#I’m dreading making Sherlock and John

[teacupsandcyanide]

btw if you’re praising god I’ve stopped Sherlock posting I have awful news which is that I’m only ominously silent because I’m working on building a massive house in sims for sim versions of the mollycule every night

[lykaonimagines]

Exact Opposite - Sherlock x Reader

Paring: Sherlock Holmes (BBC) x F!Reader

Word Count: 2,427

Description: When his brother still refuses to get dressed and take the case he has for him seriously, Mycroft calls in Y/N to handle the situation. 

Other Things: Established relationship. Takes place during A Scandal in Belgravia. Reimagining of the scene in the palace where Sherlock refuses to get dressed. Dressing Sherlock.

Warnings: Suggestive. Suggestive teasing/touches and Sherlock being naked as per scene. Not exactly NSFW, but if you don’t like anything sexual at all, may be uncomfortable.  Some swearing. Being snatched off the street by Mycroft’s agents.

Masterlist

Y/N certainly hadn’t expected to be plucked up off the side of the street on her lunch break by Mycroft’s agents. Then again, it was probably better to just assume it could happen at any time the elder Holmes brother willed it. 

She’d argued in the street with them for a few minutes, insisting she had to at the very least go back and let them know she wouldn’t be returning for the afternoon. But as most interactions with his agents go, they scooped her up into the car and informed her Mycroft had it handled. Because of course he did. 

None of his agents ever tended to be in the mood to chat either. From friendly banter to actual information about where the hell she was being carted away to this time, the most she usually received was a grunt or that ‘Mr. Holmes requests your presence’.”

Pretentious statement as always. Though this time slightly more informative, “Mr. Holmes requires your assistance.”

Clearly related to Sherlock, Mycroft rarely saw any need for her to be around as a whole. Generally he stuck to ignoring her presence at the flat or at Sherlock’s side, a sentiment she ended up reflecting back after several failed attempts at creating some sort of friendly dialog with her boyfriend’s brother. 

That is, until he feels he needs to step in or he transports her somewhere on Sherlock’s request. Beyond that, they had little to do with one another. So clearly for her ‘assistance’ to be requested so hastily, it had to be related to Sherlock. 

A queasy feeling settles in her gut at the thought. He needs her assistance… and had his agents immediately throw her into the car. Was Sherlock hurt? Staring out the tinted windows, she dreads the thought of a hospital coming into view. 

But as they continue on and she starts to pinpoint the surroundings, she’s dumbstruck by the car pulling up to Buckingham Palace.

“Are we… at the right place?” She asks hesitantly as an agent opens her door. 

He nods sharply and grasps her arm to pull her from the seat, “Mr. Holmes is waiting for you inside.”

“Right, of course. Mycroft just had me brought here for a cup of tea with him and the Queen huh?” She snaps as she pulls her arm back in annoyance. 

The agent sighs and reaches for her arm once again but she pulls away, “You need to come with me Miss.” 

“I will, you can lead me there without holding onto me like a misbehaving child.”

Shaking his head in annoyance, the agent nods toward the entrance and starts off, glancing back several times to make sure she’s following. 

“I’m not going to run off, calm down.”

“If you do, it’s my head,” he grumbles, straightening up as another agent approaches them and speaks into his ear quietly. “This way, quickly please.”

Speeding up to keep up with the agent, she nearly runs into him as he suddenly stops in her path. He grabs her arms tightly and turns her toward a corner and shoves her in the direction. 

“Hey-!” She snaps as she stumbles into the opening, freezing as four sets of eyes snap up to her. Immediately recognizing the two brothers and John, she zeros in quickly on her boyfriend. 

Her very naked boyfriend. Sitting in a sheet. In Buckingham Palace. 

“Ah finally you join us Ms. Y/L/N,” Mycroft states with a pained smile. 

“I was on my lunch break when… I’m sorry but Sherlock why are you only in our bedsheet?” She asks bewildered as his cheeks flush. 

“This is how they decided to bring me,” he states unhappily and shrugs. “I didn’t want to be here.”

Her gaze immediately goes to John who also shrugs, “Don’t look at me, he had me out of the city with a laptop to video call him for a six. He was like this when I got here.” 

Looking back at the detective with a raised brow, Sherlock furrows his own and looks away from her, “Mycroft you didn’t need to interrupt her day as well.”

“Oh but I did. Y/N handle him. This is a matter of national importance, and this can’t continue,” he gestures angrily toward Sherlock.

“Yes, I see. Got it,” she answers, accepting the pile of his clothes from Mycroft. “Is there a bathroom or private room nearby?”

“Out the hall you came in, first door on your left,” the man she doesn’t recognize responds. 

Tucking the clothes under her arm, she goes to stand in front of Sherlock and extends her hand to him. 

Pouting his lips, Sherlock holds her gaze and tightens his sheet to himself. 

“Sherlock, please just come with me.”

Sherlock reluctantly shifts the sheet around and lets her take ahold of his hand, quickly pulling him up from the couch and out of the room. 

She tugs him into mentioned room, locking the door behind them. Turning to face Sherlock, she glances around the pristine bathroom and sighs, “Seriously?”

“They practically kidnapped me from the flat, I’m allowed to be naked in my own home.” 

“You know how this shit works, if he really wants you there, you’re going to be there. I was literally picked up and shoved into a car myself today. When it became obvious they weren’t going to take no for an answer, why wouldn’t you just get dressed?”

“They handled you like that? They actually lifted you and shoved you into the car?” He asks sharply as he takes a step closer to her. 

“I was arguing that I couldn’t just disappear over my lunch break without telling anyone, and they didn’t like that answer,” Y/N shrugs and sets the pile of clothes on the counter by the sink. “Not a terribly unexpected thing. Annoying, but I’ve accepted when Mycroft decides I’m going somewhere, I’m going there. I’d have thought you’d have accepted that long ago as well seeing as he’s your brother.” 

“They’re not supposed to touch you,” Sherlock practically growls, his eyes flickering over her form and narrowing.

Taking a step closer, he runs his fingers gently over a red mark on her arm, “Name of the agents. Or descriptions.” 

“Sherlock they-”

“No,” he interrupts her and reaches his free hand up to stroke her cheek. “They’re not allowed to touch you unless it’s a matter of saving your life. That’s the agreement. And they certainly shouldn’t be handling you so roughly they leave marks.”

“We can talk about all that later, if you haven’t noticed we’re in a fancy loo in the middle of a palace, and you’re naked,” she responds and reaches out to grab ahold of the sheet. “Now could we please get you dressed? The sooner you get dressed and hear out Mycroft, the sooner we can leave.”

“We?” He asks curiously, nodding at her as she pulls the sheet down from his body. 

“Mhm, thought maybe you’d be more motivated that way,” her hand brushes slowly down his chest, her fingers gently running through the hair there. “And as fortunate as the rest of London would be to get a glimpse of this on the evening news, I think you have a certain look that you like to uphold my posh boy.” 

“You make good points, yet do things to encourage the exact opposite of getting dressed dear,” he clears his throat roughly, one of his hands going to her hip. 

Leaning into him, she presses several slow, languid kisses along his collar bone, “We can’t do anything of that sort here of course. Consider this… inspiration to get this all taken care of quickly so I can take you apart properly at home.” 

Sherlock shivers at the contact and closes his eyes tightly, “You’re being absolutely wicked today.” 

“I was dragged across the city to Buckingham Palace to make my boyfriend put his pants on, I think I have the right to be a little unfair,” she chuckles against him as she continues her trail of kisses up the expanse of his neck. 

“Mm- fine,” he relents, pulling her in closer and nuzzling his face into her own neck. 

“Now who’s the one saying one thing yet doing another?” She chuckles as he grunts against her and she reaches over to pull his pants from the pile. 

Ducking down, she holds them out for him as he rolls his eyes at her and huffs in annoyance, “I can dress myself.” 

“Could have fooled me,” she teases and nods down at them. “Step in.”

Sherlock sighs and finally steps into them, letting her pull the black boxer-briefs up his long legs. Settling the waistband into place, she presses a soft kiss to his abdomen. 

“And trousers next,” she states, also pulling them from the counter and holding them out for him to step into.

He does so quickly, watching her as she pulls the fabric up, and grunting in annoyance as she carefully drags the zipper up over his growing problem. 

“Wouldn’t be as much of an issue if you didn’t get everything tailored so tightly,” she remarks and slots the button in place. 

“You complain, yet you enjoy it,” he remarks with a smirk and kneads his fingers into her hips. “You aren’t subtle.”

“Am I supposed to subtly check out my boyfriend’s arse? I thought being allowed to look was just a perk of dating,” she teases, pulling out his dress shirt from the pile and shaking it out. “It creased a bit, but it’ll have to do for today.” 

“Of course it is,” he sighs unhappily, holding his arms out for her. 

Slipping the first sleeve up his arm, she goes behind him to press a kiss to the base of his neck, causing a shiver to run up his body, “Always so sensitive love.” 

“If you keep this up much longer, we’re both going to be leaving immediately after this,” he pouts, slipping his own arm into the opposite sleeve. 

Coming back around him, she deftly does up the buttons of his dress shirt. Carefully tucking it into his trousers, she circles around him to pull out any wrinkles the best she can. 

“Now I’ll let you handle your shoes and socks yourself since you’re behaving,” she chuckles and clears a space away on the counter for him. 

Rolling his eyes, he hops up onto the counter and sets to the task. 

Her mind wanders as she watches him, his long fingers moving swiftly across the laces.

“Distracted by something?” He asks after a few minutes, a smug grin on his face as she’s pulled from her thoughts and looks back up at him. 

“Always you.” She pushes his legs apart to stand between them, “You are quite distracting.” 

“I find myself in a similar problem with you,” his hands cup her jaw as his thumbs stroke over her cheeks. “You’ve made my life far more complicated.” 

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” she teases, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to his lips. 

“Oh it’s truly terrible,” he says lowly, pulling her face back to his own to kiss her again. His tongue swipes along her lip and he smiles in triumph at the sound that escapes her. “And yet I find myself liking nearly every moment of it.”

“Poor Sherlock, being forced to confront the fact he has feelings,” her hands squeeze his clothed thighs. 

“There are some advantages to sentiment though I suppose,” he continues, opting to press various kisses across her face. “I quite enjoy all this.”

“As do I,” she agrees, taking a step back from him and grabbing his suit jacket from beside him. “Now hop off and get this on.” 

Letting out an exaggerated sigh, Sherlock slips to the floor and accepts his jacket from her. Pulling it onto his frame quickly, he glances into the large opulent mirror beside them. 

“At least the agents have good taste,” she remarks, reaching out to smooth out his jacket. “I love this suit on you, especially with the black shirt underneath.”

“I know you do,” he smirks and reaches up to run his fingers through his hair trying to tame the curls. 

Circling behind him, Y/N sets to fixing the back of his hair, “I think this is the best we’re going to be able to do without any product.” 

“If he plans on sending me anywhere, I’m going back to the flat first,” Sherlock complains as he stares at his reflection. “I’m not staying like this all day.” 

“If you’d have cooperated in the first place you wouldn’t have had to go out like that at all,” she counters, chuckling at his scowl. 

“You really think they’d have let me fix my hair for the day?”

“Mm, good point, probably not.” 

“I don’t want to do this case,” he sighs after a moment. 

“Why not?”

“I don’t do anonymous clients. He knows that. I’m always going to be missing information, and that’s not how I work.”

“Well it’s not your ideal… but look around. Based on where we are, that he had you dragged here in literally a bedsheet, and says it’s a matter of national importance. I think you can narrow it down to someone from a specific family of people. Depending on the rest of the facts, I think you can get by on that information. Besides, he’s not going to let this go.”

“I’m not a child, he can’t just force me to take the cases he wants me to.”

“Well he can make life really inconvenient for us if you refuse. And as annoying as being carted away and expected to do whatever it is; he is rather useful when you need him. He also cares for you, not that either of you would admit that without threat of death or dismemberment.”

Sighing once again, Sherlock turns away from the mirror and gives her a stiff nod, “I will listen to what they have to say. But if I don’t like it, we’re leaving.”

“Sounds like a deal, just give it a shot. Something this big is bound to be interesting anyways.”

Giving him one last look over, she gathers up their bedsheet from the ground and puts her hand on the doorknob. 

Reaching out to her, Sherlock carefully intertwines his fingers with hers as she pulls open the door with her other hand, a soft smile on his face. 

“To battle then?” She asks, squeezing his hand in hers. 

“To battle.”

----

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If you want to be tagged in any future Sherlock stuff (or Doctor Strange) let me know or fill out the taglist form on my pinned channel navigation/masterlist. 💙

[udkmehahaha]

Hey there, you expressed that you are open to talk about byler so I hope it’s ok that I ask you :D I was wondering how you deal with byler / duffer doubt, if you have doubts at all?

The last time I was emotionally invested in a ship was with Sherlock and John back in the day,,, and that ended up being heartbreaking, so I‘m afraid of this happening again..

Especially since I see some parallels with the way a lot of people look at the writers, I think? The writers of Sherlock were also thought to be these great detail oriented writers, who craft the narrative so wonderfully subtle … and with Sherlock it turned out that they were not these writers we imagined them to be at all…

I’m also afraid that I just project my own feelings onto Mike, my queer gaze haha

But it’s a comfort for me to know that el will have her arc of independence, cause she obviously deserves to explore the world and herself and not just stay with the first guy who stumbled upon her! :D it also comfort‘s me that will‘s feelings for Mike will have to be addressed even more in s5

Do you have anything to comfort you? Or are you very convinced?

i think everyone has their fair share of byler doubt moments, but for the most part, i truly believe that byler will become a thing for 3 reasons.

1. byler is the only ship in the show handled with SO MUCH CARE. the van scene took a whole DAY to film, and the writers, directors, and the crew (even the actors) all love this ship so much and you can see that through all the thought that is put into their scenes.

2. i always tell anti-bylers to rewatch the show and really dive deep into the mike/el/will love triangle because if you REALLY analyze, (and have some common sense) you will see with the way the characters have been written, the way the story has been going, it ALL adds up to mike and will being the end couple and if you dont want them to be the end couple then you dont want happiness for the characters.

