#Sherlock Holmes imagines

[married-to-google-translater]

So if this don't bother you, you would write about William and Sherlock with a y/n as smart as them but incredible lazy

You don't bother me <3

Sherlock Holmes

You really intrigued Sherlock.

You two met each other at some fancy party.

Sherlock recognized your intelligence right away, but not you as a person.

He would think that with those intellectual gifts you would have recognition.

However, Sherlock was wrong.

Probably the first time in years.

Sherlock would spend almost all of his time with you.

You would talk about a lot of things and have a good time.

When Sherlock got back home he would start investigating you more.

Watson might think you're some level of criminal...

Sherlock was so passionate about his research.

The first meeting will definitely not be the only one.

Eventually, friendship would lead to dating.

Good luck with Sherlock, you're going to need it.

You two would have intelligent conversations every now and then.

Sherlock might try to bribe you to help him with his detective work.

The success rate of this would be variable lol

William James Moriarty

William met you on the first day at the flower shop.

At first he was just going to get some seeds for Fred's garden.

However, things had not gone as he had planned.

You two would get into a really interesting conversation.

William noticed right away that you are smarter than you look.

However, this could cause problems for him.

At first this was William's explanation for observing you.

However, soon you two would start dating.

William would probably never directly reveal his plans to you.

He would quietly ask you about it.

If you show the same spirit, William could reveal his plans at some point.

This would also provide an interesting challenge.

William would try his best to be as unsuspicious as possible.

Every day he would be grateful for your laziness.

One Sherlock is a solid opposition, but two Sherlocks would really be too much.

[fandom-imagines]

Awkward Confessions

Fandom: Sherlock

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Warnings: Awkward Sherlock

Sherlock was many things. Some were good, some were bad, some were… interesting, but if there was one thing that Sherlock was absolutely terrible at, it would be admitting feelings. That much became obvious as he stood in front of Y/N, the object of his affection, attempting to express his feelings for her.

“Sherlock?” She asked. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, just be quiet for a minute.” Came his response.

“All right?” She was confused, it was pretty obvious to anyone. Sherlock never looked this awkward.”

“There’s something I need to say, something I should say…” He began, unsure where he was going with this. He lost his trail of thought the moment she looked at him with her wide and worried eyes; they were beautiful. “I know I’m… me, and I’m not exactly the most likeable person in the entire world. I’m rude, blunt, and a smartass, but…”

“There’s no need to put yourself down so much, Sher,” she sighed, shaking her head at his insulting words.

“I thought I told you to be quiet!” He rolled his eyes, shaking his head as she laughed and apologised.

“What I’m trying to say is… I like you. Don’t ask me why because I have no idea why, you’re a moron.”

Y/N burst into giggles at the final sentence. “That was so cute, at least until you called me a moron.” She smiled, stepping towards the, now blushing, man. Lifting herself onto her toes, Y/N placed a gentle kiss on his cheek.

“Don’t worry, I like you too, even if I am a moron.”

[frost-queen]

Upon a nightly walk //part 2 (Reader!Bridgerton x Sherlock Holmes)

Requested by: anon, Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex–awesome–22 @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly@denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco@subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @melsunshine

Summary: Having fallen asleep at Sherlock's home after his drunk night. You have to rush home, hoping no one would find out about your nightly adventures of roaming the streets of London. Will anyone find out or can you sneak back in unseen? < read part 1 & part 3 >

Slowly your eyes started to open at the morning glow. A soft light peeking through the curtains. Inhaling deep, you rolled onto your back, stretching your arm out. Squealing a bit. What a lovely dream you had. A warm touch had cherished you. Brushed against your cheek. A yearning your heart desired in your dreams. Someone that loved you, look after you. Hold you into their arms and whisper sweet words of love.

Stand between the cruel world and your dreams and hopes. Offering you protection, love, ambition, and pleasure. Not to be one’s wife for one purpose of breeding. It was the loveliest dream you had. Flickering your eyes open, you slowly got up. Blinking slowly as your brows furrowed. These were not your curtains nor your walls. Looking down these were not your blankets nor pillows.

The sound of something happening outside your door, startled you. It made you jump out of bed, hurrying away from the door. Muffled sounds on the other end of the door frightened you. Seeing a candleholder on the nightstand, you took it. Holding it high as you carefully stepped up to the door. Taking the handle in your hand, you took a deep breath.

From underneath the door, you saw a shadow move across. Clear to you that someone else was around. You waited a few seconds before opening the door. You stormed out, candleholder in the ready as you took a swing. – “Whoah there!” – Sherlock called out, ducking down just in time, and grabbing you by your wrist to stop you from taking another swing. – “Sherlock?” – you called out confused.

He moved your wrist down, holding a gentle hand in front of him. – “Yes it is me, Miss Bridgerton.” – he reassured you. He let go of your wrist, pulling his vest straight. You looked around, trying to recall how you found yourself here. – “This is your home?” – you questioned out loud. – “Yes.” – Sherlock answered with a deep hum. He watched as you looked curiously around as if seeing it for the first time.

“Miss Bridgerton, you… you do remember how you got here do you?” – he asked wanting to be sure. You paused, frowning deep. – “I was out for a walk.” – you started pacing around. – “Then I…” – your eyes widened. – “I stumbled upon you… drunk.” – pointing at him. – “Not my finest moment.” – Sherlock replied. – “You brought me home Miss Bridgerton, remember?”

You nodded remembering it. It made Sherlock sigh relieved. For a moment he wasn’t sure which one of the two had been drinking for this memory loss to occur. – “Feeling any better?” – you asked, moving a bit closer. He nodded. – “All thanks to your care Miss Bridgerton.” – he smiled, fond of the memories of last night. How pleased he was his mind was careful enough to store the events of last night to his memory and not forget about it.

You started chuckling remembering his drunken state. – “Am I that amusing to you?” – he said quirking his eyebrow up. – “Yes, my lord.” – you replied. Eyes caught with his, staring lost at each other for a moment. – “Would… would you like some tea?” – he whispered, taking a step closer to you. You nodded, drawn closer to him. He opened his hand, offering it to you. You raised your hand up, to place it in his when the sound of a carriage riding on the cobble stones made you pull back.

Eyes wide at the horror that was awaiting you. – “My brothers.” – you exclaimed worried. – “I…they have no idea I disappeared last night. What would they do? What would they say?” – you wondered, panicking a bit. You were pacing once again with worry. Gasping loud, you came to a sudden realization. – “I staid here? What will they say if they find out I spend the night here with you. I would be locked up? Send away? Killed?” – you spewed out with terror.

“Miss Bridgerton, Miss Bridgerton.” – Sherlock tried to intervene, but you had no ears for it. – “Y/n!” – he shouted loudly, catching for sure your attention. He took a deep breath to compose himself. – “Your brothers will not end your precious and beautiful life.” – he reassured you. – “I…” – he took another breath. – “It might not to be too late. If I escort you home now, you could be home without anyone knowing.

It is still early. Very early as no noblemen is yet awake.” – he explained with a suggestion. It took you a few seconds to let it sink in. – “Can I? Will it be effective?” – you asked. Sherlock nodded, plucking your hand from beside your body. – “It will. If you trust me.” – he said, staring down at you. – “I trust you.” – you breathed out, your body almost drawn to be in contact with his. He brought your hand up, drawing circles with his thumb. – “Tea shall be for another time.” – he spoke losing himself in your gaze.

“Pity…” – you whispered drawing your head nearer to his. Sherlock was tempted to lean in as well and touch your lips. Yet he held back, knowing time was of the essence. – “We must leave Miss Bridgerton.” – he said, moving away. You nodded, following him downstairs. Out of his home. Sherlock walked you up to his carriage, assisting you inside. – “Bridgerton estate.” – he told the footman before joining you in the carriage.

He sat across from you. The memories from last night slowly slipping through. How you held his hand. Him resting his head on your shoulder, yet also the other parts. Where you had to shove him in the carriage as he was beyond himself. Drowsy from alcoholism. It made you move your hands between your thighs in the folds of your dress. Flustered of last nights ride. Sherlock briefly looked at you before turning his gaze away to outside.

Not wanting to embarrass you or himself in any matter. He truly felt ashamed for acting like such a fool in your presence. He hoped you wouldn’t think any less of him. – “Miss Bridgerton I…” – he started, feeling the need to explain his last night behavior. He kept his next words in seeing you had raised your hand. – “My lord, an explanation is not in order. You would’ve had your reasons. All I care about is that you are well.” – you told him.

Sherlock smiled, wondering how you could keep surprising him. – “You are a remarkable lady Miss Bridgerton.” – he complimented. – “Do believe me that you hold a special place in my heart.” – he moved a hand to his chest with a comforting nod. It made you bashful, warming up. – “As do you.” – you whispered, turning your head for if you stared any longer at him, you might catch fire.

Your heart started to thump louder when the carriage rode into your street. The anxiety of sneaking back into the house, drumming loudly in your chest. The carriage came to a stop, making you take a deep breath. – “Shall I escort you to the door?” – Sherlock asked. You shook your head. – “This is mine to do alone.” – you replied, moving closer to the door of the carriage. So did Sherlock. – “I look forward to that tea.” – he told you. – “So do I.” – you answered.

The door opened as Sherlock gave you his hand, helping you out. You stepped away from the carriage, looking back at him. Sherlock kept staring, not wanting to leave yet. You turned round, taking a few steps when the door opened. – “Y/n Y/m/n Bridgerton!” – Anthony called out, rushing out of the door. Followed by Benedict and Colin. It had startled you, making you drop down, sitting crouched. Sherlock’s eyes widened at the sight of your brothers.

He signaled to his footman to take a leave. The carriage took off just before Benedict could reach it and open the door. He had run past Anthony towards the carriage, ready to pull him out. – “Don’t think I didn’t see you Sherlock!” – Benedict shouted with a warning finger. Anthony grabbed you by the arm, pulling you up roughly. – “Inside!” – he ordered, dragging you along.

He dragged you to father’s old study, followed by Colin and Benedict. – “Where have you been?!” – he shouted, setting you down on the chair. You wanted to answer, but closed your mouth when he set his hands on the chair’s railing, staring down with a scowl. – “Disappearing into the night, wandering the streets! Do you have any idea how dangerous that was!” – he said loudly. – “Not to mention what you were doing at Sherlock’s!” – Colin interfered. – “I wasn’t…” – you said in defense.

“So what? You slept on the streets is that it Y/n?” – Benedict called out; arms crossed. – “No!” – you replied. – “So you were with him?” – Benedict answered setting his hands on the desk. – “Yes but…” – you said, your brothers scoffing loud in agony and frustration. – “Nothing happened if that is what you fear.” – you told them. – “I stumbled upon him and brought him home. I didn’t mean to fall asleep there, but I assure you nothing has happened that could ruin my reputation. Our reputation.” – you made clear.

“That is not the point Y/n!” – Anthony said, grabbing you by the arms, pulling you out of the chair. – “You went out alone in the dark! If you were in anyway harmed? I…I” – he squeezed your arms tighter. – “I do not require another month of mourning Y/n!” – he said loudly. You nodded softly. – “Apologies… I wasn’t thinking.” – you responded. – “Clearly!” – Colin pointed out. The bitterness in his voice made you regret everything in an instant.

