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inevitably-johnlocked · 3 years ago

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Funny, Crack and Humour Fics (Part 1)

I’ve been reading your johnlock fan fic recs for quite sometimes and it had been amazing!!

Can you suggest me some fics which are funny and smutty?or just fun to read?

(submitted by @eclecticcolordreamhairdo)

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jonlokfe asked: Hi Steph, do you have a fan fiction Johnlock humor? O partys with scotland yard?

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Hi Lovelies!

Ahh, I’ve gotten a lot of requests lately for funny fics, and I’ve decided to finally just update it. I did a list a LONG time ago, but just never updated it since then. So I guess that’s what I’m doing this time around!

Because I have SO MANY FICS that all the links disappeared, I’m going to release this list in 2 Parts: First half is today, and next weekend I’ll post up the other half of the list <3

So enjoy this week’s list: the shorter fics :)

FUNNY, CRACK, and HUMOUR FICS (Part 1)

See also: Funny and Fluffy Stories

This Kiss by suitesamba (T, 731 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Drunkenness, Angst, Stag Night) – Stag Night - back at 221B - in a world where Mrs. Hudson doesn’t interrupt the guessing game with the client. Part 1 of The “This” Series

Reunited by MockJayPhoenix12 (K, 753 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Humour, Reunion) – Everything is falling right back into place, but it’s just a little too quick for John. One-shot, drabble, non-slash.

Cigarettes and Shampoo by laura0506 (T, 783 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Friendship) – John goes to the shops to meet someone he wasn’t supposed to.

Concussions And Good Old Fashioned Awkwardness by Belldere (K+, 894 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Hospitals, Mild John Whump, Misunderstandings, Platonic Relationship, Concussions, Not-Gay John, Possessive Sherlock) – When John lands himself in hospital… again, all he wants is to just get out of there as soon as possible, too bad his doctor has other ideas about where John may be getting his injuries. Good thing concussions make everything strangely funnier.

A Need To Know Basis by mattsloved1 (G, 934 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Romance) – As the cab door shut firmly, the DI had yelled out they were to make an appearance at Scotland Yard the next day. It was while John watched London pass by that it happened.

Tidying Up by mattsloved1 (K+, 951 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Friendship) – John comes home to a thoroughly cleaned flat. Or so it seems.

Realisation by Susie.Donym (K+, 957 w., 1 Ch. || Sally POV, Pre-Slash / Friendship, Humour) – It takes her a while but Sally finally makes a huge realisation.

Texts and Tea by JillianWatson1058 (K, 959 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Texting, Humour, Fluff, POV John, Cranky John) – A John who is woken up at 2:30 in the morning is not a happy John. Sherlock, frankly, doesn’t care. He just wants his tea.

My Unfortunately Average Sized Cranium by Haelia (K+, 996 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Headache, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Past Drug Use, Doctor John) – In which Sherlock has a migraine. ALMOST Johnlock. Not quite.

Secrets by 796116311389 (G, 1,084 w., 1 Ch. || Drunk Sherlock, Drunk Confessions, Angst, Fluff, Happy Ending, Pining Sherlock) – “He is the best person in the world and sometimes I get sad because I’m not. Not his best person.”

Mizzle by MrsNoggin (K, 1,233 w., 1 Ch || Friendship, Fluff, Platonic Johnlock, Humour, Slice of Life) – John can’t decide if it’s raining or not. Sherlock doesn’t understand.

Hallucinations can’t open doors by Bespectacled dreamer (K+, 1,330 w., 1 Ch. || Reunion, Hurt / Comfort, Friendship, Hallucinations, John’s Wedding, Light Humour) – In which John gets married and Sherlock gets a broken nose.

God Save The Queen by Alice Day (K+, 1,398 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Mystery, Friendship) – Sherlock has a new case. John is petrified. The Queen is amused.

Out on da pull by I-O-U-a-picture (T, 1,375 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Friendship) – John going ‘out on da pull’ and getting so close to getting digits so many times but Sherlock just conveniently keeps turning up prattling on about eyeballs in the microwave…

Three Ways Sherlock Conformed to His Stereotype by Jennistar1 (K+, 1,445 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Cranky Sherlock) – “It’s a hat.” / Urge to roll eyes, quashed. “Yes. I can see that.” / “It’s called a deerstalker.”

You Should Have Let Me Sleep! by theraggedypond (T, 1,542 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Sleepy Sherlock, Cranky Sherlock, Domestics) – After a three day case with no sleep and hardly any food, Sherlock is recovering from it by playing comatose. John finds out what happens when you wake up London’s favorite consulting detective.

Happy Birthday John by Starlight05 (K, 1,580 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Friendship, John’s Birthday, Shopping, 3rd Person POV John) – When an important date comes up, Sherlock finds himself doing something he never has before - shopping! But will he succeed and manage to get his best friend a present?

and yes I said yes I will Yes by Mithen (T, 1,662 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff, Humour, Est. Rel. Marriage Proposal) – Sherlock has deduced that John is going to propose to him, and he’s ready to accept. If only John would actually get around to it…

You Can Imagine The Christmas Dinners by johnsarmylady (T, 1,780 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Family, Introspection, Fluff, Post-ASIP) – Set the morning after a Study in Pink, John sits and contemplates Mycroft’s words.

In Which John is a BAMFy MoFo, OMG! by Kantayra (T, 1,835 w., 1 Ch. || Humour) – John’s BAMFness and Sherlock’s damsel-in-distress act are caught forever on camera. So Scotland Yard can mock. A lot.

The Video Footage by bitchinblackframedglasses (K, 1,894 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Friendship, Fluff, ASiB Missing Scene) – What exactly DID Lestrade film Sherlock doing in A Scandal in Belgravia? Sherlock wants to know, and John tells him.

The Adventure of the Mysterious Appearance of Tissues by Gwen’s Blue Box (K+, 1,910 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff, Humour, Sick John, Caring Sherlock, Hurt/Comfort) – In which there is a case, John has caught a cold and is not interested in investigating, Mrs Hudson is away and Sherlock does the shopping.

Baskerville After Dark by Ttime42 (T, 1,921 w., 1 Ch. || THoB, Friendship, Humor, Bed Sharing, Missing Scenes, Cranky John, Cuddles) – John and Sherlock have to share a bed at Baskerville. Gen, but can be preslash.

Text Me When It’s Over by immaculately-flawed (K+, 1,937 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Humour, Post-TRF, Texting, Sort-Of Pining Sherlock) – After the fall Sherlock starts writing texts to John. Of course, he never sends them… Until he does by accident. Post Reichenbach fic but not angsty.

Cards by Caighlee (K+, 1,954 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Humour, Games) – Sherlock has been without a case for a few days and Molly’s suggested experiment - something with a pig head (ew) - is losing it’s appeal. Can John come up with something that’ll distract Sherlock for a bit longer? And how did John pull off that card trick? Sherlock’ll never know because a magician never tells a secret. Except maybe when faced with a smiling Consulting Detective.

The Perfect Place by SilverSmile (K+, 1,955 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Romance, 5 and Ones, Fluff, Experiments, Bed Sharing) – Sherlock attempts to find the perfect place to sleep, but his little experiment proves to be far more difficult than expected.

They’re Taking My Wisdom by whitchry9 (K+, 1,939 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Drugging, Dentists, Friendship, Anxious Sherlock, Humour) – Sherlock goes to the dentist. Of course, being Sherlock, things have to be complicated. Oh and drugs. They’re always fun.

Foresight by niffler09 (K, 2,015 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Friendship, Holmes Brother Bickering) – It’s raining and neither John nor Sherlock have an umbrella so they huddle under Sherlock’s coat. And then Mycroft walks past and makes smartass remarks.

Caught in the Act – by Mycroft by ShirleyCarlton (E, 2,040 w., 1 Ch. || Unintended Voyeurism, Mycroft’s POV, Blow Job, Humour) – Mycroft had only planted the camera for Sherlock’s own good, simply to keep an eye on his little brother and make sure he was alright. He hadn’t quite meant to see his brother this content, however… Part 4 of Caught In The Act

Never Have I Ever by Hannelore-Grace (T, 2,073 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Friendship, Drinking Games) – In which the Yarders, Sherlock, and John play the time-honored drinking game.

Denial Isn’t Just a River in Egypt by satanatemycat (T, 2,107 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Friendship, Texting, Bored/Cranky Sherlock) – In which John makes a bet with a co-worker. If he wins, she shuts up about him and Sherlock being a couple. If he loses… well, that doesn’t matter, because he won’t lose. Because he and Sherlock ARE NOT a couple. Right?

The Imminent Danger of a Tumblr-Night by Loveismyrevolution (T, 2,135 w., 1 Ch. || Tumblr Fics, Friends to Lovers, Sherlock is Out of His Depth, Humour, Fluff, Pining Sherlock, Military Kink, POV Sherlock) – Sherlock gets into trouble when he pretends to know all about John’s favourite social media site - tumblr. To save face he seeks help from one of the bloggers and gains more answers than he had aimed for.

At Least Make It Interesting by amythedork (K, 2,140 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Angst) – “You’ve reached Sherlock Holmes. For the love of God, if you’re going to leave a message, at least make it an interesting one. If this is Mycroft, then piss off.” / A series of voicemails John left Sherlock throughout their time together.

The Case of the Missing Blogger by nicknack22 (K, 2,147 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff, Humour, Friendship, Worried / Anxious Sherlock) – Alternately titled, The Case of the Oblivious Consulting Detective. In which Sherlock comes out of his mind palace to discover John missing. 221B does not fair well as a result.

Spilt Milk by Erin Giles (K+, 2,222 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort) – John comes back from a trip to the supermarket only to take a trip up the stairs. Both shopping and blood are spilled leaving Sherlock to play the role of Doctor.

A Study in Lace by KarlyAnne (E, 2,320 w., 1 Ch. || Established Relationship, Crafty Sherlock, Tiny Lace Panties / Lingerie, Domestics, Experiments, Oral, Masturbation) – “Why do you suppose he was doing that?” “Why do I suppose who was doing what?” “The room. The lace. The secrecy. He was playing with fire in everything he did, and didn’t care one bit. But he had a secret chamber, carefully concealed, solely for the purpose of making lace lingerie. Obviously for personal use. Why?“ Part 1 of The Unintentional Crafts of Sherlock Holmes

Reunions, Rowdiness and Phone Calls by Jennistar1 (T, 2,348 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Friendship, Drunk John, Low-Key Pining Sherlock) – John goes on a school reunion and gets drunk. Sherlock solves some crimes and gets some interesting phone calls.

Work On Your Balance by speculate (K+, 2,448 w., 1 Ch. || Embarrassed Sherlock, “For A Case”, Skating, Fluff, Friendship, Humour) – In which John is actually pretty good at ice skating, Sherlock’s not and insists it’s all for a case , and Lestrade is pretty amused by it all.

Wintery Hell by Belldere (K+, 2,457 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship & Humour, Christmas) – With Sherlock being roped into spending Christmas with his family, John had his own Christmas all planned out with his other friends and family… That is until he’s extended a forceful invitation from Mycroft and an assumption from Sherlock who, once again, failed to notice John wasn’t in the room when he 'asked’.

Manipulation by sixbynine (K+, 2,566 w., 1 Ch. || Experimenting John, Reverse Psychology) – John Watson is not as unobservant as Sherlock thinks, nor is he above using what he knows. Even if it is just to make sure Sherlock eats and sleeps.

Not Rocket Science by Nitrospira (T, 2,571 w., 1 Ch. || Drama, Humour) – Sherlock and John Watson are handcuffed to a bed while investigating a double homicide on the International Space Station. But Sherlock isn’t sure which is more tedious: a killer on the loose or John’s endless complaints.

Nothing Left Untouched by ForeverShippingJohnlock (K+, 2,617 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Romance, Bed Sharing, Oblivious Sherlock, Anxious/Worried Sherlock, Grumpy John, Fluff and Cuddles) – Sherlock rearranges the flat. So what if John’s bedroom is now a research library. It’s not like John needs a bedroom, he can share with Sherlock. They’re friends and John has obviously slept in close quarters with men before and it’s not like Sherlock sleeps much anyway. It’ll be fine.

Insomnia by TheSingingGirl (K+, 2,635 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Humour, Bed Sharing, Sleepy Sherlock) – Sleep is merely the next frontier in what has become the battle to keep Sherlock alive. It’s because of this that John ends up in bed with a sociopath.

John’s Drawers by JezebelGoldstone (T, 2,646 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff, First Kiss, Romance, Humour) – Sherlock snoops through John’s drawers and finds something… unexpected.

BBCSH 'The Comfort of Company’ by tigersilver (T, 2,769 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF/Mary, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Bed Sharing, Grumpy John, Touching, Clingy/Handsy Sherlock, Cranky Sherlock, Fluff and Light Angst) – It’s a trope that John and Sherlock end up sharing in the same bed eventually and I admit I do adore it unconditionally, along with all it infers as to the lowering of defenses and the heightening of trust. I put forth for your consideration that the notion persists because those who think about these things realize these two men are each in dire need of some good company.

Bored Games by patster223 (K+, 2,769 w., 1 Ch. || Cluedo / Board Games, Friendship, Humour) – Sherlock is bored and John decides that they should play Cluedo. In retrospect, it was a truly awful decision.

Your love it feels so good by Hotaru_Tomoe (E, 2,843 w., 1 Ch. || Gay Club / Gay Bar, Lingerie, Stripping, Anal, Crossdressing, Strip Tease, First Time) – Sherlock is last at a quiz night and is forced by Anderson to perform in a gay stripclub. John must be with him, because he will have to record the performance. Sherlock takes the task very seriously. Part 20 of The English job

Tipsy by katkin (T, 2,781 w., 2 Ch. || Humour, Friendship, Drunk Sherlock) – "I love everyone in this room,” he announced proudly.“I know you do, buddy,” John replied “Which is why you’re going to clean this carpet in the morning. Because you’re a good friend.” “I am a good friend!” Sherlock agreed.

All in a Day by chappysmom (K+, 2,920 w., 1 Ch. || Kidnapping, Sherlock POV, Humour, Light Angst, BAMF John) – Oddly enough, it seemed like this time, Sherlock had been kidnapped for no other reason than to pressure John. In other words, this had nothing to do with him. Really, this on top of the blow to the head was enough to make him dizzy.

33 by Indigo Blue.x (K+, 2,936 w., 1 Ch. || Humour) – “I haven’t made a zombie,” Sherlock says scathingly, which would be more convincing if there were not a zombie in the flat.

Right Foot Red by Irrevocably_Sherlocked (E, 3,089 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss/Time, Board Games, Frottage, Masturbation, PWP, Friends to Lovers, Come as Lube, Come Marking) – …ok, it’s juvenile, but at least it’s a game where touching is allowed. And if something more were to happen, well, John can’t say he’d be too upset about that. “What are the rules of this game?” Sherlock asks, the disdain evident on the word ‘game’. “I spin, you do as I say.” John thinks he sees a slight widening of those pale grey eyes at that, just for a fraction of a second, before it is shut down. Oh, this is interesting, he thinks.

The Sweetest Taste In The World by crossroads (G, 3,121 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss, Jealous Sherlock, Fluff, Pining, Friends to Lovers) – The sweetest taste in the world is rarely ever the easiest to come by.

How to Court Your Blogger by PipMer (K+, 3,124 w., 1 Ch. || Romance, Humour, Fluff) – Sherlock Holmes sets out to court his flatmate. Things might progress more rapidly if he would inform said flatmate of his intentions.

Entanglement by orphan_account (G, 3,218 w., 1 Ch. || Pining, Confessions, Physics, Texting, Christmas, Mind Palace, Sick Fic, Fluff, Humour, Holidays) - On Christmas Eve, snow covers London, John visits Harry, and Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson untangle some knots.

Bathroom Accessories by Evenlodes_Friend (E, 3,324 w., 1 Ch. || Sex Toys, Butt Plug, First Kiss / Time, Romance, Horny Sherlock, John’s Patience Wears Thin, Humour, Bottomlock) – John discovers that Sherlock has been playing with some very adult toys in the bath.

Apodyopsis by QuinnAnderson (E, 3,347 w.,1 Ch. || PWP, Rough Sex, Table Sex, Anal, Sexual Tension) – Apodyopsis: (æpəʊdaɪˈɒpsɪs) noun. the act of mentally undressing someone. Part 2 of Undressed

Twas The Night by xox-hattii-xox (K+, 3,356 w., 1 Ch. || Humour & Friendship, Christmas, Domestics, Fluff) – Twas the night before Christmas…and Sherlock has had just about enough of the whole thing! 'Really, John, a Santa Hat’ Christmas in 221b, and Sherlock just wants it over with.

The Second Law of Thermodynamics by entanglednow (T, 3,614 w., 1 Ch. || Asexual Sherlock, Bed Sharing, Sharing Body Heat) – In which there’s no heating and there’s a dead owl in Sherlock’s bed. Part 1 of Thermodynamics

Doesn’t Follow Me Everywhere by Janec Shannon (T, 3,784 w., 1 Ch. || Humour and Friendship) – “He doesn’t follow me everywhere, you know.” Silly John, of course he does what with your penchant for getting kidnapped.

Paranoia by Ewebie (M, 3,789 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Drinking Games, Scotland Yard Gang, Jealous / Possessive Sherlock, Inappropriate Questions, Embarrassed John, Matchmakers) – John and Sherlock join the gang of Scotland Yard for a night of drinking, and it gets a bit personal and revealing.

Equine Arse Anonymity by Kayjaykayme (E, 3,834 w., 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Public Sex, Coming in Pants, Humour, Halloween, Hand Jobs) – Sherlock needs to speak with suspects at a fancy dress ball. He chooses a couple’s costume for himself and John. It is logical, practical and well thought out. John doesn’t agree and exacts sweet revenge.

Well Begun Is Half Done by Avice (E, 3,897 w.,1 Ch. || Virgin Sherlock, First Time, Anal/Oral, Seduction, John in Charge, Pining Sherlock, John’s Penis, Bottomlock) – Sherlock is putting together an elaborate plan of seducing John. John grows tired of waiting and takes matters into his own hands.

Jukebox by standbygo (T, 3,990 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff, Singing/Music, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Hurt/Comfort, Humour, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss) – After the music halls of Sherlock’s mind palace get damaged by accident, John learns that Sherlock never forgets a song. Even the ones he’d rather forget. But the random singalong brings some unexpected benefits.

Tree Topper by May_Shepard (E, 4,017 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas Tree, Christmas Fluff, Drunken Shenanigans, Smut, First Time, Friends to Lovers) – Sherlock and John are celebrating Christmas the best way they know how–alone together, with booze. They’ve almost finished decorating their tree, but John is determined to find the best way to top it.

The Oolong Disaster by unicornpoe (T, 4,151 w., 1 Ch. || John’s Beard, Fluff, Humour, Frustrated Sherlock, John Takes Care of Sherlock, Case Fic-ish, Pining Sherlock, First Kiss, Possessive Sherlock) – John has a beard. Sherlock has a panic attack.

Sherlock Holmes and the Mysterious Piercing by Lorelei_Lee (E, 4,130 w., 1 Ch. || Travelling, Sherlock is Loud, Secrets, Genital Piercing, First Time, Licking, Coming Nearly Untouched) – John discovers by chance that Sherlock has a piercing. To his surprise John can’t stop thinking about it…

Date Night by inevitably_johnlocked (G, 4,451 w., 1 Ch. || Anxious / Worried Sherlock, Caring John, Schmoopy Fluff, Fidget Cube, Baking / Cooking, Date Night, Established Relationship, POV Sherlock Holmes, Understanding John, Grumpy Sherlock, John’s Bum, Kisses, Hugs, Domestic Fluff, Touching, Hair Petting, Light Humour) – It’s John and Sherlock’s first Date Night as an official couple and Sherlock needs it to be PERFECT. Mrs Hudson helps. Part 7 of I-J’s Tumblr Ficlet Collection

The Care and Keeping of Your Mad Genius by Janieshi (T, 4,553 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TGG, Friendship, Anxious/Worried Sherlock, Light Humour/Teasing, Alternating POV, Cranky Sherlock) – If he hadn’t been so focused on holding the bastard still, John would have laughed aloud. This maniac really thought John was the pet in this dynamic?

Because Blah Blah Blah Happy by cwb (E, 4,578 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff, Cuddles, Kissing, First Kiss, Requited Love, Pining Sherlock) – John is entirely done with the milk situation and gives Sherlock a list of shit he’s pissed about. Sherlock sets out to make John happy. John is happy. Sherlock makes his own list. They are both very, very happy.

