simon were here.” Gareth growls. “Where is your boyfriend today?”
“Swim meet.” Jeff groans. “I haven’t seen him in so long.”
“You saw him today at school.” You state, helping Eddie with his worker uniform, well less helping and more fixing it while he grins down at you like a lovesick butthead. 
“You don’t want to go there with me little missy. Let’s talk about the open door policy and the no more sleepovers.” Jeff launches back, making your eyes widen. 
It was spring break, just a month after the spring formal, and quite a bit had changed. The first being Gareth accidentally outing you and Eddie as a couple in front of Wayne, which meant you both were cut off from sleepovers…. Which in reality meant he just snuck over to your place and snuck into your room now. It wasn’t like anyone was super surprised by the news, the entire town claimed to have seen it coming. 
Gareth had finally realized just how much he did not like Trish, which worked perfectly because she realized just how much the rest of the group hated her.  He met Gwen at the tutoring center, where she actually tutored. Then he had to get another tutor just to get work done because the two of them quickly realized they got nothing done together. 
Simon and Jeff were a thing, though Simon was a skeptic about the whole mystery thing. He loved hearing about it but he never wanted to do anything that would risk scholarships which you could understand. 
And Holly Sampers was alive, based on the picture she sent you in the mail she was happy as well. She stood with a brunette boy that looked like Brenda, and when you tried to reach out to Brenda about it the girl ignored you completely. But, if rumors were true, she was taking spring break as an escape from her fathers trial and a way to go meet her half brother. 
“Whose fault is that?” Eddie huffs out making Gareth groan and roll his eyes dramatically. 
“Okay enough. Everyone remember the plan?” You interject, watching them all nod. “Great, remember this isn’t our town and their sheriff isn’t as lenient as Hopper is.”
“You mean lazy.” Gwen corrects making you laugh. 
“That’s what I said.” She giggles at your retort, both of you leaning to fix each others costumes as the boys all grab what they needed. “Okay for movie night I vote we convince the boys for Pretty In Pink as a red herring and then when they feel bad about saying no we get them on the new Robert Downey movie.”
“I like the way you think.” You nod. “We can even convince them for our snack choices.”
“Girls get it done.”You slap your hands together twice before snapping, a handshake you had invented after the first time she came with you all to the diner. An actual female friend. 
Gareth and Gwen take to prepping their walks while you do one final check on Eddie who unfortunately got a job at this circus to help the investigation. Though when you try to make sure his recorder is working he wastes time catching your lips to his. 
You melt into it, as you always do, letting his hands cup your jaw as his mouth works against you. Pushing you both to lean against the van as a thigh slots between your own, the taste of spearmint coating your tongue before you bite down on his lip to catch him off guard and make him groan. 
“Ah. Young Love.” Gareth taunts, making you both pull back with dead stares. “Back in my day sunny we took our gals inside before we dry humped em!”
“You tell him honey!” Gwen calls in an old lady voice. 
“Alright. We’re done.” You laugh, pushing Eddie off you as he whines. “Let’s go catch this guy.”
“Fine. But if we are called the scooby gang one more time I’m egging a reporters house.” Eddie huffs, giving you one more kiss before heading in his direction while Jeff and you head the opposite direction. Everyone had a walkie on them, just in case. 
Safe to say things had changed a bit since the two kids found that lunchbox. 
-
Did you catch any of the easter eggs?
TAGLIST::
@lilyglaserpace - @xlostitx - @transparent-enemy - @justalotoffanfiction - @everlove - @dreamerjj - @i-hate-people-1 - @gagasbee - @heavenlyhorrors - @georgeweasleyslostearhq - @introvertedmouse - @cowboylikemunson -
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fanboyswhore9 · 9 months ago
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The Proposal (Pt. 1)~ Sherlock Holmes
Pairing: Sherlock Holmes (Henry Cavill’s version) x Fem! reader
Contains: Henry Cavil, marriage of convenience, childhood lovers, long lost love, TOOTH ROTTING FLUFF
Summary: Childhood friends Sherlock Holmes and the reader were inseparable until she left for boarding school, leaving unresolved feelings between them. Nearly two decades later, she returns to 221B Baker Street with an urgent proposition: to secure her inheritance, she must marry, and she asks Sherlock for help. Unbeknownst to her, Sherlock has harbored feelings for her all along. They confess their love for each other and agree to marry, not just for convenience but out of genuine love.