Anthony let go of you, looking away. – “This has not come to an end yet! You will face the consequences of your actions.” – he warned you. You tried looking at your brothers, but they avoided your gaze. Truly disappointed in you. With nothing else to do but apologize and beg for forgiveness, you lowered your head. – “I am deeply sorrowed.” – you said.

You walked past Anthony who couldn’t even give you a look. Benedict too did not grant you a look. Arms crossed as he forced himself to not look upon you. You moved past him nearer to Colin, who kept looking at the ground. When you attempted to meet his gaze, he turned his posture, back towards you. Deeply saddened, you left the study, making your way upstairs to have a cry in your room.

------------------------------

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!  

[imeternallylove]

Cloud Covered - S.Holmes

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Warning: Graphics of violence, torture of dead and plenty of more brutality

Word: approx 3.5k

main mastetlist  | request & ask | prompts | theme song

Chapters index

Bloodbath (you are reading this) | Marionette | Invisible Strings

It's an abominable to see. 

Two victims were strewn on the floor, and one was hanging upside down. Blood is spilled as far as the eye can perceive, staining both the walls and the ceiling, creating a gruesome bloodfield scene. The odour in the air is revolting.

"My god," Sherlock hears you gasp next to him, shaken by the sight. He doesn't blame you; it's beyond anything he's ever seen, and he can easily say he's been in some gruesome crime scenes in the course of his job.

But his concerned against one another continues to be and before proceeding and allowing his own inquiry to begin, a gentle hand grips his partner's shoulder and he leans close. "Wait outside," he asserts that reassuring squeezed into your shoulder. He watches as you give a nod giving one final startled glance around his surroundings before turning around and going towards the police outside the warehouse's closed doors.

Sherlock returned his concentration to the crime scene only when you were close enough to the door, taking his first steps ahead and closer to the corpses. He crouches close the first, his sombre stare fixed on the horrified, wide-eyed look of the dead body, apprehension from his final moments on earth imprinted on his soulless eyes.

Only a few details emerge from his solitary observations: the corpses are soaked in their own blood, concealing any wounds or scars. Before handling the bodies in the mortuary, Sherlock always waits to meet them. He argues that people should look with their eyes, not their hands, because hands are awkward and untidy, and dragging their fingers across a flawless crime scene ruins so many aspects.

Many facts can be deduced by Sherlock with a single glance at a person, object, or scenario without even moving a muscle.

He takes his time studying the bodies and their ravaged faces, capturing everything in his memory and safely storing it for future use. It takes him twenty minutes in that stinky warehouse to be satisfied with his mental notes, and he turns to leave, his own feet leaving faint bloody prints behind from how dirty the floor was.

Once outside, he nods to the fellow officers, indicating that he has finished his studies and that the bodies may be taken away for further investigation before making his approach towards you, who appeared to be preoccupied in a hushed conversation with two police officers and a witness.

When they notice Sherlock's arrival, both officers leave, assuming it was time to get back to work. "How do I address you?" Sherlock asks the witness, a youngster of the same height as himself, pretty directly.

"James. McGuigan, James." The boy responds calmly, despite the fact that he, too, is visibly shaken by the circumstances.  Sherlock took note of every expression he made. "I was just telling the officers that I have no idea what happened here," he adds, casting a furtive glance towards the warehouse before returning his attention to Sherlock. "I was going for a morning jog when I saw all the blood, so I immediately called the police."

"You did well," Sherlock replies, his hands in the pockets of his long coat. He casts a glance at you, who returns his stare with a begging look to leave the location within as little time as possible. "Do you usually go for a jog around here?"

"Yes," the boy says, nodding. "It's serene in here, and there's plenty of space." I went here this morning as well, and there was no blood."

Sherlock's brow furrows slightly, allowing the witness's comments to enter. "Interesting," he says, though you groan at his uncommon habit, he speaking slowly and attentively before nodding. There's nothing else to listen to, so there's no time to waste. "I'm sure you've had enough of the cops.” Sherlock steps towards to the boy, “thank you for your time with us." He gracefully lowers his head,  hand finding your back to stroke against before departing and tugging the shorter along; which meant you. 

You take out your phone and dial your friend's number; it takes a few moments for her to answer. "Hey, Molly." You greet with large exhaustion. "Have your toys arrived?"

The mortuary room, shall be you both next stop.

"Jeff Hewlett, Vincent Mcbride, and Reynard Hall." Molly says it with her arms crossed across her chest and an uncomfortable expression on her face, as if corpses still frightened her despite years of working in a mortuary. "Vincent and Jeff are siblings, not sure how Reynard falls into the picture."

Despite hearing Molly's remarks, Sherlock remains silent, leaning over Reynard's corpse and studying. The bodies had all been cleaned of blood, and the cause was clear; they had all been shot, albeit no bullets were recovered in them or at the warehouse.

"Jeff and Vincent have been dead for a while." Molly speaks up once more, watching as he moves on to Vincent's body. "I'd guess two days. Perhaps three."

"But our witness said there was nothing in the warehouse yesterday." You ponder during where you stood against the wall, brow furrowed, looking, waiting, having never been fond of mortuary space.

“Indeed,” Sherlock straightens himself up. “Only Reynard was killed there. Whoever did it painted us a whole show to make it seem like all three murders happened at the same time, in the same place.”

You pucker up, your weary face tilting. "But why?"

"Why not?" Sherlock retorts. "Perhaps it was a warning for Reynard, showing him Jeff's corpse as a threat. He wasn't given a choice, however. The killer definitely wanted him dead as well. It was most likely a game for their own entertainment, as well as an opportunity to leave a magnificent crime scene behind with all that splattered blood."

You ponder, your mind already absence. "Bloody Hell..."

"I wouldn't use the word magnificent to describe such a bloody scene." Molly mutters, breathes deeply, and shakes her head slightly. "In any case, there's more. Check their chests."

Sherlock doesn't need to be told once more, yanking at the white sheet that covers the rest of the dead. His brows furrow and he leans in, curious.

"What on earth is it?" You ask yourself, moving closer.

"All three bodies have the letter J carved on the left side of their chest." Molly adds this as she uncovers the two more bodies, displaying the same wounds that Sherlock saw with a little magnifying glass.

"Beautiful," Sherlock thinks to himself as he walks up to examine Reynard's scar. "The murderer left his imprint... He wants everyone to know that he did it. It's another jeopardy a warning that this could be a case for a serial killer."

The proprietor of the mortuary room frowns. "You should tone down your enthusiasm for murd-"

"Collect their files and bring them to me. All three of them." Sherlock commands, straightening his back and walking towards you, his arm wrapping across your shorter shoulders to urge you along. "I need to do some research."

Things were finally getting fascinating around there.

Shouting out the route out of Sherlock's flat to take you home. "Jeff and Vincent were cousins," he recalls fast as the outcome of his momentous laboratory spills out, loud enough to alarms you, half-sleeping from the passenger seat window.

You two share a knowing, amused gaze as a bright shade of pink sweeps across your cheeks after his delicate smooch on your hairline. "The entire thing could have been a family issue, a misunderstanding- but then you have Reynard, eh? Who appears to have no connection to them. However," Sherlock says, raising his finger. "According to my research, Vincent and Jeff were in a relationship. This could be a love problem instead, but it's still strange because of the cousins."

"Ugh, please. Don't tell me it was about illicit bromance like old fashioned in 70' European," you counsel with a smile. And your comment made him snort next to you.

"This J is dropping hints, which indicates that they intend to return. But if they don't, we can rely on your brilliant cousin illicit bromance concept." You can't stop yourself from laughing. Till you realize what he implied then your smile faded: "Are you trying to say we supposed wait for someone else to die before going after this 'J' ?” Your brow furrows in bewilderment.

“Exactly.” Sherlock gives a short, innocent smile. "God! Sherlock Holmes, that’s bloody nonsense. What's we need to do is avoid the next victim, not waiting and enjoying it!" You shout out as he turns right, leaving you dumbfounded. 

Your water is just starting to boil when Sherlock asks, "-so what about steak and your fondness for wine?"

"Huh," you keep staring out the window, knowing he's only attempting to loosen you by addressing the food topic, and the only response you gave him was the muttering in rage. "Nah, I saw plenty of blood today."

"We're going to have burger for dinner," Sherlock replies hastily. "There will be no more second thoughts."

“Fries, also”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You were about going over soda when Sherlock's phone started ringing. He urged him to slow down his car and search his trousers pocket for the device. He frowned at the number as you gazed upon him doubtfully, then slid his thumb to the green button. "—Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock stared down at the body, and the body stared back to him.

"She was discovered exactly like this an hour ago." The officer from the local police department explained. "She drowned and washed up on shore, but we called you because she has the letter J carved on her. We do believe you are familiar with this."

Sherlock shut his eyes and exhaled slowly. He'd been overly confident, certain that he'd put the pieces of the puzzle together, that he'd tied all the traces together and located the real victim the murderer was looking for.

And now this - an elderly woman and she defies the men-only pattern, has no ties to any of the previous cases, and smashes Sherlock's assumptions and inferences in the blink of an eye.

And Sherlock is never, ever wrong with his predictions.

He feels your palm on his arm, a delicate tug of reassurance, of comfort, but he brushes it aside and walks to kneel over the body. You shake your head at the others, signalling that Sherlock needs a bit of solitude time.

"She used to work at a local, tiny grocery store." Sherlock claims that bending his head as he searches the body with furrowed brows for any wound other than the J sliced through her garments. There was nothing, which was not surprising given that drowning her shouldn't take much effort.

"Hold on, Greg." You paused the line and step over him, scracth your shoulder; by now it's already midnight and you're still at the crime scenes with nothing in your tiresome stomach. "You got that from just looking at her?" He sighs as he hears you ask in stupor.

"When I was younger, I used to go to her store and buy candy." He explains, possibly in a fairly harsh tone, though it was common for the frustration to crawl up on his chest and adhere to his ribcage. "She is unrelated to the other victims. She's most likely retired by now. It makes no sense."

No one says a thing. The wind from the Thames is refreshing, yet the air is dense. If Sherlock doesn't comprehend, the others obviously don’t either.

"Perhaps the connections between the victims weren't as straightforward as I would assumed." 

Curled up within your coat, you allowed the darknight breezes swirl over you, leaving your blonde hair tangled. You've known your thoughts went away into the cloud from your body since this granny bodie had a sheer string with Sherlock.

"Anytime," you say as you offer your namecard to one of the local police officers, who appears to be the lieutenant. 

Sherlock could hear your breath hitching behind him, followed by the noises of you turning around and exiting the room. He looked over his shoulder as his girl walked away, briefly wondering if the mortuary had finally become a bit too much for you to bear, before returning his gaze to the corpse.

"Mercury poisoning." Greg reinforced his thoughts, an uncomfortable expression on his face as he gripped the victim's files against his chest and watched Sherlock. "In his body, a big dose was injected. Considering the others, I'd say this was a rather clean death."