Carry On by Mazarin221b (M, 4,647 w., 1 Ch. || 5 and Ones, H/C, Afghanistan, Frottage, Hand Jobs, First Time, Drunk John, Hospitals, Humour, Soft Sex) – Five times John didn’t want to be carried, and one time he did.

Given In Evidence by verityburns (M, 5,034 w., 19 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Angst, Drama, Case Fic, Romance, BAMF!John, Submissive Sherlock, First Kiss, Humour) – Coming back from the dead can be a complicated business. With a new case on the horizon, rebuilding a life is one thing… rebuilding a friendship quite another. For Sherlock and John, things may never be just the same…

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #funny fics #crack fics #my fic recs #submission #send me things #long post

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gisachi · 4 years ago

Note

Hi ^^ I know that your requests are now closed but I was thinking that, given you have written jealous Shinichi, I would very much enjoy some jealous Ran! Maybe you can mix it with one of the prompts? Just throwing the idea out there, no pressure. Delete this if you don't feel like it, it's okay really. Thank you for writing these amazing fics, the shinran fandom is in your debt. ❤️

So this is the last (!!!) and longest (!!!) of the kiss prompts, and I dedicate it to multiple-requests Anon and to this Anon. I hope both of you still see this. It took me a while. ^^;;

P.S. Special thanks to @artycreaty for keeping this in check. You are awesome. 🥰

41. Kisses shared under an umbrella. 46. A lingering kiss before a long trip apart. (6,489 words)

Ran keeps telling herself she has no right to be jealous.

She has hundreds of reasons not to. They’re merely childhood best friends. Life would be much easier if she didn’t involve herself in his business twenty-four seven. Shinichi absolutely doesn’t look at her that way. And so forth.

She wonders why they’re even friends in the first place. If their parents hadn’t enrolled them in the same kindergarten, she was certain they wouldn’t even be on speaking terms. He lives in a world of grisly books and crimes, she in a world of martial and visual arts. Their hobbies don’t overlap. They excel in different fields. They enter the same university with completely unrelated majors. The only bond they have in common is their shared history. Literally bonded since they were four, until now at nineteen.

So when she sees him all jolly around his newfound circle who hold the same interest in Holmes or detective work, it shouldn’t surprise her as much. It’s part of university life, it’s normal, they expand their horizons, and Ran understands that it hits much differently when they bond with people who like the same stuff they do. Something she’s aware they cannot share a hundred percent.

She’s proud of him, and she absolutely has no right to feel jealous, especially when she sees him around taller, prettier, more interesting women from his course block. There is no reason for her to look away with a heavy weight in her chest everytime the women get giggly and touchy while he’s absorbed in narrating his stories.

Everytime she does, she reminds herself of how he didn’t seem to mind when she was casted as the protagonist of their high school play and the leading man was the handsome Araide-sensei. Or how he simply shrugged when she fawned over the brother of a classmate because he looked so much like the karate senpai she was crushing on. Or when she secretly caught Sonoko dragging the detective behind gym after P.E. to confront him about his opinion regarding an upperclassman courting Ran and his only response was, ‘She can like whoever she likes, Sonoko. I’m not her boyfriend.’

He never showed her any sign of jealousy, therefore he must not be into her. Simple as that. So it’s unfair for her to be treating him differently. Getting snarky just because he received sixteen new fan mails again, more now that they’re in uni, and two even coming from the popular criminology seniors he is often teased to? Or ignoring him unprecedentedly just because his eyes followed the back of a woman with long chestnut hair and voluptuous curves? There are plenty of fish in the sea, and he’s bound to be attracted to someone else. This is a pill she ought to learn to swallow eventually.

Eventually.

“Shinichi-kun, you never told us about your scariest case yet, tell us about it?”

Kaori closes her notes and so do the other two girls across her, and Shinichi’s eyes twinkle. He truly seems to enjoy study sessions with the little group they made consisting of some of his and Ran’s coursemates because they love listening to his stories.

“At the top of my head is this murderer disguised as a bandaged man, and he targeted us one by one…” and so the detective drones. Ran pauses typing and reminisces quietly. Ah, that one from summer three years ago. I was almost injured by that crazy man during my sleep but Shinichi woke me up in time.

“Ran-san,” Shun, her friend and coursemate, mutters beside her, also stopping his typing to listen to the detective’s story. “It’s ridiculous how popular Kudou-kun is with the girls. He’s full of wild adventures.”

“Yes, he is,” Ran says, smiling. “He’s been a girl magnet ever since high school.”

She watches as Kaori inches closer to Shinichi, listening attentively, chin on her palm and flirtatious smile on her lips as the detective rants on and on.

For the third time that afternoon, Ran looks away.

Ran keeps telling herself she has no right to be jealous.

She does, everyday, but it’s hard when he smiles at her, cares for her, holds her in a way she’s never seen him do for anyone else. It gives her hope every time the girls cling to him but he never touches them back, whereas he automatically slings his arm over her shoulder because she’s afraid or cold or he simply feels like it.

Then again, maybe she’s giving herself too much credit. Perhaps it’s a free pass for being around him for too long. She even gets to spend time with him during weekends and holidays. It isn’t special because it’s normal.

And that’s all she’ll ever be, a normal girl in his eyes.

“Ran? She’s pretty special.”

Ran reacts to the mention of her name and catches Shinichi looking at her. “She appears quiet but she can kick anyone’s ass without breaking a sweat. It’s bad if you cross her,” Shinichi gloats with a grin.

“Oh my god, really? We can bring her with us then!” Kaori claps her hands in excitement.

“Ah... But she won’t like that,” he follows up, wary. Ran has missed the topic they were talking about and now she’s curious.

“But ghosts aren’t real and Mouri-san can give them a good beating!”

“Gh-Ghosts?” The color in her cheeks drains, eyes freezing at Shinichi who has probably already expected that reaction, for he sports that same look of concern as those times he had expressed whenever she joined him in his way-past-bedtime elementary school adventures.

“We’ll investigate an abandoned house I always pass by walking home,” Kaori explains. “Last night I saw a faint cigarette light at the second floor window. It might be a fugitive or a homeless person or a ghost, who knows?”

“You don’t need to come if you don’t want to, Ran,” Shinichi assures.

Gulping, Ran contemplates whether going with them will do her any good. It’s a nice change, it’s been a while since she last tagged with Shinichi in his cases. But she isn’t exactly proud of shrieking like a little kid in front of serious criminology majors who may feel like she’ll drag their covert investigation down if she joins.

“...I’ll pass,” she answers meekly, and his coursemates sulk except Shinichi, who offers her a smile of understanding.

“Man, I thought we’ll be able to see Mouri-san in action!”

“That’s ok, maybe next time. We still have Shinichi-kun!”

“Shinichi-kun will protect us, ne?”

“Hah. Right. Invite Hakuba too, use him.”

“Oh c’mooon, Shinichi-kun!”

Ran closes her eyes, struggling to zone their voices out.

In her silence, Ran ponders if she has made a wrong choice.

Ran has no right to be jealous. So it’s unfair for her to be treating him this way.

The following weekend, Shinichi narrates what happened in their late-night investigation. Hakuba wasn’t there so Shinichi was the only available guy as usual. Ran refuses to hear any more details, both of the haunted house and secretly of the girls chancing onto him during the investigation. Shinichi is puzzled.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Nah, just swamped with work.”

“On a Sunday?”

“Yes.”

“Want me to assist?”

“No.”

Her replies are curt from the couch of his house, not looking at Shinichi on the other end as she mindlessly cleans up her digital sketches. She hates how snappy she sounds but her brain is too absorbed with conjuring spiteful imaginations to even think of masking her annoyance.

“Ran, hey. Look at me.”

His low voice freezes her from drawing, and she slowly looks up to meet Shinichi’s serious eyes.

When this happens, she knows he’s reading her. She inwardly chants a prayer because now isn’t a good time. Whatever time isn’t a good time. She doesn’t know what to say when she’s aware everything she’s been feeling is irrational and unfair. She’s being selfish.

“You’re… stressed.”

“No, I’m… Eh?”

He scoots closer, an arm’s length away. “Your dark circles are more prominent now, you need a break.” His eyes turn a soft blue. “Let’s have dinner out? My treat.”

Ran is surprised, to say the least. The last time he invited her out was two weeks ago. She’s become so used to seeing him around others that any initiative from him sounds too good to be true.

“But I need to finish this project by tonight.”

“Let’s have food delivery then!” Shinichi announces, not rattled by Ran’s indirect refusal. “I know exactly what you want. Ramen and shaved ice.”

Her eyes thin at the absurdly goofy expression she knows he makes when he’s being mischievous. “Clearly you’re ordering that ramen for yourself. I only like shaved ice.”

“Damn! Miss Detective gets it.” A mile-wide grin stretches across his face, earning an eye roll from the half-smiling woman. “Let’s eat together on your short break, please?”

He leans within a respectful distance and she sees his smile better, pair of kind eyes locking with her overworked ones. “It’s been a while.”

Her heart throbs for him. So much.

She caves - of course she does - and breathes her acquiescence.

After two long weeks, they have dinner together, just them and Shinichi’s ramen and Ran’s donburi and shaved ice, Shinichi taking a spoonful of dessert from the cup when she isn’t looking and Ran snatching a slurp from his take-out bowl and laughing when he catches her.

With how heartfelt his laughter is in her presence devoid of any mysteries, Ran knows she’s probably giving herself too much credit, but for once she wants to believe she is the cause of why Shinichi’s happy.

Just for that night, she gives it to herself.

She’ll change the dark colors of her digital artwork to brighter ones after they eat.

Despite everything, Ran finds it difficult to contain her recurring jealousy.

The more she shares precious time with him, the more it gets harder to suppress the selfish emotions. What is so unsatisfying about being the best friend is that she is only the best friend. No more no less. At the end of the day, she isn’t the one he gets to cuddle with, to tease then kiss, to tell ‘I love you’ to, romantically.

“I love you.”

Ran feels her heart about to leap out of her chest.

“But please. Stop. Tearing. The. Cushions!”

The little furball he has scooped underneath a throw pillow wiggle from his grasp. The kitten and detective engage in a brief staring showdown before it jumps away to hide under a farther couch.

Snapping out of reverie, Ran watches her childhood friend slink dejectedly onto the partly scratched furniture. He’s fortunate enough that his mother isn’t around to give him a long lecture on Why Pets Aren’t Allowed in the House 101. She can always take Yukiko-san’s role and reprimand him for it, but as for this and the cat, she finds herself not wanting to intervene.

“Kaori-san sure is taking her time with her parent’s permission. By the time she does, Momo would’ve shredded all the pillows in this house.”

“You named the cat?” Ran asks, amused.

“She did.” He thinks for a moment, then sniggers. “Actually I did. I suggested a random name. She took it.”

Ran merely hums. What can she say? They’re getting close. Close enough to team up as parents to an adopted kitten.

“I’m surprised you also agreed to keep Momo when you never took in animals before.”

“Kaori said she’ll treat me to the latest Detective Samonji movie this weekend if I do. Can’t resist that.”

“Just you two?”

“Yeah.”

A beat. Then he turns to her.

“Wanna join? I can ask her to count you in since you’re kinda helpi—”

“N-no need,” Ran quips, “It’s—It’s fine.”

“No really,” Shinichi insists, “Kaori-san has a lot of money, she—”

“I’m going to Tokyo Metropolitan Art Museum with Shun-san this weekend... so... I can’t.”

“Ah.”

Silence.

“It’s, um, for a project,” she bolsters.

“I know.” The faintest smile graces his lips. “It’s your thing. Both of you.”

“Mm.”

He doesn’t say anything else after that.

“Shinichi, you’re a detective, right?” she blurts out of the blue.

“Yeah...and?”

Then deduce what I feel. Here and now.

“Then you’re going to enjoy that movie!” Ran forces a beam, giving Shinichi a thumb of approval. “And you can discuss it with Kaori-san over dinner. I’m sure you two have a lot to say about it.”

Shinichi’s eyes linger on her, reading her like a book, and Ran has her mind reeling again, afraid to be read.

“Yeah, we do,” he finally says, ending the conversation.

Only a few words are uttered the rest of the afternoon.

Momo resurfaces and curls beside Shinichi.

Momo’s purring is loud, but Ran’s shattering heart is louder.

Ran must not feel jealous. She is not a girlfriend.

Because she isn’t a girlfriend, he’s free to fall for and date anyone else. Who is she to gatekeep him? There are plenty of fish in the sea, and he’s one big catch. Ran believes she’s a big catch, too. With the way she loves dearly, her future boyfriend is going to be very lucky.

Her future boyfriend is not going to be him.

“...mber the required fieldwork in one of my majors I told you? We actually go by batches. The first batch did theirs last month. The second batch was last week… and I— Ran, are you listening?”

“Ah! Yes,” Ran notices they have already reached her station and are now walking two blocks to her apartment. “Your fieldwork, right?”

“...Yeah,” he carries on. “I’m in the last batch... This whole winter break.”

“I see, I understand.” She smiles, getting what he means. No Christmas or New Year’s Eve together. The first time since they’re four. It’s fine, honestly. If it’s a required activity, then there’s really no way to go about it. She isn’t going to lash out just because she can’t be with him in her most favorite time of the year.

“And Hattori-kun and Hakuba-kun will be with you?”

“Hattori did his last month. Hakuba is in the previous batch. I’ll be stuck with the girls.”

Ran’s heart momentarily squeezes. “Where will your fieldwork be?”

“In Akita.”

Her pupils constrict. “That far?”

“Yes... so to cut on expenses, Kaori-san offered her house for me and the others to stay while we’re there—”

Kaori. Again with the tall, beautiful, intelligent Kaori. She bets it’s amazing to spend the holidays doing what he loves and with Kaori beside her, snuggling with him by the fireplace in a romantic snowy night and she might even confess, and it’ll be a great catch for Shinichi, and he’ll return with a girlfriend, and—

“Kaori-san is lucky.” The words flow out of her mouth, unbridled.

Shinichi looks at her. “Lucky?”

Ran remains quiet and keeps walking. It’s dangerous to say anything. She only has one thing in her mind and she doesn’t want to say it out loud. She has no right.

“Ran, hey.”

She doesn’t stop walking.

“Ran.”

She ignores his call.

“Ran… you’re jealous.”

She stops walking.

“Excuse me?”

“...You’re jealous…” Shinichi repeats quietly.

A contrast to his calm tone, his irises beset hers in the cold twilight and Ran attempts to shield herself but her bag and umbrella are in the way. She thinks of turning away but her feet are frigid like icicles, and Shinichi steps closer.

For the third time, he declares, “You’re jealous.”

Hearing her thoughts echo through his words renders her speechless.

It seems to take a moment before Shinichi’s brow arches, lips curl up as his eyes refuse to stray, and she hears a faint exhale even, like he’s exasperated, and suddenly he’s smiling - or is he smirking? sneering? - and...and...

It stings, is her immediate reaction.

For the longest time, she’d wanted him to take a hint. But if she had known this was how he’d react, she’d rather live a life having him oblivious of her emotional struggle. Dealing with that is more tolerable than witnessing him gaze her down in blatant mockery. He sneers as though he’s about to crack a joke and move on and forget such a laughable matter. That’s the last form of acknowledgment she wants for her honest feelings.

Heartbreak and shame and pain build up in her chest like a volcano closing eruption. Water begins to cloud her vision. She clenches her fist tight on her umbrella and Shinichi notices, and he takes another step forward.

“Ran…?”

“I am not, and you’re a fool.”

In a span of a breath, she’s sprinting in the opposite direction, tracing the path where they have walked, ignoring the distant yells of her name behind her. She runs and runs, and as she runs farther, with her thoughts muddy and breath short and dry, she wonders if she may have overreacted.

If he’s done that on purpose, screw him. If not, screw her.

After all, they are merely friends and she has no logical reason to act this way.

“Stop... running... will you!”

She hears heavy footsteps close in. It takes all the energy Ran has to prevent herself from turning her body around but his strong grip overpowers her.

“Let me go!”

“Why are you running?!”

“I can’t...deal with you!”

“Why? Was I right?”

“Right or wrong, it doesn’t matter!”

“Why doesn’t it matter?”

“Because I am your best friend!”

On another occasion, she would’ve successfully jilted away and run farther, but Ran is floored when he yanks her into a one-armed hug, so floored she drops her umbrella to the snowy ground.

“Stop saying that!” he hisses in her ear, frustration apparent.

“What are you— Let me go!”

He hugs her tighter.

“If you don’t let go in three seconds, I will screa—”

“I am happy!”

Ran stops struggling, eyes widening in shock.

Icy huffs tickle her neck as he half shouts, “I’m happy you feel that way!”

“You’re...You’re happy because I’m suffering?”

“What? No! I—”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better? How?” The hurt in her tone is impeccable, prattling muffled against his chest as she spares him no moment to butt in. “You think I wanted to feel this? That I enjoy griping in helpless jealousy? And you’re rejoicing that I am? How full of yourself can you be?!”

“That’s not...You don’t underst—”

“I do understand! I understand that I am so incredibly stupid for catching this disgusting heap of emotions for an obnoxious, stuck-up deduction maniac that is my best friend and maybe it’s better after all that he never, ever sees me the way I see him!”

“Stop saying that, Ran!”

She thinks he has broken away, but he drags her back with an insistent tug, crashing his lips onto hers as she stumbles into his arms.

All willpower rippling through her disintegrates quickly like snow in high heat.

An impatient pop resonates as he separates, eyes slowly opening, breath thick and ragged.

“I know that is not how we explain things, but does that explain anything?”

She hears it. The madness. But more than madness, yearning bleeds through his voice so much that her frustration turns into physical pain. Blinded by an all-consuming ache, she tips her chin and presses her lips back against his, demanding for cure in the wrong place. Shinichi freezes, then relaxes. He moves his hand to her nape, four fingers in her hair, thumb treading her jaw.

They look like a scene in a movie.

Under his umbrella and hidden from view, they communicate through brushing lips and tilting heads. His mouth closing over hers with gentle force, her hands splaying across his chest, heavy with something that makes his heart pound under them.

She is so lost in the chase and his tender embrace that for a second she forgets she is kissing her best friend.

Best friend.

This doesn’t explain anything. It worsens it.

She pulls back, ending what she has so recklessly started. “N-no, I’m— No.”

She pushes him away, gathers the stuff she drops, and runs without looking back.

“Ran!”

He shouts her name. Twice.

On the third call, his footfalls die down. On the fourth, he stops running.

She doesn’t.

Thirty minutes before midnight, Ran stands outside his gate, boots buried half foot under the snow as she rings his intercom for the second time, thinking to herself how foolish she must be to cut communications with him for a week and then show up his doorstep looking miserable like a stood-up date.

It’s the start of winter break.

He’ll leave for Akita in ten hours.

She needs to give his Christmas present before his departure.

She’s crazy, pathetic, still frustrated, and hurtfully in love.

“Oi. You better have a good explanation for why you’re buzzing at goddamn midnig—”

“Shinichi.”

His surprised gasp is apparent even through the intercom. A rustle follows and with a croaky voice, he responds. “...Ran.”

Surely he isn’t expecting this. Not after the tantrum she threw days ago. He probably thinks she hates him more than ever. But what she truly feels is more overwhelming than all negative emotions combined, and may god grant her all the strength to address it all, tonight.

“May I come in?”

“The house is—The house is a mess I, um. I’m packing my stuff for...”

“I’ll help you.”

“...”

She’ll understand if he decides to turn her down. But the answer that follows the deafening pause is a low and quiet ‘Okay’.

Despite psyching herself hours before she came, courage wanes when he opens the front door and gate in his pullovers. She is welcomed in, and the trip up his room is wordless. Shinichi only talks when he points out that he’s already packed clothes for two days and will need help for two weeks’ worth. He lamely laughs when he instructs her to pick the tops and layers, and he’ll take care of the pants and underwear.

On a normal instance, she would’ve humored him and they would’ve been talking right after. Now she simply pulls an empty smile and then they fall back into silence.

She supposes he’s trying to act unbothered, to treat what happened a week ago as a one-and-done glitch in their friendship, never to be discussed again. She cannot fault him when she’s trying to do the same. But it’s not easy when in the stillness of the night the echo of their altercation howls, raging persistently in their ears.

What has he been thinking of for the past week?

Has he been kept up all night by the words she said and the words he left unspoken?

Are they still friends? Will they still be friends after this?

The kiss... What about the kiss?

So many questions. So little words. So little time.