3. since the beginning, we have been feeling bad for will. the poor kid went missing in an alternate dimension, had an abusive (later absent) father, gets bullied in school, got possessed by an evil monster and told people how to fix the problem even if it would end up killing him, got left behind by all of his friends, still has a connection to the place that will haunt his nightmares forever and likely will still have that connection until vecna is dead, got swerved a hug buy his best friend, got third wheeled (on his birthday) and is a gay kid in love with his best friend (and made us believe that his friend "does not reciprocate his love") in the 80's. so tell me, why would they make this kid suffer AND make him queer just for us to see him get heartbroken and sad in the end, because its a pretty known fact that without mike, will might likely never be happy, so why would they end up doing ALL OF THAT for will, just to see him lose in the end? that doesnt make sense, the audience is rooting for will, and vecna dying, healthy relationship with his family and friends, and being able to kiss mike on the mouth are the key things to make will happy.

honestly my only doubt it that the writers will just simply change their mind about it. 😭 or netflix will not let them do it. also this might sound crazy but sometimes i dread byler coming on screen because my dad is probably the most homophobic person ever and i dont want to deal with him talking about some "2025, they wanna make everyone gay so people will keep watching" and im just like no. you dont get it.

thank you for the question! keep sending more.

[frostandflamesfanfic]

The Mistletoe Test (Sherlock Holmes x Reader)

The Mistletoe Test (Rated T)

Pairing: BBC!Sherlock x Watson!Reader

Word Count: 1.9k+

Warnings: Brief language, Sherlock being a Scrooge

Summary: It’s your first Christmas at Baker Street and you’re determined to make it the best one ever. When your brother tries to warn you about his flatmate’s aversion to the holidays, you start to see a whole new side to the consulting detective. Will it affect your friendship?

“That is absolutely pointless.” You heard a thunk of porcelain being placed back onto the counter beside you. It was accompanied by the third exhausted sigh you had heard in the past hour alone. Your brother had apparently finished his morning tea, but still made no effort to assist in your plans. “He’s not going to buy into it and you know it.”

Your tongue poked past the corner of your lips in concentration. The small step ladder you had been perched on wobbled under your movements, but you still managed to keep your balance. “Why must you always be such a Scrooge, John?” you retorted, arms outstretched toward the top of the doorframe. There was a smear of something sticky on the wood and you did your best not to imagine its origin. “I think you might just be afraid that you might get caught under the mistletoe with a certain someone and have a bit of an awakening.”

“I’m not ‘being a Scrooge,’” your brother’s hurt bled through his tone. “And again, I’m not gay. I just don’t think you recognize how…against Christmas Sherlock really is.”

“How can anyone really be against Christmas?” You frowned as you attached the sprig of the plant to the doorframe. Leaning back slightly to admire your work, the step ladder groaned against your movements. “It’s a time for family, for light displays…for God’s sake, it’s Christmas!”

“Careful,” John’s hands reached up to your waist to steady you. “You’re going to fall and break your neck if you’re not careful. Besides, I think that is exactly why Sherlock doesn’t like Christmas. Have you met Mycroft?”

You shrugged as you took a step back down onto the messy kitchen floor. “Doesn’t he have parents, though?” you asked. “Surely he enjoys spending time with them.”

“They’re simple minded,” came a familiar deep tone from behind you. Its presence startled both you and your brother, causing John to remove his hold from your waist. Still perched against the edge of the step, you wobbled before falling backwards without warning, sending you toppling against a strong chest. 

Sherlock peered down at you with an unamused expression as his arms snaked around your waist to set you down. “Just being around them longer than twenty minutes causes my IQ to decrease significantly.” Without so much as another glance at you, he made his way over to the cabinets to grab a cup for some tea. “It’s especially worse around the holiday season. Positively dreadful time.”

You risked a glance over at John in silent question. What just happened? Your brother merely shrugged in response, shaking his head and raised his eyebrows with lips set in a tight line. Like always, it was obvious he had no clue. He lifted his own cup of tea and set off toward his chair to flip through the morning’s newspaper. 

You hadn’t been residing at Baker Street long, but you could tell this was the boys’ typical routine. Every morning, John rose early to have his breakfast and read the paper before trudging off to work. Sherlock, on the other hand, would stay up until ungodly hours playing his violin, staring at the bullet-ridden wall, or doing the Lord knows what before sleeping until noon. 

The truth was, you found your brother’s detective flatmate to be a whole mystery in his own right. He was the dark and mysterious stranger who you had only vaguely known secondhand through your brother’s stories. Seeing and interacting with him in the flesh gave you a different perspective. Sure, he drove you mad as all hell, but you couldn’t help but be enticed by his demeanor. You didn’t plan on falling for him. It was just almost attractive how he acted. His tone was sharp and to the point, he didn’t care to be bothered by trivial things. Yet underneath the harsh exterior, you knew he had a soft spot when it came to those he cared about. 

So that’s how you came about hatching the plan. It was the infamous mistletoe test, according to your coworker. If one hangs a sprig of mistletoe and stands underneath it. If the object of their affection walks by and doesn’t notice, the attraction is one sided. A kiss of the cheek assumes a platonic connection. Finally, the most obvious sign of shared attraction is a kiss on the lips. It was a stupid idea. You felt it in your bones as you stuck it up on the doorframe. But with John there, it was too late to back out. 

Besides, what could possibly happen? If Sherlock really was as opposed to Christmas as John said, there was a good chance the mistletoe wouldn’t even mean anything to him. He could just walk under the plant with no knowledge of the tradition at all. It wouldn’t be a big deal, right? You couldn’t help the pang of disappointment in your stomach at the thought. Would it really be that big of a deal?

“What the hell is this in my lab?” Sherlock’s voice cut through your thoughts and snapped your attention toward him. He was staring at the small wooden trees and garland wreath you had placed in the center of the kitchen table as though it was about to explode. You had needed to clear up the surface a bit after his constant experiments, but you had been proud of the end result.

“They’re Christmas decorations,” you started, but the private detective was quick to cut you off. 

“You have your own flat,” he spat back. “I suggest you use it and place your rubbish somewhere that matters to you, hm?”

Your whole frame stiffened as he began to pick up and shove each trinket into the box. He hardly spared you a glance while he continued through with the task. You watched as his upper lip practically curled in disgust at the garland shedding across the table, pinecones rolling out of the wrapped decoration onto the floor below. “Bloody mess,” he muttered to himself.

Like it was any better before, you wished to shout back. Instead, you merely took the box back from him and headed back downstairs to your flat without another word. As soon as the front door shut behind you, you tossed the box onto your coffee table and sunk to the floor. How could you have been that stupid? You were just trying to do something nice for your brother and his friend. You should have known it wouldn’t have ended well – John had clearly warned you. 

The next few days, you decided it may be a better idea to spend your holidays doing the things you enjoyed instead of worrying about your brother and his flatmate. So you repurposed some of Sherlock’s discarded decor within your own flat, making sure to help Mrs. Hudson with the garland on the outside banister (she was more than pleased to say the least). Things had been going well, especially after you silenced John’s incessant text check-ins with a simple, I’m fine.

Two days before Christmas, you decided to indulge yourself in a little holiday baking. The idea was to bake gingerbread, brownies, and little Christmas puddings to give out as last-minute gifts for the rest of your friends and coworkers. Molly had been hinting about a craving for gingerbread earlier that morning, so you couldn’t think of a better sign to get started. 

Donning your most festive “kiss the baker” apron, you pressed play on a Christmas radio station and got to work. You were so engrossed in your process, you hardly noticed the sound of someone knocking on your front door. It wasn’t until they knocked for the third time– at an increasingly more frantic pace– that you registered the sound and wiped your flour-coated hands on your apron before unlocking the door. 

To your surprise, Sherlock was standing outside your doorway, hands behind his back. His glassy green-blue eyes searched your face in what you could only describe as desperation. He seemed almost nervous as he cleared his throat. The private detective lifted an eyebrow before gesturing with his right hand in a silent question as to whether he could enter your flat. When you gave a small nod, he stepped inside and raised an eyebrow yet again at both your attire and surroundings.

“You haven’t been by the flat in two weeks,” Sherlock spoke after a moment, tone unreadable. 

“I’ve been…busy,” you replied, arm outstretched toward the kitchen. “You know, with simpleton Christmas celebration things.”

Sherlock stiffened at your response, eyes darting around again. “I see.”

“Why would you care how long I’ve been away anyway?”

The private detective before you cleared his throat. “John is also far less irritable when you visit the flat. I’ve counted that he has checked his mobile roughly twenty-two times this morning alone to check for any missed texts from you,” he explained. “I suppose I’ve also come to find your presence rather…tolerable. I function better with a challenge. ”

The two of you stood in an awkward silence for a moment before Sherlock parted his lips to speak again. “We’re having a small get together at Baker Street on Christmas Eve. It was John’s doing, really. I’ve been instructed to invite you to attend.”

You bit into your lower lip and gave a slow nod in return. “Right. Well, with an invitation like that, however could I possibly refuse?!”

“...I detect an element of sarcasm.”

Yeah, no shit, you thought to yourself. For a self-proclaimed genius, the man before you was fairly clueless. “What time does it start?” 

“Seven.”

You gave a small nod and began to lead him back to the door. “I’ll be there,” you said. “Now I really do need to get back to my baking before all I’m left with is ash. Goodbye, Sherlock.” 

“I suppose there is one more thing,” Sherlock mused as he stepped backwards in the doorway. He moved his hands in front of him, opening his left hand. “You left this behind at our flat the other day. I’ve only just thought to bring it round.” 

You frowned in concern as you peered into his gloved palm. Nestled inside was a small sprig of mistletoe – the same plant you had hung in the kitchen doorway, no doubt. You hadn’t thought much of it since your dramatic departure from your brother’s flat, having just assumed Sherlock would have thrown away whatever remnants of Christmas you had left behind. “You didn’t need to bring it,” you replied smoothly. “It’s inexpensive and won’t do me much good.”

Sherlock gave a silent nod, eyes now locked onto yours. “Most likely not,” he agreed. “However, there is a…tradition.” 

You watched as his gaze flickered from you, to your apron, the doorframe, the mistletoe in his hand, then back to you. Your breath hitched ever so slightly as you tried to decipher his meaning. Surely you must be mistaken. Before you had a chance to comment, Sherlock lifted the plant above your head and pressed a quick kiss upon your lips. It was soft, gentle even, but just so Sherlock. It had an air of elegance, yet was commanding enough to be orchestrated perfectly. 

When he pulled away, you needed to blink a few times to reorganize your thoughts and look at the man before you – truly look at him. He gave you a smug little smirk and stepped out into the hallway. “Might want to check your oven,” he mused as he placed a foot on the first stair and began to make his way upstairs. Suddenly, he paused and turned his head to face you. “And merry Christmas.”

You gave him a soft smile before stepping back into your own flat and shutting the door. “Merry Christmas, Sherlock,” you whispered to the wood and made your way back to the oven. 

Maybe that test wasn’t so strange after all.

===================

Author’s Note: Well, I meant to post this before Christmas, but I just didn’t get a chance to with my schedule. So why not make this my final fic post of 2022? Damn, that’s weird to say. I haven’t watched Sherlock in forever, but I plan to before I head back to uni for the next semester (hoping it’ll give me inspiration to get back to The Last Three Years). There’s just something about how Benedict portrays this character that makes him so fun to write. Especially around the holidays (:

Like always, if you enjoyed this fic and want to see more like it, make sure to leave a comment, tag a friend, even reblog. Likes are appreciated, but it’s interactions like these that spread the word about my works and motivate me to keep writing/posting content for you all.

Until next time, my little sparks <3

Taglist: @bakerstreethound, @theelmgrove, @severuined, special tag for @sobeautifullyobsessed as a holiday treat 💙

[lisbeth-kk]

December moments

Prompts used in this chapter: coat and scarf - warm and cosy - wonder

Sherlock and John go out to get some much-needed fresh air, and Sherlock has a specific request on where to go.

December 17

Sherlock feels like a new-born the next day. His body temperature is back to normal, there’s only a hint of sore throat left, and his respiratory tract is once again open. A note from John is left on the bedside table. 

Morning, my love. I’ve only got a few hours of work today, so I’ll be home by 1 pm. John. 

A warm feeling floods Sherlock’s body and the fond smile forming on his face is one only few people get to see. He takes a shower, makes tea and toast and checks his email. Nothing of interest, which is perfect for his upcoming plans. 

***

Ten minutes to one, Sherlock hears the front door unlock, and seconds later John walks into the sitting room. Sherlock’s seated in his chair dressed in a suit to show John that he’s ready to tackle the world again. John realises this instantly and his smile is bright and gleeful when he approaches Sherlock. 

“Hi, there. You’re back in business, I see,” John says and crouches down in front of Sherlock, placing his hands on Sherlock’s knees. 

“I am, John, and I have a request,” Sherlock states. 

“Have you now,” John retorts. “Let’s hear it then.”

“I need air, but not only that, I want to go somewhere specific,” Sherlock says and looks expectantly down at John. 

“Okay,” John says hesitantly. “You know I won’t allow you anywhere near the Thames or a dreadful crime scene yet. And you’ll wear your coat and scarf. The woollen scarf.”

Sherlock chuckles at the doctor persona’s appearance. As to be expected, of course. 

“Not to worry, John. I intend this to be to your liking too. You’ve mentioned that you want to go every year, but you never do, so now I’m offering to take you to Trafalgar Square to look at the tree.”

Sherlock says this in a proud and confident tone, but he is a bit uncertain if John really wants this, even though he talks about it every December. They have after all seen the spectacle on telly. 

“Do you really want to go to see it?” John asks incredulously and stands up. 

Before Sherlock even gets a chance to roll his eyes as an answer, John straddles his thighs and snogs Sherlock deliciously senseless. 

***

“The Norwegians really hate us, don’t they,” John says and shakes his head at the malformed tree. 

“Hardly,” Sherlock retorts. “It probably looked quite nice where it stood in the forest but cutting it down and transporting it here ruined some of its glory, I think. It’s the same every year, isn’t it? We’re so excited that they still gift us the tree, but all we do are finding flaws.”

“I guess,” John concurs.

Sherlock embraces John from behind, placing his chin on John’s good shoulder. He kisses John’s cheek before moving his lips to John’s ear. 

“How about you and I get warm and cosy somewhere else,” he purrs. 

“You’re a wonder, Sherlock Holmes,” John tells him. “Let’s do just that.”

Read it on AO3

@totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @calaisreno @a-victorian-girl @phoenix27884 @safedistancefrombeingsmart @gregorovitchworld @topsyturvy-turtely @helloliriels @peanitbear @sabsi221b @raina-at

[eggcompany]

Hysterical Matters Part 4

They changed Sherlock’s medication until he felt right. Just happened to be Wellbutrin. Sherlock didn’t have many complaints. He couldn’t explain how he felt, he tried but John never really understood. 

‘I feel big John, like I’m much larger than I was four months ago. I am aware I am the same size, nearly, but in my mind I no longer feel small’ 

Sherlock felt good. He ate meals with the company of John, he worked through cases, he watched John’s horrible television shows, and he played his violin. He left the flat, dressed in one of his suits, now that they didn’t hang off his body but fit snugly over his thighs and arms. He went to the police station, restaurants, and met up with Lestrade at crime scenes. He felt good, slowing down so John could keep up. 