Sherlock concurred silently, his gaze fixed on the J cut right below the body's collarbone. “Name?”

"Clifford Shelton," the proprietor of the mortuary room replies, returning her gaze to the paperwork. "A kindergarten teacher, Oxford Montessori Schools."

There it was. The headache came slowly, cautiously, curling its twisted fingers around his thoughts and squeezing it.

"Do you think there's any connection to the other victims?" Sherlock questions, putting a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose and frowning at the gathering annoyance.

"Nothing that I can think of."

“Figured.”

Sherlock straightens up, disregarding Greg's somewhat irritated expression. Seconds passed slowly, static silence filling the air as he stared harder and harder at the corpse, as if the jigsaw pieces might fall into place on their own if he did it long enough.

"Where did Y/N go?" Molly is the one who breaks the silence, her hands moving to draw the sheet over the dead, effectively ending Sherlock's investigation.

The detective's attention slowly returns from the shrouded body to the pathologist, accepting the query before returning to the exit. "I don’t know.”

"So," Greg begins, his tone tinged with doubt and perhaps a hint of amusement. "You can't figure it out?"

"I haven't start to figured it out yet." Sherlock corrects Greg, irritated by his choice of words. He has copies of all the victims' files strewn over his desk, but the more he stares at them, the more difficult it is to think. Part of him blames Greg; honestly, the shorter's presence lowers his IQ by the second.

“Right.” He nods slowly, a kitten-like smile twisting on his lips, yet he doesn't dare to continue his tormenting.

"He was thirty-two years old, making him the second oldest victim so far, but there's still a significant age difference between him and Mrs. Madison from Thames river." They both were in your house, Sherlock muses as he leans over the papers, fists gripping the table. "In any case, it's barely significant. He was born and reared in Scotland and has no history of being linked with any of the men." He sighs and leans back against the table, his palms against his face, away from the paperwork. "I feel like there's something obvious here which I'm overlooking." 

There was a brief moment of silence before you stood up, the entrance of the door. "He should be in Oxford, it’s Tuesday and no necessary to be in London." You mutter, barely audible, before turning and heading for the bedroom instead.

Sherlock kept an eye on you, the unfamiliarity of the circumstance, along with your out-of-character actions, making you nervous. He exchanges a glance with Greg, who returns his gaze, and he suddenly feels as if there's something else he's missing that isn't related to the murders.

"Is she-"

"Is she okay? You should go ahead and ask her." Greg shrugs, maintaining his nice, casual grin, but his eyes were clearly prodding Sherlock; attempting to break past his thick mind loaded with puzzles and detective novels. "Did you happen to forget Clifford was Y/N's ex?"

Sherlock's mouth opens in surprise, then closes again.

"Thought so." Greg laughs and shakes his head slightly. "Go talk to her."

Three knocks on the door before Sherlock stepped in, turning the handle. “Y/N?”

His shorter girlfriend sat on the bed, phone lighting out on your hands, apparently doing nothing more than being lost in your own thoughts, yet a smile spreads across your lips as your gaze meets Sherlock's, albeit somewhat tiredly. "Hey, beb."

Sherlock pursed his lips, locking the door behind him; he believed Greg would busy himself in the sitting room or the kitchen (like he always did), so he stepped farther into the room. He knew about Clifford and you, but the whole serial murderer thing managed to take over his entire head, seizing its place and leaving no room for other facts.

Even those about his girlfriend.  

"Are you alright?" Sherlock asks, the mattress sinking slightly as he sat next to the shorter, bony fingers searching for you to hold. He senses you relaxing only for his touch, and you shrug.

“I hate your silly question.. It has been a long time. I haven't spoken to him for years." You say, seizing the opportunity to finally express yourself now that you have the opportunity. "It's just... strange -- you know? That someone I used to know..." You trail off, words turning to ash in your tongue before you can say anything, yet there is no need for a detective to figure out the finish of this phrase this time.

Sherlock's hand squeezes yours, and your head leans on his shoulder. "Suddenly, it all feels a lot more threatening when it's about someone you know, doesn't it?" Sherlock hums, now his head resting on his woman's shoulder, lips placing a kiss to the top of your hair. "Are you scared?"

“Kinda.” You chuckled defeatistically. "Well, if something happens to us, I mean; I guess 'J' knows who we are. Mrs Madison and Clifford happen to be related to us." You breathe out with a slight smile on your face. "And I wished I'd died first because I couldn't live without your goofy face."

Sherlock's stomach clenches, and he is anxious but determined. He presses your hand once more. "Nothing is going to happen to us." He then draws you closer into his warm embrace. "Just put your trust in me."

“I always did.”

“I know.”

While his lips were connected to yours, the deadpanned blank countenance quickly covered over your agonised sorrowful appearance that you showed to him. And, despite your best efforts, you sense no peace from his embrace, at all.

To your mastermind that running back and forth in your veins, something within you shouts louder and more profoundly in the silence.

a/t: eh i did told you don’t hate me yet xD

[tremendously-crazy]

Sherlock Holmes fans don't want much. They just want to see a universe where Holmes and Watson actually get to be together.

[flowersandfashion]

the fact that Jeremy Brett played both Dorian Gray and Basil Hallward AND both John Watson and Sherlock Holmes throughout his career. he has the range.

[i-dont-talk-for-days-on-end]

Do you ever think of Holmes alone at Baker Street after Watson's marriage and. And. And Watson's things are gone. Watson is gone, and there is just this aching gap around Holmes in the flat. The dust has not yet covered the space on the shelf where Watson's books used to be. Half of Holmes's home is gone, and he cannot even run his finger along the edge of the pain because there will only be one plate on the breakfast table tomorrow (and tomorrow and tomorrow), but you can't cut yourself on empty space.

[buckingham-ashtray]

Not Them still haunting me even on my hike.

More than one hundred miles away from home and I am still unable to escape Them. Not even physically.

I can't anymore. THEY WON’T LEAVE ME ALONE.

(watch me lose my absolute mind in the tags💀

[mouse-of-mischief]

Rereading some of the original stories to try and help my current writer's block, and I rediscover this little gem.

Sherlock Holmes saying, "doggy".

[cherryclxud]

Catch me if you can, Lord Holmes pt1

(ENOLA HOLMES)!Sherlock x BRIDGERTON!reader

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Description: a writer by the name of Marcus Bradford has been writing a weekly updated crime story that appears in the newspaper and it is the talk of the ton. sherlock is then pulled in to uncover the mystery of the story of the abominable bride. will he be able to find the writer of this story who yet remains hidden from seemingly all of society?

word count: 3.8k

Warnings: none

read below for credits

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MARCUS BRADFORD WAS AN EXTRAORDINARY WRITER. He wrote books of fantasy, romance, and tragedies. But anyone who has read Bradford’s works will tell you his prized works were that of the thrilling crimes series that would be posted on the weekly newspapers on page 4. Yes, no one could deny that this was the reason he was the talk of the ton. Appearing out of seemingly nowhere, Marcus Bradford’s words made it into every household in London, whispers about the crimes written were on the tongue of the fanatics every passing day, 

“Did you read what this man has written?”

“Did you see where he left this week's edition off?”

“How can the bride return when she so clearly shot her brains out in front of a whole street?”

“She returned and killed her husband then was found back at the morgue?”

It was a story where no one could see a true way to solve it, and so it kept everyone on the edge of their seat, that is…everyone but one.

Sherlock Holmes hated Marcus Bradford, and he hated his work. He was never a fan of fiction since fiction wasn't real and wasn't deducible, therefore he was never actually interested in anything this man was writing, but when all the clients asking for help seemingly came to him complaining that they wanted him to solve a fictional case written in a newspaper, that's when he would pick up the story to read and wasn't able to put it down till he had finished the latest edition of it. Two thoughts running through Sherlock Holmes’ head after putting the paper down, he hated fiction, and he hated Marcus Bradford.

The story was impossible to deduce anything out of, how could someone dead return? The bride quite clearly can't be who murdered her husband however the story clearly states that the husband had recognised her before his death. But she was in the mourge, how could the bride be in 2 places at once? How could she then continue to kill countless men after her funeral? Sherlock felt there were too many open ends and loose threads. Threads that only one person knew the ends of. Marcus Bradford.

But no one knew who Bradford was, no one had seen him before, in fact, he had never attended any soirees nor had any presence in the ton that anyone knew of. This opened a new case for Sherlock. Who is Marcus Bradford?

No one in the ton knew that Marcus Bradford was always under their noses.

In the prestigious house of the Bridgertons, y/n Bridgerton picked at the strings of her violin with a sigh. Mrs Wilson walked into the drawing room with the weekly news and a copy of today's Lady Whstledown, y/n watched as her younger sister Eloise snatched this week's paper out of the head maid's hands and quickly skipped to page 4, with an eye roll, y/n took the gossip sheet from Mrs Wilsons hand thanking her before pretending to skim over the paper. In truth y/n wasn't interested in the words of Lady Whistledown, she only ever tried to look out to see if ‘Marcus’ was ever mentioned. He was not. She dropped the sheet on the table before standing at the window and looking out.

“Can you believe it, another one?” Eloise spoke up not tearing her eyes from the sheet. Looking back at Eloise, y/n feigned confusion “Hmm, sorry what was that?

Eloise dropped the paper on her lap and looked blankly at the ceiling “Another man was murdered, all because the yard can't solve the case”

y/n picked the paper from Eloise and pretended to skim over it while hiding her smile, “Oh Eloise don't tell me you are going on about this stupid little story again, why not go read something more useful? Or try looking into who Lady Whisteldown is again, you loved that remember? This story doesn't seem to be doing anyone any good, and the writer seems to have hit a wall don't you think?”

Instantly Eloise turned her head to y/n  and stood up walking to her, “no you don't get it, sister,” she snatched the paper from the elder girls hands and pointed to a line “See here it's different ‘The man’s face paled as he looked at the contents of the envelope, turning it over, four orange pips dropped unto the table’ see sister it’s strange, this man got a warning the others didn't. Something big must be coming y/n, something different.” she quickly took the paper and ran up to her room leaving y/n looking behind her.

In truth y/n was out of inspiration. Writing under the pen name Marcus Bradford, she had made quite the name for him, but she thought, perhaps she had gone too strong with the opening and now she was crashing, the seeds in the envelope was her quite literally reaching for straws at this point, trying to buy herself time hoping that some grand idea will hit her. 

She was happy with all the attention her writing was gaining even if it was under a false name. She knew her stories would have gotten nowhere otherwise. She also knew that she couldnt keep writing forever, no matter how much she loved it. Her mother was on her back about missing many balls since her debut last year and that since Eloise’s debut this year, it’s harder taking care of two girls at once, especially two girls who cared more about books than looking to the men right in front of them. 