A/N: THIS IS POSSIBLY THE LONGEST FIC I’VE EVER WRITTEN ON TUMBLR! This is my first Sherlock fic that I’ve done. I hope I do him justice!❤️❤️❤️❤️
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The rain was steady that evening, casting a mist over the streets of London. Inside 221B Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes sat in his armchair, eyes half-lidded, mind lost in a myriad of thoughts as the fire crackled. He hadn’t had a proper case in days, which left him restless, pacing between fleeting memories and idle deductions.
A knock on the door cut through his haze. Sherlock frowned, glancing at the clock. It was late, too late for most visitors, but not impossible. Perhaps Mrs. Hudson was entertaining guests again. He rose, heading to the door, when he heard the knock again—more insistent this time.
When he opened the door, the last person he ever expected to see stood before him, soaked from the rain, her hair damp around her face. “Sherlock,” she breathed, her voice a familiar melody he hadn’t heard in almost two decades.
His breath caught. It was her. The girl from his youth, his best friend, his confidant—until she was whisked away to boarding school, leaving him behind in a cold and silent void that he rarely acknowledged but always felt. She had grown into the woman he imagined she would be: poised, beautiful, but with that same spark in her eyes that always challenged him, intrigued him.
He stepped back to let her in, not trusting his voice just yet. She entered, glancing around at the familiar setting of 221B. “Some things never change,” she said, her lips pulling into a soft smile, though there was an edge of uncertainty there. Wanting to be polite, he asked her, “I know it’s past time, but would you like a cup of tea?” She looked at him nodding gently, “Yes, please. I’d love a cup of tea.” He nods as he starts to brew tea in the kettle.
Sherlock cleared his throat, suddenly aware of the weight of the moment. “What are you doing here?” He didn’t mean for the words to sound so cold, but they came out that way regardless.She looked at him, her expression guarded, then stepped closer. “I need your help, Sherlock.”
“Help?” His curiosity piqued, but there was something else in her eyes. Something more personal. Her fingers fiddled with the hem of her coat as she gathered her courage. “I… I’ve come back to London because of my grandmother. She’s ill, Sherlock. She’s… dying.”
“I’m sorry,” he said softly, and for once, it wasn’t merely out of politeness. “She’s left me her fortune, her estate, but there’s a catch.” She glanced away, as if embarrassed to continue. “I have to be married to inherit.” Sherlock’s brow furrowed. “Married?”
“Yes,” she said quickly, her voice tightening. “My parents are pressuring me. They’ve paraded potential suitors in front of me for months, but none of them… none of them understand me.” She took a deep breath, her eyes finally meeting his. “And I really don’t want to marry any of them.” The air between them seemed to crackle with tension. Sherlock’s mind was already racing, calculating her reasons for coming to him, searching for the logical thread.
“And you’ve come to me because…?” he asked, though a part of him already knew the answer.“Because,” she said softly, stepping closer, her eyes searching his face, “I don’t want to marry just anyone. I want to marry someone I trust. Someone I care about. Someone I…” She hesitated, her voice breaking slightly. “Someone I love.” Sherlock froze.
The words he never expected to hear from her—yet had longed to hear—hung in the air. For a moment, he was sixteen again, watching her pack her things as she left for boarding school, a thousand words unsaid between them. He had always assumed she moved on, that she forgot about him. But now, here she was, standing before him, offering him not just her trust, but her heart.
“You—” He started, but his voice faltered. His mind, usually so sharp, struggled to find the right words. “I know this is sudden,” she rushed on, her hands trembling slightly, “and maybe it’s foolish. Maybe you’ve moved on, maybe you never thought about me that way. But I had to tell you, otherwise I might regret it for the rest of my life. I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember, Sherlock. And if there’s even the smallest chance that you feel the same…” She trailed off, hope and fear mingling in her eyes.
Sherlock, for once, was at a loss. His emotions, something he kept carefully locked away, threatened to overwhelm him. He had thought of her often over the years, wondered where she was, what she was doing. He had buried his feelings for her, convinced they were pointless, that she was a part of his past he could never reclaim.
But now…
“I never stopped thinking about you,” he admitted quietly, his voice raw with emotion he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years. “I—” He paused, the words foreign on his tongue. “I didn’t know how to say it, or if I even should. I assumed… I thought you were happy. That you had your life, your suitors.”She smiled sadly. “I never wanted anyone else.”