Ran is seated on the floor, folding shirts and stuffing them neatly in his duffel bag. Her back faces Shinichi who is sorting out bottoms in his cabinet. She senses him sit on the floor, back against her but not touching. Neither dares to speak first.

A ringing phone cuts the silence.

“Mm, still awake. Good for two weeks right? Gotcha. No, I’ll meet you girls at the station, no need to fetch me. Pfft. I can walk. Ok, see you tomorrow.”

If Ran wasn’t so hyperaware of where she is and what she’s done, her mood would’ve shifted to the one she’d been trying to avoid. Now isn’t the time to think about that. Midnight sneaking out to go to his house is something she wouldn’t do even on good days. She scans her bag on the far couch, deliberately bringing a bigger one to hide his gift. Maybe she can just sneak it in his bag and leave once she’s done and he’ll discover it only when he’s prefectures away. Brown has always suited him, and he’ll definitely find the overcoat useful as spare protective gear.

That’s right. She always cares for him like this. She is his best friend first, and... and nothing second.

“Don’t just leave after putting your present in my bag. At this hour, I can’t let you walk home alone,” he says swiftly.

Ran’s eyes fly wide.

“How did you…”

He doesn’t say anything and continues with his business.

Again with the throat-drying silence.

Something in Ran’s gut compels her to speak, but she is surprised when he does first.

“I... I don’t like Kaori-san. If that’s what you’re thinking.”

Ran stiffens, pausing mid-motion from folding. “I’m not…”

He leans his back completely against her and she shudders, voice reverberating through her skin. “Ran, if you could just hear me out.”

Unable to talk and move, she does.

“Kaori-san and the rest... They know I love mysteries. They know I want to build my own private detective agency. They know my favorite Holmes’ story is The Sign of Four. They know how many crimes I solved in Tokyo. All the information about me which anyone can read from the internet and newspaper and from what I told them when they ask, they know. Ran, you know all that. All that and more.”

He angles his head to the ceiling as if he’s talking to someone there. Ran supports his weight, curling to her knees as she silently listens.

“You know of my first ever deduction because Christ, my first deduction was about you. You know of the two cases which haunt me until this day because I watched the culprit die in front of my very eyes. You were with me the nights I locked myself in here thinking about them. You know of the interesting, the boring, the absurd cases, everything, because I told you or you were there. You know of the odd way I play the violin while I ponder over a case. You know I forget to eat when swamped with new books to read. I have three copies of The Sign of Four but the one I keep beside my bed and read almost weekly is the one you gave me on my tenth birthday and that is all I need. You know me for me, Ran. Everything about me that is off the record, the good and the bad, you know all of those. Only you. The same way I do... about you.”

She feels him crane slightly to the side, addressing her.

“Ran.”

“Mm.”

“I love you.”

Ran’s heart almost completely stops beating.

“I love you,” he whispers, “more than I am even supposed to.”

All words seem to have fizzled out of her vocabulary as she sits still, stunned at what she’s hearing.

“I’m happy growing up with you, studying with you, bickering with you, acting stupid with you, investigating with you, eating with you, napping with you, hugging you, holding you, taking care of you, simply... being with you. Before I know it, it’s not the cases or Holmes or mysteries that complete my days, it’s you.

“For you to keep repeating that ‘best friend’ phrase, I…” He lowers his head.

“For who knows how long, I’ve loved you as that and more.”

Someone pinch her because in no way can this be real.

“I was happy thinking you’re jealous because it meant a sliver of chance you feel the same way. We could’ve remedied the misunderstanding easily, Ran. We could’ve talked it over like we always do. But I was stupid and emotions were high and in the end I… kissed you…” he takes another deep breath, “But—but you kissed me back, and my heart couldn’t stay still...”

Pulse drumming loud, Ran tilts her head on the side where he leans, wanting to see the slightest expression he makes as he continues.

“If my deductions are wrong and you’re mad for a different reason, and—and you returned that for a different reason...” she hears the pang of remorse in his tone, “then please forget I ever said anything and I’ll leave myself to die in humiliation once I’m out of your sight.”

He lays one palm flat on the floor and she notices.

“But if my deductions are right and you were indeed jealous, I...” She feels his head swivel enough to feel his warm breath fan across her cheek, before shifting back front and releasing a slow, guttural exhale he’s kept contained within.

“I’ll wait... until you accept it. Accept me.”

Ran may have choked on her throat for how long she’s held her breath.

In spite of herself, she knows she doesn’t need to think of what to say. She had it all in her head before coming here. Yet expressing it out loud is a different matter.

She isn’t ready, but when will she ever be ready? Shinichi undoubtedly isn’t too. Yet here he is, laying the groundwork for her, no holds barred and a stuttering mess at that. How she plans to build from it is the question she asks herself next.

Inhaling as though bracing herself, she places a hand beside him, pinky slightly grazing his.

“I didn’t... You never showed any signs.”

Careful and calm, he extends his little finger over hers. She doesn’t flinch, and both hands crawl closer until two fingers overlap.

“Either I’m a great pretender or you’re incredibly dense.”

“I’m...I’m not dense.”

“I’m a bad actor, then.” He slides his hand further.

“I was trying so hard to be a supportive best friend for you.”

“I sensed that but ignored it because I didn’t want to assume anything.”

“You did though. Now we’re here.”

“Would you rather we aren’t?”

“I would rather we spend the last weeks of this year talking like normal than being stupid idiots before you leave.”

“It’s just two weeks, Ran.”

“Two special weeks I would’ve wanted to spend with my best frien-... with you.”

Without knowing it, his hand has completely nestled atop hers, four fingers curled between her thumb and index finger.

“Ran... You must really hate the idea of falling in love with me.”

“Eh?”

“You’re so wrapped with the thought that we’re simply best friends that you hold your love in chains as though it isn’t permitted to grow.”

“I… I didn’t want to ruin the only connection we have-”

“Two friends falling in love are still friends… They are also more. You cannot ruin an indefeasible connection. Friendship and love may be the only bond we have, but they’re the most important bond of all.”

Ran falls quiet.

“Geez…”

He releases a thick sigh, brushes his thumb across her splayed fingers.

“I have shit art appreciation skills, but I can take you to museums too... as a friend and as a date.” A beat, and a mumble. “Even to better museums than Tokyo Metropolitan Art Museum.”

She darts her head sideways, realizing something.

“Were you also…?”

“No.”

Ran doesn’t suppress the heartfelt giggle that bubbles out.

“Shun-san has a boyfriend, Shinichi.”

“I—” he pauses. “I wasn’t asking.” Ran giggles more.

“Shinichi.”

“Yes.”

“I love you too.”

The hand above squishes hers all too suddenly like he’s been blown away and is needing something to hold onto.

“I came here to give your present and to apologize for being so shallow and for acting without thinking and for a lot of things actually... but now I feel there’s no need, because then I wouldn’t have...” She looks down at their intertwined hands.

Before she can return his squeeze, he recoils.

“Oh, y-you do apologize. Running away like that.” He coughs, and she can practically hear the tripping in his tone.

“Aren’t you already used to it? I’ve done it many times,” she chides.

“No. Apologize,” he insists. “And look at me while you do.”

Ran’s stomach twists, heart kicking up a step.

It’s easy to talk without eye contact, but to be requested so after confessions are exchanged—

“Face me, Ran.”

The familiar voice of yearning strums her heartstrings, tone sounding a lot like a plea than an order and Ran finds her head instinctively craning at an angle, hand coiling on the floor trying to calm her nervous beating heart. She feels him shift behind as well.

She takes all her time to face him, partly unsure what to do, partly knowing exactly what she wants to do. Despite the deliberate slowness of their movements, it is when they lock eyes that time truly seems to stop.

Shinichi appears so different, so soulful. His blue irises glimmering, fixated on nothing but her as she reveres him with matching intensity. The same guy she treats as her best friend looks at her with tender love in his eyes, darting down her lips and up like no best friend ever would.

“I love you,” he says, breathless. “Make me your boyfriend.”

A wave of emotion sweeps over her, heartbeat fluttering in overdrive as they huddle on the floor, bags and clothes and time forgotten.

“From best friend to... such a shift-”

“Nothing will be different.” He rests his forehead on hers, gaze of soft blue patient though more intimate now, knowing what they share is mutual. “We’ll still do what we do... With exclusive romantic commitment and sweet nothings that translate to ‘I love you’ in more ways than one.”

She attempts a jab on his chest but he catches her fist, soft but jesting beam all too apparent and she does but play along.

“What about when we fight?” she asks.

“Same. But...” he slides a thumb over her quiet lips, parting them slightly, “I can do this once we make up.”

“...Like right now?”

“Like right now.”

A genuine smile is the last thing she sees before delicate pair of lips lands on hers, capping their one-week fight and their last night of the year together in the best and most unexpected way imaginable.

Ran keeps telling herself she shouldn’t be jealous.

Not because they are simply best friends, because they aren’t. Not because life would be easier if she didn’t involve herself in his business twenty-four seven, because it wouldn’t.

Not because Shinichi doesn’t look at her that way, because he does.

She shouldn’t be jealous because she absolutely has no reason to, is all.

“I haven’t forgotten about your present. I was planning to buy yours in Akita.”

“Stop lying, you totally forgot it.”

“I didn’t. Stop that.” Half-mast eyes rake her side profile, and Ran covers a mirthful grin with her mitted hand holding the umbrella, then yawns. Hours of packing and talking and laughing left them with roughly four hours of sleep. It isn’t like she slept the whole period because while sleeping in his room isn’t new, cuddling while they sleep is. Ran couldn’t simply shut her eyes and heart to that.

“I believe though,” he wraps a hand around her free one, pocketing both of them in his brand new overcoat, “I gave half of my present already.”

“Hnn. That doesn’t count as a gift.” Her hand shifted, coddling his own to a warm fit.

“Really?” A smug smirk pulls up his face. “I believe I am a nice present, Ran. That’s why they—”

“Screw this. You are unbelievable. A humbug. Why do people like you.”

“I know. Why do you like me?” Shinichi laughs as he avoids the swing of her umbrella.

From afar, they see Kaori and the girls at the meet-up point outside Tokyo Station, though they seem unaware of their presence yet. Suddenly feeling conscious, Ran feels the urge to disentangle her hand, but Shinichi holds on, firm.

“Why?” He asks in a low voice.

“I dunno… maybe this isn’t the best time…”

“Isn’t now the best time?” His smile is proud and natural, not one ounce of reluctance visible.

Although she gets what he means, that doesn’t free her of shyness and guilt. Somehow she feels like apologizing to Kaori for… she doesn’t know. She just wants to. Letting her see them like this makes her think that she’s giving her an indirect slap on the face. Shinichi certainly won’t agree because ‘What’s with women and their logic?’, but still, whether or not it’s all in her head, Ran needs more time to prepare for this.

But to her surprise, Shinichi lets go of her hand. They are still a few feet from view when he steps in front of her and turns around. “Maah, fine, I get it,” he huffs, then smiles. “Then, just give me your umbrella.”

The moment she does, Shinichi closes their distance and dips his face onto hers. Ran is given no leeway to gasp as loving lips seal her quiet. It isn’t as long as what they shared a week ago, but the emotions are loaded and full, speaking fond thanks and temporary farewell.

She doesn’t realize she has closed her eyes until he separates, and she’s met with the most tender, most angelic expression he wears only on the rarest occasions. He’s saying without telling that her feelings are valid, she doesn’t have to worry, and he doesn’t have eyes for anyone but her. Somehow, the snow is the sea and fish are swarming around but neither cares because they have already caught each other.

“You don’t have to, silly.” Three layers of pink blanket Ran’s puffy cheeks.

“But I want to.” Grinning, Shinichi hands her back the umbrella. “You don’t like hand-holding. You don’t like being seen. Don’t you think that’s a great compromise?”

“Idiot, many people saw...”

“No, they didn’t!” Upping the duffel bag slung on his shoulder, he steps back and gives her one last goofy beam. “I’ll see you next year, Ran. I’ll call as often as I can.”

Wordlessly, Ran watches Shinichi’s back as he jogs to his waiting companions, who by then have already had their eyes pinned on the approaching figure.

“That is Shinichi-kun! ...And Mouri-san!”

“Ehhh!!?! You’re a thing!”

So much for being subtle, Ran flushes inwardly as she returns the wave the other girls are giving her. At that moment she really does feel immature for her past conduct. All of them are sweet. Even Kaori.

“I knew it Shinichi-kun! Mouri-san is sooo lucky, I’m so jealous!” Ran hears their banter and sees her jab his bicep before acknowledging her. “We’ll take care of him, Mouri-san!”

The Ran from one week ago would’ve had her heart crushed by such declaration, but now she’s nothing but pleased and the smile that forms across her lips is nothing but honest. “Make sure he doesn’t drag your group into a random dead body, Kaori-san!”

“Hey!” surfaces Shinichi’s shout amidst the mincing laughter of the group and the onlooking passers-by, and Ran bids her last wave before they enter the station.

Smiling to herself, Ran returns home, the lingering promise of his kiss committed to memory, knowing that she doesn’t have to get jealous because she has no reason to. Their indefeasible bond is all the assurance she needs.

#shinran #kiss prompts #fanfic #lmk anon(s) if you see this and if you do then yaaay #thank you for requesting!#and thank you for reading!#:')#I have a love-hate relationship with this fic #it's only supposed to be 4 scenes #oh well it is what it is lmao #it's ok ig since this is the last (awww) from the kiss prompts!#😌#I tried so hard with a jealous Ran haha #jealous fics are good reads but writing them is hard :O

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 4 years ago

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if you’re 👀 taking requests 👀👀👀 can i request a Henry!Sherlock x reader where they’re competitive since they were very young, and she’s the only one who can match up to him? and there’s all this tension between them but neither one will ask about it because they’re afraid it’ll throw off whatever balance they have? if that’s confusing just lmk lmaoo sorry if it’s too boring to want to write

This got a little long soooooorry!! (Also got fluffy at the end hope you’re cool with that) also look at that lil blinking confused bean

“What did you do?” You hung your head as your mother bent down to inspect your dirty dress and scuffed knees. “...Sherlock and I had a race,” You mumbled. Your mother, huffed, standing and taking you by the hand, dragging you up to your room to clean you up. “I told you to stop competing with the Holmes boy!” She scolded. You were only seven; your mother didn’t begrudge you playing with the boys down the road, but this was getting out of hand. The week before, you’d come home with a ripped sleeve because you and Sherlock had challenged one another to see who could climb a tree the quickest. “...Did you beat him, at least?” Your mother asked. You turned a smile up at her, and she sighed. “Get changed, I’ll add that dress to the pile to be cleaned and mended.”

-- “...Check.” You groaned as Sherlock said so for the eighth time that game. “Couldn’t you two call it a bloody tie?” Mycroft asked boredly from the armchair he was lounging in not too far off. “No,” You said sharply. “What’s it matter to you?” Sherlock added, glancing back at Mycroft. It was rare that you had a chance to spend the afternoon with Sherlock, and it had surprised you that Mycroft had bothered to hang around. Mycroft didn’t answer, but you glanced up to see him roll his eyes. “It’s just a game,” Mycroft turned the page of his book. You turned back to the board. “Yes, it is...One that I am about to win. Checkmate,” You moved your Queen. Sherlock wasted no time in resetting the pieces on the board as he said, “Best two out of three.” “You two are ridiculous,” Mycroft groaned. At the age of sixteen, other men had already called you far kinder things than that, but you weren’t particularly worried about what Mycroft thought of you. You glanced up at Sherlock, watching him finish resetting your pieces. Sherlock never went out of his way to compliment you, but then, he didn’t call you ridiculous, either.

“Must you?” You could hear Sherlock’s disinterest. And frankly, while you had no interest in your practicing the waltz, either, you had to. Now that you were eighteen, you would be presented to society soon. You let go of Mycroft’s hand and turned to where Sherlock was reading the paper. You folded your arms over your chest, raising a brow. “You’re only in a foul mood because you’re awful at it.” You thrilled at the irritated little twitch in the muscle of Sherlock’s jaw. “I’m perfectly skilled at the waltz, thank you,” He returned crisply. “I somehow doubt that.” The two of you stared one another down for a moment before Sherlock folded the paper and set it aside, standing. You heard Mycroft sigh heavily, “I’ll count,” behind you as he stepped to the side of the room. Sherlock bowed to you as you curtsied to him. You held one another’s gazes as he took hold of your hand and rested his hand on your back. You took hold of your skirt to keep it out of the way of your feet. The two of you glided around the room together, moving as one seamlessly. Neither of you missed a step; neither of you checked to see if the other’s feet were doing the right thing. After a certain point, you realized that Mycroft had stopped counting. You glanced over to where he’d been and realized that he’d left the room. In your distraction, you missed a step. You stumbled. Sherlock’s arm tightened around your waist, pressing you to his chest and keeping you upright. You looked up at him, swallowing thickly. “Are you alright?” He frowned. You were rarely this close to anyone, let alone Sherlock. Had his eyes always been that blue? “I-- Yes.” You stepped back, letting go of Sherlock’s hand. His hand fell away from your waist, brow furrowed as he watched you. You smoothed your hands over your skirt as you gathered yourself. “Your waltz skills are...Adequate,” You conceded. “Yours aren’t and you clearly need more practice,” He held his hand out to you. You scoffed, taking hold of his hand again. --

“Can you make a ring?” You asked, watching Sherlock puff his pipe. “A ring?” He repeated. You’d dropped in on Baker Street as you did often. It was the midst of your second London season and you’d managed to give your chaperon the slip. You held your hand out for his pipe, and he hesitated before passing it off to you. You took a pull from it before you tipped your head up, blowing a few smoke rings. “...How on earth did you learn how to do that?” You chuckled at his almost incredulous tone. “Picked it up at finishing school.” “Presumably outside of the classroom?” “Presumably,” You teased before taking another puff of the pipe. You felt Sherlock watching you, and you blew a few more rings before turning to meet Sherlock’s eyes. He was looking at your lips. You lowered your eyes, passing the pipe back to Sherlock. “You can’t do that, can you?” You added. You watched him take the pipe back, saw him take two puff before he blew a few rings. He then blew a line of smoke that seemed to go through one of them. You narrowed your eyes at his grin and held your hand out. “Give it back.” -- “You’re welcome, by the way.” “I did say ‘thank you’,” Sherlock grumbled. You chuckled at his tone. “I could’ve done it without you,” He added. “Mm, but you didn’t. You solved that case with my help,” You smiled before adding, “It’s your turn.” “I’m well aware of that, thank you. I’d have taken it by now if you would stop talking,” Sherlock said, leaning over the chessboard. “My, someone is testy about sharing credit, isn’t he,” You teased. “Not at all.” “Oh no? The great Sherlock Holmes is not ashamed to have to share credit with someone, let alone a woman?” “That has nothing to do with it,” He dismissed the notion, moving his knight. “What has you in such a mood, then?” You asked. When Sherlock didn’t answer, you glanced up at him, frowning when you saw him watching you. “...Sherlock?” You sat up straighter to get a better look at him. He didn’t answer your question, merely waved to the board and grumbled, “You’re taking too long.” -- “He’s awfully handsome, isn’t he?” You heard someone sigh behind you. You glanced in the direction of the rhetorical question, which had been met with a fair amount of giggling and fan-fluttering. It was true, of course. It wasn’t lost on you how attractive Sherlock had grown to be. What was lost on you was why he’d been in a perfectly foul mood for the last two weeks. The man had sworn up and down that it had absolutely nothing to do with the lead that you’d given him on his last case. You hadn’t brought it up again after that chess game, since he’d seemed so testy. And sure, you and Sherlock had always been a little more competitive and teasing than society thought friends ought to be, let alone a man and a woman, but that was just how the two of you were. Still, there was teasing, and then there was upset. Sherlock seemed upset, and you didn’t know why. You didn’t know how to fix it, either. He’d stopped calling on you as often, and while the two of you still wrote, his letters were much more to-the-point. It was frustrating. You’d come to care for Sherlock. You’d known how you’d felt about him for quite some time, and you were certain that he’d never return your feelings. You’d determined never to make them known, of course; he was your oldest and dearest friend, you cared for him more than almost anyone else in the world. Telling him how you felt could mean making things uncomfortable between the two of you, and losing him. Of course, now it seemed like you’d managed to do that, regardless. “He’s coming, sssh!” You heard behind you. It snapped you from your reverie and you raised your eyes to find that Sherlock was, in fact, striding across the room. You were familiar with the group of women behind you, and you found yourself wondering just who the object of Sherlock’s interest might be. There were quite a few sweet and clever ones in the group, women that could make Sherlock happy, that could-- But then he stopped in front of you, and dipped a bow, and held his hand out. “If I may have this dance?” He asked, smiling. But there was something different about this smile. It wasn’t one that you’d seen before, not a familiar and teasing pull of the lips. No, this was soft and warm, and his eyes were a little nervous. You felt yourself smile in turn, and you dipped a small curtsy, keeping your eyes on his. “It would be my pleasure, Mr. Holmes.” Where you’d once dreaded the waltz, you now reveled in it. Gliding in Sherlock’s arms felt easy. You moved together as effortlessly as you once did, keeping your eyes on his. “Sherlock?” “Yes?” “...Are you quite well? -- That is… You’ve been in such a mood, and…” His brows raised, amused, as you tried to find a delicate way to say what you were trying to say. “I was worried about you,” You added quietly. “It was not my intention to make you worry,” He gave your hand a small squeeze, “I apologize. I’ve been...Mulling over a few things.” “Such as?” “Such as… The components needed for a good partnership between two married persons.” “And what conclusion have you come to?” “Shared values, trust, affection, respect… a strong foundation.” “A strong foundation?” You repeated, frowning. Sherlock’s steps slowed, then stilled as the waltz ended. He didn’t let go of your waist or your hand as he should’ve. “...A strong friendship, perhaps?” He ventured quietly. You felt your heart fluttering like one of the fans of the women watching you. “I see,” You said dazedly. “Have I missed the mark entirely?” He asked, lowering his hand from your waist. You grinned at him, feeling shy around him for the first time in your life. “Holmes, you astound me.”