It wasn't like y/n was not interested in romance at all, rather, she was actually quite the romantic, but she found no interest in the advances of the men of the ton, in fact she always compared the whole process to a birds mating ritual, all the dancing, and the reciting of poetry and the hundreds of flower bouquets and colours. no, she much preferred the romance on the paper she read, and quite often found herself daydreaming about the books she had read, maybe one day a pirate would take her to go treasure hunting together. Or maybe a past childhood friend she doesn't remember will profess his undying love to her and how he never forgot her all these years.

y/n scoffed at the thoughts she was having, “Maybe all I need is a change of perspective and scenery…I assume a ball will have to do then” She rolled her eyes before standing and going to look for her mother's whereabouts. 

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IF YOU WERE LOOKING TO FIND SHERLOCK HOLMES, polite society would usually be the last place you would look. To Sherlok it is mundane and boring, and really there is no point in trying to connect with people whose knowledge and understanding end where yours begin. With this knowledge in mind, you can imagine how shocking it would be to the people of the ton when that very Wednesday Lord Sherlock Holmes was in the promenade with his younger sister in hand, they walked straight ahead ignoring all the stares they received. Enola could quite clearly see many desperate mamas pointing to Sherlock and whispering to their daughters. “You must remind me again Sherlock, why are we here?”

Sherlock stopped walking and unhooked his arm out of Enolas’ before looking around the park and then turning to her “I’m hunting”

“Hunting? In the promenade? Brother that's hardly quite safe” she spoke with a smirk before raising an eyebrow at her brother “Don't tell me you’re-... you're not hunting for a wife are you?”

This question made Sherlock momentarily stop looking around and then sigh “Really Enola think before you speak, honestly a wife out of any of the women here? Marrying a mannequin would be more  productive, at least then it wouldn't throw stupid questions at me” he eyed a few women but quickly looked away uninterested “besides I doubt any of them can hold up any meaningful conversation with substance”

Enola rolled her eyes before swatting her brother's arms lightly with her fan “Don't be so easy to underestimate them all Sherlock you never know” She then walked ahead leaving him behind.

“Of course I know, I'm Sherlock Holmes”

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y/n sat on the chair under the umbrella with a fan in her left hand and a book in her right, skillfully managing to hold the book and turn the pages all with one hand, her mother sat by her chatting her ear off about some lord or other that had passed by, and all y/n could do was hum in absent agreement to please her mother when in truth she held no care for whatever lord she spoke of.

“y/n dear look theres lord manyard,” y/n looked just above her book at the lord her mother spoke of, truth be told he was appealing to the eyes but y/n knew better, she knew that he had been sweet talking almost every debutant in the ton, her eyebrow twitched into a semi frown when he caught her eyes. A wink and smirk were sent her way causing her to use every muscle in her body to not shiver with disgust, she could not however stop the massive eyeroll she did “i hear that he owns land and estates in the country and that he is even buying out oil factori-”

y/n lightly slammed her book in her lap and gave violet bridgerton a tightlipped smile, she knew her mother meant well and that she only wanted what is best for her, but it was getting hard to see her mothers disappointment at every rejection she made, “Mama, where perchance did eloise go? I did have something quite important i needed to discuss with her”

Violet sighed but pushed no further “well yes I suppose sitting here will do you no good, last i saw her she was on the promenade trail with Penelope, will you be alright on your own or should I send Anthony with you?” 

y/n had already gotten up and adjusted her dress “No it's quite alright I think I’ll be fine on my own” and with that, she made her way in the direction her mother pointed to only to be stopped by a bunch of little kids running past her throwing confetti at each other, unfortunately, some got caught on her dress so while she walked she busied herself with clearing the tiny squares of paper off of her. As such in cliche stories and books, she wasn't looking in front of her causing her to bump into someone who equally wasn't looking where they were going.

Both parties' priorities regaining their balance before looking to the person in front of them, and looking up y/n noticed a girl about her age looking back at her “Please accept my apologies I wasn't focused on where I was going”

The girl quickly shook her hands in front of her “No no please you must apologise i also wasn't aware of my surroundings as I walked so if anything I'm equally at fault here”

Y/n smiled at the girl in front of her and gave her a small nod, then suddenly thought…what now, the girl was looking at her almost expectantly, y/n wasn't sure if she should say something or just walk away, but she had already stood there for too long in silence to suddenly walk away, but on the other hand what does she say?

“Enola”

Y/n raised her eyebrows “Sorry?”

“Enola Holmes… that's my name if you wanted to know” y/n raised her eyebrow at the familiar-sounding name. Enola extended her hand to y/n to shake.

“OH… oh I see yes, very nice to meet you Enola, I'm y/n Bridgerton” She then grabbed Enola's hand and shook it too as they smiled to each other.

“I must say Enola I haven't seen you in the promenade before…or at any soirees or some such thing” y/n spoke as she looked around.

Enola nodded as she brought her head up to her forehead “Yes well, I don't usually come out, I'm usually around my brother and he really doesn't care for the affairs of the ton so we rarely actually leave Baker Street”

Y/n tilted her head “I see, then what seems to have prompted today's outing?”

Enola linked her arms in y/n as they started to walk “Well-” stopping midsentence the Holmes girl furrowed her eyebrows and lifted her chin as she tried to think “In all truthfulness, I haven't the faintest idea when I asked my brother he simply stated that he was hunting”

Y/n stopped midstep and looked to Enola in confusion, “Hunting? In the promenade? I doubt he'd be lucky getting any deer or game here” She laughed at the absurdity  then a thought popped into her head “he's not..hunting for women is he?”

“Those were my exact words when I confronted him, however, if I know anyone it's my brother, he isn't interested in trivialities, ‘Enola, I’d rather marry a mannequin than a woman’ were his exact words to me” she spoke as she walked on with y/n and even deepened her voice as she quoted her brother, making y/n giggle at the absurdity.

“Quite the idealist he sounds like, lucky he is a man and gets to choose and not get judged upon it” y/n voiced her thoughts making Enola look at her “You quite right y/n, and it helps him that he is also the second son so no responsibility on his shoulder he is free to do as his heart desires”

Y/n and Enola both laugh before the latter girl notices her brother standing with a couple of gentlemen smoking cigars. She pointed at her brother and sighed “Had I known he had planned to throw me aside for his playmates I would have benefited more from staying at home” 

Y/n looked in the direction she was pointing at and suddenly it was like it all clicked once she saw him, of course, how could she miss such an obvious thing “Your brother is Lord Sherlock Holmes?! Of course, how could I not realise it sooner.” She slapped her hand lightly on her forehead as she looked to Enola who nodded in response.

“Trust me y/n, not as fun as it sounds, my eldest brother gave my wardship to Sherlock since he is already busy as it is with family and estate affairs and ever since then Sherlock has been as busy as ever” she stuck her tongue out at sherlock who looked away from the group of men at his sister. His eyes quickly flickered to y/n but didn't linger as his attention returned to Enola before he too stuck his tongue out to her.

Y/n smiled at the sight of the two of them, they made her think of her own family “You complain yet you both seem inseparable, it's sweet, mine are over there” She pointed to where Anthony and Colin were standing with Hyacinth and Gregory playing with a hoop. Hyacinth threw it up and Anthony managed to hook his arm in it then bowed to the trio in front of him. 

Enola giggled at the sight “My that is a lot of siblings how do you get a moment of peace to yourself?” causing the other girl to roll her eyes with a smile “I don't, and believe it or not there are 4 more” Enola’s jaw dropped before noticing that Anthony had apparently started approaching them, “it seems your brother wants you back I assume?”

“Not at all I'm just checking on my sister” he smiled at the two girls before directing his attention solely to his sister “sister I'm glad you are finally adjusting and meeting people that aren't on paper” y/n rolled her eyes before pushing Anthony's shoulder lightly “oh nothing makes you happy does it Anthony, I sit reclusively, I’ll become a spinster, I mingle with other people I'm suddenly to adventurous” they both laughed before the sister turned to Enola “Enola this is Anthony my brother, Anthony…this is Enola Holmes”

Anthony's eyebrows rose “Holmes? As in Sher-”

“Good day to you Bridgerton” 

There is a saying, ‘Speak of the devil and he shall appear’, and it seems quite fitting to use right here seeing as the man who approached the group and spoke up at that moment was Sherlock Holmes himself.

Anthony stood straight and nodded with a straight face to Sherlock  “Holmes.”

Both men looked at each other, like in a staring contest, both Enola and y/n raised their eyebrows in confusion, looked at each other then back at their brothers. Suddenly like it was synchronised both the men shook hands and pulled each other into a friendly hug. 

“I'm sorry Anthony but it feels like there's some missing context here, you both looked like you were about to murder each other and yet now you are acting like old friends, which is it friend or foe?” Y/n crossed her arms as she looked at the two men

Anthony looked to Sherlock with a smirk “Definitely foe dear sister seeing as since  his graduation Lord Holmes here didn't see it fit to send any correspondence any longer”  

The younger Bridgertons eyes widened as she looked to the older Holmes “You knew Anthony during his study?”

Sherlock nodded “We studied at Oxford at the same time, I studied chemistry and your brother focused on history and literature or some such thing”

Anthony coughed looking away quickly “Lord Holmes here was 1 year my senior and was booked in a flat with Hastings and I, of course, he valued his complete privacy so while he got the single bigger room in the flat me and Bassett had to share” he spoke with an eye roll.

It was Sherlock's turn to clear his throat and look away “Yes…how is Bassett… well I assume I must respectively call him the duke now”

Y/n who had felt that she and Enola had been quite forgotten now spoke up before Anthony could “Yes he is quite well, dukedom fits him rather well” 

Sherlock turned to the younger Bridgerton “Is that so? I see you have become acquainted with the duke” making the girl smirk “But of course hard not to when my sister is quite literally married to him”

“I see…”

“So Holmes” Anthony spoke up clapping his hands together to divert the conversation “you never promenade what has changed? Finally thinking of settling down?” 

“He's hunting” Enola spoke up.

Sherlock looked to his sister with a sigh before meeting the confused face of the Bridgertons and before they could speak up with any accusations he decided to clear his name.

“Not hunting persay, more scouting. I'm looking for the Bradfords”

It seemed as though time stopped around them, the two Bridgerton siblings and Enola’s eyes widened and y/n’s fan stopped mid-swing, the silence was heavy but was burst when Anthony quickly started laughing. 

“Holmes, surely you jest, don't tell me you too have been ensnared by a small column of fiction like the rest of the ton” he spoke and was quickly followed by Enola who expressed that he constantly refused to read it and that he could possibly just be joking.

Y/n looked at each person and stepped back to watch how this would play out.

“I assure you I do not jest or joke, I have received many clients coming to me with this case and it can only be solved if I find this Marcus Bradford himself” Sherlock frustratedly spoke while looking to his sister and old friend.

Enola raised an eyebrow before addressing her brother once more “And…what case might that be Sherlock?”

Suddenly as Sherlock looked to the three stood before him, his eyes flickered between them as he embarrassingly spoke. “The case of the abominable bride.”

Y/n tried so hard but couldn't hold in the laughter causing it to come out as a snort more like. Most unladylike and in fact unhelpful seeing as Sherlock's embarrassment now turned to frustration and annoyance.