John followed him. Cane being left behind, he followed Sherlock where the younger man led. It was fun, he realized one night after chasing after Sherlock through the dark London streets. Chasing clues, sneaking in and out of places, helping solve murders and all colors of crimes, returning to 221B at daybreak, panting and exhausted. It was fun. 

But he was also content sitting in his arm chair with his newspaper and a little plate of biscuits from Miss Hudson, listening to Sherlock play his violin in the window. He was content sitting in the dark flat reading his books, keeping an eye on his patient, going through the motions silently. He was happy, dragging Sherlock to the bathroom to brush his teeth and get a shower, getting pulled down filthy alleyways at midnight chasing after bad guys, being woken up with something smoking in the microwave. He was happy when Sherlock was around. 

Sherlock liked the doctor's presence, liked knowing there was someone there to patch him up when he fell. He didn’t feel the agonizing dread he usually felt around normal people, he didn’t mind explaining things to John. He didn’t cringe away from John’s hands, he didn’t ignore everything the doctor said. He liked being… friends. Friends, he realized, the first one he’d had for who knows how long. Someone he enjoyed. 

The leaves turned color and autumn rolled in, rain pattering against the windows, the atmosphere shifted within the walls of 221B Baker Street. A slow, morphing shift, one neither of its occupants noticed till after. 

“I’ll go with you to have lunch with Mycroft, I’ll sit away but just in case you need something. And I’ve scheduled you for a test at the hospital so I’ll drive you over.” John said as he went through the week’s schedule.

“I don’t need a babysitter, John. I don’t need- I need-” Sherlock huffed, the frustrated feeling that had been bubbling in his chest suddenly overflowing. John’s hands, steady and ever warm, wrapped in his blue latex gloves, had been rubbing cream into Sherlock’s scarred arms. It was soothing, the pressure and rhythm, but something was twisting in Sherlock’s chest, making him feel angry. 

He couldn’t explain it. Maybe it was the itching under his skin that seemed to perk up every time the doctor was near or maybe it was the cold that seemed to seep into the flat, into his bones. The cream was even colder, biting and making Sherlock shiver. 

“What Sherlock? What do you need?” John asked, pulling his gloves off, getting up to toss them in the kitchen trash can. He leaned against the entry of the kitchen, watching as Sherlock pulled his sleeves back down over his arms. The younger man looked to the side, cheeks turning pink. 

Sherlock steeled himself, thinking about what words needed to come out of his mouth before nodding to himself. 

“Will you hold me? Human contact I need human contact. More than just your hands. Body warmth. It’ll warm me and provide me with-” Sherlock started to explain, starting to get a little flustered as he tried to explain the benefits of human contact. The physical warmth, the boost of good brain chemicals, the bonding that could happen between people no matter the relationship. But the thought of a warm body pressed against his, not any warm body but John’s warm body, pressed against his in the dark comfort of their home. He wasn’t disgusted by it, his face felt hot and his heart started to race. 

He was almost glad when John cut off his explanation. 

“Sherlock, you just needed to ask. Everyone needs a cuddle every once in a while. After you get ready for bed, come up to my room. I’ll put the heating pad down so it’s good and cozy.” John said easily, shaking his head. He’d never seen Sherlock get so flustered. It was a cuddle, if John was telling the truth, he needed a good snuggle too. He went to get his room ready, making sure his few skin mags were put away in his bedside and his bedding was fresh and neat. 

Sherlock waited there on the couch for a moment before getting up to get ready for bed. He couldn’t get the redness out of his cheeks. He brushed his teeth and combed his hair, took his medicine and put on his flannel pajamas. He stood at the bottom of the stairs, glaring up at the door that hid away his doctor. 

He stood outside the door for a long moment. He wasn’t - he never felt like this before. This weird wooshy feeling that made him wanna puke but in a good way. He’d never puked in a good way so he couldn’t exactly know if that was bad. He didn’t understand why the older man was affecting him so, why he felt strange from the moment they’d met. He didn’t understand what it was about Doctor Watson that made him so different from all the other men he’d ever met. Maybe it was his kindness, his indifference, his steady and honest personality that seemed to only compliment Sherlock’s own at every twist or turn. 

He opened the door, immediately hit with a wave of warmth. A small space heater was whirring away pointed at the bed, blowing an easy breeze of heat toward the neat bedding. Sherlock couldn’t pay attention to it though. 

John was half bent over the bed, straightening the pillows wearing just a pair of light blue pajama pants. 

Sherlock couldn’t pull his eyes away, his brain raced to capture every detail of the muscular back of his nursemaid, the star of a scar on his shoulder, the puffy pink flesh that somehow seemed beautiful. He’d never found scars 'beautiful’ before, they’d always just been healed wounds. His own healed flesh was nothing but marks tracing his skin. But on John, on his strong shoulder, it was beautiful. A soldier pressed with an emblem, proof of his earned valor. 

Sherlock took in the place where John’s hair was buzzed down, where it met his neck, down his straight spine, down to the take-in of his waist, the pine of his pajama pants low on his hips. He was dense, his skin looking soft and nice, warm. Sherlock realized. John looked warm. 

John turned and saw Sherlock in the doorway, standing there in his fancy button up pajamas a deep mauve color. He smiled, hoping he hadn’t done too much. The room was hot, he didn’t know how Sherlock would last all night in a long sleeve and pants, but dammit he was getting the younger man warmed up. 

“Cmon then, I’m going to read for a bit. Got it nice and warm for ya.” John explained and waved his hand, trying to get the younger man to come lay down. He watched, preening a bit as Sherlock stared at his bared torso. 

Sherlock took a few steps, eyes going to John’s chest, the dense muscles spattered with blonde hair down to his flat stomach, strength hidden under a well diet. He was… Sherlock thought he looked heavy, the way anyone strong was heavy. A human weighted blanket. He finally looked up when he was standing in front of the doctor, eyes finding John with a small smile on his face. 

“Are you sleepy? Dinner catching up to you?” John asked, hands on his hips. 

Sherlock turned scarlet red, turning his chin up and turned to the bed. He pulled back the blankets, the sheet, quilt, and comforter, of the small bed and crawled in. There was an electric heating pad tucked between the blankets at the foot. He laid on his side, facing the wall, not wanting to see John for a single more second. 

The bed was incredible. Not the bed itself, the mediocre mattress was nothing special. It was actually a bit short but everything about the bed, on the bed, it was incredible. Warmth surrounded Sherlock like a fog, seeping into his skin. The pillows were warm, the mattress, the blankets, even the wall he was breathing against didn’t hold a chill. 

And the scent, the smell that filled the space, it was just John. A mix of his own smell, the scent that rolled off his body at night, his cheap cologne, his deodorant, even the light floral scent of his cleaning products. It all melted together to form a scent so unique and enticing it was inhibiting, intoxicating with each breath. Sherlock could point out each piece separately, none of them astonishing, but all melted together, he couldn’t get enough of it. 

“I’m going to leave the lamp on. Tell me if you need anything.” John said, voice quiet as he turned off the ceiling light, dimming the lights down to just the warm light from the bedside lamp.

Sherlock rolled onto his back, pulling the blankets up to his nose. He was taking in big breaths, the fresh smell of the clean blankets comforting as his cheeks flamed red. It was all just so… strange. And the warmth was finally relaxing his ever stressed muscles, sleep raced toward him like a train. 

He watched lazily as John retrieved the book from his desk, some horridly drab murder mystery, and got into the bed. The doctor laid down on his back, propped up a bit on his pillows, letting the book rest open against his sternum. 

Sherlock laid there, still as ever, taking in everything. It was… his mind was quiet. The soft scent, the warmth that seemed to finally reach his bones. The occasional sound of a page turning, it was soothing. 

That’s what brought him to face John. The sound. Paper gliding over hair. Chest hair. Sherlock swallowed as he got a good look at John’s body. He was strong. Sherlock knew that, he was a soldier after all, but he had assumed under all those cozy sweaters and loose button up shirts, was a doughier frame. But looking up close he could see. See the lines of muscles in his arms, arms that were thicker than Sherlock would have guessed, strong and solid. He could see the packed dense muscles in John’s stomach, hiding away under a layer of better civilian life. Could see the muscle of his chest. 

Sherlock didn’t realize he’d reached out until John lifted the book up, letting the younger man’s hand roam from his peach fuzzy stomach up to his chest. Sherlock looked in awe, the hair there was light blonde, a few lighter ones showing John’s age, but they were so hard to see. The packed muscle there making his pecs well defined. He couldn’t help but watch in awe as his own deathly pale hand pushed through the hair, stark against still tan skin. The hair fluffed up, going wild in directions. Sherlock then drew his hand away, combing it back down before wilding it once again. 

It was mesmerizing, in his quieted brain, feeling John’s calm heartbeat, his easy breathing, experiencing something so… intimate. He let his hand travel to one side, just cupping the other man’s pec, letting his fingers press into the muscle to test it’s give. Sherlock smiled a bit, it was a little amusing, the surprising softness. He pushed at the muscle for a moment more, fingers gliding over the soft bump of the doctor’s nipple as he ran his hands back down to feel the soft fuzzy over John’s stomach. 

“Let’s go to sleep now Sherlock. Busy day in the morning.” John said as Sherlock’s curious hand drifted down closer to where his underwear was getting tighter. He didn’t want to taint whatever little trip Sherlock was on in his mind. Whatever mapping expedition he was charting in his mind palace. 

Sherlock looked up at him, eyes big and soft, not the usual sharp calculating. And then looked down at his own hand where it sat just above John’s waistband. And back at John who huffed a laugh, covering his mouth as Sherlock turned the color of a tomato, horrified at the implications. 

“Sherlo-”John started but Sherlock was turning back towards the wall, pulling the blankets tightly around himself. Only a tuft of curls peeked out from the hem of the bedding, a dark mark against the light blue pillow. 

“Turn the light off!” The detective barked, voice cracking a bit, and John rolled his eyes, setting his book aside to turn the lamp off. He got under the blankets himself, in the darkness of the flat, cuddled up to Sherlock’s back, arm around his slim waist, pressed chest to back. He waited until the tension finally left Sherlock’s shoulders before speaking again, the words whispered to the back of his head. 

“Goodnight, Sherlock.” John said and didn’t expect an answer. 

“‘Night John.” Sherlock mumbled, holding himself very very still, forcing his body to stay still as a sensation crept through his belly and hips to want to wiggle around. He stayed still, eventually letting the warmth, John’s heavy arm over him, the doctor’s steady breathing, lull him to the deepest sleep he’d had in years. 

It wasn’t a normal thing. They didn’t talk about it and they didn’t do it again. But Sherlock got a new space heater and new seals over his windows. John put in the time to make his patient comfortable.

Something had changed. From the moment Sherlock woke up with his cheek resting against that strong chest, arm wrapped around John, legs all tangled together in the dim sunrise light, something changed. When he pretended to sleep once again, only to actually fall back into his slumber, waking hours later with John puttering around the kitchen below, something changed. They weren’t just doctor and patient, different than friends, not flatmates either. Whatever they were, it was something brand new. Something that Sherlock wasn’t afraid of, which in of itself might be just as frightening.

[my-head-is-an-animal]

The Sitter

Mycroft Holmes x Bethany Wheeler (OFC)

Story Masterlist

Chapter 7 - Christmas

Sherlock had been shot and Mycroft’s heart plummeted for a moment, but Anthea was in constant contact with the hospital and it seemed he was well on his way to making a full recovery. John, Mary and Bethany were all there to make sure he was okay and the mention of Bethany was in fact the only reason he didn’t go to the hospital himself.

The dreaded phone call to their parents was something Mycroft should have been well used to by now, but somehow it never got easier. He explained the situation and tried to do so calmly, but they were his parents and would never react well to Sherlock being shot.

Mycroft knew about Mary and the fact that she had once been a freelance mercenary, came as a marginal shock, he’d never seen the faces of A.G.R.A. but knew that Lady Smallwood had been the one to deal with them, until of course everything went wrong and they stopped using freelancers.

His main concern had been Bethany and how much she liked Mary, he couldn’t have been sure that she wasn’t in any danger, but while there was a possibility, he would remain watchful.

Mycroft thought on the night they shared for months after that, all the way up to Christmas when his mother had insisted that they spend Christmas Eve until Boxing Day at his parents house. He groaned and said he wouldn’t be able to stay over Christmas Eve, but he would stay Christmas Day to Boxing Day.

‘Fine, but you will spend some time with your family.’ His mother said, sternly, not that she needed to be, but she could be very persuasive. ‘Now, what about this woman that’s coming?’

‘Mary?’ Mycroft frowned, lifting his gaze from his desk momentarily. ‘What about her?’

‘No, not Mary.’ She tutted. ‘Bethany. Sherlock said she would be here over Christmas as her parents are in Brazil. I told him he simply needed to bring her round, it’s no good spending Christmas alone.’

Mycroft felt his whole being groan internally. He sighed and took a deep breath recomposing himself, but he’d taken too long to reply.

‘Well, that’s that then,’ she was almost smiling. ‘You’ll come and see her and tell her how you feel and finally we’ll get to spend some time with both our sons.’

‘How I feel? And how is that? I didn’t check.’ Mycroft said, sarcastically.

‘Mikey! Now, stop it!’ It was a misjudged step on his part. ‘Don’t be such a prude. You’ll turn up and you’ll be the epitome of a gentleman and that’s that. Do I make myself clear?’

Mycroft sighed again. ‘Of course.’ He conceded, there was no point arguing with his mother, she’d always get her way.

Once he’d put the phone down, Mycroft ran his hand over his face and sat back in his chair. He’d managed to avoid speaking with Bethany for months, he’d kept an eye on her and Sherlock had told him how she was doing in school, but that was pretty much it. She was working on an assignment that she needed to head to Bart’s for, Mycroft had ensured that there just so happened to be an expert in forensic research there for her to question if need be. He hoped she didn’t find out.

‘Everything alright, sir?’ Anthea wandered in to collect some files he’d been reading over.

‘Fine.’ He grumbled. ‘Please cancel my appointment on the morning of 26th, I have been summoned home.’

‘Yes, sir.’ She said and left him immediately, though he didn’t appreciate the slight grin she had on her face. ‘Oh, also we’ve sent flowers to Lady Smallwood as consolation for her husband’s suicide.’

‘Yes, fine.’ He said, not caring in the slightest, but being grateful that Anthea did her job well.

Mycroft had sent Bethany a brief text that morning, he preferred to prepare her for Christmas and give her an excuse not to go if she felt uncomfortable.

I suppose I shall be seeing you for Christmas. It is unfortunate that your parents are not around for you to spend the day with them, though I’m sure my mother will make you feel welcome nonetheless. – MH

It was a while before she replied.