#asks #replies #requests #Sherlock Holmes x Reader #Sherlock Holmes x You #Sherlock Holmes Imagine #Sherlock Holmes Henry Cavill #Sherlock Holmes/Reader #Sherlock Holmes/You

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watching-pictures-move · 3 years ago

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Put On Your Raincoats #21 | Double Chinn Double (Double) Feature (with Hyapatia Lee)

By the time the '80s rolled around, Bob Chinn, best known for his collaborations with John Holmes (the inspiration for Boogie Nights), had been directing movies for over a decade. For much of that time, he'd been making them for peanuts (in an interview with the Rialto Report, he recounts being once asked to make a movie for five thousand dollars, which was handed to him in fifties on the spot), but in the early '80s, he was directing for Harry Mohney's Caribbean Films, working with respectable budgets (by porn standards). Some of these films starred Hyapatia Lee, one of the most popular porn stars of the era and one of the first contract girls. Now, I suspect these aren't necessarily the defining works of Chinn's career, and I do intend to get to some of his movies with Holmes. But Vinegar Syndrome had a sale and there were two double features of their collaborations going for dirt cheap, and because I am weak and foolish with money, they ended up in my cart and a few weeks later in my grubby little paws. How did this happen? Through the magic of Canada Post, of course! Anyway, what I found was that these didn't represents any extremes of artistic ambition. They were neither seeking to elevate the genre, nor were they hackwork. Rather, they represent a happy medium, movies that seek to deliver the genre's goods in a polished, diverting package. Slick cinematography, courtesy of Jack Remy. Catchy theme songs that wouldn't sound out of place if you caught them on the radio. Flashy titles. Lee recounted the atmosphere on set as one of professionalism and engagement, where everyone present wanted to do as good a job as possible. Chinn claims to have been losing interest in his work at this point, but the results onscreen are the result of confident execution by somebody who had been doing this kind of thing for years and knew how to put the production's resources to good use.

The first one I watched was The Young Like it Hot, where the operators at a phone company worry about being replaced by computers. To keep their jobs, they scheme to go the extra mile in helping their callers. As this is a porno, most of this help is sexual in nature, as when Rosa Lee Kimball stays on the line while an obscene phone caller played by Bill Margold finishes. (In an interview on the DVD, Margold says after shooting his scene, he was invited to record additional dialogue. Being the method actor that he was, he insisted on whipping it out during the recording session despite the lack of cameras.) Sometimes they are informative, as when Bud Lee (real life husband of Hyapatia at the time) explains why the perineum is referred to as taint ("cuz it taint cunt and it taint ass"). But the highlight of their efforts are Shauna Grant's increasingly life threatening home improvement advice to one poor sap played by Joey Silvera. Hyapatia Lee is ostensibly the star, and has a certain charisma, playing the supervisor, but this is really an ensemble piece, and she's joined by more experienced actors like Kay Parker and Eric Edwards. The latter I've occasionally found bland elsewhere, but he has a nice obnoxious quality that serves him well as the villainous manager whose idea it is the automate the operators' jobs. The movie reflects a very real concern (that's very much still an issue in the modern workplace), but overall this is a breezy, affable comedy.

A bit more serious in tone is Sweet Young Foxes, a coming of age story whose dramatic parts are more sensitively realized than I expected. The screenplay was written by Deborah Sullivan, Bob Chinn's wife at the time, and this is a case where a movie definitely benefited from having been written by a woman, and it seems like an earnest effort to capture the anxieties and yearnings of its young women protagonists. Lee moves closer to a real starring role, and is joined by Cara Lott and Cindy Carver as her friends, who aren't quite as strong actors as her but do have decent chemistry. I can believe they're friends even if their line delivery can be stilted. (That the movie has a good ear for genuine sounding dialogue also helps.) Kay Parker is especially good as Lee's mother, hitting some of the same notes as Taboo, and has a credibly emotional masturbation scene in front of a mirror that did not leave me unmoved. (In what way? That's none of your damn business.) This was shot by Jack Remy, the same cinematographer who worked on The Young Like it Hot. That movie looked nice and slick, but this one is a little more stylish, with the solo sex scenes in particular resembling magazine centerfolds. There's also some nice new-wave-ish music that shows up on the soundtrack, which I certainly didn't mind. I do wish some of the sex scenes didn't run quite as long (the previous movie kept them refreshingly concise) as I'd prefer more of the runtime was dedicated to the dramatic elements, but what's there is still good.

Body Girls goes back firmly to comedy territory, where Hyapatia Lee and the members of her gym are trying to win a bodybuilding contest despite a rival gym's attempts to undermine them. This comes in the form of a pair of schlubs in yellow tank tops who break into the gym after hours to sabotage their equipment, only to be foiled by Hyapatia and her girls who just happened to be having sex in the locker room as people do. Of course, despite Lee's attempts to teach them a lesson (which depending on your proclivities, may have the opposite effect), they don't give up, and during the contest threaten the judge at gunpoint. Not one to take things lying down (okay, poor choice of words here), Lee finds a way to influence the judge back in her favour. (The judge is played by Francois Papillon, bringing a dopey charm to the character as he fumbles through his lines in his French accent.) Her method is pretty ridiculous and certainly in service of genre requirements, but I did laugh.

Now, there's probably a dilemma in audience sympathy here as both Lee and her rivals are cheating, but Lee's methods are more agreeable and directed at the judge instead of her rivals so I guess we ought to root for her. She's also buoyant, charismatic and has a real star quality, and is joined by such fan favourites as Shanna McCullough and Erica Boyer, all of whom sport wildly different hairstyles. As can be expected given the exercise theme, most of the ladies have toned, athletic bodies (and given the decade, voluminous coiffures), with the exception of Tigr, who brings a wiry punkish energy that stood out to me despite her limited screentime, and she also performs the miraculous feat of making a mullet look cute. (I'd previously been moved by her work in Kamikaze Hearts, the great mockumentary about a porn production and her relationship with Sharon Mitchell. She didn't stay in the industry for too long, but I'd be interested in seeing more of her work.) The screenplay was written by Lee with her husband Bud (who plays the judge's assistant with an agreeable presence that's neither too alpha nor too schlubby) and is full of exercise-related dialogue. Most of this is pretty clunky and calling it wordplay might be a bit generous ("sexercise" features at one point), but I did appreciate the effort. Also as is requisite for the premise, the longest set piece in the movie is an orgy in Lee's gym with the various participants snaked around different pieces of equipment. I must note that one of the male actors resembles Barry Gibb and that Francois Papillon is shown to wear a tiger-striped speedo. Did I enjoy the movie? Yes, but not for reasons cited in that sentence.

At the end of Body Girls, Bud Lee suggests to Hyapatia, "Let's get physical", which is the title of the next movie. (Body Girls also features a character looking at dirty magazine with stills from Sweet Young Foxes and ends with a plug for some of these other movies, anticipating the MCU's narrative and marketing strategies by a few decades.) Now, all of these movies have had decent theme songs, but the one in Let's Get Physical has lyrics that are plagiaristically close to those of Olivia Newton-John's 1983 hit. (The delivery however is more shrill but not unpleasing.) This movie is a drama where Lee plays a dance instructor trying to put together a ballet performance despite her strained relationship with her impotent husband played by Paul Thomas. (In the interview I listened to, Lee speaks well of almost everyone she worked with on these films, with the pointed exception of Paul Thomas. If there was bitterness behind the scenes, it arguably helps their performances.)

Lee wrote the screenplay for this one, and unlike Body Girls with its surface level references to bodybuilding and exercise, the dialogue here feels packed with knowledge of the real thing, which is understandable given Lee's real life interest in dance going back to her childhood. (I looked up "Luigi jazz dancing" after finishing the movie and was pleasantly surprised to learn it was a real thing.) This movie goes all in on her star power, and features a number of dance numbers that seem genuinely interested in the form rather than just leering at the performers. (There is one scene where the song Lee dances to sounds suspiciously like "Beat It".) I did appreciate that the sex scenes were kept relatively concise and tied into the dramatic aspects, although in some cases, the choices made could be goofy, like the scene where Lee makes love to her student Shanna McCullough while Thomas, in a dramatically justified but still awkward gesture, watches from another room and jacks off. (I assume he's playing the audience in this scene. Also, McCullough's character remarks "I've never done this before" when going down on Lee, and yeah, okay Shanna.) Other highlights include a car stunt that may or may not have been lifted from elsewhere but still looks decently executed, as well as a dream sequence where Thomas (or his character at least) plays the piano and sings a song. This is held back a bit by the genre's demands, like when it places a completely superfluous sex scene at the end after Lee's reconciliation with Thomas, but on the whole this is probably the best one of the lot.

#film #put on your raincoats #movie review #the young like it hot #sweet young foxes #body girls #let's get physical #bob chinn #hyapatia lee

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high-functioning-lokipath · 4 years ago

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SH - Sherlock & Greg Friendship - Prompt: How Greg and Sherlock First Met - Words: 1,637

A/N: Alrighty! So this written from Greg's POV. It's my personal headcannon of what Sherlock and Greg's first meeting might have been like. Please don't hate me if I got something wrong or if it's different than your ideas. Just my little thought. At the end of the story there is a little explanation of some of the references I made. See if you catch them 😜

I WILL ADD THIS: THERE IS DISCUSSION OF SUICIDAL THOUGHTS AND INTENT. HOWEVER, NO HARM COMES UPON ANYONE. PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU FEEL YOU WILL BE TRIGGERED.

"Goodnight, Inspector," Donavon said, as we walked out to our respective cars.

"Good night, Sally," I replied. "Have any plans tonight?"

"Oh, nothing much," She replied with a smile. Anderson walked out and headed to his car too though I noticed he winked and waved at Sally as he passed by. "See you tomorrow," She told me. I nodded and got in my car. As I started my engine I saw Philip run back to her and hand her what seemed to be a key. I shook my head and pulled away. I didn't want to pry into the personal lives of anyone on my team but I made a mental note to keep an eye on those two.

"Oh, I'm exhausted," I groaned to myself as I drove home. I'd just received my promotion to Detective Inspector and the first case we'd gotten has proven to be more difficult than we expected. Deciding that my already distant wife wouldn't care if I was home another 15 minutes later, I pulled over for a smoke. The Waterloo Bridge was just up ahead so I got out for a little walk. As I walked up into the bridge I took out my cigarette and was just about to light it when someone spoke up.

"Those things will kill you."

"Who said that?" I called out, immediately pocketing my lighter and lowering my cigarette. Instinctively, my hand hovered near my holster.

"Nobody of import to you, Detective Inspector. I was just making an observation." I was speechless for a moment, surprised that whoever was talking knew who I was. Or at least what I was. My blood ran cold, though, when I finally spotted the illusive speaker.

"What are you doing over there?" I asked, attempting to keep my voice steady. I couldn't yet see his features but I could tell he was young, tall, skinny and had a head full of curly hair. The first thing I noticed, though, was that he was standing on the wrong side of the walkway railing.

"My plan was to jump," He stated plainly. I was quiet for a moment, surprised that he'd so easily admit such a thing. "Surprised I said it?" He asked, looking at me finally. I nodded and he smiled sadly. "No reason to lie to you. You're a smart man. You wouldn't have reached DI otherwise."

"How do you know that anyways?" I asked, walking up next to him, however remaining on the correct side of the railing.

"It was quite obvious. Your haircut implies your employment is of the upper blue-collar class which narrows the field considerably. Considering your age you couldn't be higher than Detective Inspector but no lower than Detective Sergeant. If you were still at Constable you would have quit. Also it was obvious from the fact you went for your gun when I spoke up. You're considerably tired, even for this late hour, meaning you probably were one of the last out. Though tired your gait shows a measure of excitement, pride, if you will. It couldn't be caused by anything at home. You stopped for a smoke on your way home and didn't light up in your car meaning your wife dislikes the habit. One of the reasons she's going to be leaving you, by the way. You certainly aren't expecting children any time soon so that would leave your job. You're excited about something that happened recently at your job. You're obviously exhausted from the case you've been trying to crack so that leaves one option. Promotion. I'd say at the beginning of this past week."

"Wow," I gasped. "You're quite good at that!"

"You're not angry?" He asked slowly, staring at me in surprise.

"Not at all."

"I just told you your wife was leaving you."

"I knew that," I chuckled. "She's been hinting at the matter for weeks. I've been trying to fix things but, with my new promotion, she seems more determined than ever."

"I see," He said, looking off down the river again. "Most people get quite upset with me."

"Well, perhaps depending on the situation it might not be welcome but I don't see what's so bad about it. You know," I said with a grin. "With your ability you'd make a fine DI yourself."

"Tried. Couldn't pass the psych eval," He whispered. "What you call an ability, they call a disability." I stayed quiet, waiting to see if he'd go on. "Doctors diagnosed me with Asperger's and ADHD.”

“Well that certainly shouldn't stop you! Have you considered becoming a private investigator?” He wrinkled his nose at the suggestion.

“I’m not a fan of that title.”

“Private detective?” I tried. He shook his head again. “I’ll think of something,” I said determandly.

“Why would you care?”

“You seem like a nice kid, I-”

“I’m not a kid, I'm 25,” He interrupted, causing me to chuckle lightly.

"Alright," I said, holding up my hands. "Young man. You seem like a nice young man. I want to help you out."

"Why?" He asked again, sounding awfully much like a 2 year old. "I grew up in the countryside with my parents and my older brother. I never had any friends in school. I’ve always been like this. It didn’t get any better when I went to uni. Everyone just made fun of me. Once I graduated, I moved in with my brother in the city. I worked with him for a few years but,” He paused. "Let's just say that didn't go well. I tried to live on my own but I couldn't pay rent because I wasn't able to hold down a job. No one could put up with me. My brother would send me money here and there but he stopped after a while when he found out I had gotten involved in other things."

"Drugs?" The young man nodded slowly. His eyes were closed and he seemed to be somewhere else in his mind. "You know I could have you arrested for that," I commented.

"You wouldn't," He replied. He turned his head and looked straight at me, his eyes more intense than anyone else's I'd ever met. "Besides," He continued, looking away again. "I've stopped."

"For now," I said. "You'll stop until you don't have anything to do and then your mind will get too loud, too busy, too noisy and you'll try to quiet it again."

"How-"

"My cousin," I stated simply. "And also myself in a way. These 'help' me with my stress." I held up my package of cigarettes.

"May I see them?" He asked, holding out his hand. I nodded and handed them over. He looked them over carefully and then threw them into the river.

"Oi! Why'd you do that?" With a smirk and quickly hopped back over the railing onto the walkway.

"Try this," He said, rolling up his sleeve and showing me a patch on his arm. "When I have an especially bad day I'll go up to 3 patches. But one would probably be enough for you."

"Alright, I'll give it a try." He smiled abit haughtily. "But," I added, causing his expression to falter. "Only if you promise to give the private, personal, whatever you want to call it, detective work a try."

"After consulting with you, Inspector, I suppose I could attempt to give this idiotic world another try."

"That's it!" I exclaimed. "Consulting Detective! That's what you can call yourself!" He furrowed his brow in thought before smiling slightly.

"I think that just might work. But who would I consult for?"

"Well, you could set up a website so people can send in cases. Perhaps post something about how you do your deductions. It might take awhile for you to get enough customers so perhaps I can arrange for you to take a look at some old cold cases. What do you think of that?"

"I-" He paused, looking away in embarrassment. "Thank you, Inspector."

"You're welcome. And call me Greg, hm? Or Lestrade if Greg is too hard to remember," I joked.

"Alright," He paused. "Graham," He added with a smirk. I laughed loudly and clapped his shoulder.

"Well, I have the feeling this is going to be the start of something very special for you. Who knows where this will take you or who you'll meet!" He nodded, corners of his mouth turning up in a small smile. "Why don't you stop by my office tomorrow afternoon? I can get you some cold cases and who knows, maybe you'll even crack the case I'm working on now!"

"Thank you," He replied, suddenly sounding very nervous.

"Look, I know people are going to judge you for who you are and what you do. I wish I could change that. But keep your chin up. One day you'll look back and be surprised where it got you. Be confident in yourself. That'll help a lot."

"Like this?" He asked, standing straighter and giving off a well practiced authoritative glare.

"Something like that," I replied. "Here. Try this." I reached for his coat collar and turned it up. "Perfect. Now you look like a real professional." He nodded sharply, keeping up his vaguely disinterested air.

"I've done this before," He admitted. I smiled and nodded.

"Me too. I think you'll be just fine." I smiled at him, happy I was able to save a life tonight instead of investigate a death. "Do you need a ride home?" I offered.

"That would be helpful," He admitted.

"Alright, then, Mr.," I paused, chuckling lightly. "You know, I never got your name."

"Sherlock Holmes," He replied. I smiled and shook his hand.

"Nice to meet you, Sherlock." I paused for a moment, thinking. "Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective. Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

I UNDERSTOOD THAT REFERENCE: A GUIDE

The key - Anderson is giving Sally a key to his apartment since they are having an affair. Not exactly a direct reference. Just a thought lol

Those things will kill you - I thought making that the first thing Sherlock said to Greg would have explained all the more so why Greg was so happy to see him again when he came back.

Sherlock's diagnosis - In one of the episodes (can't remember which, too lazy to look it up lol) John says Sherlock has Asperger's. One of my best friends has Asperger's and I've had other friends with ADHD. As a non-professional, I would say Sherlock definitely acts in harmony with those two disorders.

The patches - Greg was showing Sherlock his own patches in the first episode. Thought that was cute.

Graham - I personally think Sherlock has always known Greg's name and it's just an inside joke lol

So, if you noticed anything else, let me know! Please leave a comment (or two lol) if you liked it!!!!

Sherlock BBC Taglist

@lucywrites02

@delightfulheartdream

@bartv21

@another-crazy-fangirl

@ladylulu143

#sherlock #sherlock bbc #sherlock imagine #sherlock fanfic #sherlock & greg #greg lestrade #di lestrade #papa lestrade

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ladyfloriographist · 4 years ago

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Prompt: 13. “Can we just make a decision? Please?”

Pairing: Adam (Only Lovers Left Alive) x femme!voluptuous!Reader

Warnings: night drives to a video store, fluff-ish stuff, flirting, cursing (because it’s Adam), and would vamps love the idea of temperature play? I think they would

XXXX

“Oh, my God. Adam, stop. Pull over.”

Adam glances out your window for the briefest moment. “What is it?” his vaguely interested baritone drones.

“Look!” It’s an old video store, a movie rental place, a relic from a time gone by. “Please please—oh! We’re past it.” You sigh and slump back in your seat, staring out the window as the next-to-deserted moon-lit city rolls by.

Slowing to a stop before a red light, Adam looks to you. “Really?” he says, with the faintest smile—like he could humour you, if you were sweet about it.

You put your hand on his where it rests on the gearshift. The chill of his flesh is comforting, somehow, and he feels the same about your warmth. You run your thumb over the exposed back of his hand. “I haven’t seen one of them in so long. I didn’t even know they still existed. Will you take me, baby? Can we go?”

Ever so subtly, the corners of his mouth tug upward, like he’s trying to hold back a smile.

“Five minutes,” you attempt to persuade him further, “that’s all. And we could have a movie night!”