The girl quickly realised her mistake and apologised with a smile, “It's just you'd think you of all people wouldn't waste your time with a storybook” 

Anthony was quick to scold his sister lightly then turned to Sherlock “I am not sure why you are doing this Holmes but…if it helps there is no Marcus Bradford in the ton, trust me people have looked.” 

Sherlock nodded solemnly while looking around the ton slowly “I see… well then we had best be on our way then, it was nice seeing you and meeting your sister Anthony”

Anthony nodded and bid the Holmes' farewell as Enola promised she would write to y/n. As the two families split away and started walking away, y/n suddenly stopped and stood back and waited for Anthony to keep walking and not notice before quickly walking back to the Holmes siblings.

“Lord Holmes!” she called out to him, Sherlock and Enola turned to y/n as she stopped in front of them and took a moment to regain composure. “You know Lord Holmes… I have a pet cat named Minnie” 

Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed in confusion as to why he was being told this, then the Bridgerton spoke up once more “She has this terrible terrible habit of loving the house a lot, and it drives me crazy looking for her but I think I have a technique down on how to catch her.” Sherlock still had no idea where this was going yet…something in him told him to humour the girl and give her his complete attention. 

“I used to go to every maid and ask her if she had seen Minnie until I realised, really if I track down the most important places I'd be saving time and energy, so now… when Minnie runs off, I just go to the kitchens and wait… she will have to eat sometime and the kitchen staff know not to let her out after that.”

And with that y/n turned around and walked back to her family who were sitting under the umbrella. 

“What was that about?” Enola spoke up when she noticed Sherlock was still looking at where y/n stood with a far-off look.

“A cat called Minnie…apparently”

y/n smirked as she watched Sherlock and Enola leave the promenade. If Sherlock Holmes wanted a wild goose chase, then who was she to deny him of it?

“Catch me if you can Lord Holmes” she spoke with a smirk

The game was truly afoot.

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I do not own Bridgerton

I do not own Sherlock or Enola Holmes

and I most certainly do not own the abominable bride story

they belong to their rightful owners.

I only own the fic idea.

@frost-queen

[milfloveer]

Proof of love ♡

Sherlock Holmes x fem!reader

Prompt: After y/n gets a little stressed about her and Sherlock's relation and— Well, Sherlock shows her how he really loves her ;)

Warnings: smut 18+ minors DNI, age gap (reader is in their 20s and Sherlock in his 30s), p in v, unprotected sex, fluff, creampie

A/n: I need Sherlock in my life so badly 😩

‧˚���•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚ ⊹ ‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

Sherlock and I just arrived home after attending a high society party so we could unfold more information about this recent case. Enola and Tewkesbury were there too, the first working on her case as well and the later was there on work behalf as he is a Lord and has his duties as one.

Enola was clearly bothered with all the feminine attention Lord Tewkesbury was given. I couldn't censure her as I was feeling the same towards Sherlock and all those ladies around him asking for a dance, their hands all over my man. Enola and I just rolled our eyes and focused on our cases ignoring each woman who approached the men.

•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•

Sherlock opened the door to his apartment and we walked in, I was clearly frustrated and it didn't slip Sherlock's gaze "You alright, darling?" he asks tenderly and cautiously.

I turn to him and see his concern "Yes, love, everything's alright." I say, even though I was lying. Those interactions all night long made me feel easily discarded and replaced.

Sherlock and I relationship was somewhat recent, we were only together for half a year and yet none of us dared to say those three simple words.

I can say that I care for him deeply, I got really attached to his personality, behaviour, the manner he works and thinks, his papers all around his apartment in a perfectly messy way, the way he played the violin when wanted to relax and get lost for a moment.

I truly fell for this exquisite detective, but I didn't dare to say those words to his face as I was afraid he wasn't feeling what I was. So I kept it to myself until now.

Sherlock frowns and follows me to our shared room "Darling, I know you and I can tell something is up." he says with concern in his voice as I try to unzip my dress, ending to ask him for help on it. He gladly does "Please talk to me." his voice wavering a bit making me look at him worriedly.

I sigh seeing his saddened face as I've never seen him like this. Getting closer to him I lay my hands, one on each side of his face and look deep into his eyes with tenderness "It is nothing important of concern, honey." I say softly, trying to brush it off.

But then again, Sherlock Holmes wouldn't be Sherlock Holmes without discovering the truth "It is concerning you and if it is concerning you, it is concerning me." he says pointing between us as he talks "Please, don't leave me in the dark, dove." he says while holding my gaze and I gave in and told him everything I was feeling at the party and when all the female attention is on him, how replaceable I feel, how dischargeable, how ridiculous.

I was now sitting at the end of our bed with my head hanging as my eyes freely released tears while looking at our hands interlocked on my lap "Oh, dear, why haven't you talked about this with me?" he asks caringly, I sniff and he brings his index finger and thumb to my chin, lifting it so I could look into those blue pools "I didn't want to overreact." I say barely above a whisper, he smiles softly "It's not overreacting dear and I assure you here that I have only eyes for you, my beautiful girl." he says as he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, caressing my cheek afterwards and cleaning the remaining of my tears with his thumb.

"Prove it then." I blurt out shocking myself with my boldness, but nonetheless Sherlock chuckles darkly making me shiver "With pleasure, darling." he says as he leans over me making me lay down on the mattress behind me.

Now hovering over me he caresses my sides teasingly as his lips brush mine. No words were said as he connects strongly and lovingly his lips to mine eliciting a moan from me. He starts lowering his hands as his lips move to my neck and collarbone, teasing and marking all the soft spots.

I was already on my undergarments making me start to take off his clothes as he's still fully clothed, first his jacket, then his tie and vest, his shirt and belt were now off and he pulled down his pants discharging them somewhere in the room.

"Please, I need you." I say tugging at the waistband of his underwear, he chuckles "Eager are we?" he asks making me flush as I nod. He frees himself as I take off of me the remains of my underwear.

Now both fully naked we scan each others body "You're so beautiful." he growls caressing my side with his fingertips before capturing my lips while aligning himself with my entrance. As he enters me my mouth falls open and a moan echoes through the room "Oh dear." he says against my ear, his arms each on either side of my body, his hands behind my back, flat on my shoulder blades as he moves lovingly in and out of me.

My legs wrap around his waist pulling him closer as my nails dig into his back certainly leaving some scratches over it. Both breathing heavily and moaning into each other's ears; I love this man so much.

Sherlock speeds up his pace hitting a wonderful spot inside me over and over "Yes, honey, don't stop!" I say gasping sensing the tension building up each time he pounds into me. He then gets on his knees bringing my legs up to rest on his shoulders, I cry out in pleasure as he groans pounding strongly "I'm so close, Sherlock." I say, my legs start to tremble with the feeling.

With a few more pushes and I'm taken over the edge, Sherlock following, spilling his seed into me "Ah, Sherlock!" I say pushing him down and kissing his lips eagerly and then softly. As he pulls away he brushes against my lips, whispering "I love you." I froze and look up at him "What?" I breathe out starstruck about his confession, his eyes widen as he realized he just confessed his feelings for me out loud.

I bring my hand to his cheek and caress it, I smile before letting out a soft chuckle as my eyes fill with happy tears. I lift my head so I could reach his slightly trembling lips and close the gap, the kiss is slow, tender and filled with love, as we were telling without words 'I love you'.

Slightly I pull away and whisper against his lips "I love you too." his eyes widen slightly hearing the words slip like honey from my mouth making me smile lovingly at the man still above me.

[fandom-oneshots-etc]

✨ Dropping by to request literally anything sherlock x reader - would love something with awkward idiots in love ✨

🍄 Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

🍄 Genre: Fluff

🍄 Summary: When Sherlock goes off on a frantic tangent, John knows exactly who to call, the idiot in love with him...

🍄 Word Count: 2084

🍄 Abbreviations: N/A

🍄 Warnings: N/A

🍄 Note: I hope this is what you were looking for Anon! :)

“What’s he doing this time?” you answered the phone as John’s name appeared. You had become so accustomed to the calls at all odd hours of the day, usually all pertaining to your high-functioning sociopath of a friend, Sherlock. Odd hours like the one now.

You had just sat down in your cloud chair, kindle in hand ready to read the next chapter of your gripping (b/g) when the phone had pinged, angrily vibrating against the coffee table-top. A puff of air had moved the stray hairs touching your face as you instantly recognized the personalized ring tone you had installed. You knew that John wouldn’t call you unless it was at least a code blue, blue-in-the-face blue. A colour code the two of you had created to describe the different moods of Sherlock Holmes.

“I’m so sorry-” You rolled your eyes with a little smile. “He’s just off on one. He solved the case, you know the one with the woman and the suitcases? He’s been off the walls since then. Can’t get him to settle, he’s talking about renovating the flat, knocking walls down for more ‘thinking space’. I think Mrs Hudson’s threatened to evict him already,” You couldn’t stop the giggle that escaped your lips at the thought of the sweet old woman threatening your tall friend, knowing very well that she’d mean every word. You could already picture the offended horror on Sherlock’s face at her threats.

“I’m on my way,” you reassured before hanging up the phone and pushing yourself out of the comfortable chair. Slipping your kindle into your bag, you grabbed your keys from the hook and turned off the lights. You didn’t bother changing out of your night clothes,, instead your threw a long coat over your pajamas and slipped on your trainers before heading out of the flat. You weren’t exactly keen on the idea of getting a cab this late at night, but you preferred that over walking the streets alone in the dark.

Thankfully, Baker Street was only a few roads away and the journey was nice and short with the lack of traffic at this time of night. Looking up at 221B you could see tat it was one of the only lights on in the street. You slipped the spare key out of your bag and unlocked the door to 221B.

Mrs Hudson reached the bottom of the stairs in an angry flurry huffing as she passed, a few rushed ‘oh dear’s escaping her lips as she passed you, only briefly making eye contact as she scurried back into her flat, red-faced. Taking that as your cue, you started up the stairs to the flat, fully expecting to see the flat in complete disarray, and you weren’t disappointed.

The papers from the now-closed case were still strewn across the flat, stuck to the walls, laid out on the desk, tucked under the tea cups on the small side table. The tea cups, several sat on the desk untouched and probably growing a few types of fungus that Sherlock could happily describe for you. The pillows from the sofa were thrown about the flat as Sherlock stood on the sofa, feet buried in the sofa cushions and tape measure I hand as he stretched it across the wall in front of him, a HB pencil clenched between his teeth.

“Thank God you’re here!” John poked his head out of the kitchen as if weary of the man in the living room. He gestured for you to step into the kitchen, with a final glance at the tall consulting detective, you slipped into the kitchen.

“How long has he been like this?” you asked, setting your bag down on the cluttered kitchen table. Piles and piles of old experiments were stacked tall, filling up almost the entire surface of the table and from the darkening black patch by one of the chairs you had no doubt that Sherlock had blown something up today, yet another thing to add to the list of problems for you and John.

“A couple of hours now, I stupidly thought that solving the case would change his mood, but it only seemed to make him more antsy for another one-” He sighed. “Sorry it’s so late, I know you usually sit down and read about now. I didn’t want to bother you but with Mrs Hudson threatening eviction I thought it best not to wait.” You smiled at your friend and shook your head.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s been a while since he’s been like this so it was expected sooner or later. Better sort him out before Mrs Hudson really does chuck him out.” The two of you chuckle at the thought of a homeless Sherlock, it’s not really a sight either of you can imagine fully. But you had no doubt that his homeless network would really find him the best spots in London to squat.