Silence filled the room, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was heavy with possibilities, with unspoken promises. Sherlock, ever logical, ever calculating, found himself making a decision not based on reason but on something far more human.
“Then marry me,” he said simply, his eyes locked on hers. Her breath caught, her eyes widening in surprise. “Sherlock, I didn’t mean—”
“I’m serious,” he interrupted, stepping closer until they were mere inches apart. “Marry me. Not for your inheritance, not for your grandmother, but because I can’t bear the thought of you with anyone else.” Tears welled in her eyes, and she nodded, a soft laugh escaping her lips. “Yes, Sherlock. Yes.” He reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he cupped her face. And for the first time in years, Sherlock Holmes, the great detective, let himself feel.
His eyes, usually so calculating and detached, softened as they locked onto hers. The distance between them seemed to disappear, years of unspoken emotions finally surfacing. His thumb gently traced the line of her cheek, his touch both tender and reverent.
“I’ve been a fool,” he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath, “for not realizing sooner.”
Before she could respond, Sherlock leaned in, closing the final space between them. His lips met hers in a kiss that was both hesitant and deliberate, as if he was discovering something new but also something long overdue. The kiss was soft at first, slow and searching, but then it deepened, filled with all the feelings they had kept hidden for so long.
Her hands found their way to his shoulders, holding him close as she melted into the warmth of his embrace. The world outside seemed to fade, leaving only the two of them in this quiet, intimate moment. His kiss, though unsure at first, soon became sure and steady, filled with the depth of emotion he had kept buried beneath layers of logic and restraint.
When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads rested against each other, their breaths mingling in the silence. Sherlock’s eyes remained closed for a brief moment longer, savoring the connection, before he finally opened them to look at her. “For you,” he murmured, his voice raw with emotion, “I’ll always make an exception.” A soft smile tugged at her lips, her heart swelling at his words. “Then I’ll always be your exception.”
~SHORT TIME SKIP~
A few days had passed since she had shown up at Sherlock’s doorstep with her proposition. The weight of their confession and the whirlwind engagement still felt surreal, but there was no time for hesitation. Arrangements had to be made, and there were still people she needed to see.
That afternoon, she found herself in the grand, stately sitting room of the Diogenes Club, Mycroft Holmes’ preferred sanctuary. He greeted her with his usual aloofness, but there was a subtle curiosity in his eyes as they exchanged pleasantries.
“My brother is not one for sentiment,” Mycroft said, swirling a glass of brandy as he studied her, “but you seem to have managed what few others could.” His words were clipped but not unkind. “It’s rather remarkable.” She smiled, feeling the weight of his scrutiny. “I didn’t come here expecting him to say yes. But I know Sherlock, and I believe this is right for both of us.”
Mycroft gave her a small, approving nod. “You’ve always had a peculiar influence on him. I suppose if anyone can make sense of this arrangement, it’s you.” Before she could respond, the door opened, and a young woman with wild curls and a sharp, curious look in her eyes entered the room. Enola Holmes, Sherlock and Mycroft’s little sister, stepped in with an air of confidence. It was the first time they’d met, though she had heard much about Enola’s independent and rebellious nature.
Enola glanced between her and Mycroft, her expression caught between surprise and amusement. “So, you’re the one who’s finally going to tie Sherlock down,” she said, half-teasing, half-curious. She let out a soft giggle and smiled, amused by the younger woman’s boldness. “It seems so.” Enola stepped forward, her curiosity obvious. “I must say, I’m impressed. Sherlock’s never shown much interest in anything besides his cases. You must be quite extraordinary.”
“Not as extraordinary as you, Enola. Sherlock speaks highly of you,” she replied warmly, and that seemed to catch Enola off guard. Enola smiled, clearly pleased by the compliment. “Well, you’ve certainly earned my respect. Anyone who can handle Sherlock is worthy of admiration.”
As the girls exchanged more pleasantries, she felt a sense of warmth from Enola, a feeling of acceptance, even if it came with a bit of Holmes skepticism. It felt like the final piece of her integration into Sherlock’s life, meeting both Mycroft and Enola, and earning a place in the family dynamic that was uniquely theirs.