His brows raise, and you shuffle a little closer to him in your seat.

You adjust yourself, pushing your chest out and pressing your arms together to exaggerate your ample cleavage. Then, you drop your voice and murmur huskily, “You could watch me eat a choc-top—”

The traffic lights turn green.

“—feel my mouth get all cold.”

Adam tears his gaze from yours and throws a u-turn, spinning his old Jaguar around and following the road back the way you’d come.

He smiles slyly at you out of the corner of his eye as the engine rumbles down the desolate street, and you grin at him. No more words need be said.

Adam pulls into the carpark, and an old neon ‘open late’ sign flickers and flashes in the large window.

“Wow,” you whisper, ripping off your seat belt and stepping out of the car. “I can’t believe this place is still here. I thought they all closed a few years ago.”

Adam huffs a shallow laugh as he shuts and locks his door. “Time in a lost place is a funny old thing.”

You whip around to face him, and find him glaring at the old building with thinly veiled disgust. The large windows are a little grimy, and two nearby rubbish bins overflow with garbage. Inside, one of the fluorescent lights in the ceiling flickers, and another one is cracked and broken, illuminating nothing beneath it.

“Fuck’s sake…” Adam murmurs quietly.

You stretch your arm out to him. “Come on, grumpy.”

Slowly his gaze lands on yours, looking every bit the part of a sullen teenager.

“For me,” you beckon him closer, offering your hand. “We won’t be here long.”

Begrudgingly, Adam stalks towards you and slips his gloved palm into yours. “They’d better sell that fucking ice cream here,” he growls, slipping on his Oakley shades.

“I’m sure they will, baby,” you croon, smiling back at him as you push open the large glass door.

It’s stale inside, the damp and dust only just kept at bay by whirring air conditioning that churns out crisp, cold, recycled air.

You shiver a little, and Adam finds it delightful.

The young clerk behind the counter looks up, slightly surprised but mostly disinterested. “We close in ten,” they grumble.

“Midnight?” Adam questions, and the clerk nods, going back to their phone. He squeezes your hand and says, “Make it quick,” – but your attention is already elsewhere.

“How much for a slurpee?” you call to the sales clerk eagerly.

They look at you with a blank stare.

“Sorry,” you gesture at the machine, rotating crushed, watery ice artificially coloured a deep pinkish-red. “For a slushie?”

“Two-fifty for a small, four bucks for a large.”

You glance at Adam, smiling sweetly. “It’ll make my tongue red,” you murmur breathily.

Adam regards you with an intense, lingering stare.

“I’ll taste a little sweeter,” you whisper.

He looks deep into your eyes, and when he glimpses your lips his nostrils flare very, very subtly—but enough for you to know, your whispered words are affecting him.

After pleading and paying you and Adam find yourselves strolling into the paranormal and supernatural section.

You break from his palm to grab at one of the selection, and hold it up to his face.

“This,” you say emphatically, “this was so popular, babe.”

Adam tilts his head to the side as he scrutinises the cover. “’True… Blood’?” he says slowly, turning over the concept in his mind.

You nod. “It’s what the vamps drink. This manufactured kind of…” you search for the word, “synthetic blood.”

“Hm.”

“Based on books.” You hand the Blue-Ray to him and he peruses it further. “And HBO made it, so,” you wrap your lips around the clear plastic straw and suck more of the icy treat into your mouth.

You keep your eyes locked with his as you do, and Adam watches from behind his black sunglasses, rapt. You swallow and finish your sentence. “So, it’s very sexy.”

Adam looks set to lunge for you and tackle you to the musty, un-vacuumed carpet.

You think quickly, having bitten off more than you can chew and needing to pump the brakes on your teasing. “Here,” you grab the first thing you see and hand it to him, “another option.”

Adam takes the DVD case and his features soften. Gently, he trails the tips of two fingers over the cover art. “Vlad,” he murmurs, and his mouth breaks into a small, wistful smile.

Your gaze flicks back and forth from Adam to ‘Bram Stoker’s Dracula’ in quick succession. “You know Gary Oldman?” you squeak, incredulity lacing your voice and your features.

Adam smiles. He places the DVD back on the shelf. “By another name.”

You stare, gobsmacked, as Adam picks up another movie—continuing on as if no revelations have been divulged. His smooth forehead creases as he inspects the DVD and he flips the case over in his hand.

“Handsome,” he says softly. “Was this popular too?”

“’Twilight’?” you raise your brows. “Very.”

The furrow creasing Adam’s brow deepens, and he slides the movie back into its place on the shelf.

After a few more minutes of browsing, the clerk calls out from behind the counter, announcing to the pair of you that the store is closing.

You spin on your heel to face Adam. He’d been getting lost in small moments of nostalgia, disdain, and melancholy. Perhaps bringing him here was a bad idea.

“Come on, baby,” you take his hand in yours, “they’re closing. Pick one and let’s go.”

Adam grumbles an inaudible growl of a word and looks up from the DVD he’d been holding. He stares at the shelves, and clenches his jaw.

This isn’t good. “Can we just make a decision? Please?”

“Is this what you thought of me and my kind before we met?” Adam says in the dull, drole tone of someone particularly unimpressed. “That I could, fucking, sparkle and glimmer in the sunlight?” Unceremoniously he drops the movie back onto the shelf, and his lip subtly curls in distaste. “How terrible for you to realise the truth. Fuck, you must be bitterly disappointed.”

You cock your head to the side. Though you couldn’t possibly have foreseen Adam confronting his own undead immortality at a Blockbuster in the middle of the night, this was definitely a bad idea. Adam was dipping his toes in the cold, dark, rippling pool of vampiric existentialism and no, you will not try this again, lest he fall in.

The clerk calls out to you again, impatient and tired.

You switch tacts, trying on something that all men fall prey to, living or undead. “Well, the truth is stranger than fiction, my love.” You step closer to Adam, and place your palm on his chest. You step up on your tip toes, and let your hot breath fan over his neck. “And far more… seductive.”

Like dropping a cube of ice into warm water, the press of your hand thaws his surly mood.

Adam gazes at your face. “Look at you,” he purrs, eyeing how the crushed, syrup-laden ice has changed the colour of your tongue. “You look like…” he licks at his bottom lip, “you’re just like… my little strawberry.”

You smile. “A strawberry, hm?”

“Yes,” he murmurs darkly, backing you against the shelves.

“Hey! Hey—excuse me. Look, I’m locking up and I really need y’all to leave,” says a voice off in the distance.

“Well, come on then, baby,” you murmur with a soft, breathy voice, “take me home and eat me.”

Adam’s almost never moved faster.

XXXX

Come and let me know if you have a prompt you’d like me to write! There are some lists on my blog, and at this stage I’m happy to write for the Enola Holmes versions of Sherlock and Mycroft, and any Tom Hiddleston character b/c I’m in love xx

#adam (only lovers left alive)#only lovers left alive #adam x you #adam x reader #tom hiddleston #g writes prompts #it is SO hard to tag this #adam (olla) x you #adam (olla) x reader #voluptuous!Reader

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aggresivelyfriendly · 4 years ago

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Hello loveys! Here is chapter four of

‘Tis the Damn Season

~Let It Snow~

Thanks to @dirtystyles for the beta and late night video mining thanks it Night Niki!

Enjoy! Reblogs are Love!!

"We have a problem," Harry states as he comes in the room. Emma's heart nearly stops and she feels exposed. Not just because she is naked, though she is literally bare, but because he's just been downstairs to talk to the landlady and Emma is terrified of what the hell the problem could be.

He was just downstairs, while she was luxuriating in the sheets scented like them. What could he have encountered there that would lead to this deadpan voice and monotone face?

Emma's mind is good at this, at possibilities, it's why she's good at her studies and internships, she can run through lots of scenarios in her head and then plug in logistics and costs and benefits. She doesn't even need a spreadsheet unless you get beyond a handful of variables.

Variable one - she's gonna think of them as variables because problems are more nerve wracking - there are fans outside. They've heard from someone, through a grapevine or hedgerow, that Harry stays here a couple days each Christmas.

Emma can see a way out of this, though it requires sending Harry to be the sacrificial lamb. He will have to go to the altar and sign things, which is better than being beheaded, and take pictures and give hugs and lead them away. Then Emma can linger, maybe eat lunch in the pub garden and leave when the coast is well and truly clear. It's not how she wants to spend their last day this break together, but it gets them both out of here unexposed, if not totally unscathed.

This is the best case scenario.

Variable two - while he was downstairs Gemma texted. She's cottoned on. Well, Emma is totally afraid and halfway sure her friend can sense that she's sleeping with her little brother every chance she gets and hasn't been honest about it. Emma knows Harry has not been forthright either. The puzzle pieces can't be hard to put together. They've gotten lazy. No, the word is addicted. The fact that they both always disappeared and went dark for the same number of days was more than noticeable the first time, it wasn't a pattern yet thought. An easy to recognize and predict four three year old pattern. Emma is good at those too, patterns. So is Gemma, all those themes, all those books.

They'd talked about it, she and Harry, that second year, their first meet up with intent. Agreed they would be limited, controlled, discreet. They would meet late, after pub crawls, and only get together after Gemma went back to London.

She's not sure who they were fooling.

Because then, instead, they just holed up, skipped social events, turned up moments apart from one another and left the same way. Basically they'd ignored every one of their rules, the ones they'd designed to keep their secret. They couldn't help themselves, nor stay away. She had to sit on her hands and never look at him to keep from touching or kissing in public. Harry didn't even bother.

Last year, Gemma had made a few comments, about them flirting, about Harry peacocking around Emma, about them leaving at the same time. About his hands on her.

Emma remembered when they'd pulled themselves out of each other's arms, him to go home, her to a meet up with Gem and some others. He was definitely less stealthy, not sleeping at home and all, but he insisted on holding her while he fell asleep and waking up to her kisses. What was she supposed to do but melt?

Emma had been late, because of course she was, she'd almost been out the door when he'd asked to be kissed goodbye. "I just put on lipstick." She'd shaken her head, and then his face had taken on that impish hue and he'd kissed her lipstick and clothes off. The waiting Uber had left without her and she lost her perfect 5 star rating.

She'd come in, flushed apologizing and lying about her mother needing her to go to the shops. Gemma had pushed her a drink and given her a look. Like she knew, why Emma was late and Harry was sneaking out to sleep in a shitty pub bed. Then later, she'd said, "Harry's up to something, someone, he's been staying out all night again. My mum isn't that bothered, but I just want to know who." The look she'd turned on Emma was nothing short of an invitation.

Emma could have confessed. But it felt like a final chapter, a bookend she wasn't ready for, so she'd shrugged and suggested maybe he had a girl in Manchester, or a boy. It had been a joke, but Gemma hadn't blinked, and Emma wasn't surprised either, so that seemed interesting. Luckily the conversation flowed beyond that when a new old friend arrived.

Gemma kept giving her looks though.

Emma did feel like she was wearing a scarlet H.

And she'd come to the party with it two days ago. The letter may not have been apparent on her sweater, the kinda ugly but also perfect Christmas sweater she'd found at the thrift store one day. It was red, the threads of it shot through with silver, like it was made of tinsel. And it was big, she was wearing it as a dress. The expediency of last year's dress fed her lunacy this year. They should definitely control themselves this time. Thank god the door had been locked.

The big H over the heart of her sweater cum dress was probably only visible to her.

And possibly to Harry, from the way he had zeroed in on her. He'd greeted her when she came in the kitchen door with a lingering kiss on her cheek. She was totally breathless just from seeing him. He had grown. He was a bit taller and seemed to have slimmed down. And his hair was brushing his shoulders in this way that could only be described as princley. She was waiting and hoping for true love's kiss.

That was probably why, when he looked around naughtily and scooted her over 5 steps to be under the mistletoe, she hadn't even been able to find an eye roll of protest. The kiss had tasted like home, because he was the best thing about Christmas and coming home to Holmes Chapel. He was what she longed for on days that literally didn't end in Iceland, cozy nights with him, under the blankets near a fire. It lingered, his lips on hers, the slick of his Christmas cookie scented tongue. He held her a moment later, the hug lasted too long as well.

"Oooh, Harry get off!" Gemma had harrumphed.

Emma had been sure her face was bright red, but Harry had just rolled with it, pointed to the mistletoe, and said, "Seemed more appropriate than a full make out!" He'd pulled back and tossed that comment over his shoulder but winked at her as his hands dropped. It had seemed to satisfy for that moment. That was before Emma had ignored rules and definitely fallen into her pattern. The Boar's Head on Boxing Day and maybe a few more. Hell, even the landlady recognized them and told them she'd saved their preferred room for them. Gemma was quick, sharp as a knife blade and could cut like one too, when hurt.

Maybe Gemma had gotten sick of the unexplained sober night disappearing acts and called him out.

Would they come clean? Did that mean this was over? Did that mean this was beginning?

Emma wasn't even sure what she wanted. This was the worst case scenario, that those they loved and were deceiving knew.

Or, maybe they knew for an even worse reason.

Variable three - it had gotten out to the press. Someone had snapped a photo of them kissing before the "we were just hugging" excuse. Or got them together here in a more salacious situation. Going to a room together - no - that can't be right. They meet here, behind closed doors, no one can get to them here, it's like their fortress. Nobody knows. Would the landlady sell them out?

Emma takes a deep breath, she's just given herself some very rapid fire and escalating worst case scenarios. She needs more data. "What's wrong?" Her voice is steady.

Maybe not steady enough, he looks up with his brow quirked and his mouth a bit drawn.

He reads her, she feels him open her up like the spine of a book. She hopes he doesn't ask. How long would it take to explain the crazy journey her mind just took? Instead he just tilts his head and gives her a naughty smile. "We're stuck!" His eyebrows raise like he's just told her he found a stash of herbs that act like viagra.

"Huh?" For as quick a thinker as she is, she feels really behind. May have been that smile's promise, or that his news is simple, innocuous, not full of consequences.

"Come look." His head motions to the window he is standing in front of. He puts her in front of him immediately and hooks his chin over her shoulder. "We're snowed in!" He's gleeful.

"You'll miss your flight." She sounds worried. This would stress her out.

"I will, but I won't miss out on you! And I can't get my ass chewed because this is an act of God!"

"An act of God to get you laid!" She laughs. She's joking.

He doesn't look amused. "I already got laid." He tries for a playful eye roll, it doesn't land, like when you jump off a swing and miss, tumble over, twist an ankle. "I'm excited, how cozy is this! We get to hang out for at least another day. We can order food in and stay in bed and watch movies! Everyone else will be snowbound too so we won't have to put on real clothes or anything at all and go to the pub or family dinner or anything. Just us two with no obligations!"

He looks gleeful to have extra time off. She shouldn't begrudge him, he works hard and so does she. "What movie do you want to watch?" He's already digging for his laptop and sweats, he's down to a tee, tossing her the one she slept in.

There's a part of Emma that thinks she should bring up all the winding trails her mind just ran, instead, she smiles and catches the love bug he's infected with. "You pick, baby." Baby, wow, she thought she only said that in her head, or when she's under him. She'd be happy if he doesn't notice. He does, and the way he looks over it makes her happier.

Hours later, after he calls down for shepherds pie and tea he says, "We should get pints'"

"I don't like beer."

"Then wine!"

"Ok, wine." They usually only had tipsy tumbles at the party. This was intentional; on her part at least, she liked to remember their limited time together so she could live off it all year. "I feel like I need to warn you, wine makes me feel sexy."

"Oh, oh no, what will I do?" He put his hand to his heart then to his head and reclined in an arch that belied his 'I don't dance' claims. Maybe not yet, but one day he'd be a dancer. "I know you will launch an assault on my virtue!" He stuck his tongue to the cover of his smirking mouth. She'd take that invitation.

"Yeah. I should make a start on that job now!" She advances on him with all the moves she put into being the best footballer in sixth form. Harry runs from her, but the room is small and cozy and cluttered, so he quickly tumbles over. He groans from the floor.

"Oh, are you hurt babe?" She's on her knees looking his perfect face over for forming bruises when he laughs and pulls her down on top of him.

"Nope, fine and dandy!"

"Dandy is right!" She secretly loved his evolving look. But had to take him down a few pegs regularly.

"Heeey! I had to call a foul, you are way faster than you look!"

"How does one look fast?" She's talking, he's kissing.

"When you look like you have moves," he moved his eyebrows in illustration, "and I'm like a newborn gazelle."

"Bullshit, I think you just get distracted."

He blinked and just stared for a moment. "Nobody's ever said that but my mum." Emma wasn't sure what that meant, but it meant something. The deep kiss and eye contact said so. As did his downshift.

They'd been on 4th gear headed to 5th when she'd started joking. Now he was back to third and decelerating.

"Cmon," he broke the kiss to say and came back like her lips were honey to his bee. It took him three lip locks to get to the next words. "Let's go get cozy and watch something."

She barely remembers the movie he put on. But she'll always remember him narrating it in her ear and his comment on the aesthetic.

"Do you like the costumes and set design or the actual plot?" She tilted her head back to ask and found her lips had the same magnets in them his had earlier. Must be contagious like his glee for snow days.

"Both, but I guess ideally they are equally great, but I'd say the latter in this case."

"You know, pop star, for a boy who left school early, you're awfully cerebral." She meant this as a compliment.

He blushed and gave her a shy smile. "Nah, I'm a lad."

There was something about the way he said it, like this was one of those beliefs everyone had about themselves that they didn't really share, but affected them.

Emma climbed up over him. "Hey, you're not allowed to put yourself down around me, ok?"

"Being a lad isn't necessarily a bad thing." That rang true, he believed that.

"Yeah, I agree with you. But you aren't just a lad Harry."

He looks askance for a second. "I mean, I'm not like, a genius or anything," he nudged her, "not like some people."

"I'm not a genius." He made a face. "I'm not. I'm smart, but more than that I'm dedicated, and you obviously are as well. You work really hard Harry, and you make people really happy. You make great music. You know that, right? That what you do has merit? That it matters?"

"I'm not saving the planet." He looked deeply at her.

"Neither am I." He scoffed. "No, really. I'm just trying to do what I can to make things a little better. And you are too."

"Yeah, but I want to do more, like more good."

"And you will, you do know you're like 21 right." Sometimes she needed this reminder too. He was even younger than her.

"Not quite."

"Stop reminding me I'm older than you." She ruffled his hair.

"Older and wiser."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Styles."

Harry reversed their positions, she was under him, looming blue and beautiful above her. "I dunno, I like my geography."

The kisses he was applying to her collarbone were pretty compelling.

"I guess I'd have to see a little more flattery," she sighed.

"I think you're the smartest girl I've ever met." That kiss was right below her ear.

She made an encouraging sound.

"I love the color of your eyes when there is soft light behind you." That kiss was to the same spot on the other side. It was also very specific.

"I miss you and the way you smell 11 months out of the year." That one was on the hollow at the base of her throat.

"If I could, I'd just follow you from Amsterdam to Iceland so that I got to wake up to you every morning." That one she felt required a follow up, but that kiss was on her mouth and escalated to all of the other positions his held.

It wasn't until the next morning, when they we're still snowbound, cozy, and together that she thought to say, "You know you could do anything you wanted, be anything you wanted. You're limitless, Harry."

She didn't tell him she'd also love if he chose to follow her between her school and her hoped for career. Just like she hoped he would never tell her he wanted her to follow him on tour. It was too limited.

She wished they were limitless together instead of on the divergent roads they'd chosen.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #tis the damn season #chapter four #let it snow #Harry styles imagine

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missmollybloom · 4 years ago

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New Fic: Couples Retreat

Summary: Two months after the phonecall from Sherrinford and Sherlock Holmes can tell that things haven’t been the same between the detective and his pathologist. With Molly pulling away from him, will an undercover case at a couples’ retreat be enough for Sherlock to show his pathologist that things can go back to normal between them?

(And, as it’s a Sherlolly fic, do you really think “normal” will remain “normal” for long?)

A/N: So here I am with another WiP. I’m trying a few new things. In terms of plot, I’ve never written a case fic before - so wish me luck! In terms of process I’ve actually plotted the whole thing out so (hopefully!) I shouldn’t write myself into writer’s block and should hopefully update regularly. Here’s to good intentions. I hope you like it!

Also on Ao3 here.

Chapter 1

Sherlock Holmes didn’t like change. Of course, this fact shouldn’t have come as a surprise to anyone. He was, after all, a man who had lived in the same flat for the past ten years, worn the same make and style of Belstaff coat for just as long, and once mourned his favourite brand of ball-tip pen going out of business by sulking on the couch for two weeks.