“You don’t mind if I take a quick walk do you? I’ve been cooped up in here for a few hours trying to sort him out, just need bit of fresh air.” You shook your head and hurried John out of the kitchen door and down the stairwell. You knew it would be easier to deal with Sherlock without John around anyway. Not that John was a problem, but with Sherlock like this and his habit of making unsavory comments without fully thinking of the consequences, it would be easier than having a row start between the two flat mates.

You paused for a moment and brushed your finger against the black mark on the table top and inspected the pad of your finger. That’ll come off with some polish, you decided. Stepping back out of the kitchen and into the living room, your eyes zeroed in on the consulting detective who had now abandoned the tape measure and was gently knocking against the wall looking for a hollow sounding area.

“No.” You spoke clearly, catching the attention of the detective who had yet to notice you. Spinning on his heels, his eyes flashed at you wide and adorable. It kind of reminded you of a child who had been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. His mouth started to open but you shut him down quickly. “No,” You gave him a stern look. “That wall has all of the major electricity lines and one of the main water pipes. No.”

“There’s no way you could possibly know that just from looking at the wall-” Sherlock argued.

“No I couldn’t. I know because I had to get the schematics for the flat after you started shooting the walls because you were banned from in-person cases and blew the power out in this side of London,” You reminded. “An event that Mycroft still calls ‘The Great COVID Blackout’.” Sherlock’s nose scrunched at the mention of his brother. “Now, are you going to sit down or am I going to have to use that self-defense training program you insisted I go on to incapacitate you?” You could almost see the cogs turning in his head as his eyes narrowed at you, trying to deduce if you were serious or not. Your unwavering stance must have given him his answer as he slowly stepped down from the sofa and settled his feet back on the floor calmly.

“Why are you here?” You were very rarely offended by Sherlock’s blunt words, it just wasn’t worth the energy when you also knew that he rarely meant it to come across in that way. “No, don’t answer that. You’re here in your night clothes, your kindle is tucked in your bag and your hair is done up which means it’s late- John called you. Why?”

“Probably because his roommate was threatened with eviction after planning to renovate their rented flat and set the landlady off.” “Mrs Hudson wouldn’t evict me. She still owes me for getting her husband executed.”

“Favours do expire Sherlock. They have their limits.” His eyebrows furrowed.

“Really?” You nod. “Oh. Well John wouldn’t let her evict me.” “Have you been experimenting today?” You think back to the two mugs settled on the kitchen counter, one sporting a brownish green sludge at the bottom.

“Yes, why- Oh.”

“Right come on,” You clapped your hands, moving towards him and grabbing one of his hands to pull him over to his chair. You ignored the sounds of protest from Sherlock as you settled on the chair and tugged on his arm. “Sit down,” you instructed. Sherlock sighed and complied, dropping onto the floor and crossing his legs underneath him. You grabbed the TV remote and switched it on. “What should we watch? Bones or Criminal Minds?” you pondered.

“Why do we have to watch a crime show? They’re always so inaccurate-” You flick the TV onto an episode of Criminal Minds. “Look, the killer’s using tape- what about finger prints? They don’t need to study his behaviour, just find the prints-” You smiled softly, fiddling with a few strands of Sherlock’s curly hair in your lap as he rattled on about the mistakes of the Unsub and the BAU team.

It was around an hour later that John returned to the flat. Pushing open the front door of 221, he was relieved to hear nothing. The light under Mrs Hudson’s door was now off, meaning she had slipped into bed, no longer tormented by her tenant’s renovation plans. The light on the landing let off a soft glow as John started up to the flat. A heavy wave of relief swept through him as he noticed the lack of banging, drilling, sawing or any construction noises at all. You had managed to talk him out of it for now. He reached the top of the stairs and could hear the muffled sounds of the TV in the flat. Stepping into the kitchen he could see that the place was still a pig sty but at least there wasn’t any knocked down walls or partially constructed extensions. The mess could be dealt with in the morning.

As he turned the corner and peeked - still a little cautiously into the living room - a soft smile graced his face. Your back was pressed against one of the arms of Sherlock’s chair, your legs swung over the opposite side. Sherlock’s was still perched on the floor with his legs crossed, his head dropped back against your stomach, with your right hand resting on top. Your fingers rhythmically threading through his curly brown locks, soothingly. John flicked his eyes up to the TV screen to see an episode of Criminal Minds playing, Sherlock’s face scrunched in distaste as he watched the team profile the murderer. Your other hand held your kindle tightly, your fingers set comfortably around the flower pop socket on the back as you occasionally flicked the pages with your thumb.

John couldn’t help but watch in awe for a moment. No one he knew had ever been able to soothe Sherlock in the way that you could. Not him, not Mrs Hudson and certainly not his brother, not even his parents had this calming effect that you had. He wondered if Sherlock would ever confess to the effect you had on him, or explain why you had such an effect on him. John knew the reason, Mrs Hudson knew the reason… did Sherlock? Did you?

You were always just as oblivious as Sherlock. John had mentioned to you once or twice about how you effected the consulting detective, but you couldn’t see it. You wouldn’t admit to the effect you so clearly had on him nor would you confess to the butterflies that whirled in your stomach whenever you were this close to him.

You caught John’s eye and must’ve made an educated guess of what he was thinking as you rolled your eyes and shook your heads. Deciding that now was probably not the time to bring up the obvious pink elephant that shared the living room with the three of you, John mouthed a ‘thank you’ to you and you nodded, letting out a quiet yawn. He bidded a quick farewell to the pair of you before shuffling out of the kitchen and upstairs to his room. On his way up the stairs, he couldn’t help but wonder how long the two of you would remain oblivious.

As he reached the top of the staircase he paused and chuckled. Lovesick idiots.

[jarrows]

Ah, Lestrade. I've always had a bit of a soft spot for him, and it only got bigger with the recent reread.

[imeternallylove]

Cloud Covered - S.Holmes

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Warning: Graphics of violence, torture of dead and plenty of more brutality

Word: 4.6k 🥹

main mastetlist  | request & ask | prompts | theme song

Chapters index

Bloodbath | Marionette | Invisible Strings (you are reading this)

Crown Prosecution Service

"Ladies and gentlemen, the accused, Simon Finn, is guilty."

You and your fiancé sat in the prosecutor's corner, as the blonde CPS officer in a lovely pinkish blazer and skirt spoke from the record of the detective's report. The snort from your lips when the following line came from her over there.

"Jersey wasn't even his true name. And his merciless murder spree has terrorised our community. Many innocent people, including some of our brave officers from New Scotland Yard, were all targeted for no other reason than to play Simon Finn's sadistic game."

Your eyes is locked on the other building, your countenance blank. Sherlock observes you, wonders what is going on in your thoughts, but refrains from asking questions; the man who murdered people close to them has finally been imprisoned, so he assumed it is only natural for you to have a lot on your mind at the moment.

“Simon Finn has confessed to every single one of these crimes. I ask that the court consider Simon Finn’s voluntary confession for his crimes. He has spared the victims families a prolonged trial, and in doing so has demonstrated a glimmer of remorse. Therefore it is my recommendation that Simon Finn be spared the death penalty, and instead sentenced to life in prison with no possibility to parole. Thank you.”

But at last, you could find rest now.

"It's over," Sherlock mutters as the judge sentences Simon to death by lethal injection, his eyes finally locking on yours, a little smile curving on his lips. "We did it." You notice one of his steadfast hand strokes on yours, where the sparkling shine of the diamond engagement band illuminates through into your eyes.

And an outpouring of pride washes over your soon-to-be lifeline, he finally bringing you serenity; which you truly not believe in this Simon Finn’ confess at all. "We did."

Your drifting sensation and eye contact unintentionally collided with Simon's in the relieving slumber, his look strained but with a smirk as opposed of a grimace; terrified to be execution, manifesting your chest to swell. It echoed in your head, ‘he’s not the real murderer.’

The silence is thick and oppressive, vibrating within the catastrophic white walls of Simon Finn's residence. No one dares to speak, no one dares to move a finger. 

Sherlock leaned over his brother's body, his hands grasping each side of the steel surface where he lied, pallid and lifeless after being discovered with a hole in his nape, spineless. A horrific method of murder, slow and certain to be agonising.

His gaze stayed fixated on the J engraved directly beneath Mycroft's collarbone.

When Sherlock is permitted into Simon's cell, the first thing he does is tie his fist to the prisoner's jaw.

"Oh my," you hissed behind him, but it didn't stop him from throwing another punch at the man. Sherlock was furious beyond comprehension, having left the mortuary without saying anything and going directly for prison to confront Simon - Jersey - himself.

"Why?" Sherlock asks, his voice trembling and his breathing irregular. "Why was Mycroft killed? How?"

In response, Simon gives him a nasty grin, prompting Sherlock to hurl him against the wall while seizing the taller's collar. There's no way Finn could have killed Mycroft while he's only been in this prison for over two weeks, waiting to pay for all the crimes he committed here and everybody knows. "Are you the only Jersey? Is there any more? Do you have people working for you?"

"Sherlock," you call from behind them. "I'm all for you beating the crap out of him, but let's not get into trouble here, okay?"

He heard you, acknowledged your remarks, but his gaze didn't stray away from Simon, retaining a firm grip on him. Simon, on the other hand, had his gaze fixated on you, the sick grin staying on his lips, and Sherlock shook his head fiercely. "Listen to me when I'm talking to you!" He insists, but Simon's eyes is fixed on you.

"London bridge is falling down," Simon singsongs softly, prolonging the syllables, his grin becoming broader. "My lovely lady."

Sherlock lets go of his hands, gazing at you, who are looking back at him, bewilderment evident in your stare, and Sherlock makes an impatience sounds before slamming Simon to the floor.

He rushes out of the a jail cell, leaving you with Simon's distant laughter ringing in the recesses of his eardrums. You perceive Sherlock needs alone time, which is why you hold your ready-to-wreck-down body to sit facing Simon, and remaining silent for a couple minutes rendered him stand up by himself and fling his ass onto the seat. You can bet he noticed you sweating, but it wasn't because you were scared or worried, rather because you always trust what your gut tells you. 

"I can feel you’re not the real Jersey." Before he could say anything, you began with your hoarse speaking; a slight smile formed as his grin rose while his hands with handcuffs grabbed his wounded bruise that your fiancée had made. “Well, I’m gonna die a liar anyway. The dirty liars.”

You lean back and nod with caution your head dipping slightly as you murmur, an enticing grin on the bridge of your mouth as you cross the spaces between your legs. "Then who did?"

"I've got a place; it's your job to find out." Simon claims it all in one breath, which leads to your brows with a furrow significantly. “Where?”

"-It's not, uh, better if I draw you a map." He ignores what you have to say and proceeds. He looks at your notebook with a treacherous smile on his lips. "You going to draw me a treasure map?" You pat the desk twice and stifle a giggle. "No, you've got word, just say it."