Merry Christmas to you too. – BW

It was hard to decipher whether she was being sarcastic or not, but she wasn’t by nature a cruel woman, so he preferred to think she was just being kind regardless of her true feelings.

It then came time to think about whether he should have gotten her a gift or not. Mycroft wasn’t good at that sort of thing, but she wasn’t just anyone, she was everything he believed he couldn’t have.

The time leading up the Christmas Day was busy and irritating and everything Mycroft didn’t need it to be. He was agitated and annoyed and nothing was going his way. Magnusson was unusually quiet and it unnerved Mycroft, he was up to something and he didn’t like it.

Mycroft had a car drop him off at his parent’s house in the countryside at eight in the morning sharp, he feared the wrath of his mother should he have turned up a minute later.

‘Mikey!’ She came out of the house, very pleased to see him and gave him her usual motherly hug and kiss on both cheeks. ‘It’s good to see you, my boy. Come on inside, it’s ghastly out here.’

Mycroft entered into the loving home his parents had always kept and heard the sound of laughing coming from the kitchen. He felt his heart drop when he saw the distinctive dark frizzy hair belonging to Bethany, he knew his gaze lingered too long when even his mother started chuckling.

‘Behave, won’t you, Mikey.’ She said, as he hung his coat up next to the grey one he recognised. ‘She’s smart, that girl of yours, very smart indeed-‘

‘She’s not “my girl” I don’t care what story Sherlock has invented.’ Mycroft said sternly.

‘Well, she won’t be with that attitude.’ His mother didn’t appreciate his tone at all. ‘I’ll admit, she’s a little younger than I thought, but very mature and has a wonderful sense of humour.’ Mycroft begged his mother to get to the point with his sigh. ‘Come through and have some tea, will you?’

Mycroft sighed and prepared himself for what would be a difficult couple of days. He followed his mother through to the kitchen and found his father telling Bethany a story that had her full attention. She was stunning as usual in her black leggings and loose, cream cable knit jumper, well-worn from the looks of the frayed edges and loose threads, but she looked warm and comfortable and he supposed that was as good as he could have hoped for.

‘Merry Christmas, Mycroft.’ John said, standing to one side. He hadn’t even noticed he was there until he spoke.

‘Merry Christmas, John.’ Mycroft smiled politely, but he could see the slight grin on his face. Rolling his eyes, Mycroft gathered that just about everyone knew about the way he felt for Bethany.

‘Morning Mycroft.’ Mary said, trying to squeeze past him. Mycroft stepped aside, behind where Bethany was sitting to accommodate her and smiled politely again.

‘Sit down, Mikey,’ his mother ushered him, indicating the free seat next to Bethany, luckily, she was still engaged in conversation with his father. ‘Mary, over here darling, don’t exert yourself too much.’

Mycroft begrudgingly took the seat next to Bethany, hating the looks he was being given by everyone around him, including Sherlock who was grinning in the corner.

‘…but to be honest, I’d always preferred the line dancing.’ His father finished his story, making Bethany laugh. ‘Anyway, good morning, Mycroft, it’s good to see you.’

‘And you, apologies I couldn’t make it last night, work was somewhat demanding.’ Mycroft tried to make an excuse, but his father knew better.

‘Not me you have to apologise to, dear boy.’ He chuckled standing up to help his wife.

Bethany hadn’t looked at him, but he was only half sure who his father was talking about, his mother or Bethany.

‘Beth, have you finished your assignment yet?’ Mary asked, after Mycroft took a little too long to talk.

‘No, I was going to do a little work on it today when I get time.’ Bethany replied, sipping her tea. ‘How are you Mycroft?’ She asked when everyone’s attention was elsewhere.

‘Fine, and yourself?’ He tried to be nice and somewhat inviting as his mother set down some more tea.

‘Same as always.’ Bethany’s smile was entirely hypnotising. She looked good, she looked healthy and happy and up for another adventure. Her frizzy hair had been trimmed, making it look just a little wilder than normal, but it only served to amplify her bright features.

The morning went on and everyone listened to his parents tell stories from their holidays and other things they’d done with their retirement. Bethany leaned back in her chair, sipping her tea and Mycroft watched her at any moment he thought he could get away with it. She told a few stories of her own around her time hiking in Austria, despite already having heard the stories, Mycroft listened to those ones with greater interest.

For the rest of the morning, John and Mary had gone for a short walk with his father while Bethany did a little work on her assignment. Mycroft had yet to move from sitting next to her but needed to do some of his own work for an hour or two.

‘Right, well why don’t you two take it into the dining room, it’ll be quieter in there.’ His mother suggested.

Mycroft wasn’t exactly sure if it was a trap or not, but then he never was certain about his mother’s intentions. However, Bethany smiled, grabbing her laptop, books and her cup of tea and headed through to the dining room to work. His mother gave him an insistent glance and he supposed he had no choice.

Bethany was already typing away when he entered, her thick-rimmed glasses were clearly the wrong prescription because she was squinting at the screen. He thought about pointing it out.

He settled opposite her and began working through his list of things to check. On occasion he would look up and see her concentrating on something in a textbook, she tapped her pen lightly against her lip, an unconscious move that had him replaying the kiss they shared, his thumb grazing the same lip and how soft it had been. Mycroft tried not to allow himself too many moments to indulge, but finally he’d had enough.

He stood up and went to his coat pocket, taking out a small box, gift wrapped in white paper with black ribbon. Mycroft made sure his mother was still fussing over Sherlock before returning to the dining room where Bethany had just finished her tea, about to dive into another paragraph in her assignment.

Mycroft placed the box beside her and returned to his seat. Bethany watched him with a slightly confused smile.

‘A Christmas present?’ She knew she didn’t need to ask.

‘It’s tradition.’ Mycroft said, nonchalantly as if this wasn’t incredibly important to him.

Bethany just laughed, shaking her head and picked up the small white box, she unwrapped it with some precision and Mycroft could feel his heart in his mouth with every movement.

He watched her open the box towards her and stare down, her face for a moment was expressionless and he thought he might have let world swallow him up. Bethany finally looked up at him and he could see her eyes filling with tears, she just half laughed and took out the silver pendant.

‘Serotonin.’ She chuckled. ‘Very good.’

Mycroft felt a little more uplifted. ‘Is it to your liking?’

‘What?’ She frowned. ‘Mycroft, you got me a present. One you’ve really thought about, how could I not love it?’

Mycroft felt his entire being deflate with relief. Finally, it felt like there was a way out of this awkwardness. He was on his feet in seconds, indicating she should do the same. Bethany moved her hair to one side so that Mycroft could put it on for her. The scent of ginger ignited his lungs once again, and he wished he was in his own home where he could kiss her again.

The pendant was one he had especially made, he didn’t want anything that would give away the depth of his feelings for her, but more by way of apology over the way he behaved before Sherlock got shot. It had two black gems at either end and a diamond in the middle, he knew she’d enjoy it’s scientific significance as well. He tried to calm himself enough so that he didn’t shake so much, but it took a little longer than he would have liked to attach the clip.

‘There.’ Mycroft said, finally clipping it in place and resisting the urge to run his hands over the skin on her neck.

Bethany turned around and smiled up at him, her arms coming up to wrap around his neck, the feel of her was as intoxicating as he’d remembered, the smell of ginger, the feel of her body pressed into his, everything was all that he craved.

‘Thank you.’ She whispered next to his ear, making shivers runs down his spine. ‘Would this be a good time to give you your present?’

Mycroft frowned and pulled back. ‘What?’

Bethany just laughed and disappeared for a moment. She came back with a box just a little bigger than the one he’d given her. It was wrapped in red paper, she had obviously wrapped it herself and he liked the thought of her taking the time to wrap something so neatly for him. She took her seat opposite him again and smiled as he carefully unwrapped the gift she’d given him.

It was a pocket watch, a vintage one as far as he could tell, from the twenties, but it had been restored and was in perfect working condition. It had gold plating with a dark wooden ring around the front, when he opened it, the clock face was clear and he could see the gears working inside. Roman numerals sat on a white ring around the edge of the clock face and it looked like there was a gap for a picture to fit perfectly on the inside of the latch. He figured most pocket watches in the twenties belonged to those who wouldn’t see their loved ones for some time, so it was only logical that there was a way of carrying them with them when they were apart.

Mycroft looked up at Bethany who was trying to assess his reaction. ‘Thank you.’ He breathed. Her face lit up as she realised he was stuck for words. Bethany lay her hand down on the table for him to hold, which he did immediately, not wanting to miss out on and opportunity to touch her in any way.

They sat together for a little while longer, hearing John, Mary and his father return from their walk. Thankfully they were both in agreement not to mention the gifts they’d given each other to anyone and Mycroft cleared away the paper, while Bethany tucked the necklace beneath her jumper and carried on working.

By the time he came back from subtly getting rid of the paper and putting the pocket watch somewhere safe, he found that Bethany was being ushered into the kitchen by his mother who insisted she stopped working and started relaxing a little more.

Mycroft didn’t dare argue, but it seemed that Bethany got along with his mother tremendously well and that pleased him to no end. She had the same spark that his mother had and assumed that was what bonded them so quickly. He eventually retired to the kitchen as well, just praying that the day could go quicker if he was in Bethany’s presence.

‘Oh, dear god, it’s only two o’clock,’ he groaned after another two hours of listening to his mother talk. He sat on the other side of the table to Bethany, so that she and Sherlock formed a triangular shape with him. ‘It’s been Christmas Day for a week, how is it only two o’clock? I’m in agony.’ At least it made Bethany laugh, that only settled him slightly.

‘Mikey, is this your laptop?’ His mother asked. He looked down a little exasperated.

‘Upon which depends the of the security of the free world, yes. And you’ve got potatoes on it.’ Mycroft tried for a snarky approach to entertain himself and possibly Bethany.

‘Well you shouldn’t leave it lying around if it’s so important.’ His mother said, again making Bethany chuckle.

‘Why are we doing this? We never do this.’

‘We are here because Sherlock is home from hospital and we are all very happy.’

‘Am I happy too? I haven’t checked.’

‘Behave, mike.’

‘Mycroft is the name you gave me, if you could possibly struggle to the end.’ He turned to Bethany who was grinning uncontrollably and gave her a quick wink while no one was watching.

‘Mrs Holmes.’ Wiggins approached the kitchen, handing his mother a glass of punch.

‘Oh, thank you dear,’ she said taking it politely. ‘Still not absolutely sure why you’re here.’

‘I invited him.’ Sherlock said, not looking up from the paper.

‘I’m his protégé, Mrs Holmes, when he dies, I get all his stuff and his job.’

‘No.’

‘Oh, well I help out a bit.’

‘Closer.’

Mycroft watched the odd man’s eyes bulge and wondered if he was entirely clean. ‘If he does get murdered or something-‘

‘Probably stop talking now.’

‘Okay.’

‘Lovely when you bring your friends round.’ Mycroft commented, again making Bethany giggle.

‘Stop it you,’ his mother finally intervened. ‘Someone has put a bullet in my boy and if I ever find out who, I shall turn absolutely monstrous.’ He believed her. ‘Oh, this was for Mary. I’ll be back in a moment.’

She left the kitchen and Mycroft exchanged a look with Sherlock. They both needed a cigarette.

‘So, are you two…?’ Wiggins asked, even alarming Sherlock with his boldness.

‘Excuse me?’ Mycroft sighed, shooting a warning glare to be very careful about his next words.

‘Well, you’ve been giving each other little looks across the table,’ he gestured to himself and Bethany. ‘Like star-crossed lovers-‘

‘Definitely not a good idea, Wiggins.’ Sherlock stopped him speaking, but Bethany was just watching in amazement at the balls of the man. ‘Mycroft?’ He said, getting up, grabbing his coat to head outside.

‘Indeed.’ Mycroft held Wiggins gaze before following Sherlock out. ‘Was there in fact a reason you chose to bring him here?’

Sherlock grinned, pulling out a packet of cigarettes from his coat pocket. ‘He was lonely, I was feeling charitable.’

‘I’m sure.’ Mycroft said, lighting up.

‘Much like with Beth.’ He pushed Mycroft into giving him a warning glance. ‘Did she give you the pocket watch?’ Mycroft was about to ask how he knew. ‘I followed her one day while she was out shopping for some school supplies, I wanted to make sure one of us was looking out for her. She stopped by an antique shop.’ Sherlock lit up his own cigarette. ‘She didn’t go to Brazil to see her parents because she saved up to get you that watch.’ Mycroft looked at him surprised. ‘I asked her about it yesterday, said she was about forty pounds short to afford the flight. Of course, she didn’t want to ask her parents to cover because then she’d have to try and explain you and all her friends are students so forty pounds is a considerable sum of money in their books. If I’d known, I would’ve given her the cash myself.’

Sherlock was quiet for a moment, giving Mycroft a chance to think on why she would spend so much on a present for him, rather than go to Brazil, a country she’d wanted to visit for a while now, and see her parents for Christmas. Surely the warmer climate was preferable for her.

‘She’s kind, Mycroft.’ Sherlock sighed. ‘She’s just kind, that’s all.’

‘Perhaps too kind.’

‘You’ve mellowed since meeting her.’

Mycroft just took another drag of his cigarette instead of responding immediately. ‘I’m glad you’ve given up on the Magnusson business.’

‘Are you?’

‘I’m still curious though, it’s hardly your usual kind of puzzle. Why do you hate him?’

‘Because he attacks people who are different and preys on their secrets.’ Sherlock snapped. ‘Why don’t you?’

Mycroft shrugged, his feelings on Magnusson weren’t quite so extreme, though he couldn’t claim to like the man at all. ‘He never causes too much damage to anyone important, he’s far too intelligent for that. He’s a businessman, that’s all and occasionally useful to us. A necessary evil, not a dragon for you to slay.’

‘A dragon slayer? Is that what you think of me?’

‘No. It’s what you think of yourself.’

‘Are you two smoking?!’

Both of them felt the fear of their childhoods take them by force as their mother shouted out of the back door. At the same time they turned around with different excuses.

‘No!’

‘It was Mycroft!’

She didn’t look entirely convinced and closed the door, allowing them to release the smoke they’d been holding onto.

‘What if it was Beth?’ Sherlock asked, just as Mycroft was deciding against the cigarette.

‘What?’

‘If he attacked Beth, would you stop him?’

Mycroft again, didn’t dignify the question with any kind of answer.

‘I have a job offer I should like you to decline.’ He said, taking a step away.

‘I decline your kind offer.’ Sherlock said, slightly baffled.

‘I’ll pass on your regrets.’

‘What was it?’

‘MI6. They want to place you back into Eastern Europe. An undercover assignment that would prove fatal to you in, I think, about six months.’

‘Then why don’t you want me to take it?’

‘It’s tempting. But on balance, you have far more utility at home.’

‘Utility? How do I have utility?’ Sherlock scoffed at the notion.