But the change which Sherlock found hurtling towards him this time was no mere inconvenience like the pens, or couldn’t be handled by stocking up on a cupboard full of identical coats. This change had the power of turning his whole world upside down.

So shaken was Sherlock by the news that it took John only five minutes in his presence for him to declare the detective’s mood so “un-fucking-bearable,” that he was banned from visiting John’s flat until he “pulled his head out of his arse.” Both of these statements were said by his friend mere moments before slamming the door in the detective’s face.

Sherlock couldn’t help it. So blindsided was he by the change that was coming upon him that he had no means to process it outside of the piercing verbal barbs he had flung at his friend. Barbs that were not received well and would, in any other circumstances, have led to a black eye or two.

Sherlock got off lucky – nary a bruise from John shoving him out the door - and only because John knew the one fact that Sherlock was only just discovering: If Molly Hooper left London, Sherlock Holmes would be lost.

Even though Sherlock had no idea before that day that Molly was even contemplating such a thing, there were hints that he missed.

Although he and Molly had been able to continue working together after the awkwardness of explaining that phone call to her, things in the past few months were decidedly different from before.

Molly, for her part, took his explanation well, understanding the situation Eurus had put him in. Nevertheless, there had certainly been a reserve in their exchanges ever since. Sure, she’d do the autopsies he requested, and would work late to run extra tests, but it was all delivered with the cool detachment of a colleague, none of the warmth he’d come to expect, value, even enjoy from Molly.

Even their companionship, the comfortable silence spent working side-by-side in the lab had evaporated over the last few months.

Earlier that morning, the morning Sherlock’s world fell off its axis, he strode into an empty lab that he could tell she’d only just vacated. At the time, it didn’t even cross his mind that she was making every effort to limit her time with him.

But now, as he lay on the couch in Baker street, reflecting on the day that was, he realised that she most certainly was.

---

Earlier that day, Molly heard Sherlock’s familiar voice echoing down the hallway outside her lab. On the phone to John, she guessed. She didn’t bother packing up before leaving through the side door, escaping before he could find her in the lab. She needed some air, needed some space, needed anything other than Sherlock Holmes, and Beppe’s café just down the road from Barts would do the trick.

Making herself scarce whenever Sherlock came around was a habit she had formed ever since the phone call from Sherrinford a few months ago. Of course she couldn’t keep working at Bart’s and never see him, it was, as Mycroft Holmes had called it all those years ago, Sherlock’s “home from home”.

Molly decided that she’d do what he needed for his cases but nothing extra.

No late night phone calls where he used her as a sounding board.

No walks through London like they had spent in the long nights of his recovery after the Culverton Smith case.

Certainly no invitations to eat takeaway in her flat.

Not that he had tried to resume any of their friendship rituals since that day, either.

What the detective didn’t see, or couldn’t perceive in all his intellect was that Molly was a woman in pain. Not for any lack of the detective’s observational prowess; rather, Molly didn’t trust herself to give him the opportunity to see her, had built a wall around herself so thick and although the cement hadn’t yet hardened into toughened concrete as yet, she knew well enough that time spent in Sherlock’s presence would only weaken the foundations, causing the wall to crumble and herself to be revealed.

That phone call had for a moment fulfilled every hope she had ever held for their relationship, only to have said hopes dashed with the sudden silence of the suspended phone line. Even if she kept a kindling of the flames alive for a few hours afterwards, his explanation was a deluge of rain, making it impossible to stoke the embers of her hope back to life again.

It was early morning the next day after the phone call when he arrived. He looked like shit and this was in the opinion of someone who had seen him after faking his death, had seen him hanging over a toilet bowl vomiting bile because his detoxing body couldn’t handle any food, had seen him at his lowest.

But his sunken eyes had seen ghosts that day. He’d also, she’d soon learn, seen her on a screen with a countdown timer that – with four men already dead at Eurus’ hands – gave Sherlock no reason not to believe counted the seconds ticking away in the final minutes of Molly’s life.

“I had no other choice, I hope you’ll understand and one day, even forgive me.” He had asked.

“There is nothing to forgive.” She had lied.

The phone call was an experiment, just as he had said. Just not his.

And the words, said twice and so convincingly, were mere lies to save her life.

How could she ever be so daft as to believe them to be true?

She needed time and space to rebuild from the ashes – which was becoming increasingly difficult with the frequency with which Sherlock had been visiting Barts in the last week.

But Molly Hooper had another plan. There was another way she could maintain her space and heal her heart.

---

Sherlock lay across the lounge at Baker Street. His hands were steepled under his chin as he replayed the events of the day again, scouring them for any hints at what was to come.

Sherlock was about to follow Molly out to her favourite lunch place when his phone rang. Normally, he’d ignore a call from his mother, but with the wounds wrought by Eurus’ reappearance from the dead still raw, he had softened of late in his treatment of his parents.

The recovered memories from his childhood now revealed why his parents had always fretted over him so much.

“Morning mother,” he began.

“Oh Sherlock, I’m so glad you answered. Are you well?”

“Yep,” he said, popping the P. “Is that why you called? Checking in on my health? Because it’s easier to text.”

“No dear, it’s Cheryl Williamson – do you remember her, from my square dancing troupe?”

“Yes,” he lied, without any attempt to sound convincing.

His mother continued, “Well it’s her son, James. Well actually it’s his wife Melanie. You see, she’s missing and I was hoping-“

“Solved it.” He cut her off. “She left him.”

“No! That’s just the thing!” His mother persisted, “They’d just been to a couples’ retreat.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. So far, so boring.

“Can you please look into it for me?”

He didn’t have the heart to say no. But he also knew how little attention he could give such a case and still count it as keeping his promise to his mother. Five minutes on the internet should do the trick.

“Of course I will.”

Sherlock hung up before his mother finished showering him with effusive praise.

He needed a computer, and he knew just where to find one.

Having succeeded in avoiding Sherlock earlier, Molly was shocked to find him in her office sat at her computer when she returned to Bart’s.

“Sorry. I had a case,” was his greeting.

“Won’t be long,” he added, all without looking up from the screen.

“Oh, that’s ok, I’ll just-“ Molly placed down her take-away bag from Beppe’s café on the desk and turned to leave.

“You can stay.” He said, gesturing to the visitor’s chair. “It is your office after all.”

As much as she wanted to leave, there was a not insignificant part of her that missed the companionship they used to share as they worked together in the lab. She opened the take-away tiramisu cake and started eating it.

“MrsDawson1976 isn’t a very strong password, Molly”.

“I’ll be sure to change it.”

“I would have pegged you for a Pacey fan, anyway.”

“I would have assumed you would have deleted all knowledge of American teen dramas from the 1990s.”

She should have left it at that, but it was Sherlock and he was on a case, so curiosity got the better of her.

“What’s the case?” she couldn’t help asking.

“Missing woman. Wife of a son of a friend of my mum’s.”

“What a good boy you are,” Molly teased with a wry smile. “Any leads?”

“Not a one,” Sherlock said, frowning, eyes scouring the screen for more clues. “It seems that she left early from a couples retreat four weeks ago and vanished, leaving no trace.”

This was where she would usually chime in. This was where she would have joined him on his side of the desk, standing so close that she could see the stubble forming on his chin, nose filled with the scent of him, a scent she craved and had to admit she had been missing.

But she didn’t join him.

Instead, she stood.

“Good luck with it,” Molly said, standing, punctuating her exit by throwing the empty cake container in the bin.

---

Sherlock watched her go. It was the longest time she’d voluntarily spent in his presence in months, and it had only been a few minutes.

He had seen in her a vacillation, a moment in which she may have come and helped him, but it evaporated in an instant, and Sherlock was left alone.

His searches for Melanie Williamson had yielded no clues. Her mobile phone was dead. Her accounts had not been accessed. Her car remained on the street where she’d parked it in front of her flat before taking the train to North Norfolk for the couples’ retreat.

The woman, it seemed, had evaporated.

Curious indeed.

Online avenues of inquiry all exhausted, Sherlock was about to turn off Molly’s computer when an email alert popped up. Normally, her inbox was full of messages from Mike Stamford, or questions from her various trainees, or subscriptions to online shopping sales from H+M or Topshop, her brands of choice.

He would have ignored all these. But not this one. This one he had to open based on the preview text alone.

From: [email protected]

Subject: Progress of your application

Dear Doctor Hooper, thank you for your interview on Zoom last week. We are in the final stages of reference checks and will inform you of our decision in the coming week.

Warmly,

Jane Harper

HR manager, Glasgow Royal Hospital.

Molly had applied for another job.

Molly had interviewed for another job.

Said job was in Glasgow.

This wouldn’t do. Sherlock strode out of Molly’s office and upstairs to the one man who could make sense of what was going on.

It turns out that Mike was in the middle of a call when Sherlock arrived, and from what Sherlock heard, it was the reference check that the email referred to.

“Hang up.” Sherlock declared.

“Sorry?” Mike said.

“Hang up!”

Sherlock didn’t wait, placing his fingers on the receiver cradle to cut off the call.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Mike asked, face reddening.

“What do you think you’re doing, Mike? Molly can’t leave Bart’s!”

“She can if she wants to, mate. Do you know how many headhunters have been after her in the past 10 years? She’s said no to every single one.”

“But what has changed?” He asked himself, rather than Mike.

---

Having reviewed all available data from the day, Sherlock stood from the lounge. Taking his violin out of its case, he plucked at the strings, hoping the familiarity of the instrument would give him peace, help him understand.

He didn’t know how long he had been playing, or precisely what he had been playing, but from the look on Mrs Hudson’s face, it had been a while, and not necessarily music that was soothing to the soul.

“I need to sleep Sherlock,” his landlady had pleaded. “I’ve got the ladies coming over to play bridge tomorrow.”

In the past he would have snapped at her. In the past he would have taken out his frustrations on the wall or on the mantlepiece.

Instead, he stood, grabbing his coat and leaving without a word.

He walked for hours through the streets of London. It was a habit he used to do alone, but during his detox and recovery, Molly had joined him.

Over the course of a few weeks he had shown her all the cases he could remember, those details he hadn’t deleted or outsourced to John’s blog to keep an historical record of.

As he walked tonight, he wasn’t recounting cases, he wasn’t even focusing on the case at hand – the disappearance of Melanie Williamson. All his attention, all his mental energy was spent unpacking the curious behaviour of his pathologist.

It was obvious that Eurus’ little game, her emotional vivisection, was not without its cost. He could see that now, so clearly. Molly had withdrawn from him, and rightly so. But, if he was honest, he had allowed her to.

It would only take one visit to her flat with chips, one phonecall to chat through his thinking in a case, one day like the day they’d spent solving crimes together after his return from the dead and she would see what he already knew, that nothing needed to change, they could return to how things were before Eurus came and fucked everything up between them.

And that was the answer – a case – and one staring him in the face!

Two birds, one stone.

---

It was 5am when Molly awoke to a not unfamiliar sight of Sherlock Holmes stood over her bed.

“What is it?” she said, voice horse, eyes bleary.

“I need help with a case.”

Molly reached for her dressing gown, pulling it tightly around her as she sat up.

“Is there a body?” she asked.

“No.”

“Well, is there some test you need?”

“No.”

“Then what do you need?”

“You-“ a beat, the couplet had passed between them on a night completely different from this one.

Sensing the charged atmosphere in the air, Sherlock continued.

“Four weeks ago, Melanie and James Williamson attended a couples retreat in North Norfolk. Melanie left the retreat early and hasn’t been seen from since.”

“So what do you need?”

“I need you to go undercover with me at the retreat.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No – I’m sure you’ve heard the word before Sherlock.” Molly paced to the kitchen, putting on the kettle.

“I’m familiar with it, but I don’t understand,” he said as he followed her.

“I can’t drop everything and go chasing after white rabbits with you whenever you feel like it.”

Sherlock didn’t understand the reference.

“Alice in Wonderland, look it up sometime.”

Sherlock persisted in his questioning “Why not?”

“I’m not John. I’m not your partner. I’m your-“ Molly paused, stuck for words. “I don’t even know what I am Sherlock. But whatever it is it doesn’t entail being at your beck and call 24/7. I have my own life.”

She didn’t say it but he knew. Glasgow loomed unspoken between them.

He wanted her to stay in London, wanted to tell her how important she was to him, how he couldn’t do his job without her help. He wanted to say he was sorry that things got so fucked up by his sister. He wanted to commit to making things go back to just like they were before the phone call.

He was going to say it all, but the sound of a text alert from Greg sliced through the silence between them.

Sherlock read it, then showed Molly the screen.

James Williamson didn’t show up to work yesterday.

“Two people, Molly. I can’t go in there on my own.”

Everything he could see in Molly, the clench of her jaw, the intake of air sharply through her nose, the fingers balled into fists at her side told him she was about to say no.

Which was why Sherlock was so surprised when she agreed.

“Yes. I’ll go with you.” She said, “but I have some rules first.”

#sherlolly #sherlolly fic #missmollybloom writes sometimes

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floral-and-fine · 4 years ago

Text

La Doular Exquise part 3

Mycroft Holmes x female reader

Greg Lestrade x female reader

Part 1 Part 2

Summary: Greg Lestrade is in a new relationship with y/n, and to everyone, they appear very happy together and very much in love. Surprisingly, Mycroft finds himself longing for something similar.

a/n: thanks @luna-xial for helping me stay motivated :)

“Boring!” Sherlock leaned back in his chair and groaning obnoxiously, “I said find me a good case. Something interesting!”

John rolled his eyes but kept scrolling through their emails anyways, desperate to find something that would get Sherlock off his back. He hated these dry spells, and having to deal with a moody Sherlock on top of it all.

“What about this one?” He asked. “Missing headstones from family plot.”

“Too easy,” Sherlock complained, shaking his head. “The culprit is obviously a family member.”

“Fine,” John sighed, continuing his search, there had to be something worthwhile.

Suddenly, there was a knock at their door.

“Come in!” John shouted as he clicked on an email, in which the subject line read, ‘HELP: my mother’s ghost is haunting my ex.’

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Mycroft said, looking at Sherlock, who had been wearing the same robe and pants for the past three days, with a disappointed expression.

“You’re not,” John chirped, praying that Mycroft had something to keep Sherlock busy. “What do you need?”

Mycroft looked down at the floor for a moment, twisting his umbrella around in his hand. “I need some advice,” he finally stated looking back at John with an unreadable expression.

“Advice?” Sherlock repeated, suddenly perking up.

“Not from you,” Mycroft scowled. “From Dr. Watson.”

“Me?” John questioned, staring at Mycroft in disbelief.

Mycroft nodded, “yes, I’m not sure who else I can ask.”

Sherlock got to his feet. “What could John possibly help you with?” He demanded not bothering to hide his surprise or disdain at the idea.

Mycroft sighed, ignoring Sherlock’s outburst. “Mind joining me to my car, Dr. Watson? It’s waiting outside.”

“Sure,” John replied, though his tone was anything but.

With that Mycroft turned back around and headed out the door.

John gave Sherlock a sympathetic look before he quickly grabbed his coat. “See you in a bit,” he said then rushed down the stairs to catch up to Mycroft.

Sherlock slumped back down in his chair, pouting over being left out. What does John know that he doesn’t?

John and Mycroft sat in silence, the little cafe Mycroft selected was full of people. His reasoning was that if Sherlock did follow, it would be harder for him to overhear their conversation without being noticed.

“So, what can I help you with?” John finally asked getting to the point.

“I’ve been talking with someone, lately,” Mycroft started. “And I want to show her that I’m interested in her.”

“Alright,” John nodded, trying to hide his amusement that Mycroft would come to him for relationship advice. “Well, how have you gone about it so far?”

“We’ve had tea together, I gave her my personal cell phone number, I’ve texted her practically every day since,” Mycroft rattled off.

John snickered, “I’m sorry, but that’s- that’s nothing, literally that is like the bare minimum of what people do for a friend or even an acquaintance.”

Mycroft’s face fell at John’s reaction.

“Sorry, sorry,” John sighed, “just figured you’d be better at this.”

Mycroft added more sugar to his tea. “I have some experience, but none in this context,” he huffed. “The issue here is timing. I have reason to believe that she will soon be available.”

John raised his brow, “Is y/n planning on breaking things off with Lestrade?”

Mycroft’s brow furrowed for a moment, he hadn’t mentioned who he had been talking to, figures Sherlock would share everything and anything with Dr. Watson. “Based on what she and I have discussed, yes.”

“So why do you need my help?”

“You have a history of… going from one relationship to another rather quickly,” Mycroft explained. “This is a delicate matter, I don’t want to act too soon, or too late.”

John gaped for a moment, slightly offended that Mycroft thought of him as the guy who easily moves on between women.

“That’s, that’s not something I can tell you,” John frowned. “She’ll either need time or not, my best advice is to see how she’s doing.”

Mycroft sighed, he figured as much.

…

Y/n stood outside the door of Greg’s flat, her heart beating faster with each passing second.

On the way over she had planned everything, she was going to say, how this was about them wanting different things out of life, that she wanted things like marriage and children and respected his desire not to remarry. She still wants to be friends with him and truly cares about him, but she's realized that their relationship should end now before it gets even harder.

But now that she was here, standing outside his door, her nerves were getting the best of her.

“Just knock,” She whispered to herself. Taking a deep breath she rapped her knuckles against the door and waited.

“Y/n?” Greg greeted her with a smile giving her a quick peck on the cheek. “C’mon in.”

She could feel her resolve wearing thin, there were so many things she liked about Greg. He had this boyish charm that made her smile every time she saw him.

“Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the couch. “Need a drink or anything?”

“I’m good,” y/n answered, then bit her lip. She needed to get this over with, but she couldn’t seem to find the words.

Greg sat next to her still smiling, he was in such a good mood. A part of her just wanted to enjoy this, sitting close to him, watching TV.

She had never broken up with anyone before, at least not when things hadn’t hit the fan. Things were still good between her and Greg.

His hand slid over to hers, his fingers wrapping her palm. She gave his hand a little squeeze, this wasn’t fair to him, she couldn’t lead him on just because she was scared.

“Greg, we need to talk,” y/n started, her eyes focused on their clasped hands.

His shoulders visibly slumped, “This can’t be good.”

“This isn’t easy for me,” she said, her vision starting to get slightly blurry. “But I think it would be best if we broke up.” She couldn’t face him so she kept looking down.

Greg sighed, his free hand running down his face, “This is about that conversation we had the other night isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” y/n murmured. “I just think that inevitably we’ll part ways.”

“You don’t know that,” Greg argued.

“Greg…” she sighed. “I want to get married, I want to have a baby, and that’s-“

“Fine!” He snapped, getting to his feet. “We’ll get married and have children, all of it, alright?”

“No, not like this, it shouldn’t have to be because of an ultimatum,” y/n shook her head. “It only works if we both want it.”

Greg started to pace, wracking his brain for something to say, some way to convince her that they could work it out.

Suddenly, y/n’s phone’s screen lit up to reveal that she had a new message from Mycroft.

“Mycroft? As in Mycroft Holmes?” Greg questioned, his tone distrustful.

Y/n nodded, “yeah, we had tea the other day.”

“Why would he bother talking to you?” His words stung, even if she knew that wasn’t his intention.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s just not like him,” he shrugged. “He’s not the type to care about people. What would you and him have to talk about anyway?”

“I don’t know,” y/n said, crossing her arms. “We talk about little things like my job and books, that’s it.”

“Do you like him?” Greg asked suddenly.

The question caught y/n off guard. She honestly hadn’t thought about it. She enjoyed talking to him, she liked a lot of his quirky personality traits and habits, not to mention he was kind of cute in his own way… y/n could feel her heart beating faster, did she like him? How come she was barely realizing this?

Greg laughed dryly, “Well that’s it, isn’t it? You’ve moved on.”

“That’s not it at all!” y/n shouted, rising to stand.

“Oh really?” He scoffed, reaching for her phone. “Well, let’s see what it says?”

“Stop it,” she urged. “This has nothing to do with him. I’m done.” Shaking her head, y/n gathered her things before heading out.

Greg stared at the door, mouth hanging open. Y/n didn’t bother saying goodbye, slamming the door as she left.

. . .

Y/n dropped her purse on a nearby chair as she entered her home. “What a mess,” she muttered. Somehow what started out as a simple and sweet relationship had spiraled out of her control.

And now here she was possibly falling for another guy.

She couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed earlier. She thought back to Christmas Day, and how much she enjoyed Mycroft’s company. How he attempted to make her visit pleasant, despite how obviously uncomfortable he was with it. She recalled how victorious she felt every time she made him smile, even if it was just a small one.