Simon's gulp drops, followed by a loud whistle from the prisoner. "I just want to show myself to you, lady."

You only nod contentedly. "So, let's say you're telling the truth, I assumed it’s seems like the real Jersey promising to get you out but he left you high and dry-" your cheshire cat-like sneer on Simon's hiss voice that is so audible it pierces right through your attention span, and that's saying something.

“My dear Marney, you seems don’t know a thing.”

"And I might bring you out in the next half hour to reenact the murder scene." You say this as you stand back up, pick up your notepad and tape player, and gesture to the cops to wait for you. You pause before answering the door, shifting back to meet Simon's satirising smile. "Does that sound like a fun way to celebrate your final 20 hours before the execution?"

"Do me a favour, Y/N. And just make sure he doesn't try anything." 

"Oh, he can certainly try."

Simon overheard Greg and you conversing, but paid scant close attention to you two, not bothering to digest your words as his thoughts focused on taking a deep inhalation in with a broad smile on his face, standing in front of his own residence. He was handcuffed, where he is accompanied by the two policeman officers behind him.

It wasn't difficult; it shouldn't have been difficult, but some pieces didn't quite fit in, and Sherlock lightning-fast assumed Simon Finn was the Jersey, and if he thrust them harder than necessary, you were able to predict Sherlock might break and ruin the entire puzzle, just like he only discovered 'who did' as opposed to 'why did that.'

"Don't get any ideas." You attained for Finn's handcuffs, and he takes his attention in unambiguously, almost latching on you for a moment. He gave you the typical greeting green signal and your petite smile spread with your dead outstares. "Good to see you again, cunning."

There was nothing to toy with, because the only thing written on your serene face was the phrase 'do not try me.'

"How's it going with your bracelets?"

"Well, I can't feel my fingers if that's what you're asking." Repiled you with a voice lower, like he attempt to convinced for some of your less generous tolerance. "You gonna help me out or what?" Now he asks in a more hushed but inquiring tone, to which you merely shrug and tighten his cuffs even more. "How's that?"

"Thats so kind of you."

Simon, move away with your arms folded behind you. "So, is this where you confessed that this was your treasure map?" You grumbled, with your eyebrows barely wrinkled. He simply sends you nods, and you bring him on the inside with Greg.

As soon as you notice the stairs, which must lead to the second and third floors, an officer approaches to report you. "All things is fine. There are actually two squatter nests, but they appear to be split." You drew your lips down to him, still not sure. “Alright. Just give us five."

It was Simon's turn to stare out at the view of his own house, which was visibly tense. You gave him a quick glance before poking his leg with your foot and angling your head. "Start the tour, boss."

"Here's Jersey, using my house as a treasure trove after running." The three of you subsequently followed Simon, who was waiting for Greg to unlock the door room on the second floor, but he was handcuffed. 

"It appears that nobody has been here in years, Finn." Greg makes a remark while pacing back and forth in Simon's sitting room, his brow furrowed in concentration. Confusion can be heard in Simon's speech. "I didn't say he'd be here to greet us either."

"There are still traces of footsteps." You shrugged, swinging your hands a little as you maintained your constantly wandering. Cast your torch towards a heap of papers. "That's all the newspaper has to say about 'J,'...I'm sure he's impressed by his reputation."

“He is.”

"Well," you breathe in, stating your thoughts and ignoring - or rather, hardly hearing - Simon's inputs. "In my little hope, I didn't plan to investigate any of the evidences for the aleatory case that simply does not make sense for months, Finn."

Simon is looking at you with furrowed brows and a thoughtful, perplexed gaze. "...You want me to tell you who's Jersey?"

"That was before we ever met, actually." You explain quickly, your face screwed somewhat in irritation. "If you're just trying to fool us, I'd say your death is impending." You breathe out eventually coming to a halt.

"From what I can tell, the killer was murdering for fun, for his own amusement, carving J's and dropping clues just to form tight headache knots in detectives' skulls." 

"That's the cost of doing business; I'd make a provision." You responded, then turned your focus towards Greg. You did this for a long, pacing around Simon's room, fingertips pushing together as you leaned your face against your hands, as if it would help you think better.

Greg's phone started ringing at that point. Reminding you that you squandered those five minutes looking for your restricted blocked hints. "For God's sake. I needs take this. Y/N, are you going to-"

"We're good." You notice Greg's worried eyes, despite your assurance and a little faith in Simon, making him goes away.

"Do you still think I'm making this stuff up?" Simon questions, almost cautiously.

"Less or less, if you don't play a game on me; the real Jersey is still running around the playground..." You state, emphasising your words as irritation rises once more. "And you can't offer me any proof that you're not Jersey anyway." 

"I can get you proof," Simon grunts as he approaches you. "No. You can't." You murmur, knowing your body despised practically instantly as he began confronting you. "You are correct. Not like this, I can't."

Your sternum is flailing in wrath, and when he speaks to you in that gentle voice of his, it almost feels as if you are bound by the lies. "You're nuts. I'll remind you that you just have a few hours to be executed." 

His frowns and glances elsewhere, a pout forming in his lips as you continue to hold your gaze up to his. "Look, you're correct. He left me high and dry, dying with the accusations I didn't do. I’m sure he won't feel like his ass has caught fire if I'm still in jail, as a soon-to-be executed criminal." 

You creak in response, feeling a sense that you shouldn't be wasting time like this when you should be working on the case, but when Simon continues, your intestinal tract seems to come back to live. "But now that I'm on my own, I can entice him and serve him up on a silver platter."

"Even if you are right, I have no right in offering what you need, Finn. Didn't you forget you're on death row?"

"For crimes that I didn't commit. Did you forget?" You slumped and went silent, not realising Simon was moving approaching. "Look at me. I could knock you out in an instant. The police would buy it, and we could make it look real, but I assure you that you and your tiny Marney would be perfectly unharmed."

Your lung is shrieking incoherently, -how could Finn be cognizant of this? You know how Sherlock always noticed an insignificant illness that affected you for months and you gave him your positive pregnancy results from the test, but soon you two were busy and forgot to mention it.

The stronger the air you breathe, the sharper your intuitive sense contrasts with the beams of light from the retreating obscurity you generate...

Simon Finn has had more contact with Sherlock than anybody else. Perhaps more than you realise.

“Prisoner 75427 is requested to be returned to custody immediately.”

“This is officer 926 receiving request . Please stand by for confirmation.”

The rejection of your attempt to ignore the reality blasted forth and back over your head. You cast one final glance at Simon and decide to believe in Simon Finn. You close your eyes after unlocking Simon's shackles and grasp the handcuffs key in your palm. Simon is already liberated as a result of your decision. 

He waited for your signal in quiet and reserved until you finally looked up at him. Your answer reinforces what he already knows.

“Do it.”

You awoke at Sherlock's flat with an aching neck. Mrs Hudson stated that he has been out with Greg since the officer brought you here an hour ago while arranging for you to change clothes and be ready for teatime with her.

Teatime and the wedding plan that the elderly woman advised were both superb, although your hand couldn't remain still as you discovered Finn's literally unreliable signal on your phone.  

Don’t bother catching a cab despite the fact that it began to rain meanwhile, feeling that walking your path back home would be calming to your nerves at least slightly so. You walk out the Baker street fast, hands stuck in your coat pockets, hair starting to stick to your forehead from the small but persistent raindrops. You bumps into one or two persons on your way, all of them attempting to escape the rain or fighting against the wind that attempted to take their umbrellas, but there's not a single worry on your mind despite the fact that this case was, after all, unsolved still.

You were already more than halfway to your destination when your phone buzzed in your pocket and you clicked your tongue, thinking it was Sherlock since you had just realised he had left you in his flat and you had always failed to follow following.

Nothing could possibly have prepared you for the text. Not even from Finn, as the red dot continued to run, heading and pausing at St. Bartholomew's Hospital for several minutes.

from: unknown

let's meet up? just us two…

— J

Never did you reply to a text so fast. And then, unexpectedly, a harder grip grabs your limb and takes you across into the area between blocks around the corner of the street. You could be recognised by the scent of nicotine mingling with body odour that you've been living with for years of age; it’s Sherlock.

“What the hell are you think?” He goldsmiths his quivering hands passionately, prompting your hold to tighten even more, disregarding your broken appearance further. “I know you let Jersey go.” 

In a rage of fury, you poured your scorn and suspicion on Sherlock back to Him, struggling to breathe. "Can you just listen to me?"

"Listen to you?" His inhales are sharp, and he counterfeits a witty smile that persists on his entire face. “I did- listen to you. And that's exactly how this happened!”  

You let yourself to get carried away in an ocean of rage, not his, but yours. There's no need for you to talk to Sherlock at this point if you want to break free from his clutches and walk away with no apology for whatever you've done.

The chosen location wasn't thought to be the most strategic on Jersey's part, being one of the few open fields on the outer edges of the city where buildings had yet to be built, but it wasn't a bad option either. Although there were houses nearby, there was no one on the streets; the mild rain became heavier, and the sand and dirt beneath your shoes turned to mud as you approached closer to the centre, a careful gaze observing the surroundings.

There wasn't a single person or sound but the static sounds of the pouring rain — Until, at last, someone turned around the corner of a werehouse, feet going to the wide field where you stood.

You blinked, wondering whether the poor weather was distorting your eyesight; nevertheless, at least for today, nothing could be worse than the battle with Sherlock. But no one was deceived by the guy approaching, and your expression was filled with perplexity.

"Sherlock?" You call, unclear how he could have followed you there, and afraid of why he would.

"Hello again, love." He welcomes you quietly as always, pausing solely a few metres away, a smile forming on his lips as his head tilts. "Did you miss me?"

You are certain that you have forgotten how to breathe.

The enormous sighs, as if the sudden revelation had sapped all vitality from your body, depriving you of your confidence and left you fatigued, bewildered, conjectured, and all that you had been sleeping with and stuck lingering inside you from the beginning of this case. You're still floating in a mass of haze and don't want to accept it, although his sharp glance aren't going to allow you to do so. You fail to locate your own voice though the question you pose to him. "Why?" 

"Why not?" Sherlock hums back, lifting his arms slightly to emphasise your query and taking tiny steps closer. "I thought it would be fun. Such a young man, Sherlock who inspired by detective novels and films, was duped by his own thinking but he always solved it all. Everyone is proud of whoever is in existence and has written history; they have faith in that. Am I horribly adorable, darling?"

You shake your head in bewilderment, your throat aching near to explode. "Finn—"

"That complete moron. As screwed up as we both are." Sherlock whistled as if he were telling you an intriguing tale. "Simon did whatever I ordered him to do like a puppy eager to impress. Still extremely efficient. I basically needed to give him a name and my favourite method of murder. Isn't he a fantastic actor? Even the murderer, who actually me, and his manipulation all of you as the true murderer, he should feel honoured."

He flicked on the lighting, enabling you to spot Simon's corpse on ground covered in bloodstream, and you were certain he was murdered before you came. Sherlock tosses the body away with one of his foot as he begins to approach you. "Now I sent him back to where he belonged... quicker than on death row."