‘Here be dragons.’ Mycroft was only slightly in the festive spirit, enough to have a little joke. He coughed a little and looked curiously at the cigarette. ‘This isn’t agreeing with me. I’m going in.’

‘You need low tar, you still smoke like a beginner.’

Mycroft shook his head, but turned as he reached the door, something about the way Bethany had gone to such lengths to get him a present, it told him to be kind today of all days.

‘Also, your loss would break my heart.’

Sherlock choked on the smoke. ‘What the hell am I supposed to say to that?’

Mycroft just shrugged. ‘Merry Christmas.’

‘You hate Christmas.’

‘Yes. Perhaps there was something in the punch.’ He made sure Sherlock knew that he’d found out he’d spiked it, a funny prank, maybe, but not quite enough to fool him.

‘Clearly, go have some more.’ Sherlock bit back, but he could see just a hint of appreciation that Mycroft didn’t actually want him dead.

He went back inside and ran straight into Bethany who was coming back from the bathroom. ‘Sorry.’ She said, blocking his way.

‘It’s quite alright.’ He said, suddenly wanting to thank her again for the pocket watch. ‘If I,’ he started, stopping her from leaving for the kitchen. He sighed and gently guided her towards the bottom of the staircase to a more secluded part of the house. ‘If I could just take a moment to thank you again.’

‘For what?’ She frowned a little confused.

‘For Christmas.’ Mycroft said simply, trying not to let his gaze drift to her lips too much, but he was sure she caught him.

‘You’re welcome.’ She chuckled, waiting for a moment. ‘Were you intending to thank me properly, or just use words?’

Mycroft felt himself go red, he wasn’t sure whether he was allowed to overstep the mark or not, but it seemed she was more than happy to let him kiss her.

‘Properly seems more appropriate to the season.’ Mycroft knew he was making a bit of a meal of things, but she made him incredibly nervous, especially when she was being so open with him.

Mycroft didn’t waste anymore time, anyone could have walked around the corner and out of all the residents inside the house, his mother was the least desirable of them all. He slowly took a step into her space, inhaling that ginger scent once again and allowing his mind to cloud. His hand found her beautifully smooth jawline and she let out the quietest sigh she could, like the mere fact that he’d touched her was a long since forgotten feeling.

Mycroft wished he had more time, but he let his lips drift over hers, her hands on his chest, eagerly awaiting the pressure they both wanted. He ran his thumb over her hipbone and listened to the sudden intake of breath, her hips must have been a sensitive spot for her, he wanted to find the rest. Finally, he pressed his mouth softly to hers, allowing them both a moment to absorb the moment for what it was, bliss.

Bethany was consciously staying quiet, and he could feel her trying hard to not alert anyone else to what they were doing. He knew he couldn’t stay there forever, but he wished there was more time to spend with her, kissing her, holding her close and if she would allow it, devouring her.

Mycroft hadn’t realised that they were pressed against the wall next to the stairs, but somehow it ignited him, made him feel the need for her all the more. He decided against his instincts to drag his teeth over her lip, but he did take the time to feel her body pressed into his, her every curve and feature memorised, burnt into his mind, never to be lost.

Eventually, he couldn’t risk the privacy they had any longer and pulled away, listening to her trying to catch her breath the same as him.

‘Merry Christmas, Bethany.’ He whispered, placing a soft kiss to her lips once more.

‘Merry Christmas, Mycroft.’ She whispered back smiling.

Mycroft took a moment to step away and watched her reset herself to look a little less like she’d just been kissing anyone pressed up against a wall, before heading into the kitchen. Mycroft took a moment to compose himself as well and did the same, following in behind her.

If you liked this, please consider supporting me ☕ thanks for reading!

[thetimemoves]

WIP Wednesday

I was tagged by @discordantwords to share some of the WIPs I'm currently working on. Thanks for the tag!

Rules: post the first few lines or the summary of as many WIPs that you care to expose to the reading public. Tag others if you are curious to see what they are working on.

I have a lot of WIPs! Here are three that have a very good chance of being posted sooner rather than later. We’ll see. Life keeps throwing surprises my way.

Roundabout

A fic for @discordantwords, who had an old Holmestice prompt for Sherlock and John at an amusement park. 

When John and Sherlock find themselves stuck on what just might be the oldest wheel in England, they finally run out of excuses and confront their feelings. Confessions abound.

“Sit still, you git!” John tightened his grip on the metal bar locked across his and Sherlock’s laps. “If you keep moving like that, we’re going to tip out.”

Next to him, Sherlock scooted back—fractionally—but continued to lean forward, making the car sway uncomfortably. He was too busy looking over the park to admire the sea view, clearly aware of John’s tension, but also clearly determined to ignore it.

John shook his head and tried not to curse. Again. He focused on the water in the near distance, sparkling like diamonds as the sun glinted off the waves of the Channel. He didn’t like heights, never had, yet here he was. The things he did for Sherlock Holmes.

The old car rocked to and fro as they spun round, dropping towards the ground and rising back to the sky. Over and over.

“Remind me why we’re going round in circles on what has to be the oldest wheel in England?” John picked at the chipping paint on the bar and wondered when the ride had last been inspected.

“It’s called an observation wheel for a reason, John.” Sherlock didn’t look over, just kept scanning the crowds on the ground. “I’m observing. What better way than from the highest point in the park?”

Pull Me Up Again

This is a gift for @educatedinyellow, inspired by her amazing Reichenbach vid Underwater (I can’t rec it enough, all the Reichenfeels!). It’s a gentle, domestic post-Fall fic with John and Sherlock finding their way back to each other.

Sherlock is not actually dead after all.

In fact, he’s currently at the kitchen table happily grumbling to himself over his latest experiment. A viscous liquid, possibly poisonous but almost certainly corrosive, bubbles away in a beaker. There’s the scratch of pen across paper and the clink of slides, all signs of Sherlock completely engrossed.

John is in his chair doing his best to concentrate on the book in his hands, but it’s a lost cause. He can’t see Sherlock from where he’s sitting, but that doesn’t keep him from repeatedly cocking his head to listen to the familiar sounds coming from the kitchen. He knows he’s being ridiculous but doesn’t care. It’s needed reassurance that this is all real, that Sherlock is there, and he is there and that this miracle is not in his head.

Against all hope and logic, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are back at 221b Baker Street. Together. The ‘how’ is still mostly a blur to John and the ‘where’ is even more so, but the ‘when’ happens eight days, three hours, and 51 minutes after Sherlock’s dramatic reappearance on John’s doorstep.

The ‘why’ is the easiest part. Sherlock is there, so John will be there too. Full stop.

A Dreadful Darkness Closes In

This is another installment in my (2021, yikes) Whumptober challenge, a short fic from Mycroft’s POV during the initial days of Victor Trevor’s disappearance. Here, young Mycroft helps search for little Victor Trevor, comforts a distraught Sherlock, and comes to a horrifying realization about Eurus.

It’s late, well after 9 pm, when Mycroft and his father return to Musgrave Hall.

An unsettled silence hangs over the house as they shrug off their coats. There’s no sign of Mummy, but Mycroft detects the slightest hint of woodsmoke. She is likely in the sitting room, waiting by the dying fire for an update.

Another day of unfruitful searching. Victor Trevor is still missing, vanished into thin air.

Mycroft watches his father toss keys into little ceramic frog that has been on the table next to door for as long as he can remember. A box of Halloween decorations sits on the floor, untouched.

The menfolk of the village have been searching for Victor Trevor for the last three days, with Siger Holmes leading the efforts.  

Mycroft was on the first train home upon hearing the news. His first thought was of sweet Redbeard, that tiny towheaded pirate who is constantly, happily, attached to Sherlock’s hip. His second was of Sherlock, who can’t go a day without asking to see his best friend. The two of them together are a hurricane of noise and activity and a joy to watch. Their intense bond is a relief to Mycroft, who knows his time away at school upsets his baby brother. He can’t fathom not finding little Victor, can’t bear to think of what will happen if they don’t.

Of Shags and Squires

And a bonus WIP, one that has been languishing for a few years. It’s my BBC update of REIG, with John dragging Sherlock down to the countryside for a rest after an exhausting case. They’re staying with John’s old Army buddy, Colin Hayter. There will be kisses and confessions and a curious case featuring an old legend to crack. This bit takes place when they arrive at Colin’s place. The names might be familiar to ACD canon lovers. :)

As they stepped out of the car, they were swarmed by three large, fluffy white dogs. Sherlock immediately knelt down and opened his arms up to one of the dogs, which proceeded to lick his face.

“Down, girls!” Colin laughed as he moved to pull the dog away from Sherlock, who had a wide grin on his face. “I assume John warned you about these beasts, yeah?”

“He did, but I do like dogs very much, so you needn’t worry.” Sherlock scratched the dog’s head and practically hugged it.

“That’s Birdy, she’s a love, isn’t she? The one mauling John over there is Bradstreet, and the one waiting for whichever one of you is free first is Baynes.”

“Great Pyrenees, I presume? They make excellent guard dogs for the sheep, I presume.”

“That’s right. Sisters from the same litter. I was only looking for one but couldn’t bear to part them. They’re a handful, but I can’t imagine life without them now.”

“Sorry, boss!” A young man jogged around the corner of the garage. “I was trying to keep them together, but they bolted as soon as they heard the car turn down the lane.” He pulled up, panting, and bent over slightly to catch his breath. “Naughty things.” He ruffled the fur of Bradstreet, who ran back over to him.

Colin smiled. “Gents, this is Liam Kirwin. His mum works for the Cunninghams next door and they live on the estate over there. He’s been helping me out a lot as the place gets busier. Think I might poach him from Old Cunningham and install him here. Don’t know what I’d do without him! He’ll be around even if I’m not and can help you with anything you might need. Liam, these are my friends I told you were coming for a visit. John Watson and Sherlock Holmes.”

The men shook hands. Liam was a shade taller than Sherlock and about 20 pounds heavier. He had an open, friendly face.

I'll tag @calaisreno and @helloliriels​ and anyone else who sees this. If you'd like to share some of what you've been working on, consider yourself tagged!

[soyces]

Morning Tea (Johnlock) Pt 2

tags- fluff, angst :)))))

Chapter One(Sherlocks point of view)

I  wake up to the sound of the kettle whistling and footsteps. But I don't move because I almost physically cannot, my head is pounding almost as if I were talking to Moriaty or Anderson…god do they give me a headache. I struggle to get up from my bed which seems to be filled with clothes and some sort of wrapper? I put the pieces together and realized that I must have slept with someone from the bar- but these were not only my clothes…but Johns? I sit up rather quickly and scan the room which is quite hard when you feel like you have just been hit in the head with a hammer. I crawl from the bed to my clothes and manage to put my trousers on with much effort and energy. I scatter through the room to find my dressing gown and stumble my way to the loo. As I'm sort of walking I can hear John making his way to the window, I glance at him then quickly look back at him once more. Has he always looked that way? I wasn't sure what he looked like but he looked nice? I don't think I've ever referred to him in that way… I shake my head and try to focus on something important rather than how a person looks. Peeing. Yes, let's try completing that without cracking my skull open. As I walk in I glance in the mirror and realize how dreadful I look so I quickly fix my hair. As I'm looking at myself in the mirror I think about John, specifically what his clothes were doing in my room…did he leave them there? Did he sleep in my room? My brain struggles to put the puzzle together almost like a riddle, I've never liked these guessing games, and was never good at them either. One thought that pops into my head is that maybe John was the “mistress” from last night…but I erased that thought and finished doing my business( i dont think youd want to know the details…) and I stumbled to the kitchen. I tried to stay quiet but ended up tripping on one of my wires connected to my glass capsules filled with something I cannot remember now. But I don't think I want it touching my skin- I hear John say something but it sounds muffled and loud at the same time? I respond 

“Shhhh- just…quiet please John” I almost dont recognise my own voice…and my breath is horrible lord- I try to put the kettle on but trip yet again and fall onto the cold kitchen floor. I can hear John rush over to me as he notices the situation. I notice a small smile curl on his face and that's all my mind is filled with. His smile, it's always been there but I'm only now noticing how pleasant it is to look at- I snap back into reality and hear John say something and then I hear myself asking for his help. Then before I know it I'm in my chair and John is hovering over me. I feel a bit annoyed with myself for not being able to make tea for god’s sake- I look around our lounge, looking at all the scattered papers and bullet holes i left in the wall, the faint smell of tea and cigarette smoke lingers in the air. I’m just hungover, big time. I can hear John and Ms Hudson chatting in the kitchen. I've never really seen the point in small talk, if you're going to talk, make it something important, not something about the weather! After I finish complaining to myself I realize John has made me a cup of tea. Eargrey with a little bit of honey. I awkwardly thank him and watch him sit in front of me. We sit in silence as we drink our tea looking at seemingly nothingness before John decides to speak. 

“Do you have any memory of last night?” He asks with a certain tone that makes it seem he’s been racking his brain about this topic all morning the same way I have been. There's a pause and I take a breathe then start to speak. 

“Well…from what I put together is that we went to a bar…for my birthday. We drank, a lot-”

“Yeah I got that much…”

I sigh “Alright… And we spent a lot of time in the bar and- well..”

“My clothes were in your bed, yes…”

I pause once again, I know he's not an idiot but he seems upset- does he regret it…? I notice he's running his hand through his hair and looking a little more angry but I cannot seem to figure out why… I mean sure the situation is awkward but I don't see a reason to be angry. He puts his mug down and looks up at me, his face is puzzled and upset. I notice him wanting to say something but going silent suddenly. 

“Yes…?” I ask to try and make him feel less awkward about saying anything.

“This can never happen again. We are partners, friends, colleagues but we cannot be more-” He says in a tense and angry voice. His words seem to hit me hard and I am unable to understand. My face scrunches up with confusion and a little bit of sorrow. 

I open my mouth to say something but stop myself to collect my thoughts that have started spinning in my head like a washing machine. Then I finally said something.

“Do you…regret it, John? I ask, looking at my feet and twiddling with my mug.

He grows silent. Oh god- He regrets last night…

“I-...You wouldnt understand why-” He suddenly speaks with a tense yet soft tone, not looking me in the eye. My stomach sinks…why wouldn't I understand? Is this about Mary…?

“Try me.” I say putting my mug down and clasping my hands together as I lean back in my chair.

He’s still silent, he is not saying anything and it's getting on my nerves. I should be more patient with him. But I can't help getting angry at things I don't understand, especially when it comes to John. Then I hear him sigh and start to say something.