It didn’t help either how supportive he’s been while she tried to figure out things between her and Greg. How he was always quick to respond and gave her his honest opinions on things.

Y/n groaned loudly as she collapsed on her bed. Why didn’t she notice earlier that she was falling for Mycroft Holmes? But this just raised more problems.

At least with Greg she knew where she stood, that he did, in fact, care about her, was attracted to her, and wanted to be with her, even if getting married wasn’t an option.

With Mycroft, she had no clue if he wanted to be anything more than friends. Hell, she didn’t even know if he thought of her as a friend!

It could very well be that her loving him could only lead to more pain. She had heard how people referred to Mycroft as the iceman, and she had seen firsthand how he was distant from everyone including his family. Greg had even told her about how Mycroft frequently reminded Sherlock that caring wasn’t an advantage.

Looking up at the ceiling she wondered if he’d be willing to be at a disadvantage for her. If he could care for her enough to make that kind of compromise?

She shot up into a sitting position as her phone buzzed.

“Speak of the devil,” she whispered to herself. Y/n bit her lip as she read the read message.

‘Everything alright? You’ve been awfully quiet today.’

Y/n didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, she knew his concern was sincere, which only made her like him more. God, she just wanted to know if she meant anything to him.

#Mycroft Holmes #mycroft x reader #mycroft fanfic #mycroft holmes x reader #mycroft holmes fanfic #bbc sherlock fanfic #greg lestrade x reader #greg lestrade fanfic #reader insert #Female reader

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feistypaants-archived · 5 years ago

Text

Between The Pipes [Chapter 31]

Rating: M Words: 2511 Pairing: Kristanna Summary: When a new owner takes over the Arendelle Ice Breakers, Kristoff isn’t sure about his future with the team. That is, until a PR nightmare throws the newest member of the media team, who also just so happens to be the daughter of the new owner, right into his arms. Kristoff and Anna can’t even stand the interviews they have to do together… how on earth are they going to fix this mess? Hockey!AU.

[Chapter Index]

Where To Read: [AO3]

Notes: They’re soft n smushy and cuddlebugs, apparently.

Also I've never had a concussion so I did some research but don't come at me if I've gotten something wrong hhahahah.

Enjoy!

Anna was sprinting down the hall, faster than she had ever thought imaginable in heels. They had counted the goal as good even though they gave Westergaard a minor penalty, and the whole arena had booed at the decision. It only took Honeymaren a few minutes to get down to the ice, and she immediately waved Anna off with a look of remorse.

In the end, he had gotten up, but only with the assistance of Sven and two medics, and skated himself off of the ice very slowly, but at least he was moving. Sven had only managed to come back for the last few minutes, but the rest of the team put their best foot forward to play even harder and shut down the Stallions. When she left, she could’ve sworn she heard a screaming match starting between the coaches.

The arena was going wild as she ran into the locker room, and she could only assume the Ice Breakers had scored again, almost guaranteeing the win. Good. The Stallions would not have deserved this game.

“Kristoff?” Anna called, making her way back to the training room. She peered around the corner, knocking lightly on the opened door. He smiled the second he saw her, but she could tell something wasn’t right.

“Hi baby,” he hummed, but his words were just a touch slurred. “Did we win?”

She shook her head and looked up at the medic who was frowning just slightly as he examined Kristoff for other injuries. Anna tried her best to ignore the bandages on his eyebrow and cheek. “Game’s not over yet, honey.”

“Oh, I should probably get back out --”

The medic sighed, rolling his shoulders. “No, Bjorgman, you’ve got a concussion. You’re not going back out there.”

“I have a what?”

Anna frowned deeper and stepped into the room. “Is this normal?” She watched Kristoff’s nose scrunch as he looked around for a moment, as if trying to make sense of what was going on around him.

“I wouldn’t say normal.” He definitely had no interest in humoring her. “But standard for a concussion. It’s fresh so the disorientation is… not too concerning, at least.” He finished scribbling some notes and turned to face her. “I’m assuming you’re his girlfriend?”

“Um, yes,” she nodded, her attention spacing for a moment as Kristoff grabbed her hand gently and squeezed at her fingers. “Is it… should we go to the hospital?”

“Ah, I wouldn’t…” He tapped his pen against his chin. “It doesn’t seem that bad. He said he has a headache and he’s definitely a little confused about what happened…” The medic moved to scratch at the back of his head and shrugged. “But his recall otherwise is fine, and he’s not nauseated and he’s conscious so…”

He handed her a notepad and explained everything on it. “These are the things I did and his scores, if you want to run through it with him again every four to six hours or so for the first twenty-four, make sure it’s not getting worse… If it does, then yeah, go to the hospital.”

“Can… can he sleep? Or… I’ve heard you shouldn’t sleep right away --”

“That’s been debunked, luckily.” He dropped the clipboard he had been holding on the table and turned to face her. “Look, ah, just… monitor him. Don’t let him sleep if it’s getting worse, and if you’re really concerned, wake him up every three hours or so to check in. Before you let him sleep, make sure his pupils aren’t dilated, that he can walk and talk fine, and you should be okay.”

Anna felt her heart finally starting to calm.

“But, honestly, it doesn’t seem too bad. I know Bjorgman’s had a concussion before worse than this so, just monitor it.”

Anna nodded and thanked him, waiting for the man to leave before she turned to face Kristoff. A small smile stretched at her lips as he gazed down at her from the exam table.

“Hi, baby,” he tried again, clearly a little annoyed that he hadn’t been getting her undivided attention as he lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. “You okay?”

“Are you okay?” She reached up to stroke his face, avoiding the cut on his cheekbone. “You got hit pretty bad.”

He nodded. “Feels like it.”

“Do you remember?” She watched his eyes dart back and forth, doing his best to recall the actual event, but his furrowed brows gave him away. “That’s okay, sweetheart.” She leaned up to place a small kiss on the side of his mouth. “You’ll remember after some sleep.”

The medics had managed to remove most of his gear, but they still took a moment to carefully get him into sweats and a t-shirt before heading out. Anna left his stuff in his cubby, figuring she could enlist Sven to help her come get it tomorrow, and led Kristoff out towards the car.

His voice came from above her, weak and sad and clearly still a little confused. “Can you stay with me?”

“Of course, honey,” she sighed, pressing her forehead against his arm that had been draped across her shoulders. “As long as you want me to.”

He nodded and she helped him into the passenger seat of her car, doing their best not to jostle him around too much. She knew the drive to his house was smooth, and had never been more grateful to drive down more private roads.

—

When they got to his house, Anna had drawn him a warm bath, told him to relax, and ordered some food in case he came out hungry. He hadn’t said anything about nausea, so she had her fingers crossed and was hoping for the best as she set the hefty burrito bowls down on the kitchen counter.

“Babe?” She asked, thirty minutes later when he still hadn’t emerged. “Are you okay?”

She opened the door and sighed with relief. He had just fallen asleep, his cheek resting against his arm propped up over the side of the tub. But she knew this wouldn’t be comfortable for long.

Anna stepped into the bathroom slowly, knelt down beside the tub, and stroked gently at his damp hair. “Kristoff,” she tried, softly as his eyebrows twitched below her fingers. “Baby…” A little louder, and one of his eyes cracked open just slightly. “Hello, honey,” she hummed, laying her palm against his cheek as he lifted his head. “Did the nap help?”

He rolled his shoulders and sighed, but nodded his head just a little. “Concussions suck.” His voice was hardly a whisper, and Anna pressed a kiss against his bare shoulder.

“I can imagine.” Then, a twisting of her lips. “Can you remember anything?”

A small shrug. “A little, I think.”

“That’s okay, that’s good.” Anna let her hand drop from his cheek to rest flat on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart. “I got some food if you’re hungry.”

Kristoff nodded and moved to stand, wincing just a little as he moved. Anna could see a large bruise forming on his ribs, no doubt where Hans’s knees had hit, and felt ready to strangle the asshole herself. “What’d you get?”

His eyes were soft and exhausted as he looked down at her, smiling when she offered him a hand to step out of the tub. “Burrito bowls. I figured they keep pretty well if you weren’t --” His stomach let out a large growl, and Anna chuckled. “Guess I got the right thing.”

“Hey,” his hand holding hers squeezed just a little and she looked back up at him, smiling as he brought his arms up around her neck for a hug. She pressed her cheek against his chest, not even concerned about his still-wet skin soaking her clothing as she wrapped her arms around his waist, and just took a moment to be grateful things weren’t worse. “Thank you.”

She wanted to tell him. God she wanted to tell him.

But it didn’t feel right. Not yet. Not when there was a chance he might forget.

“Of course,” Anna smiled, pulling back just a little. “Now get dressed and come get some food.”

Kristoff nodded and moved to grab his towel, grinning. “Yes ma’am.”

When he came out of the bathroom, Kristoff had realized how much the short hug had soaked her clothing, and immediately offered her something more comfortable. So he was in clean sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, and she was in a pair of shorts she had happened to leave here, and one of his smaller tees that still managed to hang well past her hips.

The paperwork she had been given had a whole list of things to avoid, and it included all electronics. So they sat in relative silence as they ate, and Anna promised to run out and get some games that didn’t involve screens in the morning. Kristoff complained that he’d normally be reading, but Anna pointed to the list and sighed, telling him it was on the what not to do list.

He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “I did it last time and it was fine.”

“Well, I’m saying no. Because the doctor says no.”

Anna was smiling though, even as he put up a front of annoyance, because with every passing hour she could see more clarity in him, as if just having someone to talk to was enough to help things start to come together for him. “But, if you want, I can read to you?”

Kristoff looked like he was holding back a smile. “I guess.”

But he hopped up quickly, insisting she leave the plates for tomorrow, and picked out a clearly well-loved copy of The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. Somehow, him being a fan of the great detective surprised her. “Really?”

He snorted and led her to the couch, sitting on one end, waiting patiently for her to settle beside him. “It was my dad’s - not that one, my adoptive one - favorite and he read these stories to us every night. So…” He smiled and leaned forward, an almost childish glee on his face as he laid his head into her lap. “They’re comforting.”

Anna smiled and began to stroke her fingers through his hair, smiling as he closed his eyes and clasped his hands together on his chest. “I like them all,” he mumbled, shrugging. “Pick whichever one you’d like.”

She flipped delicately through the pages and couldn’t help but chuckle. “Ah, how about…” She propped the book up on the armchair to make sure her one hand stayed free to continue their path across his scalp. “The Red-Headed League.”

Kristoff didn’t quite find her little joke funny, but rolled his eyes and let a smile stretch his lips. “Sure, perfect.”

A soft throat-clear and she began.

“I had called upon my friend, Mr Sherlock Holmes, one day in the autumn of last year…”

—

Anna woke up to a soft ringing by her head. She slid her hand around the armrest in a quiet attempt to find the offending device without jostling the man sleeping on her top of her too much. Finally getting it between her fingers, she silenced it before even looking at the caller ID.

She sighed with relief. “Hi, Sven,” she whispered, letting her free hand fall back to scratch lightly at Kristoff’s skull.

“Hey. How’s he doing?”

A sense of guilt suddenly filled her throat at not even having thought to reach out to Sven earlier. “Oh, god I’m sorry. He’s…” she looked down and couldn’t help but smile. He had turned to his stomach, his whole body wrapped around hers as his cheek rested right right over her heart. “He’s sleeping. Seems all right.”

“Not too much disorientation? Memory okay?”

Anna chuckled, and decided it best to help lighten the weight on his shoulders. “He still remembers all the love and adoration he has for you, don’t you worry.”

Sven sighed, a small laugh echoing hers. “Well, good. I wouldn’t even let amnesia make him forget me.” There was a short lull, and he let out another heavy breath. “Hey, Anna… Thank you for taking care of him.”

She hadn’t even considered not taking care of him. “I… it’s really nothing I --”

“I don’t just mean right now… I mean…” He laughed, as if he was hesitating for a moment. “I’ve never seen him so happy. You…” He sighed, and Anna’s hand stilled in Kristoff’s hair. “You’re perfect for him, and I’m so happy you’ve come into our lives. And like,” he groaned, and she tried to ignore the tears she felt brimming her eyelashes. “I love you, and I know… how he feels. Even if he hasn’t said it yet.”

Anna’s mouth was contorted as she tried to hold back the sob she felt in her throat. “Well what the hell, Pederson. I’ve done so well at not crying today.”

“Well now it’s time, baby girl!”

They laughed together, and Anna couldn’t help but hum out a soft “Love you, too, Reindeer boy.”

“Ah, I’m never going to live that one down am I?”

“No way.” Kristoff started to move, his fingers flexing against her ribs. “Ah, sorry, I gotta go, he’s waking up --”

“Yeah, of course. Tell him I love him.”

“Absolutely.”

Before Anna had even finished hanging up, she felt Kristoff’s head lift from her chest, felt his whole body slide across hers, and felt his breath ghosting over her lips. “Who was that?” he hummed, his eyes slowly coming back into focus.

“Oh, just Sven. Making sure you still loved him.”

Kristoff chuckled and leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss to her mouth. Well, at least it started out innocently enough. With a heavy sigh and deep regret, Anna pushed his shoulders back just slightly. “I think all of that would qualify as unnecessary physical exertion. And that’s --”

“Not allowed, I know,” he groaned, dropping his head into the crook of her neck.

She laughed and careded her fingers through his hair. “Just for forty eight hours. Then we can give it a go.” When he let out a noise of annoyance against her, Anna tsked and rolled her eyes. “Didn’t you go without for like… years? Don’t be such a baby about two days.”

“Well, It wasn’t on the table for those years.”

“Please.” She knew he had women throwing themselves at him. She’d heard plenty of stories.

“Fine. I didn’t have you on the table. Or the bed. Or the truck.”

Anna snorted. “Let’s go to bed, yeah?” She probably shouldn’t humor this because she was not confident she’d be able to say no for too long. “You clearly need some rest.”

Kristoff sighed and gave up the fight before climbing off of her and moving back towards the bedroom, immediately lowering himself onto the plush mattress. Anna followed, gave him a quick kiss, and promised she would join him after she cleaned up the kitchen.

He was out before she even shut off the light.

#btpfic #feistypantswrites #thank u molly for the red headed league suggestion 🥰

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yelenasdog · 4 years ago

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unknown desires (spencer reid x russell holmes) (i’m so sorry BFRHEKRB)

really all i have to say about this is what the fuck and why the fuck. I DESERVE NO RIGHTS. enjoy i guess??? if u found this while searching for some reid x reader there’s plenty of that on my account!!

i’m deleting this bye ok-

btw it’s set at the end of s9 ep18 and then ends probably around s13?? idk. also listen to billie eilish’s “i love you” to be extra sad bc this is lowkey kinda angsty and lowkey a mess but im throwing it at u ok bye!

🂦∙🂦∙🂦

“Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary”- Edgar Allan Poe’s The Raven

Spencer shouldn't have been so drawn the first time he saw Russell in person. He shouldn't have been drawn at all.

He was a victim, someone who the young doctor had stared at a photo of for days while planning his rescue.

Although he didn't feel the initial electricity, he was far too buried in the case to think about Russell's kind puppy dog eyes or plump, rosy lips. Yes, far too busy to even fathom thinking of the way his raven locks that Edgar Allan Poe himself would be jealous of complimented his ivory skin, even for an inkling of a moment. He couldn’t bear to do such a thing.

But then, there was after the case, that day at the hospital. There was loss, it was hard to see. But yet again, he saw it every day.

His brain was fuzzy, and he seemed to be more heavily affected by this case than any previous endeavors. He wasn’t sure as to why.

It had him lost in his own thoughts, swimming in a pool of unknown desires.

So lost in fact, so drowned in his daydream, that he was barely aware of the person that had been wheeled over in his general vicinity.

It was him. His pink pout (that was more of a smile) was busted, no doubt, and his porcelain skin had cuts littered among it, but god, it was him.

He should have been disgusted, scared even. The man had rabies! And this was doctor Reid we’re talking about, the biggest possible germaphobe. But he couldn’t bring himself, he was too infatuated. Not that he would admit to it, though.

And he apparently had heard about Spence and his displeasure with even slightly unsanitary situations, as he chose to greet (and simultaneously say goodbye) to the doctor with a simple wave and bashful smile.

Spencer returned it in the same manner. The interaction was quick, too quick. It also warmed his heart to a full extent.

Russell was whisked away by a nurse, looking back reluctantly at the three agents that had saved his life, specifically a certain brown haired doctor, wanting to encapsulate his stunning image in his mind.

Spencer stuck to a cycle. Save, move on, repeat. It was easiest to do so rather than deal with any tag along, unwanted, painful emotions.

Because that’s all love was.

Crude and abrupt pain. But despite this, he found himself asking Garcia for Russell's current home address. His own actions confused him, but nonetheless, he held his head high as he exited the batcave towards the light, clutching a paper with the info in his hands.

He knew he didn’t need it. But he refused to face the (impossible) possibility to forget this information, to forget Russell.

The paper was wrinkled and dampened from his gorilla grip by the time he had arrived. He flattened it out with shaky hands, grabbing a fresh piece of parchment.

“Hello, I'm Doctor Spencer Reid.”

No, no, too formal. He erased it.

“Greetings, I’m Spencer Reid.”

What was he, an alien? Even though many members of the team thought so, he decided against giving Russell Holmes that opportunity. And then it was gone in the wind with a few swipes from his pencil eraser.

“Hi! I’m Dr. Spencer Reid, I was one of the agents that assisted on your case. I hope this message finds you well. I’m just checking in to see how you’re healing.”

Spencer scoffed at himself out loud. “just checking in”, his ass. He continued writing and with very low expectations, he sent off the letter.

------

“I'll be just a minute, Mom!” Russell hollered through his home as he went to go check the mail. He walked down to the mailbox, limping ever so slightly, still in recovery. He flipped through the various envelopes, doing a double take when he saw a certain name.

Doctor Spencer Reid

Apartment 23A

Wilcox Road, Quantico, Virginia, 22134

He tore into the message immediately, a growing smile resting on his face as he read.

“Hi! I’m Doctor Spencer Reid, I was one of the agents who assisted on your case. I hope this message finds you well. I’m just checking in to see how you’re healing. How's your mother been since her surgery? I hope she is doing well, too. If you need anything don’t hesitate to write back or call the number at the bottom of the page. Yet again, I'm glad we could get you home, perhaps to your boyfriend/ girlfriend, or wife/husband.

Best regards, Spencer.”

He was off the walls with excitement. There was a newfound pep in his step as he made his way up the driveway, no doubt planning on writing back.

“Dr. Reid, I appreciate you checking in on me. I do not regret informing you that there is no boyfriend or girlfriend here, just my mother and I while we both recover...”

-----

Glee and bliss. Those were the two things that could no doubt be used to describe the relationship between Spencer Reid and Russell Holmes.

Although it was nothing too formal, exchanges of news about mothers or about how work was going was going on either side soon became much more deep, bringing the two closer than imaginable, even from 689 miles apart.

Never meeting again in person, the situation reminded him all too much of Maeve, but nonetheless, to him, Russell was worth it. So they talked, and talked, for years and years on end.

They both felt a warm fuzzy feeling in their chest, quite able to place the cause on one another.

Then one day, they stopped.

Spencer had gotten home from a long case, and was very much so looking forward to an uplifting note from his distanced lover. But to his surprise, there was nothing.

Although he found it odd, he blew it off, considering the possibility of getting lost in the post, running some stat to calm himself. Pulling out his cell, he dialed the number that he had saved of Russell's if for some reason the letters were to become inadequate. Voice mail. And voicemail again, and again, and again. Spencer tried for days and weeks, but to no avail, he was met with radio silence.

Until one day, if it was fateful or not is up to you.

It was sunny in August, and Spencer Reid was not a fan.

After sweating around all day (he wasn’t sure what it meant either), he made his way to his apartment. He stripped down to his slacks and undershirt, waltzing around his apartment with a water bottle in hand.

knock knock

He squinted his honey eyes, confusion flooding his body. He cautiously approached the door, keeping his revolver in his peripheral vision, compliments of his paranoia.

Another two knocks sounded, but before a third could ring out, he swung the door open.

He gasped, his jaw water bottle falling out of his hand and rolling into the hallway.

“Russ?”

“Hi, Spence.”

He wanted to hug him, he wanted to kiss him, God, he wanted to-

“I felt like I needed to tell you in person.”

His heart dropped to his feet as Russell's own shaky hand presented itself, in it, a white envelope, similar to the one that started their not-so extravagant rondevu.

“W-what is this, Russ?” he opened with nimble fingers, sliding it from its encasement.