"So all this time-"

"Of course, baby." Sherlock squeaks. "It's always been me. It was me long before I produced Jersey." He continues, his smile widening as he notices the way you express yourself. "I've wanted to play a game with you ever since we met. I mean, young detective Marney, who believes 'Me' can figure out a person's history just by looking at their clothes- you're quite naïve to the actual world. You believed you had matured, but wasn't it all a façade?"

The lips of yours emerges then shuts, and you're not quivering from the thunderous downpour.

"Who do you suppose left the clues in all those murder cases we solved, love? Who do you think led us to success, to solving it so effortlessly?"

Hanging your head down, his words are like razor-sharp knife cuts, slicing your assaulted edge into parts, and you have no voice appealed to him to stop.

"It was me. I killed them and then watching you be so appreciative of me, of your incredible talents when you were, in fact, just a child fitting jigsaw pieces together." He amusement. "I must admit that I became fond of you at some point, which is why I thought it was about time I put up an encore monumental game for you. Feelings mess you up, darling. I won't be the one to fall."

"You slaughtered your friends and mine," you exhale, unsteady, your thoughts far too rapid and far too loud for someone who has just been locked in time, tossing one great fist slamming over his face. "And I broke down for months over them!"

"Of course we did," He say. Sherlock responds casually, his brows rising high in his forehead as he attracts you away. You're standing staggeringly, like if he's left a gigantic hole inside you, and you cannot stabilise yourself from being off-balance. "How could you have trusted me otherwise? You figured me out several times back there, Y/N, but you're too far away to prove it. I needed to make sure you wasn't believe that it was me till now."

Dazedly looking at the muddy ground, rendered speechless. After a little while, your body yields and you collapse to your knees, shed tears streaming down your cheeks. For so long, you let your people down since the invisible strings veiled themselves by your neglect; it was all right in front of you.

"It's going to be okay, baby." Sherlock coos once again, and despite the fact that you're no longer gazing at him, you heard the cocking of a pistol. Sherlock kneels in front of you, his free hand caressing your cheek, and his lips press against your soaked forehead. "I truly cherish you; nobody ever loves me as you do, I vow. I'll do it without making you feel anything."

Sherlock stands up again, and you still don't move, not even a twitch of a muscle.

Reality settles in, leaving you devoid of responses and options; instead, you accept it.

You lost by your trust.

The cold metal of the gun's mouth presses on the top of your head, and you sense a smirk on Sherlock's lips. "Any last words, my love?"

The tiniest shudder travels down your spine, and your eyes close.

You smile. Because he was correct; this is for the record. The victor writes history. History is littered with liars. If he lives and you die, his words is written into stone and yours is lost.

Sherlock notices the wry grin on your sorrowful face. "I wasn't pregnant; there was no trace of it. It's only my amazing talents to falsify my pregnancy test- and you're trapped-" His pistol mouths thrashed on the skin of your cheek, and you could feel lifeblood running through your pearly whites. 

"And I spent my spare for engagement to little brat for GPS monitoring." You push yourself to crack a smile only to see Sherlock's grin widen. "Indeed, she's still wearing that stupid ring. She's even come here by herself to seek out her own tomb." 

Sherlock's about to complete the greatest trick a liar ever played on history. His truth will be the truth. But that’s only if he lives, and you die.

Sherlock was incorrect in the meantime of the twinkling of an eye. And your hoarse voice demonstrates that. "You think it's just us here?"

“What?”

The death Finn then stands up and pulls the rope from the ceiling down, falling over Sherlock's. You observe his centre body becoming intertwined and these ropes hanging him up there with his scream; as soon as his pistol drops, you rise up and move away from where you entered this warehouse.

Greg and the other cops make goosesteps from everywhere, and you notice his exhausted and grateful gaze from his restless eyes, so you stroke his shoulder before disappearing into the stillness of the night.

Simon approached Greg with his stump feet by the sticky fake blood, thrilled by the sight he seen. “You talked too much Mr detective.”

closure

Strange wind blowing throughout the empty place it may be gliding to. You're standing in front of a black marble headstone, surrounded by greenery and the chirping of songbirds. The flowers are now at the foot of the monument. You stare at the beautiful black stone that just says SHERLOCK HOLMES.

Sigh, drop your head, and stand there but you moved to another black stone. You figure looks to have the name of Molly and Mycroft etched straight across your chest, as reflected in the polished marble of the headstone. You lower your head even lower and cover your eyes with one hand. Knowing that all of the corpses doesn't appear to underneath here, rather in the mortuary. Then your phone vibrates with an incoming call.

"They say he murdered himself by drowning himself with hydrochloric liquids," Greg slows down with his own gasp. "Only hydrogen chloride vapours create considerable difficulty breathing when- you know, just cleaning the restroom." 

You're now in the car, patiently absorbing his words through the phone conversation before signal the light to turning the car into Smithfield Street, and Greg continues to explain what he knows. "In his instance, continuing to breathe at such high rates may be fatal, but he had absorbed it into his body... in his own way, for several weeks in after bang up there, not just by breathing it in."

You two leave a little time of stillness, holding the call and sinking into contemplation of the whole situation that happened until you are the one who smashes it. "I'm in the mortuary now. Which room?"

Greg opens the door behind you, his strained voice in the queue just acting as if you could see his burning face, which was only fighting not to sob in front of you. You drew him into your shattered hug, and it seemed that for all the secrets of the Sherlock Holmes's, he left you two to feel grief like dying while remaining alive

“You may need some alone time here.”

Every step you take to get closer to the lifeless corpse is precisely the same as when you first met, but there is no longer any of Sherlock's façade lies.

You leaned down and pulled aside the sheet, uncovering Sherlock lying beneath it, pallid and bare, his eyes closed. Tenderly strokes his curling bangs hairline, long lashes and nose bridge, which once it always necked at your cheeks, yours.

'S.Holmes' possessions' package captures your glance from the corner of your field of vision.  You snatched it and saw your golden pen, the long-awaited souvenir for you and his first anniversary. It's been roughly four years since then. And while you were putting it back, you saw a torn paper on it, and there was Sherlock's handwriting; uncleared but still could recognizable text.

‘May we meet again, Y/N’

a/t: well me too ;_; sorry guys if the ending wasn’t what you thought 🥺🥹 murderer sherlock smell so nice to me oi and for this story ive my lovely bestie to help me created murderer stage name! its @lady-harvey ♥️ my gurl, tysm again ♥️❣️❣️now i think i need to take a little break from writing 😭 but im still here just back to manage my undone work and ill brb asap but for sure ill still online here huhu, not gonna mia in this soon hue hue

[gilgamushroom]

VICTORIANS WHEN BLORBO FROM THEIR COMMUTER'S MAGAZINE COMES BACK FROM THE DEATH AFTER A DECADE LONG HIATUS THEY THOUGHT WOULD BE PERMANENT

[saraakpotter]

She is my girlfriend(BBC Sherlock x reader)

summery: 3 times Sherlock lied about being your boyfriend and the time he made it real warnings: i think none but there are spoilers on the show if you haven't watched it yet genre: fluff p.s: i added some scenes and changed some dialogues in some parts.

number one: during 'the blind banker'

you were a detective. you went on cases with Sherlock and John. now you had to go into Eddie Van Coon's apartment.

"they are new to the apartment aren't they?" you said.

Sherlock smirked: "yes, they are"

"how are you so sure?" John asked

Sherlock points at the name on the doorbell.

"maybe they changed it." John said.

"no one would do that" you said and Sherlock rang.

"hello?" a woman's voice said some moments later

"ummm, hello miss, we are your downstairs neighbors. i don't know if you know us." Sherlock said

"uh, umm, no. we are new" the woman said.

"well, me and my girlfriend forgot our key's in our apartment" Sherlock said wrapping one arm around you and you rose an eyebrow but quickly played along.

"oh, do you want me to open the door for you?" the woman asked

"yeah, ummm, could we come from your balcony?" Sherlock asked.

"the balcony?!" the woman said surprised and Sherlock nodded.

after she left you came out of his arms.

"your girlfriend?" you asked with a raised eyebrow and John chuckled.

"oh, please. it had to be believable." he said.

"uh-huh" you said

number 2: during 'a scandal in Belgravia'

"punch me in the face" Sherlock said

"punch you?" John said

"yes, punch me in the face. didn't you hear me?"

"i always hear 'punch me in the face' when you talk but it's usually subtext" John says

"yeah" you agreed and then, without another word you punched Sherlock in the face.

"i always wanted to do that" you joke

"ouch" Sherlock says "ok..." he starts but gets cut of by another punch by John.

"you are right! i think i did too" John says chuckling making Sherlock roll his eyes.

after forcing Kate, Irene's assistant to open the door you entered the house.

"who is the beautiful lady?" Kate asked with a fake smile

"oh, i..." you started but Sherlock cut you off

"she is my girlfriend" he says

"oh" Kate's fake smile fades and she walks to the room asking you to follow.

"i literally just punched you in the face" you whispered

"i asked you to" he says and you tried to hide your smile

number three: during 'the hounds of Baskerville'(i added this scene)

"hi" Sherlock says sitting next to a random costumer at the bar.

"hello, what's the problem?" the man said

"well, me and my girlfriend are here for vacation and we heard whispers about a huge dog in this town. in the woods." he says

"we made a bet. i said there is no such a thing and he disagrees" you played along

"so, you are here more often right? we wanted to know which one of us will win" Sherlock said placing a hand around your shoulders to make it look more realistic.

"oh, oh, this is way more than a dog. it's a monster. you should believe in it." the man says and then he turns to look at you "of course i don't want to scare a pretty woman like you"

you rolled your eyes and Sherlock glared at him and left before he could finish.

"ok, thank you for your help." he says trying to act unbothered.

"wow, you don't have to be so overprotective" the man say making you smirk and Sherlock roll his eyes.

number four: the real confession

"y\n?" Sherlock says walking to the room.

"yes?"

"i wanted to ask you something" he takes a deep breath.

"ok, what is it?"

"will you....can you....oh god!"

"Sher, just say it. its okay."

"ummm.....willyoubemygirlfriend"

"i'm sorry?" you raise an eyebrow

"oh god" he takes another deep breath "look, i'm not usually this nervous about anything but this really means to me and it has been on my mind for months....will you, be my girlfriend?" he finally says

"what?" you chuckle making him look more worried than he already is "you were nervous to ask me to act like your girlfriend? i have done that a lot of time. i'm actually starting to think it is real" you joke.

"what is it this time? a serial killer or another guy with mental health issues? maybe another naked woman?" you continue

"no....i....i mean be my actual girlfriend" he corrects

"what?" now you were really confused

"you see, all this time, when i acted like you were my girlfriend or acted jealous, it was because i liked the thought of that."

he waited for you to answer but when you didn't he continued.

"will you?" he said "be my girlfriend"

"this isn't a test to see how sentimental i am?" you asked half-jokingly

Sherlock chuckled "no" he said.

"then yes, Sherlock Holmes. yes, i will be your girlfriend"