Later that evening, in the quiet of Sherlock’s flat at 221B Baker Street, she sat at his desk and wrote a letter to her family. Her parents, grandmother, and sister needed to be informed, though she was sure the news would spread quickly once the engagement was made official.
Dearest Mother, Father, Grandmother, & my dear Sister,
I write to you with news I never expected to share. After years of distance & time apart, I have returned to London & reunited with Sherlock Holmes. Our connection, though it was once left in the past, has rekindled, & I am pleased to inform you that I am now engaged to be married to him.
I know this news may come as a surprise, but please understand that this decision was made with great care and certainty. Sherlock has always held a special place in my heart, & I believe that this union will be one of love, companionship, & understanding.
Sister, I especially want you to know how much I look forward to you being by my side through this, & I can’t wait to tell you everything in person.
I will return home soon to speak with you all in person & explain further. In the meantime, know that I am happy and excited for what lies ahead.
With all my love,
Your daughter and sister
She sealed the letter, her heart feeling lighter as she prepared to send it. The wheels were in motion now. Everything was becoming real. Soon, her family would know, and the life she was about to build with Sherlock was just beginning.
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contact-guy · 1 year ago
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Part 7, the final comic in my SIGN OF THE FOUR chapter. (Part one), (part two), (part three), (part four), (part five), (part six).
The context for this conversation is: Holmes has had no work from Scotland Yard due to rumors about his and Watson's relationship. He responded to this with excessive cocaine use and then working himself unhealthy on the one case that came along; Mary Morstan's. Meanwhile, Watson befriended Mary, who is also gay, and realized that a lavender marriage with her could make him and Holmes safe, as well as granting her more freedom. Watson has not yet told Holmes of his decision.
(This is part of the Watsons sketchbook series!)
canon scene under the cut, which is achingly poignant in its own right:
“Well, and there is the end of our little drama,” I remarked, after we had set some time smoking in silence. “I fear that it may be the last investigation in which I shall have the chance of studying your methods. Miss Morstan has done me the honour to accept me as a husband in prospective.”
He gave a most dismal groan. “I feared as much,” said he. “I really cannot congratulate you.”
I was a little hurt. “Have you any reason to be dissatisfied with my choice?” I asked.
“Not at all. I think she is one of the most charming young ladies I ever met, and might have been most useful in such work as we have been doing. She had a decided genius that way: witness the way in which she preserved that Agra plan from all the other papers of her father. But love is an emotional thing, and whatever is emotional is opposed to that true cold reason which I place above all things. I should never marry myself, lest I bias my judgment.”
“I trust,” said I, laughing, “that my judgment may survive the ordeal. But you look weary.”
“Yes, the reaction is already upon me. I shall be as limp as a rag for a week.”
“Strange,” said I, “how terms of what in another man I should call laziness alternate with your fits of splendid energy and vigour.”
“Yes,” he answered, “there are in me the makings of a very fine loafer and also of a pretty spry sort of fellow. I often think of those lines of old Goethe,—
Schade dass die Natur nur einen Mensch aus Dir schuf, Denn zum würdigen Mann war und zum Schelmen der Stoff.
“By the way, à propos of this Norwood business, you see that they had, as I surmised, a confederate in the house, who could be none other than Lal Rao, the butler: so Jones actually has the undivided honour of having caught one fish in his great haul.”
“The division seems rather unfair,” I remarked. “You have done all the work in this business. I get a wife out of it, Jones gets the credit, pray what remains for you?”
“For me,” said Sherlock Holmes, “there still remains the cocaine-bottle.” And he stretched his long white hand up for it.
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kiddcarnage · 4 months ago
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Little acd holmes doodles. I'm currently on The Noble Bachelor and Sherlock has been a little diva it's so funny. (These doodles arent super specific moments, just random chicken scratch)
- A little ramble but I've found so much joy in the short stories! I'm working on some scary college stuff rn and as of today I have entered my senior year. It's scary and stressful especially since I won't be graduating with my fellow classmates (I'll be done a bit early and have decided not to walk since I attend college out of state, on top of that I'm leaving the country in January so I'll have to say goodbye to all my friends and professors in November) but I'm also terribly excited. Being able to listen to The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes while I work on my pitch has been super relaxing and make even the worst parts of the process (coloring and me do not get along) that much more enjoyable. I'm so happy to be reading again, and the fella who narrates all the stories I listen to on YouTube is absolutely fantastic. Okay rant over love yall heehee okay bye
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