[twistedtummies2]

Top 10 Sherlock Holmes Series

Happy New Year, Everyone! Hopefully it will be better than the last…several. ‘XD An interesting thing about this year is the number of well-known properties and characters that are officially entering the public domain starting now. Among these is the World’s Greatest Detective, Sherlock Holmes. Now, my love for Sherlock Holmes is quite well-known, but while I’ve talked about some of my favorite takes on the characters of his universe, I’ve never actually gone into great detail about my favorite versions of Sherlock Holmes OVERALL: which versions of his universe and cast as a whole I love the most. So, I decided this New Year’s Day to remedy that, at least slightly, by discussing my favorite Sherlock Holmes series portrayals ever made.

Now, keep in mind, I’m talking about versions that are a SERIES; this means there has to be more than one singular installment for me to discuss them. So standalone films - such as “The Great Mouse Detective” or “A Study in Terror” - or singular episodes from TV shows, or oneshot video games or radio production, will not be included. Maybe sometime I’ll go over something cover all of those, but for now, we’re focusing on series versions of the Holmes universe. I had to struggle a fair bit with picking the cream of the crop for this, and I based my decisions on a few factors: how good is Holmes himself in each version? How do the supporting cast of his world stand up? How often do I visit and revisit installments from this rendition? And, perhaps most importantly, how often do I think of them when I think of the simple name “Sherlock Holmes”? Some of my choices and rankings may surprise you, and I should add there were several versions that didn’t quite make the cut (you’ll find at least a couple of them listed in the Honorable Mentions), but I think the final results I came up with are satisfactory. With that in mind, allow me to present My Top 10 Sherlock Holmes Series!

10. The Frogwares Video Game Series.

While Holmes and Holmesian characters have appeared in multiple video games over the years, there’s really only one proper Sherlock Holmes video game series worth its salt. That is the Frogwares game series. I must confess I’ve only played ONE of these games myself (that’s part of the reason they take the bottom slot), but I’ve looked into other games of the series via walkthroughs and such. That’s obviously not the same experience, but it does give me an understanding of the stories and characters presented. These games are essentially cult classics: no one would call them great masterpieces, but they have a certain charm to them that’s all their own. As the series has gone on, it’s pitted Holmes against increasingly dreadful odds. He’s faced Professor Moriarty, of course, but he’s also gone against Jack the Ripper, and even crossed swords with Arsene Lupin. He’s steeled himself against the madness of Lovecraftian abominations, and struggled to defeat terrorist organizations. The series has been going strong for two decades now; its first game was released in 2002. In 2023, a remake of one of its most popular early releases, “Sherlock Holmes: The Awakened,” is scheduled to debut. What further adventures await the Master Detective? Only time will tell…

9. The 1950s BBC Radio Series.

There have been numerous radio and audio productions of Sherlock Holmes over the years. My personal favorite is this one. Entitled simply “The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes,” these radio dramas starred two of the greatest actors in English history, Sir John Gielgud and Sir Ralph Richardson, as Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson, respectively. It was directed by Sir John’s brother, Val Gielgud (who also played Mycroft in the radio program), and guest-starred Orson Welles as Professor Moriarty in “The Final Problem.” The series was short-lived, with less than 30 episodes to its name and a run of only six or seven months between 1954 and 1955. Despite its miniscule lifespan, it’s still a pretty stellar interpretation of the Conan Doyle classics, largely due to the pedigree of its leading performers. For those who aren’t into radio and audio productions, this will be something of an acquired taste, but if you’re open to the idea, this is a great place to start.

8. Elementary.

“Elementary” was an attempt to reinterpret the Conan Doyle characters and stories in a style reminiscent of many modern crime drama shows. This is essentially what you would get if you crossed something like “NCIS” or “CSI” with…well…Sherlock Holmes. The series lasted for quite a long time, running for seven years (and seven seasons) between 2012 and 2019. I feel like this show was something of a hit-or-miss affair; sometimes the ways it reinterpreted the Holmesian characters and story ideas were absolutely brilliant, but other times it felt like the show was having trouble balancing its tone and style with its source material. I have always, however, defended its two main characters: Jonny Lee Miller as a modern age Holmes and Lucy Liu as a female Dr. Watson. In my opinion, nearly every take on this universe lives or dies based on the strength of these two characters, for perhaps obvious reasons. No matter what the show did wrong or right, both of them were amazing in their respective roles, and the overall interpretation was solidly constructed. Admittedly, I revisit this version less often than some other takes on Holmes, which is the primary reason it gets a lower ranking, but it’s definitely worthy of praise.

7. The 1960s BBC TV Series.

This series ran for two seasons in the mid-to-late 60s, and if you look at both seasons, you almost feel like you’re watching two different shows. The first season was produced and released in black-and-white; it starred Douglas Wilmer as the Great Detective, and had an ever so slightly darker tone than the second season. This second season was in color, and starred the immortal Peter Cushing (pictured here) as Holmes. Other casting elements were changed between the two seasons as well (both Mrs. Hudson and Inspector Lestrade were replaced by new actors, most notably); really, the only thing that seemed to stay the same was the resident Watson, played by Nigel Stock. Much of this series has been lost to time, sadly, but the episodes of each season that have been recovered have been released to the public online and via home media. Personally, I think that Season 2 is overall the better season, but Season 1 has its fair share of great moments, too. Check both out if you get a chance.

6. The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes & Dr. Watson.

Who ever expected Russia to give us one of the greatest takes on Sherlock Holmes ever made? Well, it happened: in the 1980s, a series of television movies collectively entitled “The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes & Dr. Watson” were released in Russia, starring Vasily Livanov as the super sleuth, with Vitaly Solomin as Watson. The TV productions were surprisingly faithful and atmospheric, as well as brilliantly acted, creating what many consider to be one of the most critically acclaimed and surprisingly grand interpretations of the Conan Doyle stories and characters ever made. I, personally, especially recommend the adaptations of “The Final Problem” (entitled “The Deadly Fight”), “The Empty House” (entitled “The Tiger Hunt”), and “The Hound of the Baskervilles.” The series is not only considered a great adaptation of Sherlock Holmes, but also one of the greatest TV programs in Russian history; it’s definitely worthy of a peek.

5. The Basil Rathbone/Nigel Bruce Films.

Produced first by 20th Century FOX, and then later by Universal, these 14 monochrome movies are considered arguably the first truly “classic” Sherlock Holmes movies ever created, and for good reason. The first two films, in my opinion, are truly cinematic gems; any Holmes fan worth their salt should at least watch those first two movies. The later 12 films - made on a lower budget and with more of a time crunch between each one - are more varied in quality, ranging from genuinely great crime/mystery movies (such as “The Pearl of Death”) to “so bad it’s good” schlock (such as “Sherlock Holmes and the Voice of Terror”). No matter the quality of the film overall, the series stands high for the simple and iconic presence of its two lead actors: Basil Rathbone, arguably the most iconic Sherlock Holmes of all time, and his Watson, Nigel Bruce. Bruce often gets a lot of flak for his more comical interpretation of Watson, but I actually think he’s grossly underappreciated: while he is a more comedic take on the character, the comedy is balanced, and you fully believe in his friendship and partnership with Sherlock. Rathbone, meanwhile, is perhaps the first truly brilliant Sherlock Holmes, presenting the character with a sense of authority that contrasts greatly with his eccentricities. While it would be a lie to say they saved every movie, they certainly were the reason the overall run of these films remains beloved and talked about to this day, and I’ve rewatched some of these old classics more often than even versions found higher on the list. Proof of the phrase “oldies but goldies,” give at least a few of these a watch whenever you can.

4. Moriarty the Patriot.

Yeah, I bet a lot of you expected this to be in my Top 3, didn’t you? To be perfectly honest, choosing between third and fourth place for this list was EXTREMELY difficult, because I liked both series for both similar and very different reasons. I’ll get into why one defeated the other later, but for now, let’s focus on this specific version. “Moriarty the Patriot” has become my favorite anime and manga series; the premise of the show places the focus not on Holmes himself, but instead his arch-nemesis, Professor Moriarty. In this version, Moriarty is depicted as a much younger man than most other incarnations, and is revealed to be less of a straightforward villain and more of a violent anti-hero, organizing crimes in an elaborate scheme to try and change the system of the English government. When Holmes himself arrives in the series, it is the relationship between himself and Moriarty that becomes the focal point of the story. The series is a highly unique and fascinating reimagining of the Conan Doyle characters and stories; this is not your granny’s Sherlock Holmes, to say the least. For many people, I imagine this rendition will be something of an acquired taste; I, thankfully, have developed said taste, and will adore and praise this rendition for all of time. If it catches your interest, give it a try.

3. Sherlock.

Like I said, choosing between MTP and this popular reimagining from the BBC - starring Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman as Holmes and Watson - was extremely difficult. In some ways, I actually think Moriarty the Patriot is better (shocking to admit, I know, without any sarcasm). It’s more inventive, more unexpected, and I can’t actually think of any truly bad stories in it, off the top of my head. (At least not so far; the manga is still ongoing.) There are some better than others, but none that are outright bad. In contrast, Sherlock - while certainly home to many creative reinterpretations of the stories and characters - follows the Sherlock Holmes formula more typically, and while I think the first two seasons are spectacular, the third season is still okay, and “The Abominable Bride” movie is quite interesting…the fourth season sort of implodes on itself, in my opinion. At the end of the day, what made me decide between the two was simply this: when I compared the bulk of the major shared characters between each version, I simply discovered I liked Sherlock’s versions of those characters a little more than the ones in MTP. I love Moriarty’s take on Holmes, but it’s hard to top Benedict Cumberbatch; Moriarty’s Watson is an adorable and earnest fellow, but it’s hard to top Martin Freeman. The same goes for Inspector Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and Irene Adler, among some others: as much as I love MTP’s takes on the characters, Sherlock is just what I think of more immediately when I think of most of these classic stories, at least in comparison between the two. I think the fact this series follows the formula might be part of the reason why: it still makes changes that are interesting and unique, to keep the stories fresh and to manage them with a more modern lens, but it doesn’t change things SO drastically that it becomes more of a niche interpretation. Sherlock is a mainstream mammoth, while Moriarty the Patriot is more the home of a small but highly devoted fanbase, and while neither is a good or bad thing by their own design, I think it’s telling for the way each handles the source material. Both are brilliant reimaginings of the Conan Doyle classics, and I love them both a great deal…but after some serious internal debate, I do think that Sherlock, overall, is the one I prefer, if only slightly.

2. The Guy Ritchie Films.

While there are only two of these movies (at least at present; I keep hearing rumors they might make a third one, but I’m not holding my breath), I still think these films are absolutely great. I doubt anybody expected them to be as good as they are, in fact: when you first hear the idea of Robert Downey, Jr. and Jude Law busting crimes in a steampunk-infused Victorian mad-scape, it sounds kind of out there. But remarkably, these films clicked with many audiences and fans, including myself. In just two films, a lot of the more prominent Holmes characters do appear with ample time to shine, yet neither film feels claustrophobically packed. They focus more heavily on the action/adventure elements of the Holmes universe, but you still get a lot of great deductions and cluefinding sequences throughout both stories. The villains are great, the characters are very well-interpreted, acting both surprisingly faithful to the original books while also having unique quirks and ideals all their own…and I have to be honest, I’m a sucker for the steampunk-inspired aesthetic of these films and the way they showcase the Holmes universe. In fact, if you had asked me a few years ago, I might have named these movies as my number one. There are two reasons why I don’t now. What are those reasons? Well…let’s address them in my number one pick…

1. The Granada TV Series.

Reason number one for why the Guy Ritchie films aren’t here: there are only two of them. In contrast, the Granada TV program of Sherlock Holmes - which ran for multiple seasons under multiple titles for a whole ten years, between 1984 and 1994 - obviously had a lot more content to sift through and more time allowed to get to know the characters and their world. However, the bigger reason is number two: this series has the single greatest Sherlock Holmes of all time, Jeremy Brett. And as much as I love other Holmeses on this countdown - Downey Jr., Cumberbatch, Rathbone, Cushing, and of course the one from Moriarty the Patriot - I’m sorry, having the best Sherlock Holmes ever made almost automatically grants the Granada series top billing. In contrast to the 1960s BBC series, this show had one consistent Holmes throughout (and most of the other major cast members were consistently cast, as well), but DID have two different Watsons. David Burke played the good doctor in the first (and, in my opinion, best) season of the show, while Edward Hardwicke took over for the remainder of the series. Each of them are magnificent, easily among my Top 5 Favorite Watsons of all time. Essentially by that sheer default, of having two of the greatest Watsons of all time and the single best Holmes ever created, the series wins top billing. The show also stands high for its faithfulness to the Conan Doyle stories: every episode is an adaptation of a classic book or short story, and while there are some changes sprinkled throughout, for the majority of the time, they stay EXTREMELY true to the source. In fact, most changes made only serve to make the stories better than before, only adding to the power of this rendition. While not all of the supporting cast are my absolute favorites, the two most important characters (along with a few others) are, and that is what ultimately matters most. If you haven’t already seen anything from this masterwork, you can easily find episodes of it online or on DVD and Blu-ray. Check out a few and find out what you are missing this New Year! There’s no doubt in my mind the Granada series with Jeremy Brett is My Favorite Sherlock Holmes Series. Case closed.

Honorable Mentions Include…

The 1954 American TV Series. (Starring Ronald Howard as Sherlock Holmes.)

Sherlock Holmes in the 22nd Century. (An animated series starring Jason Gray Stanford as Holmes.)

The Hallmark TV Movies. (Starring Matt Frewer as Holmes.)

Big Finish Audio Productions. (Starring Nicholas Briggs as Holmes.)

[fuckyeahfightlock]

Advent Ficlets 2022, Day 19

Escape

Mrs Hudson had asked them if they wouldn’t mind going into 221C and moving some things she’d been storing there--unlabeled cardboard boxes, two ancient wooden trunks, and a dressmaker’s dummy among them--up into their unused second bedroom, as she had a prospective tenant coming to look at the tiny room John had first called home two years before.

Once they’d made the multiple trips up and down the stairs--John noted he did most of the carrying while Sherlock mainly stood on the landing sighing about how long it was taking and why couldn’t Mrs Hudson hire labourers by the hour and anyway what could possibly be of value when it had been ignored in sealed containers for god knew how many years.--the room was clear of Mrs Hudson’s belongings. She put her hand on John’s forearm and offered him cake.

“Thanks, no, Mrs H. I’m fine. Sherlock? Cake?”

“Give me whatever information you have and I’ll run a background check,” Sherlock told Mrs Hudson flatly. After a beat he added, “Yes.”

Mrs Hudson moved toward the kitchen and John could hear her pulling open drawers, pulling plates from the cupboard. “We’ll wait to find out if she wants the room, first, before you go invading her privacy, Sherlock,” she called back to them. Sherlock pulled a wooden chair out from under the little dining table and sat down, drew out his phone and began typing quickly with both thumbs.

“Nevermind, I saw the notes by Mrs Hudson’s phone,” he said, half to himself. “Nicola Sanderlin. Student, or so she claims. Works as a server in a pub.”