Join soon to be Mr. and Mrs. Russell and Jane Holmes-

He didn’t read the rest, he didn’t need to, and couldn't. Tears made their way to both men’s eyes, threatening with such a fierce hostility to spill.

“I’m so sorry, Spence.”

This warranted no response from the doctor. He looked blankly behind Russ, his mind running a million miles a minute. With his head hung in a terrible shame, Russell turned to leave.

He was shocked when he was stopped by Spencer grabbing him by his blue and red plaid shirt, pulling him back.

“Wait.”

He turned, his hazel eyes just barely meeting Spencer's own of the same color.

“Do you love her?”

He pondered for a moment, before nodding slightly.

“Yes, I,” he paused. “Yes.”

Spencer bit his bottom lip briefly, before making a choice he knew he would regret.

He gripped him by the collar of his shirt, smashing their lips together for the first time and the last.

It should have been sweet, it should have been everything he hoped for and more. It should have been a reunion as glorious as they both could have imagined.

But instead, it was a mixture of salty tears, as their lips moulded together like they were made for each other. He pulled away, trying to maintain a strong facade.

“Good.”

And with that, he took one more look, before committing him to a memory, and nothing else.

He shut his door, sliding down against it and silently sobbing, pulling at his curls as tears racked his body. He heard smaller footsteps pad up the staircase, stopping next to where he left a dumbstruck and emotion ridden Russell.

“Hey, sweetheart, is your friend going to be able to make it?” She rubbed his shoulder lovingly, so incredibly oblivious and unaware of the previous happenings.

He put a remorseful hand on hers, watching how her engagement ring shimmered, even in the dim lighting.

He put on a false smile for his future wife he thinks he loves. “I think he’s a bit busy, he said he needs to review the date.” He spoke loudly, hoping Spencer could hear him through the thick door.

She frowned, nodding in what was her understanding of it all.

“Well, I hope he can make it, he must be important if you came all the way here to deliver this for him!”

He smiled genuinely, thinking of all the letters sent and hours spent.

“Yeah, more than he knows.”

It wasn't until after he heard their steps retrieve, and their car start up and go, that he picked up the card to finish reading it.

He ran his finger over the gold raised trim, the feeling giving him goosebumps. He read the front and flipped it over, seeing an all too familiar hand writing underneath the date that the supposed union was to be held.

I'm sorry, I love you.

🂦∙🂦∙🂦

literally what the fuck was that ffwbfbfbkfw what do i even tag this?? im so sorry. also this is my first character x character be nice

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #cm #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #boy x boy fic

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snowbellewells · 5 years ago

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CS Role Reversal: The Case of the Heart in Armor {Part Three}

Hello there friends and fellow fans! I’m back with something new at last. I first started this story back in the fall for the first @csrolereversal event, inspired by brilliant art from @courtorderedcake. It’s a CS Victorian era AU, hopefully with some enjoyable nods to both Sherlock Holmes and My Fair Lady. I never meant to keep everyone waiting so long, so I am linking the first two chapters as well, just in case anyone wants to catch up on where we left off.

Anyway, without more nervous stalling, here is Part Three of “The Case of the Heart in Armor”

Summary: Killian “Holmes” Jones is rarely surprised or shocked anymore, but that all changes when he meets one very stubborn - and very beautiful - pickpocket, and trouble brews in the distance, hidden by the London fog…

Part One Part Two

Part Three

Killian Jones left his interview with Chief Inspector Nolan, Lieutenant Watson, and his pretty little thief deeply shaken by the savagery they were up against and more stirred in body and soul than he could remember being in quite some time. Emma - he now had a name to match that beguiling face and feisty bearing - her name suited her, lovely but short and to the point, lingering on his mind as he left the Yard and moved back through the crowded London streets to his apartment and study where he could meditate on his next course of action.

Somewhere within the bustling streets of the city he called home, lurked an evil that was stalking victims, slaughtering with a brutal precision, and leaving little trace behind with which to catch and stop their trail of carnage. Was it a black market trade in stolen organs? Some sort of opium ring gone horribly awry? A disturbed sadist with no true reason at all other than their own macabre and twisted interest? The sight of the crime scene images had been unsettling to say the least. Certainly he had thought no less of Miss Nolan when he noticed her already porcelain skin pale considerably at the gore captured in stark black and white, and her stance wavering just the tiniest bit unsteadily, even as he also noted the tight clenching of her delicate fingers and the firm way she pressed her lips together, clinging to her control with everything she had. Instead, he had only intended to offer a bit of bolstering support as he sidled nearer and laid a hand to her back in wordless solidarity. He was astute enough not to see merely the signs that she was unsettled, but that she did not wish for her associates to know it - and he had no intention of giving her away.

Though Killian had known Emma scarcely 24 hours, he knew enough about the world and the time they lived and worked in to gather that her way could not have been an easy one. She was quite obviously clever, quick, and inarguably lovely, but she was also clearly not meant for quietly milling about ballrooms repeating society gossip. No question she had come from very little to find herself willing to work as a flower cart girl - even if it were merely a cover for her work with the Yard - particularly in the part of London where he had first encountered her. It made Emma all the more intriguing to his mind; no shrinking hothouse flower too delicate for any sense or purpose - that much was abundantly clear. When he wasn’t verbally sparring with her in maddening circles, Jones found that she quite made his mouth go dry and his heart palpitate wildly. He hadn’t felt such excitement since he was little more than a callow youth, back when a very different pair of sparkling eyes and husky voice had made his entire being turn to mush. Not since Milah…

Growling low in his throat, Jones shook himself fiercely from that dangerous course of reverie, angrily shoving aside the notes he had begun to jot down on Nolan’s puzzling case. He stood abruptly, shoving his hand through the riotous thick tufts of his dark hair, making them stand on end as he began to pace. This sort of distraction would do no one any good, least of all him. Had he not vowed all those years ago to abstain from such flights of fancy?

Lust, attraction, besotted mooning - whatever form romantic interest might take - it dulled the mind, made him miss details he would normally catch, made him slow, dense, and foolish instead of behaving with the careful perception on which he prided himself. He would not stumble at the same hurdle twice. He could bar his heart against that skinny waif of a guttersnipe. He could...and he must. Countless lives might depend on his clearheaded thinking if his interest in Miss Nolan impeded his ability to track down a coldblooded murderer. Not to mention… he swallowed hard, his pacing steps slowing… not to mention that the one time he had allowed his heart to rule his head - he had lost horrifically and another had paid the ultimate price in his place. That could not happen a second time.

Refocusing his thoughts, Killian knelt to pick up the papers he had scattered and returned them to order on his desk. Sitting down once more, he went back over all they knew, and was soon absorbed in the possibilities, theories, and connections which never failed to appear at the outset of a mystery. Scribbling furiously to record any idea of relevance before it could be lost, the detective was soon fully engrossed in the facts and puzzles that served him best, not allowing himself to consider doing otherwise again.

~~~~~~~~~~***

Meanwhile, some streets over, Emma Nolan was making her own way back to her small flat as well, not at all sure what to make of the disgust and unease tumbling and rolling through her belly, churning in her gut with a disconcerting frequency, lurching up her throat as if she might lose all she had eaten that day, and then ebbing only slightly as she clenched her teeth together and breathed deeply through her nose to fight down the bile before pressing onward determinedly. She had grown up in a rough world where life was much cheaper than the average Londoner would care to admit, where softness and naiveté were a liability one simply could not afford. When she’d fled the foundling home to fend for herself on the streets, where at least she would not be purposefully teased and tormented, Emma had not retained what wide-eyed childish innocence she’d still possessed for very long. She sometimes shuddered to think what lengths she might have gone to if she hadn’t picked the pocket of Ruth Nolan and subsequently been taken in - scratching and squalling at first - only to become part of a family at last.

Even with her less-than-savory - or even normal - beginnings, Emma still had not seen the sort of needless savagery catalogued in those crime scene photos strewn over David’s desk. Her older brother might tend toward the needlessly protective, and Graham too could be stiflingly careful of her “delicate sensibilities”, but she almost wished she had been shielded from that sight. Those pictures would almost certainly haunt her sleep.

As she hurried up the steps to her third floor lodgings, hustled in the door, and quickly made her way to the rickety vanity mirror over her bathroom sink and to begin fussing with her disheveled and wavy mass of hair, Emma was still deep in thought, even as she was trying to restyle it into a more eye-catching twist before she headed back out with her cart; hoping to draw attention, if only to study those who gathered around her. It was a bit late to do a lot of good, but seeing just what they were up against made her feel the effort couldn’t wait. She could at least keep her eyes open for an hour or two as people headed out for late meals and to the theater further up town. Despite the effort it took with brush and numerous bobby pins, not to mention several frustrated huffs and annoyed restarts, her minds was still unraveling the disturbing facts they did have as she worked. Once Emma finally had her blonde mane piled high at her crown once again, a few curls wisping down to frame her face attractively, she turned to seek out a more colorful dress as well, finally settling on the troubling inconsistency which had been niggling at the corner of her mind.

While not much of life was sacred in the city’s darker corners, and sadly violence was not so rare when living with thieves and worse, there was at least a reason or a cause for most crimes in London’s poorer underbelly. Something would be missing from the victim’s pocket or bag, or they would be in an area known for gambling or opium dealing; perhaps even further investigations would bring to light that most victims had quarrelled with someone known to be dangerous to cross. But this case - people ravaged, cut open, with organs missing - and seemingly no other purpose for their demise, made no sense. It wasn’t just troubling for its horrific detail, but for the simple fact that they seemed to be killed for the mere sake of destruction, of taking a life. And even worse - chosen at chilling random. It was worse than any of the theft or conning she had witnessed all her life, this casual depravity, and it was hard to shake the horror it left behind.

Once she was collected and ready, Emma tried to stop and gather her thoughts, to steel her frazzled nerves for the evening ahead. Yes, the degenerate prowling the dark and smoggy streets was a frightening reality, but she was no fainting society Miss with fragile nerves and little gumption. She was doing nothing more than what was asked of her, keeping her eyes open and reporting back on anything strange or out of the ordinary.

Determining that, she was able to nod her chin firmly, square her shoulders, march back down the steps at the front of the building, making her way toward the fresh market where she usually managed to purchase enough blooms to look the part of a simple flower cart girl rather than extra eyes and ears for the city’s police force. She would have never imagined herself one day earning a fair salary from the coppers for her ill-gotten skills in stealth and observation, but she wasn’t daft enough to look a gift horse in the mouth either. She might have a leg up through her brother in this particular field, but if she weren’t serving as a sort of informant for him, she would have had precious few options for making her way in the world. She was a woman of no name or connections, no bright, youthful, accomplishments to recommend her, and she though she was bright, she had spent many of her formative years trying to make sure she ate enough that her stomach’s pangs didn’t keep her up all night or that the older kids in the homes she’d landed in didn’t come to pound on her or steal her few possessions in the dark to fuss over arithmetic. Once she had finally landed with Ruth and David and accepted that she truly was safe there and would not be put out on her ear, her years of schooling were nearly over. She wouldn’t have had many options beyond a salesgirl of some sort if she had been left to her own devices. She was grateful she hadn’t been; her brother would be the first to attest that she did not possess the sweet and patient temperament to wheedle a purchase from most customers.

Scrunching up her nose, she paid for the armload of asters, carnations, black-eyed Susans, and daisies and turned to hurry off to the less crowded and much dodgier end of the street. She wouldn’t admit it to most - too much of the unrepentant pickpocket and scamp in her even yet to acknowledge the sentimentality - but she wanted to do something worthwhile; to be part of an effort that made things better than what she had known as a child, to give something back and prove that the Nolans had been right to pluck her out of the gutter and take her in, to return their generosity, so to speak.

Lost in these thoughts and shaking her head at the rather maudlin turn they had taken, Emma was reflecting both that she was glad what went on in her head couldn’t be heard aloud and whether or not her adopted brother didn’t somehow already know and understand her motivations anyway. It was only after surfacing from that reverie at the rather stained and littered stretch of pavement where she often “set up shop” that she realized just how low and grey the sky had become within the last hour. An ominously thick fog, seeming dense enough to reach out and slice her fingers through or to move in and smother bystanders, was hanging in the air, and it was much darker than seemed at all normal for late afternoon. While she usually picked this spot because it was less crowded and noisey - fewer competitors with similar wares, and therefore a clearer view of genuine persons of interest - it seemed unnaturally devoid of calling voices, horns and whistles, and clanging metal; all of the sounds that were common to the city streets, and even more eerily deserted. In fact, the only sound Emma heard, now that she truly focused on her growing suspicions, was the sharp clip of her smart little heeled boots on the pavement as she spun to look behind her and paced anxiously on the pavement.

She was more than just ill at ease now. This sudden shift in the air around her wasn’t right somehow. Though unable to explain the sensation, the hairs at the nape of her neck stood on end and alarm bells were blaring in her head, screaming for her to move, to leave, to get out of there, irregardless of her previous intentions

Always stubborn to a fault, Emma was resolutely shaking her head, chiding herself for being silly, when her eyes caught a gleam of strangely-colored light from the blackness in the mouth of the alley across the way. Craning her neck, Emma’s breath caught in frightened suspense, unable to see anything else now in the swirling ever-thickening fog that obscured everything else in between, seeming almost to brush across her cheeks and neck in a chilling, insidious caress and to wrap around her like phantom bonds. The points of light that she had seen grew brighter, two red pinpricks like eyes glowing out of the dark, and then they doubled, parting, and doubled again, now three pairs of what she was certain were eyes, emerged from their cave and stalked toward her, though their forms were otherwise unseen beyond the unearthly crimson light.

“No…” she breathed, stumbled back against the building wall behind her, almost unable to process what she was seeing for several desperate seconds.

But those frightening eyes were still moving impossibly closer. The fog obscured any of the bodies connected, yet Emma knew they couldn’t belong to anything good. It felt as though her knees had gone to water, even as she tried to order herself to run. No longer sure if she was out of her mind and hallucinating, she almost thought she could hear a low, rumbling growl, a panting animal breath, wafting toward her in heated puffs of air. The malingering fog seemed to rise up even more heavily around her, swirling in her eyes with blinding accuracy to further confuse and disorient. And then, all seemed to stop as a blood-chillingly wild sound rose up right in front of her - the incomprehensible howl of a ravenous wolf.

It made no sense, but that didn’t matter. Emma whirled, panic screaming that she was already too late, and ran unseeing in the other direction. It was madness in the murky darkness so thick she couldn’t see a foot ahead; the fog seemed almost sentient - as if it meant to hold her back for the predators on her heels. And she knew they were there; she could hear them just behind her, snapping and slavering. It was only a matter of time. They were going to catch her, run her down like a rabbit and tear her apart.

Frantically, she pressed forward, feet pounding, straining to go faster yet, desperate to outrun the unseen monsters. Somehow she was still going, hadn’t fallen or smashed into some obscured obstacle, hadn’t felt their gnashing teeth sink through her skin. Her breath was whooshing out in desperate rasps as she continued to push herself; arms pumping, lungs burning. It still seemed as though the hot breath and snapping muzzles must be mere inches from her and somehow she kept going.

And then suddenly, a tight grip encircled her wrist, jerking her back and to the side, sending Emma careening off course and smacking into the strong, solid chest of another person, hidden by the shrouding atmosphere. Her breath escaped in a shocked gasp, and she flinched, curling in on herself against the warm body that surrounded her, wincing with eyes screwed shut at the expectation of being torn apart in the very next moment.

Except, nothing happened.

The fog broke apart somewhat, brushing over her cheek with a chill sort of farewell. The sound of chasing paws and salivating fangs nipping at her heels vanished; the monsters she would have sworn were pursuing her disappeared as quickly as they had materialized. The hand at her wrist came to rest on her upper arm, holding her out in a strong, bracing grip just enough so her unseen ally could look down into her face just as she tilted up her chin to peer at him curiously.

Emma sucked in a sharp breath at the heavy, dark brows furrowed over sharp, icy-blue eyes studying her as if she were some curious puzzle where a few of the pieces would not fit. It was none other than Killian Jones - the detective her brother referred to as “Holmes” and her insufferably self-assured mark from the previous day. While one part of her wanted to brush him off and stalk away with a reminder to keep his distance, a breathless part of her was still trying to regain her equilibrium from the nightmarish chase she had just experienced. She simply couldn’t bring herself to be so tart with someone who had saved her from whatever phantom shadows would have run her down.

Soon enough, Jones relinquished his hold on her on his own, asking curiously, “Alright there, Miss Nolan? You’re as pale as if you had seen a ghost.” One of those insouciant brows arched in an expressive manner along with the slight quirk up of one corner of his mouth. Was he teasing her? Sincere? As animated as his face was, she had not quite learned to read it yet.

Huffing a noncommittal sort of sound through pursed lips, she attempted to right herself, smooth her hair and clothing, and catch her breath before blurting out just what had spooked her. He would certainly think she belonged in some asylum rather than getting to the bottom of all this frightening mystery in their city.

Unfortunately, her mouth seemed to have some mission of its own, beyond the control of her rational mind. After a deep breath and realizing she had to say something rather than stand there opening and closing her mouth wordlessly, she sputtered, “Yes, well, I thought… I was being chased… I - I - heard their feet right behind me…” She blinked up at him, not having to work nearly as hard as usual to appear innocent and in need of help. “Didn’t… You… You didn’t hear anything?” She gulped in another lungful of air, and waited - kicking herself all the while - for his response.

“Well, I heard you coming,” Holmes offered, drawing his words out as if carefully considering each one. “You were gasping and stumbling, clearly panicked and fleeing something. That’s why I reached out, hoping to help you if I could…” His words trailed off there, blue eyes searching her as if to ask the question he didn’t put into words.

“Oh, um, thank you,” Emma tried meekly, still too shaken by all that had occurred to mock or tease him, or reprimand him for thinking he was some knight-in-armor she didn’t need. She had needed him - that, or she was losing her mind. Could she really have imagined it all? The strangling fog, the pack of wolves, the danger she had been in….surely she hadn’t. What did it mean if they had been there though? And what caused them to just as suddenly disappear?

Emma shook her head, frustrated. This was ridiculous, and Jones was going to think her weak and silly, afraid of whispers and the wind. Throwing back her shoulders, she shook her head and offered a little laugh that rang hollow even to her own ears. “Goodness knows what I was thinking! Clearly there’s no one else out here; those pictures this morning must have spooked me more than I realized.”

Killian Jones didn’t speak at first, merely studied her closer, still without words, a curious glimmer livening those already hypnotic blue eyes. She got the troubling sense that he didn’t miss a thing and could read her false assurances as easily as if she hadn’t even tried to offer them. No matter how she forced herself to calm her breathing and meet his gaze steadily, Emma found herself wanting to squirm and look away under such intense scrutiny, unable to fully explain just what she had felt and seen in any sort of sensible manner.

Either he at last saw what he was searching for, or realized just how unnerving his assessment had become, because Jones dipped his head in a self-deprecating nod, shifting his eyes away with a lightly bemused chuckle and an awkward hand came up to scratch nervously behind his ear. Emma tried to ignore the way the very top curve of those ears were flushed red - and how endearing it was to see that he too was off-balance.

“Pardon me, Lass,” he murmured finally, taking a step back, then turning away from the alley into the street and offering his arm for her to take as they continued down the sidewalk in the direction she had been hurrying. “I seem to have forgotten all of my manners. Perhaps you would conclude your surveillance for tonight and allow me to see you back to your abode?”

Emma blew out a shaky breath. She wanted to refuse the gesture. She could look after herself and make her own way home when she was ready, but… She hesitated only a second as her eyes waivered to glance back at the darkened street in the direction she had come. In truth, she had barely gotten started for the night, but no one else needed to know that. She was still quivering from the fright she’d endured, and truly didn’t want to stay out on the shrouded streets alone any lnoger. Settling on action instead of words at all, she merely tucked her hand into the crook of his offered elbow and nodded her assent.

As they moved away, she tried to ignore the low rumble of a growl her ears just barely caught on the foggy air behind them, strove to un-see the impossible gleam of what still appeared as red, glowing eyes in the deep shadows at her back. She fully intended to believe it had all been imagined by a shaken psyche, even as she glanced nervously back over her shoulder.

Tagging: @courtorderedcake @darkcolinodonorgasm @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @hollyethecurious @cocohook38 @tiganasummertree @searchingwardrobes @winterbaby89 @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @therooksshiningknight @laschatzi @stahlop @ultraluckycatnd @whimsicallyenchantedrose @drowned-dreamer @resident-of-storybrooke @thisonesatellite @shireness-says

#cs role reversal #cs Victorian au #cs au mc #The Case of the Heart in Armor #part three

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