John was looking around the room, remembering how the angle of the bed had forced his back to the door and made it difficult for him to sleep in peace. The armchair that was too narrow, too stiff, where he had sat to read. The table where Sherlock now sat, that he had once cleared of John’s laptop and notebook to make room for tea for a client that turned out to be Paul McCartney.

“Glad not to be in this room anymore,” he said, and Sherlock hummed absently.

“It’s dreadful.”

“It’s where we met.”

“Its only redeeming feature.” Sherlock frowned. “I’m concerned about possible aliases.”

“I’m sure the student who pulls pints at the weekend is not an international super-spy,” John grinned. “Hey. Hang on. Did you do a background check on me?”

Mrs Hudson spared Sherlock answering by her arrival, with two small plates each holding a hunk of Victoria sponge, which she set on the little table.

“Thank you,” Sherlock said, and slipped his phone into his hip pocket. Mrs Hudson patted his shoulder. “Have some, John; it’s nice enough. Mrs Hudson didn’t bake it.”

“We’ve not finished this discussion,” John intoned, and Sherlock, chewing ostentatiously, pretended not to hear.

[anonymousewrites]

A Study of the Heart and Brain (Book 1) Chapter Six

Chapter Six: Impressive Shot

            (Y/N) sat with Sherlock in the back of the ambulance, letting the orange blanket cover them. They didn’t mind it since it was a chilly night, but they weren’t quite in shock like people thought. Sure, (Y/N) was a little shaken, but that was mostly because some psycho was their “fan.”

            “So, the shooter? No sign?” asked Sherlock. He had, once again, shrugged his orange blanket off his shoulders. However, Sherlock stayed close to (Y/N) to make sure they were alright.

            “Cleared off before we got here,” said Lestrade. “But a guy like that would have had enemies, I suppose. One of them could have been following him, but we’ve got nothing to go on.”

            “Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” said Sherlock with a smile.

            Lestrade sighed amusedly. “Alright. Gimme.”

            “The bullet they just dig out of the wall is from a handgun,” said Sherlock. “Kill shot over that distance from that kind of weapon—that’s a crack shot you’re looking for. Not just a marksman—a fighter. His hands couldn’t have shaken at all, so clearly he’s acclimated to violence. He didn’t fire until I was in immediate danger, though, so strong moral principle.” (Y/N), making the connection, nudged him, but Sherlock continued, “You’re looking for a man probably with a history of military service…” (Y/N) nearly full on elbowed him. “…And nerves of steel…” Sherlock trailed off as he saw John waiting for them and made the connection.

            Clearing his throat, Sherlock stood. “Actually, do you know what? Ignore me.”

            “Sorry?” asked Lestrade.

            “Ignore all of what he said,” said (Y/N). “We’re in shock.” They hopped off the ambulance and left the blanket behind, shivering at the cold.

            “Where are you two going?” Lestrade called after them.

            “I need to…talk about the rent,” relied Sherlock.

            “But I’ve still got questions for you!”

            “Oh, what now? We’re in shock!” said Sherlock dramatically.

            Lestrade huffed but was distracted by a detective coming up to him to discuss the cabbie and the circumstances of his death.

            “Sergeant Donovan’s just been explaining everything, the pills. Dreadful business, isn’t it? Dreadful,” said John casually, as if he hadn’t shot a man with incredible skill.

            “Good shot,” said (Y/N), grinning.

            “Yes. Yes, must have been, through that window,” said John, nodding innocently.

            “Well, you’d know,” said Sherlock with a smirk. John stared at him guiltily. “Need to get the powder burns out your fingers. I don’t suppose you’d serve time for this, but let’s avoid the court case.”

            “You doing okay?” asked (Y/N).

            “Yes, of course I’m alright,” replied John.

            “Well, you have just killed a man,” commented Sherlock.

            “Yes, I, well…He wasn’t a very nice man,” stated John.

            “Not at all,” said (Y/N), shaking their head with a shiver at the cold.

            “And frankly a bloody awful cabbie,” remarked John.

            Sherlock began to chuckle as he swung his coat around (Y/N)’s shoulders. “That’s true. He was a bad cabbie. Should have seen the route he took us to get here!”

            (Y/N) stifled a giggle, and John, smothering a laugh himself, said, “Stop! Stop, we can’t giggle, it’s a crime scene!”

            “You’re the one who shot him, not us,” countered (Y/N) with a snort.

            “Sorry, it’s, um, the nerves I think,” said John to Donovan as they hurried away down the street.

            After a few seconds of silence, (Y/N) glanced at Sherlock. “You were…stopping, right? You weren’t going to try the pill, were you?”

            Sherlock shook his head. “No. No, I wasn’t. I almost did, but no, I realized I shouldn’t and put it down.”

            (Y/N)’s face turned relieved. “Okay. Okay, good.”

            “I wasn’t about to risk leaving you with that crazy cabbie,” said Sherlock.

            “Wouldn’t be fun,” said (Y/N), nodding sagely.

            “Dinner?” asked John.

            “Should be almost breakfast time now,” said (Y/N). “I’m starving.”

            “End of Baker Street, there’s a good Chinese place stays open until two. You can always tell a good Chinese place examining the third bottom handle…” Sherlock’s ramble trailed off as John stopped and frowned at a man standing in the shadows.

            “Sherlock, (Y/N), that’s him. That’s the man I was talking to you two about,” said John.

            “We know exactly who that is,” said Sherlock, heading straight over to Mycroft.

            “So, another case cracked. How very public spirited…though that’s never really been your motivation, has it?” said Mycroft with his usual condescension.

            “What‘re you doing here?” asked (Y/N). They were tired and hungry, and everyone kept them from resting and eating.

            “As ever, I’m concerned about you two,” said Mycroft.

            Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’ve been hearing about your ‘concern.’ ”

            “Always so aggressive. Did it ever occur to you that we belong on the same side?” asked Mycroft haughtily.

            “Oddly enough, no,” said Sherlock shortly.

            “We have more in common than you like to believe. This petty feud between us is simply childish. People with suffer,” said Mycroft dramatically.

            “I already do,” muttered (Y/N).

            “And you know how it always upsets Mummy,” finished Mycroft like the strict older brother he was.

            “I upset her?” Sherlock scoffed. “Me? It wasn’t me that upset her, Mycroft.”

            “No, no, wait. Mummy? Who’s Mummy?” asked John, confused.

            “Their mum,” said (Y/N). “That’s Mycroft, Sherlock’s brother. He’s dramatic and annoying.”

            “Putting on weight again?” asked Sherlock pointedly.

            “Losing it, in fact,” retorted Mycroft.

            “He’s your brother?” wondered John in astonishment.

            “Of course he’s my brother,” said Sherlock, still glaring childishly at Mycroft.

            “I thought he was a criminal mastermind,” muttered John.

            “Eh, close enough,” said (Y/N), pulling Sherlock’s coat tighter around them.

            “For goodness sake, I occupy a minor position in the British government,” said Mycroft.

            Liar. He is the British government. How else would someone like Sherlock be allowed to take in a kid and also not send them to school? (Y/N) sighed inwardly. I guess he’s not all bad.

            “He is the British government,” said Sherlock. “When he’s not too busy being the Secret Service or the CIA on freelance basis. Good evening, Mycroft, try not to start a war before we get home. You know what it does to the traffic.”

            Sherlock and (Y/N) walked away from Mycroft, leaving John, who now had a clearer picture, to speak to him for a moment. As the pair of detectives continued forward, (Y/N) glanced at Sherlock.

            “What do you think a Moriarty is?” they asked.

            “No idea.” Sherlock looked at them. “But we’ll find out.”

[amyreadsandstresses]

AMY'S DAILY FIC REC

Hi! It's been a while. Today BBC Sherlock. And since I have given up in keeping this blog as purely Sherlock content, I will return tomorrow with the rest of this rec, that time being mostly Merlin.

First, Sherlock:

*Survivors - tenderly_wicked

2 works, 3k, Sherlock Holmes/Sebastian Moran, Pure Smut, BDSM

Sherlock remembers being strong and cruel. He doesn’t feel like that anymore, but he wants to, desperately so.

*How to Leave Flowers at a Grave - MangoMartini

2k, 1/1, Sherlock Holmes/Sebastian Moran, Series 03, Unrequited Love

At first Sherlock doesn’t say anything. He tries to picture what it would look like explaining everything in this open-air cafe to JohnandMary: oh I’m fine, just texting that lovely Moran chap who used to kill people for Moriarty--you know the one. But there’s something in the scraping of chairs as they move in and out from under tables along with the clatter of ceramic that convinces Sherlock any explanation would end up misheard and misunderstood.

*Irresistible - MangoMartini

2 works, 14k, Sherlock Holmes/Sebastian Moran, yet again sheer smut, Great Hiatus, Second one came with feels and it was lovely

"I feel terribly rude. I haven't introduced myself yet." The man moves his drink to his left hand from his right—right handed, possibly ambidextrous—and extends his right hand to shake Sherlock's. "My name is Colonel Sebastian Moran."

*Invisible Barriers. [Why should it matter?] - arrestjellyfish

1k, 1/1, Johnlock, Trains, Panicking Sherlock, Pre Series 4, Autistic Sherlock Holmes

He could close his eyes and - if he ignored the cold, hard press of the glass against his cheek - he was leaning against John. [Close off the other senses, ignore the mechanical clunking and metallic screeching and the smell of steel and the dirty air.] They could have been in the flat. Just on the sofa. Warm and soft, together. [This feels dangerous.]

Delirium was a perfectly viable diagnosis. [It certainly feels like it.] [What’s wrong with me?]

*A Penny Dreadful - Popcornjones

36k, 12/12, Johnlock, Past John Watson/Mary Morstan, Baby Watson, Amnesia, ANGST, Asperger's Sherlock, TW: Attempted NonCon, Charles Augustus Magnussen, Past Fluff and Present Hurt, Medical Inacurracies, Eventual Happy Ending. Gorgeous.

John wakes in hospital having lost his memory – how does Sherlock explain their life together?

"...he was tall. OF COURSE he was tall. Why couldn't John have a short boyfriend?! (Or a girlfriend! John thought rebelliously. Why couldn't I wake up with a beautiful woman telling me we were TOGETHER together?!)"

*Dailies with Sherlock - Tarvok

8 works, 4k, Johnlock, Autistic Sherlock, Asexual Relationship, Asexual Sherlock

Both poles are equally attracted to the other.

*The Child That Became His Daughter - Lastsyn

WIP, 45k, 22/?, Parentlock, John Makes Questionable Life Choices, After TLD, Rosie Watson, Therapy, Sherlock is a Good Parent

Mary was gone. That much was clear. What wasn't clear to others was why Sherlock was suddenly raising Rosie and why no one had seen John.

*The title of best man - Fangirlmoon

2k, 1/1, Autistic Sherlock, Angst, Mary Morstan/John Watson, Meltdown

Sherlock has a meltdown at Mary’s and John’s wedding.

*give the canvas what it needs - silenceinmolasses

3k, 1/1, A/B/O, Johnlock, Omega Sherlock, Poetic Prose, Explicit Sexual Content, Self-Discovery

“You might have made the world, but the world has no claims on you.”

*The Grit on the Lens - Silvergirl

1k, 1/1, Johnlock, Sherlock has emotions, First Time, Short and lovely

I remember the night I finally called Sherlock on his “high-functioning sociopath” nonsense. I’d long ago made him stop describing himself like that, trotting out a quotation I'd rehearsed from a medical journal debunking the categorisation. But he still denied having emotions, until one November night I exploded.

*soft as silk, stronger than silk - fabricdragon

4 works, 80k, The third is incomplete but the first two are amazing, Sebastian Moran/Sherlock Holmes/Jim Moriarty, Molly Hooper/Jim Moriarty, Autistic Sherlock, Cool John, Cool Mycroft, Cool Anthea, Everyone is great, BDSM, Past Abuse and NonCon for some characters

Some very not good people are doing very not good things, which forces Sebastian Moran and Sherlock Holmes to work together.

*I'll Show You Mine - witchry9

3k, 2/2, Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Greg Lestrade, AU, Autistic Sherlock

Some people have writing on their wrists and some don't. The problem is to not let it define you.

*full of you - threadoflife

1k, 1/1, Johnlock, Angst, Infant Death, Loss

John didn't react to his daughter's death for months.

*Coffee Black and Egg White - monkiainen

1k, 1/1, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Color Blindness

They said the world was full of colours.

*The Adventure of the Straw House - realisaonum

2 works, 16k, Sherlock Holmes/Jim Moriarty, Angst, Ghosts

In which after the Fall, Sherlock is haunted, literally.

*An Acquired Taste - kinklock

31k, 4/4, Johnlock, Vampire Sherlock, Humor and Fluff, So Good

At Montague Street when Sherlock was forced to sate his body’s needs, he was at least able to wander about the flat as much as he pleased.

At Baker Street, it was mini-bags in a mini-fridge and bedroom confinement.

*Tattered - SrebrnaFH

15k, 6/6, Johnlock, Mycroft Holmes, Mummy Holmes, Wingfic, Hurt John, Hurt Sherlock, Past Abuse, Mostly Fluffy though

John visits Baker Street without any warning and gets an eyeful.

*Living Proof - Tenthsun

14k, 5 works, Incomplete Sheriarty, DARK FIC, R/NonCon, Mpreg, Molly Hooper, The first one is pretty graphic but after that it gets less so

Jim Moriarity DID owe Sherlock a fall. But Sherlock should know better than to take him quite so literally…

*Imagines Moti - SwissMiss

4 works, 9k, Johnlock, Tattoos, Magical Realism

The stories of our lives are written on our skin.

*A Waste of Breath - Atisenia

2k, 1/1, Johnlock, Magic, Muteness, First Kiss

Since he was a child, Sherlock has only been able to speak when no one could hear him. And now, something else is happening to his throat.

*Command Structure - 221b_hound

49k, 16/16, Johnlock, BDSM, PTSD, Post Reich, Hurt/Comfort, Dom/Sub, Enthusiastic Consent

Sherlock Holmes returns from his hunt to destroy Moriarty's network. He comes home to John, and at long last they start this thing between them that couldn't begin while Moriarty threatened them.

But Sherlock has returned fractured and suffering anxiety attacks. He thinks he needs discipline - the whip - to help him focus and be strong. But his problems are deeper and run back to a childhood of neglect.

John Watson is prepared to be Sherlock's Captain, but he's a doctor too. His command style isn't about pain and subjugation. It's about care and responsibility: and those concepts go in both directions in Captain Watson's command structure.

*Days on End - irisbluefic

720w, 1/1, Johnlock, Loss, Neurodiversity, PTSD, Stunning

It's more than either of them should have hoped for, but John had known in the instant Sherlock had looked to him for approval that he wasn't alone in the hope that they'd live to tell their story. Sherlock had fired, then, and all hell had broken loose. John prefers not to think about the Yard's crushing losses, or half-dragging an injured Sherlock from smouldering rubble, or the fact that Moriarty had escaped.

They're alive, and Sherlock hasn't spoken in a fortnight.

*silence - justjoy

1k, 1/1, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Muteness

He nods at Angelo with a smile when the latter comes to greet them, customary candle in hand; John has long since given up protesting at all against it, and it's an admittedly nice gesture on Angelo's part. Besides, he's not going to complain. Not when Sherlock earns glares and curious looks if they go anywhere else, from people who'd read and believed the news that had sensationalised the entire incident mercilessly.

*In My Time of Dying - twsiting_vine_x

10k, 1/1, Johnlock, Angst, Smutt, Mental Health Issues, Permanent Injury

John Watson walks into his apartment to find an apparition sitting at the kitchen table. After that, they start trying to put their lives back together.

*The River Variation - withoutawish

11k, 1/1, Johnlock, Hurt/Comfort, Near Death, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort

John Watson never knew that he wanted a ‘no toast in the mornings’ normal until he realized what an honor it is to be destroyed by Sherlock Holmes.

*To Sleep, Perchance to…Cuddle - nerdyandiknowit

1k, 1/1, Johnlock, Cuddle, Fluff

Almost immediately after they got together Sherlock formed this dependency on John-he could not (or would not as John believes) sleep without John being there, in bed, next to him. Sherlock has perfected the art of molding himself entirely to John's body. Every now and again John will attempt a Houdini like escape, but he has mostly resigned himself to the fact that Sherlock would use him for a life sized teddy bear. Well resigned isn't really the word, and even though John will never admit it, he always looks forward to this time he gets to spend with Sherlock.

*Five Times John Cooked Something with Peas and One First Kiss - 221b_careful_what_you_wish_for

3k, 1/1, Johnlock, Fluff, Romance, First Kiss, Domestic

After John cooks five dinners that slowly reveal their hunger for each other, Sherlock and John finally share a first kiss.

*So, this is normal for us now? - TooManyChoices

2k, 1/1, Johnlock, Fluff, Sharing a Bed

John and Sherlock have been sharing a flat, and a life for some time. This is a story of how the glacially slow movement of their relationship makes another agonising crawl forward another inch.

*Loving John Watson - Spark_writer

2k, 1/1, Johnlock, Second Person, Fallin in Love

You discover early on that you want him. Maybe even the very day you meet.

*Longing - belovedmuerto

3k, 1/1, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Pining

Sherlock Holmes longs.

*Camera Obscura - cellardoors

7k, 1/1, Johnlock, Photography, Romance, Smut

John takes up a photography. Sherlock is not pleased.

*Sink Like a Stone - pennydreadful

4k, 1/1, Johnlock, Angst and Fluff, Kissing, Cuddling

After defeating Moriarty at the pool, life isn't quite the same around 221B Baker Street...it's more peaceful. And stranger.

*Daemon - jamlocked

11k, 4/4, Sheriarty, Mycroft Holmes, AU, SO GOOD

'It starts, as everything does, with a birth.

Not a normal birth.'

*Swift, Fierce & Obscene - J_Baillier

7k, 4/4, Johnlock, Angst, HIV, Post Series 4, Rosie Watson, Illness, Hurt/Comfort

Every morning, he lets out a rattled breath of relief because John doesn't know yet; he can still pretend everything hasn't changed.

*Watch with Glittering Eyes - OldestSnake

2k, 3/3, Johnlock, Wicca, Trans Sherlock, Really nice and good

First came the thistle, pots and pots of it around his door and windows, to remind him to stay strong. Then coltsfoot and ivy on his tables, counters and even the few chairs that Mycroft had somehow snuck in before Sherlock moved in. Finally, he filled his bedroom with daisies, lavender, marjoram, marigolds, and more to fill his infrequent dreams with hope, strength and to remind him of the simplicity of the days he spent on the creekside during his youth.

Guys, never let me take this long to update again. There are so many fics, here and in PART TWO, which I had to make, bc I was going insane... anyways, enjoy this set, I'll be back soon with the rest :)

[musingsofmyown]

  “John, I’m sorry, I really am, I didn’t-”

  “No, you didn’t think, you didn’t consider anything, Sherlock, just like you always do.”

  It had been a heated argument between them, Sherlock interrupting yet another date but this time not because he was bored or just wanting to bother John, even though that’s how the doctor saw it, it was because Sherlock missed his company. At the moment, the consulting detective was trying to explain that he just wanted John to be around so he could have someone to talk to, but John was blowing it out of proportion, though rightly so considering their track record and Sherlock interrupting his dates.

  “Please, just allow me to explain myself-”

  “I don’t want to hear it, okay? I’m done with your excuses-”

  “I missed you!” Sherlock bursted,”I have been alone in this flat for two weeks, you get back and not even 15 hours later, you’re leaving again for a date! I know I’m not the best company, and I know you don’t have an obligation to be around here with me, but for once, I would like for someone to account for how I’m doing.”

  Sherlock’s sudden outburst rendered John nearly speechless,”You… missed me.”

  “Yes, John, I missed you, your presence, knowing you’re in the background, and that you’re just… there. I was alone for the two weeks you were at that conference, nobody came by, Mrs. H is okay company, but she can only do so much. Lestrade had no cases, never even texted, Molly hasn’t talked to me, I haven’t opened the doors to clients. I’ve just been… here.”

  “Christ Sherlock, I’m sorry... I didn’t realise how lonely you were. I thought you liked it, beling left to your own devices.”

  “Sure, it was nice for the first couple of days, but it became dreadful all too fast,”He rubbed the back of his head,”In hindsight, maybe disturbing your date wasn’t the best way to express this, but I meant well.”

  John uncrossed his arms and let them hang at his sides,”Stand up.”

 “Wha-”

  “Stand up, Sherlock, please?” He gave him his best puppy eyes.

  Reluctantly, the taller man stood in front of John. The doctor stepped a little closer, then pulled his friend into a hug. Sherlock was hesitant to return it at first, but soon wrapped his arms around John in kind.

  “I’m sorry for not taking your feelings into consideration Sherlock,”He apologised, muffled by the taller man’s suit jacket,”Just, let me know that you’re lonely next time instead of saying ‘I require your presence immediately, leave that boring date’ okay?”

  “Right, okay,”Sherlock squeezed one more time before letting go and backing up,”Thank you, for understanding.”

  “Of course Sherlock, despite what you say, you are human, flesh, blood, feelings, all the gross inner workings,”He joked,”You know what? No more dates or interruptions for the next few weeks. Just me and you, no matter how bloody annoyed you get.”

  “You don’t have to John-”

  “No, let me, you’re my best friend and I’ve abandoned you one too many times,”John smiled,”I’d like to make that up.”

  “I- okay, yeah, that sounds nice.”

[educatedinyellow]

Rec list: Only One

The other day I was thinking about some stories I’ve loved over the years that represent their author’s only fic within a particular fandom. Specifically, I was thinking how happy I am that these writers stopped by and made something wonderful on their way, and I wanted to celebrate that!

Fandom: BBC Sherlock

Make Whole What Has Been Smashed by gigantic. This is such a moving and beautiful magical realism fic, one of my favorites. "Don't look at me that way, John. Blank stares are already a dreadful reminder of how hopeless other people are," Sherlock said. "Since most people aren't maintaining a home with Merlin living backwards, I think I'm doing alright at going with it so far," John said.

Space Travel by candle_beck. This author has written a number of Holmes fics in the Ritchie!verse, but this was their only Sherlock fic. Their use of extended metaphor and lyrical imagery is breathtaking. I would literally cross light-years for you, if someone would only give me a spaceship.

Wait by roseselavy. This is the author’s one and only fic on AO3. I enjoy its complexity of characterization and its nuanced exploration of Sherlock’s addiction and its impact on his ambiguous understanding of his own sexuality. The writing style captures me every time, so sharply observant and insightful. Liberal arts AU. Sherlock Holmes is a reclusive literary writer in need of a flatmate after burning through his latest book advance, John Watson is midway through a PhD in art history.

Wherein There Is a Case, Several Mysteries, John Coming to the Rescue, and an Old Folk Saying by parsnips (trifles). A wonderful fic in which Sherlock is kidnapped and John has to rise to the occasion and solve the case. Whimsically funny, cleverly plotted, and joyfully romantic -- it’s a winner. There are three mysteries to living with Sherlock Holmes. 

Almost Normal by Jackson_Rayne. One of those ‘from sex to love’ fics that excels in poker-faced romance. John is inscrutable, Sherlock is out of his depth, everything is done in the wrong order, and yet somehow they end up with something almost normal.

Honorable Mentions: BBC Sherlock Authors With Only Two Fics

The Strait of Juan de Fuca by mightypog. This take on a Johnlock post-Reichenbach reunion is one of my favorites in that crowded genre. Sherlock is back and all seems forgiven, but something is missing between him and John. Their friendship initially appears intact, but Sherlock doesn't understand why John seems to be slipping away. Finally, in terror, he tries to reconnect with John by taking him to the one place that seems to inspire any emotional interest in John any more: the Canadian wilderness. While there, Sherlock faces his greatest fear.

that thing you like by misspamela. A sparkling fic that deftly juggles a lot of tropes -- meet the parents, first time, holiday fic -- to create a well-characterized delight. Written way back in the mists of time, by which I mean 2010. "Happy Christmas, etc. etc." 

There Is No Death by lyricalprose (fairylights). A wonderful Star Wars AU that knocked my socks off when I first read it. "He's a freak, you know." Donovan's sneer bleeds into her voice. "A Jedi washout. Such a nutter that even the damn mystics didn't want him." John and Sherlock - a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away.

Suite for Violin and Clarinet by AwkwardAnnie. This writer has also dipped into a more obscure Holmesian fandom -- Sherlock Holmes in the 22nd Century! -- but in the realm of BBC Sherlock, she has posted this oneshot and a drabble collection. I’ve always been fond of this one, where Sherlock and John work out their feelings through shared music. John finds a clarinet in a charity shop and discovers that some things are better said with music. Eventual Sherlock/John.

Other Holmesian Fandoms

A Study in Midnight by M_Leigh. Set in Neil Gaiman’s Emerald ‘verse. It is compulsively well-written with rug-pull plot twists that literally made me scream, and it features what is quite possibly my favorite Watson narrative voice of all time. An irresistible story. In a world dominated by an alien monarchy, criminals Sherlock Holmes and John Watson work to take down the royal establishment while detective James Moriarty and his associate Sebastian Moran try to track them down. Also featuring by Irene Adler and Roderick Maclean, who did in fact exist. AU based on Neil Gaiman's phenomenal short story "A Study in Emerald."

The Seventeenth Page Affliction by EmmyAngua. This author has written many Sherlock fics, but only ventured once into ACD Holmes fic, and the result was amazing. Of particular note is the unique antagonist of this tale, who shows what great damage can be done even completely without malice. I was ever curious as to the thoughts of my friend, and in the years that followed I puzzled over that moment. His face was so severe, so preoccupied that I knew at once that this case would be either a most intriguing story for my readers or one I never dared to retell.

SPN

There’s Only One Sure Thing That I Know by blinkiesays. The perfect domesticity fic, with a premise so brilliantly simple and funny. Dean doesn't even get halfway through explaining before Bobby starts laughing. When he lets himself think about it for more than five seconds, Dean can almost see Bobby's point: he's faced down demons, witches, vampires, werewolves, ghosts, angels, and Satan himself and now he's been defeated by the God damn Midwest.

The Last Moonlight Serenade by gankyourdarlings. A *fantastic* WWII AU, where somehow pilot!Cas and submarine!captain!Dean keep on meeting in the middle. It's the night before 1945 and Honolulu is celebrating like flipping the calendar is all it'll take to end this thing and send everybody home. Makes for one hell of a party. But it's been a long war, getting longer, and Dean Winchester stopped pinning his hopes on anything a long time ago. Then, as the clock ticks down to the new year, he finds himself in the company of a grounded fighter pilot. All of a sudden, maybe there's something to look forward to.

The Chain by EquestrianStatue. A wonderful Endverse fic, heart-breaking and hopelessly devoted just as these two should be. “Me and you,” Dean blurts out. “We’re— we… ” When Dean doesn’t finish the question, Cas gives him a long, level look, and then he says, “Not in a while.”

devotional by carverism. A worshipful glimpse of early-seasons Castiel falling in love. I’m not here to perch, Castiel had said, once upon a time. Laughable, now.

Miscellaneous Fandoms

Gentle Antidote by x_los. My personal favorite Wimsey fic, a wonderful re-imagining of Peter and Harriet’s first meeting in a world where society is organized around the prospect of soulmates. Harriet’s narrative voice is superb. At twenty-one, Harriet Vane gets her Name. It's rather longer than she expected.

Five Times Barbara Grahame Smiled (And One Time She Didn’t) by goshemily. This is the rarest of gems: a fic for Barbara/Peaceable from my beloved Sherwood Ring! (a novel for which the total number of fanworks on AO3 is less than 10). How extraordinarily lucky, then, to have this one, which flits through a collection of alternate universes with concise and dazzling imagination. Truly excellent writing for a couple who will forever be close to my heart. “I imagine you often get away with things.” The quirk of his lips, too familiar already. She smiles, brief. “I do.”

Window by katyabaturinsky. A quietly joyful Man From UNCLE fic in which we get to know Illya through the eyes of his aging Franco-Russian neighbor in New York. It was the hair that first attracted her attention. She supposed he heard that often.

Ladies Who Organise by reckonedrightly. An excellent Discworld AU with a genderswapped Vetinari. Bonus points for very interesting characterization of Sybil, plus glimpses of Rosie Palm and Lady Margolotta. “A woman,” Roberta Meserole had said once, lighting a long black cigarette with a silver lighter, “hides in plain sight. Visibility, Haveline, is our most important asset—” She looked up. Around. “Haveline,” she said, “that is not funny.”  Or, how Ankh-Morpork acquired its first female Patrician very, very quietly.

[consult-sherlockholmes]

Okay I’m just gonna go ahead and do everyone a favour and say it cos the poor guy (that’s you, Sherlock) has no idea.

John kissed you because he wanted to and he likes you in a romantic way so get your head back on and your pants off for goodness sake.

You’re bloody denser than cheese

What you are saying doesn't make any sense. My head is on. And why should I take my pants off? It’s impossible for John to feel that way, as he is already in a relationship with boring annoying dreadful Charlie. In fact it’s impossible for anyone to feel that way about me. 

And it depends on the kind of diary product as the densities vary, but overall they don't possess a high density anyway. So I am not dense either.